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gummygowon · 4 years ago

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how ateez surprises you on your birthday!

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: hi!! I don’t know if you still want fluff requests, but if you are, do you think you could write how ateez would surprise you on your birthday? My birthday is soon 💕 hehe

a/n: i am like this close to turning all these reactions into oneshots or drabbles lsjdflsdf but anyways i’m so sorry this took so long! i hope you enjoy!! :)

seonghwa:

i think seonghwa is your classy, romantic, gentlemen boyfriend

which means that he would definitely surprise you after work/school by picking you up and then take you back home for some surprises (not like that weridos)

the first surprise being that your apartment was finally cleaned

countertops sparkling, dishes finally back in cupboards, and not even a speck of dust on your mirrors

“hwa, did you do this?”

you were a working student and lately, your homework load was piling lately which meant less free time >:(

he nodded at you, a bashful smile on his face, “i know you been super busy lately with school and everything so, i wanted to take some weight off your shoulders.”

your heart ached at the sight of him, making you run over to him and place a kiss on cheek, “i love you so much. thank you.”

“wait, there’s more.” seonghwa said as he pulled away, kissing you cheek once more before dragging you to your bedroom.

“there’s more?” you asked, slightly panicking since you were not prepared for anything else after your boyfriend deep cleaned your apartment

“yes there is. now close your eyes.” seonghwa impatiently answered as he placed his hands over your eyes. he was definitely too excited to show you other gifts

once seonghwa had carefully led you to the front of your bed, he removed his hands from your eyes, “surprise!”

you opened your eyes to a somewhat large gift bag and raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend

after taking out the bright tissue paper in the bag, you pulled out a pretty satin dress in your favorite color that looked too expensive and long box that contained an envelope charm god necklace that had a tiny matching gold plate that said “i love you” on the front and on the back, “p.sh”

seonghwa was super pleased with your reactions as he watched the biggest smile on your face form, “do you like it?”

“yes!” you answer before rushing into this arms, “but i don’t know when i’m gonna wear it.” your smile fading just a tad

but do not worry, mr. park got that covered

“well, you could wear it to our dinner reservations at the monarch.”

“no way!” you shout. “you got reservations there?”

the monarch was one of those fancy restaurants with really good food that can you leave day dreaming about it for days and you’ve been dying to try that place out after wooyoung mentioned that place a few months ago

however, it was pretty much booked for the next month so reservations were hard to come across

but seonghwa did some extensive researching and (eavesdropping) to find the perfect place to take you out and reserved literally a month and a half before

“yes, i did. now go get ready princess before we’re late.” seonghwa kissed your forehead before letting you go.

after an hour of you being in the bathroom, you came out looking like an actual model

like godamn

seonghwa thought you were hot without makeup but now-

holy fuck was he speechless

“do i look okay?” you asked nervously, fidgeting with the hem of the dress

“you look more than okay, love. you look absolutely stunning baby.”

“thank you.” you responded back, trying to fight the blush on your cheeks

then seonghwa would escort you down to his car, making sure that nothing got onto your dress

so he would open all the doors you guys passed by and hold them out for you (he does this all the time but this time felt more magical because of your outfit)

you guys eat dinner feeling super grateful for everything hwa was done for you so far plus the food was worth the wait for sure

but by far, your favorite part of your birthday date was when seonghwa took you guys on a walk in a nearby park

pretty lights decorated the trees, lighting up paths for visitors

this added to the whole magical princess vibe which had you skipping

no like, you were literally skipping with happiness as you ventured through the park, smiles painting both of your faces :)

hongjooong:

you met hongjoong while working at the 7/11 below the company when he was a trainee

he was absolutely starstruck when he saw you for the first time behind the counter

a stuttering mess as he payed for his snacks while you had flushed cheeks when his hand grazed yours when you gave his change back

after that hongjoong always made an excuse to come down to see you and start talking to you

then on one late night, he offered to walk you home since he was concerned for your well-being (he always was actually)

you, of course agreed because you wanted another excuse to talk to him more

the walk home was quite enjoyable

no awkward silences or anything

but of course, you forgot your jacket on a chilly, fall night

you were practically shivering as soon as you walked out of the connivence store and it didn’t take hongjoong more than a minute to see you freezing your ass off

“are you cold?”

“no...” you answered stubbornly as you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself

“bullshit.” honjoong laughed as he shrugged his hoodie off and handed it to you. “here.”

you were caught so off guard by his actions that you literally stopped walking, “are you sure?”

“yeah, i’m sure. i don’t want you to get sick”

you took the warm hoodie from him and slipped it on, the sleeves going past your fingertips, “thank you but, won’t you get sick?”

“eh, it’s fine. i like the cold.”

“ok weirdo.”

“give me back my jacket.”

“no!” you yelled at him as you started sprinting towards your house

ever since that night, hongjoong would walk you home after your shift and of course, you would always forgot to bring a jacket

which meant that you would have to reluctantly take his jacket

now fast forward to two years later, you guys started dating!

and this year for your birthday was pretty casual, nothing fancy since you had school and work

which meant that hongjoong would swing by the store when your shift was over and he did

however this walk was different since you guys took a little detour to the park nearby your house so you guys could look at the pretty stars.

then of course, you forgot your jacket again

“you cold?”

“yes.” you sigh in defeat which causes your boyfriend to laugh

“good because then you’ll love my gift then”

and then hongjoong pulls out a gift bag from his backpack which you open a little too quickly

hongjoong gives you a reformed sweatshirt!!!

“do you remember the first night i walked you home?”

you nod your head eagerly as you slip it on, the bright strips of color on the sleeves popping out

“i love it!” you exclaim as you wrap your arms around hongjoong tightly

“you do?” he asks unsure, that you wouldn’t like at all.”

“yes, why wouldn’t i?” you look up at him causing honjoong’s brain to stop working

“i love you.” he spit out, his cheeks flushed and a crooked smile on his face

you giggled at his actions before leaning into kiss him, “i love you too.”

yunho:

ok so being the busy queen/king you are, you hadn’t had the chance to see your boyfriend yet plus you were staying at your parents for the weekend to celebrate your birthday which made it even harder

but nonetheless, you were ecstatic to be home and surrounded by all our family members and a few childhood friends who stayed in your hometown for college or were back for the weekend

it was great since you were able to celebrate your birthday being surrounded by the people you love

but you really missed your boyfriend even though he called you in the morning to wish you a happy birthday and apologize for not being able to make it

it was almost midnight by the time everyone in your house was settled for the night or even sleeping and so you were until you heard a knock coming from your window

you nearly broke your neck because you snapped your sound head so fast to your window

your mind immediately went to “there’s a serial killer outside” mode so you grabbed your hairbrush as a weapon as if that would do any damage

when you pushed back your blinds, you had to keep yourself from screaming because there sat your boyfriend from highschool on the huge ass tree right near your window

“yunho?!@!#@”

“hi.” yunho responded a small smile on his face

it was like a mix of smirk and an embarrassed smile

anyways, yunho somehow convinces you to come outside so you guys can watch the stars

which is exactly what you do

you grab your hoodie (which is actually yunho’s) and an extra blanket as you carefully make your way down the tree

at first, you were scared that your parents were going to scold you for leaving and you were like fuck but you then you remembered you’re an adult so they couldn’t get that mad at you

this reminded you of the few times you would sneak out of the house for yunho which is the only reason why you would ever think about sneaking out

yunho walks you to the nearby park in your neighborhood before laying down his own blanket for you guys to lay on

you’re lowkey shivering so you try to move as close to yunho as you can as he wraps his arm under you

for the first few minutes you guys sit in silence, just watching the stars and tiny planets twinkle in the dark sky

until you start pointing out different constellations which yunho thought was actually so amazing because they all looked like clumps of white dots to him

plus, he found it really cute when you started to get all excited and jumpy talking about the things you were really passionate about

although yunho couldn’t tell the difference between capricorn and the little dipper, he still made a comment about the view

“the moon is beautiful isn’t it?”

you craned your head to look up at him, a smile creeping its way on your face, “yeah, it is.”

yunho smiled back before reaching down to cup your cheek for a kiss

the phrase, “the moon is beautiful isn’t it?” is a more poetic way of saying “i love you.”

yeosang:

i feel like yeosang is a perfectionist

yk the type of bf to make sure everything is done correctly for your dates and especially your birthday

and this year you wanted to do something simple and small because of covid plus you still had work and school to do

tbh if it was just you and yeosang together this year, you wouldn’t mind at all

so going by your wishes, yeosang came up with the brilliant idea to try and bake you a cake since you literally refused to tell him what you want for your birthday (although, he has secretly been taking notes about what you need even if it was just something that you could’ve bought yourself)

ok now, we all seen that video of yeosang trying to cook an egg which turned out horribly so his baking experience with this wasn’t the smoothest

yes, he bought all the correct ingredients and tools needed to bake and decorate a cake but somehow his first cake turned out burnt as hell which led to him going back to the store to buy another cake mix (and an extra just in case he fucks up again)

this time it came out pretty good, the middle wasn’t runny at all the sides weren’t a charcoal black

now all he had to do was frost the godamn cake

which was so fucking hard to do AND FOR NO REASON ISTG

the store bought frosting he bought kept catching cake crumbs in it and the spatula he was using was doing an ass job

yeosang was getting so frustrated with this hellish sugar on sugar thing because he literally watched a fifteen minute video on how to frost cakes for beginners last night

he had all the right tools for it so why wasn’t the cake creating a smooth crumb coat ?????

after he awhile, he abandoned his crash course learning in cake decorating from the night before and started doing his own thing

so after doing a base layer of frosting with your favorite color, he picked out all the crumbs from it which took hours but he didn’t care

and then he started to add the “happy birthday!” on it which went lowkey south since it was actually a lot harder to write with frosting than what yeosang thought

but he still tried his best to fix it so the words weren’t horribly slanted or anything

fortunately, the cake turned out alright for someone who doesn’t decorate cakes for a living

now the hard thing was to get to your apartment without dropping the cake or fucking it up on the way there

so yeosang sat in the back of yunho’s car clutching the sides of the cake platter with his dear life

luckily, the cake made it to your house in one shape and you were so surprised and happy that yeosang came over

you were practically jumping up and down once he put the cake down on your table and clinged onto his arm

after yeosang sang happy birthday to you, you blew out the candles with the biggest grin on your face

“what did you wish for?”

“that’s a secret.” you joked as you swooped some frosting onto your finger and onto his nose

san:

this was probably the first time that san had stayed home in months

it was annoyingly difficult to try and schedule times to see each other but you didn’t mind

he was here now and that’s all that matter

smiling to yourself, you turned over to san’s side expecting there to be your cuddly boyfriend for you to only be met with a cold side

“wtf” you thought, did he get called into practice or something last minute? if he did he would’ve texted you...

which you grabbed your phone immediately to look for any missed calls or texts but there was nothing from san, just the usual spam emails and post notifs from insta

san promised that he was going to be free for the whole weekend for your birthday

promises are meant to be broken, you childishly thought to yourself

sighing, you were about to get out of bed so you can brush your teeth and go celebrate your special day before your door flew open,

“surprise!” your boyfriend shouted into the room

“oh my fuck!” you screamed back, clutching your chest

whatever was in san’s hands tumbled a little bit before he caught his balance again

“you scared me!”

“i’m sorry baby.” san apologized before placing a tray full of your favorite breakfast dishes onto your bedside table

“did you make this?” you asked as you poked around the tray

godamn he actually got all your favorites, your favorite drink, sweets, and your preferred way of cooking eggs

he hummed in response before kissing you on the cheek, “happy birthday, y/n.”

with your heart swelling full of love and a few tears sliding down your face, you thank him

“i love you so much.” you say before you pull him into a tight hug

“i love you more.” san responds kissing your forehead before tugging you onto the bed so you could eat

you sit in san’s lap as you eat and occasionally give him a bite after you hear his stomach grumble

“do you want a bite? or...” you ask after hearing san’s stomach growl louder than the trucks outside your apartment

you turn to look at your boyfriend with a forkfull of pancakes, noticing the faint blush on his cheeks

you watch san struggle to answer your question since he didn’t want to eat your surprise breakfast but boy was he hungry

“yes.” he sighs in defeat making you giggle

mingi:

ok so mingi is a little trickster when it comes to surprises

so for your birthday you come from your day, burnt as hell from working and schoolwork and you really don’t wanna do much

you just feel like taking a shower and going to bed tbh

but however that was not the case

as soon as you came home, mingi sprang up from the couch kissing your forehead, asking how your day was

and then immediately he asked you to dress up nice

but you being grumpy and crabby slightly whined, “why? i think i’m just gonna call in some pizza, min.”

and then he would definitely catch on to the fact that you really did not want to be bothered at the moment but he still pushed you to get ready, “it’s your birthday, that’s why! take a shower and wake up and get dressed up because the place i’m taking you to is a classic.”

you were literally about to throw your bag on the floor and stomp your feet like a child

you loved your boyfriend a lot but it was your birthday so why was mingi calling all the shots???

but you sucked in a breath before mumbling an agreement to getting ready, “this place better be good mingi.”

“oh it is. don’t even worry about it.” your boyfriend would respond, shooing away your comment with a wave of his hand

while you shower and get ready, mingi goes to change in your other bathroom into a super nice tux like ball worthy tux yk

so when you step out of your bathroom with a towel wrapped around your chest about to ask mingi what you should specifically wear, your eyes nearly pop out of your head when you see what he’s wearing

and you’re like fuck i really have to wear something nice he also looks hot as fuck

which leads to you pulling out outfit after outfit to try an figure out what exactly matches your boyfriend’s tux and after some digging you finally found an outfit that screamed “cinderella’s ball”

you step out of your room with a frown on your face because the fatigue was now replaced with irritation and an empty stomach

but mingi is tripping out on the fact that you look so fucking good

like holy fuck

“you look amazing baby.”

your mood would lighten up a little bit but you were still playing the “i’m annoyed” card

so after you guys leave your apartment and are sitting his car driving towards the city and passing by many, many fancy restaurants which is making you wonder where the fuck you guys were going

“mingi, where are we going?”

“you’ll see.” is all he would say making you a little more frustrated

but eventually, mingi stops the car at an arcade that you haven’t been to in ages

“oh my god.” you gasp as you rush out of your seatbelt. “hurry up mingi!”

“now you’re excited?” he would tease you before joining you at the door with his hand in yours

when you guys walk in, everything is the exact same from what you remember as a kid

the same black with colorful confetti carpet, rows of games with the cords in a tangled mess behind the machines, and of course the prize counter looked the exact same except the prizes were much cooler this time (you could win an ipad and a nerf gun!!!)

you were definitely in much better mood now and was pulling mingi left and right to go play games

you guys were both extremely competitive but sometimes mingi would let you win because he loved seeing you get all excited and hyped when you won a game but he do it in a non-discreet way so you wouldn’t catch on

however, when it came to that car racing game (yk with the steering wheel) well he would not hold the tf back on that game and niether would you

he even made a bet with you declaring that whoever loses has to pay for dinner which you gladly accepted because you never lose (a lie has been detected !)

so here you guys were absolutely gaming it out, taking this racing game a little bit too seriously wearing full on red carpet-worthy outfits in an old arcade where little kids were staring at you guys weirdly

niether of you cared, too busy focusing on the game which was currently in a tie and ended with you winning!

fair and square if i may add (mingi had accidentally crashed into a building which ultimately led to his downfall)

so you’re all excited and pumped up because you kicked his ass in that game and you’re walking out the arcade practically skipping because of your mood and you flash mingi a L, “hah! you have to buy me pizza now!”

while mingi is literally sulking with his head down and is walking 0.01 mph, “no fair my game glitched!”

“no excuses, song!”

wooyoung:

since we all know that wooyoung loves to cook, i can safely assume that he would definitely surprise his s/o with their favorite meal for their birthday

like, wooyoung would probably sneak into your house when you left for work/school with his arms full of ingredients

he also come fully prepared with the recipe basically memorized after looking back and forth on it to make sure he bought all the correct ingredients

he knew that you haven’t had the time to see your family in person in awhile because of your upcoming finals and whatnot which meant that you missed your parent’s cooking a lot

it had been a fat minute since you were able to taste a warm cooked meal from your house and how you longed for your parent’s cooking

which is why wooyoung had secretly called your mother for their family recipe which she gladly gave as soon as wooyoung promised to not sell it (family recipes are not something to be passed around lightly)

so while you were at work, wooyoung was getting his iron chief on

preparing ingredients and measuring them to the exact cup or tablespoon

he was extremely nervous to present you his surprise because he was scared it was going to taste wonky

now the only thing left to do was wait for your surprise meal and for you to come home (he cleaned up his mess dw while waiting for you)

by the time you were home, you were slumped and just ready for bed tbh

but all the fatigue left your body once your apartment smelt like your childhood house, you snapped your head towards the kitchen to see wooyoung jump out from the counter

“surprise!”

“oh my god, i thought you were at work!” you rushed to go hug your boyfriend.

“i was but i managed to convince hongjoong to let me leave early.” wooyoung answered before kissing your cheek.

“awww, thank you.” you leaned into him even more before pointing towards the kitchen, “what did you make here, chef linguini?”

wooyoung let go of you and presented the plates that were set up on your counter all fancy like

“i made you dinner!” he exclaimed, his nerves bouncing off the wall which he masked with a bright smile

“is this my parents’ recipe?” you asked, tears forming in your eyes. it really had been a long time since you saw your parents.

“yeah, i asked your mom for it. i know it’s been awhile since you seen them so i decided to bring a little piece of them to you.” he answered sheepishly, one arm scratching his neck as he avoided making eye contact with you

the meal almost tasted exactly the one at home, triggering happy memories to flood your mind as you took another bite

“i hope you know that i plan on marrying you, jung wooyoung.” you half joked before digging into the dish even more

“you like it?” wooyoung asked, his smile lighting the room up even more

“of course i do!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him, “thank you so much for this. i love it.”

“and i love you.” he smiled back at you before kissing you. “let’s eat before it gets cold, yeah?”

“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you laughed before sliding into a seat, your heart warm and full of love

jongho:

you were absolutely bummed that jongho couldn’t see you for your birthday because he had practice all day and then you had work right after school

however, jongho called you as soon as the clock stroke midnight because he wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday!!! :)

nonetheless, you went through the school day with some of your classmates and a few teachers wishing you a happy birthday and what not

you even got a free cookie from the nice cafeteria lady!

then as soon as school ended you went to work at your local diner as a waitress

there, some of your fellow coworkers wished you a happy birthday as well!

before the rush hour, your closet coworker/best friend asked you why you didn’t just take the day off

you then explained to her how your boyfriend was at work all day and then you didn’t have the time/money to go visit your family in the neighboring city too much schoolwork and train fares were a bitch to cover

your best friend felt sorry for you and promised to take you out after you guys shift was over before a flood of customers came barreling through the door

so while you were at work, jongho was busy convincing honjoong to let him sneak out during their lunch break to see you

“please hyung! i haven’t seen her in person in so long and its her birthday please!”

hongjoong gave him a look saying you gotta do better than that

“i’ll take out the recycling for you for two weeks!” jongho pleaded with his hands together

bingo

“fine i’ll cover for you, but don’t let our manager catch you.”

jongho practically kissed him on both cheeks before sprinting out the door after looking around for his manager.

on his way over to your work, he stopped by a nearby flower shop to buy you some flowers and for him to catch a breath (he was basically running to your workplace before your lunch ended)

now over back to you, the rush had finally ended in time for your lunch break which you super glad for (no more karens up your ass !!!!)

you sat in a table near the back of the diner, pulling out snacks from your bag (you didn’t have much time to pack a full lunch)

you were thoroughly enjoying your snacks while mindlessly scrolling through social media before a loud noise cracked the air causing you to look up from your phone

“jongho?” you asked in disbelief at your boyfriend who was a panting mess. wasn’t he supposed to be at practice still?

“hi.” he smiled up at you after catching his breath. “i convinced hongjoong to let me sneak out of practice so i can surprise you.”

you were so shocked that you couldn’t even form words which led to you jumping out of your seat and wrapping your arms around him

it had been too long since the last time you saw each other

too long

“i missed you.” jongho whispered, wrapping his arms around you too being extra careful to not crush the flowers in his hand.

“i missed you too.” you whispered back, tears forming in your eyes as you hugged him even tighter

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years ago

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Chapter 46

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Despite his insistence on carefully contrived plans, and his aversion to impulsive action, Nie HuaiSang is more than capable of thinking on his feet.

He had known that this moment would come eventually. Some day, an attack, a carefully aimed arrow, a cup full of poison, something would slip past their barriers. Wei Ying may survive it, or he may not. This has been the indisputable truth of their existence, a truth universally acknowledged, although rarely ever discussed.

Nie HuaiSang’s flesh makes a pitiful shield, and a saber in his hand is equally as useless. His skill lies in other areas, and his task, regardless of danger the Emperor faces, is to protect the throne. Many arguments have been had between them on this subject, some so heated, it had seemed unlikely that their friendship could survive them.

HuaiSang has no loyalty to the Empire. Oh, he can praise and flatter, and speak flowery words of dedication and devotion with the best of them. But deep in his heart, he has always been a simple creature, with simple and straightforward priorities.

His Sect, his brother, Wei Ying, Jiang Cheng, these are things worth living for and dying for. Everything else, including the rest of the Empire, would always take the second place. It seemed inconceivable that he could turn away from Wei Ying in pain, Wei Ying dying, in order to protect some collection of insubstantial ideals, some flimsy peace between regions that have always yearned to fight, to protect some golden monstrosity of a seat that HuaiSang himself would never choose to occupy, not for all the silver and jade in the world.

It took a great deal of time, and many bitter arguments, to accept that some day, Wei Ying may die, but that the Empire must continue to exist in his absence. It had been even more difficult to accept that HuaiSang must be the one to bring this about. To accept that there will come a time when he must step away from Wei Ying, no matter the danger, no matter the consequences, and perform those duties that the Emperor cannot.

He has assumed this responsibility, regardless of personal misgivings. He knows what he must do.

And yet, nothing could have prepared him for the reality of the task.

There is a small, hand-picked contingent of the Nie Sect, whose only priority is preserving HuaiSang’s life. Most of the time, this protection is adequate, verging on excessive. After all, HuaiSang rarely moves far from his comfortable lodgings in the Emperor’s palace, nor has he left the Immortal Mountain in nearly three years. He has rarely ever needed their protection, as the majority of the dangers at court cannot be fought with a sword. Still, having failed in their duty mere days ago, this small contingent had sprung into action before HuaiSang had even fully comprehended the danger.

He finds himself practically carried off the dais, a wall of Nie Sect uniforms surrounding him from all sides. It is not clear how far they intend to carry him; HuaiSang has never bothered learning their contingency plans, nor has he expressed any interest in listening to the instructions Nie ZongHui had insisted on issuing at least a dozen times a year.

But he cannot leave the hall; not yet.

His heels, hanging nearly a handspan off the ground, kick out. At the same time, the sharp edge of his fan finds the unfortunate ear of a Sect member he does not recognize. He does not feel pity for the man, whose tight grip will probably leave bruises on HuaiSang’s upper arm. They release him, more out of surprise than any intention, and HuaiSang tugs his collar straight, feeling rumpled and off balance.

Now, he can see Wei Ying still standing on the dais, the black chest at his feet. He can see the dark coils of smoke wrapping around his body. The hall is a chaos of noise and confusion, cultivators who should be the best, the most skilled in the whole of the Empire, stumbling into each other, overtaken by panic. HuaiSang feels it too, a quivering unsteadiness beneath his breastbone, a fear that threatens to spill and incapacitate.

A hand latches around his arm again. This time his fan is precise, striking the bridge of the man’s nose.

“Enough,” he snaps, “I am not leaving.”

“Young Master,” Nie SuiLin says, “the Lieutenant General has ordered--“

“The Lieutenant General does not issue orders to His Majesty’s Most Favored Person,” HuaiSang bites out.

Back to Young Master already, is he? The Emperor is still standing on the dais, on his own two feet, but Nie SuiLin dares speak as if the Emperor is already dead.

He resists the urge to kick the man again, this time with more force. Irritation and fury coil in his chest, suffocating the fear, pushing it to the background. Nie SuiLin looks furious as well, but he will find his fury no match for HuaiSang’s.

HuaiSang has a million tasks to perform, each one more difficult than the last, and he does not have time for nonsense.

“You--“ he points his fan at the poor man whose nose he had bloodied, “Find the General. He is to lock down the Immortal Mountain. Guards at every gate, every entrance, every palace window, every crack in the wall where someone may slip out. Once the city and the Emperor’s palace are secure, I will need him in the banquet hall. You--“ he points at another, “take charge in here. Empty out the hall of everyone who is in the way--“

A blast of power propels him back into the wall of men, nearly knocking him down to the floor. The sound of the guqin drowns out the chaos of the hall, each note forceful enough to make his ears ring and his teeth ache. Through the wall of bodies, he can see the glow of spiritual energy battling the darkness, the familiar white of the Gusu Lan Sect in its midst. The black smoke roils and snaps, fighting to keeps its grip.

His bones feel rattled. Every one of his muscles is vibrating with the sound. His hands are shaking.

Useless as he would be, the urge to join them, to do something, anything at all, is overwhelming.

Irritation sweeps through him again. No distractions; no self-pity; no fear. He needs to focus.

He snatches the collar of the man with the bloody nose, “Find the General! Go!”

A hand latches on to his arm again, and he whirls, ready to beat Nie SuiLin until the man is bloody as well. Jiang Chen grabs his wrist before the fan can land, his expression tight and exasperated.

Although he shouts directly into HuaiSang’s face, his voice is barely audible over the now combined harmonies of the guqin and the xiao, “We need to secure the hall!”

HuaiSang closes his eyes, just for a moment, for a space of a single breath, so he does not leap at Jiang Cheng’s throat. Instead, he tugs a nearby Nie Sect member close, and shouts the same order into his ear. He sends another to find Nie ZongHui, with orders to escort all the Sect Leaders to the banquet hall and keep them there. His mind is trying to move too quickly, thoughts overlapping, contingency plans unfolding, reforming, and being dismissed, all in the matter of shaky, half-taken breaths.

Secure the Immortal Mountain. Secure the palace and the throne. Protect the Emperor. The Jiang Sect will take control of the Imperial Guard. HuaiSang needs to reach Wei Ying’s personal study before anyone else. He needs to--

He latches on to Jiang Cheng’s sleeve, “The Wen Sect?”

“On their way.”

He is stalling, and Jiang Cheng knows this.

HuaiSang need to go. He needs to go right now, before the other Sect Leaders have an opportunity to think, to consider their own contingency plans, to place the succession in peril.

Instead, he watches Lan WangJi’s break Wei Ying’s wrist. He watches Wei Ying release an object, its shape indistinguishable from the coils of black smoke. He watches Lan WangJi pull Wei Ying away from the dais, away from danger.

HuaiSang does not notice that his fingers had wrapped around Jing Cheng’s arm until they are pried off, with more gentleness than Jiang Cheng is ordinarily capable of displaying. Xiao XingChen had stepped up to Lan QiRen’s left shoulder, two more Fan Sect cultivators bracketing Lan XiChen. More join in, their power insignificant next to the Lan Sect, but the cursed object appears less powerful now, its prize removed from its grip.

HuaiSang cannot see the place where Lan WangJi has laid Wei Ying down on the marble floor. He does not know if Wei Ying is dead or alive. Only when Jiang Cheng’s hand grabs a fistful of his robes, does he realize that he has moved forward, intending to push his way to Wei Ying’s side.

“You have to go,” Jiang Cheng says.

“I know,” he snaps, jerking out of Jiang Cheng’s hold.

Stupid Wei Ying. Stupid Empire. He is not crying. His eyes are watering. His eyes are watering because he is furious, and surrounded by idiots. Incompetent idiots, who touch things without thinking, hop over rooftops looking for an arrow through their throat, and never consider their own safety first.

Idiots who insist on preserving some stupid, pointless legacy HuaiSang could not care less about.

With a growl, he turns on his heel, and grabs Nie SuiLin by the front of his robes, “Come with me.”

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #short chapter form nie huaisang's pov #ily chickens

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fantasyinvader · 4 years ago

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@fireemblems24

Since @teaveetamer already posted their document on the game, I figured I’m going to go ahead as well since I promised you I’d do this. Part of it is me being impatient and just want to get writing this over with, I’ll admit, but it’s better than something I scribble at the last minute.

Okay, let’s start off with something simple. The route split. There is a meaning behind this you might not be aware of. See, Byleth’s personal class isn’t the Enlightened One in the original text. It’s Nirvana. While it does take some cues from Hindu tradition, namely fusing with the Creator God...dess, in Three Houses it’s tied to a more Buddhist outlook. Namely, the duality between enlightenment and ignorance.

Let me explain. In Buddhist tradition, when he was attempting to reach Nirvana, a being called Mara tried to tempt Buddha away from that using his daughters. In their mythology, Mara represents spiritual death and among other things making bad things look good. However, the story goes that Buddha did not fall for the trap and in order to celebrate this a flag is used as the symbol. This is known as the Banner of Victory.

In Silver Snow, Byleth is presented with a flag. Not only does this flag appear as the route’s save icon, it’s also confirmed to be the game’s Fire Emblem. In addition, the developers have also said that the worldbuilding of Three Houses was done to support Silver Snow. Silver Snow is supposed to represent truth.

But what does that mean for Crimson Flower? It’s meant to be this path of temptation. Even the Japanese name for the route reflects this, as Safflowers don’t represent love like the red rose mentioned in the opening theme but rather attraction. Attraction and used in bouquets to say “I’m trying to attract you.” Even in the game itself, the choices that unlock CF are presented as changing the story.

What’s more, there’s implications.After joining Edelgard’s army, a NPC will talk about how he doesn’t think he should believe everything she says. This is way after Kostas dying, saying he should never have listened to her. There’s another NPC who, in the Japanese, heavily implies Edelgard is using propaganda to try and sway the unsupportive public to her side. We have the aftermath of Arianrhod, with her lying to the Black Eagles. Hell, the full version of the game’s theme song reveals she lied to Byleth during the events of White Clouds. Likewise, there’s a lot of little tidbits hidden in the route that imply it is far less heroic than it initially appears. Stuff like how Edelgard is starving her people to wage this war, how she abandoned the war she started for five years to search for Byleth, how she’s still using Crest Beasts, the fact the troops you liberated at Brigid were Imperial troops rather than Brigid militia like in the other routes (and notice how Catherine says “we just asked Brigid to not support the Empire” in contrast to Petra saying they’re forcing Brigid to join them? Other routes reveal that Brigid would join Rhea in a heartbeat if Petra wasn’t under Edelgard’s control), all optional but they’re there. Just like how her route has endings that contradict each other all over the place, talking about giving the people liberty while Hubert’s imply it’s a police state killing those who don’t accept their new overlord. Or how the Church is still around post-war, just under Edelgard’s control. Or how Byleth’s solo ending makes it still sound like they can use the Sword of the Creator, while the Jeritza ending shows them using the Sword of Seiros. Various bits of information floating around the game also debunk her narrative, if you know where to look. Crests and the Church don’t have as much power as she makes them out to, the Empire was founded on meritocracy but those in charge used their power to oppress the masses, and the Empire’s split with the Church happened because the Southern Church rebelled against their leadership and was crushed by the emperor at the time.

There’s so much evidence that things are changing in Fodlan, with new power structures and attempted reforms, while the Japanese text makes it clear Edelgard wants to put things back to how they used to be. She’s not a reformer, she seeking restoration of the Empire.

Even Byleth’s romance with Edelgard is suspect in the Japanese text. Ferdinand and Hubert’s paired ending makes it clear that Edelgard is jealous of how close they are, while her supports with Byleth flat out say Byleth has become more distant (and likely undoing their development during White Clouds). In addition, Japanese Hubert and Byleth’s support ends with Hubert saying they can be two particular birds flying alongside the eagle that is Edelgard. This bird is from Chinese mythology, representing eternal love...and bringing death, destruction and misery. It has very negative implications, hence why using the mandarin duck is seen as more appropriate since it also means love without any of the other stuff.

CF is the path of ignorance. Hell, the Japanese script says as much when Dimitri calls you out on walking the path of the beast. Nirvana is meant to be extinguishing the flames of hatred, greed and ignorance within yourself, while the path of the beast is one of hatred, greed and ignorance. CF is the antithesis of what Byleth’s story is supposed to be, hence why they lose their powers in it’s ending and aren’t a leader in Fodlan despite having proven themselves capable of the task. Instead, various endings show Edelgard restoring the nobility, albeit with far more control over them. Hell, the Japanese script uses the words conquest a lot more than the English one, the devs even referring to it as such while Silver Snow is the Empire Route and that part of the meaning behind CF is simply getting rid of those who stand in your way. Nothing about liberty or humanity, just Edelgard taking all power for herself.

Or in other words, she’s the hegemon that’s referred to in Byleth’s CF title. This was actually confirmed to be a reference to China’s Mandate of Heaven, and is meant to stand in contrast to Azure Moon. The gist is that unlike the Divine Right of Kings, where a leader has a right to rule given to them by God and everyone else can just suck it up, the Mandate treats their rule as a privilege. If you’re a cruel leader, corrupt,you put yourself ahead of your subjects, or just simply an oppressive tyrant, then you’re walking the path of the Hegemon. The Heavens will then give signs to the people, telling them they need to overthrow you and install a new leader. That’s what Edelgard is supposed to represent, and her route has confirmed rebellions against her. Ironically, her portrait at the end of CF is based off of Napoleon’s coronation portrait, which was meant to emphasize his own divine right to rule. That hand staff is supposed to represent being given God’s approval to rule, it’s call the Staff of Justice...except what we see in the game is inverted from the real thing.

Meanwhile, Dimitri’s path is that of the Righteous Kings. He’s a benevolent leader, one who puts the people first, giving them power and by overthrowing Edelgard he enacted justice. Dimitri at the end of AM and during CF is meant to be the good king, while Edelgard is always the tyrant. Hell, the terms for these in Japanese are used as expressions. Hegemon has very negative implications, like a power-tripping middle manager, while Righteous King has positive ones and can even be used to say a particular way of doing things is the proper way to do things.

Also worth noting that Azure Moon is the only route where you can pretty much save everyone sans Edelgard, Hubert and Jeritza. It seems to be the route that most emphasizes compassion over learning the full truth (hence, it doesn’t feature the flag like SS/VW).

Hell, the same final boss theme plays at the end of CF and AM. It’s Edelgard’s theme, using her own musical cues and stuff. Rhea might be the final boss of CF, but the music makes Edelgard the bad guy. Likewise, there’s many cues in the game linking Rhea with light/dawn and Edelgard with shadows/darkness, even Rhea’s lilies represent purity compared to Edelgard’s safflower.

Claude also has light based symbolism, and the devs confirmed he’s a good guy. He’s supposed to be Fodlan’s new guiding light after Rhea dies and the collapse of Fodlan’s institutions. In essence, he’s a direct contrast to Edelgard. While Edelgard thinks she knows everything and won’t change her mind, Claude learns the real truth and his views change with the route (mostly implied due to his supports). Claude reveals said truth, while Edelgard will keep pushing lies that suit her. The endings were Edelgard loyalists and TWSITD rise up to try and retake Fodlan are less hidden than the rebellions against Edelgard. Claude treats Byleth as an equal, whereas Edelgard pulls rank and says she can only see them as an equal when they propose. Claude doesn’t fall for attempts by TWSITD to turn him against the Church in VW, which creates the impression that they were the ones responsible for turning Edelgard against Rhea for simply being not human.

Claude is legit, especially considering the fraud that is Edelgard. You can’t save everyone as Claude, since the story prioritizes the truth (with SS being in the middle) but there’s a case to be made that it’s meant to be Claude’s path to his own form of enlightenment so he can be your true equal and partner.

So, that’s kinda it. Each of the three main routes are meant to contrast CF in some way. AM is more focused on compassion and saving Dimitri from himself, at the cost of learning the full truth. VW pushes the truth more, but you’re not able to save those you could in other routes. SS is somewhere in the middle, where you can save everyone you take into your class, Rhea if you have supports with her, and Dedue if you can keep him alive. The language the devs used makes them all out to be hero routes, whereas CF is the villain route once you dig under the surface. It’s the route of lies, it leads to tyranny, it lacks sincere compassion, but it doesn’t tell you that because you’re meant to be ignorant because you decided to join her. You put Edelgard ahead of the good of Fodlan, leaving it in darkness while she talks about being it’s light.

The main thrust of the game is SS vs. CF, but VW and AM serve to further illustrate why CF is the wrong way of doing things.

The devs took it a step further in the Nintendo Dream interview. Take all of what I just said, and consider the fact they wanted the players to immerse themselves in Fodlan. They want people to see all the evidence against Edelgard, hence why fighting her = Enlightenment. BUT they also talked about wanting to play a trick on players, and when people complained about how hard it was to “walk with Edelgard” during testing they made it easier to access CF. CF is the trick my friend, it’s the player thinking they’re the good guy when in reality they’re playing the game’s villain route.

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blairwaldcrf · 5 years ago

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i’d give up forever to touch you - stumptown, dex/grey

ao3. 2k. (inspired by a prompt from @kmkalan )

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“Dex! Dex!, ” Grey yells as he runs over, Hoffman only giving him one confirming glance before continuing to run after the criminal .

Somehow she’s lucky enough that she's shot close enough to a wall, if considered luck, and he props her up more as he surveys the bleeding. Bright red and spurting. Fuck. “Hey, Dex, are you with me?”

There’s a waver in his voice that isn’t usually there, but he’s never seen her with an arterial injury. Of course he had taken a secret CPR class when she started to come back to his bar with more and more work-related injuries; but other than immediately calling the paramedics he felt helpless .

At first he uses her wool jacket to cover the rhythmic blood loss, applying as much pressure as he can despite her groans .

“I’m with you,” she says, but she’s barely coherent and his stomach has dropped.

“Okay, good,” he tells her. “Good. Let’s keep you conscious, okay? Stay with me.”

Her groan is sarcastic at least. “Tell me something shocking.”

“Uh, okay,” he fumbles. “...Ansel asked me questions about sex the other day. I think he’s serious about this Lila girl.”

Opening her eyes quite larger, even if still affected, she scoffs. “Are you kidding me? What’d you tell him?”

“Oh, nothing.” Grey tries to laugh. “Told him Google was his friend.”

“You told him to Google it?” She huffs, but it’s low pitched in a way it wouldn’t usually be. Usually she’d be yelling at him, angry and protective of her little brother no matter how Grey tried to mediate their relationship .

Right as he goes to explain, her eyes begin to flicker and close and the jacket's soaked in blood. Quickly shrugging his off, he adds more layers to the wound and tries not to panic more. She’s bleeding out, here in the outside of a warehouse, and he can’t do enough to stop it. “Dex, come on. Open your eyes. Stay awake, okay?”

Nothing more than a groan in response, he shakes her arm and her eyes open enough. Swallowing his fear, he speaks. “Look you can’t leave me, okay? I have a whole lifetime that needs your judgy attitude.” Weakly , he adds, “I still have things I need to tell you."

“Tell me now,” she manages.

“ Absolutely not,” he scoffs. “No way. You survive this first and then you’ll get to know, got it?”

“Grey,” she asks, her voice emotional. Blue eyes that he thinks about a little too often manage to peak at him. “Please.”

“I can’t.” He starts, his throat tightening so much that he can hardly breathe, let alone speak. His eyes had wet long before this, but the tears he couldn’t help but want to hide were falling now. “Dex, I don’t want to do it like this.”

“Now.” Whatever's left of her voice now is firm, and she’s holding on enough to make sure she hears him. How can he say no? Roughly through his constricted voice, he manages to softly say, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for so long I can’t even remember when it started. I put you above everyone, without even noticing. I love you so much I couldn’t run away after being under cover; I couldn’t commit to anyone else. Not just for Ansel, but for you, Dex.”

She nods, pulling on him with her hand. He kisses her forehead and the paramedics finally arrive.

Against many odds, she survives. She’s in the hospital for two weeks; constantly complaining and trying to leave. Despite how much the nurses, doctors, Hoffman, and he and Ansel tell her to shut up and heal. Suelynn visits. Grey nods at the woman when she leaves, wanting to tell her off for how much she had messed Dex up, but that’s her place and not his . Still, he glares once her back is turned .

Today Dex is back in the hospital bed after having walked too much around the hospital and reopening her wound . Grey and her are in a contest of who can glare best, with her acting haughty about being "fine", and him angry she's so stubborn . Ansel was gone getting coffee for her. Grey had convinced him it was something Dex loved, and even though her brother wanted to hover he went to do the chore.

“You realize you’re just going to stay here longer if you keep this up, right?” He tells her, a little more chastising then he should.

“You realize you’re going to lose your bar if you keep babysitting me, right?” She snaps back, her lips pursed in that pouty way that only she manages.

“Tookie has it covered,” he retorts. “And since you’re worrying Ansel to the point of an ulcer, I think babysitting is justified .”

Dex looks down at her hands now, fumbling with the white hospital blanket. “I want to get out of this place already, it’s horrible. I hate it.”

“You don’t hate the hospital.” Grey laughs. “You hate being told what to do.”

Quirking the corners of her lips against her will, she smiles. Glancing back up, she softens and it’s clear their not-really-a-fight is over. “You don’t have to stay here, Grey. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

“I haven’t.” He admits, then wishes he had said almost anything else as her gaze turns analytical. Reluctantly , he continues. “I watched you all but die in my arms. Not exactly a relaxing time in my life.”

She nods, and her blanket once again seems interesting to her. “I’m sorry. I know what that feels like.”

Fuck, he didn’t mean to trigger her like that and he’s cursing himself. “Shit, Dex, I’m sorry, I--,”

“It’s okay,” she says, clearing her throat and nodding. Blue eyes turn on him once more. “You’re right. I shouldn’t push you away after that.”

“I get it,” he says. “I’ll always be here.”

“I know.” Tears are welling in her eyes and his chest is tightening in response. “That’s the thing. You’re always here, even after we have the worst fights. You’ve never left. And I-- God, I just have never wanted to mess that up, you know? I’m always worried that one day you’re going to leave for good. That I inflict too much chaos.”

Grey shakes his head, still hating himself for the horrible words. Resentment had gotten the best of him that day, for so many reasons that were no excuse, and he wishes he could say things differently . “Look, I was completely out of line when I said those things. I don’t want to give some bullshit apology but I am sorry.”

She sighs. He adds, “And you don’t inflict chaos anymore, Dex. You’ve changed the past few months in ways I couldn’t have expected. This job has been so good for you. ...Not including recent events.”

With a small chuckle at the reference, she nods. “Uh, thank you. I think .”

“You’re welcome,” he laughs in return. “ I think .”

They watch each other carefully , both edging to the conversation Grey is starting to think she remembers, but Ansel is back with coffee and she’s grinning at her brother. Things could wait. He’ll always wait.

“Can you spare a minute?”

She’s leaning in the doorway of his office, only a few days fresh out of the hospital. The doctor, Grey, Ansel, and Hoffman had made her promise not to take on a case for another month. Grey had even managed to pay one month of her rent with the increase of money Tookie’s event planning had given them in a firm way to make her comply .

She’d already taken another case.

He sighs, gesturing for her to come in, and he’s only a little surprised when she shuts the door behind her. “Is this about the rent thing? Because yeah, I’m a little pissed. You owe me.”

They both know he won’t follow through. She smirks and he both wants to throw his pen at her and kiss her smug face all at the same time.

“Not quite.” She says, and before she can get serious, he interrupts her. “This better not be about the case you took behind everyone’s back then.” Her mouth opens but he adds, “Or me refusing to have the sex talk with Ansel.”

“Also not that.” Dex sighs, but follows up with a cheeky eyebrow raise. “Are you done guessing so I can talk?”

He shares a brief smile with her and nods before she sobers. “I, um… I remember what you said to me. After I was shot .”

“I figured,” Grey tells her. “Look, it’s not-- I don’t expect you to say anything in return. I just needed to fulfill a dying wish.”

Even though he had thought she might, she doesn’t acknowledge the last part with a facial expression. “I’ve been thinking ever since I was finally conscious in the hospital, through the pain meds and all; that I couldn’t believe you actually felt something for me .”

“What?” he exclaims, too surprised to censor himself. “How-- how on earth did you not see it?”

“I--,” she stumbles, looking a little off guard by his strong comeback. “We’ve fought more than a few times the past few months. You’ve dated and had feelings for other women and were happy with them. I guess I’ve always had this fear that our friendship continued because of Ansel.”

“They should take away your private investigator license,” he tells her, and she gives him a glare that he can’t help but smile at . “ Maybe the first few months we met it was more about finding that connection with someone who didn’t judge me. I didn’t exactly have sober reformed criminal friends back then. But it changed over the next few months, then the next few years. We both were never in the same head space for it though, and I was never sure if you felt the same way. Especially after Hoffman entered the picture.”

Dex shakes her head. “You know, I turned him down.”

“He told me,” Grey responds, and she raises an eyebrow in surprise. “ Ironically I was there that night anyway. Liz and I broke up and she gave me a speech about how you’d always be in the way of me trying to have a new relationship. You let him in and I left.”

“Dodged that bullet?” she asks, but it isn’t the same funny line. It’s a question this time, wondering if they were actually going to cross the line after six years.

He sighs and tries to bring humor in. “Well actually you got hit with the bullet, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation yet anyway.”

Rolling her eyes, she huffs. “Grey, come on.”

“No.” He says firm. “I told you everything, you can do what you want with it. I’ve been more or less waiting and trying to move on for years. It’s your turn.”

“I’m not really good with words,” she replies, walking over to his desk. When he stands, Dex kisses him, and it’s fervent in ways that make his skin light on fire. Six years of pining, of holding back, of quietly hoping one day things would change and the stars would finally align all came to crush him at once as he touches her lips . Some part of him thinks he should pull back, that they should talk, but that adult part of him drowns as soon as she starts unbuttoning his shirt . They find his office couch quite useful.

When things finish, marks made on each other out of trying not to alert the entire bar to what they were doing, she doesn’t pull away from laying on his chest as soon as possible . There’s something intoxicating about her naked skin on his and even more that he can feel her breathing. The surgery scars she’s trying to hide against him don’t miss his view, but he’s never been so grateful to see them.

“Well,” Dex says slowly , clearly trying to feel things out. “Crossed the line.”

“Crossed the line.” Grey reaffirms. “Regrets?”

“No,” she says, looking up at him. Eyes that give way to complicated emotions, she asks, “You?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“What next?” she asks.

“This time you use your words.” He grins at her, and she sighs while smiling before kissing his neck. His eyes flicker with content, but he tries to hold on. “Second round can come later.”

“Fine,” Dex replies, reluctant. There’s still a smile on her lips, and for a moment he can’t believe that this is what caused it. “You know that wish I made? With the cake and all?”

“I’m familiar.”

Minutely shaking her head at the banter with a smile, she continues. “I wished for this.”

“Sex?” he laughs, and she slaps his chest. Offended, she scoffs. “No, asshole. This. Us. Something stable that I can actually rely on. You-- you fit into my life in ways that I can’t replicate, you know?”

“I know,” he says, kissing her forehead, unable to playfully add, “And I’m hot.”

Rolling her eyes, she compliments him with a smirk. “And you’re hot. ...I guess.”

He shoves her arm and she giggles in a way he’s not sure he’s heard before, something between vulnerable and sexy. He gives into kissing her once more. In time he’d hear the actual three words he had given her, but he knows she’ll need him to show he won’t leave now that things were romantic as well. And in the meantime, he’ll wait, this time with much more certainty.

#dex x grey #dex parios #grey mcconnell #stumptown #stumptown fic #dex x grey fic #mine #my work #prompts #fic prompt

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almasidaliano · 4 years ago

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Almasi for President

so in about 12 to 16 years, i am running for president. i do not believe the world will have ended then, though i do believe things will be different. hoping for better, not, not expecting worse. our system is broken. all of the systems are broken. the government is corrupt. the justice system is corrupt. those in charge are turning blind eyes, covering things up, and allowing the fall of our country. i will not be surprised if a civil war commences; although i'm also thinking they are going to really create and push for a purge. we are in real trouble then. that just goes back to what i said, are you standing for something or dying for nothing?

people were excited for biden to win. and i have to say, i was not one of them. biden seems like another puppet to me. obama was a puppet. he was his vp. crazy how biden is president and he has a black female vp now. that sounds like a win huh? wrong, she contributed to the failed prosecution of the officers who murdered Oscar Grant. that went over everyone's head during the election though. trump was just so bad had to get him out. biden is anti LGBTQ+. everyone wanted to put it on trump folks getting rowdy and such however, biden won and nothing changed.

trump's slogan was "make america great again." personally, i think he could have. trump's a businessman and to say the least, entertainment. they gave trump four years, why do you think they didn't renew his contract? because he was playing them. trump is a classist. he doesn't like poor people. personally, i think he just believes hardwork pays off, his did and so he just holds everyone to the standard he held himself. there are circumstances, however i think that's fair. he said all this racist shit everyone got mad. yet, he won by a landslide because the country said they would still rather this "bigoted, racist, sexist, classist asshole" than a woman. then the country complained the whole time. he exposed america and instead of society shining light and doing something they continued to do what we have been doing; pointing blame.

the system has failed us. the system failed us a long time ago. all trump did was present a call to action. the one thing i can give rednecks is they patriotic as fuck. they want the america they invision type shit. i feel like melanated people in general struggle with that because america never felt like home. america never wanted us here. but the fact of the matter is, this all we know. this is home now. there are 3 real options. 1. go back to where your bloodline stems. 2. sit and conform, hope they dont get you. 3. defend your rights, your home, and your people; come out on top or die trying. you have to pick something though. we have to do something because they those set to protect us are out to get us.

we do not have a democratic government not even a representative democracy like we once thought. sorry if you were today years old when you found out. we operate out of a republic; a constitutional federal republic. what's the difference? in a democracy, all that voting that we do, matters. even if it was a representative democracy. we would have representatives to disclose our decisions. the electoral college makes final decisions on elections.

a constitutional federal republic means that the constitution which is the law of the land governs the land. if this is the law of the land, why do we have sub laws? the constitution needs to be amended. want to fix the race and inequality issues? let me tell you how, real easy fix. call a convention. take out any amendment that gives rights to people AND reword the beginning anyway folks see fit so that women and americans from all ethnic backgrounds get the same level of respect and rights. there will always be an unspoken division until things like that are rectified. before black people got rights we were not even counted as complete people, simply 3/5s of a person. life liberty and the pursuit of happiness. these are unalienable rights. my very existence guarantees me these rights.

the judicial system coupled with the criminal law system are hopeful, and still in need of reform. prisons are privately owned institutions, which are supposed to be forms of rehabilitation. instead, they are condemning people and treating them inhumanely; creating the same environment they were in on the outside, on in the inside conditioning them to be stuck in these ways as means of survival and then continue to place blame on them. officers need to take crimes more seriously. people are people, bias, prejudices, and profiling have no place in the workplace. officers are corrupt, arresting kids for selling, who just are trying to help their mother with the bills, then turning around and selling it back out on the streets. officers are wrongfully convictind and killing predominately (as far as the media is broadcasting) though not only melanated people. on top of that, they are walking free. lives are being lost and they arent even losing their jobs. tax dollars are going towards keeping them safe. however, if a civilian shoots a cop. up the river for them.

lawyers aren't fighting hard enough. especially defense attorneys. it is fairly simple to get a conviction with the right information, proving innocence is always a bit more complicated. the problem is that attorneys get too big eyed. they looking at how to get their clients off, accountability is another taboo in this society. there are a multitude of people who are innocent behind bars, as well as those who received heinous outrageous sentences. that is not right.

people factor more than necessary when trying to make a decision, yet they ignore the things that remind them a person is human. its this art contest over who can paint the best picture of the defendant. which story is easy for a jurors bias to sway? how people look matters. and it shouldn't. our government since the building of america, has created dividing markers.

just like with royal kingdoms, the wife couldn't have things of her own. her role was cleaning, cooking, taking care of the kids, and whatever else was asked of her. if there was a divorce, the woman got nothing. they had no rights. imagine being the first born as a female in a royal family and being told you can't have your kingdom, correction you can but you must marry to get it. then if you get married the new king running things not you. what is that? its called patriarchy. our government is run off a patriarchy as well.

so i never really believed there could be like a true separation of church and state because every law and decision made was based on people's morals and beliefs. there is supposed to be a separation of church and state yet, due to people's religious beliefs gay marriage had to get legalized, despite there being no law for heterosexual marriage. would that not make it illegal? since gay marriage had to be legalized though there was not a law for it either? then on top of that, how do you make it a law, and still for religious reasons, ministers and such can refuse? there are always stipulations and hinderances for the rights of those who are not white men.

ABORTION: i really do not know why we are still having this conversation. its literally conversations like this that have me looking at americans like--- seriously? once again there should be a separation of church and state. so religion cannot be a reason to outlaw it. how can you put out a law that dictates what someone can do with their body? all of life, i mean every part of life should be pro-choice. its just that simple. Pro-Choice. i am all for the right to decide for yourself. and men want to feel a way about women making that decision on their own. and while i do stand behind the fact that ultimately it is the womans decision, that does not mean she can't listen to an opinion. it is a part of the woman, literally grows inside of her an entire being. and fathers can just dip out and folks will just look at the mom and suddenly she should just become super woman. the pressure that comes with having a child is enough on its own. like thats a being that is dependent on you. some people are honest with themselves and know they arent ready or dont want it. all they need is support. the mental toll life takes on us is huge as well. still people do not consider that at all.

there is no point of incarcerating people, if they have still lost a chance at a decent life once they get out. jail is for rehabilitation. they go, do their time and then they are supposed to be allowed to try again. our government knows nothing of redemption, that's why all the top leaders go through so much to hide their dirt. they crucify civilians trying to make themselves seem superior, really they are just like you and i. almasi for president. im going to save the world.

-Almasi

#actuality #thetruth #glitch in the matrix #blacklivesmatter

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msbluebell · 5 years ago

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what about a "you start war, you face consequences AU"? At the end of BE Route, Edelgard thinks have achieved her goal. But everything go wrong! First, Claude, who has survived, becomes the king of Almyra and declare war to her to the Empire . And he's VERY powerful. Also some former nobles of Alliance and Kingdom don't accept the reunification and start a rebellion with the former knights of Seiros . The peace wil not happen any soon and a lot of people die or suffer or join the rebellion 1-2

2-2. Finally, Felix has survived and becomes the feral guy and decides to avenge Dimitri (his best friend), Rodrigue (his dad) and Sylvain (his lover) by killing the black eagles one by one and nobody (even Byleth) can stop him, no matter what they do. And Byleth has not the power of Sothis anymore. They can only watch everything falling apart, while being powerless. They can only watch their friends die by Felix's hands, Claude taking back the Alliance AND the Kingdom, ect...

This is actually what would have most likely happened if the Black Eagle Route didn’t have an Deus Ex Machina ending and the Crests and God powers didn’t disappear for no reason. I have made no secret of the fact that Black Eagles is my least favorite Route (yes, I’m including Church Route in this), and the lack of actually having to reform and change the system thanks to magical convenience is one of the reasons.

Nobles will not give up their crest fixation just because Edelgard hates crests. And without crest disappearing, it is unlikely they will take to Edelgard’s reforms. She may end up turning her own allies against her. Especially ones that don’t believe in her cause and just gave up because they didn’t want to be killed.

Also, it is a very, very, very dumb move to spare Claude in the Black Eagles Route. No matter what, he is a political opponent that proved he’s 1) very manipulative 2) very good at thinking on his feet and gathering resources. He should have died just to eliminate the potential for later rebellious uprisings, even if Byleth and Edelgard didn’t know anything about his ties to Almyra. Looking objectively at Claude’s goals and the ending of Black Eagles Route, yeah, he still has a dream of uniting Fodlan and Almyra. And unlike Fodlan, Almyra isn’t suffering from being war torn for five years. There IS a chance he’d come in take over, especially if any of his friends died in the battle.

Point is, Black Eagles Route has a lot of potential for mess if the crests don’t vanish (which I am so fixated on. The CHURCH didn’t make the crests, so why did they disappear? I interpret Byleth’s powers disappearing because they choose to relinquish them, which is a slap in the face to Sothis btw Byleth, but why did the CRESTS disappear when the Church fell? They had nothing to do with their creation! Ugh.)

(Black Eagles, much as I dislike their Route based on their actions and lack of self-awareness, still deserved a better written ending.)

But I’m ranting. Let’s get on to the prompt with Consequences AU:

I’ve spoken in another post about how Byleth, as I interpret them, more accidentally sided with the Black Eagles than anything. It would be the same in this AU, accidentally burning their bridges when they saved Edelgard in the tomb. Then they were forced to see the path through to the end because they couldn’t go back to anyone else, and they DID disagree with Rhea and distrust the Church, so maybe Edelgard is right...?

It was foolish to hope, in hindsight.

Rhea going mad was something that they expected, but they didn’t think their own actions would be the breaking point that drove her to such insanity. And they can’t erase the image of Dimitri kneeling in the rain as an axe meets his flesh. So many of their students died...but that was just...pitiful.

Edelgard assures him that it was for a better future, that all the death and sacrifice now will mean less suffering later.

But it’s hard to look at the people suffering in the NOW and think it’s better for the future. It’s like Edelgard is so fixated on the world that will be she forgot to take care of the world they’re in, or maybe she didn’t, and the people around her just don’t seem as real to her as the people in the future she’s envisioned.

Byleth’s first clue that everything was going wrong should have been their hair and eye color returning to it’s original state.

Sothis and they...the both of them have always been one, whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing. They are a single entity that was separated and then made whole again. But now there is an emptiness inside of them, and the emotions they’ve developed are fast fading again. They’re becoming numb once again as they lose the part of themselves that was her, and they don’t understand why.

Soon, they even stop caring.

Edelgard insisted that it was a wonderful sign. That they pointed their blades towards the heavens and won, so her path must be the righteous path.

Byleth no longer cares enough to correct her.

Their students, the Black Eagles, frown more when they speak now. Byleth has lost their emotions, so the fondness is ebbing away again. They’re distressed as they lose their teacher, and Byleth tries to pretend they care until even that seems pointless.

They follow Edelgard because they know that’s what they decided to do, not because they care. They’re too muted now, and even guilt is slipping away as time erodes more and more of Sothis from their very being.

Then the murders start to happen.

It starts when Dorathea was found outside of the Opera House. Her body had been cut down by the singular strike of a sword, left to rot in the street by an unknown assassin. The Black Eagles mourn, and Edelgard swears justice will be paid. The guards are doubled in the city and the hunt is on.

It doesn’t keep Fernidand from dying later. His entire platoon was killed, a mix of sword wounds and Reason magic leaving behind a field of corpses. Witnesses say it was a pale, dark haired, man. Just one. With an unused lance tied to his back. Something about revenge, the witnesses say. For a father, a best friend, a brother, a sister, and a lover.

A year goes by and the guards get lazy again. It seems the assassin had reached their goal or died in the process.

Until Almyra declares war.

Byleth gives their advice as it is sought, but no longer cares enough to see to the personal welfare of the troops themselves. It’s...demoralizing, to say the least.

Then Berneddeta dies in her room, a knife left behind, the signal of House Gautier’s crest carved into the hilt of the blade. A warning.

There are no Gautiers left, though, they were all killed, so it can only be Felix, Byleth explains to Edelgard, because there is no one else left to avenge House Gautier, and Felix was a childhood friend of both Dimitri, who is dead, Ingrid, who died defending Dimitri, and Sylvain, who also died in that battle.

Edelgard puts a bounty on his head.

But her troops are too spread thin with Almyra’s sudden and unrelenting assault. With another war on the horizon, many nobles that don’t care for Edelgard or were taken over surrender to Almyra without hesitation. Fodlan is once again halved, and with it Edelgard’s forces.

Then Lindhardt is killed by Felix, this time with a note: “I’m coming for you Edelgard.”

Claude, it seems, is the leader of the Almyran forces, and declares quite happily that he’s going to make Fodlan a part of his country. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes when he says it though, and he’s barely holding back heavy disgust.

Byleth can’t help but think of how foolish they are when they have sentiment.

Byleth also advises Edelgard to surrender.

“Not you.” Edelgard begs, knuckles gripped against the table, “Of all people, you cannot abandon me.”

But the Byleth she wants is long gone. Or, actually, they never existed. But if if they had her dream killed them until nothing but a numb shell was left behind. Byleth, as the are, is under no illusions of what they are now. A walking corpse, with all that made them human faded into the back with a sleeping Goddess that was once themselves.

Casper, who swore he wouldn’t let another one of his friends die, falls next. Felix, it seemed, has sided with Claude and is now leading the lands that was formally Faerghus. The people of the Alliance and Fearghus help rebel, throwing riots so large that they cannot be suppressed.

Petra is gone shortly after, taken by riots.

“FOR GOOD KING DIMITRI!” Cry out the people of Faerghus as they flood the streets of Fhiridad. Imperial soldiers are pushed back by people not even wearing armor, such is their numbers, and when actual soldiers come Faerghus is no longer a Dukedom of the Empire.

“FOR THE NOBLE CAUSE!” Cry the people of the Alliance as they’re lead by those still left of the Golden Deer. Hilda’s older brother has taken the helm and lead them to victory.

When they finally take Enbarr Byleth isn’t fighting. They don’t care, and watch from Edelgard’s side as they march her palace. They warn her to surrender, but she claims she’ll die first.

Felix walks in, and cuts down Hubert. Claude walks in behind him, hands on his hips, looking up at Edelgard and Byleth with a cold smile, “Did you get what you wanted?”

“I don’t want things.” Byleth answers, emotionless, “I haven’t since the power Sothis gave faded away, and I was left incomplete again.”

“Sounds awful, hope all this was worth that.” Claude answers as Edelgard’s eyes widen in horror.

“Perhaps if I could still feel, that would hurt.” Byleth answers him, “But I can only remember what emotions felt like, the experience is lost to me now.”

“...wow, that almost makes killing you feel like I’m being merciful.” Claude remarks as Felix glares from beside him, “Teach, why did you DO this to yourself?”

“I had meant to take Edelgard prisoner.” Byleth confesses, “I was simply run out and had nowhere else to go. Helping her seemed like the logical choice at the time, but it’s strange, I can’t see the logic in it now.”

Claude originally meant to take Byleth prisoner, if they could somehow be captured. Interrogate them and whatnot, allow their former students to air their grievances before they were executed for treachery.

Not that just feels too cruel when Byleth was apparently already killed long ago.

So, when the final battle ends, Claude tells Felix to end Byleth.

Byleth never even lifts their sword.

#fe3h #fe16 #byleth eisner #sothis #edelgard von fresberg #felix hugo fraldarius #claude von reigen #Black Eagles #Black Eagles Route #Consequences AU #asks

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residentanchor · 5 years ago

Text

Danger Prone

I tried posting this in the ask I got but Tumblr is stupid and it wouldn’t let me use the keep reading line so I’m posting it separately.

Prompt: Yes, hello, I would like to order one Moxiety angst ficlet if I could? Yes, thank you. Oh, if I could have extra self sacrifice with a hint of life or death, that'd be great. And perhaps maybe a bit of mind control, if possible. Make it hurt. Choose your victim. Happy ending is preferred

Hero!Virgil Villain!Remy Civilian!Patton Romantic Moxiety

Warnings: cursing, mind control, angst (with happy fluffy ending), fighting, someone gets hurt, kidnapping, brief mentions of abusive relationship, manipulation

Roughly 6k

Patton wasn't special. He wasn't a reporter or some scientist. He had a mundane job and a simple life. The only impressive skill or talent he ever had was the fact that he could always find trouble without looking for it.

In all world where people had powers, Patton often wondered if his power would be called 'damsel in distress'. Not that he had any powers mind you. He's simply could find himself in danger so easily that he begins to question if it was a possibility.

It wasn't. There was a way to test for these kinds of things and Patton had failed them all at a young age. So, to the world, Patton Morales was as plain as everyone else. Not remarkable, not different, not special.

Patton’s best friend would disagree. Well, Patton saw him as his best friend! Maybe just a regular friend? Acquaintances, then. Whatever they were, Stormy Knight was a hero straight out of Patton’s dreams, sometimes literally. It was a moment of pure luck, and the good kind this time! When Stormy Knight was first starting off, his dark outfit started to scare people. They speculated that he was after something. He wasn’t a true hero--just because he dressed a little darker.

This is where Patton’s bad luck comes into play. He was walking home as one does and got a bit lost. He asked the wrong person for help and now they were trying to ‘charge’ him for directions… by handing over his wallet. He just had one of those faces, he guessed. Of course, Patton always tried to fight it, but when it came to these sorts of things, he knew there was no use.

That’s when Stormy Knight made an appearance. Dropped down from the sky and landed in a rather epic pose before slowly standing up and telling the jerks to just walk away. After a bit of intimidating, no normal person would dare threaten a super without reason, so they left and Patton got to keep his wallet for another day, at least. Thank goodness, the cat wallet was one thing he treasured dearly. It was just so cute!

He watched Stormy Knight closely as he thanked him. He was new, Patton hadn’t seen him before, but the all black clothing didn’t strike him as ‘hero material’. (Don’t worry, Stormy didn’t get the joke at first either.)

Patton offhandedly mentioned keeping the aesthetic doesn’t mean you can’t add color. Blues, purples, even a little white as an accent color… they could help him seem a bit brighter and less ‘villainous’. People loved to judge based on looks, after all.

The first time Patton saw Stormy in the news, his outfit was completely different. There wasn’t much black at all! He had swapped it all out for a blue and purple storm cloud pattern with a bit of leather armor, white accents all around. Patton’s heart thudded happily as he smiled. Maybe if he ever saw Stormy Knight again, he’d tell him he approved.

---

Patton Morales had incredibly bad luck. Because he did run into Stormy Knight again. An average day in a city slowly growing with supers, Patton wasn’t even supposed to be at the bank. It wasn’t even his bank! He was simply there for work, but of course, it was being robbed. Or, at least, attempting to be. A newer villain making an attempt at something bigger, quickly thwarted when Stormy Knight snuck in. There was another hero as well--a former Villain in a prince costume who made a wonderful distraction for Stormy to sneak in and get everyone out. He paused when he saw Patton and smirked for a moment before moving along to the next poor civilian that was trapped inside.

They didn’t get to talk after, but Patton made sure to wave to him and that he saw before disappearing.

The third time, Stormy was beginning to worry about this poor civilian. He was stuck on a highway in traffic. The villain he was facing was saying something about ruining everyone’s morning commutes to put them all behind schedule. It wasn’t exactly ‘evil’ and Patton began to wonder about the villains in the city. Half were easily reformed as heroes, the other half didn’t seem truly evil except for a select few. It’s strange like they thought being evil was the only choice they had until proven otherwise.

Back on topic, Patton was outside his car watching with a heavy heart as the hero and villain battled. It didn’t take much more than a few words and a swift punch before the villain surrendered, apologizing for doing something so ‘terribly rude of me, I am dreadfully sorry!’ Patton was just happy he could finally get going, though no doubt he was incredibly behind and late for work. Stormy stood there, winds around him lifting him into the air as he looked over the crowd of people. He watched and made sure everyone was okay before he started to fly off before his eyes caught Patton’s. And while Patton couldn’t prove it because he was so far away, it looked as if Stormy shook his head before flying off.

Things like this kept happening. Patton would end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. He couldn’t help it! Things like this just happened to him! But now, he was in the middle of an attack, trapped on a fire escape because there was a fire outside the door of his apartment building and he certainly wasn’t going to stay there! The building shook and Patton lost his footing, stumbling and holding onto the railing as tight as he could. He opened his eyes and watched his glasses fall, vision blurring, as he pushed away from the railing and back toward the building. He certainly didn’t want to fall with them. Glasses are replaceable, he was not!

Patton’s not sure what had happened that led to his current predicament but he didn’t want to stay on the fire escape much longer. Patton slowly made an attempt to climb down before he froze as everything shook once more. The fire escape creaked and shifted and Patton shut his eyes, afraid of what was happening around him.

“Hold on!” Patton gasped as a pair of arms wrapped around him before gusts of wind forced him to keep his eyes shut. It didn’t last long before the sounds around them grew quieter and distant, the wind dying down into nothing. “You okay?”

Carefully, Patton opened his eyes and looked up, the somewhat blurry face of Stormy Knight, Lightning Bolt shaped mask and all. “It’s you!”

Stormy chuckled and smiled, amused. “Yes, and it’s you. You certainly get into danger a lot.” Without a word, Stormy shifted him to let him down on his feet. “I feel if I see you everywhere.”

“Just lucky, I guess.” Patton smiled back at Stormy. “I like the new look!”

The hero smiled and looked away. If Patton could see more of his face, he wondered if the hero was blushing. “Well, yeah, this wonderfully nice civilian gave some good advice. I just wish I caught his name.”

“Patton. Morales.”

Patton held out a hand which Stormy gladly took. “Nice to meet you, Patton.” He looked over Patton’s shoulder and frowned. “Looks like I have to get back to the… the thing, um.”

Patton realized he was still holding the hero’s hand before quickly letting go. “I’m sorry! Go on ahead! I should probably talk to someone about my apartment being on fire or something.”

“I’m sure Princey can help with the fire and Brainiac can fix anything so I’ll try to see if we can’t make it as good as new!”

Patton watched as Stormy flew off and back into the skirmish as best he could before sighing. He needed a new pair of glasses asap.

After that, it seemed that Patton and Stormy Knight almost found each other even more, as impossible as it seemed. Patton wouldn’t even be in danger but the hero would appear while on patrol, checking in on the ‘danger prone citizen.’ He wondered if following Patton would be easier than searching for danger himself.

Soon enough, Patton would just wait outside on that fire escape every night, wondering if the hero would stop by. Soon enough, it was almost a nightly (or Knightly!) occurrence between the two. Patton talked about life and asked Stormy about the hero life. He didn’t learn much but found out that the hero became a hero after everyone in his life believed he couldn’t be one.

“Some call it ambition, I call it spite, but it worked.”

He also learned that there was a core group of villains that pretty much were the cause of most crimes in the city. That’s why most villains were quick to turn over a new leaf, they were recruited by villains. Or more like blackmailed, it seemed. Stormy didn’t like it, but there wasn’t much they could do. The villains never did the dirty work themselves unless it was something big. They had been relatively quiet, so the heroes were worried they were working on something massive.

“Not much we can do unless we find them first, which doesn’t seem likely. There are no known bases and since we don’t even know what they even remotely look like, we’re at a dead end until they made a move.”

“Aww, I’m sure you’ll figure it out! And if not, I know you’ll give it your all to keep us all safe!” Patton placed a hand on the hero’s back before leaning in and giving him a brief hug. “I believe in you.”

The hero went quiet after that and Patton began to worry if he had said the wrong thing. His heart thudded loudly in his chest before the hero turned and smiled. “That means a lot to me, Patton. Thank you.”

The normal day to day life of Patton Morales seemed to calm down a bit. He wasn’t finding himself in danger nearly as much, thank goodness, and he wondered if being acquainted with the hero had anything to do with it. Perhaps it did, but Patton quickly found out that maybe, just maybe, it was because something bigger was coming around the corner for them both.

Patton had been walking home from the store one evening, a few bags in his hands. It wasn’t a long walk and Patton’s car was pretty beaten down so he didn’t like driving it outside of work. Too many hero related incidents could take a beating on anything in this city and his insurance didn’t cover much. He was almost to his apartment when he heard it.

“Patton Morales.”

He stopped and looked around, spinning in a quick circle a bit confused. The sun was still setting so he could see just fine, but there was no one on the street beside himself.

“Patton Morales.”

“Hello?” Patton looked again, unsure where the voice was coming from. “Is someone there?”

“Patton Morales.”

Patton spun around and was face to face with someone, clouded goggles covering their face. Patton yelped and stumbled back, his bags still in his hands. He blinked and watched them smile in a way that made Patton’s skin crawl. “C-can I help you?”

“I’m so glad you asked, Patton Morales.” They reached up and pushed their goggles to rest on their head. “There is something you can help me with.”

---

When Stormy Knight showed up that night, Patton was nowhere to be found. His apartment was dark and there were no traces Patton had been home in a while. He stood around for a minute, heart sinking in disappointment, before he placed his foot on the railing, ready to take off.

“Stormy Knight! Wait, down here!” The hero looked down to the street and saw someone waving their arms over their head, trying to get his attention. The hero complied and glided down to the sidewalk before landing softly. “Thank goodness you’re here! One of my tenants is missing!”

“Missing?”

The landlord raced over to a few bags that were resting against the building. “These were found on the sidewalk a while ago along with his wallet.”

The hero only had to see the familiar cat wallet to know that it belonged to Patton. Who had been taken off of the street in broad daylight without a trace. “Shit,” the hero muttered under his breath, taking the wallet carefully and looking at the ID on the inside. Patton Morales. “Shit!” The hero sneered and spun around, his mind in a frenzy. They left the wallet so they knew who was taken. They did it outside of his freaking apartment, this was definitely a targeted attack. “I have to go!”

The hero flew off. Actually, just like his namesake, he stormed off. He was stupid! Is that all it took? One stupid, pretty face and he grew complacent. He put Patton at risk just so he could hang out with him. Out of costume, he was a boring loser. Someone like Patton would never bother to hang out with him. That’s not true. Patton was such a kind person who saw the best in the worst situations. He would have liked him, liked Virgil, but he was a coward. Virgil was boring. Stormy Knight was a hero with powers who protected people. Or, at least, he did. Now, he put someone at risk. Why couldn’t he just face Patton outside of the mask?!

He didn’t get far before his communicator went off. The ones that kept him in contact with his teammates. Perhaps they knew who did this?

Stormy quickly landed and pulled out his communicator. “Hey, anything new happen?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Stormy Knight?” The hero froze at the unfamiliar voice. “You left the apartment rather quickly. Find anything interesting?”

The hero grits his teeth and squeezed the communicator. “What do you want with him?”

“Him? Him who?” The hero snarled and heard the villain laugh. “Oh! You mean my new friend Patton Morales here? He’s just fine. We were having a nice, long talk. Did you know his favorite color is all of them? How adorable.”

“Just tell me who you are and what you want?”

“How about a trade, babe. You come to me and I’ll let sweet, dear Patton go free.”

It was a trap. It was so obviously a trap, he couldn’t agree or go in alone but...he couldn’t leave Patton with this unknown villain, could he? “Where and when?”

“I knew you’d see things my way. They always do.”

---

Storage units. How plain and obvious and boring. He rented a storage unit for this exact purpose, he had to have. Or he stole one. They had checked warehouses and boardwalks and storage units early on when villains started cropping up. It was an obvious spot and unoriginal villains loved to copy what they saw. The Prince had even warned him about it. Stormy landed and found the single unit with the light on above it, all the others around it mysteriously off.

Stormy was strong and paired with his wind, he broke open the unit fairly easily. Inside, someone was tied to a chair, unconscious. There was no one else around and the small unit was empty besides that. The familiar messy mop of hair was enough for the hero to recognize Patton, even with his face hidden. He spun around and looked for the mysterious villain that had brought him there, but they were seemingly alone.

Looking back into the storage unit, the hero frowned. “Patton?” He leaned in, worried about this obvious trap. “Patton, you okay?”

“Sorry, he’s not gonna hear you like that. Why not get a little closer?” The hero spun and found a man dressed in ordinary clothes. Jeans, jacket, boots… The only thing that stuck out was the cloudy pair of goggles on his face. “So glad you could make it, though! You seem like you’ll be much more fun than the others!”

“Who are you and what do you want?” The villain tensed up, ready to fight. “What ‘others’ are you talking about?”

“Calm down, sheesh. You sound like that stupid prince.” The man grew quiet and Stormy could almost feel his eyes on him, though he couldn’t see them. “You’re the best collateral I’ve managed to get my hands on so far.”

“Collateral?” The villain motioned toward the unconscious civilian tied to the chair. “He’s not collateral! You said you’d let him go!”

“Yes, in exchange for you. I’m gonna need collateral to make sure you don’t break free.”

“Break free of what, an agreement?”

“Of sorts.” The villain reached up to his goggles with both hands before pushing them out of the way. “I’ve got a bunch of names, babe, but most call me the Sleeper.” The hero gasped and took a step back as the villain stared at him, milky white irises staring back. “I have a tendency to make sleeper agents in the worst places, you see.” He tapped the side of his head as he spoke. “I can put thoughts in your head and just wait for the right moment. This, however, I think I’m gonna enjoy. You’ll be the best one yet! Better than all those other duds that just became heroes after.”

“Heroes? Y-you mean…” Stormy Knight thought back to everyone he’s ever fought. Every villain that quickly turned over a new leaf after defeat. Everyone that started out as a villain over being a hero. Heck, even his teammate used to be… “Like… Like Prince used to…”

“Ahh, yes. My biggest regret, that one.” The villain sighed and shrugged. “Ya see, you can break free pretty easily if you want. I’m not strong enough to keep people under for long so I just need enough leverage for you to give in. I was foolish with that Prince. Thought I had more control than I did. Just had to make him think I loved him and he was eager to do as I say. Wasn’t very good at it, I guess. He just had to rebel and become ‘good’, bleh!” Sleeper took a step closer, causing the hero to back away. “You, however… you like our little Patton, don’t you? The feelings there aren’t fake.”

“I, he’s just a danger-prone civilian!” The hero studdered and knew he wouldn’t get away with the lie.

“A civilian, yes, but a pretty one. So, here’s my deal, hero.” Sleeper pointed to him and smirked. “Either I get into your little boyfriends’ head and he thinks I’m you and he becomes mine… or I get into your head and you become my new plaything. I promise to leave your little disastrous civilian alone as long as you cooperate.”

The hero took a stance, ready to attack. “What makes you think I can’t just attack you right now and get it over with?”

Sleeper didn’t even flinch. Instead, he smirked and held up a hand, poised and ready to snap his fingers. “Because I’m already in his head and the only way I’ll back out is if you agree.”

This was stupid, coming alone to fight whatever villain this was. An important one, if he was the reason Prince had started out as a villain. He never spoke of those times other than someone had gotten it into his head that it was the better choice. Stormy didn’t realize he meant actually into his mind and controlled him, but that’s over and done with. The information wouldn’t have stopped him from coming to Patton’s rescue. Civilian or not, no matter the feelings, he was Patton’s friend. And a hero. And what is a hero if not someone to protect the people?

“You leave him alone. You or anyone else will not touch him. He doesn’t get hurt or kidnapped or anything after this.” The hero’s voice shook as he spoke. “He… he gets to live a normal life as if this never happened.”

“Oh, don’t worry. As long as he’s alive, we get to have you.” The villain snapped his fingers and smiled. “Come along now before he wakes up. I’ve got plans for you, Stormy Weather…”

Patton would soon wake up, tied to a chair in a dark room with the dim moonlight pouring through an opening. Soon enough, red and blue flashing lights and sirens would approach before he saw flashlights join them. A figure would stand in the entryway and call out to others. The whole night was a blur but the only thing Patton could remember was the pale eyes that stared back at him.

When he returned to his apartment building, his landlord would be relieved to see he was alright. They asked about the hero that had stopped by, saying they raced off when they heard Patton had gone missing. After taking his wallet and belongings back, Patton went straight to bed, exhausted from the night.

It wasn’t until the next day that he was determined to make it up to his friend. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he knew that Stormy Knight had rescued him. He didn’t hear or see anything, but something in his heart had told him. He was there to visit when Patton’s landlord had told him that he had gone missing, so who else could it have been?

He baked cookies and waited eagerly on his fire escape that night, waiting for the hero to show up. He waited again the next day, and the day after that, every night for over a week with no luck. Stormy also hadn’t been seen at all in the past week. No heroic attempts made, no people saved, no patrols that people managed to snap pictures of. The hero had vanished and Patton worried that he might have gotten hurt that night he was found. Perhaps he got injured and called the cops to find and rescue him? They had said it was an anonymous tip that led them to the storage unit that he was found in.

It wasn’t until almost two weeks later that Patton grew even more worried. He stared at a T.V. screen as he watched what looked like Stormy Knight, but with an outfit that resembled his older black one. Also, he wasn’t saving anyone… he was fighting his teammates. The Prince looked distraught and Brainiac was fighting back with everything he had, but neither was a match for their former hero.

But that’s not right! He was there rescuing him from… something or someone just a week ago! They were laughing on the fire escape together after Patton made a few puns! They were friends, weren’t they? What was going on?

“Patton Morales?” Patton spun around and found himself face to face with Brainiac and the Prince. “We would like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

Patton’s boss immediately gave him the day off after they saw the two heroes lurking around. Patton followed them into a car that began to drive them to an unknown location, not a word spoken between them. Patton’s heart raced in anticipation and a bit in fear of what was going on. Eventually, the car pulled into a building and everything grew dark before the lights came back on. He wasn’t sure where they were, but it was plain and boring and, most importantly, they were alone.

“We should be good here,” Brainiac got out of the car with the Prince quickly following. Seeing powerful heroes using mundane ways to travel was strange, but Patton wasn’t one to question it. “Now, then.” Brainiac stared down the civilian with a frown. “You are the civilian that our former teammate would visit on an almost nightly basis, correct?”

“He’s still our teammate, smarty pants. I keep telling you this!” The Prince huffed and seemed distressed over the whole situation.

As they waited for an answer, Patton nodded. “Yeah, he would visit me sometimes.”

“Why?”

“Why? Why would he visit me?” Brainiac’s stiff attitude was a bit offputting. “Um, because I’m pretty danger prone. He saw me so often that he just started… checking in on me, I guess?”

“Was that your idea or his?”

“Uh, his?” Patton looked down as if he should be ashamed. “I didn’t… hate it, though. He’s good company.”

“What happened the night he went missing?” Patton perked up quickly, shocked at the news.

“W-wait. He… he went missing that night?! I thought maybe…”

The Prince sighed and shook his head, taking a step closer to the civilian. “You’re going about this all wrong. If you want answers, you have to show some empathy. Innocent until proven guilty, yeah?” He looked back at his teammate before turning and smiling at Patton. “Hello, I’m the Prince. We heard there was an incident about two weeks ago that you were involved in. Could you tell us about that?”

Patton nodded and thought back to that night. “Not much to tell. I was walking home from the store and I heard this voice. It-it was calling my name? But I didn’t see anyone around. Then I remember waking up and the police were around.”

Brainiac was growing frustrated at the story. “Was there nothing else you remember?”

Patton tried to remember that blurry night as best he could. He went to the store. The sun was still setting. The voice… Wait! Patton gasped and looked between the two heroes. “I don’t know if this helps but… I remember their face a little? Or more like their eyes? They were like a blueish-white color.”

The Prince spun around and ran his hands through his hair before crying out in frustration. “I TOLD YOU! I said it was him, I knew it!”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“It seems that the Sleeper has taken our teammate and turned him into a villain.”

“Sleeper? Wait, villain?! But, but Stormy isn’t a bad guy! He’s so nice and sweet and he laughs at my puns even if he tries to deny it and he wouldn’t hurt a fly! I mean unless the fly tried robbing someone!”

The Prince turned and watched as Patton grew even more distressed before letting out a soft sigh. “Yeah, you’re definitely the guy.”

“Which is good news for us.” Brainiac approached Patton and tucked his hands behind his back. “Patton Morales, we require your help. We believe you’re the only one that can help break our friend free from the friend's firm fist of evil.”

“Alliteration, nice.” The Prince mumbled under his breath.

Patton nodded immediately. “Of course! What do I have to do?”

“Well, you said you were danger prone, correct?”

---

‘It shouldn’t have been this easy’ Patton thought as he strolled down the streets of the city. He always had a way with danger finding him, so that’s what he was doing. Letting what always happens… happen. They needed to find Stormy Knight, or Stormy Weather as he was being called. Patton hated the name, but then again, he hated everything about the situation. The other heroes were looking for their teammate as well but kept tabs on Patton just in case. Brainiac thought that the fact Patton always found himself in danger strange, but he couldn’t go against the pile of evidence against him.

It didn’t take more than 2 days before Patton found himself in the middle of the city, his friend terrorizing civilians and juggling cars. He called Brainiac as soon as he could and was instructed to get back and wait for their arrival.

Patton hung up and immediately apologized to the hero in his mind as he made his way closer. The villain hadn’t noticed him quite yet, his gusts of wind whipping around him like a tornado. He reached a hand toward a jewelry store and smiled as a whirlwind glittered on its way back to him.

“STORMY!” The ‘villain’ turned and spotted Patton as he tried to get closer. “Stormy! You haven’t visited in a week! I made cookies! Are you okay?”

The villain watched curiously before smiling. “I’m sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong guy.” He reached out with an arm and the winds around Patton grew more intense. “Are you trying to play games with me? Cause that’s not gonna fly!”

Patton felt the ground move out from underneath him and failed as he began to float. He cried out before looking at the hero, arms covering his face from the gusts. “Not-not gonna fly! That’s a good one, buddy!”

Stormy frowned and his hand lowered as did Patton. He was planning on launching him and seeing how far he could throw the guy, but he was laughing at his jokes? “You think that’s funny?”

“I always think you’re funny, Stormy! We make the best jokes together, like friends always do!”

Patton watched as Stormy’s eyes widened and he blinked a bit. “P-Patton?”

“Sorry I missed you two weeks ago! I only meant to step out for a minute, I promise.”

Patton had hoped that Stormy would snap out of it and they would happily be reunited. But, maybe it wasn’t as easy as he had hoped.

“Patton…” Stormy sneered. “Sorry, doesn’t sound familiar.” The gusts grew more intense than before and Patton reached out to hold onto something. A mailbox, a stop sign, anything! He found a bench that was bolted to the ground and held on, even though it was about to fly off itself. “Now get out of my way.”

“No! I’m not leaving without my best friend!”

“Then I’ll just make you leave!”

Patton felt the bench splinter into pieces and fly off, taking him with it. He fell back onto the ground and landed hard with a thud, his vision growing dark for a second. Patton wasn’t sure what had happened but he didn’t move, gasping for air. He must have gotten it knocked out of him when he landed.

“Shit, Patton!”

He opened his eyes and realized that his glasses must have fallen off again when he flew back. The blurry yet familiar face of his friend grew closer and he couldn’t help but smile. “Hey Stormy.”

“Shh, don’t talk. Don’t move! I’ll find you some help.”

“What? No, I’m fine. Are you okay?” Patton raised his hand to reach out to Stormy who simply grabbed it and held it close. “What’s wrong?”

“Gosh, Patton, I’m so sorry.”

“Its ‘kay. I forgive ya.” Patton felt more exhausted then he had expected.

“Patton, stay awake!”

“Mmm. I will.” He tried taking a deep breath that burned and caused him to wince in pain. “W-what-”

“I said don’t move! The bench kind of exploded and… and I can’t remove it, so just… Wait a minute. Help is coming!”

Patton looked confused before glancing down, a hunk of the wood from the bench sticking out of his abdomen. “Oh… wood you look at that, hah… Did you like that one, Stormy?”

The hero closed his eyes and sat for a moment before nodding. “I did. And… you can call me Virgil.”

“Virgil?” Patton smiled. “Aww, hi Virgil.”

Stormy, or Virgil, sniffled and smiled back. “Hi, Patton.”

Patton blinked a few times before shutting his eyes. “‘M sorry you got hurt cause of me.”

Virgil laughed at the irony and shook his head. “It’s fine, just stay awake, okay? Patton?”

“Stormy!” He looked up at the sound of his name and saw his teammates racing forward. “What’s going on?”

“He promised Patton wouldn’t get hurt and he did so… I’m fine now. But Patton isn’t!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll try my best!” Brainiac kneeled down and pulled out a small device from his belt. “I’m just glad you’re okay, Virge.”

---

Patton woke up to the burning ache on his side, though less of a pain than before. His body ached and screamed to move, stiff from sitting still for so long. He blinked and looked around before spotting someone peeking into the doorway cautiously. “Patton?”

“Stor-” Patton coughed, his throat dry and hoarse. “Stormy!”

“Shh, calm down. Emile could only heal you so far before they got tired.” Stormy walked in and sat on a chair beside the bed. “You’re at the superhero base headquarters. You remember anything?”

Patton blinked before groaning. “Yeah. I do. Wait!” He smiled and turned back to his friend. “Your name! It’s Virgil!”

Virgil chuckled and blushed a bit. “Yeah, I told you that. Do you remember anything from the surgery, though? You were pretty heavily medicated.”

Patton frowned and shook his head. “I had surgery?”

“Yeah, Emile had to remove the thing before he could heal it. So, uh…” The blush on his face grew. “You… don’t remember anything?”

“No… should I?”

“You uh… said. Some things.”

“Oh. Like… what?”

“Oh good, the lovebirds are here!” Prince marched in, smiling at the two of them. “Just catching up? Glad to see you awake Patton.”

“Oh. Yeah, hi.” Patton looked at him confused. “Do I know you?”

The Prince smacked his forehead. “Right, no mask for me and no glasses for you. I’m the Prince! Or Roman, if you prefer.”

Patton gasped. “I shouldn’t know your identity! Isn’t that bad?”

Roman’s face twisted in confusion for a moment. “Oh, right. You might not remember. You’re one of us now!” He smiled and marched in, leaning against the wall. “You have a power, Patton. You’re naturally attracted to danger. Or, well, it’s attracted to you. It’s so weak that it never came up in your life, but we did enough tests to prove its there. So, to keep you safe, you’re staying here with us! If you want, that is. You did say yes, but under the circumstances…”

“I am?” Patton giggled tiredly. “That makes a lot of sense.”

“Not to mention,” Roman reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “After that conversation, I don’t think you’d want to.”

“Wait!” Virgil stood up and reached out for the phone. “Princey, no!”

“Awww lookit you without your mask! You’re so cute! Cuter than I dreamed!”

“P-Patton?!”

“Come here and let me give you a kiss, cutie!”

“Wait, Patton, you’re still hurt! Don’t move!”

Roman tapped on his phone and the noise shut off. It was unmistakable. It was Patton and Virgil talking, though Patton didn’t remember.

Until now.

“Oh my gosh, I told you about my crush?!” Patton grabbed his blanket and buried his face. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s, uh, it’s okay.” Virgil cleared his throat. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, especially since he had a crush on you, too.” Patton peaked out from his blanket and saw Virgil reach over and playfully smack Roman. “Ow! Hey! Fine, I’ll leave you two alone.”

Once the door closed, Patton watched Virgil tense up as they were left alone. “Virgil?”

“YES!” He spun around and looked at Patton. “I mean, yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

Virgil went to respond immediately before he held back. He eventually nodded. “Yeah, I am now.”

“Good! When I get better, can we go on a date?”

“WHAT?!”

“We can get dessert! I don’t think you need any, though. You’re already a cutie pie.”

“Oh my goodness,” Virgil let out a chuckle though he tried to hide it. “You’re certainly feeling better!” His smile slowly fell as he looked over. “Are you okay?”

Patton hummed and shut his eyes before blindly holding out his hand. Virgil slowly stepped forward and took it, causing Patton to smile wider. “Aren’t I always when you’re here?”

Tomorrow they would have to worry about Sleeper and his plans. Tomorrow they would have to make their next plan of action. Tomorrow they would have to explain Patton’s disappearance from his life.

For today, however, everything was perfect.

#my writing #writing prompt #tw mind control #tw violence #tw manipulation #tw villain remy #romantic moxiety #hero au #oneshot #tw cursing

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never-sated · 4 years ago

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When Judge Amy Coney Barrett was being vetted for her lifetime position on the highest court in the land, she declined to answer even straightforward questions about presidential powers and voter intimidation. She declined to give serious responses to the follow-up Senate questionnaires probing even the simplest legal issues. She would not say, for instance, whether it’s a crime to vote twice, or whether Article II allows Trump to “do whatever I want,” or whether a judge’s ethnic or racial heritage constitutes bias. She wouldn’t answer questions about whether women seeking to terminate their pregnancies could face capital punishment.

The refusal to answer even the simplest yes/no questions about what black letter law means, and who it binds, has the effect—intentional or not—of unsettling what was once widely accepted and understood. It’s the judicial equivalent of “flooding the zone with shit“ and the result is the same when it’s done in law as it is when it’s done in media—it renders all that was known to be certain as indeterminate and up for grabs. It puts us all at the mercy of powerful deciders and consolidates the power to decide those newly open questions in an authority figure. It recalibrates both truth and power as emanating from someone else.

It’s hardly surprising that Barrett won’t tell us what she thinks of even settled constitutional cases—including, for example, the long established right to birth control. There’s no reason for her to enlighten us. She tells us only that for all past and future disputes, she will decide something fairly. We are instructed to trust her without any indication that she trusts us, or even trusts what has come before. Indeed, she has taken the position that what judges believe matters more than precedent anyhow. So we have to just trust her, even as we are still learning new information about her. Since her confirmation hearing alone, we have discovered that Barrett sat on the board of a school that turned away same-sex parents and that Barrett’s church has a history of sexual abuse of young women that was suppressed. None of the new information about her is meant to matter because all information about her is immaterial. Our judgments are immaterial, while hers are to be eternal. That is what we have learned during these hearings: Her opinions matter so much, and ours so little, that we don’t even deserve the courtesy of being told what she thinks before she ascends to the bench.

I have been thinking a good deal about the creeping cynicism that comes with this kind of powerlessness. And it is easy to feel powerless when you are constantly being told that the powerful will decide what matters, and also that they alone will determine what you can know about that decision. The stripping of power is part of the project. Senate Democrats never had any real power to stop the coronation of Amy Coney Barrett, but when they did try something—boycotting Thursday’s Judiciary Committee vote on Barrett—Lindsey Graham changed the quorum rules to push the vote through regardless. Before her 7th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals seat is even empty, the White House has announced a nomination to fill it, just like the GOP announced that it had the votes to confirm a judge before she was even named. Her name was extraneous information for us, because we were powerless to stop the nomination. It’s hard to know what to do in the face of this kind of behavior that kneecaps opposition and grabs power wherever possible. It leads to the sense that perhaps one should do nothing.

It’s increasingly clear that the U.S. Supreme Court, which will be newly reconstituted just a week before a federal election in which more than 50.3 million Americans have already cast ballots, will decidedly not be weighing in on the side of the right to vote nor will it be expanding the right to vote. It turns out the Supreme Court has many more options to interfere with a free and fair election than many of us previously understood, and also the power by which to do so. Federal judges around the country are ruling against efforts to make voting easier, whatever the merits.

It’s easy, in the face of all of this degrading devaluing of majority opinion, to want to tune out—to look at everything happening to undermine the will of the majority and your own power to cast a vote and say “whatever.” And if you find yourself face-planting into a pit of whatever, you’re certainly not alone. But your whatever is in fact the mirror image of what Amy Coney Barrett has now told us about the rule of law. Whatever is what Lindsey Graham—who asked us to hold him to his pledge about not seating new justices before an election—has done with Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s Supreme Court seat. To answer him in kind is to accede to that logic. Whatever is the nihilism they want to seed in the world. The response to their whatevers just cannot be more of the same.

Even though she didn’t answer any of her questions, we know who Barrett is and what she will do on the court. She is exactly who she has always been, who she was seated to become, and if you are worried for your children, for the planet, for the future of anti-racism and LGBTQ rights and voting rights, your worry is not misplaced. Barring court reform, the coming years will be marked by attacks on government agencies, court-endorsed rollbacks of progressive gains, and a steady series of wins for business, oligarchs, and inequality. It will come dressed as neutral “originalism,” but it will be neither neutral nor originalist. And as Adam Serwer brilliantly details, this is not simply a conservative project; it is a project to beat back changing demographics and to suppress the power of the majority. The whatever that powerlessness engenders is a feature, not a bug, of the conservative legal movement’s efforts to tell majorities that they are of no moment.

Like Barrett’s appointment, the project of Donald Trump’s entire presidency is to remind you that you don’t have a say in your governance. And because you don’t have a say, you don’t need any actual information from which to decide. This is what we learned again last week in an interview with CBS’s Lesley Stahl in which Trump announced that he won’t disclose his new long-promised health care plan to protect Americans dying from a pandemic until after the Supreme Court strikes down the Affordable Care Act. It doesn’t matter what his new plan is, anyway, he implies. The very definition of flooding the zone with shit is that nothing matters, because you have no choices left to make. That is because the new justice, who will be elevated without a hint of popular consensus will—as he has pledged—vote to dismantle the ACA without a hint of popular consensus. You don’t need to know about the new plan because you don’t have a say. Mike Pence has no obligation to answer sober questions. Your very powerlessness is the point. The cruelty is the fringe benefit.

Rule of thumb? If nobody in any position of authority feels the need to provide information, it’s a decent bet you aren’t in a functional democracy anymore. And I am not here to tell you how to fight the cynicism that comes with being lied to or told you can’t change anything. I am just here to note that the inchoate rage and despair are real, and that even the possible resounding defeat of Lindsey Graham in his race for his Senate seat may not be enough to cure it. I am also here to remind you that some of the reflexive reaction to the daily reminders of your own powerlessness—including your possible hopelessness, blame-shifting, and the ritual saying of “who cares”—really is the reaction they are trying to elicit. It is the object of the exercise. You’re now in the autocracy trainee program. Mitch McConnell’s court coup is designed not just to decrease your political power but to teach you that you should expect yet more political powerlessness. That is how they are trying to ensure that even though there are more of you than there are of them, it doesn’t matter and they still get to call the shots.

That’s where the fight lies. In understanding that however systemic the suppression of truth and trust might feel, there are still more of you than there are of them. The effort to say you are nothing and deserve nothing isn’t actually erasure. It’s actually their fear showing. And that fear in turn suggests that you still have more power than you may know.

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chriscdcase95 · 5 years ago

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Reposting for TLDR reasons.

To see the full rant, click the “Keep Reading”, but this covers what I consider an example of a show taking shipping wars too seriously, giving fans and how it can potentially pull a show down the tubes. Especially at the expense of character development and their stories.

It’s kind of a follow-up to another post I made about canon and non canon ships, and how there’s some ship based stories better left to fanfiction.

Disclaimer: I generally don’t like Ship Policing (bullying, and badgering other people for liking “the wrong ship”) despite this being one of my biggest NOTP’s. I don’t intend to bully people who like this ship, and this analysis is based on my observations and opinions.

So here I am talking about a barley known show and ship that’s barely relevant anymore if at all. This is a follow up post on a Loud House post regarding a non canon ship called Luaggie. I mentioned on that post , how it was an example of a fanfic ship and it’s best to be left a fanfic based ship. I now bring to you it’s antithesis; Jemma of Every Witch Way. Originally this was strictly about why some ships and stories that are best left to fanfiction, but there are so many problems with this ship, that I don’t really know where to start. I guess I’ll start with an introduction to the show.

Edit: I also had to revisit to trim this down, and correct misinformation.

Edit Edit: Twice. I had to edit it twice!

“What is Every Witch Way ?”

Every Witch Way was a comedy/drama series on Nickelodeon. Anyone who heard of it would know it is an Americanized remake of Grachi, a Latin American Nickelodeon series. The less educated may dismiss it as a Wizards of Waverly Place knockoff. The series focuses on Emma Alonso, a teenage girl who moves to Miami with her father and discovers she is a witch and chosen to one day lead the magical realm. With a group of muggle friends, the enthusiastic tough girl Andi; Emma’s queen bee rival Maddie also being a witch; a subplot about Fantastic Racism that ended with the wiping out of all but two of an entire race; we got ourselves a simple little TV show that could be a passible watch.

Coming from a post iCarly, Victorious and Big Time Rush era of Nickelodeon, where most of their shows were marketed to the younger kids and barely anything for teens to chew on, Every Witch Way was a breath of fresh air. Taking cues from previous Nick shows such as H2O Just Add Water and House of Anubis, and aimed for a teenage audience, it was more interested in telling stories than telling jokes.

I would have called the show an underrated cult classic series to get nostalgic over, like The Troop (a show which I’ll also talk about one day)…then comes seasons three and four and it becomes clear that Every Witch Way is more interested in ship war than it was telling stories. Maybe I was giving the show too much credit or had too much expectations for it. Let’s just say this was no House of Anubis or the Avatar franchise. I don’t know what pulled the show down the tubes; it was either the character Jax Novoa and his story arc, or his relationship with Emma. But they overlap with eachother so I might as well cover all of them.

“What kind of relationship is Jemma ?”

Imagine if you will; a high school drama, that involves a loving, kind and empathetic girl meeting a dark brooding bad boy, who does bad things. But because he has a sad past and bad parents, anything bad he does is immediately forgiven and brushed aside, or justified. And it is by the love of this girl, and only because of this love, does the bad boy get redeemed.

It’s the kind of story you see in mediocre romance stories or fanfics; the idea that the dark and brooding love interest with a bad past or history can be changed for the better with the love of the protagonist. This describes the relationship Emma and Jax’s relationship to such a tee that it’s borderline parody. The kind of reationship you’d at least put some kind of spin on.

So how does this compare to Jax and Emma’s relationship ? A quick description is that Jax is a new student and a dark seeming wizard introduced in the second season, who immediately displays an arrogant personality and behaviour while befriending Emma and putting the moves on her (and making a quick rivalry with Emma’s then boyfriend Daniel). Emma has a good heart, and a loving empathetic girl, so of course she likes to see the good in people and Jax was no exception. Jax eventually “changes” his darker ways and becomes more altruistic, mainly to get back and stay into Emma’s good graces.

Normally, I have no issues with an Enemies to Lovers story, but it’s the context and overexposure that puts Jemma in a bad light.

Emma continuously forgives, or ignores Jax’s flaws to near absurdity, mainly because Jax has a dead mom and an emotionally distant, controlling and seemingly abusive father…which is shown to be false in the many retcons season four gives us.

“What are the problems with Jemma ?”

I said in another post that a friend of mine defined toxic relationships differently than I did; one definition was that a ship is toxic based off of fans behaviour in the name of the ship; I define them for how much it romanticizes problematic behaviour. How does Jemma fall into either of these ?

Back when Every Witch Way was on, Jax x Emma fans were pretty rapid, and became the most loud and vocal part of the fanbase. Any attempts to criticize Jax, his behaviour or relationship with Emma is bombarded with “HE CHANGED! HE CHANGED FOR HER!” ad nauseum.

It’s gotten to the point where they literally vote their preference to make them the shows official couple. This can be partially blamed on the writers because they went about asking their audience what they want to happen in a TV show, having them vote for wat hey want to happen and in turn made season four into a Jemma based AU fic that rewrote the entire show. Kind of lacks integrity if you ask me. It also had to have been one of most one sided and manufactured shipping wars I’ve seen. By the end of the series, Jemma fans were pretty sore winners.

So Jemma fans could be pushy, but did Jax and Emma’s relationship entail toxic ideals I listed above ? On the surface, “no” since Jax doesn’t physically abuse Emma or the like…but Jax is manipulative person, and is rather possessive and entitled towards Emma all things considered. And what else can you say about a relationship where this partner has manipulated and gaslighted nearly everyone around him to get in, and attempts to destroy the world over a breakup ?

There’s so much to cover that stems from Jax that I might as well write a section on Jax himself. The worst that can be said of Emma here is that she was too forgiving and empathetic for her own good.

“Jax and how not to write a redemption arc”

So Jax is an overwhelmingly popular character on the show, so much that season four retconned him into the main character behind Emma. It’s easy to call him a Gary Stu character since he’s a seemingly perfect character who gets his way all the time and soon becomes the center of the show. This trope also fits; “Draco In Leather Pants” where a villain tends to get romanticized or woobified in fanfics regardless of how sympathetic or redeemable they are in canon; mostly because they are cute.

When Jax was introduced, he was the de-facto Big Bad of season two, being the most prominent, and personal antagonist and direct source of most of the drama that occurs in the season. Throughout the season he befriends and puts the moves on Emma with the intent on using the power coming Fool Moon (long story) to take over the world and rule at her side. Jax eventually falls in love with Emma, but when she breaks up with him when she makes right with Daniel… Jax’s response was aiding in an attempt to destroy the magic realm; something they make clear would kill all but a few magical beings in the world and this is something Jax is very aware of In the final showdown Jax makes it clear to Emma that he doesn’t care about what could happen to their loved ones in this magical apocalypse, so long as Emma is with him.

Again, I wouldn’t take this as seriously if the show didn’t treat it as seriously.

Now in his defense, I was originally rooting for Jax to reform himself. No joke, I genuinely wanted to see how Jax would make good with those he manipulated, pushed around and tried to fucking kill. I like a good redemption stoy as much as the next guy, but Jax doesn’t really go through one; he just turns Face at the last minute, apologizes to Emma about not wanting to hurt her, Emma immediately forgives him and Jax wastes no time putting the moves on her and antagonizing Daniel. What punishment does Jax go through ? What atonement did he have to suffer ? He’s put through a boot camp with the threat losing his powers, all the while he agonizes that those who he wronged still resent him. To be fair he does have genuine good deeds in season three; such as heping a dying friend, and even riskiig his life to save another But even then, the sho treats Emma as his prize for being a Nice Guy, and he admits this to Emma during the third seasons finale in a scene we are supposed to find romantic. And when he gets the girl, its all rendered moot in season four.

Helping or not helping with Jax’s character is that in season two he is given multiple “excuses”; controlling and abusive father, seemingly dead mother. They worked back then in making Jax sympathetic. The problem is when we get the actual revelations of his family and in turn make him unsympathetic in retrospect.

“The Mess That Is Season Four”

I don’t like the Fanon Discontinuity trope - where fans refuse to accept an istallment as canon out of a dislike of them. I generally don’t apply this trope with very few exceptions. But let me tell you this; when I say season four isn’t canon to the previous seasons, that’s not me talking, that’s the show itself talking.

It isn’t a continuation of the previous seasons, it’s a reboot. When Emma and Jax become the shows OTP, the universe literally changes around them. Season four introduces a plot point that where an SCP style anomaly exists called a Continuum Break, in which as a direct result of Emma’s decision, the universe casted Daniel out of everyone’s lives, and their friends memories, and retroactively replaces him with Jax. Subsequently, the events of the previous seasons and their conflicts revolve around Jax and Emma’s relationship.

One reason why these retcons don’t work is that because the world was altered in Jemma’s image, Jax here isn’t the same Jax as we knew through season two and three. The retcons fail because Jax’s previous sympathy is erased in retrospect, because Jax would hide behind his parents as an excuse for his actions (the dead mother wasn’t dead, but in fact, secret villain; and Jax’s abusive father wasn’t abusive). Jax being sympathetic hinged off of these excuses, and they either never applied, or was hit by the reset button, and thus irrelevant to his development.

And I am left asking myself why the writers came up with the Continuum Break in the first place ?Where Jemma fans that pushy about making their ship canon that they had to make it the only canon relationship in the show ? If so, that’s how wildly Jemma shippers are, if not that’s on the writers for being that much fan slaves. What other point could there be in portraying the Continuum Break as the way things should be ? Not to be pesimeistic, but it feels like this is the show throwing a character under the bus for the sake of rewriting the previous seasons and making Jax the new protagonist.

On top of that, other characters and arcs get thrown under the bus too

Mainly, Mia Black, who was introduced in season three as the de-facto main antagonist, and is added as another member of the love triangle. Mia is also affected by the Continuum Break as she is also cast from everyone’s memories and lives, to live an alternate life with Daniel. This is arguably more jarring than Daniel being taken away because Mia ultimately doesn’t sacrifice her morals for what she believes in and ultimately wasn’t that much of a threat and her own redemption arc is foreshadowed throughout the season by bonding with Daniel and Diego, and the added empathise on how lonely she is. This culminates in Emma reaching out to her in the season finale, and declaring herself her protector. Like Jax, I was looking forward to seeing where they would take Mia and her arc the next season. Well as a result of the Continuum Break, she’s out of everyone’s lives, and living an artificial alternate one the universe spat out. Like Daniel, she may have been happy with her new life, but it still renders everything they foreshadowed for her and what she’s been through for nothing.

Personal conclusion

I reiterate my first statement Every Witch Way was a great show (first three seasons, at least is IMO). It was a breath of fresh air in a time when most of Nick’s shows were targeting a younger demographic in a post iCarly, Big Time Rush, and Victorious era. I’d call it an cult classic series, but I still feel that season four keeps it from being one of the great ones. I do recommend checking the series out, the story arcs are mostly good. Unfortunately by the time season four rolled in, it seemed pretty clear the show was more interested in shipping wars than it was in telling it’s stories.

I can’t really pinpoint what caused the show to drop in quality; the manufactured ship war ? Jax as a character ? Jemma’s pushy fans ? The writers for bending to fan demands ? Either way, season four’s Continuum Break was something the show could have done without. I won’t say that Jax is the most unlikeable character on the show (that would be Emma’s father) and he isn’t the most evil either (that would be Torres). I consider Jax and his blunders more so the fault of how he was written than anything else.

I will give Jax and Jemma this; the character and ship has so much going for it, I can’t help but compare and contrast them to other similar characters, story arcs and ships. I use it as an example of not to write a redemptive romance, and why some things are best left to fanfiction. But above all else, I hold it as an example as to why writers and creators shouldn’t sacrifice their stories blindly cater to fans and popular ships.

#Every Witch Way #Emma Alonso #Daniel Miller #Jax Novoa #Mia Black #Andi Cruz #Maddie Van Pelt #Deigo Rueda #Katie Rice #Sophie Johnson #And because I mentioned these shows #Victorious #icarly #big time rush #house of anubis #h2o just add water #the troop

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britt2ney · 4 years ago

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Give Yourself A Timeout

When a child misbehaves, a common response to that behavior is to put the child in a timeout. Why is this a good solution? Two reasons: it stops the action and encourages self-reflection with the hope of breaking unacceptable behavior habits and thought patterns.

With that said, our virtual identities are misbehaving. Habitually. People have conditioned themselves into thinking that it is acceptable behavior to call names, be judgmental, argumentative, condescending, and alienating towards anyone they want to - all from behind the safety and complacency of their computer screens. People also think it is perfectly fine to saturate their minds with perpetual fear, worry, and anxiety-inducing input from external influences. We spend hours and hours looking at our devices daily (just ask Siri) and we’re doing very little to balance that influence without even questioning the damage it is causing or the patterns it is conditioning us with.

This is a call to action for immediate cessation, reevaluation, and reformation of behavior. You are not blameless from the choices you make, even if they are things you would never do in a face to face setting. You would discipline your child if they bullied another child in front of you. Now, it’s time to bring that disciple inward.

Your online avatar needs a timeout.

Take Back Ownership

It began innocently enough. Your friends and family encouraged you to create an account online on various platforms to stay close and share your lives virtually. It became easier to connect in this way, so much so that we slowly began doing less connective activities like spending time together in person, talking on the phone, printing photographs, having hard and heartfelt discussions eye-to-eye, etc. Social media has very gently trained us to connect in the most disconnected manner we’ve ever experienced as a species; and the problem is, most of us don’t even stop to look at who we’ve become, both individually and collectively. We’re so caught up in this routine behavior that we don’t stop to ask if it’s benefitting anyone, including ourselves.

So ask yourself: is what I focus on everyday online helping anyone? Is it helping my family? Is it bringing people together or pushing people apart? What is my role in this and how can I do better? Take a hard look at your custom designed emoji’s face. Is this the kind of person you would invite into the lives of those you love? Are they contributing to a better society?

I’m not blaming you for how you got here. But the time has come for us all to take individual responsibility for the choices we are allowing that are harmful to us. And to own it.

The Courage to Admit Defeat

We failed. All of us did. We were presented with a scenario none of us anticipated: a highly contagious virus coupled with a media campaign of fear and isolation. And what did we do? We forgot everything we’ve learned about taking care of ourselves and our mental health and abandoned all reason in exchange for fear and hate.

I had the virus back in February. It was awful. Here were my symptoms: it started with a sore throat. By the evening of day 1, I had a fever of 104 and I was visibly shaking. By day 3, I could hardly breathe. On a normal day, I can probably count to 10 on an inhale. I was down to a count of 2. That’s so scary for someone who has always had strong lungs. But instead of panicking, I slowed down my breathing and calmed myself down until I was able to be rational. Then I went to the hospital. Since it was February, the only test for the virus was “Have you been out of the country lately?” to which the answer was no. So I was diagnosed with flu-like symptoms, given an inhaler, and a prescription for cough syrup. For an entire week, I had daily temps around 101 and evening temps of 103-104. I slept all day and I lost 11 lbs by the end of the week. I also had migraines every day for that first week. By week two, the fevers were done but I had developed tinnitus in my right ear (which I still have even now) and I had lost my sense of taste and smell (which lasted for almost two weeks). I was perpetually exhausted and had to use the inhaler for about a month before my lung capacity returned to normal.

I know firsthand that the virus is no joke. I also know that if I had panicked, I would have started hyperventilating and would have been hospitalized. I know this. I felt the panic, but I chose not to give into it. And this is my point: whether you’ve had the virus or not, you have the choice to let fear into your heart or to decide to overcome it. We have survived many hardships as a species and it is as though the survival instinct within is dissipating from our collective psyche. We are forgetting that we are fighters and that we are social creatures. And we are forgetting this because we are no longer behaving as civilized and social humans.

You’ve been sick before. Everyone has. What’s the usual protocol? Rest, Vitamin C, Vitamin D, hot soup, etc. And the next time you get sick, you don’t get sick as bad because you taught your body how to work with and learn from the illness. This virus is no different, it’s just really unpleasant. And I feel very strongly that if we did not have the internet, cable tv, etc. on loop telling us to be afraid, less people would be dying from this. If you don’t want to take my word for it, don’t also take your newsfeed’s word or the media’s word for it either. Draw your own conclusions.

The real threat to your health is not the virus. It’s the fear. And we just proved to ourselves that we lost the battle to fear by how we’ve behaved. And though the war for your mind rages on, it is not over while you still breathe. Accept that you lost this first battle. But now acknowledge the war for what it is and choose new weapons to fight back with. How do we combat fear? With love and connectedness.

Choose an Authentic Path

There’s a reason I sign all of my blogs with “Always, Brittney”. That is a reminder, that through all triumphs and hardships, I push myself to be a consistent influence for those around me. I choose to not give in when it’s easy, to not let the indifference of others jade me, and to stay true to who I am. So here is my request, from a space of authenticity: please come back to who you are. Stop being and behaving as your phone and tv and computer tell you to be. Stop fighting and trolling online when you know this has never been who you are in person. Stop allowing yourself to be less than who you really are at heart. Start embodying the courage of our ancestors. Bring love and light back into the lives of others. Choose to spread hope and wisdom. Do not give up on us. But perhaps, give up on your online identity. Or at the very least, clean it up. Take a few weeks off of social media and spend some time with the inner dialogue of your mind. And once you’ve sat in your timeout long enough, join us once again as a positive influence for the collective mind that we share together. You’re an adult. The only one who can discipline your thoughts and actions is you.

Always, Brittney

#wellness #authencity #ownership #social media #timeout

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aislinceivun · 4 years ago

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Hi! I know that you’ve said that you won’t continue with the sequel planned for Wandering Bird, but I was wondering if I could inquire on what you might’ve written? It’s just, I really adore your fic; can’t get it out of my head actually (so I’m so sorry if I’m being insensitive!) You mentioned once that you were going to do a POV from Arthur Gwen and Morgana- does that mean they (Morgana and Gwen specifically) had an idea of Merlin’s fate? Could Arthur “see” Merlin during his adventures? Part 1

Part 2: (Again, I apologize for my questions-your story just has so many interesting plot points!!) How would Bonnie and Co interact/react to Arthur’s return? Why couldn’t Freya interact much with Merlin; Was it a lack of magic, interference or something else? Somewhat weird question: but did you have anything in mind for Merlin’s Vigil Night? (If he can get one poor dear). (Gushing continued in third ask I’m so sorry)

Part 3: I loved how you showed Arthur considering legal reforms before his death-and the Phoenix as the emblem? *Chef’s Kiss* Was the creation of the phoenix’s later on a reference to that? Random aside: I really adored how badass you made Merlin, without making him too edgy or dark, you know? Also I really loved the many prophecies/legends surrounding just Merlin as “Emrys”! I adore literally everything about Aithusa, and her final scene made me bawl (also your art is gorgeous!) You’re amazing!

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Don’t ever apologize for asking questions about fics! Even if they’re old fics the author doesn’t plan on returning to, these kind of asks can really make their day and I’m sure 98% of the time they’ll just be over the moon that someone still thinks so much about their work :D I am!!

I still get emotional thinking about Aithusa, so I’m super glad her storyline made you feel so deeply. And that yuo liked Merlin’s portrayal and the lore about him! And thea art! Ahh, just, thank you! 🥰

Unfortunately, I no longer have my original outlines and the roughly 15k I’ve written due to my old laptop crashing, and it’s been 7 years (oh my gosh how) so I no longer remember the details. Which is too bad - I have several abandoned fics in my mother tongue, and I always uploaded summaries of what was supposed to happen to provide some kind of closure to readers. I can’t do that properly with Wandering, but I’ll try my best!

Putting the rest under a cut. :)

Feathers was inteded to be a series of 7 fics: 3 long main stories and 4 shorter (8-15k) standalone side-stories. The graphics are pretty much the only thing I still have left x’D

You know this one, 75k of how Merlin spends those roughly 1500 years between the end of the show and Arthur’s rebirth. Then, the stuff that never got finished:

The Gwen POV side story, set during ch1 of Wandering. Focused on Gwen dealing with Arthur’s death, managing the kingdom and working on abolishing discrimination against magic users. Also getting together with Leon after a few years.

The Morgana POV one, at parts corresponding to ch1 and ch2 of Wandering. Honestly, I’m no longer sure about the details, but the early parts were supposed to explain and detail show canon, and then... I think I meant to bring her back in as a literal bird. With the life span of it, just keeping her consciousness, so she can watch what happens in the world. She probably watched over Aithusa, too, and Merlin, and IDK but the goal was to show her thoughts and eventually give her character justice and closure.

The Arthur POV one. He was kept in some kind of otherworldly, underwater palace-like place and could only interact with Freya, really, but he did get constant flashes of Merlin - especially where he was near Albion. This short was supposed to be very dream-like, as time works differenetly in that place. It’s kind of like when you’re half-asleep, y’know? So Arthur didn’t really live those 1500 years like Merlin did, but he followed his journey, in a way. When Freya “woke him up” at the end, they did have a conversation about it. He lost these memories when he was reborn. (But he still often dreams of water and a kind lady)

The next big one! Set in 2012, this would’ve started with Arthur & Merlin going to uni and “meeting each other” and ended with Arthur finally regaining his memories. Merlin kept away from him while Arthur was growing up, you see - aside from that one time when he learnt that by pure chance, Ray (who became a PE teacher) ended up being one of lil’ Chris/Arthur’s teachers. As old man Emrys, he got himself some history teaching shtick because he wanted to see how Arthur was doing, but he quickly realized that this is not going to work, what with him being in love with the man Arthur is going to become. xD So he left after a few months, and kept away from Arthur. (But kept pestering Ray with questions :D)

Anyway, when Arthur goes to uni (by this point, he exclusively goes by ‘Arthur’ btw, dropping Christopher) Merlin magics himself back into his eighteen year old form and gets enrolled in the same school. Agatha and Mike would have had prominent roles as basically Merlin’s sidekicks. Aggie is especially close with him, after him mentoring her about magic all her life.

Arthur has no memories either of his old life or about the years spent with Freya, so the dynamic at first is pretty much show S1. Most of the angst would have come from Arthur finally wanting to get together with Merlin but Merlin pulling away because there’s just too much Arthur doesn’t know; how is he supposed to be together with him when he’s hiding so much, lying so much? This Arthur is pure and free of the tragedies of the past, and maybe it’d be best if Merlin left him alone... But something must be happening - something the world needs Arthur for, if he slept through WWI and WWII but NOW fate decided to send him back...

Anyways, he would have gotten back his memories aroud the end of this instalment. Cue a lot of crying from Merlin’s part.

The last big one, a direct sequel to With Memories. A lot of recap and talking in the early parts, Merlin and Arthur reconciliating who they were in the past with who they are in the present and who they wanna be in the future.

There was a Big Bad of some kind of malicious magical origin (not necessarily a person, but an “end of the world” kind of thing/entity. It was 2012 after all. Little did we knew the real shit was coming 8 years later It was revealed that Arthur had magic himself, plenty of it - he couldn’t use it, at all, but he wielded a lot of pure magic, maybe related to how he was basically marinated in magic-juice for over fifteen centuries and how his soul was pushed back into the world xD There was a lot of magical and dragon-related lore to be revealed. The Phoenixes came back to play a part in resolving the Big Bad, too. But it’s all very hazy. What I do remember is that to fix the Big Bad, Merlin AND Arthur had to hold their Vigil Night, in a way - not dying, god now, but both of them hand to give all their combined magic back to earth. This resulted in the Big Bad no longer happening and Merlin losing his immortality =)

After figuring out their shit in the first half, they were pretty much together, btw. Learning each other in a new way. Arthur digged Merlin’s Phoenix emblem tattoo, that’s for sure. A lot of communication was needed, especially because it wasn’t easy for Arthur to understand Merlin’s grief (sometimes, Merlin looked so old despite the young form he wore; sometimes he felt ancient, and Arthur was a bit scared in his presence - not scared of Merlin, but scared of how to measure up to him, reach him, help him.) And Merlin had to understand that even with his old memories, Arthur wasn’t exactly that Arthur, the king - he had a life of his own in the present, a new identity, and it was unfair of Merlin to expect him to be the same. They no doubt talked a lot about Merlin’s lived experiences, his lost ones, Aithusa. (Merlin never stopped wearing the pendant made of Aithusa’s scale)

Happy end, of course :)

Well, that was a lot of vaaaague stuff, but hopefully gave you an idea? Bonnie wasn’t around too much, though I’m sure I’d have included some scenes with her. She probably didn’t met Arthur until Together Again. Aggie liked him fine but kept teasing him and she could be a bit harsh, what with her being so overprotective of Merlin. Mike and Arthur got along really well. Arthur was shocked when he was first fully introduced to the whole family and was met with his old PE teacher AND that brought up the fact Merlin attempted to teach him for a few months xDD

Buuuuut.... this was still just 6, eh?

Last instalment, another side oneshot, and a prequel to the whole series. Kilgharrah’s POV. Set a few generation’s before Uther’s rein, elaborating on some of the lore and backstories revealed in Together Again. (all of which I no longer remember, rip) I know we’d have met an ancestor of both Merlin and Arthur through Kilgharrah: Aurelius Ambrosius, who does some good deed to Kilgharrah, and the dragon blesses him - after this, the man takes the name Pendragon. And Coel, who was a dragon lord, husband to Ystradwal high priestess. Coel had a cheerful and kind personality, and he was the first human Kilgharrah came to like. They became friends. Coel was supposed to be Merlin’s grandfather, I think. Kilgharrah and his mate were expecting their first egg to hatch when Uther’s purge started, and that was pretty much the end of this short =(

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All I have left aside from these is some tidbits of dialogue from the single file on the sequels I have:

“Whoa, Merlin, slow down. I can’t follow you.”

“I’m different from you. Okay? I’m not... I wasn’t... I didn’t reincarnate. I’m not a reincarnation of the original Merlin. I am the original Merlin. Do you understand? I never... Look, I never died.”

“You are. The same Merlin." Merlin nods. "The same Merlin who mucked out my horses and saved me countless times and magicked his way into my life.”

“I’m afraid, sire.”

The title comes without a conscious thought, and when he realizes, his heart twists and cracks.

Arthur just stares at him.

“So? Who are you guys, then?”

“I wasn’t lying about them. They are family. No! Gods, no, not like that,” he adds quickly upon seeing Arthur’s widening eyes.

“He’s our magical fairy godfather,” Mike and Aggie say in perfect union, completely straight-faced.

“The only times I was really miserable were the very first few hundred years, and later the roughly three centuries that followed Aithusa’s death. For the rest of the time, I wasn’t completely alone, and that... helped. A lot. But... it was hard. I hated how everyone I cared for withered away and died before my eyes, so I tried to keep people away for a long time. I was lonely, but that kept me safe from heartbreak. At least, that’s what I’d thought.

“But then I met Bonnie, and as I watched her grow up and start a family - a family that welcomed me - I realised how foolish I was for attempting to condone myself to a solitary life and deny myself the warmth of others’ love.”

Arthur wipes a hand over his face. “Owning a magical heritage but no apparent talent to use it... Just. Great. I’m a fucking Quibble!”

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Phew!! What a trip down memory lane xD And I actually remembered more than I thought I would, so that’s nice. Thank you for enabling me to ramble and recall some stuff a really liked about this verse. I hope I was able to give you some closure! Cheers!♥

#anon #ask answer #/#//#///#merlin #merthur #fic related #Like a Forever Wandering Bird #omg I rambled so much #you know what I might link this post at the end of Wandering #just in case any other late newcomers like you would like to know about The Continuation That Never Was #long post #geez IDK why the cut isn't showing up if you check my blog directly #sorry those who're not seeing this on your dash #=/

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starforged · 5 years ago

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general general and skywalker: a post-tros finnrey

He dislikes the desert. It’s too hot. There are two suns. Who just has two suns? And the sand, it’s everywhere. It’s in his mouth and his eyes and he doesn’t know how, but it’s in his pants. Against his skin in places nobody wants sand to be.

But…

It isn’t Jakku, so he supposes he can give Tattooine the smallest of passes.

Very small.

The cantina is full of tired humans and aliens, and some that look like they would shoot him if they could. It’s the only place with people. The only place where he can pay for information.

“Listen, I am General Finn. You know, of the Resistance?”

The barkeep, a gaunt Twi’lek with skin the color of dying grass, stares at him. Mostly, that tactic works. General, Resistance. Everyone eats that up, and it makes Finn’s life easier and keeps his pockets kind of heavy. Metaphorically speaking. Because credits didn’t actually have weight.

“Finn what?” the barkeep finally says in return. It’s not an answer to his question.

Finn blinks and takes a deep breath. “Just Finn. No, not just. General. Point being, I am looking for my friend. A girl. She carries a lasersword. There’s an orange droid. Can you tell me where she is?”

The Twi’lek holds out his hand. Rubs two of his fingers together.

Finn transfers over the credits.

“You must mean the Skywalker girl. Homestead has been empty for years, but I knew the family that lived there. Owen and Beru and their kid, Luke.”

This is too much information to receive all at once, and Finn doesn’t know how to process any of it. Skywalker girl? Luke? What?

Rey is waiting for him outside of the little home, built right into the sand. A moisture farm, the barkeep called it. Finn doesn’t get it, but there she is, standing in the middle of the sandy yard. BB-8 beeps with delight and rolls up the incline to him. He asks about Poe, who isn’t here with him.

Poe is busy. Everyone is busy.

“I’m confused, you’re a Skywalker now?”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t have anything to say about it. So her shoulders lift in a shrug and a faint smile paints over her lips. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you.”

They’ve all needed time. She’s never told him all of it, what happened down on that planet’s surface while he had been on the destroyer. And then, a few months later, she was gone. Something she had to do. She’d be back.

That was three months ago.

And now here he is, on this dreadful planet, standing before Rey Skywalker.

They move towards each other at the same time, without having to think about it. Her arms loop rightly around his neck, his around her waist. They press together, too warm, but it feels like it always has: a missing piece slotting back into place.

“I missed you,” she whispers into his shoulder. When she pulls away, he tries to not feel disappointed. “Let me show you around.”

The machinery for the moisture farming is, surprisingly, fascinating. And it’s nice to talk about something that isn’t war or death or First Order or who the hell is gonna run the Republic now because most of the Senators were blown up and who is going to trust any of them. They’re no Princess Leia or Mon Mothma, who he hears was fantastic. This is just weird rustic living.

He hopes whoever his parents were or are, that they aren’t moisture farmers.

She makes him dinner. He helps to clean the dishes.

The room she lets him sleep in has old models of x-wings and other ships. There are spare parts buried in bits of sand, nothing that is good enough to salvage. The room vibrates with this energy of more.

Luke Skywalker must have been some kid.

“What are you really doing here, Rey?”

“I buried Luke and Leia’s lightsabers,” she tells him.

“In the sand?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think they minded.”

She seems different. Well, they all are, so that’s a stupid observation. But she feels more calm, more sure of herself. This is not the Rey he knows. She’s still there, the bright eyed girl from Jakku and the angry girl during the war. There are just parts of her that he feels but doesn’t know. He wants to.

He’s always wanted to, and she was too wrapped up in her anger to understand that he wasn’t going to leave. That he wasn’t scared of her, but for her. She kept trying to be alone, and all Finn has ever known is working as a unit. As part of a whole.

He feels that this is what’s happening now, too.

“I’m sorry,” Rey says, cutting through his thoughts. There’s a certain flicker of grief that crosses her face, of regret and pain.

He reaches out, across the table, pushing her cup of tea out of the way. He takes her hand. It’s warm and rough. He remembers the first time he took her hand, when it had been rough and sweaty against his palm. “Me too.”

“Ben saved me,” she whispers. Her dark eyes are downcast, lips parted.

“Ben? Solo. Ben Solo, Han and Leia’s son? Our enemy? Who was hunting us?” Sometimes, Finn feels like his mind is splitting apart. When he thinks of Ben Solo, there’s only Kylo Ren. The ghost stories the troopers spoke of him in whispers during training. The feel of his blade striking against Finn’s when they fought. That mask.

But when Rey raises her gaze to his again, squeezing his hand, he sees parts of Ben Solo that are just Ben. It doesn’t change his opinion of him. The guy was a monster. And he is dead.

“He gave me his life. There’s this ache, like a part of me has been hollowed out.”

He swallows. Hard. “Tell me about it. All of it.”

She does. And he does his very best to understand the things he doesn’t get. He doesn’t ask many questions, afraid that she’ll shut down on him again. Shut him out again, and Finn doesn’t want that.

And he thinks, while she tells him her story, her past, her future, her other half, he understands what love fully is. Love is not a continuous act of sacrifice for someone else, but it is a helping hand and a listening ear and an acceptance of some things that he can’t change. He’s not jealous. No, okay, he is, because other half is such a serious notion and if Ben was alive… Finn would love Rey enough to keep an eye on a reforming monster so that she could be happy. And he would move on.

He can’t change who Ben Solo and Kylo Ren were to Rey anymore than he can change what Poe and Rose and Jannah are to him. He can’t change that her power is something he can’t exactly touch. He’s never wanted to change any of those things.

A month passes. It’s a hot, sandy month. Farming is hard work. But it’s good work.

A month passes. He begins to learn the names of the regular crowd at that cantina. They teach him card games and how to gamble. He’s terrible at it. Rey is great at it. Nobody likes to play with her.

Trusk slaps a card down, rattling some machine parts on the table. “Where’s the wife, Skywalker?”

Finn frowns. “It’s General.”

“General General?”

He realizes how stupid it sounds the second Trusk says it. “Yeah, yup. General Finn General.” It only takes him another second for him to register that Rey was referred to as his wife. The wife. To his husband. His cheeks burn hot, and he’s thankful for both the darkness of the cantina and of his skin.

Rey teaches Finn to lift rocks. Small ones, at first, because he tried a rather large one and nearly took out the rear section of their home. He learns how to build instead of destroy. He learns to reprogram. He learns that he is not a Jedi.

He learns that she has six different smiles and a storm in her heart.

“He’s still with me,” Rey confesses one night. It’s cool when the suns are down, and they sit outside.

“He’s always going to be with you,” Finn says.

“No. I mean - he became part of me, when he gave me his life force.”

“I - what.”

“And his ghost--”

“Nope.” Finn holds out his hands, shaking his head. “Nope, I don’t do ghosts.”

Smile number five comes out, brighter than any number of suns combined, a wide grin that stretches across her face and reminds him of how young they really are beneath the war wounds.

“Oh, so having him part of me is fine--”

“No that’s just weird. The Force is weird. Jedi are weird.”

“I just wanted to say that, if you kissed me, you’d be kissing part of him.”

Finn gapes. It takes a few moments for everything to catch up with him. Time, breathing, his brain. Rey’s cheeks are burning red in the faint light he can see her in. But her gaze is even, steady.

“Do you--” He coughs, because his voice becomes high pitched and he remembers coming into puberty all those years ago and how squeaky he sounded. He lowers his voice an octave. Manly, smooth. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

She takes her time, thinking that question over. He waits with a patience he didn’t think he could have in this situation, because really, all he wants to do is grab her and kiss her until they both run out of air. That’s all he’s wanted to do since the day she looked at him, him.

“You had something to tell me once,” she says instead of answering him. “What was it?”

All those missed moments, all of Poe’s butting in and the near death, and his desperation for her swell up inside of him. “I love you. I always have.”

“The thought of losing you hurts me,” she tells him. Her hand is over her heart. “Here.”

“What does that mean?”

They stare at each other, and his body is twitching to move, and his mouth is itching to kiss her, and his mind is screaming at him to do something, say something. Her eyes are glassy, and he’s ready to face the rejection. He can do that, for her. So she can heal.

“I love you.” Her voice is a whisper. “And I love him.”

Competing with a kind of dead man who may or may not live inside of her soul and also probably comes to visit when he isn’t around isn’t exactly an ideal situation.

“I know,” Finn reassures her. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, one by one.

One tear falls, then another. They make silent streaks down her face. “It’s not a competition.”

“I mean, I’d kick his ghostly ass.” His smile is fragile, wobbly. “Rey, whatever you want to do, I will be here for you. There’s no rush.”

“I know.” And then she closes the distance between them, her mouth on his in a gentle kiss, sweet and undemanding. She tastes of sand and soup and power. She tastes of love.

He tries his very best to not think about kissing Kylo Ren.

#star wars #the rise of skywalker #tros spoilers #the rise of skywalker spoilers #finn #rey #finnrey #canon compliant #so there is reylo #rey tries to grieve #finn becomes a moisture farmer #i needed him to finally tell her his something #sequel trilogy fic

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diveronarpg · 5 years ago

Photo

Congratulations, CLAUDIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of OTHELLO with a FC change to Chadwick Boseman. Admin Minnie: Claudia. Wow, Claudia. This application won me over. I got extremely excited in a matter of seconds just from your first paragraph alone — just ask the other admins, I can even send you a screenshot of my message: “ok i've read one paragraph and im in luv”. From your clean and precise analysis of his core (”learning that love and terror were not the antithesis of each other but an echo of the hunger that comes with being alive” YOU DID THAT) to the incredibly story you weaved in your para sample... you completely won me over. And so did your Othello. I cannot wait to see your plot points come to life, because I’m positive that you’re going to bring a storm to Verona. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Claudia

Age | 23

Preferred Pronouns | She / Her

Activity Level | 7

Timezone | GMT+11

How did you find the rp? | I’ve known about DiVerona for a while now but it’s been some time since I was active on the rpc scene. Stumbling upon it again after all this time and seeing Othello open feels a little like serendipity.

Current/Past RP Accounts | Here and here.

IN CHARACTER

Character | Othello. And if I could please request a faceclaim change to Chadwick Boseman.

What drew you to this character? |

Othello is a study in dichotomies – a man torn between polar extremes. Between savagery and nobility, brutality and kindness, love and war.

His very existence was borne of a war waged between his mother’s warmth and his father’s cruelty. He grew up in a house that felt more like battlefield than home, learning that love and terror were not the antithesis of each other but an echo of the hunger that comes with being alive. He feels everything: deeply, intensely, like an open wound half-healed; it’s his greatest strength and it will be his ultimate downfall. Odin is a man capable of a vast and terrible rage. There’s brutality sunken deep in his marrow, something black and rotten in his birthright, an ancient violence. He feels it in his blood like a beast that’s slept dormant all these years, lying in wait, watchful, preying on his worst instincts. He hears it singing in his veins, can taste it climbing into his throat, when he sees a guilty man’s blood spilled on fresh dirt. He thinks he sees glimpses of his father in the mirror, sometimes, when his mind is adrift and steeped in shadow. His eyes, soulless and quiet, his knuckles blooming with bruises.

Suffice to say, I love this broken, conflicted, contradiction of a man. There’s nothing more compelling than a tragic hero and the thing about Othello is that he has every inkling in him of someone who could so easily be tipped over the edge into monster. I love that discrepancy, I live for that sliver of doubt, the seduction of l’appel du vide and the terrifying realisation that he has everything in him to slip beyond that edge.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

ONE MORE SUCH VICTORY WOULD UTTERLY UNDO ME | Odin has survived the maelstrom of scandal and ruin that would have meant a fall from grace and high standing, the destruction of all that he has built for himself. And in doing so, he’s lost the only thing he has every truly loved in this life: Delilah. All of the love and devotion and pleas for understanding could not deny the rage and ruthlessness that came with her infidelity. With the heartbreak of knowing the one person he’d let into the deepest parts of his soul, who’d seen him bare and unstripped of all artifice, had betrayed him. He’s burned all their bridges, performed triage to save his reputation and his pride, but what of the love that still sickens him when he thinks of her and how she’s suffering? He has set fire to all traces of her inside his heart but it isn’t so easy to burn her out of his mind or his dreams. These are the places where man has no dominion. And what of the peace he knows he will never find again without her by his side? What of the treacherous slivers of doubt beginning to eat away at him that till now, he has tried to kill and smother with green-eyed reason? He couldn’t possibly be wrong, could he? He couldn’t have abandoned his happiness and his honour with the one woman who has loved him for all his flaws and vices at the turn of a whispered deception?

AM I MY BROTHER’S KEEPER? | Ivan is the closest thing Odin has to family. To blood. Ivan has stood at his side through everything, his left-tenant, his confidante, his greatest source of comfort and familiarity. Call it a blind spot, a weakness, but Ivan has earned his faith and unquestioning trust. It was Ivan who came to him when he first heard of Delilah’s betrayal, and it was Ivan who gave him the strength to do what had to be done. But now he has lost his greatest love, and his brother seems more and more a stranger to him by the day. Ivan has always been smarter, sharper, hungrier, hiscunning forged out of necessity and survival. It is the flicker of doubt, the silhouette of something far more treacherous and unforgivable that stains his dreams like nightshade. He is not a man of halfway, or half-done. Odin absolutely cannot abide the grey area of hesitation. If there is more than speculation to the idea that Ivan has somehow exaggerated, or misconstrued Delilah’s transgression… There’s nothing more dangerous than a man who has nothing left to lose.

WHY ARE YOU FULL OF RAGE? BECAUSE YOU ARE FULL OF GRIEF | Despite his well-crafted attempts at appearing to the contrary, Odin walks a finely wired tightrope between chaos and control. His ego is bruised and battered, and his heart is worn thin with humiliation. He was once a man that wore the hearts of Verona’s people on his sleep. Now, a whisper follows him everywhere he goes. A whisper that becomes a murmur, rising and spilling into a crescendo of rumour and disgrace that hounds him day and night. Odin is quicker to anger, more belligerent and unruly, a humming drum beat of shame and dishonour ringing in his ears every time he turns away and pretends not to hear the outrageous lies they spin. And with his beloved gone, cast out of his heart and soul, there is so little left to keep his worst instincts at bay. All it would take is one bad day. One simple push is all it would take to plunge him down the path into darkness. A push, or a drip of well-timed poison in his ear.

PROMETHEUS’ GAMBIT | Before Odin swore himself to the Capulets, he was a man of the people. A hero. A saviour. Someone who fought to protect those who could not protect themselves, who strove to uphold the law and to push for reform when, at times, it failed to protect Verona’s people. Why, then, would such a noble, virtuous man like Odin Bello, choose to fall in with the mob? Odin is idealistic, but pragmatic. War and injustice have taught him that the law is not enough. Verona runs on blood and money, and if that is what it takes to wield the power and influence in this city necessary to do genuine good, then so be it. Becoming a Captain of the Capulets was an act of necessity, and political savvy. He is a man of his word, and therefore loyal to their cause. But if there ever comes a day when he must choose between the Capulets and the life of an innocent, Odin’s sense of justice may cause him to waver.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Absolutely. Preferably in some manner of tragedy and disaster befitting the very embodiment of tragic irony.

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

It is always the same dream.

The same endless plunge into nothingness, a black chasm void of any light or air or sound. It could be sinking, or rising, and Odin wouldn’t know the difference between the sky and the ground. Suffocating. Drowning. Either way, it is a slow, and terrible way to go.

The vice around his neck, coiling tight around his throat, tighter with every breath, crushing any frenzied hope of salvation. He scrabbles wildly at the noose (not a rope but smooth, sleek to the touch, and cold), knuckles paling with desperation as his lungs scream. He fights. But the end is always the same. The hand (when did the noose become so clearly defined? Are those fingers?) clenches around his throat, grinding down against his windpipe with unrelenting pressure. It metastasizes – liquefying with the metallic consistency of blood, or perhaps smoke, as it fills his mouth and his lungs and his chest, pouring into his ribcage and filling every fissure and crevice inside of him.

It tastes like death. It tastes like inevitability.

He drowns like this, suspended in time between shadow and purgatory, for what feels like an eternity. And then either his mind snaps, or the dream does, and he’s released, hurtling into reality with the speed of a sniper bullet.

—

He wakes like a dying man drawing his last, shuddering breath.

In his dream state, his sweat-streaked brow tightens with the anticipation of a brush of warm, soft lips. Ah. But she’s gone now, isn’t she? She is gone and he has carved her out of his chest like a pound of flesh he still holds clutched in his bloodied fist. The proof of her betrayal beating in his palm, visceral and raw as a slaughter.

Odin wakes from sleep every morning like he has survived a death. He moves as if his body is exhausted to find itself alive and begrudges him the audacity of enabling the very breath in his lungs. But years of military regimen has been beaten into him like sandstone worn smooth by a millennia of moon and tide. He drags himself out of bed, dresses, makes his bed squared with perfect angles, shaves, slips his gun out from beneath his pillow and into his holster. The barely risen sun casts everything in a dull tinge of faded indigo like day old bruising. He pads through the house, the hollow echo of his footsteps winding down and down the stairs.

A rap of knuckles upon his door splinters his reverie, his attention snaps to the entryway. Sharp. Alert.

It’s Katarina. She swirls through the door, out of uniform but armed to the teeth, gaze chilled as black ice.

“It’s the rat,” she hisses, eyes flashing like chips of steel in the dark.

The word has an affect akin to an electric shock: he’s awake.

“What did he do now?”

Katarina’s gaze narrows in disdain. “What rats are wont to do: lie and squirm and betray.”

“And what’s the word from Sloane? Rafaella?”

“Dispose and send in the cleaner.” Casual murder, discussed just like that. It’s not even seven in the morning yet, a time when normal, human citizens of Verona could be having their first cup of coffee.

“No use disposing of a rat if we can’t get something out of it first,” Odin deliberates. “Catch him for interrogation.”

Katarina snorts indelicately. “Shouldn’t be too hard, the way he’s been hitting The Dark Lady every night like the world is ending.”

The barest smirk toys at the corner of Odin’s mouth. “Maybe he’s not as stupid as we thought then.”

Those that lie to the Capulet Mob are usually exactly as slow-witted as they appear on the surface. Lying and betraying the Capulets is akin to signing one’s own death sentence in blood.

“Oh, I highly doubt that,” Katarina drawls, the syllables velveteen on her tongue.

“Tonight. Nine o’clock in The Orchid Room. You can handle getting him there on a work night?”

“Can I get a Veronesi police officer to slack and indulge their vices at a glorified whorehouse? Please.”

“Alright, then.” Odin gives a small nod, a subtle seal of approval.

“Well, I have to go see a gentleman about an exterminator.”

There is something to be admired in how efficiently a malvivente can get away with murder. The science and precision it takes to orchestrate a killing floor, a crime scene, a clean-up. In many ways, Cosimo Capulet is a virtuoso of his craft, if homicide could be considered an art.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate disappearing bodies from the precinct? Remind me to recommend that we accept external transfers only from now on.”

Katarina flicks him a smile sharp enough to cut through bone. “Here’s hoping third time’s a charm.”

––

The city is restless with fevered boredom. A sinister hush before a summer storm. Odin is alone on patrol this morning; Bellamy has begged off their shift with some falsified story about an elderly neighbour in crisis. In other words, a convincingly tedious tale to spin to cover the tracks of covert Montague business.

Odin doesn’t pry; there will be a time to play his cards and reveal his hand but today is not the day.

A crackling comes on over the radio, a standard 10-62 from dispatch. When he arrives on scene on the very outskirts of south Verona, it’s to an unsettling quiet. He steps out of the car, hand slipping cool over the grip of his gun. He heads round the back of the building, passing soundlessly down the winding cobblestone path that leads to the back entrance. His second cause for concern comes with his discovery that the door has been left unlocked. A push of the frame sends it swinging open. Odin’s hand flexes instinctively, curling tighter around his gun as he moves, barrel-first, into the house. With a slight exhale through his teeth, he raises his fist and hammers it into the peeling wood.

“Polizia,” he cries out. “Is anyone there?”

No answer.

No signs, even, of a breaking and entering.

He releases his fist, and heads cautiously on into the house. He clears one room after the other, swiftly and methodically, finding no signs of forced entry or illicit trespassing. The only remaining room left to scour is on the upper floor facing northward. Odin steps forward and reaches to open the door.

Of all the things Odin could have anticipated finding here, the rat they’ve have been hunting for over a week wouldn’t have made the list. But here, in the center of the room, sprawled on the floorboards like a tableau vivant, is Luca Salvatore. His nose and upper lip are smeared with quicksilver, and there’s powered gold, faintly gleaming, dusted around his collar. Ambrosia and il sangue di Faerie. An ironic harmony of Montague and Capulet – perhaps the only time the two sides have ever known true balance. How bittersweet, Odin muses as he lowers into a crouch to expect the body, he betrayed the Capulets and yet it is Montague poison that helped to seal his death. The foam gathered at the corner of Salvatore’s blue-tinged lips glimmers in the light, specks of chrome and liquid gold catching the sun seeping in from the window. Someone made damn sure they shoved enough fae blood and ambrosia down this man’s throat that he’d never live to draw another breath.

Odin sighs, a muscle tightening in his jaw as he pulls out his phone to send a message: Our rat’s been poisoned.

“Dispatch, 10-45D. I’ve got a body.”

Whatever secrets this man was harbouring, whatever danger or temptation drove him to fuck the Capulets, dying of borderline madness was a mercy.

Fool them once, they’ll kill you twice.

––

The night spirals on an endless loop at the The Dark Lady, time and space wrapped around a mobius strip of warped deception and illegality. The walls always look like freshly painted blood from the shadows of the lowlit stage. Unlike many of his fellow Capulets and officers – men are all the same, honourable or not, noble or not – Odin has never been seduced by the promise of The Dark Lady and her Sparrows. So long as his wife held his heart, he was hers in mind and body and endless soul.

Now, he is unchained. Adrift. But the thought of another woman, in her place, whispering the words she once whispered in his ear, physically sickens him. And perhaps it’s pathetic that the very idea of being unfaithful to his cheating ex-wife is anathema to him. Foolish, ignorant, blindly loyal Odin. That’s him. Besides, his purpose here tonight lies with business, not pleasure. If anyone knows who would have the most probable cause to poison their little rat, it’ll be the illustrious queen of the Sparrows. Of course, she’s kept him waiting. Her word and will is law within the dark walls of this establishment.

From his vantage point at the bar, he sees everything clearly through the haze of lust and debauchery. Men reduced to their base, animal selves, led by beautiful Sparrows with their fingers wrapped around their wallet. Gambling, prostitution, solicitation – technically, being here at all goes against the premise of his very existence as an officer of the law. The Dark Lady is one of the most profitable businesses on Capulet territory for good reason, however. Even if it weren’t for Odin’s interference, Mona has her hands in the pockets of every high-ranking officer within the police force. Or around their throats, with the numbers of untold secrets she has in her gilded arsenal.

He’s close to calling it a night and returning in the morning to reschedule when the piercing shatter of glass cuts through the music and hushed conversation.

“Jesus fuck, now look what you’ve done.”

A Sparrow, one of Mona’s girls, her long scarlet hair spilling loose down her shoulders, gives a soft yelp as she’s yanked from her position in a patron’s lap. Like the bird of her namesake with a broken wing, she’s tugged by the force of the man gripping at her wrist. Hard enough to bruise by the judgement of the man’s sheer height and build.

“Stupid little bitch,” the man hisses venomously, brushing furiously at his pants and the patch of wetness growing from spilled liquor staining the left leg. His grip on her tightens, the effect immediately visible from the lance of pain that flickers across her face, pointed and urgent.

The world goes very quiet, and very still. Odin tenses, every muscle in his body going rigid.

The walls here are red, the little Sparrow’s hair is red – vermillion, the colour of a sunset on fire, Bordeaux wine – and his vision bleeds red.

Odin moves without conscious thought: one moment he is at the bar, and the next his arm is slamming into the man’s gut, crushing the air from his lungs and forcing him to release the Sparrow out of shock. His hand, formed in a knuckled fist, fingers wrapped around thumb and the ring on his fourth finger that he keeps fucking forgetting to take off (or burn, or throw into the river, or melt down into scrap metal), swings forward in a brutal uppercut. It makes contact with a resounding snap of bone and cartilage, blood spraying forth in vivid, violent streaks of red.

“You crazy fucking bastard,” the man howls, staggering on his feet as his hands fly up to clutch at his face. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“There is one and only one rule in this club.” Odin widens his eyes a fraction. “Are you an idiot, or just in the mood to be skinned alive fully conscious?”

The man’s face twists into a snarling contempt. Naturally, he ignores the question entirely. “I know you,” he says, voice low and lascivious, swaying precariously on his feet. “You’re Odin Bello.”

Odin’s mouth flat lines, unimpressed by the drunken display before him.

“The man whose wife has fucked half the city.”

After, the reports will say that the man was found near dead: 6 broken ribs, dozens of broken, fractured bones, internal bleeding, contusions on his chest, arms and face, comatose.

After, they’ll say that Odin Bello lost his mind.

(Have you seen him? He doesn’t look like someone stable.

His wife was cheating on him for months with every member of his precinct, the poor fool. Who could blame him?

Bello’s insane. He’s completely lost it.

Did you hear the man he attacked is in a coma? Who knows, maybe he deserves it. Maybe he was asking for it.

I feel bad for the wife. Good thing she got out while she still could.)

––

After, Mona finds him in the alleyway with a cigarette dangling from his fingers, his hands and arms soaked in blood to the elbow. He smells like the inside of a slaughterhouse, and ash. She stalks over on stiletto heels sharpened to a knife point and slaps a black dossier against his chest. The Dark Lady’s insignia is debossed, an imprint, a shadow of an elegant swirling sigil.

“This isn’t a favour, Bello. I expect repayment in full, and then some.”

Her hand shoots out to grip him by the chin, manicured fingernails digging into his jawline as she drags his face down towards her eye line.

“You pull that shit in my club again and I’m blacklisting you for life.”

Odin shakes her hand free like her touch is nothing but air and straightens, presses the cigarette back to his lips and lets the smoke coil and spiral from his fingertips. Even the smoke tastes of something raw. Like fresh blood, metallic and veined with rust. There are flecks of it clinging to his cheekbones, splattered across his shirt like an abstract impressionist rendering of violence. The afterimage of it seared into the black and white negative of his silhouette. He looks like an old god, covered in the grime and filth of modernity. A bloodied relic of an ancient religion built on the altar of human sacrifice. He inhales, black smoke swirling in his lungs, the faint glow of eyes like ritual fire as he turns to face her.

“Do you think she knows?”

Bewilderment, then disgust as understanding dawns on Mona’s face. “How the fuck would I know, Bello?”

Odin watches her, unblinking, utterly motionless, his gaze deadened and hollowed like the heart of a black hole. A yawning abyss of unending nothingness with no horizon.

Am I only a monster if she knows what I’ve done?

Extras:

ORIGIN: Standing at 6’5” since he was 18 years old, Odin cuts a striking figure. His presence commands gravitas without him ever having to speak a word: a simple nod, a tilt of the chin. Soldiers fall silent when he speaks, higher-ranking officers defer to his cool judgement and lateral insight. He is a man born for leadership, marked for authority and the steady ascent to power. They say that those who deserve power do not want it, and in Odin’s case, at least to begin with, this is true. He enlisted at 18 to find an escape, a lifeline. A pathway to an existence free of his father and the brutal legacy he’d built for him — the only thing his father had ever given him other than his name. It was of little surprise that being primed and honed for war came easily to him. Odin rose swiftly through the ranks, impressing his superiors with his discipline, resolve and relentless potential. If anything, he was a little too disciplined, a little too resolute. Too intense and dead-eyed even when his fellow recruits were pushed to the brink of physical and mental collapse. Odin never seemed to tire, never seemed to even approach a tangible breaking point. He was utterly in his element: consistently ranking first in all his classes and dominating thr basic training activities with his physical advantages. But he was also charismatic, distinctly likeable, and always willing to help and shoulder someone else’s burden if he saw them struggling. As much as the other recruits would have preferred it, he was impossible to hate. At 24, he was promoted early to Lieutenant and led a squad of nine men who were willing to fight and die at his word. Out there, in the desert, they would have walked open-eyed into a minefield if he had given the order. Five years later, he was honourably discharged with the end of his tour. At least, that’s what his official military transcript says. What the transcript doesn’t say is that Odin Bello was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, chronic insomnia and major depressive disorder following his return. This will do you good, the Lieutenant Colonel had said. You’ve fought this war for long enough but now it’s time for you to go home, to find a little peace for yourself. He returned to the country, battle still burning in his blood and his head full of quiet demons, and immediately left in search of a place that did not feel like a graveyard. So he found, Verona, wartorn, streets red with blood, a monster lurking behind the face of every man, and felt for the first time in a very long time, at home.

HEART: Odin has a great love for animals and small children. When he was young, he would feed what little food he had to the local dogs and strays. They followed him around the streets like a loyal pack of guard dogs and one time even chased off a gang of older children harassing him for non-existent money. Odin was a single child but he often played with the other children in his town and helped to look after the youngest ones when needed. His heart is most visibly softest when he’s around children. To this day, he ensures that a significant portion of his pay – as a law enforcer and Capulet – goes to the local orphanage of Verona. He spends at least one day a week in his time off-duty feeding the stray creatures of Verona – be they beggars, street ruffians or stray dogs.

SOUL: It’s a hypocrisy of the highest order to be an officer of the law, and yet a Capulet. The Capulets are the source of half the rife and warfare in the city, the beating heart of the black market that funnels contraband and weaponry through the illicit networks of the underground. The Capulets liken their legacy to that of Robin Hood, a legendary tale of David defeating Goliath. Now, however, the Capulets are fat and glutted on their gold and wealth. Just as filthy rich and corrupted as the aristocrats they overthrew in the name of liberty and equality. Joining the Capulets was a means to an end for Odin, an opportunity to oversee the inner workings of the Capulet crime family, and to use it for his own quiet purposes. A thief that slipped away with the life savings of a dozen families he swindled could be dealt with in shadow and silence. A rapist plaguing the city with no proof to his accusations but the blood and tears of his victims could be found dead in the morning, his throat slit in retribution. A murderer could be caught, and punishment dealt in a manner befitting his crime, not by the corrupt, unjust systems of the court. It does not sit entirely well with the balance of Odin Bello’s soul, that he works for the Capulets and paints his hands in blood for them. But as long as the good he can do outweighs the evil, then he is willing to stretch his soul a little thinner in the name of what must be done.

HAMARTIA: Odin does not do anything in halves. It’s all or nothing with him. He loved his mother with all his heart, and he hates his father with the very same heart. He has never known a middle ground. The love he knows is a double-edged sword – all-consuming, and therefore, destructive. For Odin, there is no other way to love than to give everything of himself until here is nothing left. Even if it means his ruin. He gave everything to Delilah when he swore himself to her – his heart, his name, his soul, his life. He would have ridden into hell for her and beyond, if she had asked. He would have plucked the moon from the sky and given her the stars to light her smile, if she had asked. At the time of her betrayal, he had believe his rage equal to his love. Burning like wildfire from inside of him until it consumed all the good and warmth he had associated with loving her. Grief, he has since realised, outlasts rage. He placed Delilah on a pedestal and made her his god. Casting her out of Eden meant leaving behind a hollowness nothing else could fill. So he clings to the only other person who has ever worn the shape of love in his life – his comrade-in-arms, his brother, Ivan. Ivan, who has never abandoned him or given him cause for pain or doubt. Ivan, who has always understood his rage and darkness, and stands by him in the light nevertheless.

#accepted #accepted: othello #WHEW WELCOME CLAUDIA YOU DESTROYED ME!!!

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rockofeye · 5 years ago

Text

Intimate Revealing

This past week was the observance of the transverberation of St. Teresa de Avila, and it is one of my most favorite Catholic-y things because I find it so absurdly hilarious. In Roman Catholicism, transverberation is an ecstatic phenomenon where a individual experiences their heart being pierced by a divine arrow or sphere, and that leads to ecstatic painful paroxysms of divine love. Most folks who experienced this were monastics living under a vow of chastity, and the descriptions of transverberation are basically very carefully described experiences of what sure walks/talks/sounds like an orgasm (seriously...the descriptions of ‘entrails’ being penetrated over and over and physical convulsions that are prolonged over time are very politely pornograpic). This amuses me no end.

Teresa in particular had this well-documented, and created an entire meditative prayer cycle/method about how to reach this state of ecstatic divine union (check out The Interior Castle..I like the translation by Mirabai Starr). She was a bad-ass top to bottom--she was a reformer of her religious order because she thought the nuns and monks had become lazy and entitled and, after she retired from cracking the whip, she was asked by her religious superior to write The Interior Castle as sort of a guidebook for younger monastics in order. Her whole take on this was basically a shrug; she literally writes in the opening ‘I thought I taught you all everything you need to know and I don’t know that I have anything else to say, but I’m supposed to be obedient so...’. I like her.

With this particular feast day on the recent calendar, it got me thinking a lot about how the lwa break and break open my heart. They are experts at breaking my heart, and have done it over and over. I think there is always a negative connotation to the idea of having a broken heart, but I don’t find it negative. It’s often/always painful, sure, but the breaking causes a re-healing in a manner that makes me more of myself and more of who they see me as. Over time, I have really come to find my multi-year process of initiation (because kanzo is only a trigger point) as a process of heartbreak, over and over, to bring me to them in a particular way. When my heart is crushed in their hands, it makes me want to cling to them more. They have never, ever led me astray...ever. If I hold to my promises and oaths as I am expected to, they will always break my heart to make me whole.

I think after seven years or so (WHERE has the time gone?) of them continually breaking my heart, it has become almost an expected part of my personal evolution. I know that my heart has to go to pieces if there is to be change, and my viewpoint of how that comes into play has changed. It is never as shocking and not nearly as painful to welcome that change and dive into what it means as it used to be. It doesn’t shake my world anymore...it feels like medicine and opportunity, all wrapped into one.

With that in mind, I asked Ogou to break my heart this year.

Vulnerability has been on my mind for the better part of of 2019. I am not good at being vulnerable, and it has shown and become something that has hobbled me. My reality as a visibly queer and gender non-conforming individual in a world that is hostile to my existence has led to me carefully curating my vulnerability so that it is purposefully hidden away. My profession means I have to be very mindful of my own vulnerability and related safety, and so I have become a bit of a moving a fortress. And, I carry my own baggage, too...if I hold things and people at a distance, they are not going to be able to hurt me. I am hard to get to know. I hold myself back too much and I do that way too much of the time.

It’s not something I can unpack on my own. For me, a significant part of my kanzo was me acknowledging with my lwa that my way does not work for me a lot of the time. After all, when I came to them I had been doing things my way for thirtysomething years and I was dying when I reached the djevo door. What I had been doing had not been working super well, and it was clear--from my own observation and their direction--that I needed to do something different if I was to survive.

So, when I find myself in a place where I need to unpack and rearrange the baggage and (most importantly) balance it out, I go to my lwa. I don’t know why i went to Ogou, except that I know that when I ask for assistance with things that aid my personal growth Ogou historically has strapped on a flame thrower and put on his serious face to create an awe-inspiring forest fire in the middle of my life. He is the flame and I am the tiniest moth. We have this fatalistic love affair where I will repeatedly throw myself against him in the hopes that I will dissolve into some sort of glorious glittery oblivion and then..?

I asked Mèt Ogou to help me be vulnerable in the right ways and the ways that would allow nothing to stand between myself and my lwa. And, because I still have a wacky sliver of self preservation still rattling around in the closet of my brain, I asked him tanpri si vous plait to not burn it all down again, if the work could be done any other way.

He listened. Too often, people only conceive of Ogou as the warrior who fights or stands in defense, but he is a consummate surgeon, healer, and, in his own very specific way, a houngan with a massive spiritual work skillset. Sometimes it’s all flamethrower, jackhammer, and dynamite, sometimes it is delicate scalpel and minimal movement.

It was subtle to start. He laid a question deep in my heart: what is important to you now? It made me stumble for a minute..that’s a large and loaded question. Over a few weeks, it became clearer: my life has been made whole, as I requested of my lwa when I did kanzo; who I am now? What labels are important to me? What makes me me? Do the words and labels I use for myself serve me or do they limit me? What words/labels do I want to hold and which do I want to leave?

Once I saw the fullness of the question, it was sort of like something burst open. This was a heartbreak, but it didn’t hurt. It felt like the most natural next step, and I absolutely know that is both grace Ogou has gifted me in the process and a testament to the personal work of the last five years. This would have shaken me up a LOT in the past and, at least up until today, it has felt comfortable and normal and embracing.

I started looking critically at what I say about myself and how I place myself in the world, and I saw pretty quickly that I limit myself quite deeply even when I think I am placing myself in opposition to the popular oppressive narrative that seeks to limit me on it’s own. It has been an interesting revelation to grasp onto. My therapist is having a field day, and is gleefully emotive about this sudden explosion of personal introspection.

It has felt surprisingly unemotional (also a grace of Ogou). I don’t have to have feelings about it because it’s not something that has judgement attached. Ogou doesn’t have an agenda with this beyond seeking to facilitate what I have asked. There is no right answer, and the only wrong ‘answer’ is to not diligently evaluate how I move in the world and how that opens or closes my heart.

I’ve spent a lot of time passively considering how I conceive of myself and how that colors my relationships with my lwa and with those closest to me. The fruits of this almost daydream-y flow of thought has been the query of what it might be like to truly be free.

I’ve spent a lot of time actively considering this, too, and one of the gifts of my relationship with S is how it inverts a lot of things that I have held onto as immovable parts of myself simply because of the nature and context of our relationship. We married in Haiti where same gender marriage is illegal and where sexuality and gender are conceived of and held socially in very, very different ways, and I will always and forever be his wife in Haiti. I could out-masculine Tom of Finland’s characters and I will still be his wife.

This ate at me for awhile and I was not really sure what to do with it, so I pushed it off and chose not to think about it. Unsurprisingly, it flew up almost immediately when Ogou and I got to work and I spent quite awhile looking at it and playing the tape through on it. Lots of writing and conversations with Self.

Does this hold me up or hold me back?

I found myself in a place that surprised me. It’s just a fucking word.* I don’t NEED to feel a certain way about it or hold onto feelings that perhaps I felt I was supposed to have about being a not-woman labeled a wife. This blew open a lot of shit and I have spent the last six months re-opening boxes labeled ‘gender’ and really digging in to see what I have packed away in there. I found there was a lot of stuff in there that I just don’t care about anymore. A lot of window-dressing where a simple, straightforward understanding for myself is more than enough.

A gift of my relationship with S is it’s simplicity. It is straightforward with this really foundational understanding between us that I haven’t had in other relationships: we are who are and the love between us is not conditional on identity or perceived identity. Like, for me, that is a deceptively simple thing that undoes so much of how I have experienced relationships in the past.

I should have seen the building blocks of that when we went to see Agwe the day after our wedding and, bobbing in the waves, told each other that the most important part of our relationship was to bring our whole selves to the table. I told him that I wanted him to be able to be all of who he is, and he told me he wanted the same for me. Funny how speaking these things out loud births something new into the world.

It’s funny how these things have inevitable conclusions and circles become like lungs, contracting and expanding to contain and expel what is necessary or unnecessary at that given moment. I keep coming back to a lesson that I have such trouble grasping: there is no finality in Self. I can’t reach an understanding of who I am and say that this is how it will be forever because that is simply not how my life works, and it never ever has.

For me, I think I have looked for comfort in knowing who I am and that is the wrong place for me to seek that, particularly because my Self is not just my own. Through the grace of the djevo and maryaj lwa, I belong to my spirits wholly and wholly they belong to me.

In all of this, Ogou watched.

Cut to this summer in Haiti.

In preparing to go this summer, I had a giant moment of ‘fuck it’. S was telling me it was painfully hot down there, and I was dreading doing things like ‘wear clothes’. I had envied many of the female-id’ed folks rocking light housecoats and sundresses when the heat was oppressive, and the idea of wearing shorts and a tanktop when the heat index was over 100F was Too Much. So, I exercised the wife card and bought some light housedresses and enjoyed the fuck out of the breeze I got wearing them when I sat in the lakou in the shade. No one said a word because no one cared. More importantly, I didn’t care and it felt fine. Felt so fine, in fact, that I ended up giving in to the need for a skirt and a headwrap for a ceremony later in the summer (another post entirely on whys and hows of that in the near future..) and that was also fine.

And yet...there was a moment when Ogou saw me and pierced my heart in a new way. A transverbation, perhaps, without the flowery language and paroxysms and orgasms. That phrase of talking about how you look into the abyss and the abyss looks back at you? Yup.

That is how Ogou is for me; he sees into my damn soul. They all can do that, of course, but Ogou does it in such a way that lays me flat, each and every time. I am not scared of any lwa, but Ogou intimidates the fuck out of me and, in particular, Batagi makes me feel like the smallest small thing to the point where, if I am in front of him, I often have a hard time looking him in the eye or speaking or breathing or...anything. Like, massive stage fright mixed with meeting your favorite celeb mixed with getting propositioned by the hottest person you know mixed with seeing your husband after six months of no contact. He undoes me.

Ogou’s fet in Haiti is a two night affair, and, on the second night, I got myself together and put myself in front of Batagi. I carry this baggage of assuming that Ogou is always less-than-pleased with me, and so I had those nerves going, too. This has never, ever turned out to be true--I am far harder on myself than he has ever been--and so it really is baggage.

He always makes me get all the way down on the ground for him. I kissed his feet and waited for time to speak with him (when Ogou pulls up in our house, he’s got a line waiting for him, always). In a quiet moment, I told him in his ear that I have never forgotten what he has done for me and that people don’t grasp the miracles Ogou can work in the djevo, but that I know and that my gratitude knows no bottom because I am alive because of him.

I got a brief nod and he began to speak. It was the longest conversation we have had face-to-face since I entered the djevo, as I don’t put myself in front of the lwa that often; my attitude is that if they want me, they will find me or find me in dreams (and they do).

I listened and understood what he was telling me, and told him so. He raised his eyebrows and I got some resting Ogou face.

Vreman? Di m. Really? Tell me. He didn’t say this out of curiousity; it was a demand. Oh, you speak Kreyol? PROVE IT.

So, I did. Wi, Papa. Ou te di m ke, pou m, wap nan chak moso vi m. Chak bagay map fe, ou la. Ou toujou la menm le m pat we ou, e ou toujou avem paske kè w se pou m. M pa gen anyen Ogou pap touche. Every little piece of my life contains you. Everything I do, you are there. You are always there even when I don’t see it, and you are always with me because your heart is for me. I don’t have anything that Ogou doesn’t touch.

He nodded his approval and left me with another heartbreak: M pa egrè. I am not bitter. Then, he was off to dance and I was left flayed.

Ogou is a lwa who is passionate and forthright, but Batagi in particular is not super emotive; he is the Ogou who is most like the chairman of the board who strategizes. One of his ‘praise names’ (for lack of a better term) is neg politik; literally the political man, or politician. For him to stand in front of me and really lay it out who we are to each other top to bottom was an atomic bomb for me, and m pa egrè was a whole conversation that continued for quite awhile.

He cut right to the literal heart of the task of finding out what holds me back: he intimidates me, so I stay back because of my intimidation and worry that he is unhappy with me and will be cruel. Yet, he is in everything for me, top to bottom left to right upside down inside out, and he is not bitterness for me...but, as the continuation of the conversation went, he is not going to chase me. He waits, and has been waiting, but Ogou does not run after his priest and spouse and servant. He will wait because he can be patient and because free will is valuable to him.

He laid that at my feet, and I have taken it up in pursuit of never being separated from my spirits and of knowing myself fully and of laying my heart wide open for those that love me. My first prayer when I came back from Haiti was for Ogou to show me how to walk closely with him and to show me myself, because I want nothing to separate me from my lwa, ever. The remnants of that prayer are buried in my heart, and that lamp still burns brightly.

And that is how Ogou breaks my heart.

#vodou #haitian vodou #real vodou #Ogou

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petchricor-creates · 5 years ago

Text

Heart and Soul

There were very few moments where Alastor truly let himself relax and enjoy some more peaceful pastimes. He was unaware his night was going to be interrupted by Angel Dust trying out a new skill.

Warnings: none

links to other places to find me and this story

There were very few moments where Alastor truly let himself relax and enjoy some more peaceful pastimes. On nights where he couldn't sleep nothing pleased him more than to sit in the lounge with a good book and a glass of Brandy, the fire popping and crackling in the otherwise silent space.

He breathed it in, pressing back into the soft cushion of the hotel chair. He'd needed this after the last few days of tending to Charlie's every little whim of recruiting subjects and trying new ways to 'reform' them. She was the most long winded person he had ever met and that included himself. She could talk herself in circles for hours on a single subject. He was amazed Lucifer hadn’t been bored to death over the years.

He shook his head, dislodging those thoughts and refocusing on his book. It was an old murder mystery novel, his favorite kind. Dramatic, dark, and there was the bonus of someone dying! He grinned wickedly at the thought, starting the paragraph over again.

The sudden sound of a piano shook him from his enjoyment. He blinked in confusion and looked up at the clock sitting on the mantle, which told him it was a little after midnight. He scowled. Who in Hell could possibly be up playing the piano of all things? He turned to have a look at the culprit.

He looked back at the clock, blinking rapidly. That couldn't possibly be right. He straightened his monocle and looked again. It was indeed Angel Dust that was playing the piano. Alastor never imagined him to be the musical type, at least not with something as elegant as the piano. He could see him as more of a woodwind player. Something jazzy, like a Saxophone perhaps.

Alastor winced as a series of notes that did not go together sounded off. He cleaned out his ears as Angel Dust cursed under his breath. Perhaps he had spoken too soon. It was clear that he had wasn’t the musical type and had probably never even touched a piano until this evening.

Was he even aware of the basics? Did he know what key he should be playing in? Did he even have sheet music to begin with?

Alastor stopped cleaning his ear and scowled at the thought. Curiosity overtook him. He rose from his chair and stepped behind Angel Dust. Silent as a ghost he peered over the others shoulder. He looked down at Angel Dust’s fingers, curled up in all the wrong ways. He was certainly going to have a hand cramp later. He lifted his gaze, pleased to see that he had sheet music. He gave it a quick once over and scowled.

“Are you aware that you’re playing out of your key?” Angel Dust yelped with a jump that lifted him off the piano bench. His head swiveled to look at Alastor with wide eyes but startled expression quickly turned indignant.

“Jesus, Al, don’t fuckin’ scare me like that! Need to put a goddamn bell on you or some shit.” Alastor rolled his eyes with a sigh, ignoring the pout Angel Dust put on. He knew it was for show, he’d seen the same pout replicated several times over in the exact same picture perfect way.

“No reason to be so crude, my dear.” He leaned a tad closer, peering at the propped up sheet music, giving it a closer look than he had the first time. “Let’s see...oh! You’re playing Heart and Soul, a wonderful beginner piece! Fantastic choice, but it’s meant to be played in D major, not a random hodgepodge of notes.” He looked back at Angel Dust, fake pout gone only to be replaced by a blank stare. Alastor blinked, waiting for the snark he could feel coming.

“You, uh, gonna explain what the fuck that means? Or are you gonna make me figure it out?” Alastor tilted his head to the side, brows furrowing slightly as he resisted the urge to let his ear twitch.

“You haven’t even been taught the basics? Well, no wonder you’re confused!” He squared his shoulders, typical grin back in place as he lifted his chin a bit. He ignored the thought about how he was trying to appear bigger. “I suppose I’ll just have to take it upon myself to set you straight!” He realized the implication of that sentence. “Figuratively, of course.”

Angel Dust gave a loud snort and smiled a bit, clearly amused by that. Alastor pointedly ignored the slight flutter of his stomach that made him feel warm down to his toes. Angel Dust faced away from him, placing his fingers on the keys. “Yeah, okay, smiles. Lead the way.”

Alastor couldn’t help but scowl at how he was holding his fingers. His knuckles were bent far too much and his palms pulled inward. Most new pianists made that mistake, not realizing how it hurt their muscles and made it harder to reach across to different keys. Clearly, he needed that corrected as well.

Alastor pressed himself against Angel Dust’s back, placing his hands over his and gently pushing his fingers to stretch out properly. He felt the other tense, clearly not expecting to be touched. Alastor found no reason to address it. “These are the keys you want to play. You have D, E, F sharp, G, A, B, and C sharp at your disposal.” As he named the notes he moved Angel Dust’s fingers to press each one. “Does that make sense?”

“Uh…yeah, yeah that makes sense. Totally.” Clearly the other was still adjusting to Alastor willingly touching him. No matter, Alastor would power through the awkwardness of Angel Dust to teach him.

“Fantastic! Now, you just play like so…” As before Alastor gently coaxed Angel Dust’s fingers to the correct keys, humming along to keep the tune right in his head. Heart and soul didn’t really work as a solo piece, so why he had been given this one was a mystery to him. It was highly likely someone had picked it at random out of a beginners set or something without realizing. He made a mental note to grab a solo piece for Angel Dust another day.

Alastor blinked as he realized the piano had stopped and only his humming was filling the empty space, as Angel Dust had stopped moving with him. “My dear, are you alright?” There was a slight jolt at his voice followed by a loud clearing of Angel Dust’s throat.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” Angel Dust turned and their faces damn near bumped into each other. Alastor moved back a bit, scanning the other’s face closely. It was bright red, as was the fluff on his chest. Was he blushing or was this some kind of fur change unique to Angel Dust himself?

Alastor furrowed his brow, head tilting a bit .“I was unaware your fur could change color, how interesting. Is this normal?” Angel Dust quickly turned away, shifting in his seat a bit. He was clearly fidgeting, though Alastor wasn’t completely sure as to why.

“Yeah, uh, sometimes.” Alastor squinted and took a but of the fur between his fingers, rubbing it between them curiously. His fur was insanely soft, he found his mind briefly wondering how Angel Dust cared for it. He was brought back to reality as Angel Dust shifted a bit again.

“What causes it?” He lifted his gaze as Angel Dust coughed a bit, eyes shifting all over the place.

“Um, bein’ out of sorts, mostly. Ya know, it’s kind of embarrassing. Playin’ so badly in front of someone who’s so good, I mean.” The half compliment made Alastor’s insides warm more than the butterflies from earlier had. He beamed, releasing the fur from his grasp and straightening up with a step back. He puffed his chest up a bit without thinking.

“I am quite talented when it comes to music, but don’t let that discourage you!” He grinned at Angel Dust, not wanting the other to stop his practicing due to not being on par. “I’m sure with enough practice you’ll come around, you just need time and the proper encouragement!”

Angel Dust seemed to melt with a funny smile. Was he relieved? “Yeah, yeah you’re right. Thanks, Al, for helping me out.”

“Oh any time, my dear, any time at all.” Alastor waved him off a bit before heading back to his seat, taking a sip of his Brandy before picking his book back up. He looked over his shoulder at the other, smiling when he saw the other’s uncertain expression. “You’re more than welcome to stay and practice, it was far too quiet before you arrived.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll do that.” He watched as Angel Dust turned back to the piano. There was a pause before the other slowly started to play, a little better this time even if he still missed notes now and again. He could hear Angel Dust humming the tune, as Alastor had been doing earlier.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair. Listening to Angel Dust’s playing over the soft crackling of the fire beside him as the smell of his book and Brandy filled his nose.

He wondered if Heaven was like this.

#hazbin hotel #hh alastor #hh angel dust #angel dust #alastor #radiodust #alastor/angel dust #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #petchricor writes #petchricor creates

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