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five-rivers · 4 years ago

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Green Sky Highway

Phic Phight Phic for @deuynndoodles

The Fenton Ecto Cell Bettery (aka the Better Battery) was designed to draw power from not only an internal, pre-charged store of ectoplasm, but also from ambient, atmospheric ectoplasm. This meant that it would never run out of juice so long as it was in the Ghost Zone. The Specter Speeder was designed to travel in the Ghost Zone. Thus, the Betteries were the perfect power source for it. In theory.

In practice… Well, that just wasn’t working out, and Maddie didn’t know why. She gripped the underside of the dash and tried to push herself deeper beneath it to get a better view of the machinery.

“Maddie? You see anything?” asked Jack, who couldn’t fit under the dash. He’d been inspecting as much of the engine as he could from the inside, which wasn’t much. The Speeder wasn’t designed to be serviced while free-floating in the Ghost Zone.

Which, now that she thought of it, was a serious oversight.

“Everything looks fine,” said Maddie. “Except that it doesn’t have any power. Nothing’s lighting up, but all the connections look good. You?”

“I can’t get anything to work. Anything. It’s like… we’re in some kind of technological dead zone. But that doesn’t make sense.”

Maddie pulled herself out to see Jack vigorously scratching his head and shedding dandruff everywhere. “Ghosts do tend to disrupt technology.”

“But we fixed that. We designed all our weapons to work with that.”

“We know there are things we don’t know,” said Maddie, “and it’s always good to find new things! Though not pleasant to find them out like this…” They should really test their inventions more, honestly.

But it had been over a year of testing since they opened the portal. They had to jump in at some point, didn’t they? That was the whole point of the portal.

She sighed. “Well, we didn’t have a lot of forward momentum when the portal cut out.” She looked out the window. “We could see if we can get out and engage our jetpacks.”

“Uh, about that,” said Jack. He swung open the door to the jetpack cabinet. The empty jetpack cabinet. “I may have forgotten to put them back after refueling them.”

“Jack…”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Maddie massaged the bridge of her nose with her mostly-clean knuckles. This was a repeat of the handle inside the weapons vault. At least he wasn’t pushing the blame for it back onto Danny or Jazz. That would definitely have started a fight.

On the other hand, there really wasn’t any guarantee the jetpacks would even still be functional, so maybe it was for the best. For certain values of best.

She groaned.

There was a knocking sound. “Is that coming from the engine?” Maddie asked.

“No…” said Jack, slowly. “I think it came from the door…”

They both turned to stare. Something moved outside it. They shifted to get a better view out the window.

Phantom was out there, tapping on the door with a ten-foot pole.

“That little unnatural abomination,” cursed Jack under his breath. “He’s going to scratch the paint!”

Phantom apparently saw them and waved. “Hey!” he shouted, just loud enough to be heard through the walls of the Speeder. “Do you guys need a lift?”

Jack and Maddie turned to each other.

“How did he know we were here?”

“I don’t know,” said Jack. “Do you think he followed us?”

“It wouldn’t be difficult, but I’m surprised he didn’t show up on our detectors.”

“He does seem to have the ability to drop off of them.”

“True,” said Maddie. “So, how do we handle this? Fenton bat?”

“I don’t know, Mads. He might be, uh, sincere? That time with the ectofiltrator he did help me.”

“That’s one, single, datapoint. He’s a been a menace every other time we’ve encountered him.”

“I don’t know that we have much other choice,” said Jack, nodding towards the dead engines and the empty jetpack cabinet.

Maddie huffed out a sigh, then looked back at Phantom, who waved again.

“Fine. We still have to decide how to deal with him while we’re cooperating with him. Or if he decides to show his true colors.”

“Good idea.”

Danny knew this had been a terrible, terrible idea the moment his parents opened the door to the Speeder armed to the teeth. Why did they always feel the need to do that? None of the weapons, with the possible exceptions of the Fenton Bat and the Fenton Crowbar could even work here.

How his parents had, on their first jaunt into the Ghost Zone, managed to run smack into the Time Locked Lands was beyond him. They had to go to the one place in the Ghost Zone that the Speeder wouldn’t work and after coating the Speeder with some kind of anti-ghost spray that Danny absolutely refused to touch again. Ever. Especially in ghost form. Except with a ten-foot pole.

(If they’d left the spray off, he could have just pushed the Speeder back out of the Time Locked Lands. But, no, they had to make everything as difficult and painful as possible.)

“I am not carrying all that,” said Danny, flatly.

(Especially because it would all turn back on once they left the Time Lost Lands, and if there wasn’t a Specter Deflector under all that, he’d eat his own belt.)

“Then we aren’t going anywhere with you!” proclaimed Maddie.

“You’re stranded in the middle of the Ghost Zone. I don’t think you have a choice.”

“We do!”

“I could literally just fly over there and snatch you right now. Plus, again, stranded. Do you even have any food in there?”

“Of course we do!” said Maddie. “We aren’t incompetent.”

Jack looked guilty. Danny decided not to bring it up.

“Okay, but still, you’re going to run out eventually, and then you’ll still be floating in the Ghost Zone with no way to get out. You aren’t going to get another friendly ghost coming by.”

“I’ve never seen a friendly ghost to begin with!”

“Maddie…”

“I can just leave, you know,” said Danny, planting his hands on his hips and bluffing for all he was worth. He was not leaving his parents here to be used as hostages or who knew what else.

Hopefully, they wouldn’t call the bluff. They shouldn’t. No sane, reasonable person would. He was their only way out of this mess. On the other hand, his parents had never been completely sane, reasonable people.

Danny thought his odds were about fifty-fifty. Which meant he could hope.

Jack and Maddie had an intense, whispered conversation. This, thankfully, lead to them divesting themselves of most of their visible weaponry. Which meant that they still had more guns on them than most professional soldiers during a firefight.

Well, it was better than he’d expected. But it was still too many.

“Take the Specter Deflectors off,” he said. “What do you think will happen if I try to carry you and you have those on.”

There was muttering.

“Come on, come on,” said Danny, snapping his fingers. Which really shouldn’t work through his gloves but did anyway.

Sometimes ghost nonsense was good for making lasers fly from your hands, and sometimes it was good for tiny aesthetic breaks in physics. It was a grab bag, really.

“Alright,” said Danny. “I’m going to fly over and pick you up. Don’t hit me.”

Oh, jeez, he was not looking forward to carrying them all the way over to the portal. Sure, he could bench press a school bus, but there was a difference between holding up a school bus for a minute and carrying two people who hated his guts a mile through enemy territory while flying slowly enough not to give them windburn.

Sure, it’d probably only take a few minutes, even then, but those would be the longest few minutes in his entire life. Not counting his actual death.

Being carried by Phantom had to be the single worst experience in Jack’s entire life.

It wasn’t the speed or the lack of control – he loved carnival rides – or the height – Jack couldn’t tell you how many buildings he’d jumped off in pursuit of ghosts – or even the fact that Phantom was a sinister specter, and ectoplasmic emanation, a putrid piece of protoplasm – he’d been carried by ghosts before, usually ones who were a lot more upfront about wanting to kill him.

Actually, Jack didn’t know why he didn’t like it. He just didn’t.

Maybe it was just how uncomfortable it was? But Jack did way more uncomfortable things. Like interacting with his sister-in-law. Brr.

Maybe it was the lurking feeling behind every interaction he ever had with Phantom that there was something he just wasn’t seeing, some hidden truth that would make everything about Phantom, every contradiction, every confusion, make sense.

Nah, that couldn’t be it. Maddie would have figured it out by now. That’s why they made such a great team. He noticed the things she didn’t, and she noticed the things he didn’t.

“You’re going the wrong way,” snapped Maddie.

Just like that!

Wait. That was a really bad thing.

“I’m not going the wrong way,” snapped Phantom. “I’m avoiding Walker’s prison. I don’t know how he didn’t catch you on your way out, but I’m not eager to be thrown in jail for a thousand years.”

“Ghosts have jail?” asked Jack surprised.

“Depends where you are,” said Phantom. “Walker isn’t really a sheriff, though. There’s no government behind him and he just makes up rules randomly so he can lock up anybody he doesn’t like.”

“Like you,” observed Jack.

“Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re even wanted by whatever passes for the law here?”

“First, rude. Secondly, there are realms in here that are just as organized and civilized as any country on Earth. Just because you opened your portal into the equivalent of post-apocalyptic Detroit doesn’t mean it’s all like this.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Maddie.

“I could arrange that, you know,” said Phantom, stilling.

Jack laughed nervously. “Maybe another time?” The ghost would do what it would do, but they didn’t need to encourage him to bring them even deeper into the Ghost Zone. They were currently banking on Phantom’s obsession with heroics to get them home, but if they changed the equation… Yeah, Jack didn’t want to deal with the consequences of that.

Ghosts were like computers that ran only one program. One homicidal, destructive program.

It was like that thought experiment about an AI whose job was to maximize the number of paperclips. It’d just keep on making more and more paperclips until nothing was left. Which was why they had to be stopped.

Easier said than done, as Jack and Maddie had learned.

“You don’t have to be so freaked out,” muttered Phantom. “It isn’t like I’m going to kidnap you or anything.” He pretended to sigh.

What was the point of that? He had to know that Jack and Maddie wouldn’t fall for his tricks. Actually, come to think of it, he was miming breathing, too, and had been the whole time.

Maybe that’s why Jack was so uncomfortable. The constant undercurrent of deception.

Hmmm… something to think on.

“What’s that?” asked Maddie, pointing.

“Uh,” said Phantom, who did a double take.

Ooh, that wasn’t reassuring.

Danny clenched his teeth, his parents’ reactions to him weren’t reassuring, and even less reassuring was the way Pariah’s Keep had moved from its usual creepy location and to this new creepy location. Not that there were any non-creepy locations in the Ghost Zone. It was part of the place’s charm.

No, really. Some part of Danny craved the creepiness. He was half-ghost, after all.

(Even if his idea of creepiness was, according to his friends, sort of lame.)

But back to the main point. The keep really, really shouldn’t be here. And it was creeping him out.

It should be okay to just… fly past it, though, right? Just being in its airspace in the past hadn’t done anything bad. So, flying by with his parents in tow shouldn’t do anything either. Right?

Danny put on more speed, just in case. This coincided with a bunch of large ghost ravens (or were they crows?) dive bombing them and forcing him to land to defend himself and parents. The only land around being the rim of the island that supported the keep.

He knew something like this would happen. Maybe not exactly this, but he just knew he’d be attacked and everything would devolve into nonsense, and—

Huh. The birds weren’t attacking him, just his parents. Oh, these were racist (mortalist?) birds. Gross. Trust Pariah Dark to have bigoted birds. He called up a shield to protect his parents. Whereupon they shot him in the back, shouting about how he betrayed them to the birds, because why not?

Why was his life like this?

He pushed himself up off the ground. Starbursts twinkled behind his eyes. Neither his parents nor the crows were in sight. The crows could have gone anywhere. His parents on the other hand…

There was only one place they could have gone.

Well. At least none of the nonsentient traps would work on them, seeing as they were humans. What were the odds that they’d run into one of the sentient defenders?

Well… considering the ravens?

Yeah. That’d be about one hundred percent.

“Maddie, I don’t know about this…” said Jack, examining the tall, vaulted ceiling.

“We had to get away from Phantom. This was the only way to go.”

“But he came here for a reason, Mads,” whispered Jack, tip-toing.

“Yeah, this is definitely a trap. But what can we do?”

“Jack? Maddie? This is not a place you want to wander around in! Oh, holy—” There was a loud thump.

Maddie grabbed Jack’s hand and pulled him forward. “We have to get away from him.”

“Come on! This is a floating island! I’m your only way off! Why are you like this?”

“He has a point,” said Jack.

Maddie stopped. “I guess he does.”

“This is literally the worst place you could have picked to run away!” A sound like a very large door opening and closing reached their ears. “This is Pariah Dark’s place! ��Where did you even go?”

“Mads?”

“Yeah?”

“Who’s Pariah Dark?”

“I think that was the name of the ghost that sucked the town into the Ghost Zone a few months ago.”

“Please, guys! I’m trying to help you here! This place is ultra-dangerous! You could accidentally – yikes! – wake up Pariah Dark.”

“Maybe we should…”

“Yeah,” said Maddie, “maybe we should.”

“Phantom!” called Jack. “Phantom! We’re over—” The floor opened up underneath them and they fell into the dark.

Maddie woke to a dark room, tied to a chair. She noticed the faintly glowing ghost in front of her and jolted backwards.

The ghost wore a set of painted and engraved plate armor, a pair of lavender-white eyes glowing from behind the slats of its visor. A knight, of sorts, Maddie supposed.

“You…” droned the ghost in a painfully stereotypical ghostly moan. “Enemies of the king… why have you come here?”

“Huh?”

That was Jack’s voice. He was tied behind her, apparently.

“We don’t have anything to say to you,” snapped Maddie.

“Uh,” said Jack. Something twisted behind Maddie. “Are you a friend of Phantom?”

“A friend? A friend?”

“I’m going to take that as a no,” muttered Maddie.

The door of the room flew off its hinges. “Fright Knight!” shouted Phantom, pointing a glowing finger. “Wait, you aren’t Fright Knight. Who are you, and what do you want with my- With, uh, the Fenton ghost hunters? Who I don’t know very well at all. Promise.”

“What,” said the ghost.

“What,” said Maddie.

“What,” said Jack.

“Okay, forget everything I just said.” He gestured at the ghost. “Who are you?”

“My name is Paladin, my liege.”

“Okay, okay, cool, cool. I- Wait, what? What did you call me?”

“My liege?”

Phantom looked like he was having an existential crisis.

“Maddie was right!” exclaimed Jack, who couldn’t see Phantom’s face. “You did lead us into a trap!”

“What? No? I’ve never even met this guy before! You are a guy, right?”

“Yes, my liege.”

“Right. I’m going to put that on the backburner and freak out about it later. How are you- Why are you—” Phantom shook his head. “Why are you here in Pariah’s Keep?”

“It’s your keep.”

“Since when?”

“Say what now?” asked Jack and Maddie at once.

“Look, this is news to me, too. But, back to the question. You. The keep. Why? I mean, you weren’t here before.”

“That is because Pariah sealed me, my liege. When you defeated him, I was released and immediately swore fealty to the true king. You.”

“I am so freaking out right now, but we’ll revisit that. Later. Right now, I have to get these guys home.”

“But they have hostile intentions towards your person, my liege!”

“Everyone has hostile intentions towards me. I’m honestly surprised you haven’t attacked me yet.”

“Ah. My liege, perhaps you should seek the services of a priest, if all your experiences with new people are such.”

“Is that the medieval equivalent of a therapist?”

“I fear I do not know what that is. Why do you ask?”

“Because the last time I talked to one of those, they purposefully picked at every one of my insecurities and then tried to murder my, uh. Someone close to me.”

“An evil counselor, then,” said the knight, gravely.

“I want to agree with you, but somehow I feel like you’re talking about something completely different than the image in my head.”

“That may be true, my liege. Doubtless, you are very wise.”

Maddie was… lost.

Very lost.

Even so, her prerogative was escaping. She started twisting, trying to get to the knots around her wrists.

“Did you, uh, pilot the castle out here?”

“Yes. I sensed that mortal enemies of the king, that’s you—”

“I will debate that as soon as my brain stops screaming at me.”

“—had entered the Realm.”

“Right. Yeah. Thank you. But I can handle these guys. And I need to get them home. Please. I made a deal with them.”

“With these?”

“Hey!” said Jack, offended.

“I mean, I use the term deal pretty loosely.”

“Hey!”

“But yes. Please. Just. Dang. How did you tie them up that quickly?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“Do you mind if I take the chairs?”

“They are your chairs, my liege.”

“I’m still not used to that.”

“Are you quite certain you want to take them? And just… Let them loose? The dungeon here is very functional. We even have an oubliette.”

“Raincheck. But thank you. Really, I mean it.” Phantom flew behind Maddie, and she protested as the chair she was in was yanked upward. “Uh… I might have gotten turned around a time or two, so if you could…”

“Of course! The keep does seem to have sustained some damage, so we will have to take some detours.”

“Phantom! Phantom! Put us down and untie us.”

“Nah, I think I like this better. Your kids can untie you once I bring you back!”

“You’re going to drag us all the way through the Ghost Zone?”

“That’s the plan.”

The rest of the flight was surprisingly pleasant. No one attacked, and his parents were much easier to carry in the chairs. Sure, they struggled, but the struggling was much more manageable than the wriggling from before.

They were mad at him. But they were always mad at him. So.

No loss, really.

With the utmost carefulness, Danny set them down in the middle of the lab, still tied up, and then began zapping then tossing their most troublesome inventions into the gaping maw of the portal while they screamed at him.

Normally, he wouldn’t do this, especially after successfully rescuing his parents and hopefully raising their opinion of him, but some of those inventions were painful. Like. A lot painful. And dangerous. Also, he was doing his level best to avoid thinking about the whole ‘king’ thing.

Which he couldn’t do forever.

Especially since Jazz walked down the stairs, probably drawn by the screaming, to see Danny shoving half of the Ghost Catcher through the portal sans-strings.

“Uh,” said Danny.

“Get that ghost, Jazzy-pants!”

Danny vanished and fled upstairs.

Jazz had seen many strange things in her life, but that scene was one of the weirder ones.

It took some time to untie her parents, longer to extract herself from the ensuing rant and their attempt to salvage their equipment from Danny’s all-too-explicable rampage. Honestly, she was surprised Danny hadn’t snapped earlier.

She opened the door to his room. It was empty. She squinted. He was not just leaving her hanging like that, with no context to what happened other than their parents’ ranting. She opened her door.

Danny was lying on his side on the middle of her rag rug, hugging Bearbert Einstein.

“A ghost told me I was king and that I needed a priest.”

Oh boy.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2021

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agent-cupcake · 4 years ago

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Beastie and the Bard

Fire Emblem Three Houses - Dimitri x Reader - Chapter 9

Word Count: 11,631

I bet you thought I’d forgotten about this. Nope, not yet. I actually have a fully fleshed out framework for where this story is going with a scene by scene breakdown. You can read the previous chapters on my blog or on AO3

This chapter takes place during the first part of the month before the Battle of Garreg Mach.

Elegiac Chorale Mortis Honore Opus 7, No. 1

There was something surreal about sitting in the classroom again, the desks arranged in their neat rows and Professor Byleth facing you all from his usual place. Not even a week had passed since your last class, since your last private conversation with Dimitri, but everything had changed. Peace, whatever dregs had been left of it after everything that had happened, was utterly destroyed. Any illusion of safety behind the old stone walls of the monastery was waved away into smoke. No more laughter, no more fun. The monastery swarmed with word of Emperor Edelgard’s treasonous claims and threats, words weaponized to spread disquiet.

It was almost a relief when Professor Byleth said it, confirming something that everybody already knew. “There is going to be a battle,” he told you all, his voice striking the silent room without any particular cadence. “Scouts report that the Imperial army led by Emperor Edelgard will be here by the end of the moon.”

By the end of the moon. You tried to calculate the days but knew that it wasn’t any more than three weeks. Less, actually.

“So soon?” Ingrid asked, her voice breathy with the shock you felt echoed within yourself.

“This plan has been underway for longer than we could have guessed,” Professor Byleth said. He winced, an odd tick of an expression. “I’m sorry for not seeing this sooner.”

“We don’t blame you, Professor,” Annette said. “Who could have known, right? We all thought...” she trailed off, but there was no point in continuing. You had all thought, you had all been so distracted.

“We can’t let ourselves get caught up on that, Annie,” Mercedes chided.

“You’re right,” Professor Byleth said. “Now, we must prepare for what is to come. Before we begin, does anybody have any questions?”

Nobody said anything. You scanned the faces of those you could see. Dimitri and Dedue sat in front of you, giving you only a profile glimpse of drawn expressions of exhaustion. Of those sitting in your row, nerves cast a sickly pallor over Ashe’s freckled cheeks, painted shadows beneath Annette and Mercedes’ eyes. You wondered how you looked. Tired, probably. You felt as if you hadn’t slept all week.

“Right,” Professor Byleth called, folding his hands behind his back in something akin to parade rest. It was interesting how quickly he had traded a mercenary’s unrefined motions for the more commanding stances of a general. “Dimitri, have you heard any word about what’s happening in Fhirdiad? Seteth’s reports indicate that they’re hesitating in committing any troops to defend Garreg Mach.”

“My uncle is blind,” Dimitri responded with obvious distaste. “He rejects reality. Foolish man.” Although nearly everyone knew of Rufus’s incompetence, Dimitri’s genuine and open scorn for the man, his uncle, was shocking.

“According to my father,” Felix added from behind you, his tone far more measured, “there is opposition within that prevents the regent from committing any men. Not to mention, the Kingdom troops are already spread thin along the western border.”

“Um, excuse me,” Ashe said, nervously raising his hand as if this were a normal class. “There is good reason for that. Professor, may I?”

“Please,” Professor Byleth said, motioning Ashe to continue. He looked from face to face nervously, fidgeting awkwardly in his seat. You were close enough to see the red rimming his eyes, the white skin on his chapped lips. But he spoke and his voice was steady enough, his gaze even as he addressed the class.

“Lord Lonato named me as his heir,” Ashe said, “although I have not yet claimed the title, the Church has allowed me to remain informed about what is happening in his territory. I am… I’m afraid there seems to be some conflict over how the western lords intend to act. After what happened, many of them have been actively rejecting Church aid. Should this become an all-out war-”

“They intend to betray the Church,” Dimitri said, turning and narrowing his eyes at Ashe. “No—to betray their country, is that it?”

“There could be another explanation,” Ashe said.

“I’m sure there is,” Professor Byleth said, motioning to calm them. “What you’re saying is that we can’t count on the western lords for help.”

“Yes,” Ashe answered, his shoulders slumping somewhat. “I’m sorry.”

“I cannot help but wonder if that was the intention,” Dedue said.

“What do you mean?” Byleth asked.

“It is merely speculation,” Dedue began hesitantly, like he was unsure if he should be voicing his opinion. “However, it seemed strange that Lord Lonato would raise a rebellion in the manner he did when he did. Unless he had outside support with considerable sway-”

“You think the Empire is behind Lord Lonato’s betrayal?” Mercedes asked.

“As I said,” Dedue told her, his expression unreadable, “it is merely speculation. But it would explain a great many things. Faerghus is more divided now than ever, it is difficult to believe that is a simple coincidence.”

“Duscur, Lonato, the Church,” Dimitri said, “the infection of the Flame Emperor’s touch has been festering in the Kingdom for far too long. And they would choose to ignore it rather than fighting for their country. Have they no honor?”

“Does any of this matter?” Felix interjected, clearly annoyed. “Even if the Empire did have something to do with the failed rebellion, Lonato is dead now. We can’t waste our time wondering about the motives of a dead man. We need to focus on the problems at hand.”

Dimitri raised his chin imperiously in reaction to that statement, although he didn’t object, turning to face the front again. Ashe sunk back in his chair, pressing his shaking hands flat against the table. Felix’s cruelty was expected at this point, but Dimitri’s was still a fresh wound. You could understand that. You put your hand over Ashe’s, pleased at how steady it was. Your eyes met and you nodded to him, hoping the show of support was enough. His lips quirked in what could almost be counted as a grateful smile.

“About that,” Sylvain said, breaking the tension somewhat with his easy tone. “I received word from my father. He said that he’d send men, but they still won’t get here in time. It’ll take an entire moon for any sizable force to get here. Best case scenario, the Empire forces are delayed, and we can bolster our numbers.” He didn’t continue with the worst-case scenario, but he didn’t need to. The little helpless shrug was more than enough.

Byleth nodded thoughtfully. “This will be a decisive battle, but we’ll be in need of fresh soldiers after the fact no matter which way it goes.”

“Win or lose, you mean,” Felix said dryly.

“We won’t lose,” Annette said. “With the Professor on our side, we’re definitely going to win. Right?” Her blue eyes jumped from face to face, searching desperately for confirmation of her plea.

“Right,” you agreed, trying to unravel the knot of fear and dread tangling in your stomach. You had to work past that, to remain strong. “No matter what, we can’t let the Empire scare us into submission. If we do that, we might as well give up before the battle even starts.” Could they hear past the conviction in your voice to the weak wobble that laid beneath? At the very least, Annette smiled in return. That was enough.

“We will win,” Dimitri said. “When I have her head in my hands, there will be peace. For all of us.” Even in profile, you could see the sickly smile he wore as he considered that. Compared to any regular expression of joy or pleasure, this was a ghastly, inhuman expression. One you had seen before.

“Dimitri, when was the last time you slept?” Professor Byleth asked, tilting his chin up as he considered the prince.

“Slept? I...” Dimitri replied, his eyes snapping upward and the smile dropping. A moment later, his expression froze over. “That is unimportant.” Even for Professor Byleth, this was dangerous territory.

“What about your last meal?” Professor Byleth pushed.

“That is no concern of yours,” Dimitri said, meeting his eyes evenly. “And assuming it was… I have no appetite.”

“Oh, so is that your plan?” Felix called, his voice dripping scorn. “You’re going to kill yourself before that girl can do it for you?”

“Felix,” Dedue said, a warning in his voice as he turned to scowl at him.

“Shut up, dog. I’m tired of your sycophantic denial,” Felix snapped. “Wake up, boar. If you want to lose your mind, do it on your own time. Right now, there are more important things to worry about.”

“Hm,” Dimitri said in response.

“Felix, calm down,” Ingrid said, her worry clearly etched into a frown.

“You’re telling me to calm down?” Felix asked her. “Am I the only one who understands what’s at stake here? You want me to spare the feelings of a mad boar… For what? How is pity for him going to save the lives of the people here? What good is compassion against an upcoming war? This is a farce.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Dimitri said, standing with the sharp scraping of wood on stone. “I recommend you all prepare yourselves. We will crush the enemy as soon as they dare to enter through the gates. And as soon as Edelgard draws near... I will have my revenge.”

Dimitri let that ominous threat hold in the still air. Dust motes played in the light streaming in through the windows, disturbing into a frantic swirl of a dance as he left the room with a swish of his blue cape. Dedue followed with a hurried, “Pardon me.” The doors shut behind them, but not before allowing in a chilly draft of cold wintery air. You didn’t even think about it, pushing away from the table with dread settling like ice in your heart.

“You’re going to go after him, aren’t you?” Felix accused, pinning you in place with his glare.

“What?” you asked, feeling the attention settling on you.

“Give me a break,” Felix said, his lip curling back in outright disdain, “you’re not fooling anybody. You’re as bad as that boar’s lapdog, constantly following him around as you do.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said slowly, carefully.

Felix scoffed. “Anybody with a set of eyes can see the truth. If he’s the boar’s lapdog,” he said, nodding towards the door Dedue had just departed through, “then you’re his bitch.”

You recoiled as if he’d physically struck you. It felt like it, almost. Heat built up urgently behind your eyes, ringing with the pulsing stream of blood in your ears. Like the first time you’d been punched in the face, you just felt stunned.

Did he know the extent of your feelings? You supposed they had been transparent from the start; you were an idiot to believe you’d ever fool anyone. All the same, thick shame began to congeal in your gut, rising up like bile. “That’s a terrible thing to say,” you said into the ensuing shocked silence, your voice soft with pained shock, light and airy in order to get past the swell of tears in your throat.

“Felix, that’s enough,” Sylvain said in warning, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. Felix shook off Sylvain’s hand by standing up, glaring at him, too.

“You’re all fools. You think you’re being kind, but all you’re doing is enabling him to destroy himself,” Felix said. “We don’t have a chance of winning if we spend all of our time worrying about a mad boar. Tell me when we’re actually going to discuss something important. Until then, I’ll be training.” He turned on his heel and left without any further objection.

Elegiac Chorale Mortis Honore Opus 7, No. 2

There weren’t enough knights to do everything that needed to be done in preparing Garreg Mach for the impending battle. That meant that many of the less intensive tasks fell to the students to complete, including evacuation of civilians.

Those who had the resources to do so were able to get out practically on the day of Edelgard’s betrayal, like wildlife that could smell a storm before it broke, people scattered away from the encroaching doom. Others weren’t so fortunate. They were poor, they had families, they had settled their lives in Garreg Mach as surely and firmly as the old stone walls.

Getting those people to safety was absolutely essential and important, but the reality of the matter was grim. The friendly territories of the western kingdom and along the Alliance and Faerghus border were quickly becoming packed with refugees. Not just from Garreg Mach, but from the northern Empire. Asylum seekers from the Imperial recruitment and cruelty.

Most of those people were used to the mild winters in Central Fódlan, so those who were forced further north into the kingdom weren’t accustomed to the harsh conditions. Already, there were rumors of entire camps of refugees left dead from exposure. Or bandits, the Kingdom was still rife with lowlife thugs like Miklan. And that wasn’t even to mention the fact that the civil unrest had already left Faerghus without enough resources over the winter months.

The Alliance wasn’t much better, most of their energy was put into fortifying their own defenses and the little wars of internal conflict. You had never paid much attention to how divided the Alliance was after Duke Riegan’s death. Claude insisted he could get a handle on it, but there was only so much he could do for the time being.

That was the general feeling in Garreg Mach. There was only so much you could do. Only so much anyone could do.

You helped load another family onto an overpacked cart with only the most essential of their possessions. Families of the soldiers got priority, and this caravan was thick with children. Despite the hapless sounds of crying children and soft weeping, there was a hush over the once lively square. A somber farewell.

Having done all you could, you stepped back. You couldn’t help but focus on a young girl towards the back. She had a ghostly white face and clutched a doll to her chest with hands still round and dimpled with baby fat, her mother’s arm draped across those tiny shoulders to keep her from bumping into the strangers they would be traveling with. Tears glazed those sweet baby blues, exhaustion ringed the young mother’s eyes. Her husband, a young soldier who had hung around to say goodbye, would be staying and risking his life. He kissed both girls with the desperate fervor of a man who knew, on some level, that this was goodbye forever.

You wanted to believe that this was the best thing, and it was, but you knew what it was to be displaced at such a young age. You knew what it did to people. You knew what goodbye forever felt like. Selfish as it was, you felt almost as if you could see yourself in those glassy young eyes. It was just all too familiar.

Thinking of your mother, as always, was a painful thing. After realizing the magnitude of the situation, you had sent several letters to her nurses and the man you had left in charge of your Fhirdiad estate to warn them of what was coming. Right now, you held onto the belief that the battle at Garreg Mach would stop the war from invading into Faerghus, which meant that your mother was fine to stay in the country mansion. Besides, you worried about what the city would do to her system, she was already in such a poor state.

But that was a worry for another time.

The horses were kicked into motion and the cart rolled over the smooth cobblestones to the great somewhere else. You hoped the goddess went with them, keeping them safe. When they fully disappeared through the gate into the cloudy winter sunrise, you turned on your heel to return to the monastery. After such a long night of patrolling and a morning of packing up civilians, this was the last thing you wanted to do, but you had already put it off too long.

If you were a good person, or even a good leader, you would have visited your company the moment you had any solid news about what was happening. But you weren’t. You didn’t.

Not all of the soldiers employed by the Church stayed in the monastery, which was reserved primarily for the knights and those with high standing in the militaries of the three countries. In a section wedged between the monastery proper and the town of Garreg Mach, a large camp of barracks had been laid out for all of the other soldiers. The organization of it was a bit strange, considering most of them had separate allegiances and very few of them reported to the same generals. Lady Rhea would be considered their High Marshal in theory, but that was just about the only unifying force. Each battalion of soldiers was employed to serve whichever student Officer they had been assigned, so they worked both as an independent, almost mercenary-like group as well as military personnel.

You had always felt awkward with your own battalion, unsure of how to command or treat them. Lieutenant Avery was basically the leader of your company. There was no question of the men’s loyalty, your authority wasn’t the highest to those men, even if they were technically yours to lead. That had never bothered you, not in the way it should have. Only recently had you begun to feel shame about the fact. So many other students had been found to have traitorous Imperial soldiers under their command, a massive embarrassment to the Church as well as cause for distrust of the students themselves.

The vacancy of the empty barracks segmented for the Imperially sourced companies was hostile. Urgent intensity passed between the men who were still hanging around in thinning groups, performing the first of the day’s chores or hanging around in hunched clusters, creating an atmosphere so oppressive you almost found it hard to breathe. They were in a strange place. Staying pitted them against their country, but to leave would be a betrayal against the Church. Nobody trusted them either way, forcing them to congregate only among themselves. That was what Edelgard had done. Verbal poison, the warfare of the mind, turning everybody against one another. Unifying a country, it seemed, required mass division first.

Your men were placed in the no man’s land at the outside of the Kingdom barracks. Professor Byleth had offered you several companies of Kingdom patriots, but you hadn’t felt drawn to them like you were to Avery’s Wyvern Co. They were fresh soldiers among the large array of companies out for the Church to hire, only having arrived shortly before the year began. In truth, you weren’t even completely certain that they were soldiers to begin with. Avery was a strange person with a mysterious background and you truly believed he was a good man, but there was something about him that lacked the shine and polish of a soldier.

Not that it mattered much to you. You liked him; you liked the men. Amidst the dark and oppressive atmosphere of the barracks camp, he and his men sat around a fire, eating breakfast, and chatting among themselves.

“Fancy this!” Avery called as you approached, his grin lit up in brushed orange and distorted by the smoke of the dancing flames. “And here I was just wondered what had happened of our dearest Captain.” The complete disregard of proprietary and respect was utterly inappropriate, but it was clear that Avery never meant anything strange by it. What was strange to you was how easy-going he sounded. Compared to the rest of the Garreg Mach, it was like laughter at a funeral. You didn’t mind it. This task was dour enough without a bad atmosphere. “Why don’t you sit?” Avery offered, gesturing to the bench seat by him. “Have you eaten? I’m sure there’s still more...”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you told him, sitting. “I’m… sorry to not have visited sooner. You’re all doing well?”

“Better than you, it looks like,” Wendell, one of the men who had been wounded in the Sealed Forest, told you. After your concern for his injuries following the battle, he seemed just as loyal to you as Avery. “If you don’t mind me saying, of course.”

“Wen,” another man, Euston, scolded dryly. “You can’t say things like that to a young lady.”

“She’s our Captain,” Avery said, lightly hitting Euston across the back of the head. “Show some respect.”

Euston laughed, undeterred. “You’re one to talk, worrying about her like some kind of mother hen.”

“Is it wrong to care? This past moon has been difficult,” Avery said. Everyone sobered up at the reminder. Difficult was probably an understatement. “You were there when the Emperor revealed herself, weren’t you?” Avery asked you. “I heard what happened. The prince-”

“Dimitri’s fine,” you said, avoiding his eyes. “And I…” You meant to say that you were fine, to reassure them that their captain was steady and sure. But you couldn’t. “That’s actually what I’ve come to talk to you all about. As I’m sure you’re all well aware of by now, there is going to be a battle. The rumors are true. Imperial troops are estimated to arrive by the end of the moon.”

Avery whistled, a quiet rumble of dissent waving over the men. “That soon? She must have been planning this awhile.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, hating to think of it. While you were carelessly training and falling in love and having your heart broken, she was sowing chaos, arranging a war. “And I’m sorry for neglecting you all. I should have done this sooner.”

“That doesn’t bode well,” Euston said.

“If you wish to leave, you’re free to do so,” you told them, your voice raised as you forced yourself to look from face to face, to not shy away from this task. Every expression you acknowledged was set in various degrees of stony to bemused, as if they couldn’t believe what you were saying. “I’ll personally pay you three moons’ wages… More if you act as an escort for the civilians leaving Garreg Mach. You’ll also get a glowing recommendation for your service thus far.”

“The odds are that grim, eh?” Avery asked. Everyone was watching you, waiting for your answer.

“Um…” you began forcing yourself not to clam up under the pressure. “Yes. A-and no. The chances of victory are… Well, nobody really knows at this point. But even if we win, this is a full… a full-on military assault. Edelgard… Emperor Edelgard means all-out war. The Church is just the beginning. I won’t force anyone to fight, I know that none of you ever signed on for allegiance to the Kingdom, or even the Church.”

That began another wave of grumbling, words you couldn’t quite make out as that information was digested. The fire was dying, but the rising sun illuminated enough for you to see the uncertainty on every face, the doubt. You were confirming things they already knew.

“If there’s going to be a war anyway, where would we go?” Lester asked loudly. He was the other one who was wounded in the Sealed Forest. You didn’t like to think of yourself as buying forgiveness to assuage your guilt for his injury, but you did know he had an affinity for chocolate. “Seems like a victory here is our best bet to avoid that.”

“Yeah,” Euston agreed. “War seems like it would be… annoying. We came to the Church because they give us the easy life. Or, they did before this mess all started.” General assent followed his words, heads nodding.

“I’d never forgive myself if I left you here, Captain,” Wendell said. “I may not care that much for the Kingdom or the Church or anything, but I like you. Never known a noble who was so...” He waved his hand, at a loss for words. “You know… The point is, I’m staying.”

“Wendell…” you said, your voice half choked. “Thank you.”

“So, does anyone want to take up our generous Captain on her offer?” Avery asked. Silence met his question, a resounding answer in its own right. You swallowed down the lump in your throat, hating to feel the pressure of tears at the back of your eyes.

“Thank you. It is… my greatest honor to lead you all,” you said, feeling that the words weren’t enough but knowing it was the best you could do. To them, a company of seasoned men, what were you? A slip of a girl pretending to lead them. And yet, they would follow you.

“When this is all over, you’re gonna owe us all a drink,” Euston said. “I’ve always wanted to try that plum liquor they make in Morfis.”

“When this is over, I’ll owe you all a hundred drinks,” you said. “So you’d better all make it, okay?”

“Yessir,” most of them said in unison, touching forefingers to their brows or giving you half-salutes. You let out a heavy breath, glad to be done with that and feeling far better than you had upon arrival.

“I’ll be off, then,” you said, standing up and stretching. The sun had risen, but the sky was miserably gray and cloudy. One of those days. It seemed like all days were one of those days.

“I’ll walk you back,” Avery said, standing.

“You don’t need t-”

“Come on,” he said without waiting. You waved to the rest, even getting some smiles in return, before hurrying to match his stride.

In a way, you were glad for the company. The tension among the battalion camp was just as uncomfortable now as it had been on the way in, but now people were moving around. There was an endless supply of jobs anymore, always something for someone to do.

“It was good of you to offer that,” Avery said.

“Do you think any of them will accept?” you asked. Nobody had spoken up at the moment, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t in private. You didn’t fault that.

“No, we stick together. No matter what.”

“They’re very loyal to you.”

“Like I said, we stick together,” Avery said. “You never asked what we did before we came to Garreg Mach, or why.”

“I didn’t think it was important,” you responded.

“I can’t tell if you’re too naive or too kind,” Avery said, shooting you a sideways smile. “When you picked us, I was braced for the worst type of brat, that’s what we signed up for. But you’re not that. Sure, you’re incompetent, but I know you mean well.”

The casual jab hurt, but the praise leveled it out. Somewhat. Besides, he was right.

“Even if you were the worst of them, we’d have taken it. It’s like… penance. But you’re not, so I figure I should give you a chance to decide you want men like us following you.”

“I don’t care about your past,” you said.

“We were criminals,” Avery said, acting as if he hadn’t heard you. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his eyes forward and expression schooled into a serious mask. “Damned good ones, too. We all came from villages near the Almyran border, grew up on the backs of wyverns, always dreamed of being accepted into Gonerill’s army. I got my own company before I really realized it; the fight with the Almyrans is pointless. Fighting for fighting’s sake. You lose limbs and lives in what amounts to little more than a game, there’s nothing respectable or sane about it. So, we, my men and I, deserted.”

“Oh,” you said, stunned by the confession.

“After that, we terrorized people, thinking we had some sort of right to do it because at least we weren’t liars like all of the nobility who toss lives away like trash. We only took from the rich and called it justice.” Avery sighed regretfully. “The things we did… the things I did... “

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” you said doubtfully, trying to imagine somebody like smiling Wendell doing what Avery was describing.

“I destroyed people’s lives,” Avery said. “Because of me, children lost their fathers, women lost their husbands... One day I looked at what I had done, what we were doing, and knew that I was damned. I came to the monastery to beg forgiveness, to serve the children who I might have ruined.”

The two of you were approaching the front gate. Cold shivers had crept up your spine, over your arms. Bandits had killed your father, ruined your mother. Ruined you, in a way, even if it was liberation.

But Avery didn’t know that. Besides, it couldn’t have been Avery. To believe in such a coincidence was too awful, too cruel. Avery was a good man, you believed that.

“Now you know who it is that serves you, Captain,” he said, stopping and facing you. He didn’t have the face of a bad man. His skin was leathery and crinkled from too many years in the sun and the line of his nose was an uneven mess from being broken a time or two. He surveyed you with a neutral expression, waiting for your judgment.

“Thank you for telling me,” you said carefully, willing yourself to not become emotional. “I think… I’m not the person to forgive you, but… But it would be really hypocritical of me to judge you. A man I lo―care about quite a bit is in a similar position, looking to the goddess for help and forgiveness, and I… What else is there? As long as you keep trying to be a better person and… Um… I don’t think any less of you. I’m grateful that you trust me.”

Avery measured that response for a long moment before he finally spoke. “Then it is my genuine pleasure to serve under your command.”

“And I’m going to be better,” you told him. “I know I’ve been a poor captain. Most of the time I feel like a child, but I… We can both be better, right?”

“I’d like to think so.” Avery smiled, encouraging you to do the same. “Have a good day, captain. And consider getting some rest”

“I will,” you said. Consider it, at least. Sleep was evasive these days. Besides, there was so much to do. Still, after Avery left, you did take a moment to breathe, to consider what he told you. It didn’t change anything, did it? Yet somehow, you felt more hopeful. And distraught. It seemed the world was insistent that you not let go of your past, throwing it back in your face like this.

But there wasn’t much time for contemplation like that. You hurried back to the monastery, determined to make the most of this ugly gray day.

Elegiac Chorale Mortis Honore Opus 7, No. 3

Six days had passed since Professor Byleth had called you all together to discuss the state of things. You felt the passing of each hour acutely, the countdown dragging the monastery closer and closer to uncertain ruin. Yet, at the same time, it seemed as if the clock was crawling along, prolonging the nightmare-ish state.

Felix hadn’t so much as looked at you since that disastrous last confrontation.

Dimitri only occasionally showed up when he was summoned.

And you were silly. Stupid, even. Why you felt the need to volunteer yourself to go get him to come to the meeting today, you didn’t know. He was more likely to listen to Professor Byleth anyway. But you did. Of course you did.

The vaulted space of the cathedral was nearly always filled with those who thought to pray for aid from the Goddess. Devoted and questioning alike gathered up to pray for their souls, to pray for their loved ones, to pray for some measure of comfort. Everywhere buzzed with word of Emperor Edelgard’s proclamations and the size of her forces and the fearsome strength of her military, whispered rumors dripping in like poison along with the prayers.

Dimitri spent a great deal of time in the cathedral. Nobody really knew why, people whispered about it like it was some great mystery that a man half mad would think to reach out to the goddess for guidance, but you thought you understood. Avery’s desire for penance was fresh in your head, and you could remember Dimitri’s words that night in the Goddess Tower, almost like a melody you couldn’t quite shake from your head.

“The goddess just watches over us from above… That is all. No matter how hard someone begs to be saved, she would never so much as offer her hand. And even if she did, we lack the means to reach out and grasp it. That’s how I feel about her.”

And you knew that he was the one most affected by Edelgard’s betrayal, the one suffering the most pain. You kept your promise that you wouldn’t tell anybody of his true connection to the Emperor, but it haunted you. The moment of her mask falling away had cut some integral thread of forced composure that Dimitri had been clinging to as a lifeline, and without it he’d fallen victim to the very worst parts of himself. He spent so much of his time reaching towards the goddess for a lifeline because, despite the brutal killings you had seen him commit, he was weak.

You were weak, too. Although you had a reason to seek him out, your feet took you to him because they always did, they always brought you to him. You were so, terribly weak.

Upon passing through the gate of the cathedral, it was impossible to miss Dimitri. Everybody gave him a wide berth of space when passing, casting him nervous side glances, and whispering to their companions in hushed tones. He stood alone like an exhibit in a museum. Rumors had spread about Dimitri just as quickly as they had about Edelgard. Rumors of madness, of insanity. It was upsetting to hear, heartbreaking that he was viewed as little more than a spectacle, but you shrugged them off. It didn’t matter what people thought, or at least you couldn’t blame them. They were ignorant and afraid, and while Edelgard was still far away, Dimitri was right in front of them.

He, as had become usual, stood in his grand stage of empty space. A position he could occupy for hours without break. Dimitri’s uniform wasn’t as neat as he had usually kept it, and his hair needed to be cut. Your heart softened upon seeing him. A foolish, stupid feeling. Unwanted entirely. You knew that things had changed and could keenly remember the many times he’d snapped at you for doing what you were about to do. Whatever tenderness that had been cultivated within him before now was gone. Withered away like flowers in the frost, a sweet melody played sour on an out of tune lyre.

But you refused to stop, and you especially refused to be frightened of Dimitri, or believe that he would do anything to hurt you.

It was better to stick only to present concerns. Such as the fact that he was muttering to himself again. Words you couldn’t quite hear over the hushed noise of the devout. Dimitri’s lips moved with a rhythm that made it seem like he was speaking to something, someone. The dead, his dead. You had heard him use their names once, addressing people who were long gone and buried. Glenn, father, stepmother. He stopped whenever someone was close enough to pick out details, but you heard them all the same.

Melancholy intermingled with a deep, bone-grinding fear at seeing him like this. Many poems or songs you knew spoke of insanity, but none of their descriptions truly matched the broken man in front of you. They saw the afflicted through the eyes of a romantic. In other words, a lovely lyrical lie. What most of them had in common, however, was an eventual tragedy. With every fiber of your being, you swore to not allow him to become victim to such a fate.

You had failed once. You couldn’t handle another. You were weak.

“Dimitri?” you asked, striding up to him with a level of cheery confidence you weren’t so sure you felt. The eyes of a crowd of outsiders followed you now that you had broken the bubble of space surrounding the prince that frightened them so, watching as if you were approaching a beast in the woods unarmed.

Dimitri didn’t respond, either ignoring you or lost in thought of whatever he’d been muttering about. You would have preferred the former, because at least then he’d still be with you, not sunken down into some dark void that you couldn’t possibly reach him in. Unfortunately, you suspected it was the latter, what with the way his blue eyes were ringed with deep shadow and glazed over. You couldn’t even imagine the last time he must have slept. According to Dedue’s careful vigilance, he spent his days in the cathedral and his nights on the training grounds, throwing himself into combat practice so intensely nobody dared intervene. Not even you.

“Dimitri?” you asked again, a bit louder, daring to reach out a hand to get his attention. The touch startled him, and for a moment you were almost afraid that he was going to strike out. He didn’t, although you could tell by the way his body was coiled and poised that it had been a close thing. But he didn’t, and that was all that mattered.

“What is it?” Dimitri asked in the clipped and cold tone of an accusation. The familiar blue of his eyes was flat when they found focus on your face, his stare without any recognition for your feelings or softness for who you wished you were to him. It hurt, it still hurt. Maybe it would always hurt when he looked at you like that, maybe your heart would never scar over and allow you to recognize that this version of him wasn’t truly who he was. You began to rack your brain for a proper verse about the pain of looking in the eyes of someone you loved and seeing nothing in return but stopped yourself. There was no song or lyric that could explain the piercing ache of such a feeling. With him, with your mother, you knew that so very well.

“The dining hall is serving cheesy Verona stew,” you said.

Dimitri grunted dismissively, turning his face from you. That, of course, was not nearly enough to actually stop you.

“See, I asked, and nobody seemed to know if you’ve eaten in the past few days,” you continued.

He said nothing.

“And I know for a fact that you like cheesy Verona stew.”

Nothing.

“Plus, you won’t be able to fight or anything if you’re starving, so-”

“What, exactly, is it that you want?” Dimitri abruptly snapped, fixing you again with a look you refused to believe was a glare of murderous intent. Despite that firm belief, the expression was threatening enough to push you into taking an unconscious half-step away in physical recoil.

“I was worried-”

“I’m fine,” he insisted in a raised voice. Not shouting, just authoritative. It made your stomach drop anyway. At your reaction, he lowered his voice, shaking his head in a jittery way as his eyes cast downwards, a hand raising so he could press a finger against his temple. The headaches he had once told you of must have reached a new level of agonizing. “As soon as her blood is drained from that treacherous heart, everything will be fine… We’ll be fine... So leave me be.”

Overexposure drained those muttered words of much of the power they used to hold but hearing the man you’d seen nearly break down over death speak so casually of gratuitous violence created its own type of deep-set horror. Not to say that was unexpected. You’d heard him say much worse since he learned of the Flame Emperor’s true identity.

“Okay, I-I’m sorry. The Professor is calling for a council and requests that we all attend. I was thinking that you should eat something beforehand. It might make you feel better, you know?” you explained. “But if you’re not hungry, th-that’s fine. The meeting’s in an hour.”

“I understand,” he snapped, cutting you off.

“We could go together, if you wanted,” you offered.

Dimitri gave you a flat look and for a moment you were sure he was going to shout at you. But he didn’t, which was somehow worse. “I’d rather you leave me alone.”

“You don’t need to be alone. It’s not healthy,” you told him quietly. “Before, you told me that you would talk to someone, that you would… Don’t you remember?”

For a long moment, Dimitri didn’t respond. You had no idea what was going on behind the storm of his eyes, the conflicted dance of anger and pain. “Why must you continue to torture me?” Dimitri finally asked, his voice low and throaty. “None of it meant anything, don’t you understand that? It was not my place to tell you those things. I have but a single purpose, to be distracted was my most grievous error. So leave me be.”

He turned away, once again facing the front of the cathedral.

“Okay,” you agreed, almost inaudible with the way your throat had swollen up. “I’m sorry.” Dimitri’s eyes closed, but he didn’t respond. That might have been for the best. You turned on your heel and left the cathedral, feeling the dozens of eyes track each step, whispering. Always whispering, talking, lying, always, always-

On the bridge, you faced the harsh wintery wind, hoping that the sharp bite of its touch would hide the true reason for your watering eyes and red cheeks. Because you were weak. Because you were in love with a man who was fated for tragedy. Because you knew goodbye forever and there was nothing that you could do about it.

Time ticked on, seconds became minutes, minutes you didn’t have the luxury of wasting. You turned you back to the cathedral and the wind and acknowledged that you had at least done as you were told. Just like a soldier would. Just like a knight.

Elegiac Chorale Mortis Honore Opus 7, No. 4

Even with war hanging heavy on the horizon, even with your heart heavy and breaking, the mundane chores still had to be done. Until coming to Garreg Mach, you had never so much as thought about doing the dishes. It left your fingers pruning and hands chapped and dry, but the ritual of it felt satisfying. Taking something dirty and making it clean. You and Ingrid stood above the sudsy, steaming basin; your uniform sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

The two of you made some small talk at first, but it was clear to see that she was preoccupied. You’d have loved a distraction from your Dimitri-centered thoughts―and under different circumstances, you might have tried anyway―but there was really nothing to say. Dimitri’s harsh rejection the day prior still burned hot and horrible in your chest. If you thought about it, you’d probably start crying again.

“I feel as if I owe you an apology,” Ingrid finally said as you worked a particularly tough bit of grime from a plate. That brought you up short, looking at the blonde to try and figure out what she was thinking to say that so suddenly.

“An apology?” you repeated after a moment.

“For what Felix said,” Ingrid clarified, her eyes casting down towards the water.

You stiffened at the reminder. Out of everything that had been happening lately, you had almost forgotten about that incident. No, you had willfully been trying to forget about it. “You don’t have to apologize for that,” you told her.

She sighed. “It’s always been up to me to clean up after them. His Highness, Sylvain, and Felix... I tried to talk to him, but he won’t hear it.” Ingrid paused. “He doesn’t mean it. I doubt that’s any consolation, but-”

“I know,” you said, cutting her off.

The Boar’s bitch. Goddess, that was cruel. But it wasn’t even entirely untrue. That was the worst of it, to have something you held as holy pulled out from your heart and exposed for the appraisal of eyes that would defile its sanctity.

“I don’t know the details of what happened between Felix and Dimitri to make him so angry, but it changed him,” Ingrid said, picking up a tin mug to begin washing. “After Duscur… Well, everything changed. Felix used to adore Dimitri. He followed them everywhere like a lost puppy.”

“Them?”

“Dimitri and… And Glenn.” Pain twisted Ingrid’s voice with the name. “He is… was Felix’s older brother.”

“Dimitri’s mentioned him,” you said. Dimitri talked to him, actually. Glenn was one of the dead, a victim of the Duscur Tragedy. From what you had gathered, Glenn had been the knight ideal. And, if you weren’t mistaken, Ingrid’s betrothed. You tried to imagine the girl you knew being promised to any man, but the image just didn’t compute. It was almost as strange as trying to imagine a younger, softer version of Felix.

“Losing him was hard on all of us,” Ingrid continued. “I can’t say I don’t sympathize with Felix’s pain... but that doesn’t excuse what he said.”

“It’s fine,” you said, focusing especially hard on the plate you were scrubbing.

Ingrid didn’t respond to that, although you could feel her eyes jump up to watch you every so often, her mouth opening before closing again. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, she said, “I don’t mean to pry, but you and Dimitri…” Your entire body tensed up, shoulders hunching and the silverware you’d been washing slipping back into the basin with a splash. Of course, you’d been waiting for a question like that. But you hadn’t been ready, either. “I know the two of you were close,” Ingrid said, as if she hadn’t noticed your reaction. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I… Well, I suppose I know what it feels like to have your heart broken. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

“Thank you,” you told her stiffly, fishing the fork out of the murky water. There was more to be said, the words piling and pooling up on your tongue and ready to spill out, but before you could speak, the pantry door was flung open, a tiny figure emerging.

"Counting all the way up to numbers I don't even know. And more! Flour and sugar and rice and grain galooore-"

"Annette?" you asked, watching her spin on her toes as she closed the door behind her.

"GAH!" With a graceless turn, Annette whirled around, a hand clasped over her mouth and the notepad she was holding crashing to the floor. Recognition flashed through her wide blue eyes after a moment of horrified shock and she lowered that hand to her chest. “Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed. “You scared me!”

“Sorry...” you responded, exchanging a glance with the equally bewildered Ingrid.

"Oh, well, it’s fine,” she said, trying to play it off. “You didn't… hear anything, did you?"

You were about to lie, mostly to avoid upsetting her, but Ingrid beat you to it. "You were... singing?”

Annette winced, "I can explain! I was taking inventory for Seteth and got very focused and the song just sort of came to me and… and…" She deflated. "I don't suppose you would pretend that you didn't hear that, would you?"

"Why?" Ingrid asked.

"Because… because…" Annette said, flustered. "Because if everyone finds out that I sing to myself they're all going to think I'm that weird girl who makes up stupid songs about counting and food and then they’ll all whisper about me behind my back about how weird and stupid I am!"

"It's not that weird to sing while you work,” you told her.

"Do you?" Ingrid asked, looking at you curiously.

"Well… not around people…" you answered. Everybody in your class knew about your affinity for music on account of that day Sylvain stole your book of songs, but you didn’t advertise the fact that you enjoyed making music, too. Especially not to the knight ideal like Ingrid. Music was impractical.

"See! It is weird!" Annette exclaimed. "Now you're going to tell everyone, and they'll all think I'm a total freak who sings about flour and sugar and-"

"Annette…" Ingrid cut in, frowning in concern.

Annette continued on like she hadn’t heard, her rant getting progressively more distracted, "And they're gonna look at me and laugh and never take me seriously because of the stupid childish songs and-"

"I didn't know you liked music," you said, interrupting her.

Annette blinked, focusing on you. "I don’t really tell people. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

"If it makes you happy, I don't think it's embarrassing," you told her.

"She's right," Ingrid said seriously. "I don't have any interest in music, but the song wasn't that bad."

"That bad…" Annette said, frowning. "So it was still bad. I knew it. Oh, this is just the worst!"

"It wasn't!" you told her quickly. "I liked the melody; did you compose it?"

"Well, yeah," she said, fidgeting with her notepad.

"That's really amazing, Annette,” you said enthusiastically. “I'm no good at writing music."

"Oh, it's not that impressive," she said, waving her hand.

"I'd love it if you could teach me some time," you said. "It might be a nice break from-" you waved your hand around generally, your voice trailing off.

“Well, if you really want to, I guess I wouldn’t mind,” Annette said. “As long as you promise to never, ever tell anybody what you heard today.”

“I promise,” you vowed.

“As do I,” Ingrid said.

“That’s a relief,” Annette said, finally picking up her dropped notepad. “Are you free tonight?”

“I have patrol duty with Ashe,” you replied, frowning. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure! I’ll have to let you know when, though. There’s so much to do.” Annette sighed. “Speaking of which, what was I doing…?”

“Inventory?” Ingrid offered helpfully.

“Oh, right! That!” Annette responded, her trademark bounce returning. “Well, I’d better go, then. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You and Ingrid said goodbye, but Annette was already out of the kitchen. Seconds later, there was a loud crash right outside the door and Annette’s muffled voice demanded to know why there was a box in the way where people were walking. It left your heart feeling oddly light. Everything else could change, but Annette was still a whirlwind mess of drive, clumsiness, and quirk.

“If you have patrol, you should probably get going,” Ingrid said. “I don’t mind finishing up here.”

“Oh, right,” you said, quickly drying off your hands. “I hate being out in the town these days, it’s so empty and creepy.”

“Do you want to switch?” Ingrid asked, raising an eyebrow. “I have guard duty tomorrow at dawn.”

“As enticing as that sounds, I think I’ll pass,” you told her, your face scrunching up at the very idea of it. It was one thing to be cold and miserable at night but being cold and miserable with the memory of your soft, warm bed fresh in your mind was worse.

“I suppose it was worth a try. Be on your guard,” Ingrid told you. “And be safe.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I’ll try.”

Elegiac Chorale Mortis Honore Opus 7, No. 5

“Ansel’s stories are great!” you insisted, walking side by side with Ashe on your nighttime patrols. With the curfew, there were no other people wandering around, but that wasn’t the only reason for the uncomfortably hollow feeling in Garreg Mach. With each passing day, the small towns that littered the outskirts became ghostly haunts, shops closing up and merchants who sold anything other than weapons and supplies packing up. Outside the realm of his torch, the once lively was a depressing and frightening place. But having company helped. It helped a lot. “I love the characters.”

“I didn’t say they’re bad,” Ashe responded quickly. “But... they’re mostly romance. They shouldn’t be shelved by the stories about knights, someone could accidentally pick one up and have no idea what they’re in for.”

“There are knights and heroes, too,” you pointed out. “Besides, romance is integral to the plots of most hero stories. What’s worth fighting for more than love?”

“You’re starting to sound like Sylvain,” Ashe told you, laughing.

“Don’t you fight for love?” you asked, only slightly defensively. “Love for your country, your family, your friends… Isn’t that why people fight? We’re all driven by passion, don’t you think?”

“Huh… I guess that’s true. But... wait, that wasn’t my point! I-” Ashe’s words abruptly cut off as you turned a corner. This street, a main thoroughfare with some of the few remaining open establishments, was well lit. A crowd of people congregated at the far end. “What’s going on over there?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sight. “Is there some sort of event?” you asked.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Ashe said. “Besides, the curfew...”

“We should go check it out,” you said, all amusement from your conversation going stale and cold. You had a very bad feeling about this.

Ashe quickly put out the torch, following after you as you approached the crowd. There was a sense of dread in the air. There was a crowd, sure, but their voices weren’t loud enough, no laugher could be heard. It was just tension and raw, crackling energy. Most of the people were soldiers, men and women from other battalions. Some villagers. The entire crowd smelled of urine and liquor and the desperate vinegar of excited sweat. You tried to cut your way into the group, standing on your toes to see what they were all circled around. Nobody paid you any mind, too focused on what was happening to make way.

“Is that… His Highness?” Ashe asked, his voice loud above the noise.

And it was. Standing in the impromptu ring created by the surrounding crowd, Dimitri faced off against five other men. One of them was wearing Imperial fatigues. Another wore clothes you recognized as being an unkempt and dirty Faerghus soldier uniform. All of them had a wild, drunken look and anger and bloodlust.

“-known that your association with that Duscur beast would rub off on you,” the Faerghus soldier was saying. “I refuse to follow a monster into battle, let alone lead my country.”

“I see,” Dimitri replied. Despite the many voices rumbling around the square, his was easy to make out. “You have betrayed your country, trading one monster for another. How does that feel?”

That made the other man wince, but his fury was far more potent. They were ganging up on him, this was an ambush.

“Ashe go get help. Professor Byleth… Guards… anyone! Hurry!” you told him, your voice quivering with urgency. He blinked, his eyes wide and frightened, but nodded.

“I’ll be quick.”

With Ashe running off, you tried to steady yourself with a deep breath, forcing your hands to stop shaking. “Let me through!” you demanded, trying once more to cut your way through the crowd. People shifted, although you took more than one elbow to the ribs, bodies pushing back against you. “On behalf of the Church of Seiros, I demand that you let me through!” That finally worked. Sort of. You broke out into the front of the group, a hand on your sword hilt. “This i-is… an illegal act of violence against the crown prince of Faerghus… Disperse now!” Jumbled and nervous, your words were still able to get the attention of the group of men. Dimitri turned, meeting your eyes for a half-second with a look of surprise. And then his face darkened, his jaw clenching as he looked away.

“What is this?” the Imperial asked mockingly, “Another student? Maybe a friend of yours, crown prince?”

Dimitri said nothing, not even looking at you.

“The guards will be arriving soon!” you threatened.

“Faerghus law allows any Faerghus soldier challenge his superior, nobility and royalty, to a fight,” the soldier said. “It’s up to him if he wishes to accept the terms.”

“What do you say, beast prince?” the Imperial asked. “Do you have any honor left, or have you abandoned that with your humanity?”

“Honor?” Dimitri asked, sounding amused. “Coming from one who wears the colors of the Empire? Tell me, do you act on behalf of that woman?”

“I act for myself,” he responded. “And for justice. My brother was one of the men you slaughtered in the Holy Tomb. I saw his body, creature. You’re no prince, you’re not even a soldier. You’re a monster.”

“And your gang of traitorous vermin?” Dimitri asked. “They agree?”

“Faerghus is better off without you,” the Faerghus soldier said, eliciting sounds of agreement from the others.

“Fine,” Dimitri said. “I accept your challenge.”

“No!” you shouted, lunging forward. Or, attempting to. A man you hadn’t even noticed shot an arm out to keep you from entering the informal circle, pulling you back.

“Don’t interfere,” he said, holding your arms pinned so you couldn’t go for your weapon. His breath was hot and sour on your ear, making you shudder in disgust. “I have money on this fight, girl. Five to one… the pretty boy’s ‘bout to learn a lesson he won’t forget.”

“Dimitri, stop!” you begged. It didn’t even occur to you to be worried for him. Only about what he would do.

The Faerghus soldier went for him first, pulling a knife from his stained coat and lunging at Dimitri with wavering, drunken posture. He was a large guy, the type that expected to win fights based purely on his size and raw strength. Dimitri sidestepped the attack, grabbing the man’s beefy arm as he did to misdirect his momentum and contort the arm behind his back, twisting him around and sending him staggering to the ground.

Dimitri had gotten hold of the knife during the exchange, but he didn’t bother using it. When the large man made to grab Dimitri’s legs, Dimitri kicked him in the chest. Bones crunched. Loudly. Dimitri kicked him again, the choppy strands of his blond hair flipping and falling with the motion.

Despite the shocking display of efficient brutality, the Imperial went into attack. His knuckles glinted with metal as he drew back his fist.

“Watch out!” you called, but the warning was unnecessary. Dimitri whirled around, grabbing the Imperial’s hand before it could make contact and slamming it flat against the side of the building. He drove the knife right below the band of metal ringing the Imperials fingers, pushing it into the grout between brick until the handle was flush to the man’s skin. The Imperial screamed, immediately trying to pull the knife free, but it was stuck. He tried to lash out at Dimitri, but the prince easily ducked beneath the attack.

The other three men bunched in a group, ganging up on Dimitri together. The tallest stood in the center, a short man on his right and a heavy looking guy who’d picked up a broom as a makeshift weapon on his left. All you could see of Dimitri the back of his uniform and the fluttering cape on his shoulder, so brilliant and vividly blue.

Ducking out of the way of the broom’s handle, Dimitri took a fist to the face from the shortest man. Despite the successful blow, the short man was immediately rewarded with a brutal backhand that sent him to the ground with a fleshy kind of crack.

Dimitri didn’t hesitate, throwing his body at the man holding the broom. The wooden handle split into two pieces beneath Dimitri’s gauntleted left hand, his right elbow slamming against the heavy guy’s face while he was distracted by the loss of his weapon. The heavy man’s face immediately exploded in a bright spray of blood, sending him stumbling back and tripping onto the ground, clutching his face desperately.

The tall one tried to attack with a straight right, but Dimitri spun out of the way, swinging the broken piece of broomstick handle in an arc at his head. The wood broke on impact with the guy’s skull. While he was stunned, Dimitri’s fist easily connected with his stomach. He dropped with a heavy “umph” of a groan.

Breathing heavily, Dimitri turned from them, dropping the short length of broomstick handle with a clatter of wood on stone and tossing his sweaty hair from his brow. Blood dripped from his nose, staining the ashy pale of his complexion, dribbling over his chapped lips.

The Imperial was the only one standing, having managed to free himself. You hadn’t seen what he’d done to get out of the trap, but the knife remained in the wall and his hand was in a ruined state, too covered in blood for you to see.

Dimitri faced him, his chest heaving and a gruesome smile on his face. Blood dripped into his mouth, staining his teeth red. With wild eyes, he surveyed his final opponent.

Had Dimitri done this on purpose? Ensured that the Imperial would be the last to face him so he could savor it? Something about the expression on his face made you think that sickening thought. Taking advantage of the way the grip keeping you still had slackened in horror, you stumbled forward.

“Dimitri stop!” you shouted.

He ignored you, moving towards the last man with the predatory gait of a killer. You didn’t even think about it, lunging at him and wrapping your arms around his middle. Doing that could have killed you, you knew that. His reflexes were faster than you could ever hope to move. But your blood pounded steadily in your ears and your pulse made your throat feel swollen and men you hoped weren’t dead littered the ground. You needed to make him stop.

Somehow, it worked.

“Unhand me,” Dimitri demanded, prying you off of him despite your attempts to hold fast. The violence of it pushed you back several steps, but you managed not to fall. “This Imperial traitor asked for a fair fight. Have I not granted him his wish?”

“You’ve won!” You looked at the glowering Imperial who was wrapping his hand with a ripped piece of shirt. “Yield, please. You can’t fight, your men are down… Please, stop this.”

“No,” he said, pulling the fabric tight with a wince. With that, he swung, his arm arcing clumsily towards Dimitri who easily caught the fist, twisting it with enough force to make the main shout in pain. The movement forced the Imperial to fall forward, but Dimitri caught him with a grip on the front of his uniform, pulling him close.

“Dimitri,” you pled. “You can’t kill him. Please.”

“No? Even though he follows that wretched woman?” Dimitri asked. “Even when he would have gleefully killed me in an honorless fight?”

“Please, just yield and leave. Please,” you begged of the other man. “Dimitri, you’d let him go if he yielded, right?

“This foul creature does not deserve your pity,” he said.

“Please?” you begged again.

“Fine,” Dimitri allowed, his lip curled as he looked at the man. “I’ll let you go free. Provided you deliver a message to your master.”

The Imperial sneered, answering by screwing up his mouth for a second and then spitting. The glob of saliva landed squarely on Dimitri’s cheek. Dimitri accepted it with a cold, empty patience, letting it slide down his face without any reaction. “I’ll accept death before I do something for a beast like you,” the Imperial said.

“Very well, I shall be glad to deliver,” Dimitri responded. “You and your gang of cowards are not the first men I have sent to the Eternal Flames. But you already know that, don’t you? Your face is not even worth remembering. Just as I have forgotten your brother, you too will die a meaningless death.”

A strangled sound of rage left the Imperial’s mouth, his face twisting in genuine hatred as he fought the hold Dimitri had on his uniform. Blood had already soaked through the makeshift bandage on his hand. And Dimitri was going to kill him. That sickening smile was gone, all emotion sapped out. His expression was cold and cruel. The act of killing made him dark. Empty.

“Dimitri!” a familiar voice called, breaking the tense scene apart. The crowd, whatever remained of it, parted for Professor Byleth’s confident stride, his green eyes focused solely on the prince. Ashe hurried behind him; his cheeks colored with a flush of exertion. Dimitri’s grip on the Imperial slackened, some awareness seeping into his eyes. Finally, he wiped the spit from his cheek, catching some of the blood from his nose. It left a rusty streak on his pale skin.

The Imperial took advantage of Dimitri’s distraction. His nails made contact with Dimitri’s face for a second before the prince reacted, throwing him away with unnerving ease. What was left was four distinct and angry short trails of red high on Dimitri’s cheekbone.

“It seems you’ve been spared,” Dimitri called as the man scrambled to get upright. But he had landed poorly, swaying dizzily like he hit his head. “This time.”

“What happened?” Professor Byleth asked you, forcing your attention away from the horrific scene. You cleared your throat, trying to calm your mind.

“They challenged him to a fight,” you said. Byleth’s lips formed a line, but he nodded. “And he accepted.”

“These men were Imperial vermin and traitors,” Dimitri added. “They wished for a chance to take me out and failed.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Vengeance… Vengeance is for the strong. They were too weak to attain it.”

“You didn’t need to accept their challenge,” you told him, belatedly realizing that you were crying. Shaking, too. Trembling so hard you felt it in your bones. “You’re… you’re better than that.”

“Am I?” Dimitri asked. “Tell me, would it be honorable to keep another man from his revenge? I allowed him a fair chance, and he was unable to follow through.”

“Still…” you muttered, looking around at the carnage. Already, guards were surveying the downed men. Checking for pulses. Killing men in battle was one thing but killing them here in the dark and dingy streets of a nearly abandoned town. A place that was supposed to be a refuge, to be sacred. It was like you couldn’t breathe, like the world was closing in on you.

This wasn’t Dimitri, was it? The man who had kissed you, who had held you, who had made you laugh. The man you were in love with.

“If you can’t stomach reality, you have no place here,” Dimitri said, stalking past you. Professor Byleth attempted to stop him, but that didn’t matter. Dimitri was a force of nature, like a storm or a fire, without reason or restraint.

Besides, the guards for calling for Professor Byleth’s help, likely asking for advice on how to handle this situation. How were you supposed to handle this situation? What were you supposed to do?

“Are you all right?” Ashe asked, peering at you with a look of concern. “Let’s go back to the monastery, the guards can take care of this.”

“Okay,” you agreed. Your ears were ringing. It sounded like screaming. It smelled like blood and fire and the tangy, sour, stale sweat that reeked of pain and fear. Was this any more or less horrific than what you had already seen? You already knew the violence Dimitri was capable of, you already knew the depths to which he had descended.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You look really pale…” Ashe said.

You felt a little numb. Empty, cold, like everything had been drained out and replaced with cotton.

“Ashe?” you asked, but your voice sounded far away.

“Yes?” He looked so concerned, so earnestly worried for you. That was good, nice. You could hold on to that.

“What do you think it is to be honorable?”

Ashe blinked, clearly confused, but his answer was quick. “Honor is doing what’s right.”

“Who defines what’s right?” you asked.

“I’m not so sure this is important right now,” Ashe said, looking around. You ignored it all, the noise and the people and the carnage and the fear and the disgust, focused only on the one question. “Perhaps we should wait until we’re-”

“Please?” you asked. That word was etched into your tongue.

He looked like he was about to argue but relented after a moment. “I suppose the goddess defines what’s right, so do those who lead us,” Ashe said. “But knights also must follow their hearts. To follow all of those things… that’s honorable.”

You closed your eyes, trying to comprehend exactly what he said. That definition definitely made sense. Honor both was and wasn’t. Nebulous and strict. If you doubted what you knew, you’d lose it entirely. It was better to let it be, you decided that long ago.

Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded. “You’re right.”

“Are you okay?” Ashe asked again.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. You just had to ignore this, shove it from your mind. Focus on other things. “Let’s go back to the monastery.”

#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fe dimitri #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader #fe dimitri x reader #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #beastie and the bard #my writing #i say its dimitri z reader but really it's more of an ensamble piece #like who even knows anymore #mercedes is a better bf at this point #wowzers i put the wrong chapter number how embarrassing

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delyth88 · 3 years ago

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Loki episode 5 rewatch

It’s been a busy week so it wasn’t until yesterday that I had a chance to watch Episode 5 again. And I was a little worried I might not like it as much as I did on first watch, but thankfully I did still find a lot to like about this episode.

Spoilers below...

Firstly, I think it’s taken this long, but I’ve finally gotten used to this new variant of our Loki. To this overly emotive, sweetly stupid at times, often bewildered version of the character. Let me be clear, he is absolutely not being presented in the same was at the first three films, Infinity War, or even Ragnarok. But I’m finding him easier to watch now that I have no hopes or expectations that he will be the Loki I was hoping we’d get to see again. Sure, I’m sad they didn’t give us a continuation of the Loki we’re grown to love, but this guy seems to be starting to find his feet, and I’m curious to see what his potential is now.

I was again struck by the increased sense of purpose (no pun intended) of this episode. It seems to be going places more so than previous episodes were. And again I loved the opening sequence and the music as we travel through the TVA and then out into the Void. It did make me wonder whether the destroyed city was actually a version of the timeline where Loki/Thanos win the Battle of New York, and that’s as far as the significance of that set goes. My hunch is that we won’t see that long shot of Loki from the trailers in post-apocalyptic New York. They opted for the mirror of the Avengers scene instead as the way Loki finds himself in this place.

I laughed at Loki’s little rant this time too. Particularly the line “plus an alligator, that I’m heartbroken to report I didn’t even find all that strange!”. In fact there were a few moment when I felt we were getting a little bit of Loki’s old humour. Such as, his “Delightful.” In response to kid Loki talking about cannibalistic pirates, “This is a nightmare.” and “Don’t die isn’t a plan, it’s a general demand of living”.

I do wonder though if this is just about comparison with the other Lokis? Like they’re all so very much more on the extreme end of comical that it makes our Loki seem the straight guy in comparison? *shrug*

After several days I am still taken by Old Loki and his story. And on watching it again I was able to appreciate the little moments leading up to his fighting Alioth. He gives the impression of being just so Over It and his crazy comics outfit also directs the audience away from how much he actually cares. For example he is really quite upset at Lokis in general and presumably also himself after the betrayal by Boastful Loki. He says “We cannot change. We’re broken. Every version of us. Forever.”

And he seems quite affected by Mobius’ offhand comment that “it’s never too late to change”.

And then that look back towards Loki and Sylvie as Alioth approaches.

Gah! This is the kind of thing I wanted for our Loki. I don’t have the right words to describe it, but it’s partly the back story, partly the change of heart, partly the stakes, the emotional depth. I’m really quite sad that we won’t see more of him. :(

@scintillatingshortgirl19 you asked me what I thought of Loki’s response when Sylvie asks, “How do I know that in the final moments you won’t betray me?”

“Listen Sylvie, I…” Loki pauses and takes a deep breath “I betrayed everyone who ever loved me. My father, my brother, my home. I know what I did, and I know why I did it. And that’s not who I am anymore. Okay? I won’t let you down.”

To be honest on my first watch I think I just let it slide over me as yet another one of those lines where they keep telling us what we’re supposed to think of Loki (whether it’s true or not). I think Episode 4 might have broken me – I didn’t even blink an eyelid. I think I’ve just heard so many people saying things that I think are absolutely wrong about Loki that I’m just… used to it now? I dunno. Maybe it was just my mood, or the fact that there were enough other things I enjoyed in the episode that I could ignore it.

But since you pointed it out I’ve been thinking about it and after my rewatch I kinda think Loki has been a little bit influenced by recent events and conversations. He’s just watched with embarrassment several different versions of himself strike bargains and then betray each other, in such an extreme example of this behaviour that it seemed absurdly comic. Boastful Loki even says “I betrayed you, and now I’m king.” And as they leave the Loki fight behind Old Loki says “We lie and we cheat! We cut the throats of every person who trusts us! And for what! Power!” So I can kinda see why betrayal is on his mind.

And perhaps this is something he’s been thinking about for a while now. Since he tried to strike a bargain with Sylvie before he even really knew her. Old Loki ask if Loki trusts Sylvie and he says” “She’s the only one [of the Loki variants] I do trust! “

But I guess the way I interpreted it is not just literal betrayal like he just watched with the other Loki variants, but also letting people down. Letting himself down. In this context betraying his father would be the events of Thor 1 where he betrays his father’s trust by letting the frost giants into the weapons vault (I think he’s talking about Odin here, not Laufey), and then by not being able to be a good king in the eyes of his father or even his own standards while Odin was in the Odinsleep. I don’t think he would be thinking of the moment where he lets Laufey into Odin’s chamber because he always intended to betray Laufey and save Odin. Although maybe he feels guilt for that too, in terms of lying to his father. In regards to his brother, I’d consider any of the times Loki is acting against his brother’s interests, in a serious way such as the times that he was evading and fighting against Thor in Avengers, or when he sent the Destroyer in Thor 1 as betrayals of a sort, and the frost giants at the coronation again. And in regards to his ‘home’ I assume from his perspective this is again about the coronation and the events that led to the destruction of the Bifrost and as far as he’s aware war with Jotunhiem. Perhaps he’s thinking of the moment when Odin says to Thor “... you are unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed!” Potentially he’s also thinking of Ragnarok and his actions in causing it after what he read in his file in the TVA. Personally I think he knows it was necessary but still feels a ton of guilt about being the one to actually do it. In this case it’s a betrayal in action but not in heart.

So I think he’s kinda focusing on the guilt he feels. And I think this is why he feels it could extend to Frigga, although he doesn’t mention it I think we as the audience are meant to assume it. But again, this is in terms of the guilt he feels at a future version of himself inadvertently causing Frigga’s death – as he’s heard this story second-hand from Mobius. You know how if you start feeling bad about something it’s very easy to expand that to a whole bunch of other things you’ve done? These are the times he feels guilty for his actions in hindsight.

I also think he’s kinda lumping a bunch of things together under the umbrella of the wording of the question that Sylvie has asked. I think if she’d used a different word he would have echoed that back to her too.

I also think he starts of with “Listen Sylvie, I..” because he was about to defend himself, refuse to acknowledge that he would do such a thing and minimise it, by saying some version of “I would never do that”. But he catches himself and takes the opposite approach of laying all his faults out plain. Admitting in a slightly exaggerated way that he has betrayed people in the past and he knows it, which he considers is more likely to be believed, and that he won’t betray Sylvie because he’s changed since then.

So I don’t know if I really have a conclusion to draw from this, but I think Loki is exaggerating out of guilt.

But this is also one of those lines that where the character is telling us not showing us. Which seems to have started in Ragnarok and is being continued in this series. It’s frustrating, I don’t like it, but it seems this is what they do now. :/

***

So, it’s taken me a whole ‘nother day to get to finish writing this, and I’ve realised that this is the first episode in a while that has been on my mind since I watched it. I’m actually invested again! Which I was very much not after Episode 4.

This episode had another piece of Loki’s story, in the form of Old Loki, and that was wonderful, and tragic. And we’re starting to get somewhere with the plot now.

And unlike in previous episodes where it looked like they’d left hints of things to come but that turned out not to be the case, I actually feel like we might get payoff for all those comments about Loki’s magic. Probably not in a way I’d prefer, but at this point I’ll take any sort of change that gives Loki a bit more control over his life.

I’m also feeling again like this story matters. With episodes 3 and 4 I wasn’t really feeling it. I hope I’m not too disappointed. lol

I still don’t like the romance, but having resigned myself to the fact this is what they’re doing last week I was better able to watch this. The fact that Sylvie is as utterly incompetent at personal relationships as our Loki does make it more tolerable to me, and if I take it as some weird AU (which lets be fair is exactly what this is) it is kinda cute. In a way I like that they’re both late 30s/early 40s in appearance, not teens or twenty-somethings. It adds this extra layer to their awkwardness and I think brings home how weird tit is that these thousand year old beings don’t know how to be friends if you can do the mental jumps required to believe this in the first place. I still want it to be platonic or at least not taken any further. I will gag if they kiss in the finale.

#loki #loki series #loki episode 5 #spoilers #my review #loki series negativity #loki series positivity #a bit of both

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dessarious · 4 years ago

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The Angel of Death Pt41

Inspired by this Story Starter by @someone-ev

AO3 Prologue Beginning Previous Next

Tris felt her eye twitch as Adrien and Luka collided mid air… again. Chloe was off to the side laughing while Kagami was fighting a smile. None of them were taking this seriously enough. Telling them their lives were in danger only went so far. None of them really felt the fear they needed to. It had been over a week since she started training with and without the Miraculous. Even though there was no hope of any of them surviving against the most junior member of the League without she was hoping it would help while they were transformed. At this point the only reason they’d survive is because the Miraculous made it near impossible to be hurt by normal weapons. The biggest thing she worried about was explosives. The Kwami hadn’t dealt with them enough to know what the suit’s threshold would be. She’d also had them turn all the miraculous into toe rings since it was the least obvious and hardest place to get to while they were transformed.

“You’re not even trying anymore, we’re done for the night.” She tried to keep her temper in check and not let them see how frustrated she was getting but it was difficult. Telling herself they were civilians and couldn’t grasp the danger they were in only went so far before she felt like she was about to explode.

“Oh come on, we’re just messing around.” She had to take a deep breath in order not to yell at Adrien. He didn’t know any better.

“That’s entirely my point. The Miraculous aren’t toys and there’s no point straining the Kwami so you can play. This isn’t a game and I’m tired of trying to convince you of that.” Tris saw strings moving that were connected to her and froze as she took in her surroundings. They were gray but with a green-blue tinge to them but she had no idea who they belonged to. This was bad.

“Oh come on! You’re not even paying attention to me.” Adrien had been talking but she’d stopped listening to try and track the strings movements. They were only connected to her, not the others. That couldn’t be a good thing. Now the others were taking turns trying to defend their actions, well not Kagami but everyone else. One of the strings moved behind Adrien and she lunged.

“What is wrong with you?” Chloe’s enraged shout was followed by stunned silence when Tris pulled a man in his mid twenties out of the shadows. He looked just as surprised as everyone else.

“Come out or your partner dies.” The man she was holding started sputtering gibberish, but the other string started to move. Another man, a brother by the looks of it, stepped into the light.

“Calm down baby death, we’re here to help.” She just scowled at him. No one called her that except…

“Which one of you is Blake?” The Miraculous holders just looked confused while the man she was holding looked impressed. The one across the room just laughed.

“Both of us, well all three of us actually. Going by one code name helps keep everyone guessing. Granted you deal exclusively with our baby sister. Once she figured out you were still a kid she refused to let us near any of your projects.” He sounded rather put out but Tris was just trying to follow his explanation.

“And why would she do that?” The man she was holding gave an annoyed snort.

“She thinks we’re not detail oriented enough. Load of crap if you ask me.” The other one rolled his eyes.

“Couldn’t have anything to do with the time one of your devices blew up the person using it. Obviously, she’s just overreacting. What pisses me off is that your bad behavior got both of us banned from the cool projects.” She was getting a headache again. She sighed and looked at the still speechless holders.

“You all go home. I’ll take care of this.” They all looked like the wanted to argue and her temper finally gave out. “Leave now! Or you’ll all find yourselves relocated to somewhere insanely remote so I don’t have to worry about you following orders.” That at least got them moving, even if she was certain they would all get mad at her about it later.

“Bit harsh don’t you think?” She just glared at the man she was holding before throwing him at his partner. Their expression as they hit the ground would have been entertaining if she weren’t so pissed off.

“You’ve got one minute to tell me why you’re here and how you found me before you find out exactly how I got my moniker.” They both started talking over each other and Tris couldn’t understand a word they said. Why was this her life?

“Will you two morons shut up! Hold up your phone so I can talk to her.” The voice was female and the older one fished his phone out of his vest and turned it towards her. “Sorry about them. I would have come myself but I don’t leave the workshop, ever. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“I still need my questions answered.” The woman’s lips quirked up in a small smile before she answered.

“How we found you is simple. All of our products have homing devices so we can destroy or retrieve them to keep them out of improper hands. We normally don’t use them unless we have reason to believe they’ve been compromised but I’ll admit I’ve been keeping an eye on you for about a year and a half. The why is a bit more complicated.” Tris wanted so badly to just explode. Why did everyone think she was incompetent? She forced it down though. She needed to know what the hell was going on.

“I’m waiting.” She could hear the annoyance in her own voice and cursed at herself mentally. You don’t give people ammunition to use against you like that. The woman’s gaze softened.

“I really am sorry about this. I wasn’t trying to meddle but we got a call from another client asking us to help you. Well, sort of.” Tris just motioned her to keep going. There was no point in interrupting now. “The mini al Ghul called us in a panic saying that there was someone in Paris that he needed full gear for. When he gave sizes I realized it had to be you. He doesn’t know you’re the Angel of Death I take it?”

“No he doesn’t and I’d rather keep it that way.” She just nodded.

“I figured as much. I told him I’d get in contact with you since he didn’t have any real information on your location other than in Paris. He offered to pay for anything you need too. I’d definitely take him up on that. The boy’s got some deep pockets.”

“I don’t need his money and I certainly don’t need him thinking I owe him anything. That still doesn’t explain why you sent them in person.” Both men flinched when she gestured at them. It was honestly gratifying at this point. The woman let out a sigh.

“You’re not the only one I’ve been tracking. Talia is making a bee line for Paris. I know you can handle yourself but given you’ve never stayed in one place this long I thought you might want help protecting the reason you’re there. The boys are idiots a lot of the time but they do know how to fight. They also have the ability to detonate half of Talia’s equipment.” Okay that was tempting.

“And what are you charging for this service? Pissing off Talia is a death sentence, you can’t expect me to believe you’re doing this out of the kindness of your hearts.” Both men’s expressions hardened into glares and the woman gave her a tight smile.

“You’re not the only one who’s had their life destroyed by that harpy. Paybacks a bitch and today that bitch is me.” Well at least that was a motive Tris understood.

AO3 Prologue Beginning Previous Next

Ko-Fi

Tag List

@kceedraws @theatreandcomicfreak @krispydefendorpolice @magic-miraculous @chocolatecatstheron @mooshoon @northernbluetongue @interobanginyourmom @rebecarojas07 @dast218 @abrx2002 @damianette-is-life @yin-390 @fontegagrilledcheese @bigpicklebananatree @tbehartoo @nobodyw8s4evr @linim2503 @ladybug-182 @marinettepotterandplagg @daminett4life @thethirdwheelfriend @corabeth11 @emotionalsupportginger @shizukiryuu @toodaloo-kangaroo @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @sassakitty @my-name-is-michell @multplelifes @sassydepression @danielslilangel @winter-gardenflower @animegirlweeb @romanoff-queen @nanakeid @paradoxal-occurance @theg0ddesspersephone @hinata3487 @irontimetravelflower @the-real-gingakid @heaven428 @peachedpocky @justafanwarrior @gentlemanoftimetravel @18-fandoms-unite-08 @kittycatwowmeow @pale-lady-dreamer @i-is-mysterious @captainartsypants @write-for-your-life2 @queengeorgiaaa @schrodingers25 @thecaptainthunder @elspethshadow @stela-likes-drawing @loysydark @lozzybowe @renscorpio @elmokingkong @the-fusionist @tis-i-beanbandit @smolplantmum @iwantwhirlledpeasandlotsatrees @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @chocolateherringtacofan @how-to-fuction-properly

#maribat #marinette dupain cheng #original characters #chloe bourgeois #adrien agreste #luka couffaine #kagami tsuguri

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luninosity · 4 years ago

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Okay, so, some Falcon and the Winter Soldier thoughts (will have some spoilers) for episodes two and three. General non-spoilery comment first: I feel like these were both *okay* episodes - neither as good as the first, but I didn’t dislike them, either. I’m still really curious to see how we’re going to wrap this all up in three more episodes; it doesn’t feel like we’re halfway done yet!

Okay, more spoiler-y notes below the Read More, not in any real order, just as I think and type. I’ll probably forget some things, but for now, here’re some thoughts...

--I like ep 3 slightly more than ep 2, mostly because of Zemo!

--I actually really love Zemo here (I liked him in Civil War, too): complex, sardonic, enjoying poking at people, a villain we do feel sympathy for even as he’s still sharp enough to remind us that he is a villain. Daniel Bruhl has always done a fantastic job flipping between calculated cruelty, wry humor - the whole “I am a Baron” moment was great - and pain that for him is still raw, about the loss of his family. (Some things’re awfully cliche - look, the supervillain’s playing chess and reading Machiavelli in his cell? really? - but, y’know...sure. Why not. We expect some cliches in the superhero genre, and this is an inoffensive one.)

--also Zemo dancing. That’s it. That’s everything.

--moving on from that: I’m also really liking how they’re writing John Walker. He does have charm, and there’s a certain amount of sympathy - especially as we see him worrying about filling the Captain America shoes, in ep 2 - but we’re also getting this really subtle sense of wrongness about him. He’s clearly vindictive and angry when things (and people) don’t act according to his mental script for them, and he’s willing to use his name and power to do things like get Bucky released...which in context and given our sympathies for Bucky is a good thing, but...it’s also an indicator of his willingness to do what he wants, because he can. (To be fair, Steve Rogers also often did that! - but Steve earned our trust, both in narrative and character. From his first introduction to WWII leadership experience to all the Avengers stuff, Steve consistently acts to protect people, and he’ll also listen if someone else has a good idea or if someone needs to talk, like with Wanda.) So I’m really liking this slow-fuse character development.

--mixed feelings about Sharon. I love that the show’s acknowledging how much she sacrificed for our main heroes, with no reward. On the other hand, she also clearly knew the consequences that could happen; she said as much at the time. The level of bitterness seems like a lot. But I’m also interested in everything we still don’t know about her - if she’s not the Power Broker herself, she’s obviously Up To Something. So that should be fun.

--hey, look at that X-Men location, with Majipoor! Also a nod to Wolverine’s favorite bar there, I think?

--I love heist and disguise plots!

--I also really like Bucky’s having to revert to the Winter Soldier - Sebastian Stan does it so brilliantly, with so many layers of emotion: not wanting to, loathing it, recognizing the necessity, shutting off all emotion and just coldly doing it, hurting but covering it up...just fantastic, and you know I love some hurt/comfort, and this seems like such a great set-up for emotional hurt

--but! this also seems like...a weird plot hole, kind of? Bucky’s pretty famous at this point, right? I imagine the criminal underworld knows he’s been pardoned and deprogrammed, right? or do they assume Zemo, with his knowledge of Hydra, still has some special control over him?

--along the same “this seems like someone didn’t think this through” path, Sam, you’re a professional, turn off your phone on a mission. Oh my god. Face-palmingly stupid - and I think somewhat lazy writing, as the writers plainly needed a giveaway, and went for the first idea they had. Even if it made a main character look incompetent.

--the Flag Smashers and Karli are...fine. They feel very Generic Marvel Villain - not the big space alien type, but the other type, the “I have a personal loss and motivating pain so I’m a little sympathetic but also Clearly Evil, watch me kill civilians so the audience won’t ever find me TOO sympathetic” type. Meh. Fine. Zemo’s more interesting, but...fine.

--Anthony Mackie is such a fantastic actor - every bit of his reaction to the Isaiah Bradley reveal is so good. The anger, pain, frustration, ferocity...heartbreaking. Actually that whole scene is so good - his emotions at discovering this secret history are palpable, and it’s so painful, because we also understand why Bucky would keep the secret - as someone who knows about pain and trauma and being experimented on, and knowing Isaiah wants to be left alone - we feel really deeply for both characters here, and it’s great.

--I actually liked the abrupt swing from the Isaiah Bradley encounter to the casual everyday racism of the cops on the street - is it subtle, no. But it’s not meant to be: it’s meant to be standing up and shouting about how not that much has really changed, and about how pervasive racism is. I know some reviews were all, “this was just too much!” or “too forced!” but...look, it needs to be shouted sometimes for people to hear.

--Bucky’s notebook being Steve’s, oh, ouch, my feelings. If I had the time and energy to write fic...

--(also, if I had the time and energy to write dark!fic: where’re my fics in which Zemo’s implication about the Winter Soldier “doing anything you want” gets played with? what or who does Bucky have to do to keep the undercover charade going? so many Bad Wrong Kinky power dynamics and explorations of consent and what this would do to Bucky’s head, here, and honestly I’d totally read them all, just saying.)

--Sam and Bucky together...I don’t know. This is one of the elements that I’m not actually a huge fan of, but I think it’s partly a personal genre / sense of humor thing that’s not clicking for me, personally, again. Like...

--I don’t find people shouting aggrievedly at each other to be funny? I’m not sure why it is.

--I mean, I get that they’re doing, like, eighties buddy cop movies, but...it got old really fast then, and it’s not something we needed to bring back. It’s not clever, and it’s...well, shouty and annoying.

--(I say this as someone who genuinely likes the first two Lethal Weapon movies...but the significant difference is, I think, we’re also shown in both those movies that Riggs and Murtaugh care about each other. They don’t want to be partners initially, and they don’t get along initially, and they do argue over tactics**...but they immediately feel responsible for each other and act to protect each other even as they argue, because it’s the right thing to do and we’re shown moments of them awkwardly trying to connect, because they both have that deep sense of...protectiveness...that makes them Good People - like, if they learn something that the other person needs to know, they tell each other. They protect each other’s families / love interests. So by the end of the second movie, with that fabulous character death fake-out, Murtaugh’s initial shock and grief is real and powerful and painful, and so is his genuine relief when the worst isn’t true - and it’s all earned.) (**however, they tend to argue tactics *before* jumping in - “is it 1, 2, 3, go on 3? or 3, then go?” And then once that’s established, they go ahead. That makes a difference as far as...well...competence and teamwork!)

--(Sam and Bucky, as far as I can tell, don’t do the above, and just...maybe shouldn’t be working together?)

--I also don’t find grown men acting like my youngest nephew, when he’s having a temper tantrum, to be funny. Staring contests? Random insults? Sulking in silence? Oh, grow up.

--(Also, yes, writers, we see you with the “couples therapy” and “get closer and make your legs touch” and “landing on top of each other as they hit the ground” moments. I, at least, personally, am very tired of...I don’t know that I’d call it queerbaiting exactly, but this idea that we’re supposed to find these moments funny...because why? Because, ooh, they’re two men getting close to each other, physically or emotionally? Why is this a thing we need to draw attention to? Do you think you’re doing some sort of fan service? Please either make Sam/Bucky happen or stop doing this.)

--both Sam and Bucky are highly competent and professional agents, or they should be. They should know how to work in the field - even with people they may not like - and adapt to shifting strategy, make best use of available assets, include people in the plan, etc. I can’t help but compare this to something like, say, Leverage, which also has a team who mocks each other and makes jokes but clearly absolutely respects each other’s capabilities, has a plan going in and tells everyone what the plan is, and adapts (and trusts each other to adapt) on the fly as necessary, and does it all without random insults about someone’s (PTSD-related) staring and “robot brain”.

--one of the very specific moments that bothers me a lot is the ending of the therapy scene (yay for showing heroes in therapy! but also I’m pretty sure she’s...not a great therapist?). Bucky finally opens up and says something real, about his own self-doubt and wondering whether Steve was wrong about him....and Sam just...brushes it off and goes, “we’re done here,” basically. Not only does that feel wildly out of character for former counselor Sam, it feels cruel. I really deeply dislike that moment the more I think about it. Makes me want to scream.

--Sam insults Bucky way more than the other way around. It’s starting to feel very one-sided (it’d be better if more clearly reciprocal, though it’s still not a dynamic that’s my favorite), and again, feels out of character - maybe this is Anthony Mackie’s sense of humor, but Sam isn’t Mackie, and Bucky isn’t Seb, and it reads as...a weird unbalanced power-trip thing to me. And also out of character for Sam, who can be sarcastic (”If you guys eat that sort of thing,” about breakfast, when Steve and Nat have randomly shown up at his door) but that’s not the same as just throwing unprovoked insults at a person who’s trying to recover from trauma, and a lot of those insults seem to center on things that were done to Bucky, that he had no choice in (the staring, the arm, etc), and that feels....it just feels mean, to me. Make fun of things he’s had a choice in / can do something about, if you have to - hair, clothes, liking “old people’s games” like gin rummy or pinochle, not knowing who Beyonce is, I don’t know, there are so many options that aren’t cruel! Do that instead. Let Bucky have a good comeback for once, too!

--the action scenes are action scenes. Also fine.

--Sam might be right about destroying the shield, and the show may even be (unintentionally?) setting that up as the best outcome, but that’s a problem for the future, Sam; get it back first. Also it’s a problem you caused by giving the shield up - did you really trust the government to leave it unused in a museum? You’re not that naive.

--overall, it’s...a perfectly fine show, so far, I think? Solid, and interesting, but not great. I think some of what doesn’t work for me is because it doesn’t work for me personally, as far as the shouty insult-heavy action “comedy” bits that I’m not enjoying, but I think they’re doing what they aimed for with it, so in that sense, I guess it’s working? There’s a lot of really cool stuff around the edges - John Walker, Isaiah Bradley, that Dora Milaje stinger, the bigger world of a history interwoven with racism and superpowers, the chillingly effective use of Bucky’s past - but I wish I liked the central Sam-Bucky relationship more. Individually they’re wonderful - they’ve both had such powerful scenes dealing with family, trauma, and consequences - but I feel like, in the effort to do the buddy comedy dynamic, the writing has just made me really sure that they actually genuinely don’t like each other? To such an extent that if they show any affection / caring / interest in each other in the last three episodes, it won’t be believable. (I mean Sam and Bucky, not Mackie and Seb. Mackie and Seb’re adorable.)

--I just want to think about Zemo dancing some more.

#the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws spoilers #spoilers #fatws spoilers #thoughts

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akimmito · 5 years ago

Text

They thought they won #1

"Ok. So, this is a fanfic that follows the directions posted by @chocolate1721. I liked it and wanted to write it, so here it is.

I divided it into two parts because it had 7546 words and I had only written about Gotham, I was still missing Paris. So, to allow a more pleasant reading I separated it.

This is a Timinette fanfic because I think there are very few of them and I want more content from these two.

So, let's get started.

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

Taggued: @elmokingkong

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

A trip to Gotham did not go as badly as Marinette thought it would. And they were talking about Gotham, a city so dangerous that you cannot set foot on the streets without suffering an attempted assault. She can only think that Ladybug's luck allowed them to pass the two weeks of the trip without any incident that attempted against the life of any of their companions (although the class screamed to be attacked with Lila spreading scandalous lies). So everything was fine ... Until his last night in the city.

A quiet night, if they could ignore the screams that were occasionally heard (Damn it, Bustier, why so close to the Crime Alley?). The class dined as if there was not a three-front war brewing between the students, it was a time when Lila's lies were hardly heard. It was a great night for Marinette... but then again, why so close to the Crime Alley?

As soon as they left the small restaurant they met two well-known Gotham villains, causing panic in almost all the members of the French class. Only two girls saw that there really is no danger, too many injuries to pose a threat. Harley and Ivy barely can see the students, they can't even stop.

Marinette, sweet Marinette, approaches them to see their wounds. She's not going to let someone bleed to death in front of her, not if she can help it.

Chloe follows her closely; each taking one of the women to identify the wounds and see how to get them to the hospital. However, Marinette believes that if she lets them bleed freely it won't do to take them anywhere; She began tearing her clothes to make makeshift bandages with the pieces for the most bleeding wounds ... That was until the class stopped being a bunch of screaming and inconsistency.

"Oh, I didn't want to believe it, but you're working with villains!" Lila's comment sparked the class hostility, Chloe just huffs mockingly.

"Damn it, Marinette. Don't you get tired of being such a bitch? "

"Joining Chloe, what did they expect? If they both work for Hawkmoth, obviously they would for the villains here." Someone, Marinette doesn't want to identify the voice, accuses them (again) of working with the Parisian villain, when clearly the man has put a target on her back to corrupt her and turn her into an Akuma. Anyway, idiots.

"You suck, Marinette!"

"What a disappointment, Marinette, you would know better that you must be a good example for class."

"Fools. " Chloe curses under her breath at her teacher's comment.

"I'm. No matter who the person is, I'm not going to see them die if I can help avoid it. ”Marinette frowns at the teacher. There was a time when she thought it was amazing, but those were childish thoughts of a thirteen year old girl who thought the world was divide in black and white. The world is more than that.

Everyone is so engrossed in the uproar that they are not alert enough, Marinette gets mad at herself for not being more careful. The Joker, FUCKING JOKER, is in front of them with a stuffed animal? Marinette isn't going to question it, as far as she knows, it could be a bomb. Even so…

The class doesn't wait a second when they run away, Joker just laughs at the reaction. Chloe stands in front of the two wounded women, waiting for any sign of her best friend, whether to flee or fight.

Marinette scans her surroundings without taking her attention from the madman in front of her. Her first option would be to run, but she's not going to leave Harley and Ivy helpless in the face of the brutal clown-themed killer (all fully justified childhood fears). A moment of silence when the class screams are lost in the streets, it almost seems like a dramatic moment from an action movie.

Joker is excited. The two girls stayed behind to protect their toy and the redhead. He might be impressed; not just anyone would stay to face it. No one is so crazy. His gaze falls on the dark-haired girl, she looks too calm and in ambient. He smiles when he sees her walking to face him and bends down to grab a lever too convenient in the middle of the sidewalk. She's a fun girl! Before she does, he lunges for her. It will be a fun game between the two.

Chloe watches Marinette fight the Joker with a crowbar, take and hit. She can tell he wants to knock him out, but, well, he's not doing it. Brutal would be a good word to describe the little Parisian drawing blood from the man as he laughs as if he had been given the top prize in the lottery (Chloe firmly believes he really feels that way). And it seems he really likes Marinette, a shiver running down her spine at the thought. Chloe bends quickly towards the two women trying to get up, the more time passes the more possibilities there are for that crazy man to become obsessed with her friend and she will not allow it (Kagami will dismember her with her katana if she allows it).

Harley and Ivy barely manage to stand up, but lean heavily on Chloe. It does not bother her, her training has allowed her to support a little extra weight and as long as she does not have to carry them, there's no problem.

"If you don't hit harder, you won't win," Joker laughs with each comment, wanting to force the girl to be more brutal, even though she is too calm and his comments don't seem to reach her.

"Who said something about winning?" It's the first time she've answered him, he smiles. Marinette bites her tongue to containing any other comment, if she opens her mouth she will get the maniac to follow her to Paris and a madman behind her is enough.

Somehow, while fighting, he has cornered the group in a corner. Marinette berates herself for worrying too much about useless things and now she must win, but give him that satisfaction. Her hair stands on end, a bad blow and her weapon goes in the opposite direction and away from her. Now she only has a clean fist. She can work with it, even though her brain screams at her to run. She swallows thick when he lunges at her again. His mind is a constant alarm of: there's no cure, there's no cure, there's no cure.

But at that moment dark figures leap from the surrounding buildings and confront him, Marinette backs down without letting her guard down until her mind focuses enough to recognize them. The city vigilants.

From there everything is a whirlwind of thoughts and Marinette does not realize when the Joker has been placated and has them close, to the surprise them, she launches herself towards one totally random and remains in the arms of Nightwing who only smiles kindly at the agitated girl about to cry with relief.

"I, help ... them, yes ... wounds, that." Marinette can't hold a coherent sentence toward Nightwing.

"What he meant is that they are injured and need immediate medical attention." Chloe stands firm and will never admit that her legs are shaking, or that being held by Red Hood was welcome help. First dead than looking vulnerable.

Marinette lets herself slip into Nightwing's arms as all the adrenaline leaves her. It's been a long time since she felt this way helpless towards some danger, but she was just Marinette and there was no chance of Ladybug showing up. Thank heaven for the arrival of the vigilants.

"Robin has already alerted the police, he should be here soon." Batman looks at both girls for a moment, but turns to watch the unconscious Joker.

"Everything is fine. " Nightwing whispers to the little girl in his arms, he feels her tremble against him and he is no longer sure if it is the fear or has another origin.

In a short time the police are there and the two Parisian girls have to give a statement (unfortunately the loss of blood left the two women out of action).

"How it happend?" Chloe takes the initiative, Marinette doesn't seem to be ready to leave Nightwing or say something more coherent than a barely audible babble, clearly struggling to stay together between anxiety and guilt, because yes, Marinette Dupain-Cheng can't help blame herself. Sometimes, Chloe thinks, want to shake her until she regains her senses (but that doesn't work, Luka's melodies, on the contrary. Oh, they're magical).

"To begin with, this is the fault of our teacher's incompetence to choose a restaurant so close to the Crime Alley. Second, I am very surprised that it did not happen before because our companions were struggling to get the attention of a madman. They said so many stupid things." The vigilants raise an eyebrow at the girl's words, if they didn't know better they could believe that the girls didn't suffer a close encounter with the Joker. "And third, Dupain-Cheng is too good to let someone bleed to death in front of her and I too good a friend to see her jump into danger alone. This leaves me with the experience of never going on a trip with that band of incompetents. "

"Can you relate the incident?" Commissioner Gordon is tired, with each passing day new characters appear in the city and he is never ready. The girl hiding in Nightwing's arms and her friend who seems ready to declare war to anyone.

"They appeared bleeding, our companions being stupid, the madman appears and they all flee leaving us behind. Ha, surely they would have thrown us towards him if they had not been so afraid" Chloe doesn't miss the opportunity to make a dismissive comment to her class, Marinette is out of combat to reprimand her for being too cruel with her sincerity. "Dupain-Cheng being so sweet as an acid candy defends us, is done with a lever and gets into a fight with the madman. Somehow we ended up in this horrible place and well, they came along and Dupain-Cheng falls apart in her standard nervous form. It will be fine, it just tends to over-think. The only thing recorded is the split lip, the rest is her realizing a thousand possible scenarios where everything went wrong. "

That said, the four women are rushed to the hospital (Nightwing accompanies them because the young woman in his arms refused to release him and also didn't have the heart to leave her alone when it was obvious that she needed comfort). As soon as they arrive they are checked and Nightwing leaves, giving the girls a brief look before leaving.

"We will stay here, we want to make sure they are okay." Chloe takes control of the situation, refusing to abandon the women. Anyway, after the act on the street, he doubts that they will be well received by the class. She is sure they are not worried and can almost hear their irritating voices speaking nonsense about it.

The doctors allow it stay there with the endorsement of the police, they fall asleep on a sofa in the room where Harley and Ivy are locate. Marinette calmed down throughout the trip to the hospital, muttering apologies to the caretaker who accompanied her for sticking like a koala to his person. And her rest is very calm, without nightmares or anything; Maybe it's the emotional exhaustion of the experience, but there are no dreams riddled with deaths or with the Joker, there is only a deep black who embraces her like a good friend.

The next morning they are awakened by the voices of Harley and Ivy talking to the doctor, Chloe also recognizes the voice of the officer who took the statement yesterday.

"They were very daring and their classmates abandoned them, even the adult with them. "

"You should do something, Jimmy!"

Gordon notices the looks of the two girls and approaches to talk to them, being much more rested can better appreciate the mettle of the two young girls. Especially the dark-haired one, last night was a bunch of inconsistencies and today she looks completely calm, looking towards Harley and Ivy looking for confirmation of their health.

"Good morning, ladies. "

"Good morning, Officer. " Marinette greets with a friendly smile, focusing her attention on the officer. She knows that they must return to their class and return to Paris.

"No one reported two girls missing, but you mentioned they are on a class trip. Can I know the name of the person in charge to call them?"

"Claine Bustier from Paris, France. College Françoise Dupont, we stayed at the Gotham Royal Hotel. Our room is the 155. "Marinette enters all her data, but she also decides that it is better that she has absolutely all of them. "My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, 17 years old. My parents are Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain, they have a bakery. Tom & Sabine Boulangerie."

"Chloe Burgeois, I reside at the Hotel Le Grand Paris. My father is the mayor, André Burgeois, and my mother is Audrey Burgeois, the Queen of Style. "

Gordon takes note of all the information they have given him, if he cannot contact her teacher he has two pairs of parents to call for their daughters. And for them to be giving that contingency, he can intuit that they know that perhaps they imagine that it will be the case.

He immediately retires and leaves them alone with the two women. He has a job to do.

Gordon spent the whole morning trying to locate the teacher, according to the hotel they left him early in the morning and they have no idea about anything. He doesn't want to alarm the girls' parents yet, so he will first talk to them to find out if they know where they could be, he sends them to bring to the police station to facilitate the whole process, and he also asks for food for the girls. It's almost lunch time.

"Welcome, sit down." The two girls obey with slightly worried expressions, they seem to be fearing the worst. "I have been unable to locate their teacher or class, according to the hotel, they left early in the morning. "

Marinette holds her breath, reality hit her in the face. Chloe's not much better. It was their last night in Gotham, today they had to take a flight to Paris... they didn't it because they are sure that they abandoned them. They start muttering in French at Gordon's confusion, they look alarmed.

"Sir, we are supposed to go back to Paris today. And... well, lately our teacher hasn't been taking roll. Also, she take what our comrades say as fact." Marinette panics again, but this time there are no saviors and they are trapped in another country. "I just hope they didn't go to Paris without us..."

"Don't be innocent, Maribug." Chloe addresses her with her friend's loving nickname, sees her on the verge of panic and hopes to remind her that they are in this together. "Of course they left without us, she didn't count for a visit to the museum. What will be different today? A word from Lie-la and everything goes under her will."

There was a small second of surprise that gave way to panic interspersed with fury in Gordon's features, he turns to pick up the phone and call the airport in a frenzy. He began to demand passengers on flights to Paris, but was repeatedly denied and his patience goes overboard.

"Ladies, would you mind waiting outside?" "Marinette and Chloe obey. They stay near the door because they don't know where to go and catch the officer's scream." THERE ARE TWO CHILDREN WHO COULD HAVE BEEN ABANDONED BY THEIR TEACHER IN THE CITY! NOW TELL ME IF CALINE BUSTIER BOEARDED THE FUNCKING PLANE WITH HER STUDENTS OR NOT! "

Boiling with anger and after a few more screams, Gordon has the information. But he's still so furious that he could commit murder on the spot. Worst of all, he also has video evidence of a student tearing up two airline tickets that, if you have to guess, are those of the girls they left behind. What do those people have in mind? He already feel the migraine coming.

He drops into his chair, counts to ten, and decides to call Bruce. Technically, being a Wayne Foundation sponsored trip, he's responsible for the two girls and with him in charge it will be easier to deal with the parents.

"Hey, Bruce. I have a situation, the Wayne Foundation sponsored a class trip for the Françoise Dupont School and the teacher in charge left two of his students abandoned in the country; I have video evidence of their negligence and I am sure that in every place they went to there is has least one camera that must have caught something. " He massages his forehead, it's not his jurisdiction, but when doing it in his territory he can form a case and send it to the Paris police for follow. "You should come and take care of them while we resolve to take them home, one of her classmates broke their tickets and I'm not even sure if their belongings are in good condition. "

"I understand, Jim. I'll take over, I'll be there soon. "

Gordon is relatively more relieved, but no less angry. He gets up to ask them to come back in and tell them what will happen, so they won't be surprised to see Bruce Wayne coming for them.

"Bruce will take care of you, make all the preparations for your return trip to Paris. And while you come, how normal is the situation with your teacher and your classmates?" He watches the silent interaction and the blonde is the one talking.

"We are the only two people in our class who do not believe Lie-la's lies. Maribug earned her hatred by trying to expose her stories for what they are: lies. And I, well, I was never going to let myself be bowed down by someone like her. "Marinette denies because of the choice of words.

"She considers us an obstacle in her reign. When she arrived, I never believed her because the stories were too unrealistic even for our standards in the class, considering that we all know a fair amount of celebrities and we all form a very diverse group with a promising future, I mean we have Max, he create an AI capable of feeling emotions. So when I didn't believe her and tried to make my friends see reason, she swore that she would take everything away from me ... And she did, it wouldn't have been so bad if it were just that, I realized who my true friends are and that I shouldn't trust anyone. The real problem is the way in which he influenced them all, I cann't longer recognize Alya, she is even worse than Chloe years ago. "Marinette sighs, remembering the last years is exhausting in many ways. "So they have marginalized us, they attack us only because Lila says that we did something to her even when we were not there and we have witnesses who can confirm our stories..."

"Seeing them is like seeing a surreal work with abstract tendencies, impossible to believe what you are seeing. The worst is Bustier, she's a facilitator. I hadn't seen the problem before, but now that I'm in Maribug's place too, well, we were clearly wrong about what kind of teacher she was. She believes all her lies and even congratulates her on them! She let use everyone to her holy whim and antagonize those who don't. ”Chloe gets up indignant and ready to continue ranting, not many adults stop to listen to them. "I'm tired of hearing the same speech from her must be the best person, Marinette. Be a good example! Someone should teach him didactics, she obviously doesn't know what she's doing. And now she leaves us in another country! Negligent, stupid, facilitator ..."

"Chloe, stop it. He understood your point. "Marinette is the voice of reason and tries to appease her friend's overflowing anger. It's true that having someone willing to listen is cathartic, but they should not take so many liberties.

"It's not fair, Maribug, not with you. Always ready to help others and they simply attack you when you decide to think about yourself and your future. They think you owe them something and it's totally the other way around because without you, that class wouldn't be half as good as it's ... because when you took the class presidency they all grew in their areas..."Chloe sits down again, her brow furrowed and still very angry. "They don't deserve you. "

"Miss Bustier often asks me to help her with different tasks, before it meant an additional workload… I became her disappointment when I told her that I would not do more work outside of my duties as class president, it dictated by the rules of the institution. She lectured me that I should not be selfish, that it's for the benefit of the class ... and well, I told him that if she gave me half her salary I would gladly continue doing her job. She punished me, but it was the truth. "Marinette looks at her hands, that conversation was before the trip to Gotham and her punishment would start as soon as they returned to Paris, a pity that left her abandoned.

Surprised is a word that falls short, Gordon doesn't understand how an adult woman can be so irrational. What kind of alternate dimension does that class live in? A person with at least two functioning neurons would not be so ridiculous; At least, he thinks, perhaps the lies are well crafted as unrealistic as they may have seemed, correct?

"All this arose from the lies of that girl, how are those lies? "He feels like asking was a bad idea and the looks of the two girls are confirmation.

"She has tinnitus because she saved Jagged Stone's kitten from being run over by an airplane." Marinette replies completely blank.

"She knows half of Hollywood and recently said that she knows the whole Wayne family and that Damian Wayne has been her friend since she was five years old. "Marinette snorts not holding her stoic expression, they only said some lies, but it is that the others border on the delirium that they do not they want to end up in Arkham just for repeating it. That last one, of course, was very close. "I wish someone would warn her that the boy lived with his mother until he was ten years old. "

From there, Chloe gives more details and there is no longer Marinette who can stop her. By the time Bruce arrives with two of his boys, Gordon is on a call with the French police for a case to be brought to the French Board of Education about the school and its unethical methods of education, citing Marinette's unfair expulsion which looks it's still on the school record.

Bruce looks at the two girls in Gordon's office, the blonde looks ready for war and the other girl is sitting quietly. Dick and Tim walk behind him; Richard couldn't resist seeing the girl who hung on him as a koala baby again and Tim is there for exactly the same as Bruce, taking charge because is also his responsibility.

"Good afternoon." Bruce greets, catching the attention of the two Parisian girls. They return the greeting and Gordon only makes a gesture of recognition, the police chief reviews the video he sent and the evidence he has of the case, he can hear him muttering indignantly and something about his daughter being part of all that circus.

"Hey!" Richard greets as well, being friendlier than his adoptive father. "I'm Richard, but you can call me Dick and this is Tim, my little brother. ”Tim gives him a contemplative look and just nods at them. His eyes fixed on everything but the two girls.

"I'm Marinette and she's Chloe, nice to meet you." Marinette smiles brightly. Dick can't believe he's the same girl of last night, but apparently she is.

Gordon ends the call at that time, the police said to initiate a police investigation and to involve the Board of Education.

"Well, ladies. When they get home they will ask for your formal statement and the presentation of the charges, although it seems that the prosecution will take care of that. ”He smiles at the girls, who agree with his words. Chloe celebrates, of course it will involve her father too. "Hi Bruce, thanks for coming."

"Of course. And since you mentioned the investigation, Tim collected all of the security camera files from the past two weeks. Every place they were in is in the file. " Tim hands the memory over to the commissioner, he still has a copy on the computer to review in detail himself.

"Thanks, I will review it and send the parts of interest to France."

After that, the five retreat to the Wayne Manor. The suitcases, or what is left of them, awaits they there. Any impression they might have on seeing the mansion falls short because of the disgust of seeing its things ruined.

"Well, Maribug, can I take this as evidence for my theory?" The hosts are still close enough to hear his words, even though they were about to leave them alone.

"Lila's being a meta or the Akuma's?" Marinette rummages in the secret compartments of her suitcase to make sure it was not raped, fortunately it's intact. It's safe to say that none of them thought that it would have a false base with a secret content, the place where the box of miracles rests. Ever since Hawkmoth decided to target her, she has been a little paranoid, or well, very paranoid. She has two secret compartments inside a secret compartment in her room, to store it, but being so far away she didn't feel calm and decided to carry it with her. Maybe it should include some riddle like firewall.

"Akuma, but Lie-la's also fits."

"I think it's the second one, only the class behaves this stupid so we can't blame Hawkmoth, half Paris continues to maintain it's logical reasoning. "Marinette shrugs and classifies the clothes that still serve and the clothes which inevitably must Discard.

Chloe just hums in agreement, it's a valid point. Long nights of conversation with Kagami and Luka (Marinette's small notes) to determine the motives of the class being so incoherent and violent without a truly logical reason led to those two theories.

"You have to call home, Chloe. You already heard Mr. Wayne. "

"Yeah yeah, I'm going to. At least I brought the least glamorous clothes for this trip. "

That's a ground call for Tim, who had overheard their conversation upon hearing something curious. He must prepare the trip to Paris with Wayne's private plane, Bruce wants to take charge of the situation and speak in person with the parents of both girls. Every hour he knows they won't be leaving until the next day, giving them time to spend time with their unexpected guests.

The call is quick and enough for Marinette to fear that her mother will become Akuma. A message from her father confirms that her fears were unfounded, that her mother's anger is cold and will not fall into Hawkmoth's hands.

When the two girls relax and take a breather, knowing that they will sleep in that mansion, they don't even have time to think twice when Jason drags them into a room full of weapons, Marinette can barely contain her surprise and Chloe glows with excitement.

"Ready to learn how to shoot a gun?" Chloe jumps with badly contained enthusiasm, Marinette is not so enthusiastic about it, but learning to remove a weapon considers that it is something useful for what she asks to start there. "Okay, pixie-pop, I'll teach you how to take apart and lock a weapon."

They spend an entire two hours immersed in the world of weapons, Chloe going through each type as Marinette confronts Jason to disarm him, showing off her quick learning, though not good enough to beat her temporary master.

When Marinette leaves, claiming she doesn't want to shoot, she bumps into Damian and asks him for directions to get out of there.

"Because I should?"

"If I get lost it will be your fault." He snorts, but accepts. He doesn't want a stranger sniffing around the mansion and sticking his nose where it shouldn't. They walk in silence when she notices he is carrying a sword. "Is it a katana?"

"What else would it be?"

"An umbrella." She laughs at the boy's annoyed expression when he turns to look at her as if he thinks she's crazy. "There is a design inspired by katanas, a friend decided it was a good idea to scare us with it..."

"Pff. And why did you believe it?"

"She really tried to cut off someone's hand one day, it was with a saber, but ... we really believed her capable of attacking someone with a katana" Damian only raises an eyebrow with a curiosity that he refuses to admit even to himself. "And she's deadly with a sword, we vowed never to face her again with real swords unless we somehow became Superman. "

"Can you fight with swords?" He was being tolerant by allowing her to speak at first, but the latter did catch his attention. It may not be a good one, but having someone who won't cut its finger on themselves in a workout can be helpful, and if he can get her better, a decent opponent to practice with.

"I avoided she cutting my arm with a katana, does that count?"

It changes course and they head to another room, similar to the weapons room, but this time it is full of swords and knives. She respects people's hobbies, she does, but the amount is over the top and she has a slight suspicion that there is more somewhere in the big mansion. Will there be a pump room? She wouldn't be surprised if one of the other two brothers suddenly came out claiming fanaticism about the explosives.

"I want to see how bad you are."

Ouch, Marinette thinks. She has been ruled out immediately, but will not decline now that she's surrounded by so many weapons. She does feel more excited about a sword than a gun, they can't blame her for preferring close combat.

"We will fight with katana, take whatever you want. They are all polished and sharp. ”She feels something dark when she mentions the sharp, as well as pride in the perfect maintenance of her weapons. She smiles confidently, the boy reminds her of Kagami (albeit much more somber and clearly hostile).

Having chosen, the two are placed in position. And he begins to criticize hard and coldly.

"Your posture is very loose, you will only get him to cut your throat with the first blow. Your friend is an idiot, she must has corrected you since he saw you. ”Mariette nods. "Imitate me. ”She obeys, reflecting her posture. "But be firmer, this is not a dance, it's a fight and if you don't stand up fine. Well, you will dead. "

After several minutes in the same position, they begin. A couple of movements and he correct her again.

"The movement must be strong and fluid, you will cause a fracture on your own if you allow the elbow to continue flexing like this. You must be precise in the movements, you cann't start to experiment if you don't have dominated the base. Again. "

With each criticism and correction the girl makes, she becomes more excited. Damian is relentless with his comments, openly insulting her for her mistakes, but gives the correct and fair corrections for the problem she presents.

"You are agile and flexible, use it to your advantage. Put aside unnecessary movements, sword fighting is offensive and deadly." Marinette notices that she is having fun, if the smile says anything (however mischievous it is when she mocks her mistakes). At least until he stumbles over his own feet and falls flat on his face in front of Damian. "You're an idiot?! You almost stabbed yourself, you can't fall like this! Get up and regain the dignity you have left. Again and don't fall or I’ll stab yourself. "

Marinette has a good time, she doesn't even notice the time she spends training with Damian. Alfred interrupts them by announcing that dinner has been served since fifteen minutes.

"Thanks Alfred." She smiles kindly.

Damian reluctantly guards the sword, his brothers always choose other weapons when training. It was satisfying to have someone willing to fight him in his area, especially for his quick learning, he only had to correct twice about posture and movement; he also noticed that she was imitating his movements to correct himself as they fought. Less useless than his brothers, he will give she that.

When they enter, everyone is eating or so it seems. Tim looks at his plate as if he is going to speak to him at any moment, Dick talks more than he eats (with Stephanie who came interested in the two girls who could be victims of Bruce's adoption), Jason has not even touched the plate and in change is arguing over the theory of how to disassemble a grenade launcher with Chloe. Bruce is the only one who eats in silence, at least until he sees his youngest son arrive with Marinette.

"Excuse me." Marinette sits in the empty seat next to Tim, who barely registers the movement. She worries a little, she seems to be in her bad weeks (say Hawkmoth and her Akuma at three in the morning).

Dinner passes unceremoniously, past Damian demanding they shut up, almost stabbing Marinette's hand with his fork. And contrary to what anyone might think, she just laughs, the whole situation seemed so refreshing, so many people at a table and the familiarity with which they were received. She feels comfortable, even with Damian's passive-aggressive attitude.

Somehow, an hour later, they are dragged back into another room. This time both Chloe and Marinette want to scream, and Mari feels she can be relieved because it didn't result in bombs or anything more dangerous than the other two. He gets them comfortable clothes so they can get on, knowing that they have been sweating and going in normal clothes.

Chloe does not hesitate to climb on the trapeze after warming up, but Marinette sits on the parallel bars, not that she is not willing to do the same as Chloe, but she flies often enough as Ladybug to look for something calmer, although she should take advantage and she would like to have a private gym like that, because there are also weights and a punching bag.

Dick is in cloud nine watching how the two girls look like fish in the water, he imagined that it would be so. Especially when she saw Marinette training with Damian and the movements she made, she is clearly a gymnast. And being there, well, that the two of them are so enthusiastic only makes it better. Unlike his brothers, he just wants them to have fun.

At some point in the time they take turns between the bars and the trapeze, Dick and Chloe end up competing. While Marinette is happy on the uneven bars until Damian re-monopolizes her and they move to the weapons room; leaving the other two doing jumps and twists in the air (Dick wins, of course).

Of course, Marinette enjoys the workout and is glad she didn't end up hurt in any way. It would be funny to explain to her parents that they ended up fighting with swords with a boy four years younger and that he did not have the mercy to avoid hurting her.

"Better than a few hours ago, you're not that horrible anymore. "

"Decent, right?"

"That is too favorable for you, you still trip over the air and almost take your eye out." Damian frowns in disappointment at the incompetence of maintaining a decent balance when he has both feet on the ground. When he saw her on the uneven bars, it was almost believed that the jumps that ended in disaster were fake, but no, she really stumbled into nothingness itself.

"Uh, sorry. I will do it better.

"You better, I won't admit any more stupid mistakes."

Damian would have preferred to go on patrol, but he won't complain about the training either. He had fun at the girl's expense and, above all, he knows that if he sees her again and she keeps practicing (he will make sure of that) he will be a better rival than today. She can even introduce that friend of her to measure levels, he's better of course but it never hurts to re-confirm.

At ten at night they go to bed, Alfred shows the room to the two girls and lets them settle down. Marinette can't sleep, after four hours of tossing and turning, she resigns herself and leaves, looking at Tikki on her pillow sleeping comfortably, she can't help envying her good rest. Pick up your phone and it's 2:15.

She curses her insomnia and wanders around the mansion, somehow miraculously ends up in the kitchen. It is a dim light that directs her there, since everything else is dark, she didn't even feel when went downstairs.

In the kitchen, Tim is leaning against the table with his computer on and a steaming coffee. Suddenly he gets up and turns to her with a surprised (and very confused) expression, but more surprised Marinette is when he does that.

"Oh Im sorry…"

"No, no ... Uh, can't you sleep?"

"Usually not. What are you doing?" Marinette knows that she is taking, perhaps, too much liberties when curious about what Tim is doing, but she is not sleepy and there is nothing else to do.

"Work, Wayne Industries is developing a new model of heavy machinery for moving cargo containers, much more resistant to be located on the coasts for the rainy seasons… I am reviewing all the designs, suggested materials and profitability of each project to present to the board in three weeks. There are seven different models, and none are tailored to it needs. " Tim shows the blueprint of the last model he has reviewed, flipped it over several times, and revised the materials, but they are not entirely satisfactory for what he is seeking to present.

"It looks complicated, how do you know if it adapts to it needs or not?" Marinette sits next to him, interested in the project. She know he is the CEO of Wayne Enterprise and every division in the company, but seeing the work he does is something different. "If you have to go through those kinds of projects and take care of other tasks, i'm not surprised that you're so sleep deprived"

"Well, the demand is analyzed first." Open another file of the works of the sector where the new project is directed. "Here, the work of the machinery must meet the standards in relation to the pace of work and the climate, considering that it wants to deliver a specific model for working on coasts. This is only to increase efficiency and allow a slightly longer time frame between maintenances. Metals corrode with greater speed and, sometimes, the weather is so bad that it avoids correct maintenance; storms in mid-spring flood the ports. fairly frequently and parts need to be replaced more frequently This new model should allow greater resistance to these conditions. "

"Interesting, and are you always watching projects?"

"Not all projects, Wayne Biotechnology projects do not review this way, it is not my area. It's usually the manager of the division who presents new projects to the board. However, I still have to review other aspects of all the divisions of the company and that includes them all…"

"It's still a lot of work, is it that heavy or do you overload yourself?" Marinette inquires with playful curiosity, Tim shifts nervously.

"A little of both?"

"Oh.So, you need a better coffee. ”She takes the liberty of trying the one she is drinking. "It's still very light. I will share with you my winning recipe, it has kept me up for an entire week with one hour of daily sleep. "

Marinette gets up and moves in the kitchen as if she were the owner of the place, looking for what she needs. Seeing the coffee, she is surprised.

"Black Insomnia?"

"I can only have one cup a week, Alfred thinks it's going to kill me if I drink it every day. I have made an agreement, he doesn't tell me anything about not sleeping and I comply with taking it once a week."

"It's totally valid. " Marinette laughs and puts the coffee back in its place. "Whiskey. It will come handy. "

"What?" Tim watches the girl open the bottle to smell her, it's one of the ones Alfred confiscated from Jason a week ago. "Why Whiskey?"

"Other flavor, vodka is better, but I can work with this. Do you have mint?"

Tim remains dubious as he watches her work with the most random ingredients he could think of for a coffee, also yogurt? He won't question it, but was France so strange?

A few minutes later Marinette hands him a cup.

"It has less caffeine than a regular cup, but the energy it provides is much greater. If you drink one cup per hour, with this you only need one to run at least four. It's magical, come on, don't see it like that. ”She pouts and he decides to take it.

"It is safe? I don't think Alfred is happy that you murder me with coffee."

"I think Damian would have a party."

"Oh, the demon's ally. Since I didn't see it coming, I gave you my trust and that's how you pay me. "

They both laugh, Tim finally trying the coffee. He will give she points for the taste, he don't even feel that it has alcohol and ultimately he feel more alive than a moment ago. He can continue working.

They both stay in the kitchen, Tim works until five in the morning. Marinette fell asleep at one point in that time and he settled her in such a way that when he falls asleep she is his pillow. The sad thing is that not even putting together the hours of sleep of both can they add up to three.

Alfred enters deciding to wake up the teenagers, the plane will leave in two hours and they must prepare. Tim looks for his cup of coffee and has finished it, he doesn't want to move.

"Now, Master Tim. Be a responsible boy and they'll go change. ”Marinette is barely aware of her surroundings as she is dragged into the rooms by Tim, but neither is he does.

Neither of them fully records what happens, except getting to a bed and going back to sleep. Totally out of combat. When they are close to leaving, Bruce doesn't even know what think on seeing the two young sleeping like corpses, dressed exactly the same as the day before.

"Chloe, help Marinette get ready. Dick, help Tim. We're leaving in ten minutes. ”The two mentioned only look at each other in panic before running to wake up the dead.

Marinette barely registers, feeling terribly drained now that all the effort from the day before is building up. He could sleep a thousand years if he were allowed to. They get ready in record time and move to the airport, for the only thing Marinette is aware of is to her luggage, being that she hugs it and when she asks, she murmurs: I love this suitcase, but don't tell my other suitcases, they get angry. No one says anything except for Jason's small laugh and a snort from a more sleepy than awake Tim who responds: who will tell them? No one knows them. Jason breaks down after that and laughs out loud.

Richard regrets not having recorded the most hilarious conversation he has ever witnessed, he has heard his little brother say inconsistent things in his sleep deprivation, but seeing an exchange is something very different. And it's so funy.

And they spend hours on the plane, Marinette basically asleep on Tim while he seems to melt in the seat. Richard took lots of photos every time they moved. By the time they get to Paris, they are both more awake.

Chloe smiles at her city, excited for what awaits all the bastards who left them behind. Maybe it is justice for everyone else, but for her it's revenge and she wants to see them suffer for hurting them both.

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

Thanks for reading!

#timari #Timinette #tim x marinette #marinette x tim #maribat #bustier salt #ml x dc

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awlwren-writes · 3 years ago

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I posted 33 times in 2021

6 posts created (18%)

27 posts reblogged (82%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 4.5 posts.

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Longest Tag: 88 characters

#where the adults have to be incompetent or dead in order for kids to have responsibility

My Top Posts in 2021

Crowe vs Nyx?

Nyx. Crowe definitely is awesome with magic, but the really big stuff seems to take a lot of windup? And we don’t see her carrying a weapon. I’m pretty sure Nyx is good enough and familiar enough with her magic to dodge the first salvos at odd angles and close fast enough to do major damage. The first kukri might be deflected, but he would use it well even after that. She seems the kind to be able to do a curse or major damage as she dies (if you’re close enough; Luche probably made a good choice with a distance attack), so it might be a somewhat pyrrhic victory, all told.

If he didn’t see her coming, though, or if she had anyone at all to draw aggro, RIP Nyx.

4 notes • Posted 2021-11-17 06:20:10 GMT

Luche or Tredd

This was really hard, and I might still change my answer if you asked me tomorrow. After thinking about it, and a lot of back and forth, I’m gonna go with Luche.

I want to respect Tredd because he might be a traitor but at least he’s like…up front and consistent about it. He doesn’t seem to be hiding his doubts, his anger at Lucis or anger in general. And shaving with a knife in a moving vehicle is super dumb, but it‘s also the kind of dumb thing I would do.

But we just…don’t have enough with him for me to latch onto him as a character. A lot to fill in for fics, but I just…don’t really care about his character in canon.

I am irrationally, pettily angry at Luche for killing Crowe and for what he said as he shot Nyx (and to a lesser degree for shooting Nyx in general). And I enjoyed it when Luna tricked him into death. But I at least have a little more to speculate on with him, because we also have him as a leader, a friend to the gang, (and a bit of a toady to Drautos) as well. So there is more to launch speculation from. It feels like I’m singing Hamilton, but at least I know why I dislike Luche?

So, I guess my answer is Luche (today). (Even if his name completely throws off any ideas about naming systems I try to formulate… is it too late to change my mind?)

4 notes • Posted 2021-11-17 04:41:22 GMT

Cor vs Titus for the ask meme?

So I typed out a whole response to this and then realized I misread vs as or. 😅

So, to make this easier on myself for my second answer, I’m choosing to interpret the fact that you said Titus as you saying him fighting as himself and not as Glauca in armor.

So, full credit to Drautos here, I’m going to say it depends, but mainly Cor would win. Cor is Cor, I don’t think I need to elaborate on his end. What we’ve seen of Drautos’ swordsmanship, even if we figure it was augmented by the armor in some way, was very very impressive. I still am not sure he has access to the King‘s magic like the rest, and if he does, we have no ideas about skill. But I’m very sure he is an excellent fighter who has earned his rank and respect.

BUT, he is also a very good spy/double agent, and this is where the “it depends” comes in. In spars, he’s gonna win just enough to make him credible, but hold back and focus on hiding his true strength. I’d say he wins one out of five spars (and fighting sincerely could probably get to like 2 out of 5).

In an actual fight, he’s trusted enough that he could probably get in a sneak attack when Cor is off guard if he were trying to, say, just up and kill Regis and had to go through Cor to do so. Cor is BAMF enough I feel he’d take his pound of flesh in return, but he would be surprised enough to be majorly crippled if not killed.

In an actual fight without that element of surprise, I’d think Drautos would probably lose. I think Cor would be one to use the hurt of betrayal to fight more fiercely rather than having difficulty fighting a (former) friend. On top of that, Drautos would be focusing on retreating to preserve what he can of his knowledge and life to protect his deal with Niflheim - if he’s dead the deal is off and his home is lost, but he might be able to spin a defeat for more time. So my money is definitely on Cor. Now, craziness can always happen, and backup could maybe swing this either way, but I’d give Cor like 9 out of 10 here.

Tl:dr: Cor, usually.

4 notes • Posted 2021-11-17 04:41:00 GMT

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Nyx Ulric, Pelna Khara, Original Kingsglaive Character(s) (Final Fantasy XV) Additional Tags: Whumptober 2021, Escape, Auction, Kidnapping, not nearly as whumpy as it sounds, Broken Bones, BAMF Nyx Ulric Summary:

In which Nyx contemplates his luck, good and bad, rookie glaives explore their magic, form friendships, and are literally put in a freezer to chill while the adults are speaking.

Used OCs because we need some more female glaives, and this is set way way back in the day and Crowe is too young. :(

Whumptober Day 23: Auction/Ransom. Chapter two is Day 25: Escape/Flight/Hiding

10 notes • Posted 2021-12-02 02:22:19 GMT

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Nyx Ulric, Pelna Khara, Original Kingsglaive Character(s) (Final Fantasy XV) Additional Tags: Whumptober 2021, Escape, Auction, Kidnapping, not nearly as whumpy as it sounds, Broken Bones, BAMF Nyx Ulric Summary:

In which Nyx contemplates his luck, good and bad, rookie glaives explore their magic, form friendships, and are literally put in a freezer to chill while the adults are speaking.

Used OCs because we need some more female glaives, and this is set way way back in the day and Crowe is too young. :(

Whumptober Day 23: Auction/Ransom.

10 notes • Posted 2021-10-24 18:01:04 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #interesting #much better ratios than my main blog unsurprisingly #mes amis #long post

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onslaughtsixdotcom · 4 years ago

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Scaling Up Dragon Heist

Around April or May of 2019, I started to run Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, one of the official WotC 5e hardcovers. I’m still not done with it, although that is largely the fault of COVID and my own extensions to the campaign.

I think Dragon Heist is one of the better 5e modules by WotC. I think it’s got a strong playground for the characters, and Waterdeep has 30+ years of publication history to draw on. The release of the module also heralded in a HUGE amount of third party extension content, including the famous Alexandrian Remix. I hadn’t heard of this before I started running my campaign and having ideas about how to do it, so it didn’t influence me--although I’m sure we came to a lot of similar conclusions and ideas, based on common perceptions of what the actual flaws are of the module.

Still, despite those flaws, I think they help the module rather than hinder it. It gives the DM a shitload of room to improvise and draw in the margins, rather than some other 5e adventures which feel like they can’t be fucked with in the least.

Here’s the kicker: I started my adventure at level 4. We had a pre-existing party that I had run through the classic N1: Against the Cult of the Reptile God. (Fun fact: A map that I drew is the 3rd Google Images result for that. Woah.)

The party spent a few real-world weeks traveling across about 7 days of overland travel where I ran some drop in one shots; including Mike Krahulik’s Dusk (a Twilight parody) and a really fun 2 hour diversion where the players saw an ancient blue dragon take off the roof of a church during a wedding. Then they arrived in my city: Dawnharbour.

I don’t run the Forgotten Realms. I find it not to my taste. Most of the names suck. The lore is invariably boring or weird, and not the fun kind of weird. I was going to run Dragon Heist, and I was going to put it in my own city. I gave the players some justification previously for why they would want to go there: The cleric’s sister had been kidnapped by the Cult of the Reptile God and turned into a Yuanti; a snake person. The bard had stolen a golden statue of the Reptile God and wanted to melt it down and plate his violin with it. I told the cleric that they would need a high level magic user and someone in Dawnharbour could probably help them; ditto the bard needing a highly skilled magical blacksmith. The third player didn’t really care where they went since he was on the run from his home country. So, off to Dawnharbour. They reached level 4 when they got to the city.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the details of my city or everything I changed for the campaign. Instead, I’ll talk up some hard and fast ways to make the adventure work for a higher level party. Most of them revolve around the encounters. I’m assuming the party will start around level 4 or 5.

Chapter 1

The book opens with the players in the Yawning Portal, a famous tavern with a big ass well to a megadungeon underneath. (More on this later.) They’re hanging out doing whatever when a troll and some stirges pop out of the well. The book says that the players get attacked by the stirges while the owner of the bar, a typical Forgotten Realms 15th level Fighter running a fucking bar for a living deals with the troll.

A troll is CR 5. They can handle a troll. If they can’t, you have a bigger problem.

Next up the book leads them to a Zhentarim warehouse. When they get there it’s abandoned and there are (ugh) 3 Kenku. Kenku are like tengu if they sucked. They’re bird people who can only speak in mimickry, like parrots. They can only repeat words they’ve heard before. This is stupid as fuck (especially when a player wants to be one) but more importantly, they are incredibly weak. I think the kenku are just hanging out or they got captured by the Zhentarim who left them there after they bail or something like that. Whatever.

I put the Zhentarim there instead. I put like 20 Zhentarim. I used the Spy statblock; they don’t have a lot of CR and at level 4 or 5, the players are real slice and dicey about killing them. They can basically carve through two of these dudes in a turn. It was *really* fun to just have the players mow down these mooks. They used the 2nd floor to their advantage, casting Grease on the stairs and creating a bottleneck and then picking them off with ranged attacks and spells. I think I might have given the Zhents 1hp and treated them as minions (see 4e).

I think I had the police show up after they were all dead; someone heard the commotion and called the cops. I think I also put an NPC there; I shuffled around a bunch of the NPCs the module uses. (They got their quest to save Volo from Bigby in the Yawning Portal; instead of finding Volo here, I think they found my equivalent of Renaer Neverremember.) There was a day’s break between this and them going into the sewers in the next part.

The sewer introduces the Xanathar’s minions. I believe a Duergar is actually there and I took this as a sign--I made most of Xanathar’s mooks Duergar, and then decided--this dude is a Beholder and he has a Mindflayer for a lieutenant. The Xanathar’s forces should ALL be classic D&D dungeon monsters, like rust monsters and umber hulks and ropers. This gives you a wide variety of weird shit you can throw at your players at different CR levels, and the idea of a gangster Beholder who thinks hiring a bunch of umber hulks to go shake down a local deli is fucking hilarious. But, it doesn’t make them any less dangerous. Throw some umber hulks or something in this lair. Go nuts--the weirder, the better. Xanathar’s crew should have no qualm about hanging out with a gibbering mouther or a carrion crawler.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is the least developed chapter in the book. It also revolved around a bunch of Forgotten Realms faction nonsense that I wanted nothing to do with. I used this time instead to formally introduce the Xanathar, the Cassalanters and Jarlaxle. After they foiled his plans to rig a goldfish competition (think a dog show but for fish), the Xanathar became convinced the players worked for the Zhentarim and invited them to have a sit down about their intentions; if they worked for the Zhents he wanted to formally declare war. The players hated the Zhents--they killed an NPC they liked back during N1, partially to set this all up. Xanny was cool with that.

The Cassalanters were a way to introduce a new player. They call up the Blackstaff to say, hey we have a magic item, can you send a guy here to deliver it? (Magic item possession is illegal on the streets in my setting, but if someone important hires you to transport it, then you can do it. This makes being a courier a very lucrative job; lots of people are just carrying around other people’s stuff for a living.) They almost immediately knock out the new player sent to pick up the item, and replace him with their dofflegagher. The idea was that the dofflegagher player would then infiltrate the Blackstaff’s organization.

Blackstaff is no dumbass and hired a random dude off the street--my new player. Then, Blackstaff hired the rest of the party to go rescue him--mostly as a ruse to snuff out the Cassalanters and get evidence that they were shitty.

When they encountered the Cassalanters, I used a Cambion; one of their servants turned into him. This guy slowly became a recurring lieutenant; he was basically the Goldar for the Cassalanter’s Lord Zedd and Rita Repulsa. At the time, I hadn’t read any lore for Cambions; I’m not particularly concerned with monster lore the way the guys who make the game write it. I literally thumbed through my deck of monsters, saw this winged devil horn dude, and said, “Right on, he looks like he’ll work.” A Cambion is CR5, more than suitable for the encounters the party will have with him over the next few levels. The Fiendish Charm ability is fun and can really fuck with the players; I ruled, of course, that anyone under its affect would obviously be free if the Cambion was killed. Even after it was killed, he just kept on coming back, because he’s from Hell and killing him on this plane doesn’t really do anything.

As the players continue to face the Cassalanters, a go-to seems to be spined devils. This is fine but not very powerful for a level 4, 5, 6 party. Therefore I suggest supplanting it with barbed devils. They’re CR5. Adding one or two of those to an encounter with spined devils can make this a real fun encounter that isn’t too horribly overwhelming, especially if at least one of your martial characters has a magic weapon (which they fucking should; they’re level 5!)

IMO you can also introduce Jarlaxle in this chapter; a fun way is through his Zardoz Zord persona. It could simply be that Jarlaxle knows Volo (or any other NPC the players know) and wants to invite them to a free meal to get to know them. In my game, Jarlaxle operates openly as himself (I found it would just complicate things if he was someone else) and invited the players to his yacht shortly after they met the Xanathar, to formally tell them all about the Vault of Dragons, the Stone, and how everyone they have met in the city is after it.

Chapter 3

I am not the biggest fan of this part of the module. I think nimblewrights and similar creatures are really dumb and don’t fit my D&D world. A lot of the stuff in this chapter is investigation stuff, and you can play that out however you like. It doesn’t drastically need scaling up, though you may have to account for something like Zone of Truth that they might not normally have access to. It also helps if you do the opposite of the book, and make the police a bunch of shitheads who don’t care about the city--this way the players are actually motivated to help. I’ve seen a LOT of posts that open with “the fireball happened and my players shrugged and said they would let the police handle it.” Horrible! The police should either be incompetent, apathetic, or (best case) both. They don’t care who did this and if they did, they wouldn’t be able to catch them. Now it’s completely on the players.

IMO it also helps if you do the leg work to make the NPC someone they actually care about. In the book it’s an NPC they’ve never met but they have a mutual acquaintance through--it would be nice if they get invited to a dinner with this NPC or something similar prior to this. Or, change it to be any NPC they like who you don’t mind killing. Hell, they’re level 5 or 6 at this point--if they got a cleric, they can even cast Revivify and wake the dude up. They could even cast Speak With Dead and immediately find out who blew him up or what he was doing here!

Moving on, there’s the Gralland Villa. I retooled the name to actually sound like a good name; sue me.

The book has a bunch of Zhents hanging out here. A simple way to make this dramatic and hard is to pull the trigger and make the players fight their way in. The stone is right here at the villa and they need to steal it. Sounds simple enough.

Things got complicated for my party when a recurring NPC appeared. She was an ex girlfriend of the bard in our party; they were both Tieflings. She now worked for the Zhentarim and was basically their second in command. And she was here to steal the stone, come Hell or high water. The bard, still in love with her, was perfectly content to let her steal it and even cover her getaway. The rest of the players, not so much, but when the chaos was ensuing and she was literally running past them with the stone in hand, made the decision that it was smarter to try and help her escape and then figure out how to get the stone from her later, than try and get it from her now.

This led literally directly to chapter 4.

Chapter 4

By now it’s obvious: I used all 4 bad guys.

I ran through the chapter and picked the coolest maps and best encounter ideas, including the rooftop chase, the theater, the sewer and the courthouse. I weaved them together carefully, and all the changes I had made to the groups paid off when they entered the theater, chased by barbed devils and our Cambion friend, only to have an Umber Hulk with the Xanathar’s logo painted on his face crash through the stage, flanked by two Duergar. Add in some Drow gunslingers and it was a fucking party.

(the large hexagon is where somebody cast Darkness; the big scuffed circle is a grody spot on my grid tiles. I still need new ones...)

The courthouse had a great scene where the Cassalanter dofflegagher impersonated the chief of police, interrogating the players for the code word to activate the stone (I added one; who cares?) until the real chief of police showed up! The players had to do an entire encounter with this guy while handcuffed; thank god for verbal only spells, right?

From here the stone ended up with the players, and then it ended up with Jarlaxle who they are working for. Jarlaxle attuned to it and told them the Vault of Dragons is inside Undermountain; 3, 5 levels deep? Who knows? And it requires 3 keys: The Crown of Asmodeus, the Ring of Winter, and the Robe of the Archmagi.

I gave these 3 magic items to the Cassalanters, the Xanathar and Manshoon. This is a pretty common hack and it means the lairs in the book actually get used. I made up one of the magic items (Crown of Asmodeus) and stole another from a module I don’t intend to run as written (the Ring of Winter is, I believe, in either Tomb of Annihilation or Storm King’s Thunder). They’re fun!

So the rest of the campaign has been the players bouncing between going deep into Undermountain, the megadungeon underneath the Yawning Portal, and going to the 3 different villain factions to steal their shit.

The villain lairs are NOT statted for level 5 players AT ALL. The players have no hope of actually killing ANY of the villains at level 5; to fight the Xanathar is a pure TPK at level 5. But at level 8, like where my players are now? One of them died and then got Revivified; the others all survived or made their saves when they were hit by death or disintegration. (In the spirit of the Xanathar, I rolled every eye beam randomly, rerolling if I had used that ray in the last round.) That’s about the best you can hope for with a Beholder IMO!

The rest of the lairs you can mostly run as-is. Any very low CR mooks, basically anything lower than 1 or 2 CR, I would probably replace with a higher CR variant. We’ve already discussed what you can replace them with above, and if you’ve made it this far into the module, you should have a pretty good sense of what your players can handle.

#dnd #dragon heist #waterdeep dragon heist

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viterwrites · 4 years ago

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An Equal Conversation (P: Bonds)

Whumptober Day 1.

“—am I to do with him? Don’t you have better-suited people for the job, Ir-?”

“The Lady for you. And yes, we do, but why should we aid you more?”

“To start with, he’s—”

“Yes, yes, and the other tales we have passed down to you. The prodigy is your problem and your responsibility. Had it not been for your staggering incompetence, Paljot—and the whole of Quintera—would have been ours months, if not years ago. Hereby, you are to fix it, in the name of your late father, in the name of your fallen realm, and in the name of our Deity. Perhaps, not for yourself, for there is nothing that can redeem such a miserable human being, but you still might live a good life under Their rule.”

“You-”

“Are the sole reason you are still alive? Are your only hope, your single chance as of right now? Could execute you at any moment or give you away to the enemy for a momentary respite?”

“Hr-”

“Have we made ourselves clear? I believe we have, and you should believe so as well, as we do not fancy repeating ourselves. Bring him back under Their wing. By whatever means necessary. The method used at the end is irrelevant. If you do fail, however, you will replace him in the defence of our city. Oh, you would do a poor job.”

***

His hearing slowly returned, along with his consciousness. Gods, where was he?.. There was only darkness in sight—or his was lost—and no space to move. Restrained. He wasn’t getting up either way. The binds weren’t even the worst problem — it’s the way his whole body felt. Like it had rotten from inside out and frozen afterwards.

The location was concerning too.

It was painful even remembering, as every thought seemed to draw more life out of his near-dead body. Riena. The army had stopped to celebrate the victory of the previous day, he, as usual, refrained from partaking in the festivities and stayed behind. And the servants brought him food… Soon after it went black. And hadn’t gone white to this time.

It didn’t take much time for him to realise what had happened. Poison.

At that moment, the door opened, letting the torchlight inside. Still hard, but he could now see just where he found himself in: a tiny cell, just enough space for two people to be in—and only in front of each other. Near-naked on cold stone. And a stretching shadow in front.

With all the frail might he had left, he raised his chin and shot a glare towards the person in front. A glare soon-to-be followed by shock. And rage, weak as he was.

“Fjall Arveg, head of the Okel Village garrison. Bow to your Baron. Or is it that you have forgotten the Code while in service of the enemy? Please, do let me know, so that your offence may be treated accordingly.”

The other could only chuckle. “The code states I must do a salute, but that seems out of the question right now, doesn’t it?” he tug his arms, feeling the rope retaliate. Then some more, and more, to the extent of where it burned.

Pain helped him focus in such times. Always had, for better or worse.

The Baron’s gaze shortly narrowed, then relaxed. “We have got off on the wrong foot, it appears. Still, I am your superior, is it not right for me to be treated as one?”

“I have pledged loyalty to the Earl of Tertiara.”

“I was nowhere to be found, yes? It was rational of you to assume I had deceased and thus represent the people of Vardil in the new leader’s forces, but as you can see, I am still here in the Alliance, in flesh and blood, for they were so kind as to provide me with a residence, while I cannot return to my own. And you are obliged to help me do so, as a loyal soldier of your Barony, are you not?”

‘Avardil prepared well for this,’ Fjall thought. His words were true as well: the pledge he had made to the Baron was before all others by time and so, by priority. Yet he was no longer willing to uphold it.

“I am loyal to the Earl of Tertiara, Araien of House Paljot. I believe she represents the interests of Vardil as well as of her homeland, of Gret as much as well as of her ancestral home. My loyalty was pledged to the Barony first and foremost, of which Lord Avardil will no longer hold the control,” that caused a frown to appear on the Baron’s face. A frown and a scowl.

“Is that so? Please, do reconsider your options. Perhaps what I shall tell you next can change your mind,” he turned to the door and called for someone down the corridor. “Lord Halliste.”

The towering figure of the man who entered next was not one unfamiliar to Fjall. In fact, it was one he had engaged just the day before— no. perhaps, it was longer, but it was doubtlessly the man whose swordsmanship he couldn’t best in Riena. In truth, he would have been slain by him, had a superior not called this monster of a combatant back.

Halliste—lord, commander, whoever he was—seemed as intimidating as in the first time their paths crossed: just like he seemed back at the western shoreline. He approached with a chair that Avardil happily sat down into, now looking at the restrained warrior from above. Halliste himself stayed right behind his back, looking down on Fjall from all his height, nearly reaching the ceiling.

Regardless, it was clear that Avardil was bursting at the seams with information and the desire to lay it all out. Fjall prepared to listen, think and talk. These were the only three weapons he had left, ones he had never excelled at, yet the only ones that could be of any use now.

“I shall start by saying that you should not even hope to escape from here. Neither should you hope for a rescue,” the drasticity of a tone change didn’t go unnoticed, but he couldn’t show it outwardly. “If you have put two and two together, you know you are in the most secure place in Strell, one only the Lady of the Seas and her closest know of. It is nowhere to be found in the documents, the ones who were partial to its creation are nowhere to be found as well,” the Baron’s lips curled into a crooked smile. “This is no prison. You are in her secret headquarters, in the most secret of all cells there are in Quintera. None know where you are.”

A pause, as Avardil wanted Fjall to mull over these words. In the other’s turn… it wasn’t the first time no help was on the way, but it was the first time he was truly alone. In this cell, definitely underground, with not a soul to meet, except for his former ‘employer’ and his loyal dog. Although, that last fact was much less of a certainty than anything else.

Halliste had not said a word in this conversation. As time went on it became more and more obvious he wasn’t there to speak or even intimidate, just to oversee. Not Fjall, either, although he was the centerpoint of the knight’s gaze. To oversee the Baron.

‘The closest are also on the closest leash, aren’t they?’

“Secondly, you could have gathered it on your own, but what happened in Riena was a stroke of luck. You are no match for Sir Halliste,” he paused tilting his head back towards the knight, “and the Alliance has a number of soldiers of his caliber. Are you not the strongest one in the Tertiara force?” The Baron wasn’t looking for an answer. “Then imagine what could happen, if all of them were released at once against your compatriots. And what will happen as they approach the capital. The Lady has no interest in letting the enemy step into her domain’s heart, so they will be stopped.”

“And they die either way. What’s the point of passing it down to me?” without doubt, had they not wanted him alive, he would not have survived the celebration.

The Baron smiled. In the worst way imaginable.

“They don’t. Naive of you to assume death is what awaits them. It is salvation, not punishment,” The grin stretched wider. “People as important as them can’t simply die. No, they will have to pay for the inconvenience they caused us. And so will you,” his eyes locked onto Fjall. “Unless you agree to our terms.”

“Which are?”

“You fight for the Alliance. And take Her Earlshipness down. Perhaps with her falconer. Or perhaps leave him to mourn.”

“Them to mourn. Wait,” he exhaled sharply as the words sunk in.

For himself to be the one to take down Araien and Io… Not long ago, the one purpose he has in life. Now, a terrifying prospect.

“And why me? Do you not have Halliste or other knights, all, as you claim, better swordsmen than myself?” even that sarcastic tone couldn’t draw out a reaction from the onlooker. Hm.

“I do not have to explain myself to my inferior. And you are not to question me, should you agree.”

“And if I don’t?” the same grin sprung up where it had been before.

“I have not finished.”

Not once had Fjall heard of the Baron being as talkative as he was with him. Most of his words were threats, but at home that was not his responsibility: he had a wide enough network of ‘social workers’ to take care of that for him. Now he could see who they were taught by, if the rumours were correct.

“Araien. The poor young girl who prematurely lost her father. A formidable leader, he was and a formidable foe to me in the war—but even he could not stop the might of the Alliance combined with ours.”

‘Didn’t he claim Vardil had won on its own? Another lie we were spoonfed, it seems,’ it was odd how his mind seemed to be sharper than it had ever been in this situation and this state. But the Baron continued talking.

“How sad of him to pass away so suddenly, leaving his daughter grieving and ill-prepared to lead her house. Some called it a lucky coincidence, some believed it to be too lucky. And some,” the Baron half-bowed in a theatrical manner, “simply knew the truth. There are many things growing in the jungle around your village. Some can knock you out cold, some can assure you never get up again,” he paused letting Fjall swallow the words. In his turn, he was baffled at how blatantly, how openly Avardil admitted his guilt. And that was, without doubt, one of the many people he murdered.

Then something else occurred to him. Okel had never been known for making poison, but it was known for its herbs and the traders visited mainly for those, and those came from the jungle. “Precisely,” the Baron spoke up and Fjall’s attention shifted back to him. “You, as the head of the village garrison, the one who guarded all of those things, are also responsible for the death of Tolvi I of Paljot. And no doubt she will learn of it someday. The Lady and I will make sure she does, before her demise.”

Before Fjall can even process all of it, the Baron continued. “That poor girl, however, assembled an army, bringing together the finest from Paljot and Vardil, retaking Gret and even my ancestral home. Something I can never forget, but the Lady could and was, in fact, delighted to hear news of a woman to unite Tertiara after ages of separation. Until that same woman spoke up and rallied forces against her. Now, she is not even a dead woman, no, much worse, in fact. She will not be released from her shell until she passes from old age, and maybe not even then. Yet her life will not be a happy one—if you would call a lifetime of torture and pain in solitude, a torture on its own, a life: the Lady does not take kindly to those who offend her. Especially now that the coalition has control of Riena, her favourite outing spot. Araien is not to walk this land free, and neither she is to turn to the dead. She is to suffer for many dozens of years. This stands true if you refuse to slay her and put her to the Earth that she deserves, right next to her beloved, maybe. In her case, that is the best option.”

‘No. That cannot happen. She has a higher chance of defeating them than me anyhow, I have not been able to best her in battle. Besides, if things go awry, she is smart enough as not to let herself fall into the enemy’s arms. We are twins for a reason.’

“Defiance. Believe in her?” Avardil had an uncanny tendency to guess thoughts. “Untrue, but even assuming so, what about the others? Tallei, perhaps? She has no place anywhere, except for her troop and the two of you, and with you out of the question, that leaves the troop and Mortenir. Neither of which are welcome anywhere. But, you could bring her a happier life, instead of, once again, one of suffering. Her crimes against the Lady are so far insignificant, unlike her crimes against Paljot and Vardil both. And she could find a place and work in Strell, the Seafarer’s Heart, city built with this purpose in mind. Otherwise, for her and her family, it only gets worse from here. Regardless of whether your forces win or lose, although the latter is almost guaranteed.”

‘Bargaining? Abo would want none of that. She knows we’ve fucked up bad, she knows she has much to do to fix it. But she wouldn’t want to guilt of complicity, and neither would she accept it. This would be a betrayal from me. And I would never betray her.’

“What about Lieutenant Teie? That young boy who had responsibility thrust upon him by his masters, and did his best. It was saddening to watch, really, but I cannot go against the highest nobles so openly. He could have a good education, and a good life in the Alliance. Perhaps, with his newfound experience in leadership, he could even land a great position in the force. Would you take this chance away from him and take this youth’s life as well?”

‘Oita… The kid deserves the best. But he never wanted this, and never would he. Besides, he is strong enough to fight for himself. He can take down one of those ‘Hallistes’, and it would be yet another proof of his talent. And after the war, he can just… find a better place to be. And a better thing to do.’

“And, the last but certainly not the least, Lieutenant Mortenir,” on that, Fjall felt all of his mind shrink into one ability — to listen. As attentively as he could manage. “Do not think your nightly escapades—whatever they ended in—have escaped either your compatriots, or us. We have kept a watchful eye on the both of you from the fall of Gret. Young love, how nice that must be,” the Baron said to the knight behind him with a smirk, only to receive a stern glare back and hush. “Only if that love lasts. Thankfully for you, the Lady and myself are both reluctant to separate the two of you, so here is my last term and offer. Do the deed, and you can go free together, wherever your heart desires. Maybe even with the other lowly members of your group. Don’t you want things to be like they had been before all of this started? Here is your best chance.”

Avardil was a smooth talker, and he hit the bullseye.

Fjall was left grasping for straws, for something, some reason to say no, but all that came to mind was tied to this war. Before they left, even after, but before that skirmish on The Bridge, his world had been small yet perfect. It was far from it now. But they could still pretend it was, couldn’t they? Their small group, with a few more people, taking on odd jobs and travelling all across. Now that they could have each other, maybe all the other business: the Alliance, the Gods, even his legendary lost twin—maybe it didn’t matter. She didn’t matter.

The last thought had him shiver, to the delight of the Baron.

Hadn’t he sworn to protect any life worth saving? Hadn’t he pledged his loyalty, his knight’s pride to his sister, though she had begged him not to? Hadn’t he promised to himself—and to Abo, Oita, Meyl, Deim—that he would not make the same mistake as he had had before?

It was so tempting… A true Lady’s Trick, as some would call it. An opportunity one cannot accept but cannot refuse. And he was about to try the latter, certain it was hopeless for him. But, perhaps, not for the others.

‘Deim deserves a better person to fall for anyway.’

“I have pledged loyalty to the Earl of Tertiara, Araien I of Paljot. That is my final answer.”

The Baron’s expression changed to surprise. Then dismissive denial and, shortly after, anger. Pointed and concentrated on him. “Have you not heard me, perhaps?” he growled with pure venom in his voice. “This is your one chance to be normal, just like you had always wanted. Otherwise, be ready to witness them suffer for years without end, and try that yourself.”

“Your threats or your torture don’t scare me. Neither does death. They are strong enough to overcome whomever you pin against them, and will be better off without this criminal—now rightfully in a cell—regardless. I have given my answer.”

“Foolish of you to assume that is your cell. No, this is simply a room for talking. Not even interrogations, but equal conversation and negotiation, if you will,” with that, he leaned in uncomfortably close. “But your time here has come to an end.”

He stood up and walked to the door, but not before giving an order to the knight. “We’re done here, more drastic measures seem to be needed. We’ll see how he talks a few hours in. Rid him of his last bits of… dignity, and bring him upstairs. The clothes wouldn’t survive for long either way in those conditions.”

“Take this forward, Halliste.”

“As I was inctructed to.”

#whumptober2020 #no.1 #waking up restrained #original work #rating: pg-13 #project bonds

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thenugking · 4 years ago

Text

Grand Academy For Future Villains, Chapter 1: Introduction. A commentary for Three.

Because no one can stop me.

Here’s the important decisions, and other things it feels relevant to comment on, from Three’s playthrough. Contains spoilers for GAFFV, obviously, and there’s a few references to the sequel, although nothing I’d really call a spoiler. All game text is copied from the text files, found here.

General CW for the whole thing: parental abuse, internalised dehumanisation as a trauma response. Three’s not doing well.

Specific CW for this chapter: misgendering, transphobia

***

Rathna hisses with satisfaction, takes you by the wrist, and pulls you after her through the archway into the blackness.

It feels a bit like doing a belly flop into a pool of cold mercury. (And you would know; the exercise facilities back home were very well-appointed.) When the ringing clears from your ears and the fuzziness from your eyes, you're standing in a subterranean chamber. The walls are dripping. The lights are flickering. The screams are echoing.

An icy voice echoes in your head, making your ears sting. "Prepare yourself…to be screened."

"Oh, I am prepared," you assure Rathna the Soul-Flenser. "I trust the Academy! And if they say I need additional screening, I'm sure that's something that really is necessary for everybody's safety!"

How would you classify the expression in her dull metallic eyes? Quizzical? Startled? Pitying?

"Your faith," hisses the cold voice after a moment, "is… touching to me."

"Speaking of touching," you say cheerfully, "we'd better get to the screening part, right? The sooner I get screened, the sooner I can be reconstituted by, who is it, the fourth-year Resurrections class?"

There is a long pause. "No..." Rathna says. "You have passed the screening already. You are a true student of the Academy."

Nonplussed, you head up the stairs in the direction she indicates. As you glance back, you could swear she's wiping away one dishwater-gray tear.

Three’s entire introduction is them being a Good Student - it doesn’t even occur to them not to wait in line, or to try hiding their many, many weapons, or to try and get out of additional screening. They pick Rathna because they’re pretty sure Phil will mess it up and not screen them properly, which means they’re messing up too.

Phil, in Three’s opinion, clearly has zero discipline or competence, and they dislike him instantly. With his utter lack of commitment to the screening process, he’s off to a great start as Perfect Student Three’s unintentional narrative foil.

Rathna, on the other hand, they develop a mutual respect for in this scene. They don’t interact again in-game, and aren’t going to go out of their way to hang out with each other, but I like to think they get along well whenever they do see each other, and are at least friendly acquaintances. (I was very offended when the second game told me Rathna was my enemy, but I like Miriel Bloodshrike, because neither of these things are remotely true for Three.)

VERY WELL, THREE. BUT I KNEW YOUR MOTHER ONCE. AND SHE GAVE YOU ANOTHER NAME. YOU WILL BE THREE AT THIS SCHOOL, BUT TO MAEDRYN THE QUANTUM-WITCH, ONE OF OUR PROUDEST ALUMNAE, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE...

It's true. Your mother named you

#3.

Hardly a name at all.

I mean, Three’s life revolves around keeping their mother happy. They’re not going to throw away the name she gave them. They only changed it from the number to the word because of the massive bureaucratic hassle that trying to input your whole name as 3 was. And what would they change it to anyway? It’s not as if they have an identity outside of Maedryn, is it?

(This does, of course, result in a lot of funny experiences in-game, where people try and psych me out by knowing my birth name and Three’s just, “Yes, that is my name, are you feeling all right?” It’s not impossible that these still take place, even with Three using their mother’s name; in the very next scene, Xi reveals they can hear how people spell things. I’m sure there are some people in the Academy who would deliberately say 3, rather than Three, and hope that Three hears the insult. They don’t.)

As for gender… I think Three at this point still mostly identifies as female. They come out as agender part way through their first year, feeling more confident after meeting a lot of non-binary people at the Academy. They don’t tell their mum. While I’m glad that the game doesn’t have Maedryn misgender you, the fact that she consistently deadnames you and gets angry at you changing “her” body if you become a monster makes me feel it would be very in character for her to do. I’m sure she hears Three is using they/them pronouns now at some point, but has better things to do than remembering to use them.

If asked about their pronouns, Three will tell you that you are welcome to call them whatever you wish, and their closest associates usually use they/them. Expressing their own preference would be far too close to acting like a person with their own desires and feelings, though. Luckily they can easily justify being agender as, “What does a weapon need a gender for?”

“Let's get to know you, Three. What do you hate most?"

#Incompetence and idiocy.

And right now, Phil’s incompetence and idiocy in particular. Three is already up to 75% competence at this point, by the way.

Well, that's your mother. How do you feel about her?

#I'm proud to be her child. But I plan on choosing my own path- while keeping her as happy as I can.

The actual answer here is a lot more complicated. Three certainly doesn’t plan on choosing their own path, they exist only as a tool of their mother’s and are well aware that being anything more would not make her happy. They think Maedryn’s achievements are incredible and that she’s the cleverest person they know. They think they might be proud of her, if not of themself. They love her.

They’re also far more aware than they let on that she’s abusing them, and that they’re never going to get the love and approval that a part of them buried deep down still wants. While they absolutely keep it to themself, they dislike the way Maedryn’s destroyed worlds that could have had so much to offer, and believe she should treat her goons and servants (themself excluded) better.

And they have no intention of ever letting her know they've ever thought anything negative about her, because they value their life too much.

"Excuse me. I'm Three, and I-how did you do that? What were those wires, and all that stuff you were saying about humanity?"

"Nice, isn't it?" says Xi with pardonable pride. "Like I told you, I'm the ultimate fusion of human and computer. Instead of veins-" their voice is suddenly coming out of the speakers again "-wires course the length of my body, running directly from my mind to the Network."

"Oh! Computers!" the other student breaks in. "Whyever would you want to be all tangled up with those...things?"

Xi narrows their metallic eyes contemptuously at him. "I'm a cyberpunk villain. It's what we do. Wait- who are you again?"

The student draws himself up proudly. "Aurion Umbrator Malisar, Scourge of the Universe, Bane of Virtue, Shadow that Swallows the Light, and I-"

Xi sniffs. A shower of sparks falls from one of the wires. "This is the first time you've ventured outside your genre, isn't it? Let me guess, spawned in Fantasy, and now you're here expecting everything to be the same magic and mush you grew up with?"

"Well, that would explain things," Xi continues. "Trust me, pitiful lump of flesh, computers are the way to go. Why, the true power in this school, DarkBoard--no matter what any other genre says--is an artificial intelligence, one who has truly ascended beyond the tether of matter and mind-"

"That's the problem!" Aurion protests, waving his schedule again. "It will not heed my bidding!"

"Well, of course not, if you're talking to Them like that." You can hear the reverence in Xi's voice when they speak of DarkBoard. Odd, since as far as you can tell, the Grand Academy's administrative AI is basically a glorified secretary.

And Three gets to meet their best friends! They’ve been given permission to ask questions about something very cool! Even if they would never be caught using the phrase, “All that stuff,” and would much prefer a, “Would you elaborate further on your state of being, please?”

This also forms the very early seeds of their friendship with DarkBoard. They believe everyone deserves respect, and they know how easy it is to underestimate someone as being a tool. The majority of their previous knowledge on DarkBoard came from Maedryn, who they also know underestimates people she considers below her notice, so they’re very willing to take Xi’s opinion on DarkBoard over Maedryn’s. And if Xi calls DarkBoard a They, rather than an It, They is what Three will use too, because secretary or not, it’s only polite.

Xi sighs. "You've got to organize yourself, pitiful lump of- Aurion. Make some choices. Look. What do you want to do?"

"Have legions of darkness, take over the universe, slay the proud and noble, bring about a black reign of terror on the land, cast evil spells from my fortress, shoot out wires from my hand like that, seduce the pure and innocent, callously waste human life, destroy the world with a word, blow things up, have great men fall before the slightest motion of my hand, manipulate people's minds, be able to call up balls of fire, beat up the heroes, have Ultimate Weapons of Destruction, and wear a nifty cape!" rattles off the aspiring Scourge of the Universe breathlessly. "And more things, too, if they teach them."

Xi looks as if the student's enthusiasm has overloaded their circuits. You step in.

#Tell Xi I'll help Aurion with his schedule. That should earn me some points with the RA.

I mean, if Three had circuits, they’d be overloaded by Aurion’s enthusiasm too, but if there are two things they like, it’s sorting out schedules and making people in positions of authority happy! This encounter doesn’t make Three and Aurion friends, that comes later, but they gain a small amount of respect for each other, at least.

Sidenote - I’m not sure how close Aurion and Xi are supposed to be, they don’t interact much after this in-game, but I love their interactions here, and I really enjoy Three, Aurion and Xi as a group of friends.

#Better get Xi to advise me on this. Isn't assistance in their job description?

You stick your head out into the hall. "Xi? Can you help me with something?"

After a moment, Xi appears, expressionless.

"I need to get my books," you explain, "so I need to access my money. Can you tell me how to make DarkBoard do that?"

One of Xi's wires cracks like a whip. You hope that means yes.

Three might value self-sufficiency, but they also value making use of the resources available to you, and when someone’s job is to provide you with help, it would be arrogant and foolish to rely solely on your own conjecture.

They are also an eighteen year old who’s never spent much time with people their own age suddenly discovering that they find cyborgs in control of wires they grow out of their fingers really hot.

#Get a quick fund refreshment from Mom.

It won't make your mother happy to have you draft her account like this--she prefers more face-to-face groveling, as you've had plenty of chances to observe--but you know that you can make a quick transfer from the Student Security Deposit. A few words to DarkBoard, and the money is yours, with a little extra cushion to cover you in case of emergencies.

I mean, Three’s definitely going to call Maedryn up for a proper groveling session later tonight, and hope that helps a little. But she’s also expecting them to get perfect grades, and they’re worried about their chances of doing that without all the equipment available. Anyway, that’s their first day at the Academy finished!

#grand academy for future villains #choice of games #three #long post #u know what i'm gonna tag the other characters bc i love them #maedryn #aurion umbrator malisar #xi #darkboard #gavril philippe des anges dechus #marsh ocs

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shera-dnd · 5 years ago

Text

The Hunter part 2 - Our Guilt

The continuation of the self indulgent Catralonnie nonsense

This time with 100% more homoerotic sparring matches

The information they got wasn’t complete. They knew now that Prime’s ship had landed in the middle of a canyon in the Wastes; the awkward forced landing nearly completely covered the area in rocks and dirt and kept the ship hidden from scavengers for years. One of the gangs had recently uncovered it and planned to use the weapons there to get back at the kingdoms that rejected them.

Catra recognized that sentiment. She had felt the same way about Adora, Shadow Weaver, the whole world, even. Back then she would’ve grinded the entire world into dust to fill the hole in her heart. She was different now, and she would not let so many lives be destroyed with that same foolish anger.

They still didn’t know where the ship fell exactly, or where the super weapon would be pointed, or even which of the many gangs was responsible, so they still had a fair share of investigations ahead of them. And that is why they were taking a little trip through the Valley of the Lost hoping Lonnie’s contacts knew something they didn’t.

No, they were the Hunter’s contacts and Catra was travelling with the Hunter now, not Lonnie. They had put their helmet back on and it was back to having the quiet, professional, and constantly grumpy Hunter. Thinking about it now, Catra was kinda surprised it took her a whole day to figure out who they were.

Her companion guided her through shady streets and even shadier alleys, until they found themselves in some abandoned storage facility...or just a shack full of shit, both options were equally plausible.

“You wait outside.” They commanded. Catra opened her mouth to protest, but was promptly interrupted. “He’ll only talk to me. You wait outside.”

Catra sighed and once more waited while her companion did the talking. Part of her wanted them to get this over with quickly so they could get on their way already. The other part wanted it to go about as well as it did last time so she had something to do.

Luckily the former part of her got what it wanted and after a few minutes the Hunter returned, giving her a nod that Catra understood as ‘mission accomplished’. Unluckily, the second half also got what it wanted for as soon as they stepped into the main street they were surrounded by armed thugs. Armed thugs with sleeveless leather jackets and whips. Great.

“Shouldn’t you shit heads be helping with Fright Zone reconstructions?” Catra called out, her hand slowly reaching for her whip.

“You got the wrong gang, girl.” A goat man answered, sounding way too confident for someone who was about to have some broken bones. “We don’t work with those traitors and we sure as hell don’t work for you!”

“So are those the ones we’re looking for?” Catra casually asked the Hunter, completely ignoring the over confident fool.

“Yes.” They answered, hand moving for their spear.

Once more they found themselves in that familiar position of fighting back to back. It made sense now that she would feel this kind of familiarity with someone she had sparred with so many times, but for some reason knowing that it was Lonnie inside of that armor made these moments a lot more strange for Catra.

Lonnie understood her, in some bizarre way. This woman who she barely talked to outside the necessary, who made Catra suffer and was made to suffer by Catra’s hands, who hated her and had every right to. Somehow this woman got her more than anyone back at Brightmoon. More than Adora ever did.

“Do all your hunts end up like this?” Catra asked, trying to distract herself from the turmoil that always came over her when she thought of Adora.

“Not until you came along.” They complained, putting their spear away and turning to face Catra.

“Are you seriously blaming me for this?” Catra asked, incredulous “They all attacked you!”

“I am blaming you, because you are the one getting all the unwanted attention.” Lonnie argued, her voice growing louder as she nearly dropped the Hunter act.

“Says the woman wearing a whole tank worth of weapons.” Catra bit back, exhausted and stressed from the track in the desert, the stupid bandits who kept getting in the way and the unbearable silence that kept grinding at her sanity. At least shouting was better than quiet judging.

“I-” Lonnie began, but Catra would not let her finish.

“You hate me!” She loudly interrupted, “I get it. Join the fucking club!” Lonnie looked ready to strangle Catra, but before she got any chance another bandit rode past them on the back of a raptor. “You gonna shoot them?”

“We’re gonna follow them.” The Hunter answered, Lonnie’s burst of emotion once again replaced by cold professionalism. Catra let out a sigh of frustration and attempted to calm down.

“That thing is way faster than our cart.” Catra stated “A skiff would draw too much attention, so I say we cut the horses lose from the cart, grab as many supplies as we can carry and ride for the rest of the trip.”

“Sounds good.” The Hunter agreed with a nod.

It was mechanical and cold, in a way that Catra was starting to hate. She was this close to getting something out of Lonnie, even if that something was probably her right hook. Losing a few teeth was preferable to enduring the silent hatred from behind that awful helmet.

~~~

Their chase had been less a high speed chase and more a slightly hurried ride through the desert. The raptor couldn’t keep up its speed for much more than a few minutes, and as their mark slowed down so did they. They were careful to keep them just at the limit of what their binoculars could see so they wouldn’t draw their attention and raise suspicion.

“You gonna take that helmet off?” Catra asked, after a few hours in the desert. She refused to spend another minute alone with ‘The Hunter’.

“No.” The answer was quick and short, delivered with that insufferable voice distortion.

“I already know who you are,” Catra reminded her, “Why even keep it?”

“Why take it off?” Lonnie had to be fucking with Catra at this point.

“Because I wanna talk to you and not some mercenary weirdo.” Catra explained.

“I’m fine not talking.” Lonnie answer and Catra just wanted to jump her right now “And I’m not a mercenary.”

“Well I’m not fine with silence!” She complained, exasperated.

“You were before.” Lonnie retorted, now with even fewer words.

“Maybe because I didn’t know you were my lost childhood friend until last night.” Catra couldn’t believe she had to explain that “I thought you were dead!”

“We were never friends, Catra.” She answered. The words were accusatory, but her tone was tired and maybe even regretful. “You made that very clear.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t care when you just up and vanished!” Catra wanted Lonnie to open up a little, but Catra was the one leaving herself wide open. “Fuck, Lonnie. Rogelio and Kyle-”

“Are happily married and living a peaceful life somewhere else.” She interrupted.

“They were worried sick!” Catra argued back “And here you were, all this time, wearing a mask and pretending to be someone else so you could maybe get your shot at happiness, but guess what? You can never be happy by pretending! Believe me, I tried!” Catra only realized how much she had said once it already left her mouth.

Lonnie didn’t answer for a while, leaving Catra to regret every second of her emotional burst, but after a few moments and a heavy sigh Lonnie took off her helmet. She still didn’t say anything to Catra, but at least there was a human face next to her and not a cold mask.

Catra tried not to stare this time, but every time she turned to look at Lonnie she saw the woman’s face going through a journey far more intense than the one they were having. Frustrated, angry, regretful, tired, sad. Lonnie hadn’t had to suppress her own expressions in a long time and now without the helmet her emotions were exposed for the whole world to see.

“After this is done,” Lonnie finally spoke. It was nice to hear her real voice again. “Let Kyle and Rogelio know I’m fine and tell them I’m happy for them.”

“After this is done you could tell them yourself.” Catra offered, but it only earned her a glare. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

She opened her mouth to ask something, but Lonnie lifted her hand in a motion that said ‘halt’. They both stopped their mounts and brought up their binoculars. It seemed their mark’s ride decided that they had done enough running for a day and refused to move from that spot. The following display of hilarious incompetence from their target both amused and confused Catra. How did a bunch of bumbling fools manage to become such a threat to Etheria? Maybe they kept all the competent leaders at their homebase and use the rest as cannon fodder.

“Looks like they’re setting up camp.” Catra commented. It was getting pretty dark.

“Let’s do the same then.” Lonnie added, jumping off of her horse.

~~~

There was no fire tonight for either them nor did their target dare light one. It was a good thing Catra and Lonnie had spent most their lives eating cold and tasteless ration bars or this meal would’ve been dreadful. It still was, but at least they were used to it.

Catra passed her binoculars back to Lonnie as her turn on ‘idiot watch’ was over. She lazily rolled over and looked up at the stars that illuminated them, shining as bright as they had the day she escaped from Prime, expanding endlessly towards the horizon. If anything good ever came from the war, this view would be it.

“I was wondering something.” She mentioned lazily. “Why the whole ‘Hunter’ thing? Do you really need a secret identity?”

Lonnie didn’t answer for a while and Catra felt like she pried into something she shouldn’t.

“I wasn’t planning on it at first.” Lonnie explained. “I used the helmet for protection. Never understood why Rogelio insisted on fighting without it.” She shook her head and allowed a small smile at the memory. “I also never made a point of introducing myself before helping people, then one day someone called me The Hunter and I never bothered to correct them.”

“You could have said something back when we met.” Catra complained, but it was halfheartedly. More to poke fun at Lonnie than to really display displeasure.

“I said ‘Catra!’” She repeated in that same annoyed tone from before, earning a short laugh from Catra. “And ‘I hate you’. I was practically telling you my name.”

“You underestimate how many people still hate me.” Catra joked along. Lonnie chuckled at that. “I was worried it could’ve been Octavia under the mask the whole time.”

“Like Octavia ever fought that well.” Now they were both laughing. When did they get this friendly?

“Who said you fought well?” Catra teased. “If I recall correctly I was the one pinning you down.”

“That is because I was holding back on you!” Lonnie defended “Just because I wanted to work some tension out on your face doesn’t mean I wanted to kill you.”

“What? Did years in the desert give you She-ra powers or something?” Catra joked, turning around to see Lonnie detaching the chest plate from her armor. Inside there was a single First Ones relic connected to the exoskeleton she was wearing.

“Stole one of Hordak’s old models before leaving.” She explained “I could probably kick you all the way to their camp!” She gestured towards their target while looking smugly at Catra.

“Well, then take that off. We’re having a rematch.” Catra declared as she got up and began stretching.

“Excuse me?” Lonnie asked, surprised by Catra’s eagerness. “We have to keep an eye on them!”

“If they start running in the middle of the match we just catch up to them later.” Catra shrugged. “Not like it’s gonna take that long.” Catra offered her a challenging smile. “Afraid I’ll be the one on top again?” Lonnie smiled back.

“In your dreams, Catra.” She answered and began taking off her armor.

Several of Catra’s dreams had in fact started with Lonnie stripping off her armor and ended with Catra on top, but she was definitely not gonna mention that, so she settled with just waiting for her adversary to get ready with feign impatience.

The clothes Lonnie was wearing under the armor were simple and plain, offering a little extra comfort under the mountain of bulky metal she carried daily. She was definitely still wearing more under her armor than she did in those dreams.

Their sparring match was quick, but intense. Catra had speed on her side and was more than used to fighting stronger opponents, easily sidestepping and dodging anything Lonnie threw at her. Lonnie, on the other hand, had the stamina to keep fighting regardless of what Catra threw at her and enough strength in that right hook to keep Catra on her toes. They would both have to rely on wits to take the upper hand and that was something both women had quite a lot of.

In the end they were both laughing. They were tired, dirty and sweaty, but they were laughing. Even when Lonnie tackled her to the ground and pinned her in place Catra still smiled, not even defeat could take that from her.

“Told you I’d be on top.” Lonnie teased, with a smug smile on her face that was somehow brighter than any of the stars that framed her. “Do I win something?”

‘Me’ a part of Catra wanted to say. The same part that was now bombarding her with terrible ideas she would absolutely regret and questioned why her past self insisted on thinking about herself on top when this was clearly much more fun.

“Yeah,” Catra finally said, banishing any stray thoughts about Lonnie’s biceps. “You earned my silence. Congratulations, I’ll stop bothering you now.”

Lonnie looked disappointed, maybe even sad and Catra immediately regretted her decision. Lonnie pushed herself up and began putting on her armor again, making a clear effort to not look at Catra.

They both returned to their respective corners of the camp. Lonnie went back to watching over their target, and Catra accepted that she was gonna fall asleep full of regrets once again. But as she closed her eyes, she heard Lonnie’s voice.

“I think I’m gonna refuse that prize.”

And Catra fell asleep with a smile.

#catra #lonnie #catralonnie #shera #spop #fanfic

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