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ginger-bread-official · 4 years ago

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Invested

Remus Lupin was known to be well versed in combating against dark creatures, but he clearly was more than competent in defensive spells. He managed to catch up Fred and George; world class slackers, enough to pass their DADA O.W.L. He was willing to put in all his effort to get his fifth years onto N.E.W.T.S.

Words: 1,530

He walked out of his office after making them wait for a solid five minutes. These two were masters, rivaled only by James and Sirius in his opinion. The good news was, he had years of practice. The pair stood smiling and laughing at some unknown joke.

“Just George right now.” They stopped in their tracks and shared a shocked look. It was quick and they regained themselves so as not to alert him to his upper hand. First step to taking down a dynamic duo, break up the duo. “Sit please.” He gestured to the chair across his desk as he closed the door to his office. He rounded to his chair and sat. He allowed the silence to stretch just a moment into an uncomfortable silence and then pushed the failed essay toward its author. George looked briefly at the page, shrugged and leaned back with a cheeky grin.

“What about it.” He said daring Lupin to lecture him. Remus felt his marauder spirit flare at the sight of the defiant young man.

“I know you’ve heard it all.” he leant back in his chair clasping his hand together. “I know nothing phases the great Fred and George Weasley.” Another pause “But I also know you’re brilliant and that you could get an O on your O.W.Ls if only you tried. Now what I don’t know is why you down play your intellect.” George seemed ready for this not allowing Lupin’s lecture to penetrate his aloof demeanor.

“Fred and I are being selective with our efforts. Businessmen don’t need counter jinxes or moster protection.” His easy smile showed Lupin that he really had no remorse.

“You have me there,” he stood from his desk and walked to the front of it. “My subject only progresses the careers of Aurors and the like.” He leant back onto the desk as he looked onto the young man. “But I’m not worried about your career. I’m worried about your safety.” George’s smirk broke. His eyebrows raised in questioning.

“My safety?”

“Yes. See defense is something you don’t plan on using, and when you find out you need it, it’s too late.” George now looked intrigued. “Your uncles knew that.” At this the front two legs of his chair slammed back down to the ground.

“My uncles?”

“Yes.” He smiled softly at the young man. “I fought alongside Fabian and Gideon during the war. They were brilliant, two of the bravest people I knew.” He smiled at the memory of the troublesome duo. “They were very good at ‘counter jinxes and stuff’ and took out more death eaters than Mad-eye Moody himself.” George was hanging on to every word of Lupin’s, clearly eager to hear more about his hero Uncles.

“They did?” he saw a proud smile erupt on George’s face, “Mom never said that.”

“It was an internal tally we did really. Your mom wasn’t in the army then.” He settled back into a serious tone. “I know I have a war mentality and the war is over, but if I hadn’t known what I do, I wouldn’t have made it through. I want you and Fred to have the same preparation that Fabian and Gideon had. That I had.” George nodded, Though Remus wasn’t sure he had completely broken through to him. “I don’t know if I can Change your attitude, I’m sure every professor has tired to explain why their subject is the most important, but I can offer my help. I can work with you guys during the night, or weekends. Whenever works for you to get you through your O.W.Ls.”

“Yeah.” He stood “Thanks professor. I’ll—I’ll redo the essay.” He stood and reached out his hand to shake Remus’ which he took. George turned to leave, but seemed to think of something and turned around. “You really fought in the war?” he asked blunty.

“Yes.” He responded. “Me, Sirius Black and James Potter joined up right after graduation.” George looked like he was going to ask another question. “I met the most courageous and amazing witches and wizards; including your uncles, but I don’t much l care for thinking on those years.” He paused letting George fill in the implied trauma he didn’t care to re-visit. “Please send your brother in.” he put a note of finality in his voice, and George obeyed.

Fred sauntered in after his brother. An easy smile on his face and an air of arrogance surrounding him.

“Please sit.” Lupin gestured to the chair George had just vacated. Fred did so and waited for Lupin to speak. “I suspect you already know what I’m going to say.” there was a brief pause.

“I’ve gotten this lecture once or twice before mate.” He sat up straight and put on different impressions of different teachers. “You’re a brilliant student Weasley I don’t know why you’re throwing away your education” he said in an overly eccentric Scottish accent. “I know you can do better if you tried.” He said in Flitwick’s high voice. “All pretty standard stuff. George and I have it all figured out though. We’ll be successful businessmen without knowing the difference between devils snare and tentaccula.” He sat back waiting for Lupin again clearly sure he won this exchange. Remus saw he couldn’t give Fred an inch, and so he dropped the formal professor façade and allowed himself to be more candid with the boy.

“You seem to have it all figured out. Fool proof plan, no need for my subject at all, all you need is your witty and savvy business skills.” Fred’s smile was firm on his face, but his brow furrowed ever so slightly. “I guess you don’t need to know how to protect yourself, or protect others. You can probably talk a banshee down from screaming with your winning personality.” His tone was harsh, but warranted. “No need to learn how to stop a curse from hitting you or maybe hitting George.” His voice rose slightly and he went on, “If a dementor is attacking you, or your family or anyone for that matter, Fred Wealsey will come in with some wise ass comment and send it packing. Dark wizards won’t dare to touch you with your charming smile for protection.”

“We’ve been in tight spots before and managed our way out.” He sounded so young and naïve and he must have sensed it, because his smile finally fell from his face.

“You’re too smart to genuinely think that evading Filch and fighting for your life are the same.” Lupin shot back. There was a moment of pregnant silence where Fred looked ashamed. Remus took pity on the boy. “I remember what it was like to be young,” Fred looked up to his professor now with a vulnerability Remus had never seen on the boy’s face. “To feel like there’s nothing you can’t do, that you’re invincible. Me and my friends were reckless, fool hearty. You actually remind me a lot of one of them.”

“Who?” he asked

“James Potter.” Fred’s eyes widened. “You’re both unbelievably stubborn, witty, effortlessly brilliant and a loyal, kind friend. But James knew when to grow up. He knew what life had in store for him outside of Hogwarts and he knew he needed to be prepared.” A beat of silence held the weight of his words between them. “We joined the resistance to Lord Voldemort at 17 years old and the only reason I am standing here is because I knew defensive magic.”

“But the war is over.” Fred said meekly.

“And you think that means there’s no danger out there, that every other bad or evil being in the world retired that day?” he sighed “I can’t force you to take your studies seriously. But It’s more important to me that you understand what a disadvantage you’d be putting yourself at by writing it off.” He walked to his chair behind the desk allow the young man space to breathe. “I want you to succeed Fred. I want to help in anyway I can. Evenings, weekends, lunch periods, whatever works for you. Just take it into consideration.” He waited a minute and watched the young man in front of him gather his wits and regain his composure after the reality check he was just given. He felt bad for being harsh, for his aggressive attack of his student, but when he was their age these realities were forced onto him and he is alive because he was able to prepare.

“Right.” Fred stood and made for the door, “Thanks professor.” He reached for the handle, but turned before opening the door. “You fought in the war?” he asked just as his brother did.

“Yes.” Lupin answered simply.

“Did you know my uncles Fabian and Gideon? They fought too.” He smiled at the boy.

“I knew them, and I was lucky to have called them friends. They saved my life multiple times.” He explained. “I don’t think I’ll ever meet braver men then those two.” A proud smile surfaced onto Fred’s face and he turned away from his professor and left the office.

#Remus Lupin #Remus John Lupin #remus #professor lupin #lupin #teddy lupin #nymphadora tonks #tonks #tonks and lupin #Professor Remus Lupin #Professor R.J. Lupin #Professor Remus John Lupin #hogwarts #fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george #fred and george weasley #defense against the dark arts #Order of the Phoenix

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peachysnows · 5 years ago

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Rich || pt 1

Reader (you) x Jaebum

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: none

Author’s note || About the Author || teaser

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“You can’t take me away from my own house!” I screamed as tears furiously streamed down my cheek. With every force in my body, I tried to move against the men who held my arms. This cannot be happening to my house. My father’s house…

“Sorry, (Y/N). You can blame your father for my actions.” The man with a sly smirk on his mouth said as he signalled the two men to drag me out. I screamed and thrashed around, hoping someone nearby would respond to my pleas. However, it was too late. The sight of my small, cozy house was completely gone. My serenity, my childhood, my memories; all gone in a single night.

“Excuse me.” A voice softly said as I felt someone tapped my shoulder. “This is the last stop. Please get off.”

Opening my eyes, I glanced at the bus driver. Sighing to myself, I scanned my surroundings before looking back up at the driver, “I’m sorry but, where are we?”

“Hwagok-dong.” He replied back. Politely thanking him, I grabbed my bag and hopped off the bus. The cold air brushed against my face, sending shivers down my spine. Although the streets were illuminated with lights, I still felt the darkness wrap around my figure, weighing my shoulders down. I turned on my phone and searched for the nearest place to stay. A hotel, only a few blocks ahead, was my only option.

Walking through the sliding door of the hotel, I immediately felt the warmth of laughter and life. As I made my way towards the counter, I listened to the humorous stories that filled the air. To be in a cheerful and lively place, I wished I was as content as these people. Without any worries in life, they could laugh away the night and start a new day tomorrow. If only I could do that.

“Excuse me, do you have a room for one?” I asked the man who stood at the counter.

“Yes, we do. But it’ll be an hour wait to get the room ready.” He replied back, smiling at me.

“How much is one night?” I softly asked the man, forcing a smile upon my lips.

“Around $70, ma’am.” He stated. Laughter roared in the room again as I opened my purse and pulled out my wallet.

“Mastercard, please.” I said as I handed my card to him.

Turning my head, I looked at the joyful crowd who were enjoying the night in the lobby. I envied their happiness. For me, I worked my ass off to pay for the necessary needs in life. To ask for financial help would be an insult. I never received anything from anyone. From what my father taught me, the best things in life would come when all the hard-work was done. This was the reason why I didn’t call anyone up to help me with my house. I could handle it on my own if I kept pushing.

“Sorry, ma’am. Your card has been declined.” The man stated as he handed my card back. I forced another smile and took the card.

“Oh,” I simply stated, “No worries, I’ll just find somewhere to stay.”

“Goodnight, ma’am.” The man said, waving me goodbye as I turned my back on him. Walking past the group of people, I thought about the different things I could do while I was temporarily homeless. Should I wrap myself in my coat and sleep on a bench? Or use the money in my wallet to buy myself a beer. However, my mind told me to call someone who I knew could make this situation a little better. Puffing out a cloud of warm air, I pulled out my phone and called the person that lingered in my mind.

“(Y/N)?” I heard through the phone.

“Jinyoung.” I sniffled, suddenly having the urge to cry again. “I got kicked out.”

“What? When? Why didn’t you call me, (Y/N)? I could’ve helped you.” I heard Jinyoung panic through the phone.

“Can you come and get me?” I huffed out, avoiding the questions he fired at me. Jinyoung sighed as a moment of silence passed through the phone.

“Where are you?” His deep voice asked.

“Hwagok-dong.” I softly said as tears started to well up in my eyes.

“God, (Y/N), why are you all the way there?” Jinyoung huffed out. “I have a meeting in five minutes, but I’ll send someone to pick you up and drive you here.”

“Thank you.” I whispered as I hung up the phone and sat down on the sidewalk.

Placing my icy cold palms onto the skin of my face, I sat there lost in thought. With my mastercard declined, that meant I had no money and nowhere to go. Knowing my job was not an excellent source of income, I wished my internship at a design studio could raise the pay, considering how dedicated I was in becoming the best. Other than helping designers build their artistic creation, I draw and create my own designs, hoping someone would accept them. For now, I am living as a nobody, in a world built on opportunities.

What seemed like hours, I heard a tire screech to a stop nearby. It almost seemed like a dream, considering the constant banging going on in my head, as my exhaustion level was to the point where I could pass out any minute. At this moment, I couldn’t tell if it were the men, who forcefully pulled me from my house, or Jinyoung’s chaffer, that pulled up beside me.

“Miss. (Y/N)?” A voice off to the side timidly asked. Removing my hands, I glanced at the old man whom I seemed familiar with. Jinyoung’s chaffer took me by the hand and gently guided me inside the car. And without a word, he drove off to that place where Jinyoung worked at.

“Thank you, Fabian.” I nodded my head as we arrived, thirty minutes later, at a white-grey modern building. The clear glass that covered the entire building sparkled in the night light. It was a highly remarkable building, architecturally and artistically. Anyone whom happened to pass by in the streets of Seoul would take a pause and admire the beauty and power the building held. I could look at it and conclude that only powerful men own and control the world that happened inside.

“Mr. Park is on the top floor. He's in a meeting but there’s a lady there who will help you.” Fabian said as escorted me towards the white-stained door. Business men passed by, scurrying quickly to get home to their loved ones as I entered the big modern building. It was extravagant. Marbled floors, a huge company label stretched across a waterfall wall, and green floral plants to add an accent into the white color scheme. Everything about it screamed money. Only a successful company could afford such elegance and class.

Giving Fabian another thanks, I head towards the elevator. The lavish aura engulfed my body, making me feel small. How could an unknown environment be so intimidating? The clicking sound of my heels hitting the marble floor made me feel misplaced. This place was not for me. Nor will it ever be. As I stepped into the elevator, men and women chattered about their upcoming work. Others complained about how their bosses treated them like trash. So much stress was weighed upon these loyal employees. I wonder how they managed a life outside of work. After what seemed like forever, the elevator finally stopped at the top floor and I walked out into another big area.

“Miss. (Y/N)!” A voice called from behind. I turned around to see a woman in her mid-forties waving at me. I looked around in thought she was calling someone else but, realized her intentions were directed towards me. Forcing a smile, I approached her with a slight nervousness in my stomach.

“Yes, that’s me.” I breathed out, hoping she wouldn’t hear the dry throat I had.

“Mr. Park has told me about you and is currently in a meeting. He won’t be out in a while so you can sit in the lounging area until he’s finished.” The lady flashed a smile before pointing me towards the beige couches.

“I assume it’s a very important meeting.” I joked around, lightening the mood a bit and hoping she wouldn’t get a terrible impression of me.

“It’s with the big boss and his son.” The woman whispered quietly.

“Oh.” I raised my eyebrows in interest. More important people with money stacked in their pockets.

Kindly thanking her, I sat there waiting for the man whom I knew could comfort me. If I could stay at Jinyoung’s house for a few days, I could sort out the problem I had with my house and borrow a loan from the bank. At this point, I’m desperate for a solution. Anything or anyone could help. For a while, I came up with plans that I could help me build a stronger foundation until I heard a distant chatter down the hall.

I sat the edge of my seat, waiting for Jinyoung to show up. And just like a prince, he appeared out of the corner wearing a navy tailored suit. His hair was slightly waved down and parted in the middle. His face showed exhaustion, but his mind was full of determination. Jinyoung was a smart man. The moment I met him, I was tranced into his charming personality. It was months ago when Jinyoung confessed his feelings, however, we couldn’t date. Coming from a rich family who owns a successful business, Jinyoung had to get the family to approve of his relationship before he went any further. And like any rich families, it wasn’t accepted. I liked him, he liked me, but it was what people would call a forbidden love.

“(Y/N)!” Jinyoung said under his breath as his eyes caught mine. He changed from a normal pace to running towards me with his face full of concern.

“Jinyoung.” I cried as I walked towards him. I could already feel the tears stream down my face as Jinyoung wrapped me in his arms. A sudden of relief swept over my body. Only he has the power to make me feel assured of myself when the world around us was in chaos. I tugged on his shirt as I cried into his chest.

“Shh,” He cooed as he ran his fingers through my hair, “It’s going to be alright.”

“It’s not.” I sniffled as I pulled away from him. “I lost my place, my credit card got declined and, I’ll probably lose my internship.”

“I offered you help, (Y/N). I could pay the debt your father owed to those men and yo-”

“I don’t want your charity.” I interrupted, wiping tears that fell down my face. “All I will ask is a place to stay for a few months and I’ll figure it out on my own.”

Jinyoung sighed as he leaned back and looked at me. His thumb touched his lips meaning that he was in deep thought. “You can’t stay at my house.”

“Wait, why?” I suddenly asked. Knowing Jinyoung too well, he would always offer me to stay at his place. However, today was a different day.

“My family is over and, you know, I can’t have you over.” Jinyoung hinted. I pursed my lips and nodded my head. His family hated me, and I knew it. Another reason why Jinyoung and I couldn’t date.

“I’ll take her to my house.” A voice suddenly appeared from behind. I turned around to face a strikingly handsome man. For a moment, my heart stopped. How could someone look so powerful and beautiful at the same time? His jet-black hair was swept up to reveal the cold stare in his eyes. Although, his face might be pretty, his personality may be different. Anyone could take a glance at this man and would immediately feel intimidated. The confidence in his stance radiated power. This must be him. The compelling man that owned this building.

“That’s it. You could be our solution.” Jinyoung beamed as he placed his hand on the back of this man. “You can stay with Jaebum for a while until my family leaves.”

“Uh.” I muttered out, completely in shock. It was odd that Jinyoung would easily let me stay at a stranger’s house, especially a man. He was usually very protective of me. Anything could happen to me in an unknown environment. My anxiety started to boil inside of me as my stomach settled for an uneasy feeling.

“It’s just only for a few days.” Jaebum smiled at me. “I can offer you my place.”

“Don’t worry, (Y/N).” Jinyoung chuckled as he saw the shock plastered on my face. “Jaebum and I have been friends since high school, I trust him.”

I looked back and forth at both men, trying to understand what was going on in their minds. Was Jinyoung crazy? Why would he throw me under the bus with a random man I haven’t met before? Not that I was complaining but it just felt weird.

“Are you sure?” I finally spoke up, hoping Jinyoung would take me back to his house. I’d rather live with his family than a random stranger.

“Very sure.” Jinyoung firmly stated. “As long as Jaebum doesn't make any moves on my girl, I’m okay with it.”

“Don’t worry, man.” Jaebum smirked, looking at me from head to toe. “I won’t.”

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angstmongertina · 5 years ago

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For King and Country (The Royal Masquerade)

So I was actually a really big fan of The Royal Masquerade, but I am a huge slut for angsty duty vs. the heart and the fact that we could marry Fabian but didn’t even get the OPTION of breaking it off with our current LI pissed me off just a little bit. So here I am writing fic for that particular option because it’s WHAT MY CHARACTER WOULD DO. So, enjoy?

AO3 Link

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There were several things that Lady Caterina of House Aster, the reigning Queen of Cordonia, knew deep down to be true. She knew that the position she had on the throne was tenuous at best, won through harrowing political strife and months of anxious planning and more blood than she cared to think about. She knew that an army was advancing on the capital, led by those who genuinely believed the lies they told about her, that the resulting civil war would tear the kingdom and her people apart. She knew there was only one soul left in the kingdom whose right to the throne could remain uncontested, who could end the devastating conflict before it began, and who would, by that simple fact alone, make for a far better leader than any of the individuals, herself included, who had spent so long vying for it.

She knew that her priorities would always, always, be her family first, her kingdom second, and herself a far distant third, that her costly victory was first and foremost to defeat those who might feel otherwise, that she owed her people true peace, however that might be achieved.

Such were the thoughts that swirled through her mind as she watched the young man before her, carefree and happy with his art. He bore little resemblance to Aunt Elise, at least that she could see, but something about his smile, his mannerisms as he reassured the young children playing nearby, brought to mind that night of the masquerade, more than a lifetime ago now, when she had unknowingly spoken to Queen Kendra. The same kindness, the same grace, was in his soul, and in spite of the faint pang she felt at her friends’ sacrifices going to waste, her mind was calm knowing that the crown was going to good hands.

Perhaps that was what Hunter had felt, only a few short weeks ago. Perhaps, in the end, it was only right that she do the same, for the good of Cordonia.

That may have been why she was taken so aback by his suggestion, by his offer of marriage to a woman he barely knew, whose reputation was in the process of being torn to shreds. That alone was a good reason for her refusal but…

But mirrored within the depths of the open, honest eyes of Fabian Rhys, she saw the young scribe she herself was only months earlier, living a comparatively simple and honest life in the library, far from the extravagant masks and honeyed half-truths of nobility. While her own position may have been a sign that neither birth nor upbringing were essential for political success, her ascension into a role she had not been prepared for had still been accompanied by friends and family and time to prepare.

Fabian, on the other hand, had a larger burden and fewer allies and, most importantly of all, a gentle spirit that had not yet been hardened by the world of politics. A spirit that she would see preserved, if there were anything in her power to do so.

In spite of herself, her gaze flickered towards Kayden, standing at her side. He watched her, as he always did, with that constant respect and unconditional faith that she didn’t deserve. There was no protest on his face, no trace of dissent. Nothing but deep understanding and acceptance, a recognition of the duty which bound them both. That strong sense of duty they shared, which had brought them together, given them understanding of each other and themselves, and which now threatened to drive them apart.

For a moment, she hesitated, but his lips curved into a smile, small and sad and endlessly supportive, and she knew.

Closing her eyes against the pinpricks of heat in her eyes, she drew a deep breath and stepped forward, taking Fabian’s proffered hand. “I accept.”

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She was not entirely surprised to find Kayden waiting for her outside of the coronation ceremony. At her side, as if sensing her hesitation, Fabian nodded, dropping her hand with an encouraging smile and walking swiftly out of earshot. For a moment, she watched his back as he left, already moving with the confidence of authority, but she could not avoid the conversation, not when she owed him far, far more.

“Cat— Your Majesty.” He sank into a low bow, the proper etiquette for a citizen to his queen, but it was not quite quick enough to disguise the emotion that flashed across his face before his usual stoic mask replaced it.

He knew.

As he straightened, she examined him. Dressed in his usual dark colors, it would have been easy to mistaken his attire for his usual leathers, but a closer look revealed that he was dressed in civilian clothing, without any insignias of the Crown Guard.

Which could only mean…

“Kayden.” Dark eyes snapped up to meet hers, a wordless confirmation, and she let a faint smile curve her lips. “I… I’m sorry.”

Almost before the words had left her mouth, he was shaking his head. “Do not be. Cordonia comes first. That is a point that we have always agreed upon. That I have always admired about you.” He drew a deep breath. “Besides, we both knew that this day would come eventually. A commoner, and worse still, a sorcerer, with Cordonia’s queen? It was never anything more than a dream.”

She shook her head, annoyed in spite of herself. “The circumstances of your birth make you no less than anyone else.”

His laugh was bitter. “Perhaps not, but the people would not be as inclined to agree. You know that just as well as I. After all, it is why Fabian has been accepted so naturally that even his marriage to the so-called usurper queen has had few repercussions. But I will not push our luck for my own selfishness.”

“I don’t—”

A quiet chuckle, this time tinged with a hint of genuine affection. “We both know that you would never betray your vow, especially considering the instability it could bring to Cordonia should anyone find out, but my mere presence at your side may threaten it nonetheless. We have not precisely been subtle, and even so, I would not have your rule tainted by association with a sorcerer accused of regicide. Pardoned or not, I am a source of division that I would not risk. Not against all you have sacrificed.”

Her laugh sounded weak, even to her own ears. “Kayden Vescovi, selfless to the last.”

He shook his head. “I do not know whether it is selflessness or selfishness, not wanting to let all of our other sacrifices to be in vain.”

“I assure you, nobody who truly knows you could ever accuse you of selfishness. And I have no doubt Hunter would agree with me.”

“Biased opinions, the both of you.”

She drew herself up to full height, though she was still what was no doubt comically short compared to him. “You dare accuse the queen and one of her most trusted advisors, the former King-Regent, of bias?”

That drew a true laugh from him. “As a loyal Cordonian to his crown, I would not dare, but as your… friend, I would do what I can, for you and for Cordonia, just as you have done these many months. If that means accusing you of that which is true, then so be it.”

She chuckled, though it faded as quickly as it came, and he cleared his throat, his face studiously blank.

“But… But as your friend, I must ask that you, not the queen but you, Caterina, hear me out and understand my decision.”

She nodded, taking advantage of the time to school her face into a mask of neutrality. “And what of you?”

In spite of her best attempts, her voice wavered and, for a heartbeat, something flashed across his face, gone so quickly that she almost wondered if she had imagined it. “What are my plans?” He sighed, though something resembling a faint smile curved his mouth. “My utmost priority is picking my replacement. In the mere month you have been queen and even before then, you have already had multiple attempts on your life, and I…” Any sign of merriment in his expression dropping, he swallowed, his throat visibly bobbing with the movement. “I would not leave you without first ensuring your safety. I will personally see to that, I swear it.”

“Kayden…”

His hand seemed to twitch at his side as he drew a breath, forcing another smile. “As the former Crown Guard, it is the least I could do for Cordonia, after all.”

She bowed her head, pretending she didn’t see the way he shifted, clasping his hands together behind his back. “Very well. I… We appreciate your thoughtfulness. But afterwards?”

An unusual look of uncertainty crossed his face. “I… I had hoped to find my mother, actually. I never found out what happened to her, only that she left the estate after my birth. Not that I blame her, considering how my father feels about my presence, but…” He shrugged. “Clearly, I did not come by my powers through House Vescovi, but perhaps I can find more answers from her.”

“That makes sense. No doubt there are many questions that only she might have the knowledge to answer. I understand completely. But…”

Dark eyes flashed up to meet hers, warm and familiar, and she barely resisted the urge to reach for him. “But, will you return, someday?”

For what seemed like a lifetime, he said nothing, his eyes serious, and she held her breath until he sighed, long and sibilant. “I do not know. But if my Queen commands it, then… yes. Someday.”

“She does.” She drew a deep breath, straightening and giving him her most proper smile. “Well, in that case, I look forward to meeting your replacement, and I wish you all of the best in your investigation. We shall, all of us, look forward to your return.”

“As do I.” She inclined her head in dismissal as he bowed again, deep and formal, though before he turned away, he met her gaze once more. “And Caterina? Thank you.”

In the silence, she watched him retreat, steps quick and assured through the halls that he knew much better than she did, even after a month of living within the castle, before letting out a shaky breath she did not know she had been holding. “No, Kayden. Thank you.”

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“You care for him. The Crown Shield, I mean.”

In the privacy of their chambers, away from prying ears, she turned to King Fabian. Her new husband stood in the doorway, bright blue eyes steady as he watched her, clear and sympathetic and utterly lacking in disapproval.

“How…?”

He laughed, stepping nearer. “It is not exactly a difficult conclusion to draw. I rather suspected it from the moment he accompanied you to find me. Of course, it is not until more recently that I might call it confirmed.” When she gave him a questioning look, he grinned, cheerful and boyish. “Now, I mean. He seems a good man—must be, since you and Lord Hunter have such faith in him—and from all I’ve heard, he is an excellent Crown Shield.”

“Was.” It was his turn to raise an eyebrow, and she smiled, carefully holding her hands still before she could fidget. “He has decided to pass his position on to another.”

“Oh? Is there any particular reason for it? If he is afraid of incurring my wrath, tell him that I harbor no ill-will towards him with regards to your relationship. Or perhaps I can tell him myself, if that would be more reassuring.”

She shook her head. “It is not that. I have no intentions of betraying the oath we made to each other and Cordonia, regardless. I fear that my pursuing anything would risk instability to the kingdom. Particularly with my reputation as it already is.”

“And his being previously accused of the murder of Queen Kendra certainly cannot help matters.”

“Precisely. I am afraid it is only your sterling reputation that has kept the kingdom in check, and will have to continue to do so.” When he laughed, she grinned, her heart lightening, ever so slightly. “At any rate, our former Crown Shield has elected to retire and pursue his own interests.”

“I am truly sorry that you two have been put into this situation.”

“But you certainly chose this direction for yourself and would have done so again were an entire kingdom’s peace not on the line?” She laughed, shaking her head. “No, we all did what we had to do. You have brought the peace that Cordonia needed, and I shall do my utmost to maintain it, just as Kayden will. Besides, there are worse fates than being married to a friend. At least among the nobility, marriage is often more a tool for political gain than a joining of like minds and hearts.”

When she glanced up, it was to find Fabian making a face, though to his credit, it was more mild than she rather suspected he felt, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “That was lesson number two. Lesson number three is that there are always eyes on you. I do not think members of the court would take kindly to being looked at as though you ate a particularly sour apple.” She paused, letting a look of contemplation cross her face, though it did nothing to quell her amusement. “Or perhaps contemplating Cyrus’ endless requests for visitations?”

When his expression turned even more horrified, her laughter morphed into a most unladylike cackle, though judging by his own amused expression, he hardly seemed to mind, crossed arms notwithstanding.

“Dare I ask what lesson number one was, then?”

“Oh, I thought I already told you. Whenever you are facing any nerves, simply imagine the entire court in their smallclothes.”

That time, it was not she who doubled over in laughter, fairly leaning on the bed to maintain any semblance of remaining upright. She grinned, sitting beside him and watching as the tension left his shoulders for what was likely the first time since he had awoken that morning.

After a moment, he finally sobered, though he was still chortling as he turned back to face her. “I should hope that the other nobles are not aware of your… irreverence.”

“I expect I would be run out of the country should they find out. Or, I suppose, in some cases, never hear the end of it.”

“Perhaps, but I assure you that it is something the people might like to know. In fact, had they known, they might have been less likely to march against you.”

“Well, I shall keep that in mind in case I manage to incur the ire of our kingdom once more, then. I doubt there will be a second chance to maintain the people’s trust in me through a political match.”

He chuckled but his eyes were serious. “Perhaps not but they would also be fools to mistrust you without cause in light of all you have sacrificed for them.”

“And you. You did not ask for the crown. You were an artist, open and spirited, free to pursue your own wishes, to love whomever. And now you have allied yourself to me, stepping into the role placed upon you by a bloodline you knew nothing about until you took a stranger at her word.”

“I took the Queen at her word, a far safer leap of trust.”

She waved her hand airily. “Details, my king. But, to speak plainly, you have wed yourself to me, sacrificing any choice you may have had in the matter, and while you are free to have whatever relations you wish, the fact remains that it can only ever be in private. I have no doubt that this is not what you had anticipated for yourself and I apologize for that.”

“There is no need. I made the offer of marriage knowing what it would entail, and like you, I have no intention of doing anything which might threaten what we have given for it. Besides, it is as you say. I would either have to marry you or someone else for political gain. At least this way I can be sure of having an ally and friend.”

She smiled. “Partners, then.”

He took her outstretched hand, managing to keep a solemn expression just long enough to give it a solid shake before a wry grin curled his mouth. “I don’t know if a week ago, I would ever have dreamed of making a vow between a husband and wife like such.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer we seal it with a kiss, then?”

When he laughed again, shaking his head, she grinned, throwing herself back against the bed with a sigh. Oh, he was not wrong in that she still cared for Kayden fiercely and the thought of building a life without him, after so many daydreams of what they would do together, stung, but she did what she had to do.

And if Cordonia could have peace, if her life with Fabian could have the friendship and laughter of the moment, then perhaps it would be worth it in the end.

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When the people of Cordonia speak of King Fabian, it is with reverence and respect. Raised among commoners, having studied and pursued art as a career, unaware of his heritage until his kingdom was in peril, the People’s King delivered harmony to a land torn by strife and conflict since the death of Queen Kendra, brought about peace and prosperity, social changes and moves towards equality that ushered Cordonia into a new age. While scholars debate the details, it is held by many Cordonians that his rule still holds the record as the one plagued by the fewest number of internal conflicts and infighting, that the mourning bells tolled for a full week following his eventual death, and that the respect the Cordonian crown still holds amongst her people is in no small part due to his enduring legacy.

Fewer scholars and citizens alike mention his wife and queen, and fewer still discuss her role in Cordonian history beyond the scandal that suffused her early reputation. Following her scant month as sole queen, won through the vote at one of the most chaotic summits in recorded history and plagued by the threat of civil war throughout, Queen Caterina, once of House Aster, faded into the background soon after becoming co-ruler with her husband. Even the most vicious of rumors surrounding her dissipated in time, and as her husband’s reign continued, her role became that of a supporter, speaking on his behalf and caring for their children, turning from usurper queen to the non-threatening positions of dutiful wife and doting mother.

Those who have devoted true effort towards understanding her, however… The stories they tell are far different. While King Fabian carried out the decisions that brought support and benefits to the common people, he was not alone in their inception or planning. It was she who helped bring about peace with neighboring countries, whose quiet manners but strong will granted her husband the stability and courage to move forward with his goals. It was she who fielded questions and attention those days he needed to step back, to paint or wander the country, who kept his gentleness and spirit alive. It was she who raised their children to believe in stability and equality and above else, peace.

Those who know speak of Queen Caterina as a woman of principle and courage, of patience and understanding. A selfless hero who gave and sacrificed whatever was required, for her king and her country.

#the royal masquerade #play choices #choices #kayden vescovi #fabian rhys #Tina writes stuff.#Tina plays Choices.

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moderndaybard · 5 years ago

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CR Inktober, Day 15

SELF-INSERT NPC: ANTONIA MARSHSTEAD

The town was not unimpressive—indeed, was increasing in populace and prosperity at such a rate, it could probably be deemed a city in the next year or two. Still, there wasn’t any reason for Vox Machina to be there, other than that it was a stop on the way to where they were going, and a convenient place to drink and stay the night.

Still, there were a few hours left before businesses close dup for the day, and despite protests from Grog, Vex was on the hunt for interesting finds and bargain prices.

Asking around after magical items and weapons, the group of adventurers found themselves directed to an unassuming, two-story building that didn’t really stand out too much from the local architecture, bearing a sign that declared it was ‘Marshteads’ Magicks,’ and that it was, in fact, still open for business late that afternoon.

The door opened noiselessly, no bell or chime announcing their arrival, and not a floorboard creaked as they strode in to the well-lit interior.

Sunlight streamed in from the two large, street-facing windows, revealing a neat and orderly main area which smelled faintly of lavender and cedar. The store interior, as well as the counters and display shelves were all made of a light-colored wood that gleamed dimly with their finish and the golden afternoon light. There was an open main area; two window displays flanking the door to the street, where various pieces of (presumably enchanted) jewelry were visible; left of the entrance was a glass-and-wood display case of small weapons: daggers, hand crossbows, blots, arrows, a light weight rapier, and the like, with larger weapons such as great swords and battle axes on shelves and pegs on the wall behind; on the right side of the store was another display case, this one filled with an odd assortment of household sundries, knick-knacks, and generally useful items (there were no shelves or wall displays on this side, but half-hidden in the far corner behind the case was what appeared to be a sort of work table with various sewing tools, some yarn, and a few toys on it); finally, facing the door across the floor was a plain, uncluttered counter with no displays—evidently, where sales were finalized.

Aside from the street door, the main room had two other entrances: one open archway to the right, just beside the worktable, that revealed a set of stairs ascending to the second floor, and a closed, heavy wooden door in the wall behind the sales counter.

The store seemed empty, even of people running it, save for a handsome red fox curled up on the sales counter, half-asleep and ignoring Vox Machina, for the moment. With a gasp of delight and absolutely no hesitation, Keyleth ran up to the creature, all but putting her head on the counter beside him. “Hi!” she chirped, fixated on the furry animal as one eye slitted halfway open to regard her levelly. “I’m Keyleth! What’s your name?”

The fox stretched, sat up, scanned their group, and turned with deliberate nonchalance to the stairs beyond the archway before screeching loudly.

Seconds later (while their ears were still ringing) pounding footsteps on the stairs heralded a new arrival: grumbling half-hearted, half-heard curses under her breath, a female dwarf rounded the corner. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple braid, her grey eyes peered at them from behind a pair of glasses, though she seemed to only be in her young adulthood, and she was dressed simply: tunic, vest, skirt, leggings, boots.

As she approached the counter (stepping up on some sort of boost or stool that was hidden behind it), her scolding became audible: “—too much trouble to just walk up the stairs to let me know someone was here? Just had to screech like a tortured demon and scare customers? And you wonder why Henry doesn’t take you when he goes to negotiate with suppliers.”

The fox merely hopped off the counter on her side, vanishing from view briefly, then darting up the stairs. Tirade over with the disappearance of its target, the young dwarf woman focused on the party before her, scowl melting into an apologetic half-grin. “Sorry about that: familiars can get cranky during extended separations, and Fabian’s always been overly dramatic anyway. Anyhow, welcome to Marshteads’ Magicks—are you in the market for anything in particular, or just looking to browse?”

The final sentence was undoubtedly a rehearsed, often-delivered script, but to her credit, the young woman mustered or at least feigned a genuine enough tone that gave them the feel of natural dialogue.

Before Vex could answer, Keyleth broke in with something that’d been bothering her since first approaching the store: “Did you know that your sign is messed up? The apostrophe is wrong, and it’s misspelled?”

“The sign is correct,” came the immediate reply, in a tone that this was a correction she’d had to make a few too many times for her patience, but didn’t want to completely alienate potentially paying customers, “Marshstead is the family name, and since my brother and I run the store together, both plural and possessive are correct.” She then deflated somewhat, glancing away in a moment of embarrassment, perhaps? “…And the ‘K’ is just for flare.”

“Showmanship is an important facet of salesmanship,” Percy ranted, hoping to placate the woman before she took out any ill-will on the prices. “Though I must say the aesthetic is more reserved than I wouldn’t expected in such an establishment.”

The young woman glanced around, nodding. “Organized, you mean? Neat? That’s on me: I can’t think or work in a cluttered area. Hence avoiding the workshop as much as possible.”

“You don’t perform the enchantments yourself, then?” Vex asked, looking up form the bowstring and arrows she’d been examining out of professional interest.

“Oh, that’s Henry’s field,” came the quick answer. “He’s the craftsman, I handle the storefront for him. Is there anything in particular I can help you with or help you find? Any questions?”

Pike looked up from the display case she’d been staring into. “Uh, Miss—?”

“Sorry: Antonia. And you?”

“Pike Trickfoot. Antonia, why is there a frying pan in the case with the weapons?”

There same a genuine, if half-embarrassed chuckle in response to that question. “That started as… Well, not a joke, really. When we were younger, someone made an insulting comment about Henry’s skill with magic and enchantments, and told them he was could make even a cast-iron skillet into a powerful magical weapon. Turns out he overheard that conversation, and remembered it. So, he made this: it’s a magical bludgeoning weapon not dissimilar to a great club or the like. Additionally, it deals an extra kick of fire damage upon a successful hit. It is a two-handed weapon and requires attunement, but once it is attuned, anyone else who tried to pick it up finds it too warm to the touch to handle—so, generally thief-proof. Unless you use an oven mitt or the like, I suppose.”

“Anything else it can do?” Vax asked, half-joking. Antonia had rattled off the weapon’s attributes with the ease of someone who knew them by heart, but also with genuine pride at her brother’s accomplishment—unusual as it was.

“Well, any food prepared in it does cook twice as quickly—but that can be a good or bad thing, depending on how close an eye you keep on your dinner.”

Vex blinked, then shook her head—the thing was almost too ridiculous not to get, to say nothing of the mental image of a monster’s expression roughly half a second before it got hit by a frying pan. “How much for it?” she offered, haggling mode already engaged.

Antonia didn’t hesitate. “750 gold.”

“For a frying pan!?” The half-elf fired back, ignoring whoever it was behind her that groaned (probably Grog).

“For a cast iron pan with two magical enchantments upon it—enchantments that had to be uniquely crafted in order to adhere to a non-traditional weapon.”

Vex raised an eyebrow at the dwarf. “it’s essentially and enchanted household object,” she pointed out, then watched as the other woman’s expression darkened. Oops.

Nearly all trace of the ‘saleswoman’ persona had vanished. “Degrading my brother’s time, effort, creativity, and craftsmanship will not incentivize me to lower the price.” Arms folded, her glare dared the ranger to make the next move.

“Fair point,” Vex had to grant, quickly changing tactics before she drove the price up. “How much could you come down if we told anyone that asked about this unique item all about this shop and the master craftsman who made it? And your brother could tell people that not only did he make a frying pan a weapon, he also sold it to none other than Vox Machina!”

Silence stretched on for a moment or two.

“725.”

“675 at the most,” vex shot back.

Antonia raised one eyebrow, arms still folded. “You can hardly expect to persuade me to cheat my own brother out of the rightful reward for his work.”

They were a few moments away form meeting at 700, Vex could tell—they simply had to finish out the final few steps of their dance. Despite the growing impatience from the group at her back (at least, from some of them), Vex’ahlia did exactly that. The gold changed hands (700) and the enchanted cooking pan was handed over.

A discussion soon arose over which of them could and should wield it, but Vex ignored that part—she was hardly a candidate for what was very obviously a strength-based melee weapon—and scanned the shop again. This time, a glimpse of something small and brown on the corner worktable caught her eye.

“Is that an owl bear toy?”

Antonia followed her gaze, her entire demeanor shifting towards something that could almost be described as awkward hesitancy. “I-uh- have been teaching myself crochet on days when the store is slow. It’s relaxing, honestly. But, yes, I have been working on some small toys and the like…”

“May I see it?” Vex asked, feeling Vax move up behind her as he overheard the conversation.

Antonia blinked, obviously caught off-guard. “Uh, sure…” she muttered at last, crossing to the table and retrieving the item in question before returning.

It was small—not quite as big as Vex’s fist—and was certainly a stylized, simplified representation that was cuter than it was accurate. The craftsmanship was hardly masterful, either: while Antonia was obviously not clumsy or a rank novice, there were still a few visible imperfections. Still, there was an undeniable charm to the little doll, and with one shared look, the twins were of one mind.

“Do you sell these?” Vax asked. Upon seeing the dwarf hesitate, he continued, “if not, I understand—sometimes you just make things for yourself or have sentimental attachments.”

“I-I don’t mind selling it. I just figured no one would really want it. …I just needed something to keep busy…”

Vex beamed at the suddenly-flustered shop keep. “Well, we know one little girl in particular who would just adore this little fellow—she’s obsessed with owl bears. How much for the little cutie?”

For the first time since the entered the little shop, Vox Machina saw absolute uncertainty cross Antonia’s face as she fumbled for a fair price.

“Uh… three copper?”

This time, it was Vax’s turn to protest. “For a one-of-a-kind, hand-crafted piece?”

“It-it’s not magical, and it’s just yarn and some stuffing,” Antonia pointed out weakly, all her earlier confidence gone.

Vax shook his head. “But the time this would’ve taken to make—one silver at least,” he replied, ignoring the glare Vex was directing at him for this oddly-reversed negotiation.

The ranger turned to the dwarf, wondering if this was an intentional technique to drive up the price, but no—the embarrassment, hesitance and uncertainty were genuine, she could see. Clearly, Antonia was far more comfortable negotiating on her brother’s behalf than her won, and something about knowing that made Vex feel momentarily fond of the other girl—or at least, like she could understand her.

And, in the grand scheme of things, considering their current financial status, what was a silver piece? Velora would be happy with the gift, and perhaps a fledgling craftswoman would get a confidence boost.

“I-I guess…”

…

The town was hardly important, and the Marshstead siblings would likely never gain fame of any import, much less cross Vox Machina’s path again, but at least both parties felt, at their parting, as though a fair bargain had been reached without coming to the point of either hating or permanently angering the other.

And, really, what more can you ask from a retail transaction?

(AN: Sorry for the length/focus on the dreaded shopping trip. But currently, too much of my time is swallowed by a retail job, and I wanted to redeem it a little—better a family-run enchanted item shop than a generic thrift store. And, no, I have no idea what a fair price is in D&D, I did the best I could with the research I had. But now I kinda want that pan to be a thing somewhere—or is it too ridiculous for a +1 magic (great club, re-skinned as a pan) that deals bonus 1d4 fire damage?)

#crinktober #crinktober 2019 #my post #critical role #critter #daily writing #crinktober day 15 #vox machina #vex'ahlia #vax'ildan #dnd npc #original character #self-insert oc

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blznbaby · 6 years ago

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I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x MC (Marcella)

Audience: PG (innuendos and implied language)

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Pixleberry Studios.

Tags: @museofbooks @callmetippytumbles @cocomaxley @hopefulmoonobject @pixieferry @i-choose-liam @zaffrenotes @choicesseasonalprompts

Christmas Day

It was Christmas day at the palace. A time for great celebration. Decorations were everywhere and a Christmas tree adorned almost every room in the palace filling the air with the minty aroma of pine. Miles of presents and wrapping paper littered the floor, it was definitely a party.

Everyone was dressed in different colors that symbololized the holiday; an array of red, green, gold, blue, and silver. Everyone was having a great time. Liam was socializing with everyone and getting his fill of Lythikos nog. Leo was hitting on Hana, with no success. Drake was avoiding Olivia and Kiara again. Marcella was going around the room offering nog to everyone. Maxwell was documenting the party for his scrapbook. Bertrand and Savannah were canoodling under the mistletoe. Regina was at one of the tables with Adelaide and Madeleine, enjoying each other's company. Penelope was animatedly talking with Zeke about poodles. Meanwhile, all the others were dancing and laughing while the children played with the toys they got from Santa.

After while, Liam, Marcella, and Fabian went to the front of the room so Liam could give his annual Christmas speech and thank everyone for coming. The servants passed out flutes of champagne and cider as the King’s speech came to a close. They all lifted their glasses in a toast.

"I know I've wished this all before. But every year I wish it more...A merry Christmas." They all toasted with gusto.

"Daddy! Can I say something?" Little Fabian asked gently tugging at his father's pants.

"Sure, son." He smiled in approval.

Fabian turned to face the guests. "Thank you all for coming. I'm so glad that you're all here and I'm thankful for all my presents."

Liam and Marcella exchanged a smile. It looks like those lessons in manners are paying off. He looked back and forth between his parents.

"But, what I really want is a baby brother!" Fabian yelled at the top of his voice.

Marcella nearly choked on her drink she had just taken a sip of. Complete and utter silence descended over the room. It was so silent you could hear a pin drop. The color drained from Marcella's face as she fought the urge to clasp her hand over her son's mouth and apologize to their guests. Instead she cleared her throat and smiled graciously. "Ok. Thank you baby. Moving on. Hana. Would you like to say a few words?" She looked to her friend for rescue, who was always graceful under pressure. She knew Liam wouldn't be any help in the matter. She was right. He raised his eyebrows in a silent "I think Fabian may be on to something here..." If it were up to him and Regina she'd been pregnant right after giving birth, but Marcella had no interest in turning her vagina into a clown car.

"But, mommy I'm not done." Fabian cried. "I was going to say that I think I might get one because I saw you kissing Santa Claus last night!"

Oh fuck. It's over now. The children look dumbstruck and the adults are turning red, trying to hold their laughter. Tears are streaming down Drake and Leo's face, shaking, both on the verge of losing it. She glared at them, trying not to smile. Meanwhile, all eyes were on the little prince who looked like he had no idea what he'd said or done. Liam exchanged another glance with Marcella wondering how the hell they were going to explain this one.

The night before - Christmas Eve

Marcella grabbed the 'The Night before Christmas' from the bookshelf on Fabian's room and settled down on the bed next to her son. As he snuggled close, she began reading. Then, suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway. Fabian gasped at the sight and Marcella struggled to hold in her laughter. If only she had a camera. There was Liam, decked out in a red santa suit, complete with hat and beard. He even stuffed a pillow down the front to serve as a big belly.

He walked toward them, hand on belly, and laughed merrily. "Is your name Fabian?" He asked in his best santa voice.

Fabian sat frozen, unable to speak or blink. Marcella gently nudged him, smiling for him to reply.

"Yes, sir. It is."

"You can call me Santa. Come here." He replied, sitting down on a nearby chair and opening his arms to him. Marcella smiled as Fabian slowly made his way to him, gently sitting on his lap.

"You are real."

"Of course I am. What would you like for Christmas?"

"Ummm." He put his finger on his chin looking contemplative. "I want a firetruck, a new sled, a train set and...." he stopped and whispered his last request in Santa's ear. Marcella imperceptibly leaned in trying to listen. Santa smirked under his beard, he noticed, but kept his full attention on the little boy on his lap. "That's some Christmas wish! I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Santa." Santa lifted the boy off his lap and stood up himself. He reached into his sleeve, pulling out a candy cane and presented it to Fabian. "Now, get to bed. I can't put out presents if you're awake." He gave him a big hug before climbing back into bed. Marcella walked Santa to the door. She closed it behind him to turn around and see Fabian sitting up in bed holding his candy cane looking at her hopefully. She shook her head.

"Not tonight, love. Maybe tomorrow. Now, let's finish this story and go to bed."

Marcella descended the staircase and walked into the living room. Fabian was finally asleep. There was Liam, sitting in a chair near the fireplace, still in the santa suit eating a christmas cookie. And by the remnants of crumbs on the plate Marcella knew it wasn't his first one.

"My son and I made those special for my husband." Liam looked as though he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I'm sure he won't mind my having just one."

"Oh, but he will. He's very stingy with snickerdoddle cookies." She teased.

"Really. Well, I know something I love more than snickerdoodle cookies." He said, a playful gleam in his eye. She walked over and sat in his lap, looping her arms around his neck. He reached in his pocket, pulling something out, holding it above their heads. She kept her eyes on his. She didn't need to look to know it was misteltoe. She kissed him deeply, but soon pulled back, laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"Your beard is ticklish. Can't you take that thing off?"

"You sure you want me to take it off?....I can think of other places to tickle with this beard, if you're a good girl. Have you been a good girl, Marcella?" His voice dropped to a deep husky tone.

"Yes. I've been a very good girl." She purred.

"Why don't we turn in Mrs. Claus?" He whispered nibbling on her neck. "We have an early morning and I want you to have a very *kiss* merry *kiss* Christmas."

"Santa, you're so naughty." She giggled, playfully slapping his chest. Liam instantly shifted and stood up with Marcella hanging over his shoulder. A yelp escaped her as he gave her ass a smack.

"Let me show you just how naughty I can be." He growled, bounding toward the stairs.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Was she now?" Liam asked, his voice full of mirth.

Fabian nodded his head enthusiastically.

"On the lips?" Liam couldn't resist

"Yes!"

Everyone couldn't help but smile and laugh. He wanted to ask if it looked like mommy was enjoying herself with Santa, but by the death stare his wife was giving him he decided against it.

"Fabian. Perhaps your mommy was just thanking Santa for coming to see you." Olivia chimmed.

Fabian rolled his eyes in a way that only a four year old could. "Auntie Olivia. I'm four. Not stupid. Mommy only kisses daddy that way." He responded, matter-of-factly.

"Touche." She winked.

Then it occured to Liam, a thoughtful look on his face. "Wait, young man. How do you know all this? You were supposed to be asleep."

"I woke up to use the restroom and I was too excited to go back to sleep." He explained. "I wanted to see if Santa left my presents, so I went to the landing. And I saw him daddy! He was with mommy holding a plant above her head and they were kissing!"

"It's called mistletoe. When two people are underneath it they kiss." Liam explained. "So, mommy had to kiss Santa."

Fabian's eyes grew wide. "Oooh! I get it!" He said, as if he made the greatest discovery known to man. "Mommy was under Santa's Christmas spell."

The adults collapsed in laughter, enjoying the spectacle even more now that the initial embarrassment was over. Liam picked up Fabian and Marcella collectively hugged her son and husband, quivering in amusement. Liam ran a hand through her hair and pressed a kiss on his son's forehead. Fabian didn't understand why everyone was laughing, but he was glad to have solved the mystery.

"Hey Fabian." Leo mumbled drunkenly. "Your story reminds me of a great Christmas song."

He looked at his Uncle Leo curiously. "It does?"

Everyone smirked. They knew exactly where Leo was going with this. The first notes of a popular Christmas song filled the room. "Oh, yea!" Maxwell yelled excitedly, pumping his fist in the air. "The Jackson 5! Sing along everyone!"

I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus (kissing, kissing Santa Claus)

Underneath the mistletoe last night

She didn't see me creep

Down the stairs to have a peep

She thought that I was tucked up

In my bedroom, fast asleep

The entire palace got into the spirit, singing and dancing to the song, disregarding the King and Queen's predicament. Even Drake joined in blaming the alcohol for his merry-ness.

Then, I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus (tickle, tickle Santa Claus)

Underneath his beard so snowy white

Oh, what a laugh it would have been

If Daddy had only seen

Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night

The holiday celebration continued well into the night, filled with laughter and happiness as they joyfully celebrated Christmas.

Christmas Night

After putting Fabian to bed the royal couple walked hand in hand to their bedroom. Once inside Liam ran into the closet and came out handing Marcella a small gift bag. "Another gift for you, my love."

She looked at him curiously, reaching into the bag and pulling out a sexy black negligee. He gave her a dirty grin and she ran into their bathroom to change while Liam sat on the bed anxiously awaiting his treat. Marcella emerged a few moments later, looking as hot as ever. Liam felt his blood rushing down south. She smiled as she did a few turns to model it for him. "You like?"

"I love." He replied, his eyes moving up and down her body. "Though I'd love it even more if it were on the floor."

"Ya know, I'm starting to believe THIS," she gestured to the lingerie she was wearing. "Is more for you than it is for me." She said slyly.

"I'm certain that it will bring you as much satisfaction as it will me." He grinned. "Now, enough talking, woman -- get over here so I can unwrap my gift."

Later, they laid in each others arms, Marcella's head on Liam's chest while he absentmindedly stroked her shoulder.

"So...what do you think?" He whispered in her hair. "Do we grant Fabian's Christmas wish?"

Marcella softly laughed. "I know now that's what he whispered in Santa's ear last night. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want you to feel pressured by Fabian and I -- you know I'd be thrilled with another, but it is your decision entirely. I'll follow your lead." He said, planting a kiss on her head.

"Thank you, Liam. And that reminds me...I have a gift for you, too." She said, lifting up from his chest and reaching over to retrieve a box from her bedside table drawer. Liam sat up when she presented it to him.

"What's this?" He asked, surprised.

"Just open it and you'll see." He tore the wrapping paper off and lifted the lid. Liam's eyes began to sting as he stared into the box. A pair of baby booties.

"Marcella...does this mean...I."

"Yes, Liam," she said as she took his hand and placed it on her stomach. "I'm pregnant." She beamed.

"But, how long have you -- when were you going to --." He was over the moon and could hardly form a coherent sentence, but she knew what he was asking.

"I found out two days ago and I planned on telling you tonight. But, I never thought your son would grant me the perfect opportunity to do so. Merry Christmas, Santa." Overwhelmed with joy, he grabbed her and kissed her passionately, falling back into the cloud of pillows.

It was a very merry Christmas indeed.

#achoiceschristmascarol #choices trr #trr #trr fanfic #the royal romance #liam x mc #trr liam #choices the stories you play #christmas #playchoices #trr3 #choices trh #liam x riley

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glittering-glenda · 6 years ago

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The End || Drabble

When: About a year after the second war Who: Glenda Chittock

Since the end of the second war, Glenda’s life had slowed down and fallen into a sort of routine. People listening to the radio no longer needed war updates, and while Harry Potter would always be a subject of intrigue, his actions were no longer affecting the world in the way they once had. Lee Jordan had been brought on by the station as a permanent daytime host, and Witching Hour was still a great success at night, which left Glenda free for most of the mornings.

Her flat was in muggle London, far removed from the rest of her life, and provided a sort of escape. The small coffee shop on the corner saw her most mornings, as she skimmed through newspapers and magazines of the magic and muggle variety.

“One coffee, please. With -”

“Light cream?” The girl behind the counter finished for her with a smile, and Glenda offered a nod before counting out the money owed. After enough time, blending into muggle society wasn’t all that hard. Their fashion seemed much more practical than robes, anyway, and the money wasn’t that confusing. A simple charm on the Prophet stopped the pictures from moving.

Glenda settled into her normal spot, a large table close to the window where she could spread her things out. Her eyes danced between pages, fiddling with the vial she kept around her neck, even after all these years, with a pen and highlighter not far off as she made notes of potential subjects for that night’s show. The girl from the counter returned soon enough, coffee in hand, but this time with a slight grin on her face. Glenda raised an eyebrow, but didn’t have time to ask.

“He’s back, miss. Over in the corner? You know he can’t keep his eyes off of you when he’s here.” She set the coffee down, still grinning, before making her way back to her counter.

Glenda couldn’t pretend that she hadn’t noticed the stranger’s attention before. She had been wholly uninterested in most attempts by the men around her, choosing instead to focus on work. She had loved before, and that had been enough - she couldn’t go through that kind of loss again.

Still, the man in the coffee shop was intriguing, if only because of his near constant presence. Taking a small sip from her coffee, Glenda brought her focus back to the papers in front of her. Jackie had asked her for lunch, so her normal routine would be cut short. She had most of the show planned for the night, but the listeners always enjoyed a recap of current events, and she needed to finalize what to offer them.

The sound of someone clearing their throat above her drew her out of her work, and looking up, Glenda was surprised to see the man from the corner table standing next to her. She tilted her head to the side and raised a brow, waiting for him to explain.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” he started, already wringing his hands, “but I’ve noticed you here before. Always with at least three papers in front of you -”

“I have a radio show. I like to stay up to date.” She offered, with a slight smile. There was something endearing about him.

“Oh!” His face seemed to brighten, and the wringing slowed down, “What’s is called? Maybe I could listen?”

Glenda shook her head, offering her normal excuse “I’m afraid it’s only broadcast in America. You know their fascination with the English.”

He gave a small nod, and there was a moment of almost awkward silence, before “I’m Thomas, by the way - Thomas Leighton.”

“Glenda Chittock. It’s nice to finally have a name for the face.”

“Yes! Well, I suppose - you see - I came over to ask if you might want to grab a drink sometime.”

On any normal circumstance, Glenda would have turned the man down. She had been truly uninterested since the first war, living with her memories instead. But something seemed different about today, and about Thomas. There was something that seemed comfortable about him, and something drew Glenda to give a small nod. “I’d like that.”

His face brightened even more than before, and he returned a nod. “Great! I mean - yes. I - well here.” He dug through his pockets, drawing out a small scrap of paper and a pen. “Here’s my number. Call me, and we’ll set a time?” Glenda gave another nod, accepting the scrap, before Thomas made his way out of the shop. She chose to ignore the girl behind the counter and her wide smile, and folded the piece of paper, put it in her pocket, and looked back down to her papers.

She worked for another hour, before a quick glance at her watch alerted her that she needed to be going if she wanted to make it to Jackie’s in time for lunch. She quickly folded the papers back up, markings on what to address tonight, and couldn’t help the small smile she had when she thought of Thomas and their pending plans. It seemed strange, in a way, to be feeling that sort of excitement again.

Glenda gave a quick nod to the workers before making her way out the door. There was a small alley not too far off that she could apparate from without drawing any attention from the muggles. It was only a short walk, and putting the papers back in her bag, Glenda started, hand reaching up to fiddle again with the small vial around her neck.

Her small area of London was rather busy today, with dozens of people hurrying on the sidewalks, and enough car horns to make it sound like a small symphony. For her own part, Glenda could block most of the hustle and bustle out of her mind, but she couldn’t help the small sigh in frustration as she made it to the intersection she needed to cross, just as the light changed and the cars were given their signal. While not an impatient person, she didn’t enjoy waiting, and her feet began to tap as she watched her own signal, waiting for the lit permission to allow her to cross.

When it finally did change, Glenda let out another sigh - this time of relief, before starting to walk. Her mind was still reeling - thoughts of Thomas, of Fabian and the wars, and of what her sisters might say if they had heard her actually say yes to someone - and she wasn’t fully paying attention to her surroundings.

The reporters and first responders would say that it was a freak accident, that the driver hadn’t been paying attention to the clearly red light, that they were driving in a lane that wasn’t theirs, and that Glenda had been caught at exactly the wrong place in the moment.

The Prophet spoke of how frail life could be, how a witch that survived two wars could be taken away from the world in a muggle car accident.

Thomas Leighton waited for a call from Glenda Chittock, but it never came. He never saw her in the coffee shop after that day, and was left wondering what happened to the woman always reading the news.

For Glenda, it all happened in an instant, and before she could recognize what was happening. Her vision went blank, before there was a bright light, almost blinding. She tried to squint, and somewhere in the distance, she could almost make out a familiar figure, one that she hadn’t seen in years.

Fabian.

#drabble.#musings.#proud and defiant | musings.#morsmordre points #tw death #tw car accident

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clementine-lominsan · 3 years ago

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WHY I AM NOT A CONSERVATIVE

2018-12-02

In an era of utter insanity, reaction is the only way to preserve one’s moral conscience.

Why am I not a liberal? Because I admire the luxuriant giant tree of civilization, including its roots. So it seems being a conservative is the “natural” answer. But what does it mean to be a “conservative”? What do conservatives “conserve”?

A conservative today is usually an economic liberal. He promotes free market whose major principle is free trade and free market. The goal of all this, is actually nothing else than the goal of a socialist: the increase of efficiency, the increase of employment, the increase of living standard, the increase of literacy, the decrease of fetal mortality and the advancement of technology.

We are told that the increase of total social wealth is what actually made these goals possible. Surely I do not oppose the increase of total social wealth, but what does that mean? In the eyes of the bourgeoisie, the word “wealth” usually means one thing, the material profit. As the classical liberals boasted, “it was the capitalist who created the condition where any socialist activism is possible”, and “without capitalism, 80% of world’s people would not be there!”

But is humanity better just because we have more people? Does the happiness of humanity hike with the sharp improvement of the material life? No matter how much the material condition improves, one could not help wondering why, despite all this material progress, the spiritual, or mental wealth is shrinking.

The rise of suicide rate in the more materially wealth parts of the world, and the prevalence of drug abuse and the political consensus of both left and right wings on pot legalization, the trend in legalizing non-hetereosexual “marriage”, and the vulgarization of popular culture.

Even worse, the mind and the behavior of the deracinated masses are now being engineered by social media giant corporations. One may argue “but this is not the intention of free market capitalism!” But the road to hell is paved good intentions, and moreover, I am not sure urging young kids to engage in computer games with gambling functions (“microtransaction”) is “good” intention.

The obsession with the material, is perhaps inherent in the bourgeois mind. Historically, they have no real sense of loyalty to any land, any king, any belief, any community or even any family. Nor do they have any fixed social function. As the great conservative thinker Edmunk Burke put it, “the laws of commerce…are the laws of nature, and consequently the laws of God.” (Maybe Burke and his students believe in Hermes, the God of Commerce? “Orthodox Christians” without charity, what a paradox!)

In other words, they are materialists. What does it take to go from this kind of materialist to the Marxist dialectic materialist? Hegelian dialectics, the black magic of sophistry, that is. Besides, after the rise of industrial capitalism, there has been more and more giant companies which is not actually owned by any private person. Yes, everyone can buy their stock shares, but what is the separation of management from private ownership, aside from being the sheer violation of the private property right?

Of course, usurers need this, so they can concentrate their attention in the financial industry, which makes everyone else “proletarian” – whose only possession is the labor-power. The ideological and economic continuity means industrial capitalism is the prelude of socialism. Surely there are free-marketeers, and there are mainly two sorts of them, “minarchists” and anarchists.

The so-called “minarchists” ask for such as minimal modern sovereign state: it has a standing army, a nationalized police and a centralized legal system. One has to remember the first economic liberals, i.e. Physiocrats called for an Enlightened tyrant – it means compared to the ancient free states supported by pious and loyal people, the so-called “minarchy” is nothing but a tyrannical modern state supported by deracinated masses: the instrument of a Leninist state is already there.

As for anarcho-capitalism, there is no anarcho-capitalism or anarcho-communism; there is only lawless anarchy, where physical violence and “smart” backstabbing are the eternal law of survival. In reality, the so-called minarchy is being practiced, and here we are, bound with quantity over quality, efficiency without purpose, property without ownership, and snobbery without organicity: the greatness of a modern industrial capitalism!

The eternal state with its permanent laws, seems to be ingrained in the mind of the eternal Anglo conservative, and conservatives in other spheres of culture are believing in it as well, thanks to the neoconservative Wilsonian order. It is said, that only by trial-and-error, we will know what works the best.

It is also said that we must preserve the traditional political institutions unconditionally. These two are in fact contradicting each other. The change in the internal and external, material and spiritual environments, requires the relevant changes in the social and political institutions, so a civilization can survive.If we see certain political institutions as god-given eternal entities, the fate of the Late Qing Empire will be repeated: the state is getting paralyzed by European colonists, peasant rebels, cult terrorists and radical revolutionaries – from 1851 to 1863, China’s population declined by more than 200 million! Why? Because they were overly obsessed with their ancient political traditions without making any effort to revitalize them.

As T. S. Eliot put it, “Yet if the only form of tradition, of handing down, consisted in following the ways of the immediate generation before us in a blind or timid adherence to its successes, ‘tradition’ should positively be discouraged. We have seen many such simple currents soon lost in the sand; and novelty is better than repetition.Tradition is a matter of much wider significance. It cannot be inherited, and if you want it you must obtain it by great labour.” This political sloth has proven to be causal to the repeated defeat of conservatisms in history. Surely, many conservatives care words more than reality, so much so that they would sacrifice anything for their “political values”. They are too persistent on political values but sometimes too flexible on moral values. I wonder how much this overintellectualization is related to “sola fide” of Martin Luther.

It is the central conservative dogma that the state can do little, if nothing, to promote moral thoughts and behavior. Edmund Burke once said, “It is in the power of government to prevent much evil; it can do very little positive good in this, or perhaps in anything else.”

But is it true? Centuries before Burke, St. Augustine of Hippo believed that the state simultaneously serves the divine purposes of chastening the wicked and refining the righteous. Many conservatives argue, based on the minarchist doctrine, that the state is an evil, but a necessary one. Meanwhile, they also argue that the state should be impartial, and by “impartial”, they mean amoral. From the theoretical point of view, anyone committed to the mission of promoting evil must start his adventure by convincing evil is “necessary”: “Only Catholics soaked in canon law and papal superstition maintained the old prohibitions against usury”, wrote Cotton Mather; “If we did not nuke Japan, we would have suffered unbearable losses”, argued the 21st century neoconservative.

Even worse, conservatives like Andrew Sullivan are actually the pioneers of various postmodern progressive social movements. So, political amorality becomes political anti-morality. Again, if one looks back into the history of the progress of such a political ideal, despite of its ostensibly just claims, what it has wrought us is one license to vices after another. Virtues need no license, because anyone with moral conscience know that virtues are hard to maintain so there is no real legal restriction on them.

By contrast, an interesting observation from the generation educated under Estado Novo or its Spanish counterpart is said to be extremely polite and respectful. “It can do very little positive good in this”? History seems to disagree. For a traditionalist, as opposed to a conservative, what must be permanent are the moral values, and the political values can be flexible and the political institutions must serve the purpose to preserve the moral values, not the other way around.

Needless to say, the flexibility on moral values has cost conservatives a lot, besides the well-known political defeats. Erik von Kuehnelt-Leddihn once said, “the urban conservative…is nothing but an inhibited ‘progressive’.” From Lawrence v. Texas to the eventual legalization of non-heterosexual marriage, one sees this pattern, especially from the opinions of the conservative judges, such as this opinion from Clarence Thomas on Lawrence v. Texas, “Although he agreed with Scalia’s dissent for the most part, Thomas felt obliged to write separately to point out that the law was ‘silly’ and should be repealed”.

Is this law really “silly”? One would wonder why CDC stopped publishing data about AIDS back in the years of Obama administration. The progressives are convinced missionaries of their progressive previsions, while conservatives are half-hearted followers of social traditions.In reality, I really do not think any Old Whig could tell others to obey the traditional political values when they themselves were the revolutionaries who destroyed the legitimate ancient institution via the “Glorious” Revolution. Those “eternal” Angloes who boast about Magna Carta never pay any tribute to Alcuin of York: so much respect for tradition! So it is not really surprising that conservatives are just Fabian progressives – progressives with a 10 year jet lag.

Thus, it is not difficult to understand why conservatism lacks real content and has no actual proposal. The conservatives today are more radical than the Radicals back in the 19th century. Paul Joseph Watson, “the defender of gay rights and women rights against bigotry”, once said, “conservatism is the new counter-culture!” By that I guess he means it is the new urban fashion among spoiled middle class kids. Maybe in 10 years, Kanye West will become the new William F. Buckley Jr. yelling “Stop!” in his hip-hop songs.

Why am I not a conservative? Because conservatism is insufficient for the mission of restoration and regeneration: there is little to “conserve” in modernity and postmodernity (or, “neo-modernity”). In an era of utter insanity, reaction is the only way to preserve one’s moral conscience.

#oldblog

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thisiswhatwereupagainst · 7 years ago

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Little Known Brotherhood Members- FABIAN CORTEZ!

This Brotherhood spotlight series includes the Acolytes, the group of mutants who followed Magneto after the Brotherhood, and there’s no better Acolyte to start with than their founder, Fabian Cortez.

For all that I’ve posted about him on this blog so many times, I realized I don’t have a default bio/info post about just who he is and what he’s done. Or if I did, it was a long time ago. I tried to make this as short as possible but there’s like ten years of comic history between Magneto and Fabian Cortez to condense.

Little is known about the origins of Fabian Cortez, but his surname indicates a Spanish heritage, and he claims to be royalty by birth. Based on this, I headcanon him as coming from an aristocratic family in Spain. He possessed the ability to charge the powers of other mutants. This could help them to a point, but he could do more, pushing their powers painfully past their bodies ability to handle, harming or even killing them.

He, his sister Anne Marie, and two other mutants (Chrome and Delgado) banded together to reach Magneto on Asteroid M and join his cause. However, Magneto himself had abandoned it at this point, having retired altogether from fighting for the mutant cause due to his hopelessness and despair.

Nevertheless, these four mutants stole a space shuttle from SHIELD, and as a result were pursued by SHIELD agents. They ended up in a firefight on the ‘doorstep’ of Asteroid M, alerting Magneto to their presence. He was going to send them back to Earth, but upon hearing Anne Marie’s pleas and pledge of loyalty, brought the Acolytes inside. Unfortunately he brought SHIELD in as well, and one of their agents opened fire on Anne Marie in cold blood, seemingly killing her. Fabian used this opportunity to immediately begin manipulating Magneto into violent action like his old days, teaching him the now-common anti-human term “flatscan” which he had invented.

While Magneto slept, Fabian led his team in an assault against Genoshan Magistrates at a hospital. The X-Men appeared to stop them, and Wolverine stated he knew Fabian’s scent from somewhere, though where has never been revealed. Just when the four followers seemed defeated, Magneto appeared to save them, deeming them the Acolytes (the first time this term was used for them) and stating he would not abandon them. Given that their targets were people who had enslaved mutants, Magneto felt they had done nothing wrong, and took them back to Asteroid M along with several captive X-Men. Here, Fabian treated Magneto’s wounds from Wolverine with his healing powers, and fostered Magneto’s trust in him further. Fabian also discovered via his genetic scanning ability that Moira MacTaggert had altered Magneto’s biology in order to treat his mental illness, news that Magneto did not take well given the history of experimentation on prisoners during the Holocaust. This gave Fabian further fuel to convince Magneto that everyone was against him, even those he had once considered friends, all while literally driving him insane with his powers

.Fabian manipulated Magneto into committing acts that frightened the governments of both the USA and the USSR, prompting them to take action against him. Eventually, this culminated, as Fabian had planned, with the Russians planning to fire a plasma cannon at Asteroid M while Magneto, the X-Men, and the other Acolytes were aboard. Fabian used this, triggering the cannon via remote technology as he escaped at the most opportune moment. The X-Men also escaped, but Fabian’s teammates—and sister—died with Magneto.

Fabian went on to use Magneto’s status as a martyr to build a cult in the mutant community, also called the Acolytes, who committed bloodthirsty acts in Magneto’s name believing that it was what he wanted. Fabian enjoyed great power as their leader, since he’d told them Magneto chose him with his dying breath. He also began bedeviling Quicksilver, trying to recruit him into the Acolytes to be a figurehead since he was Magneto’s son, even going so far as to infiltrate the government and reveal its secret “Project Wideawake” Sentinel Project” to Pietro in hopes of showing him how wicked humans were and get him to turn to the Acolytes side. At the same time, Fabian was also secretly a member of the Upstarts, a group of rich and bored young mutants who competed for an unknown-but-lofty prize by killing more powerful, prominent mutants for “points”—and killing Magneto had put Fabian in the lead.

Fabian lost it all, however–his power, his position, his people, his points—lost it all when Magneto returned from the grave, having been saved at the last minute by Chrome of the original Acolytes. Magneto brought with him a powerful new follower named Exodus, who used his teleporting powers to, at Magneto’s command, send Fabian far away (Exodus wished to kill him, but according to him, Magneto had ordered him to be merciful) Exodus and Magneto then took over leading the Acolytes.

Fabian would resurface during the conflict known as “Blood Ties”, in which he kidnapped Luna Maximoff, Pietro’s daughter, and brought her to Genosha for the dual purpose of using her as a symbol of resistance to stir the ex-slave mutants into civil war against the humans…and to use as a bargaining chip to make her family protect him from the wrath of Exodus and Magneto (who he did not know was in a braindead coma at this time) Alas, neither this nor the Genoshan followers he amassed could save him, and Exodus slaughtered him in the Genoshan sewers.

But even the grave couldn’t hold him. Like many Marvel characters, Fabian returned to life later with little explanation, and attempted to gain his Acolytes back from Exodus by using what seemed to be an amnesiac, de-aged Magneto (actually Magneto’s clone, Joseph) Claiming to be a changed man to Exodus and the Acolytes, Fabian lied to Joseph as he had to Magneto, gaining his trust, and tried to pit him and Exodus against one another so that they would kill each other, allowing him to take over once they were both gone. When this didn’t work out, Fabian fled, but returned at some point and was inexplicably allowed back into the ranks by Exodus. In Exodus’s service, he bedeviled Quicksilver even further, such as teaming up with Maximus the Mad to destroy the Inhumans and ruin Pietro’s life…and all the while, scheming to betray Exodus at every turn.

After Exodus was sealed away in a crypt by Black Knight, the Acolytes split into two groups, each searching for Magneto. Fabian led one group, but upon realising how he has been using them for his own purposes, they abandoned him during a battle with the X-Men and Fabian fled. While wandering alone, he was approached by Magneto, who had tracked him down. Magneto was the newly-appointed ruler of Genosha now, but his powers had been depleted. He ordered Fabian, on pain of death if he refused, to come with him to Genosha and serve as his living battery. Not having a choice, Fabian agreed.

Knowing that Magneto would kill him as soon as he no longer needed his periodic hypercharges, Fabian began plotting treachery against his “master” once more. Despite Magneto being aware of this, he not only continued to employ Fabian, but gave him a political position on the Genoshan Cabinet. More covertly, Fabian also assisted in a rebellion against Magneto, but just as he had secured an escape from Genosha, Magneto regained his powers by use of a machine. And the first thing he did with them was execute Fabian Cortez by levitating him 50 miles above the aptly-named Carrion Cove and then slamming him back down into the ground in less than 20 seconds—head first.

He still came back one more time, however. During the event known as Necrosha, the mutant sorceress Selene temporarily resurrected millions of dead mutants. Under her control, they attacked the X-Men’s base on Utopia. Fabian was among them, and given orders to bring Magneto to her. For reasons unknown, Fabian was the only one able to resist Selene’s control and disobey her orders. Rather than take Magneto prisoner like she wanted, his goal was to find him and kill him. A goal he alas never reached, since Deadpool killed him once again by throwing Loa, a young mutant with disintegration powers, into him, ending Fabian’s life for the third and, thus far in canon, final time.

Part of the “Little Known Brotherhood Members” series on this blog! See previous and pending entries listed HERE!

ALSO, SOME BONUS STUFF:

- In addition to being leader of the Acolytes, Fabian was also a member of the Upstarts. The Upstarts were essentially a supervillain contest, most of its competitors rich-but-bored young mutants, who competed by killing powerful, prominent mutants for points in exchange for some unknown prize (they all believed it was something different). This was Fabian’s other motive for killing Magneto, and his (temporary) success put him in first place for a time.

- According to Fabian, he is royalty by birth. The particulars of this have never been revealed, however. Also, he screamed about it at someone while he (Fabian) was completely naked, so there’s that.

- He’s incredibly sexist and incredibly thirsty. He has plans for a harem and attempts to force a woman to agree to being in it. He force-kisses Psylocke. He’s just...look at this, man.

- He may even be too sexist for mind-control. When Selene resurrected him alongside many other mutants during Necrosha, he was the only one shown as able to disobey her. It was never explained why/how, so this is my best (crack) guess.

- He lied to a bird. Yes, really.

- Fabian is almost always wearing a cape. In fact, he even once had it wrapped around himself during a stealth mission, because I guess god forbid this drama queen take it off. I’ve also noticed he wraps it around himself when he’s scared or in trouble; perhaps it is a security blanket of sorts? Oh, and a series of art errors in the second series of X-Men ‘92 suggests that he carries spares

- Fabian normally speaks in a very grandiose, elaborate way, much like Magneto. However, while Magneto does this naturally all the time, with Fabian it seems to be a deliberate thing, as evident by how when the shit hits the fan, he exclaims: - Fabian Cortez carried a firearm to fights with the X-Men and other enemies, unusually for a super-powered person (but a smart move) He also proves so adept at martial arts as to defeat Psylocke in seconds. I like this; he’s a physically human guy, he’s going into battle with people with seriously dangerous powers, it makes sense he would build up his mundane fighting skills as much as possible. Why aren’t more bad guys this smart? - I also like how he turned a seemingly benign power into an offensive weapon, that’s a lot more interesting to me than if he’d just gotten an overtly aggressive power like energy blasts or something - He invented the anti-human term “flatscan” - He has a son (mother unknown) in the Marvel Zombies universe named Malcolm Cortez - In the 1990s animated series, he serves Apocalypse after betraying Magneto - Honestly there is so much shit I know about Fabian Cortez, guys I can’t begin to tell you, read his tag. Also, this picture:

#xmen #x men #marvel #Acolytes #brotherhood of mutants #fabian cortez #brotherhood series

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shinobixshaw · 7 years ago

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explaining Shinobi to someone

thecorteztwins ok so. Shinobi. shattered-catalyst yes tell me thecorteztwins He's Sebastian Shaw's son, we meet him when he shows up to kill him. Which he does with a hand thru the chest via intangibility. Ok so far so good. then for good measure he...blows up his house. He knows his dad can absorb kinetic energy and he DROPS A HOUSE ON HIM like was ANYONE surprised when it turns out he survived? And apparently he didn't yet learn to phase his clothes with him because the explosion also blew those off and he basically moons the 'camera' thanks Shinobi these themes---stupidity, incompetence, daddy issues, and nudity---pretty much define him from here on out it turns out he's a member of the Upstarts, as is Fabian, which is a competition in which rich young bored mutants hunt other mutants (mainly powerful, prominent ones) for sport. they get points. the one with the most points gets some kind of prize but they all think it's something different....so while Fabian is leading a mutant supremacist cult, he's also secretly part of a "kill ur fellow mutants 4 fun & profit" club on the side jfc shattered-catalyst motherfucker thecorteztwins but Shin is...not really into it. After his dad (which was much more about abuse and neglect than points) he NEVER KILLS ANYONE ELSE literally the other Upstarts MAKE FUN OF HIM FOR THIS AND ALL TALK ABOUT LAZY HE IS shattered-catalyst omg thecorteztwins The Gamesmaster (the referee who assigns targets and points) literally has to be like "sigh look if you can just...manipulate someone into doing it...I'll give you the points ok that way you don't have to work" which Shin tries at but also fails at because HE FAILS AT EVERYTHING like he tries to thwart Fitzroy (another Upstart) from killing the X-Men (so he won't get points) ENDS UP SAVING HIM FROM THEM. HAS NO IDEA. GLOATS ABOUT IT. shattered-catalyst XDDDD thecorteztwins TV Tropes points out he seems to see the whole thing as "an exotic way to make friends" which makes sense as Shin is very lonely (and with a personality a lot like Fabian's without the sexism, it's not hard to see why) and he like, clearly wants to be Fitz's friend/boyfriend pretty bad. Like even tho it's a competition, he offers Fitzroy help and has him over at his pool (he takes him on a Thailand cruise in the '92 series and DOESN'T EVEN TELL THE OTHERS, LET ALONE INVITE THEM) but Fitz just insults him. And throws the head of DOnald Pierce in his bed. And cuts one of his fingers off and leads him to bleed to death (it's fine, he's ok!) And Shinobi still sticks up for him in Upstarts meetings when it's his turn to talk DX ....also we never really find out how long Pierce was just a head in Shin's room so there's that. And he's like, drunk all the time. He shows up to an Upstarts meeting in his underwear holding a bottle of champagne. No one comments on this. it is clearly not unusual He once tried to drunkenly seduce a mob boss into killing the X-Men. I shit you not he answered the door in a tiny towel, full frontal flashed the guy while changing into his robe, and tottered around drunkenly talking about "my wants and your needs" The dude calls him "unsubtle". YEAH I WOULD SAY SO he's also established as canonically bisexual in only his second issue, which is pretty neat for a 90s character...even if it was just used in a super shitty way to play up how hedonistic and depraved he is. also he has an ACTUAL harem that obviously WANTS to be there :P https://static.comicvine.com/uploads/original/2/26925/1619669-a5ko4g.jpg

he's basically always surrounded by hot people of both sexes not wearing much and the implication is he's probably having 24/7 orgies NO WONDER HE DOESN'T BOTHER WITH SUPERVILLAINY https://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/marveldatabase/images/4/4d/Shinobi_Shaw_%28Earth-616%29_from_X-Men_Vol_2_21_0001.jpg/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/121?cb=20100703214213Oh

and Gambit put his pole between his legs this one time https://www.popoptiq.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Picture11.png shattered-catalyst holy fuck well at least he has more decency and success than fabian thecorteztwins OH MY GOD THAT IS THE SICKEST BURN EVER SAYING SHINOBI HAS MORE DECENCY AND SUCCESS THAN SOMEONE FABIAN WOULD BE SO UPSET shattered-catalyst ITS NOT A BURN ITS A POINT thecorteztwins also speaking of Fabian, Shin couldn't stand his diva bullshit. Probably because SHINOBI is a diva too,BEHOLD. THIS HAPPENED: http://thecorteztwins.tumblr.com/post/159502659706/wildtsukai-replied-to-your-post-one-day-i-will

TWO MUTANTS CANONICALLY FOUND FABIAN MORE INTOLERABLE TO HANG AROUND THAN A MUTANT-HATING BIGOT WHO WANTS THEM ALL TO DIE

#xmen #x men #x-men #marvel #shinobi shaw

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soft922-blog · 7 years ago

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Something to take inspiration from: Flaneur

Flaneur is part literary magazine, part culture journal, part serialized, interdisciplinary art object. The Berlin-based creators describe the publication as a "vessel." Each issue focuses on a specific street in a specific city across the globe, then explores each locale through idiosyncratic interviews, photo essays (with off-kilter layouts), poetry, illustrations, and even more abstract stylistic devices. "I don't think that Flaneur actually really is a magazine," Grashina Gabelmann, the co-editor-in-chief, told me. "I think it's just that we chose to present these streets in the magazine format."

Created in 2013 by Ricarda Messner (now the publisher), Flaneur is about to release its fourth edition, focused on Rome. While past issues have featured streets in vibrant, artist-hubs like Berlin, Leipzig, and Montreal, the Italian capital was a change of pace for Messner, Gabelmann, and Fabian Saul (the other editor-in-chief). Rome is full of history, but the city's present state felt stagnant and dry to the team, as well as the locals they spoke with while putting together this issue. As a result, they picked the most tourist-y and obnoxious street in the ancient city to be its nucleus: Corso Vittorio Emanuele II.

"How cool would it be to take the most annoying street where everyone thinks there's nothing left to discover, and then find something new in it?" explained Gabelmann.

The Rome issue features a photo essay where two photographers walked down Corso Vittorio separately and documented it with disposable cameras. It also includes an account of an experimental performance piece the editors organized in Italy in which they asked locals to "donate" water to a Roman ruin—the idea being to make the city less dry. But even when heavily conceptual, Flaneur never feels patronizing, nor does it fetishize the cities it focuses on.

I recently talked to Messner and Gabelmann about the newest edition, and how the publication has grown over time. Baudelaire would be proud.

What inspired you to create a magazine? Ricarda Messner: It was always pretty clear to me when I graduated that I always wanted to do something on my own. I never really knew what I would end up doing, but I always just had this feeling that I didn't see myself in this nine to five job. And then I came back from New York and the plan, the love, didn't work out. I was inspired by movies.

I always loved mixing also disciplines with each other, you know? And this is also what the magazine reflects. It has photography, it has architecture, it plays around with different layers. It made sense to me to try the concept with one-street-per-issue in a print format.

What inspired the one-street-per-issue theme? Messner: It had to do with returning to Berlin and rediscovering a town that I never really liked before. New York was my thing, and I always envisioned myself there. Then I was back again in Berlin, and I knew I had to have a closer look at it. I remember that I was looking out the windows at my parents' place a lot because it was so quiet compared to New York. I kept thinking about how my neighbor must have a completely different relationship to the street I spent 12 years of my life living on, and was now staring at out the window once again. And there was something interesting about taking something concrete—literally and figuratively, in this case—but then exploring it through a variety of forms with a sense of freedom. In the end, the street is being used as a storyteller with Flaneur. And that's the thing: When you walk down a street, you can't sum it up.

How has the magazine evolved since it began? Messner: Maybe two weeks ago, G and I sat down to discuss what we're learning from issue to issue—what we're really doing here, or what this thing is. We're realizing more and more that we're not a classic or traditional magazine, and we're also not going to communicate this. It should be clear from opening the front page.

Grashina Gabelmann: We didn't want to go with a travel guide approach where you end every article with a shop listing, address, map, etc. As I got more involved, I realized this was not the direction I wanted to be going in. It's not very interesting, and I think Ricarda felt that way as well. And then when our other editor Fabian came in, Flaneur got its literary twist. Fabian is integral to the conceptual and abstract aspects. He studied philosophy. So he brings in this literary, artistic feel.

Can you tell me about this upcoming issue, number four in Rome? Gabelmann: Rome was really a strange, unique experience. Berlin and Montreal are cities that have a strong cultural network. There's money and support for artists there, and both attract young people who make art. Leipzig has a weird underdog thing, which I think you can feel by reading our issue on it. But Rome is this ancient city that has such a history of art and culture, and it's really struggling to be modern. It was the first city where we felt that people actually needed our presence—even if that sounds patronizing or dickish.

Messner: Well, we offered some Romans a platform to talk about their home to people outside Rome.

Grashina: Yes, not to belittle anyone, but we did offer this. We organized a performance piece in Rome, and this one man described to us how the city is so fucking boring, so dry, and you can't even touch the ruins. There's no way of interacting with the city. It's like a live, sprawling museum, and Romans feel really trapped, in a way. He said something like, "I really want to turn the city into lakes so we can actually do something with the ruins." And so we said OK, yeah, let's do it.

Within two weeks, we had this performance planned. We printed out all these posters and signs that said something like "Rome is a boring and dry; Romans want water," and put them around the ruins. Then we made a little model—like a mini ruin—and put water in it with fish and had that in front of the ruin. We asked every passerby, "Hey, don't you want this to be a lake? How much water do you want to donate to turn this into a lake?" There was a fountain right next to the lake, so every time someone signed the petition, they had to take water from it and pour it into the ruins to symbolically start the lake. So we got people to pour in water, and then people were wearing bathing suits and towels and it became this public celebration and performance. The reactions from the Italian people who helped us were so overwhelmingly positive. They said, "Hey, we haven't done anything like this in months, or even years. We really haven't had the motivation or drive."

Messner: This project is documented in issue four. We videoed everything, so, we'll have a little documentary online, and an article in print. We'll include the posters and the scribbles and the behind-the-scenes details of creating this performance piece.

On the back of the book, the abstract or manifesto makes it clear that you guys aren't trying to capture the essence of a street or say, "This is it. This is Rome all summed up." Can you expand on that idea? Messner: You have to have this kind of mentality, because we're not from Rome. We only spent two months in Montreal—and even less time in Leipzig. What can we tell them about their city, after all? It's more about the discussion and the constant exchanged ideas related to an experience in a certain place. The artists who contribute work for Flaneur come from many disciplines and countries, and they are really free to create whatever they want.

How have people from each city responded to the Flaneur issues focused on their homes? Messner: In Leipzig, I felt like the initial response was, "Oh, these hipsters are coming and they're fucking ruining our town." They'd flick through the magazine and say, "Oh, I would have done this differently."

Gabelmann: Well, like, yeah, then you make a magazine. But anyway, their attitude to the final thing really matched our experience in the city. Our actual contributors were super happy with the result, but I think we sold 20 magazines at the launch party—not a big success. I don't know about Rome, but I think they will be proud.

You've had four issues now on four distinctly different streets in four cities. Why did you choose those specific streets in each city? Gabelmann: We had never been to Rome before, so we behaved like newborn children there. It was a very different approach, compared to the Berlin issue, which was very personal. Close to the Coliseum is the old political center of Rome. Basically from there to the river is a main traffic spot and it's busy. It's a street filled with both Romans and tourists all the time. So Fabian and I were in Rome for a week in the summer to find our street, and we had a really difficult time picking one at first.

At the end of the week, we met an architect and he said to us, "Oh, Corso Vittorio has something from every epoch of architecture and it's interesting." And we had no idea which street he was talking about. He replied, "That's impossible, you have to pass that street to go anywhere." We googled it and realized we were on that street three times a day, every day. But since it's so hectic and all the points of interests are on little side streets, we never looked it up and actually took in the street. So that was the initial interest: How can a street that's so busy and so important be that easy to ignore? At first, most Romans were irritated and asked us, why would you choose to represent Rome with that ugly street? And then on second thought, they were like, "Oh, OK, actually that's pretty interesting." Think of it this way: I'd love to do Broadway in New York. How cool would it be to take the most annoying street where everyone thinks there's nothing left to discover, and then focus on that place and find something new in it?

What do you think has succeeded most about Flaneur so far? Messner: Well, it's independent and I can also give the contributors and designers freedom to come up with crazy things. This is kind of my prime goal as a publisher: to offer this independent platform for these creative people to go wild with, for as long as possible.

Even our designers Michelle Phillips and Johannes Conrad [both of Studio Y-U-K-I-K-O] come to these towns with us, and this is why every issue of Flaneurlooks different. They each have their own design voice, plus you can see that we play with the medium as well—there are fold-outs, different sorts of paper, and various art styles and mediums in each issue that make sense just for that issue.

Gabelmann: I think another big thing is that we don't go to Rome and interview an artist about his work, and then publish some photos of his work that's been in galleries, alongside the interview. But rather, we meet that artist and then come up with a concept with him on the street—like that performance piece—which is specifically conceived for Flaneur.

I always think about one of my first lectures at university where the professor explained that a magazine is just something that holds something. Like, a gun has a magazine case. A magazine is a vessel. I don't think that Flaneur actually really is a magazine. I think it's just that we chose to present these streets in the magazine format.

#6IMAG001W

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labourpress · 7 years ago

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Emily Thornberry speech to Labour Party Conference

Emily Thornberry MP, Shadow Foreign Secretary, speaking at the Labour Party Conference in Brighton today, said:

***CHECK AGAINST DELIVERY***

Chair, Conference - It’s a pleasure to be back here in Brighton and Hove.

A city which we can say - once again - has no Tory MPs. And it’s a pleasure to be taking part in a debate where our delegates have such a strong voice,

And we should all thank Kate Osamor and Nia Griffith who have allowed me to speak on their behalf today so our delegates could have more time. And let me say as well - it’s an honour to be on this stage with our leader, my friend, this country’s next Prime Minister - Jeremy Corbyn.

You know, some people might remember a certain viral video from election night of a bit of high-fiving gone wrong. But that’s not how I’ll remember that evening. I’ll just remember seeing a friend of mine who had defied all the pundits, all the doubters

and all the expectations. Someone who had proved during the election, who has proved throughout his leadership, who has proved all his life, that nothing is stronger, nothing on earth than a person of principle.

And it is that strength and those principles, those unshakeable values that are going to take Jeremy into Downing Street and put Labour back into power. After all, it was on this very stage two years ago that Jeremy declared his mission:

“To put Labour values -- the people’s values -- back - into - politics.”

And he has achieved that. But thanks to Jeremy’s inspirational leadership, thanks to the brilliant efforts of everyone in this room, we can now set our sights even higher.

It is time to put Labour values, the people’s values back into Government.

Because if June’s election taught us one thing, it’s that if we stand behind Jeremy’s principled leadership, if we stand united as a Party, and if we stand on a radical manifesto, there is absolutely no seat that we can’t win. And no Tory that we can’t bin.

So next time, we've got to take the fight into their backyard. Let's go round the coast to Hastings. And end the ambitions of Amber Rudd. Let's go to Chingford. And send Iain Duncan Smith to the Job Centre. Then let's go to Uxbridge. And make sure Boris Johnson never, ever gets into No.10.

But Conference, please let’s just take a second to sympathise with poor old Boris. Oh come on, just a second. He’s not been happy lately. Apparently he's sick of being blamed for the way Brexit is going and all the broken promises of the Leave campaign.

I'm sorry, Conference? I'm sorry? Who does he think made all those promises? Who does he think was in charge of the Leave Campaign?

I know Boris doesn’t like paternity tests, but we might need one for Brexit. We need to get him in a studio with Jeremy Kyle.

“Yes, I'm sorry, Mr Johnson…

“We've got the results back…

“It looks like this one is yours…

“It must have been that wild night out you had with Michael Gove.

“I've calculated your maintenance payments…

“That’ll be 350 million a week.”

But Conference, what a contrast. Here on this stage, you’ve got Labour’s Brexit team - myself, Keir and Barry working every day in harness with Jeremy, John and Diane. All pulling in the same direction. All focused on the same three priorities. The three priorities we’ve had since Day One after the Referendum - Jobs, Jobs and Jobs.

While next week in Manchester, we’re going to see six Tory rats, fighting in a sack, not worried about protecting the jobs of the British people. Just every one of them looking out for their own.

Last Friday, Theresa May said we need to be “creative and imaginative” to get a good outcome from Brexit. Well I’ve got a creative idea for her step aside, end your shambles of a Government, and let the grown-ups on this stage take charge.

And talking of grown-ups I’m proud to be here representing our great Shadow Foreign Office team: Liz McInnes; Fabian Hamilton; Khalid Mahmood; Helen Goodman and Ray Collins. And I’m proud as well to be speaking on behalf of my friends, Kate Osamor and Nia Griffith. Kate, our Shadow Secretary of State For International Development, facing a world in now constant humanitarian crisis,

not least as a result of climate change.

As Kate would say, in that world, we’ve got a decision to make. Either tackle head on the root causes of these crises or spend more and more every year dealing with the consequences. And, under a Labour government. That is a decision we will not duck.

And Nia, our Shadow Defence Secretary, who has shown that Britain under Labour

will be a strong leader within NATO, committed to spend 2 per cent of our national income on defence. And committed to ensure that those who put their lives on the line for this country the real-terms pay rises and the decent living conditions that their service and their sacrifice deserves.

In dark, dangerous times for our world Britain must be equally strong and equally committed to defence, development and diplomacy. That is what we offer on this stage. And that is what Labour in government will guarantee.

But Conference, make no mistake. These are indeed dark and dangerous times for the world. And too many times, the problems we face come down to people abusing their power and ignoring the rules and values that should govern our world.

From Venezuela to The Philippines we see the rule of law ignored and originally democratic governments turning into increasingly autocratic regimes. From Myanmar to Yemen we see human rights ignored and flagrant attacks against ordinary civilians qll too often using British-made weapons.

From Kashmir to Israel and Palestine we see efforts at diplomacy ignored and actions taken on both sides which will make peace harder to achieve.

From Syria to Sudan, we see the Geneva Conventions ignored and despots committing war crimes with total freedom and impunity.

All across Europe we see the basic rules of humanity and the basic lessons of history ignored as cowardly terrorists stalk our city streets and vicious extremist parties rise in the polls.

And of course, in North Korea we see the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty ignored with all the terrifying consequences the world is now facing today.

Taken altogether what we are seeing today is the biggest challenge to the world order since the 1930s and the collapse of the League of Nations. And if you believe as I do in what Jeremy has called…“A world based on rules and laws” then this is the time, more than ever, when we need our leaders to stand up for that world order. To stand up for human rights and international treaties. And to insist on working through the United Nations for peace.

But instead, Conference we now have a President of the United States who believes that none of these rules and laws apply to him.

- Imposing a travel ban on Muslims;

- Equivocating over illegal settlements;

- Reneging on the Paris climate treaty;

- Imperilling the nuclear deal with Iran;

- And threatening to “totally destroy” North Korea. A country of 20 million men and women. And 5 million children.

This is not what we need from the leader of the free world.

To be honest, Conference it’s more like what we would expect from a rogue dictator. And what makes it even worse is to see this Tory government and this Tory Prime Minister pathetically going along with it all walking hand-in-hand with Trump at the White House, supine, sycophantic and spineless.

And why? All in the vain hope that Trump will ride to the rescue after Brexit with some fantasy free trade deal. Because, for this Tory government that’s what their foreign policy has come down to no values or ethics, no rules or principles just a simple case of what works best for the bottom line. How else do they explain why - last week - Theresa May was in New York, finally announcing the suspension of cooperation with the military in Myanmar because of their actions in Rakhine.

While on the very same day, Michael Fallon was in Jeddah, signing a deal to increase our cooperation with the military in Saudi Arabia wantonly ignoring their actions in Yemen. It is rank hypocrisy. But it also illustrates a basic fact that the world we want to see – a world governed by ethics and values, a world based on rules and laws will never truly exist as long as governments and world leaders get to decide for themselves when it suits them to play by the rules and when the rules can be safely ignored.

The world we want will never exist when governments like Theresa May’s think it’s perfectly OK to loudly condemn those they regard as enemies but then fall utterly silent when it is their friends in Bahrain rounding up, torturing and executing civilian protestors or their friends in Saudi Arabia dropping cluster bombs on innocent children in Yemen.

In fact, if they were just silent that would be an improvement. Instead, we have to listen to Michael Fallon saying that the thousands of children killed and injured by air strikes in Yemen are just a consequence of Saudi Arabia “defending itself”…

…“Defending itself”.

But Conference, it does not have to be this way. Labour can and will do things differently when we are back in power.

And there is one concrete step we can commit to today.

For too long successive governments in this country have taken decisions on granting arms export licences behind closed doors and shrouded in secrecy.

Just two months ago we had the ludicrous situation where the campaigners trying to stop arms sales to Saudi Arabia for use in Yemen had their Judicial Review rejected on the basis of government evidence presented in closed court a secret court so they were not even allowed to hear the evidence let alone challenge it.

The fact is that arms export decisions made by Tory Ministers are entirely subjective assessments taken without proper Parliamentary scrutiny without listening to independent, expert advice, but listening far too much to lobbyists for the arms trade and repressive foreign regimes. A process that leads to nonsensical double-standards, where the Government can decide too late that selling arms to Myanmar is wrong but immediately increase its sales to Saudi. It is an arms control regime that was already outdated. but which the Tories have systematically abused, undermined and left fatally discredited.

And as the four shadow ministers responsible, Barry, Nia, Kate and I have agreed that it must change. So just as the new Labour Governments elected in 1997 and 2001 Immediately reformed the way decisions were made on monetary policy and competition policy, the next Labour Government will immediately reform the way decisions are made on the export of arms.

A wholesale reform of the legal and regulatory framework fully implementing the International Arms Trade Treaty with clear rules, tests and criteria for decision-making, based on independent, expert advice and the objective assessment of evidence. A new system, that will prevent the misuse or abuse of licences and adhere to the principles of transparency, true Parliamentary accountability and freedom from undue influence.

Because Conference, it is not enough for us just to be better than the Tories, we must set an entirely new standard for Britain and a shining example to the world.

And if that sounds like setting our ambitions high, well you’re damn right it is and we should not apologise for that.

You know, I heard Chuka say yesterday:

“Overpromising and under-delivering…

“…Is one of the reasons…

“…there was such fury with the Blair government.”

And when it comes to foreign policy, I totally agree with that statement. But the way we avoid that mistake next time round isn’t to water down the promises we make, it’s to keep the promises we make and make sure we deliver them.

We will be a Government that will never put the interest of the rich and powerful above human Rights, The Rule of Law, and the lives of innocent children in Yemen…

A Government that will never put our principles up for auction.

And if we are going to be the kind of government we could be, we do not just need what Robin Cook called for, twenty years ago, when he set out his Mission Statement for the Foreign Office.

We do not just need an “ethical dimension” to our foreign policy, we need to go much further than that.

We need what Martin Luther King called for 50 years ago, when he set out his case against the Vietnam War.

- We need “a revolution of values”.

- “A genuine revolution of values”.

- “A radical revolution of values”.

Because if our mission back when Jeremy was elected, was to put Labour values back into politics and our mission today is to put those values back into Government, then our mission for the years to come must be equally ambitious and equally radical. It must be to put Labour values at the heart of the world order, to be a beacon in every corner of the globe for the values we believe in here at home.

We have the leader in Jeremy to do it. We have the team on this stage to do it. We have the members in this hall, and all across the country, who will hold us to it.

So let us make that our mission. And this time -- this time -- let us make it our record.

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aidanchaser · 6 years ago

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Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents

Chapter Six The Train Ride from Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters

The morning of September 1, 1991 was a very loud and chaotic morning for the Potter family. Harry had hardly slept. He kept packing and repacking his trunk. His parents had written out a packing list for him, but he kept adding to it.

At seven in the morning he heard his mother get up and start cooking breakfast. He leapt down the stairs two at a time to help. It was a big breakfast — everyone was coming to send him off.

At eight, James came stumbling into the kitchen, dressed, but hardly awake.

At eight-thirty, Sirius and Uncle Remus arrived. Lily and Harry put breakfast on the table and everyone ate quickly.

At nine-thirty, James and Sirius tried to take Harry's trunk downstairs.

"It wasn't this heavy last night," James grunted, and set it back down. He opened it up with a frown. "Harry, you can't take all these books."

"But what if I want to read something besides my school books?" Harry shouted from downstairs.

"There's a library."

James and Sirius carefully rooted through what was essential and nonessential.

"Harry, you can't take your broom," James said with a sigh.

"I don't have use it," Harry said. "I just want it with me."

"No."

And Lily took it and held onto it, so it could not get repacked behind anyone's back.

Sirius and James tried taking Harry’s trunk down again. Halfway down, Sirius stepped on the centre of the fourth stair. The loud noise that sounded throughout the house startled him so much that he dropped the trunk on his foot, and with a yell that was drowned by the faulty alarm system, tumbled the rest of the way down the stairs. James fell too, on top of the trunk, which slid its way down the last few stairs.

When the buzzer had died down, and the portraits were calm again, James and Sirius laughed.

"You of all people," James wheezed breathlessly.

"I know, I know. I forgot about that one."

Sirius sat down for a minute and cast a temporary cooling charm on his foot while Remus and James put the trunk and Harry's owl beside the door.

Lily took her list and went through Harry's trunk again.

"Mum, I've got it all —"

"I know, I know. I just want to be sure."

Sirius called Harry into the parlor while Remus and James cleaned up breakfast.

"What is it?" Harry asked as he sat down on the couch.

"Wanted to give you this," and he pressed a galleon into Harry's hand. "There's a candy trolley on the Hogwarts Express, and I wanted to be sure you get enough, in case your Mum gets stingy."

"Thanks!" Harry said with a wide grin, then lowered his voice, "And you can't help me sneak my broom in?"

Sirius snorted. "After that garden snake you set on me two weeks ago? Not a chance. Sorry, mate. Next year."

Harry sighed dramatically, but was still grinning as he went to make sure his mother properly repacked his trunk.

"And you fed Hedwig?" she asked.

He'd decided to name his owl Hedwig, after a woman in his book A History of Magic. She'd taken to it well enough.

"Yes, I did Mum. Can we leave now?"

"I'm ready. Is your father?"

Harry went to the kitchen where James was putting the last of the dishes away and Remus was wiping down the dining table.

"Remus, you don't have to," James was protesting.

"I know, I know," Remus shrugged. "Might as well." He tossed the cloth into a bin and washed his hands. "Ready to go Harry?"

"Yes, can we, please?"

"Just going to grab my cloak," James said and ducked back into his and Lily's room.

Remus glanced into the hall and then knelt next to Harry so they were at eye-level. He pressed twelve sickles into Harry's hand. "Just in case you want a few more chocolate frogs on the train, alright?"

"It's alright," Harry protested, but Remus refused.

"I did some Horklump gardening the other day. Consider it a birthday present."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, and tucked the sickles into his pocket. Somehow, they felt more valuable than the galleon Sirius had given him.

"Everyone ready?" Lily shouted from the doorway.

Remus and Harry joined her, and Sirius limped after them. James was pulling on his cloak as he came through the door.

It was ten-fifteen.

"Harry, you have your ticket?" Lily asked, and Harry pulled it out of his cloak pocket for her to see.

"Okay. Harry, you're with me. James, you have the trunk. Remus, here's Hedwig. And Sirius, you're on your own."

"Don't know how I'll manage," he said with a grin, and with a loud crack, Disapparated.

There were three more cracks in quick succession, and they all Apparated into a side alley in London.

"Quickly," and Lily ushered them all down the street — Remus and James shared the trunk — to the train station. At least there, they were able to get a trolley for Harry's things.

By ten-forty-five they had arrived at King’s Cross, Platform Nine.

"Through the barrier," James said with a grin. "Ready?"

"Don't be scared and don't stop," Remus said quietly. "That's the trick."

"Okay," Harry said firmly. He wanted to sound more confident than he felt. With a deep breath, he rushed forward, and pushed his trolley through the barrier between the platforms.

He emerged on an entirely different platform, with a scarlet engine emblazoned with the words, "Hogwarts Express." James came right behind him, then Remus, then Lily, then Sirius.

The platform was already crowded. He saw Neville with his grandmother, anxiously hunting for his toad. He saw Fred and George Weasley with a boy he didn't recognize — dark skin and dreadlocks, small wooden box in his hands.

"Let us see," George was begging.

"Come on, Lee, open it," Fred pleaded.

Sirius pulled his attention away before he could see what was inside the box. "Well, where to?" he asked.

Harry stood up on tiptoe and noticed the crowd was thinner at the back of the train. So that was where he led his family, until he found an empty compartment.

"It's almost where we sat, isn't it?" Sirius asked with a grin as he stowed Harry's trunk under the seat.

James's head brushed the door of the compartment as they helped Harry get his things in and stowed away. "Sure you want to be back here by yourself?"

"Yes," Harry answered readily.

"You don't want to be with Ron or Neville or Susan?" Lily frowned.

"I'll find them later."

"Well... alright." Lily pulled him close and kissed his forehead, right on top of his scar. "We love you, and we're very proud."

"And you'll have to write every day," James grinned.

"Every day?" Harry frowned. "Then you won't even have time to miss me."

"Once a week, please," Lily smiled, and tried to smooth his hair flat. It didn’t stay.

"Send Remus all your History of Magic essays," Sirius said. "It's what we did."

"Write your own essays," Remus scolded, but with a smile.

The whistle blew — time for the train to go.

Remus and Sirius each hugged Harry goodbye, then James took his turn to say goodbye. He knelt down beside Harry and pulled him into a tight hug.

"You're going to have so much fun. And we're all very proud." When they parted he said, "And I am sorry about your broom. I'm sure Sirius will help me keep it limber while you're gone."

"Don't break it."

"No, of course not," James smiled. "And say hello to McGonagall from me. I'm sure she'll roll her eyes, or something."

The train whistle sounded again.

"James, let's go," Sirius shouted.

"I know, I know! I'm coming," James shouted back. He stood up and gave Harry a galleon. "From your mother and I, for the candy trolley." And he gave him a second one. "And that one's from me," and he winked. He pulled Harry into a hug again, then stepped out of the compartment.

Harry went straight to the window and waved to his family on the platform. Another whistle blew, there was a rush of steam as the brakes released, and slowly the engine began to pull away from the platform. Harry waved and his family waved back, all the way until they were too small to see among the rest of the crowd, and then Harry sat back down in the seat and let out a deep breath.

He looked over at Hedwig and poked his finger into the cage. She nipped at it playfully.

Then the carriage door opened, and Ron Weasley stood there, an apprehensive look on his face. "Can I join you?"

"Oh, sure," Harry said, and moved Hedwig's cage so Ron could sit. "Where are Fred and George?"

"Apparently Lee's got a tarantula."

"You didn't want to see?"

Ron’s face seemed to turn green at the thought. "No thanks. What're you doing all back here by yourself?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Wanted some quiet I guess."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I can —"

"No, it's alright. I don't mind. Really."

Ron sat back down and cleared his throat awkwardly. Harry didn't exactly except Ron to be much for conversation on a good day, and now he'd gone and ruined it all together by saying he wanted to be alone.

"Uh, Ron," Harry started awkwardly, "do you know why our parents are friends?"

Ron shrugged. "The war, wasn't it? My uncles fought You-Know-Who with your parents. Until you beat him, that is. Oh — can I talk about this? Mum says not to bring it up around your family. She says things were real bad when we were born, and that —"

"It's alright," Harry shrugged. "Mum and Dad don't talk about it. But, I don't know.... What do you know about it?"

"It?"

"Yeah. The war. Voldemort. All of it."

"You're not supposed to say his name," Ron whispered.

"Oh. Sorry." But he wasn't really. His mother was comfortable saying it, so why shouldn't he?

"Well, Mum and Dad don't talk about it much. But once Mum said Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon took down five Death Eaters and Uncle Fabian only lost an arm. He does spells left-handed now. Kinda off. But I didn't really know him before. I mean, I was only a baby. Well, so were you. Sorry, mate, I don't really know much else. You could ask Percy, when he's not too busy polishing his prefect badge. He would've been five, though. Do you want me to write to Charlie? Or Bill?"

Harry shrugged. "They'd probably just say to ask my parents."

"What do your parents say?"

"Nothing interesting," Harry shrugged and scratched at his scar.

Ron picked at the fuzz on his jumper while Harry watched the houses grow more sparse as the train began traveling through the countryside. Soon, it was all green around them. It reminded Harry of home, with rolling hills and clumps of trees. He wondered if Hogwarts would have a lake to swim in, or trees to climb like he had at home.

Around noon the candy trolley came by. Ron declined, claiming he was fine with his sandwich. Harry spent his three galleons and twelve sickles on as much candy as he could for him and Ron to share.

They ate pumpkin pasties, traded Chocolate Frog cards, and dared each other to try suspicious Every Flavor Beans until the quiet countryside turned into wild woods and raging rivers. It was a pleasant trip, just Harry and Ron. Harry’d never noticed how fun Ron could be when he wasn’t surrounded by his brothers.

Around sunset, there was a knock at their compartment door. Neville came in, looking very sullen as usual. "Oh. Hello, Harry. Ron. Um, you haven't seen a toad, have you?"

"Sorry, no," Harry said, and Ron shrugged his shoulders.

"I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me."

"He'll turn up," Harry said encouragingly.

"Yes," Neville answered miserably. "Well, if you see him...." He moaned as he walked away.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad, I'd lose it quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

Harry held his forefinger out to the dark-coated weasel for it to sniff, but it snapped at his finger instead.

"He's not really nice to anyone. He was Percy's first, and he hated Percy, too. But Percy got an owl this year, since he's a prefect and all. So I got him."

"He's pretty dark for a weasel."

"I guess so. I tried to turn him yellow but the spell didn’t work. I’ll show you, look..."

Ron pulled his wand out, an old battered thing with the unicorn hair poking out at the top. He’d just opened his mouth to do the spell when the door opened again. Neville was back, but with a girl neither Harry nor Ron recognized, already in her Hogwarts robes.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.” Harry had never met someone with hair messier than him before. He wondered if her mother tried combing it flat as often as his did.

“We already told Neville no,” Ron said with a frown. Clearly he didn’t like the bossy tone. But the girl already didn’t seem to care. She was much more interested in the wand. “Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see then.” She even sat down in the compartment.

Ron and Harry exchanged a glance and a shrug, and Ron cleared his throat.

“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow Turn this stupid weasel yellow.”

The only thing that happened was that Scabbers bit the back of Ron’s hand.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” asked the girl. “Well it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard — I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough — I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”

Harry was a bit dizzied by it all and looked to Ron or Neville for help. Neville looked just as bewildered but Ron managed to mumble, “I’m Ron Weasley.”

He looked back at the girl and, thinking a Muggle-born witch wouldn’t know anything about the Wizarding War, said, “Harry Potter,” in the most unassuming voice he could manage.

“Are you really?” she said. “I know all about you, of course — got a few extra books, for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

He didn’t like that a witch raised with Muggles knew more about him than he did, but he was more curious than anything else. “Blimey, am I really? Mind if I borrow those?”

“Goodness, you didn’t know? I’d have found out everything I could if it was me.” As if he wasn’t trying.

But she changed the subject before he could ask her any more questions about it. “Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around, and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad…. Anyway, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

And she left, dragging Neville with her.

“Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it,” Ron said grumpily, and threw his wand into his trunk. “Stupid spell — George gave it to me. Bet he knew it was a dud.”

“Is everyone in your family in Gryffindor?” Ron nodded gloomily. “Mum, Dad, my uncles—all my brothers. I don’t know what they’ll say if I’m not. I don’t suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin.”

Harry did not like to think about what would happen if he had to write a letter to his father saying he’d been sorted into Slytherin either. He didn’t think his mother would mind much, and he imagined his father would cool down after she talked to him — he always did — but Sirius wouldn’t be very happy either. Harry wanted very much to be in Gryffindor like his family, too.

“You know, I think the ends of Scabbers’ whiskers are a bit lighter,” Harry tried in an effort to get him and Ron talking about something other than houses. But Ron still looked morose, so he tried again. “How are Bill and Charlie?”

“They’re alright. Charlie’s still in Romania. Bill just went off to Africa. Always top secret with him, though. Gringotts doesn’t like people other than goblins knowing what they’re doing. Bill’s pretty lucky, Mum says. Did you hear about Gringotts? The robbery?”

Harry nodded. “I was there the day after. They said nothing’d been taken.”

“Yeah. Really weird. They didn’t even catch the bloke that did it. Dad says it must’ve been a powerful dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case it’s You-Know-Who.”

“So you don’t think Vol—er, You-Know-Who is dead either?”

Ron shrugged. “Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon don’t, but they’ve always been a little nutty. Good friends with Moody, y’know?”

Harry smiled. He did know. Paranoid was a word invented to describe Alastor Moody.

“Been keeping up with Quidditch?”

Harry nodded vigorously. “Sirius got me a Nimbus 2000 for my birthday.”

“A Nimbus 2000? Really? That’s incredible. Can I see it?”

“First years can’t bring brooms,” Harry sighed. “I tried to convince dad to let me anyway, but I think Mum talked him down. She always does that.”

“Maybe we can borrow Fred and George’s. They’ll probably make us do something stupid in exchange, but it might be worth it. Percy said there’ll be proper flying lessons for first years. Might not be the end of the world.”

Suddenly, the boys were exchanging flying tips and swapping Quidditch game stories. It was the most conversation Ron and Harry had ever had. Harry thought things were a lot more comfortable between them without Neville or Ernie Macmillan around like at family parties.

Their carriage door slid open and three boys Harry didn’t recognize walked in. They all looked curiously at Harry, and were wearing their robes and even their hats. Their gazes made Harry wish there was an inconspicuous way for him to cover his scar.

“Is it true?” the pale boy in the middle said. “You really are Harry Potter?”

“Yes,” he said, and he wished he didn’t sound like Neville’s toad had lodged itself in his throat. The other two boys looked very mean, like bodyguards on either side of the boy in the middle. “Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “And I’m Draco Malfoy.”

Ron snickered quietly and Harry mumbled, “The hat might’ve given it away,” but Draco didn’t catch it. He was too busy glaring down Ron.

“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.” And he turned back to Harry. “You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

So that was what his dad had meant by, “We aren’t friends with those sorts of wizards.” Even though Sirius had encouraged him to be friends with who he liked, Harry had already decided he would much rather be friends with Ron, who could be a little quiet and self-deprecating at times, than with this snobby boy, who walked around with a pair of bodyguards like some sort of self-appointed prince.

So Harry ignored Draco’s extended hand and said, “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.”

A pale pink spread across Draco Malfoy’s cheeks and his voice turned very cold. “I’d be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you’re a bit politer, you’ll end up considered a blood-traitor, especially if you hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys.”

Harry and Ron were both on their feet.

“Say that again,” Ron said, completely red with anger.

“My mother is Muggle-born,” Harry nearly shouted. “You better learn some manners yourself before you start throwing around words like ‘blood-traitor.’”

“Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?” Malfoy sneered.

“Unless you get out now,” Harry glanced quickly over Crabbe and Goyle, took in their massive size for eleven-year-olds, and something told him he was doing something far more reckless than Sirius had ever done.

“But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, boys?” Malfoy glanced back at Crabbe and Goyle. “We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.”

Goyle reached out to grab the last of the Chocolate Frogs, and Ron dived at him. But before Ron got more than a step closer, Goyle was screaming.

Scabbers hung from Goyle’s knuckle, his long slinky body swinging in the air as Goyle tried to shake him off. But the weasel had a stronger grip than Goyle could manage, and even as all three boys disappeared out of the compartment, Goyle trailing behind, still screaming, the weasel refused to let go. Ron and Harry ran after them, nearly bumping into Hermione Granger in the hallway.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“They’re stealing my weasel,” Ron said and pointed after Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Hermione pulled her wand out of her robes and said, “Spiculus.”

There was a high-pitched squeak and Scabbers dropped to the floor. Ron quickly scooped him up and all four of them, Hermione and Scabbers included, went back to their compartment. Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy left.

“I’ve heard all the Malfoys are that mean,” Ron said sourly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after the war ended. Said they’d been bewitched. Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon don’t believe it, and dad doesn’t either. Says the Malfoys never needed an excuse to go to the dark side.” And then Ron looked over at Hermione, as if he hadn’t realized she was still with them. “Can we help you with something?”

“You’d better hurry up and put your robes on. I’ve just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we’re nearly there. You’d better be careful about picking fights. You’ll be in trouble before we even get there.”

“We didn’t pick that fight,” Ron scowled. “Would you leave then, if we’ve got to change?”

She sniffed. “Well, I only came in to make sure you were all behaving yourselves. It’s rather childish to chase people down the corridors. And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way. Did you know?”

Ron glared at her until the door closed. Harry looked away to the darkening skies. The train really did seem to be slowing down.

So he tucked his jacket into his trunk and pulled his robes on. They barely brushed the edge of the floor, perfectly hemmed. He noticed Ron’s robes were a bit short, and you his trainers were visible underneath.

The conductor’s voice echoed through the train, “We’ll be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately.”

Harry and Ron grabbed as many sweets as they could fit in their pockets. Harry let Hedwig nip gently at his finger and Ron left Scabbers snoozing on the seat. Though he did leave him a Chocolate Frog as a reward for his courage in battle.

They joined the crowd of students in the corridor as the train slowed to a stop. People pushed their way out of the train and onto a small, dark platform. Harry pulled his robes tighter, wishing he’d left his jacket on underneath. Then he saw a lamp high above everyone’s heads, and Hagrid’s voice calling over the crowd.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! All right there, Harry?”

Harry smiled up at him and followed close behind. Not that Hagrid was very easy to lose.

“C’mon, follow me — anymore firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!”

The path was very steep and very narrow. A couple times, Harry had to grab Ron’s shoulder so he wouldn’t slip. Nobody said anything to each other. The only sound, besides a few stumbling children, was Neville, still sniffling over his missing toad.

“Ye’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.”

And as they came around the corner, everyone let out a soft “ooh.” They had reached the shoreline of a great black lake, and across the water was a castle, with lit windows flickering like candle light, like orange stars on the horizon. Great spires rose up from the castle, and its grand gates glittered in the light of the waning moon.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid shouted, pointing to the small wooden boats on the shore of the lake. Harry looked around to see if he knew anyone nearby — he hadn’t seen Susan or Ernie at all today — and ended up in a boat with Ron, Neville, and Hermione.

“Everyone in?” Hagrid called from his own boat. “Right then — Forward!”

And all the boats moved at once, gliding across the water as smoothly as Harry’s Nimbus 2000 flew on a clear summer morning. The first years were all still quiet, gazing at the castle.

“Heads down!” Hagrid said as they passed under the cliffs, and the boats carried them through the ivy hiding the entrance into the castle through the rocks. The caverns seemed to travel under the castle, to its very centre, before the boats docked themselves onto the shore of a hidden cove. The children climbed out into the harbor onto rocks and pebbles. The castle looked enormous now, its stiff walls looming over them.

“Oi, you there, is this yer toad?” asked Hagrid, as he helped a few of the first years out of their boats.

“Trevor!” Neville said with a shout of relief, and tucked the toad into his pocket.

The first years followed Hagrid up a flight of stairs until they came out in front of the castle’s large, glittering doors.

The grass was damp as the crowd of children moved to sturdy oak front door, Hagrid and his lantern still leading the way.

“Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?”

When Neville squeaked out a, “Yes!” Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

#harry potter and the philosophers stone #harry potter everyone lives au #hp everyone lives #hp fic #harry potter

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thecorteztwins · 7 years ago

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Volcana vs the House of M

(A small ficlet inspired by this sketch. For context, it makes reference to the events of the “House of M: Masters of Evil” miniseries, in which a group of super-powered humans---the counterparts of many villains from 616---defy Magneto's mutant-supermacist reign and establish a safe haven for humans in Santo Rico. It ends with the Red Guard killing them all, save for a single survivor, Titania. Titania is the best friend of Volcana in 616, hence my idea to use her for this. Plus, I like Volcana, and her personality was a good fit for this.) Well, the Homo sapiens were at again, and once again, it fell to the Red Guard to handle it. But after the nightmare that had been Santo Rico---what the media called “a disgusting violation of human rights” in both the general and genetic sense of the word---it had been demanded by King Magnus himself that this be handled with the utmost care. And that's why they had called in Cortez. Thus far, the shut-down operation had been a success. No casualties. But this last human was like the ones in Santo Rico, one of those aberrations that had gotten mutant-like powers from some non-natural means. And she wasn't backing down. What she was doing was melting everything around her into a pit of molten slag---and most likely, anyone who came near her. 'Anyone' right now being Fabian Cortez.

“Volcana?” he called when he was close enough for her to hear him, his hands in the air to communicate peacefully. One of his new Red Guard recruits, Carmella Unuscione, had him shielded with her powers from the heat, but Volcana didn't know that. As far as she could see, this lone fool of a mutant was approaching her without any defenses, and she could incinerate him at will. “Volcana, can I talk to you?” “Stay back!” she screamed, great flumes of super-heated plasma shooting from her body, which was made from the same. “Believe me, I'd like to,” Fabian assured her, “There's no one on the Red Guard more scared than I am right now.” “Why should YOU be?!” she demanded rhetorically, her voice shrill with emotion, “You mutants have all the power!” “Not from where I'm standing. You're the one who's made of super-heated plasma. I don't have any kind of power, Volcana, I'm helple--” “Liar!” she sent a burst of the fatal flame right beside him. Was she simply upset, but still not far gone enough to kill? Or was she perhaps clever enough to try to trick him into revealing his own powers through fear? He wouldn't have thought she would be that smart, based on her file and Monet's mental reading of her, but... “It's true!” he protested, his hands still in the air, sweating from more than the heat, “I have no defenses, not against you, not against humans---I'm a mutant, yes, but my abilities, they only work on other mutants! And they don't even hurt them! I'm a living battery, Volcana, I charge their powers and patch them up! That's all! I shouldn't even be in the field! I wasn't supposed to be!” Someone like Titania or her late cohorts would have seen this as a trick, or take it as an invitation to attack Fabian, to destroy him once they knew he was nothing against their powers, to enjoy the turned tables. But Volcana was not like the others. That was what Fabian was counting on. “Then...why are you here?” she sounded confused...and concerned. Concerned, perhaps, for him. Volcana had a weakness for the proverbial “little guy” in any conflict; it was why she had come so vehemently to the defense of downtrodden humans, even though her own abilities would have made it easy for her to pass herself off as a mutant and enjoy their privileges. “Because I think we can end this without anyone getting hurt. I can't hurt you, Volcana—and I'm hoping that means you won't hurt me.” “I...this isn't about you! It's about my friends! The Red Guard killed them all!” “And I don't want them to kill you, Volcana,” he answered in a pleading tone, “Hasn't there been enough bloodshed? Listen, I understand why you want to do this, why humans are angry---I'm practically a human myself, you're more of a real mutant than I am---but all that's going to happen out here is you'll do some damage, maybe take out the one idiot who came out to talk to you, and then the rest of my team decides to take that personally against you. And then next week, there'll be someone out here to avenge you, like you're doing for your friends, and it goes on. Is that what you want?” Volcana fell silent, her glowing eyes downcast at the slag around her feet. “Listen, power down and we can speak,” Fabian continued, “I can't get near you like this, and I don't want to keep shouting at you---and it shows me you're willing to trust me enough to talk.” “I...I...” “Look, I'll even drop my weapons.” He did so, letting his gun and taser and other such props---brought for this exact purpose---fall clearly from his hands to the ground. “See? Now you know I'm just not trying to get you into human formto shoot you or anything like that.” Volcana looked shocked; she hadn't even considered that idea. Whereas Titania or Crush or the Hood or the Absorbing Man, that would have been their first thought. Won over by his apparent honesty, Volcana resumed her human form, a very tall and somewhat overweight woman in a pink swimsuit. Just as planned, the Red Guard swooped in with their rehearsed lines---stop, stand down, hands on your head, and so on. Just as planned, Fabian got between them and Volcana, even as she flared up again into her plasma form. “Stay back!” he shouted at them, “Don't hurt her! We can end this peacefully---just let us talk!” Just as planned, they backed off, making a show of doing so only very begrudgingly. Someone even called him a human-lover; he'd have to find out who that was and commend them on it, nice touch. Turning back to Volcana, who he could see even in this state was shocked, he spread his hands and offered an apologetic smile, “I'm sorry, where were we?” Volcana turned human yet again, her smile mirroring his own, “I...I think we were here. You really want to talk, mister...?” “Fabian Cortez. And yes, even if it gets me court-marshaled, Miss...” “Marsha Rosenberg. My real name's Marsha Rosenberg.” *** Marsha did have to go to jail of course, and the rest of her compatriots. But what really mattered was that no one was hurt, meaning that THIS time the press hailed the Red Guard as heroes rather than murderers. Fabian, for his part, saw to it that Marsha was treated kindly in custody---or rather, that when she was treated poorly, he always happened to be there to set it right, and make some comment about species-equality or justice or doing the right thing. In fact, that was exactly what he told her when she asked why he was so “nice” to her---that it was the right thing to do. Actually, it was because she was the weak link. The other flatscans might not be bright, but they were clever enough to suspect the worst. And they would not repay any kindness shown them. Marsha, on the other hand, was a simple soul, kindhearted, and she had a concept of reciprocity. If he turned on her now that she was safely in prison, then she'd be no ally to him in the future...but if he kept up the charade---a charade which cost him nothing, if anything it was beneficial to him in how it made him look to everyone else to boot besides just her---then later on, she would be helpful, be it on the “inside” or when she was inevitably “liberated” by her fellow rebels. It was true that Fabian wasn't that impressive in terms of mutant powers. But unlike his fellow commanders Sebastian Shaw and James “Wolverine” Howlett, Fabian Cortez was a people person, and it had made him more invaluable to his squad than any super-power. Oh, yes, his squad---he hadn't mentioned it to Marsha, but while Wolverine and Shaw headed the home team, Fabian led the international one.

#fic #writing #drabble #house of m

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eschapters · 8 years ago

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Chapter 17: Breath of Cowardice

Alair’s eyes had shot open as his body jerked. He was still able to feel the stinging sensation on his arms and back. The haze around him was now clearing up and the temperature was now slowly turning back to normal. Alair now remembered that he was laying down in the same room.

Fabian backed away, nearing a corner as his body had tensed up, “H-How did you…?” He shook his head as his pupils had shrunk in size again, “P-Please don’t hurt me… D-Don’t take me away…!”

Once Alair had collected his thoughts and surroundings, he had tried to get up, but the pain had caused him to fall on his face. He tried again and was successful this time.

“I have no interest in doing any of that…” Alair had stated, his movements being shaky and unstable, “Don’t be scared, okay?”

Fabian had eyed Alair wearily as Alair tried to approach him. The moment Alair had reached a two foot radius, Fabian had started to screech for his life.

Alair had swiftly put his hands to his ears as he felt the wind bash him again like what had happened to his brother. He could feel that he was about to fall once more.

“I REALLY DON’T WANT TO HURT YOU, OKAY?! OTHERWISE, I WOULD’VE KILLED THAT ELDER AT THE ENTRANCE!”

At once, Fabian’s screeching had came to a stop. He took in a few breaths before speaking, “…E-Elder…? Y-You mean m-mama…?”

“…M-Mom?” Alair had almost repeated yet another word, “Was that who she was…?”

Fabian had shakingly nodded, “E-Everyone mistakens her for an elder… B-But that’s probably because that’s how I see her in the future…” He started to fumble his fingers, “S-She used to… W-Watch over me… A lot…” he sighed slowly, “…B-But… I-I like to imagine her being around… Nnnow that she’s…”

Alair had noticed that Fabian’s pupils were starting to shrink again. He stepped forward, placing a hand om his shoulder, “…H-Hey, it’s okay… I know, I know… You’re going to be okay.”

As he spoke, Alair was now able to feel the knife of regret slowly sink into his midsection. He smiled, just for the shorter male.

“I-I’m sorry I tried to kill you…” Fabian’s body had started to quiver, “I-I… a-always assume too much… And now it sssort of……”

Where Alair had taken damage from the creature was where he was still able to feel pain. He tried to pass it off as nothing but he was unable to, “Even though you almost got me killed somehow… It’s fine… But everything still hurts.”

Obviously, Alair was lying. He was actually scared to death… Almost literally.

“U-Uh… O-Oh… It… must’ve been the efffffects of that lucid dream…”

“…Lucid dream…?” Alair had reached his arm to his sleeve to roll it up. To his dismay, his arm had contained a few somewhat fresh gashes.

Fabian had squealed upon seeing the gashes, “I-I don’t know how it happens but when I put someone to sleep, e-everything that happens to them affects them in reality!”

“…I’ll take care of it later,” Even though Alair was internally flinching at the pain, he pulled his sleeve back down, “So you can’t really help me out then, huh?”

“I’m… sorry. I really can’t…” Fabian looked down, sighing in regret, “But… try asking Raika.”

“It’s fine… But… Do you know where Raika is?”

“Yes… she’s in Glister Bay…” Fabian had shivered, “But… That’s also where A.I. is…”

“Thank you…” Alair smiled softly again, “But seriously, who’s A.I.? I keep hearing about them…”

“…A.I…? Um…” Fabian had fumbled around with his hands a little more, “…You said Holly was here, right…?”

Alair nodded, “Yeah… She’s right outside this house.”

“…She is?” Fabian’s eyes had widened a little although his eyes didn’t contain that certain sparkle of excitement.

“Yep! Would you like to come outside?”

Fabian looked around the room. After a moment’s pause, he nodded, “I-I don’t want to leave this place… But I can for a while…”

Alair nodded as he had went to the door and opened it, “Just follow me then, okay?”

The two had stepped out into the previous room as the air with a familiar temperature had greeted them. Alair was relieved to be out of the room. Fabian wasn’t, especially with what was right in front of him.

The white-haired girl had stood there, holding a can of carrot juice, “Hiya.”

Just seeing her had made Fabian screech and hide behind Alair, considering Alair’s height.

“Oh, right. Nice to see you too, Faris,” Etalt had crushed the can in her hand before going up to the two boys.

“D-Don’t call me that!!” Fabian had screeched.

“Chill, will you?” Etalt had aimed the can at the trash can behind the room’s door. She threw it, but it ironically had missed, “Ya think with the amount of times I’ve used a gun, I’d be perfect at aiming. Guess not,” She shrugged, “Liar, where’s the gun?”

“…The gun..?” For a second, Alair looked lost. He then reached into his hood and pulled out the weapon before placing it in her hand.

“Anyways, you two are done with your business, right?” Etalt had questioned as she scratched her head.

“I… guess..?” Alair looked back at Fabian, “He just wants to see Holly for a bit.”

“Well, the two little chumps are friends. Why not?”

Etalt had started to walk out the other door as the other two followed behind. The events of the door had then pricked at Alair’s mind.

“…Doesn’t this lead to the maze?”

“No,” Fabian had responded, “It was just me… It leads outside.”

The night sky had came into view, welcoming the three back with the crisp breeze.

Holly was sitting down next to Venere, petting them affectionately. They approached her, catching her attention.

“Fabian!” Holly had smiled brightly, pushing herself off the ground to throw herself on to the being of anxiety.

Fabian tried to smile, but it came out more awkward than he wanted it to, “H-Hello! It’s nice to see you again!”

“Aww why the face, mister? Lighten up!”

The mortals just watched as the two Bounded Viabilities interacted with each other. While Alair had stared off into the distance, the place had flashed before him.

At Alair’s side was Fabian, who now seemed to be his height. The two were walking together, but Alair was only able to feel resent. Even though only Fabian was in his view, it was almost as if there was another person. Alair had turned his head to the back to see someone smiling. It was a small and petite figure. It wasn’t clear as to what their face looked like, but Alair knew that they were smiling. When he tried to look down, he saw that their shirt was… brown? Black? Stone gray? He was unable to tell, but he knew that it was in between those colors. Though, he was able to hear a voice.

“I hope you two get along, you know? It’d be a shame if you didn’t!”

The dark grass and the star-covered sky had faded back into view, as well as the two Bounded Viabilities. Alair had leaned down to whisper to Etalt.

“…Do you know any other small people around here..?”

Being asked the question, Etalt had deadpanned Alair, “…Is that supposed to be a freaking insult?”

Remembering his own height, Alair had tried to refrain from chuckling, “N-No, but… I kind of had another memory from the Anemesis Pearl.”

“You mean the Anamnesis Pearl.”

“Whatever it’s called!” Alair had reached into his pocket before pulling out the small jade orb, “Anyways, yeah… It just… showed me another.”

“Couldn’t you have used a more sugar-coated term? Like vertically challenged?” Etalt had scoffed at him, “Well, no… but there might be some around Glister City if you want a definite answer.”

“Isn’t that where Raika is?” Alair had asked, “Fabian says that this ‘Raika’ might know about the way out and the person who manipulates time.”

“Hm… Well, why don’t we ask the other two about what they think?”

“Why not?”

Alair had looked over to the two, who were still talking. Holly was laughing while Fabian had looked the least amount of frightened.

“The little girl must’ve told him a horror story. Poor guy,” Etalt had huffed.

“Hey, Holly! Fabian!” Alair had called.

The Bounded Viabilities had looked over at Alair with curiousity. Additionally, Venere also looked up although they weren’t called.

“Where do you two think we should go?” Alair had approached the two quickly.

“We should visit Dunn! He gets lonely sometimes!” Holly had immediately answered.

“We should go to Raika if you want more answers,” Fabian’s answer had came after Holly’s.

“Agh, darn… It’s this kind of thing again,” Alair had chuckled, “Etalt,what do you think?”

“Would you like to get out sooner or not?”

Being met by this question, Alair was conflicted. He wanted to get out, knowing that he had other things to attend to in his world. On the other hand, he wanted to fix the world himself.

“…We’ll visit Raika, then.”

“If that’s what you want,” Etalt had shrugged, “We’ll leave tomorrow, then.”

“B-But what about Venere?” Fabian looked over at the canine, who was just staring at them, “He might get cold in Glister Bay…”

“Oh… right…” Alair had looked over at Venere as well, “He’s part plant…”

“Don’t worry! There’s only a few places that Venere won’t be able to access, right?” Holly had remarked, “He’ll only be in danger when it snows around the city!”

“Guess it’s settled, then,” Alair had looked up at Etalt, “When should we leave?”

Etalt shrugged for an unknown number of times, “I’d say it’s your choice, but… I guess we can leave early tomorrow.”

“Got it,” Alair had then turned to Fabian, “Hey, it was nice meeting you. We’ll probably be able to see you another time, okay?”

Fabian silently nodded.

Alair had started to walk on the path that led away from the house, “Well, I’ll be seeing you.”

===================

The three were now at a hotel, which had luckily allowed Venere to come in. They all ended up having to share a room due to the lack of other rooms.

Alair had hopped right on the bed as Etalt had tucked Holly in. She deadpanned Alair once again.

“Shush. The kid’s gonna sleep,” Etalt’s eyes had narrowed at him.

Holly, having buried her face in the blanket, had poked her face out, “It’s okay! I can sleep with noise!”

“Yes but he might wake you up, so he has to stay quiet.”

Holly had giggled, “Can you tell me a bed time story like before?”

Etalt had looked at her, trying to process her thoughts. She then looked at Alair.

“Liar, come over here.”

Alair had rolled off the bed, causing Holly to giggle more. He got up, standing at the side of Holly’s bed, “Yes?”

“Tell her a story.”

“Wait, me? Don’t you have any stories?”

“Too dark for children. You probably have a kid-friendly story.”

Alair had sighed, “Fine.”

Before he decided to start, he had gotten up to grab a chair and drag it to the side of Holly’s bed. He sat down before taking a deep breath.

“Once in a school, there was a guy named Al. His best friend was a girl named Alis,” Alair had began, “The two were friends for more than two years. Alis was loved by everyone and she was one of the most intellegent students at school. Al, on the other hand, was a class clown… but everyone loved him anyway.”

As soon as Etalt had realized what the story was about, she had deadpanned Alair again, “What the heck?! Do you think that this girl will understand romance?! Especially at such a young age like this?!”

Holly grinned again, “It’s okay! I know what kissing is.”

Etalt had to restrain herself from facepalming. Regardless, she sighed, “Okay, fine. Continue.”

“Al had started to develop feelings for Alis, but he wasn’t sure if Alis had felt the same way. Al wanted to tell her, but never found the right time,” Alair had went on with the story, “But then, the two had gotten into a fight. They didn’t talk to each other for a few months.”

Holly had blinked more than once, “What happened after?”

“After hearing about an incident, Al had went to save the world with his cousin, Rylie. The two had saved the world and Al had gotten a bright and beautiful crystal for Alis. After that, the two had lived happily ever after,” Alair had smiled, “The end.”

“That sounds really cute!” Holly had smirked, “Do you have a crush on anyone?”

“…No.”

“You hesitated!” Holly had sat up, pointing at Alair, “Liars go to h-”

Etalt had covered Holly’s mouth, “No need for that language.”

“But hell isn’t a bad word,” Alair had said.

“She’s still too young too use those kinds of words!”

“Okay. Suit yourself, then,” Alair had sat back on the chair he was in.

Etalt had looked over at Holly, “Alright lay back down, kiddo. I’ll tell you a real story.”

As instructed, Holly had laid back down before Etalt had tucked her back in.

“Once upon a time in Glister City, a young girl named Irene had met a boy at school named Mito. The two had quickly became friends and got along well, until three years later. They had a fight. The thing that Mito didn’t know was that Irene was actually suffering depression.”

Alair had looked up at Etalt, who had continued to explain her story.

“Irene had soon suddenly stopped going to school, which had concerned Mito. Mito had soon started to search for his friend, but he was unable to find her. Soon, he had stumbled across a book that had told him everything he had to do to find Irene. He then had found out that Irene had been banished to another world within a mirror and wanted to get her out.”

The story that Etalt was telling was starting to make him wonder deeply about why she was telling this story.

“It was almost as if she were stuck in another world, but Mito wished and wished with all his might to set her free. However, the mirror had shattered. At that spot, Mito had sobbed and wept for Irene to come back. A voice had then echoed, ‘Do you really want her back?’” Etalt had stopped to clear her throat, “'Yes,’ Mito had cried. Please bring her back to me… She’s the only friend I have.’ As if a magical spell had been casted, the shattered glass had reformed into a mirror. Irene had stepped out and Mito had hugged her, promising that he would never ever treat her badly again. Irene had also agreed on that. And so the two had lived lives, being the best of friends… The end.”

Holly had giggled at the story, “That was a bit longer than blueberry’s story, but I loved it!”

“Alright, alright…” Etalt had patted Holly’s head, “Get some sleep now, okay?”

Etalt had backed away but Holly hadn’t closed her eyes.

“Etaaalt! Can you give me a kiss like mommy and daddy did?”

Etalt stopped for a bit. She sighed, shaking her head, “Sorry, I can’t do so…” she said, patting the child’s head again, “Maybe when you see them again, then you can get one from them.”

“Okay!” Holly had shifted around to find comfort, “Goodnight, blueberry! Goodnight, Etalt!”

“Goodnight, Holly,” Alair had partially smiled.

“G'nite, kiddo,” Etalt had said before walking away from the bed.

Alair had waited for Holly to fall soundly asleep. Before a minute had passed, Venere had jumped on top of her bed and laid down while resting its head on her stomach.

“You got this?” Alair had asked the canine.

Venere had gaped its mouth for a bit, which Alair had assumed to be a 'yes.’

Alair had gotten up and went in the direction Etalt had went. He saw her outside at the balcony wall through the sliding door. He slid the door open before walking outside.

“Hey.”

Etalt looked back at him, “…Don’t ya wanna sleep?”

Alair had walked right next to her, leaning himself on the balcony wall, “In a bit… This might sound weird coming from me, but… Thanks for puttung that gun in my hood. I could’ve died.”

“Ironic of you to say that,” Etalt had shrugged, “It was nothing.”

“Have you saved a person’s life before?” Alair had asked.

“Doesn’t yours count?”

“…Maybe…” Alair had decided to move the topic, “That story was kinda cool. Did you make it yourself?”

“Mhm. A long time ago,” Etalt had muttered, “And yours… I’m guessing that it was based off reality?”

Looking at Etalt, Alair had seemed shocked, “H-How do you know?”

“Al. Really,” Etalt had snorted, “If you actually had a better name, then I wouldn’t be thinking that!”

“…Okay, I admit. It was based off a true story. You got me,” Alair had gently nudged Etalt, “But that last part wasn’t real. I made it up.”

“Liars go to hell, liar,” Etalt had snorted again, “So you have a crush on someone?”

“As much as I’d hate to admit it, yes. It was kind of obvious because of that story.”

“Speaking as a frie- I mean company… Don’t ever narrate about your life unless you’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Lesson learned,” Alair looked out into the open, “It was a kid, okay?”

“Yeah, but not all kids are stupid. Especially this one.”

“I know.”

The wind blew by once again.

“So what’s she like?” Etalt had asked.

“Oh, Alis? Everyone loves her and she’s pretty intellegent… But… Her parents died a little after she was born… So she was adopted,” Alair smiled a little again, “You know, it turns out that she was the lost princess of a country in Europe! Well, she does have that kind of charm that makes every guy want her-”

“Stop right there,” for about the fourth time today, Etalt had deadpanned him, “That description is making my ears bleed… Personality. Appearance. NOT HER TRAGIC BACKSTORY AND WHAT OTHERS THINK ABOUT HER.”

“….Okay…! Everyone thinks she can be a supermodel! She has blonde hair and blue eyes! She’s pretty atheletic! She has a nice voice! She’s really nice, but she’s careless sometimes!” Alair stopped to catch his breath, “I actually… wanted to bring a crystal from Lucid Cave to give to her as an apology for what happened back then.”

Etalt just stared at him for a little bit, “You know… If ya didn’t remind me of someone I once knew, you’d be getting your neck snapped on the cold hard and earthy soil,” she jumped off the balcony wall and back on the floor, “Geez, if I ever see that woman here then I might stab myself. Perfection makes me cringe,” she walked to the sliding door before opening it, “But… That’s how it is if ya feel that way towards her.”

Before Etalt could step inside, Alair had looked back at her.

“That aside… Do you think I should be going back to Earth real soon?”

Etalt had closed the door, “…Why do you ask?”

“…That illusion that Fabian used on me wasn’t too…” Alair had looked down, “My brother…”

Not knowing how to respond, Etalt had huffed, “I’m sure your brother is fine. After all, you left him under the care of your relatives, right?”

“…I guess. I just worry about him, sometimes.”

“Well, no need to worry I guess. He’s out of this world’s grasp, probably,” Etalt had walked back over to Alair, “…Did you… get into a fight with Fabian? You said he used an illusion on you.”

“…Mhm… But… They kind of don’t ma-”

Etalt had grabbed his wrist, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the two-hour old cuts. She raised an eyebrow at him, “…Where did he get you?”

“Uh… On my arms… He also got my back, but I’m sure that doesn’t- GAH!”

Alair had stepped back as soon as Etalt had placed a hand on his back.

“H-Hey, don’t touch that!” Alair had seemed to flinch, remembering the damage that had been inflicted on his back.

“Inside. Now,” Etalt’s eyes had narrowed.

“It’s fine, I don’t-”

“Do you wanna die?”

“…Okay, fine.”

Etalt had went inside, leaving Alair outside. He looked out into the town, watching as people had entered their houses one by one.

The scenery had slowly faded into a bright sky, where the same person that was following him in the same flashback was right next to him. They smiled, looking at the view.

“There’s not much. Oh well! We’ll probably find more things! Keep your head up, bud!”

The scene was slowly fading out to the current one once again. Alair shook his head, proceeding to go back inside.

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