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phis-corner · 4 years ago

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demon’s daughter

Uh- this is my first time attempting a multi-chaptered fic, so bear with me. There is no canon. Just saying.

Masterlist [Chapter 1] Chapter 2

Marinette Al Ghul was very, very angry.

Half the League had staged a coup, killing many of the members still loyal to the Demon’s Head. Her mother, Talia, was in a watchtower, rapidly shooting down the helicopters assaulting the compound.

And Ra’s Al Ghul, the Demon’s Head, lay on the floor in front of her, his body horrifically burnt. He was alive, but just. The work of Slade, his trusted right hand man.

Marinette hurries to Ra’s’ side as her twin draws his sword and attacks the traitor, anger fueling every one of Damian’s attacks.

“I am sorry that I was never good enough, Ra’s, but I am not sorry that you will be dead soon.” She murmurs. Marinette stands up, the rage of the Pit burning inside her. These people want to kill her. Kill her brother. She refuses to let that happen.

She flips open her two steel fans and bares her teeth in a snarl as Slade swings at Damian, who blocks the blow, but the force of it sends him crashing into the building.

Marinette charges the man, fans glinting dangerously in the light. She dodges the first swing and delivers a swift kick to Slade’s stomach, one fan slicing a cut across his right cheek. The second blow is intercepted by her fans. She is pushed back, her slim eleven year old body no match for a full-grown, very well-trained assassin.

Damian joins her and the onslaught of attacks from both of them sends Slade flying across the courtyard.

“So you’re Talia’s little bastards.” He sneers. “Not bad for children, but no match for me.”

“We shall see about that.” Marinette hisses. The Pit rage inside her grows even larger, and she lets the madness control her movements. The steel fans whirl through the air as she flicks her wrists, spinning and kicking, pushing the man back under a balcony.

Damian understands her motive and slices through the support beams with his katana, sending a large amount of wood crashing down on Slade. When the traitor bursts upwards, Marinette feels satisfaction as Damian thrusts his blade into Slade’s right eye.

“And now, your heart.” He snarls. Slade parries Damian’s blow and intercepts Marinette’s swing with his armor, eliciting sparks.

Three spheres roll to a stop at Marinette’s feet. They spew out black smoke, and the twins reflexively cover their noses with their sleeves as Slade makes his escape.

“I’ll make you two suffer for this. Next time.” Slade’s voice rings all around them as they search blindly through the haze.

The smoke clears in time for them to see Slade being lifted out of the compound by a helicopter, with a man they recognize crouching in it, smirking.

“Ubu.” Damian growls. Marinette puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Do not worry, akhi. We will make him pay.” The helicopter sails away and they follow it out of the building.

Her brother raises his sword. “Come back and finish it, cowards!”

The remaining traitors also throw smoke bombs as they are picked up by the helicopters, leaving the twins in front of a burning building, surrounded by smoke, corpses, and blood.

“Grandfather.” Damian remembers, running back into the burning building. Marinette follows, not about to let her brother go alone anywhere. Not after what just happened.

“Damian!” She hears Talia call. “Marinette! Wait!”

She ignores her mother and charges down the stairs that lead to the Lazarus Pit, then freezes at the bottom. Damian releases a shaky breath by her side as Talia stops behind them.

Ra’s’ burnt corpse lay in front of them, outstretched hand just mere centimeters away from the green water.

Damian walks towards the body, sword falling to the ground.

“Damian.” Talia says. Her brother tries to pick up the corpse, heaving with the strain.

“We have to get him into the Lazarus Pit.” He says desperately. Damian picks up the body, but Marinette runs in front of him, blocking his path, stuffing down the tiny spark of elation at seeing her oldest, and largest tormentor dead.

“Akhi, you know the Pit cannot heal bodies this damaged. Ra’s is gone for good.” Damian sets the corpse back down and bows his head, tears glimmering in his eyes but refusing to fall.

Talia puts a hand on each of their shoulders. “You did your best.”

“I failed.” Her brother says. Marinette lets her hand rest on top of his, offering him silent comfort. We both did.

“We can’t think about that now. We must move.” Talia says. “Damian. Marinette. Come.”

Marinette stands obediently, but Damian stays a moment longer. “Damian. Now!”

Marinette gently grasps her brother’s wrist and pulls him to his feet, following her mother out of the room.

“...Where are we going?” Damian asks.

“Gotham City.” Talia replies. “It’s time you meet your father.”

.o0o.

The ride to Gotham City is tense. Damian repeatedly polishes his katana, while Marinette continuously opens and closes her fans.

Their father is Bruce Wayne. World’s richest man, known for his work in many charities and for his ‘playboy’ reputation. At night, known as Gotham’s Dark Knight. In other words, their father is Batman.

Talia leaves them on the boat, choosing to track down their father and bring him back herself.

Marinette turns to Damian once she’s sure her mother is gone. “I would like to spar you, akhi. It would be a good outlet for both our feelings right now.”

Damian scans at the space around them. “As much as I want to agree, this space isn’t nearly large enough for a productive spar.”

Marinette huffs. “You are right. I shall meditate instead. The Pit rage has not completely receded yet from the fight.”

“Remind me why Mother wants us to stay behind this curtain again?”

“Officially, it is because she wants to keep us hidden until she is sure he will accept us. Unofficially, I think it is because she would like to seduce him first.” Marinette replies.

Their mother comes back not long after, with the footsteps of a tall man trying to be as silent as possible. Batman.

“Would you like a drink?” Talia asks.

“Last time that didn’t go so well.” A deep voice responds.

“Oh, you’re right. If I remember correctly, I put a little something in your beverage.”

“Same way I remember it.”

Damian and Marinette exchange a look. So this is how they were born.

“It made you romantic.”

“It made me do what you wanted.”

“Was it all bad, Beloved?”

A pause. “...No. It wasn’t.”

Marinette tunes out after that until Talia says “And now this man wants to kill us.” Her heels click closer to the curtain.

“Us?” Batman asks.

“Not you.” Talia replies. “Me.” She draws back the curtain, letting Damian and Marinette step out of the shadows.

“And your children.”

“Children?” Batman says, only the slightest change in tone indicating his surprise. “You expect me to believe this?”

“I assure you, they’re yours.” Talia says easily.

Damian, always the more confident of the two, walks up to their father and eyes him up and down. “Don’t look so stunned, Father. I thought you’d be taller.”

Marinette raises an eyebrow at her twin. “Akhi, he is six feet and four inches tall already. Any taller, and he would be a tree.”

Batman stays silent, choosing to glare? Stare? Do something that Marinette didn’t know because the white lenses hid his eyes and his facial expression doesn’t change.

.o0o.

The boat drives away, leaving Marinette and Damian with their father.

“You didn’t know about us.” Marinette states.

“No.” Batman is not known for his eloquence.

“So Mother has made us your responsibility.” Damian snarks, but there is an air of seriousness to it.

“Something like that.”

Marinette squeezes her brother’s hand for reassurance. “This isn’t necessary. We can both do fine by ourselves.”

“So do I. But things have changed. Your mother thinks that the two of you are better off with me for the time being.”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“Better than with the League of Assassins.” Their father replies.

“They taught us how to fight.” Damian says hotly.

“And I take it, not much else.”

“Actually, Father, that is not true.” Marinette jumps in. “In addition to learning many forms of martial arts and how to wield plenty of weapons, Damian and I are years ahead of a normal curriculum and we are both fluent in twenty languages. We can also play multiple instruments. My brother prefers piano and violin, while I tend to favor woodwinds such as the flute and oboe.”

Batman grunts and presses a button on his belt. The Batmobile opens, and the twins follow their father towards it.

“I’ll drive.” Damian says.

“No.” Their father grumbles.

“I know how.”

“No.”

“Can I drive then?” Marinette asks.

“No!”

Once they’re settled in the car, Batman hits the ‘Call’ button for someone named Alfred.

“Alfred.”

“Yes sir?” The butler has an impeccable British accent, much like Marinette and Damian’s. She can put on an American accent at will, but she preferred the sound of the British one. It was more structurally elegant.

“We’re going to have company. Prepare two rooms.”

“A sleepover? Oh, goody.”

“Actually, we would like to share a room.” Marinette says. “It would make us feel more comfortable.”

“I shall prepare a bunk bed then.”

“We don’t have a bunk bed. Alfred, where-” The call hangs up.

The Batcave is everything Marinette has ever imagined. Dark, yes, but full of state-of-the-art technology, vigilante costumes, and a medbay off to the side. Plus, a lot of bats.

An elderly man greets them when they exit the Batmobile. “Welcome back sir. I presume this is the young man and lady of whom you spoke?”

Damian strides up to the man and tries to stare him down. “Hello, Pennyworth. I’ve heard about you.”

Alfred bows. “At your service, Master Damian and Miss Marinette.”

“Would you prefer it if we called you Alfred, Mister Pennyworth?” Marinette asks.

“If you are comfortable calling me Alfred, then yes, I would prefer it.”

Damian looks around the cave. “Where are the rest of the servants?”

Alred raises an eyebrow. “I am the sum total.”

“You have only one servant?” Her brother says condescendingly to Batman, who looks a little awkward.

Marinette squeezes his hand. “Akhi, do not be rude. Our father was gracious enough to let us stay, although he did not have to. It would be counterproductive to his nightly activities if there were too many people who knew about it.”

“He’s not a servant.” Batman says. “He’s a friend.”

Marinette smiles at Alfred. “Pleasure to meet you, Alfred, friend of the Dark Knight.” She curtsies with perfect posture, the way she was taught, eliciting a smile from the man.

Damian sniffs and walks over to the Batcomputer. “So this is the fabled Batcave. Grandfather told me all about it.” Her brother sits down in the chair, inspecting the computer, then turns around and folds his hands, looking every bit like their grandfather.

“I, too, have heard about this place, but never from Ra’s or Mother. It was Lady Shiva who informed me instead.”

Damian frowns. “It is not your fault that Grandfather was always disappointed in you. He was… biased against women.”

“Ra’s has been disappointed in me since the day I was born. I do not care for his opinion.” Marinette says easily.

She walks up the stairs to the loft with the vigilante costumes and grimaces. “Father, what is the meaning of these atrocities?”

Batman is nonplussed. “What?”

Marinette gestures to the Robin costumes. “This. Why are they colored like a traffic light? What happened to Gotham’s Dark Knight, the epitome of stealth? Why were your proteges such eyesores? What exactly is the function of a bright yellow cape in the city of darkness?”

“This one does not even have pants.” Damian says tiredly. “Why would one fight criminals without pants?”

“Master Dick was a boy when he wore that.” Alfred says. “As for Master Jason and Master Tim, the Robin colors are now tradition. It is a legacy, the mantle being passed from boy to boy.”

“Never very peacefully though.” Damian comments. “The first Robin became Nightwing after a falling out with you, father. The second one took on the mantle not long after, and when he died, the third one, who found out your identity, essentially blackmailed you into taking him on. When the second Robin came back as Red Hood, he attempted to kill the third Robin on multiple occasions, did he not?”

“Akhi! Do you not have any tact? The death of family members is always a sensitive subject!” Marinette hisses, in Icelandic. It is highly unlikely that they will understand it.

“You don’t seem too sad about Grandfather’s death, ukhti.” Damian retorts.

“Ra’s holds no special place in my heart. He sent me to train with Shiva from birth. You and I may have both grown up fighting, but you were treated like a prince, akhi. I was the lowest of the low. You endured hardships, yes, but you have never died. Nobody dared to kill you in training. I did not have such luxuries.”

“Would you like to see where you’ll be sleeping?” Alfred asks. “It is getting late.”

They follow him out of the Batcave and into the Manor.

“Are the others sleeping?” Marinette inquires.

“Hopefully. Master Dick is returning from Bludhaven tomorrow night. Master Jason currently at the Manor, recovering from some fractured ribs, and Master Timothy will likely be out for another six hours after Master Jason sedated him so he could get a full night’s sleep. Miss Cassandra should be asleep as well, though I think she will now be awake from the sound of our voices and our footsteps.”

“Cassandra Cain, correct?” Marinette says thoughtfully. “Daughter of Lady Shiva, Batgirl. A master at reading body language, capable of beating just about anybody in a fight. I was trained to match her, but my skills are nowhere as precise as hers.”

“Yes. Miss Cassandra is very proficient in reading body language. She knows a lot more than she lets on.” Alfred stops in front of a door.

“This will be your room. You will obviously have free run of the Manor, although I would suggest not going into any of the other bedrooms without the occupant’s permission. The door on your left leads to a bathroom, and the door on the right leads to a game room.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Marinette says, when it is clear that Damian will not be saying anything polite. “If it is alright with you, we would like to be alone now.”

“Of course, Miss Marinette. Goodnight, Miss Marinette, Master Damian.” The door shuts behind him.

Damian immediately gets to work, searching the room for any bugs and finding none. Marinette opens the closet and pulls out two sets of pajamas: one in green and one in lavender. She grabs the lavender ones and lays the green ones out on the bottom bunk for Damian.

“Akhi, I am going to take a quick shower. It has been far too long since the last one.”

“I am claiming the bottom bunk, ukhti. I will investigate Ubu’s location while you are gone.”

Marinette heads into the massive bathroom and turns on the shower. Hot water comes streaming down immediately, and she marvels at the sight. Damian, being the heir to the Demon’s Head, would be used to it, of course, but as a female, she was seen as far below his status and was treated as such. She didn’t even know she was an al Ghul until after her first death.

Marinette knows that her twin brother was always treated with much more reverence, resulting in much more confidence and arrogance on his part. Damian has been exposed to the Pit, but he has never been killed. When she returned to Nanda Parbat at age nine, Damian was condescending at best. He did not believe her to be worthy of his time, no matter the blood bond between them. Just like Ra’s al Ghul, the man he was trying to grow up to be.

She changed that when Talia ordered them to spar, with Ra’s as a witness. They traded blows for hours, evenly matched, and it became evident that neither would lose unless the other collapsed from exhaustion. Ra’s decided to end the spar, and Marinette left the room tired and sweaty, but satisfied.

Damian was a lot more willing to talk to her after that, and she finally got to bond with her brother, even if he was rude at times.

Ra’s was not so easy to please. Marinette spent the rest of her time at the compound trying, but he would not acknowledge her no matter what she did. She would never be good enough anyway, so Marinette stopped trying. It wasn’t like she couldn’t take on any assassins he tried to send her way. (She killed six in the year she spent at Nanda Parbat.)

She and Damian bonded fairly easily after that. They never slept in the same quarter, but Marinette requested that they be put in the same room at the Manor for a couple reasons. One, so they could have some familiarity in this new city, and two, so they could plan Ubu’s demise without arousing suspicion.

Marinette stares at the mirror as she dries her hair. Tan skin, littered with lighter scars of all shapes and sizes, not noticeable unless one looked for long. Her eyes are the same shade of blue as her father’s, unlike Damian’s piercing green. Her midnight black hair was chopped short for practicality in combat. She slips on the pajamas and heads out of the bathroom.

Damian is sitting on the bottom bunk, clad in the green pajamas with a laptop on his lap. “I found Ubu’s location. He’s also in Gotham.”

“Good.” Marinette says coldly. “That means we can get him ourselves.”

“I shall make sure he dies a painful death.”

“Only after we get the information, akhi.”

That was another difference between them. Damian had no qualms about killing. He saw it as the only way to defeat someone in a fight, unless it was a spar. Marinette, while fully capable of ending a life, hated it. She did not kill unless absolutely necessary, or when the rage of the Pit overtook her, which did not happen almost at all. She had gotten a lot better at controlling the madness.

“Ubu does not plan on moving for quite a while. He is certain that he is safe here. We do not have to make a move tonight.” Damian shuts the laptop. “You should sleep, ukhti. It has been quite a long day.”

Marinette gives him a small smile. “It has been a long day for you too, akhi. We both have to sleep.”

She flips off the lights and climbs up to the top bunk. “Goodnight Damian.”

“Goodnight, Marinette.”

Marinette closes her eyes in the unfamiliar bed and lets the darkness overcome her.

Update: the tag list for this fic is now closed. Everyone who either asked or commented has been put on the list! Thanks for your support! 😊

#maribat #demon's daughter au #what do i tag #my writing

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waytoobright · 4 years ago

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Ah yes my thirst for occult knowledge is insatiable, and i'm always worried there's not enough time for me to research all that intrigues me. The phony/undeserved ascension part both intrigues me and worries me, especially since i'm starting to do tarot for the collective, definitely need to do some introspection there. Im curious about your take on this???

OVERALL THIS IS SUCH AN INTERESTING POST, AND THE WRITING IS SO BEAUTIFUL!! I LOVE IT!!

@enamouredfae thank you so very much for such a kind response, your enthusiasm is simply infectious :-) Ultimately, it's a question of where 'purity of intent' factors into your personal philosophy. I'll explain with examples.

Someone who strongly typifies the 6th Rahu interpretation is Mother Teresa, believed to have this natally. She dedicated her entire life to charitable service, and became exceptionally synonymous with the word, worldwide. Towards the end of her life, however, journalists and investigative organisations began to reveal the hypocritical cracks in her philanthropy, and in her own private letters to herself she was revealed to have struggled with her faith in God till the very end. She believed herself to be an imposter and questioned the veracity of her own intentions in undertaking charity, and this was a very darkly painful reality for her. However, it is undeniable that she also truly helped many people along the way.

Similarly, when it comes to Angelina Jolie and Madonna, both typifying themes of the 5th Rahu with their unusual adoption practices, they've frequently been lambasted by the media for adopting foreign children for glamour and attention. However, at least as far as we can see, they've given their children good lives.

So the question is - how much does the purity and sincerity of your intent truly matter when it comes to what you do, if you're achieving some good in the world? As a Muslim, and as per my own personal astrological beliefs, I believe it is profoundly necessary for me to continuously chip away at any inkling of being performative in what I do, because my belief system views the world as ephemeral, and because I believe I will have to answer for intent more than outcome. However, many others believe it doesn't matter much as long as you enjoy what you do, and so long as you don't hurt others. So you just have to figure out where you stand! And remember that this placement only alludes to predisposed inclinations of the heart, and if you operate from a place of balance and detachment, wielding all the many other influences in your chart, you will see different results.

I wish you the very, very best of luck in your tarot endeavours. Hope this response wasn't too long!

#astrology query #thank you so much for such an awesome response it made my day!#enamouredfae

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agentofscifi · 5 years ago

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Success is the Best Kind of Revenge

I didn’t want to feel smug, I really didn’t, but I just couldn’t help the pin prick of smugness. My entire classes sat around, horribly disappointed in our Lycée classroom. Many of them had gotten responses for Universities jobs, and internships over the winter semester. They hadn’t turned out well.

Alya had applied to a job at a newspaper, applied to three internships and sent four university applications out. She lost every one of them. Nino hadn’t gotten his internship either nor did he get into the music school he wanted. Kim had a scholarship and college acceptance revoked, and the two other Universities who had been offering swimming scholarships pulled their offers back too. Ivan and Myléne had both been under investigation over the break for charity fraud. Though they were cleared, no other charities wanted their help and their university had pulled their acceptance out.

Rose’s eyes were still red and raw looking. Prince Ali had cut all contact with Rose and she was denied from her music schools. All of Max’s scholarships and every since school he applied to, all fourteen of them, pulled back their acceptance. Nathaniel’s comic strip was no longer being printed and there was a pending copyright suit. Sabrina was under investigation too, for theft, breaking and entering as well as illegal photography. Her university denied her as well. She assisted Lila and Alya in harassing me over the past few years. Adrien was sitting in his seat, a numb sort of look over his face as Nino patted his shoulder. Lila, however, was the only happy one in the class. She had a firm grip on Adrien’s arm as she chatted to an unset Alya about how she helped catch Hawkmoth with Ladybug.

The only reason I knew all of this was because of their parents. Despite their children no longer speaking to me, my classmates' parents and siblings were still in good relations with my family. Their parents had described their disappointment and confusion to my parents after all of the university issues.

I was sitting in the back with a sad looking Juleka, an annoyed Alix and an over smug Chloe. A weird sort of girl group that formed as the rest of the class refused to grow up. I wanted to feel bad, I really did, but honestly, they made their own graves. I tried to warn them, I tried to keep them from this. They choose the fool’s gold.

Alix, Chloe and Juleka came to the light. Chloe figured it out the quickest, many of Lila’s lies had holes in them. Chloe saw the holes quite easily. Juleka became wary of Lila after Luka met her. Apparently, Lila’s inner song is like nails on chalkboards and dying kittens. As for Alix, she had asked Lila about the Rabbit Miraculous only for Lila to tell her that it was wielded by a man in the future. Either way, they all saw what was really going on.

Mrs. Bustier walks into the room just as the bell rings, a large smile on her face. “Hello everyone. I hope you had a good break. Did everyone do their homework?” Most of the classmates looked down at those words. Our winter break homework, making a list of options for after Lycée this year. Normally we’d have private meetings about all of this today, while the rest of us worked in the library. Mrs. Bustier decided that our class would share our options with everyone else.

“Well, would anyone like to start? Alya?” Mrs. Bustier gives a big smile to my former best friend.

Alya’s face pales and she mumbles for a second before clearing her throat. “I, ahh. I’ve decided to take a year off, to do a year of work. There’s a grocery store that has some openings for me and the Zoo where my Dad works is hiring summer people for the gift shop and concessions.”

Mrs. Bustier’s smile drops. “Alya, what about your internships at the newspaper, or the one at TVi?”

Alya looks down. “I didn’t get them.”

“What about Goldsmith University in London? Or Cardiff University? Of the University of Amsterdam? Or ESJ Paris? You were looking forward to all of the programs these schools offered.”

Alya’s hand on the desk clenches. “I didn’t get in.”

Mrs. Bustier’s smile was completely gone now. “What?”

“All four Universities denied me. I didn't get into any of them.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Bustier blushes a deep red and looks around to the room before settling on me. She nudges her head towards Alya, telling me to comfort my classmate.

I raise an eyebrow at her, causing her blush to deepen. She did that everytime I reminded her, either subtly or not, that she couldn’t put all of her responsibilities onto a child. Regardless, I spoke up. I really did feel some pity for the class. “I’m sorry about that Alya. Try again next year. A job or something might help boost your application.”

Alya whips around and glares at me. “I don’t need your pity! I’ll be fine! Unlike you, you’ll just be a nobody. I bet not a single University in the whole world wanted you!” I sigh and glance over at Mrs. Bustier. She remained silent as Alya rips into me. Typical.

Chloe lets out a small laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

Alya’s face heats up again and Mrs. Bustier finally cleared her throat. “Well, let’s move on. Nino, what about you? What about that school in America?”

Nino rubs the back of his head. “I, uh. I heard back. They don’t think I’m ready to start at Musicians Institute in Los Angeles. I didn’t get the internship either, the one in Hollywood. My parents are letting me keep my DJ work up next year, but I have to find a job.”

Mrs. Bustier’s smile is obviously forced now. She’d spent the whole break bragging about her classmates on social media and in an interview. So far, the class was not doing so well. “Rose? How about you? What music school are you going to?”

Rose immediately starts to tear up. “None of them! Julliad didn’t want me! Neither did the Royal Academy of Music or Royal College of Music in London. They said my music wasn’t good enough!”

Rose was just about sobbing at this point in front of me. Juleka looks even more sad and I agreed with her. Rose’s lyrics were actually pretty good, until Lila got a hold of her. Now the music was less inspiring and unique.

Mrs. Bustier looks up at me. A desperate plea in her eyes. I look away almost instantly, pulling out a small thing of tissues. I pass them over to Rose’s shoulder, getting a soft thank you in response. Juleka pulls out her phone and starts to text. More than likely offering a shoulder for Rose to cry on after class.

Mrs. Bustier fumbles with her hands for a minute, looking around the class. “Sabrina, what about you? Do you still want that social justice degree?”

Sabrina drops her head into her arms. “No. I’m not going to University next year. My father wants me to stay in Paris with him until next year. He’s...worried about me.”

Mrs. Bustier’s eyes are a little more frantic now. “Myléne! Ivan! How about you two? Where do you hope to go to University next year?”

Myléne sinks in her seat. Ivan glances around the room like he’s hoping someone will help. No one does. “We’re ah, taking a year off too. Our summer volunteer trip in Africa fell through also. So, we’re sticking around for a while. Looking at our options.” Myléne nods.

“Oh, good for you.” Mrs. Bustier looks around the room again. She avoided us. No surprise. Unlike the rest of the class, we really didn’t get much time to discuss our future with Mrs. Bustier. She seemed to be focusing on the students she believed would be going somewhere. “Kim! How about that swimming scholarship?”

Kim flushes red too. “I uh. I’m not going to be swimming in the fall. I’m thinking about some basic classes at a local university.”

“What about the scholarship?”

Kim’s eyes darted around, briefly looking at me, before continuing on. “I lost it. There were some issues, I didn’t qualify anymore.”

“Nathaniel! What about you? Did your new comic strip kick off?”

Nathenial’s head drops to his desk and he moans. The whole class stares in shock. Nathenial shakes his head on the desk, another moan emitting from below the red hair.

“Max!” There’s a look of comfort in Mrs. Bustier. Her smartest pupil would come through, wouldn’t he. “How about you?”

“I got denied. All fourteen schools denied me!” Max had a slight crazed look in his eyes. As I looked closer I could see how unkempt me was. His suspenders were a little askew, his hair wasn’t quite as controlled as usual, and his glasses weren’t straight. “Me, the kid who made an AI was denied from MIT, Stanford, Cambridge, Oxford, Harvard, Berkeley, University of Tokyo, ETH Zürich, California’s Institute of Technology, Technical University of Munich, École Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne, Nanyang Technological University, Princeton, and Grenoble Institute of Technology. All of my scholarships, gone!” A hysterical laugh rips through Max as he sits in his seat.

Mrs. Bustier franic look was back as she scanned the room once more. She briefly looks up at the four of us then shakes her head. Alix rolls her eyes from across the row. Obviously Mrs. Bustier thought we’d all be failors too. Instead, she looks at Adrien and Lila.

“Adrien, what about you? Any University plans?”

Adrien’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “I’m moving in with my Aunt. I plan to teach piano to some kids in the fall. I have some… stuff to do with my father’s company this summer. I don’t think I’ll be going to a University anytime soon.”

“Lila!” Mrs. Bustier’s voice is high and cracking. “What about you? Still doing charity work? Going to University?”

Lila gives a huge smile to the whole class. “Yes. I’ll be working in Achu for a little bit this summer. I got into a few schools in the U.S, France, England and in Italy. I’m not sure where I want to study yet, but I’m sure I’ll be the next best thing in Fashion. Opps!” Lila looks up at me. “I’m sorry Marinette! I didn’t mean to offend you.”

I give a small, fake smile. “Don’t worry Lila. It’s fine. Maybe I’ll see you next year? What schools did you get into?”

Lila’s fasade drops slightly. “I, uh. Parson’s in New York, and um, Central Saint Martins in London, and um Accademia Costume e Moda in Rome. I decided to go to Central Saint Martins.”

“Impressive. I didn’t send anything to the Accademia in Rome, but I’m happy to see someone else got into Parson’s and Saint Martins.” My smile is a little sharp. I could afford to fake my congratulations when I knew that Lila’s tower was about to collapse underneath her.

“Marinette, you got into Parson’s and Saint Martins?” Mrs. Bustier’s smile was back and slightly crazed. “Which one of those will you be going to?”

“Neither. I did get into Parsons school of design in New York, as well as Central Saint Martin’s in London, but I’m not going to either of those.”

“What school will you be going to?” Mrs. Bustier’s eyebrows are furrowed.

“The London College of Fashion. I got into ESMOD in Paris, Istituto Marangoni International in Milan, as well as Parson’s School of Design and Central Saint Martins. I thought about staying in Paris, but I just wanted a little distance. You know, spread my wings. I didn’t feel like going to New York either. It’s pretty far away. I almost agreed to go to the school in Milan, but I think I’m going to hold off on that school until I go to get a Master’s Degree. So, it was between London College of Fashion and Saint Martins and I just liked the London College more.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic Marinette!” Mrs. Bustier’s enthusiasm returns in full swing.

Alya snort ruins the moment. “If she’s even telling the truth.”

Lila blinks and then looks back up at me. “Yah, that’s true. How do we know you’re not lying. You’ve been doing that alot the last four years.”

Mrs. Bustier smile turns into a frown and she instead gives a glare meant for a child. “It’s not nice to lie, Marinette.”

A smirk earns its way onto my face. “I’m not lying. I don’t care if you believe me or not, but I’m not lying. I’ll be in London, come Fall, studying to be a world class fashion designer.”

Alya snorts again. Mrs. Bustier gives me an exasperated look, but freezes as she meets my gaze. Any sort of appreciation or respect for my teacher was gone, replaced by annoyance and I hold Mrs. Bustier’s gaze for over a full minute, causing the woman to fidget.

Chloe finally nudges me and clears her throat. “Well, I finally decided where I’ll be going in the fall. I even have a roommate picked out.” She nudges me with a smile.

“No way you’re going to University.” Alya’s teeth are bare as she all but growls at Chloe. “Who would want you?”

Chloe shrugs. “Oh, you know. Harvard, Stanford, Cambridge, Oxford, INSEAD, Bocconi University, and the London Business School. I’m going to the London Business School. It’s ranked third in the world for Business studies. The only places above it are Harvard and INSEAD, but I don’t want to move all the way to America quite yet and I was not staying in a town less than an hour from you all.”

The whole class looks at Chloe in surprise. That was something they never realized. Chloe didn’t put work in when she was younger because she didn’t have to. Everything was given to her until Lycée when our teachers finally started to push Chloe. Now, she was a budding business woman already helping me with my MDC company.

“No way!” Max looks up at Chloe. Anger in his eyes. “How did you get in and not me?”

Chlor rolls her eyes. “I’m fluent in French, English, Italian, Spanish, Mandarin, as well as Portugese. I have a 4.00 GPA and perfect grades in all my classes. I got all A* grades in my A level exams to get me into the Schools in London. I even took the ACT and SAT for the Universities in America. I got a 33 on the ACT and a 1520 on the SAT. I have been helping my Daddy with the hotel for over three years and I’ve had three different internships.”

The whole class is staring at Chloe. They wanted to argue, but Alix cuts them off first. “Well, if we’re done arguing about how Chloe got into top Universities. I’m attending Cambridge in the Fall, just like my Dad and brother. I’m also tagging along on a dig in China this summer. There’s this old temple the Louvre is investigating with several other museums and colleges.”

The class just stares at her, completely complex. Alix shrugs and looks at Juleka. “Juleka, your turn.”

Juleka pulls her hair back and clears her throat. “I’m attending Guildhall School of Music and Drama, in London. I’ll be studying music and production arts. I’ve also been signed to a modeling agency in London, so I'll be doing that too.”

“So, you’ll all be living together?” Myléne looks at us curiously.

I shake my head. “No, Alix and Juleka will be living on Campus this year, in the dorms. Chloe and I will be sharing an apartment however. Our schools are only 30 minutes apart when walking.”

“We’ve already found a place. 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, and a large kitchen. Mari gave me the Master Bed and Bath so she could convert one of the extra bedrooms into a studio.”

Alya scoffs. “You doing anything else this summer?” She tries to sound strong, but it comes off a bit flat.

“We’re all doing a Graduation trip to Italy, you know, because we couldn’t go on the class one. Juleka’s mom and Marinette’s Grandmother are chaperoning. We’ll be touring all of Italy over a month.” Alix gives the class a smile as someone knocks on the door.

Mrs. Bustier gives us a small smile and goes to the door. There’s a gasp and Mrs. Bustier slowly backs up. There’s four police officers just outside the classroom door along with a small collection of people. Two of the people have a strong resemblance to Lila, and another person has an Italian look. Another three people all standing together, looking over the class. Principle Damocles is present as well, looking very pale. More people are filtering in and I realize it’s the parents of most of our classmates. Each set of parents comes and stands next to their child or sits on the bench with them. Juleka’s Mom gives me a little wave as she sits next to her daughter.

Principle Damocles clears his throat. “Students, if I could have your attention please. There have been some... issues over the break that need to be addressed.”

Alya perks up. “Have you finally come to deal with Chloe and Marinette? They’ve been bullying poor Lila for years.”

“No.” One of the women who had been surveying the class turns to look at Alya. “We’re here for a variety of reasons. First of all, several students in this class are under investigation for a variety of charges. Second of all, almost every single one of you has ended being denied from every college you applied to. Lastly, We’re here to deal with the improper and naive mindsets that your Principal and Teacher have. Especially considering Ms. Rossi. Speaking of which.” The woman turns to Mrs. Bustier. “I’m not even going to touch your bluntly stupid way of dealing with bullies. That will be handled after all of this. Right now I’m going to ask why you threw every single rule about parental contact and special privileges out the window. You do not give students special privilege for medical conditions if they do not have doctors notes. You do not just ignore the fact that you can’t contact one of your students parents by anything but email. You don’t ignore when one of your students disappears willy nilly when every she feels like it.”

Mrs. Bustier opens and closes her mouth. “Who are you? I’ve been in contact with all of my students' parents.”

“I am Amelia Vaux, the Superintendent of Education in France. And no, you have not been in contact with all of your student’s parents. The email Lila Rossi gave you is an email she set up. Mrs. Rossi has never spoken to you, received an email or signed anything for the school. The woman is still operating under the assumption that your collége closed down for months at one point.”

“I, what?” Mrs. Bustier looks completely lost.

“Lila Rossi gave you a fake email and a fake phone number for her Mother. Lila Rossi’s father is not asstrange, despite what she has been saying. Lila Rossi has a clean bill of health according to a doctor's visit over break. No tinnitus, no arthritis, no sprains, no breaks, no vision issues, no hearing issues at all. The worst thing she’s had was a bad case of influenza when she was 11. Of course, this is ignoring the fact that the girl was diagnosed as a pathological liar and with antisocial personality disorder when the girl was 13 years old. It’s in her medical file and her student file, along with a warning about the girl’s bullying habits.”

Everyone was staring at Mrs. Vaux up front, the parents looked sick and my classmates were staring in disbelief. “No,” Alya is shaking her head. “This can’t be true. Marinette is the liar.”

Mrs. Vaux turns from Mrs. Bustier and look at Alya. “Actually, Mrs. Dupain-Cheng was telling the truth and has unfairly suffered for it for years. From what I understand, most of this class had vandalized Mrs. Dupain-Cheng’s belongings or stolen things from her. All on the words of Ms. Rossi, who’s lies could have been proven false by a google search. Jagged Stone is allergic to cats. Prince Ali only runs children’s charities. I could continue.”

One of the women in the room clears her voice at this point. “If I may, I am here on the behalf of several people of various nationalities.” She sets a pile of papers before Lila and Alya. “These are cease and desist orders for the both of you. The Ladyblog must be shut down and deleted on the ground of libel, slander, and a violation of rights. As for Ms. Rossi, you have multiple charges of libel, slander, illegal photography, and a variety of charges you order to be sent to famous people who don’t know you.” Lila was paling quickly. “You also have a case of breaking and entering, theft, copyright violation and assault.”

“I have diplomatic immunity. All you can do is kick me out of the country.” Lila stands up from her seat, a smug look on her face.

“No!” A woman with a heavy Italian accent frowns at Lila. “We have revoked your diplomatic immunity. You will be charged here, in France, and will serve out your sentence in a French Prison. Italy already made a mistake when they let you have therapy for your original incident instead of time in a juvenile detention center. We will not make that mistake again.”

A police officer clears his throat and looks over at Lila. “Lila Rossi. You are under arrest for breaking and entering, theft, copyright violation, assault, destruction of property, libel, slander, charity fraud and terrorism. Hawkmoth had a camera in his lair. We have videos of you visiting his lair. He also confirmed that you willingly took akumas, helped him akumatized people and a variety of other things.”

Lila stands frozen as the police officer cuffs her hands behind her back. She finally snaps out of it as she looks towards the other two Italian people. “Mamma! Pápa! Do something!”

The woman takes one look at Lila and then bursts into tears. She’s full on sobbing into her hands. The man simple lays a hand on Mrs. Rossi and levels his daughter with a deadly stare. “No Lila. We cannot help you out of this mess.”

Lila gaps and then glares at her father. “Why not?”

“You’re not a child anymore, Lila! You’re over 18! There’s video evidence of your crimes! That blog is filled with your lies! You can’t lie your way out of this. You can’t get off scot free! You’re being charged with terrorism!”

Lila gaps for another minute then screams. A blood-thirst, angry scream as she whips around and glares at me. “You! This is all your doing Dupain-Cheng! You stupid bitch!”

I level with Lila’s glare. “Yes. I got the ball rolling. You see, when you broke into my room before break and stole my designs so you could add them to your portfolio for University, you didn’t realize that I had a video camera set up. I got on camera, breaking and entering, theft, and copyright violation. I gave the evidence to the police. I didn't expect all of this, but I’m not sorry.”

Lila screams again and starts to fight the police, forcing the second cop to help grab Lila and drag her from the room. Lila’s parents follow them out, with the Italian woman giving the class a nod before following. The lawyer gives Mrs. Vaux a nod and follows after them.

The other two police officers exchange looks before one clears his throat. “When investigation Ms. Lila Rossi, all of you were brought up. Most of you have broken a variety of laws at the behest of Ms. Rossi. Whether you knew that you were breaking the law or not doesn’t matter. Most of you destroyed the property of one of your classmates, more than once. You also physically assaulted her on more than one occasion. We have the video footage to prove it.”

Several parents were moaning now, forlorn looks on their faces as they started to realize the consequences of their children’s actions.

“Oh, my god!” We all look over at Max who looked a second away from hyperventilating. “I wrote my University admissions paper about a project Lila worked on. She gave me all of the data!”

Max’s mother moans. “You didn’t look up any of it!”

Max flushes. “She said it hadn’t been published yet.”

Max’s mother mumbles under her breath. “This is why all those Universities denied you! This is why you lost all our University acceptances and scholarships! Because you took the word of some Italian classmate above your own common sense.”

“Max thought that a napkin could cut his eye.” Chloe starts to file her nails, ignoring Max’s mother, who was now staring at her. “And he wears glasses.”

Max’s mother moans once again, and slumps onto the steps next to Max’s seat.

The police officers exchange looks once again. The first one continues his speech as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Due to the fact that most of your crimes were committed when you were a minor and were against the same person. There will not be any fines or jail time for any of you.”

There’s a large collective sigh through the room. Nino’s mother looks like she’s praying. Mrs.Vaux clears her throat. “While that may be true for legal terms, you are all on probation. One step out of line and you will be expelled from this school. You will also all have to complete anti-bullying seminars to graduate. Mrs. Bustier is also no longer your teacher. Mrs. Aveline will be your homeroom teacher for the rest of the year.” She gestures to one of the women behind her. “Mrs. Fortier is your temporary principle for the rest of the year. Mr. Damocles is no longer your principle.”

Rose hesitantly raises a hand. “Why are you firing Mrs. Bustier and Mr. Damocles?”

Mrs. Vaux’s frown deepens. “None of this would have happened if the two of them had done their jobs. Ms. Rossi’s habits were clearly outlined in her student file. If either of them had bothered to do their job correctly four years ago, we wouldn’t be in this position.” Rose nods meekly, sinking back into her seat and leaning into her mother.

The police officer clears his throat again. “Now, while none of you will be fined or be serving jail time, you do have to serve a certain number of community service hours to complete within the next six months. If you don’t complete the service hours, you will be fined for the crimes. Your parents have already agreed to the terms we will lay out for you. However, because all of you are over 18, you can try to bring this to court.”

Alya turns and glares at me. “This is all your fault!”

Alya’s mouth grabs her by the shoulders and jerks her around. “Alya. You will complete these service hours. If you get convicted you’re looking at thousands in euros of fines and almost a decade of jail time.”

Alya gasps. “What did I do?”

The second policeman glances down at a clipboard. “Libel, slander, damaging of property, theft, and assault.”

Alya stares at the man, going slack in her seat. It was like the consequences of everything she’d done of the past four years were finally hitting her.

The second policeman clears his throat once again. “Alright. Rose Lavillant, Ivan Bruel, Mylène Haprèle, Nathaniel Kurtzberg and Max Kanté, you will have to serve 50 hours of community service over the next six months. Nino Lahiffe, Lê Chiên Kim, Alya Césaire, and Sabrina Raincomprix, you all will be serving 100 hours of community service.”

“Ms. Césaire, by court order, your Ladyblog will have to be deleted as well.” Alya gaps at the officer and goes to stand, but both of her parents hold her down.

Mrs. Vaux sighs, and moves her gaze up to the four of us at the top. “Ms. Dupain-Cheng, Ms. Bourgeois, Ms. Couffaine, and Ms. Kubdel, you will be switched into Ms. Mendeleiev’s class for the remainder of the year. I believe it would be best for you to be out of this environment.”

All four of us nod and start to pick up our things. The rest of the classmates stare at us. “But, who’s going to be class representative now?” Rose looks close to tears again.

I shrug, pulling my bag over my shoulder. “The job goes to the deputy now.”

The whole class shifts to look at Alya, who pales once again. The four of us walk down the stairs to the near silence of the room, our parents trailing after us. As soon as we were out the door several people started yelling in the room.

I knew I should care, and part of me did, but I just felt happy that most of this was all over. It took four years, but finally, everyone knew about Lila. I hadn’t felt this light in years.

Ch. 2 ~~~~ Ch. 3

#lila salt #alya salt #ml salt #bustier salt #class salt #miraculous ladybug #lila exposed #success is the best kind of revenge

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stereksecretsanta · 4 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, kevaaronday!

For @kevaaronday. I tried to use all the tropes you liked, though I played a bit with the coffee shop!AU request. It ended up being pretty long, but I hope it pleases. Enjoy and Merry Christmas!

Read On AO3

*****

Food, Drinks, and Pings

Stiles just wanted to clear things up—he did not work for Hale Corp, and he certainly did not work for said company’s inhouse café, The Family Bean. He was a writer, who just so happened to have been roped into the gig because he was best friends with the soulmate-fiancée of the best friend of one of the sons of the company’s owners.

See, one of Stiles’ best friends from high school was Erica Reyes, blonde, vivacious, and both crazy and powerful enough to castrate someone with her fingernails. She might look like she just stepped off the catwalk, with her hourglass figure, fluffy hair, and red lips, but she had a knack for business that led to a scholarship at a reputable business school. Stiles, on the other hand, took to writing like a duck to water, thanks to his overactive imagination and ability to turn a phrase. He could write anything and so he did—news pieces, articles, blogs, reviews, as well as a modestly famous soulmate series published under a pseudonym.

Erica’s soon-to-be husband and soulmate was Vernon Boyd III, a tall, dark, and delicious drink of chocolate, who was so fit he could bench press a baby elephant without breaking a sweat. He was the perfect picture of seriousness and silence, that Stiles used to wonder how he functioned as Hale Corp’s Director of Operations. After getting to know him better, he realized just how smart and charismatic Boyd really was.

Boyd’s best friend from childhood was Derek Hale, one of the sons from the famous and powerful Hale Family, owners and leaders of the mass media company, Hale Corp.

Stiles knew of the Hale Family, and who didn’t? You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who didn’t know the famous family of business tycoons and titans, a family so rich they could buy a person’s soul even. Nor would someone fail to hear about one of the most powerful love stories that rocked the world.

Talia Hale was the eldest child of the main branch of the Hale family and was poised to take over the world. Desmond Fitzgerald, in contrast, was the only child of elderly parents, and they lived at a shabby, squat house with no electricity, scraping by each and every day.

Talia’s father, the late and great Everett Hale, had visited the local community college as part of their charity program. Talia had tagged along, nineteen and already learning the ropes, and had tripped over the custodian who had been on his hands and knees straightening the welcome carpet.

Take a guess who the janitor was.

An accidental brush of skin, the burning of a Mark, and that was it.

Talia and Desmond turned out to be soulmates, and their Marks, her howling wolf and his crescent moon, had become one of the most romantic symbols of their time.

Now, where did Stiles and The Family Bean came in, you ask?

Aside from writing, Stiles knew his way around a kitchen. His mother had passed away when he was seven, and he had grown up with a Sheriff father who only knew the basics. Stiles had to learn how to cook a meal or risk them subsisting on fried everything and endless takeout orders.

So yes, Stiles knew how a kitchen worked. The thing was, Erica didn’t, and had spent high school eating Stiles’ meals and hanging around his kitchen. Nothing soothed her viciousness and temper like one of his desserts.

So whenever Erica was close to breaking someone’s jaw and risking a lawsuit, she’d invite Stiles over and he would come and work his magic at The Family Bean. It wasn’t like it was such a hardship. The place had a gorgeous kitchen, a full pantry, and a really comfy setup with cozy booths and colorful tables and chairs.

It wasn’t only Erica who benefited. Stiles often found inspiration at the tail end of a whisk or in between beating a dough into submission while listening to Erica’s gossip. He had come to depend on her brand of sass whenever he was suffering from writer’s block, or dealing with annoying clients, or avoiding his editor, Danny Mahealani.

It got to the point that Erica had HR make him a permanent guest entry pass—written down for Stiles S, Food Guy—and everyone knew him by name, the security, the delivery boys, the café’s actual employees, and some of Hale Corp’s employees.

That was what he meant by his original statement: He did not work for Hale Corp or The Family Bean. He was just Erica’s food guy and personal chef. Just another title to add to personal punching bag, platonic soulmate, best friend, and partner-in-crime, among others.

Boyd was surprisingly calm about the guy constantly hanging around his soulmate. Then again, no one would choose Stiles’ skinny ass for Boyd’s lusciousness, so Stiles could understand that he wasn’t much of a threat. Erica said that Boyd knew they were a package deal, and it helped that Boyd had been won over by Stiles’ banana bread. Either way, Boyd was cool and didn’t punch Stiles in the face for his and Erica’s weird platonic love affair.

So, in the end, that was Stiles’ life—work, his Dad, Erica, and his other friends.

Then the Hales happened.

It all started on a fine Monday morning with Kira Yukimura. She was pretty and petite, and the goddess who was actually the one in charge of The Family Bean’s kitchen. She wore floral dresses with studded combat boots, and held katana wielding lessons on Saturdays and a kids’ kitchen workshop on Sundays. Stiles adored her.

So when he walked in that day—after spending the entirety of the weekend not writing, because his protagonists, Peter and Wade, were being idiots—only to hear Kira’s cries for help, he was more than happy to tag in.

“I’m not crying.” She glared at him from where she was assembling sandwich orders, her gaze as sharp as her swords.

“But you still need help,” Stiles said. He put his laptop bag in one of the employee lockers, rolled up the sleeves of his red sweater, and put on an apron. “Erica wants to do lunch, but I decided to come in early.”

Kira nodded towards the window. “All right, because I got a purple ticket for you.”

Stiles jumped up. “Ooh, cool! I’ve never handled a purple ticket before!”

Kira gave him a relieved smile. “Well, today’s your lucky day. One of my employees called in sick, another is late, and I’ve got five packed tickets from different departments, three of them being rush orders, not to mention today’s purple ticket is a little too vague. I’m both swamped and stumped.”

“I’ve got your back, K.” Stiles gave her a salute and bounced over to the ticket tacked up on the holder.

Purple tickets were orders sent straight from the Wolf’s Den. It was the codename for the top floors occupied by the Hale Family and their closest associates. Boyd and Erica’s office were there, too. Stiles had only ever seen it through photos. There was a lot of security posted there, as if guarding the gates of heaven.

Anyway, purple tickets meant VVVVIP orders, note the number of ‘very’s. Kira usually handled those, but she obviously needed help now.

“Now, what do the Lords and Ladies want?” Stiles murmured to himself.

The Family Bean:

MH: hot chocolate

CC: pancakes

SHB: waffles

VHB: dirty chai

LH: anything

“You know who’s who?” Kira called out.

“Yep, I got it,” Stiles replied. He learned about this from Erica.

MH was Matthew Hale, the firstborn son and heir to the kingdom. CC was his seven-year-old daughter, who everyone called by her nickname. SHB was five-year-old Spencer, and VHB was his mother Valerie Hale-Barone, the firstborn daughter, second eldest, and the lawyer of the family. LH was Laura Hale, the third eldest and the maverick of the family. She was the only one not directly working for Hale Corp, and was more involved their side projects.

“Purple tickets are usually like that,” Kira said, looking at him with amusement. Stiles realized he had been frowning in confusion. “Despite being insanely rich people, they’re surprisingly not very picky about what they eat. Laura, in particular, will eat anything. It’s just difficult to give them variety or find a balance between upscale and too simple.”

“And now you want me to take a crack at it?” Stiles asked.

“Sure. It’ll be in my name anyway, and I don’t mind if you go wild,” Kira said encouragingly. It made Stiles grin. Most would be horrified at handing over their precious menu to someone who wasn’t a baker, much less someone who wasn’t a legitimate employee. But Kira had always been a rebel.

Under Kira’s guidance, Stiles filled up a purple delivery bag for the Hales. The dirty chai latte was pretty straightforward, though he didn’t know how Kira usually made it, so he went with his own style. He also made a raspberry hot chocolate, strawberry cheesecake pancakes, mixed berry waffles, and, for the anything portion of the ticket, a berry breakfast parfait made of yoghurt and fruits and graham crackers.

“Tastes awesome and looks pretty as a picture too,” Kira said, nibbling on her own waffle as she sat atop the counter, swinging her legs to and fro. Stiles could see a hint of her soulmate Mark under her dress just on the outside of her thigh. “I still believe you should have been a baker rather than a writer.”

Stiles grinned as he hung up his apron. “I’m both, but one pays the bills and the other’s a hobby. It’s surprising how most people would think one’s the other.”

“Kira?” a voice called out.

Kira perked up and immediately slid off the counter. She straightened her skirt and stepped out the door of the kitchen.

“Good morning, Derek,” she greeted.

Stiles peeked out unashamedly through the service window.

Tall, dark, and incredibly handsome, DH or Derek Hale was the middle child of the family. He was the Chief Financial Officer, and was said to be shyer and quieter compared to his more unruly and flashy siblings. It made sense why he was childhood friends with Boyd. The two seemed to share a calm, quiet demeanor.

Stiles had always thought that Derek was quite handsome in an already attractive family, and every once in a while, he would get front row seats—or the view through the service window—to the man in the three-piece suit with the godly shoulder to waist to ass ratio. It was quite inspiring.

“I heard Val and the others had a purple ticket sent down,” Derek was saying to Kira. “I’m on my way up and I thought I’d bring it along and save you a trip.”

“Oh, thanks, Derek. I’ll get it from the back,” Kira replied. “How about you? Do you want anything?”

Derek thought about it. “Just a drink. Anything you want to make me.”

“So long as it’s sweet?” Kira teased, which made the man chuckle.

It was like a bulb lit up in Stiles’ head.

He met Kira at the door when she walked back in, and it said so much about how awesome she was because she immediately said, “Yes, Stiles, you can make whatever you want. I mean, you’ve already tried your hard at the purple ticket. Might as well go all the way.”

“Thanks, K. You’re a goddess.” Stiles bounced off to the machines. He had always liked a challenge.

In the end, Stiles added his specially made ‘very merry berry frappe’ into the bag. He made sure to put it in a cup cozy to hide the purple color. He wasn’t sure if Derek would mind, but it just wouldn’t do for one of the bosses to be seen with a colorful drink. He let Kira whisk the bag away and they watched Derek exit The Family Bean.

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,” Stiles murmured, eyeing the man’s backside.

“I’ll drink to that.” Kira giggled, clinking her extra glass of frappe against his. “And you’re teaching me the recipe by the way.”

“Not on your life.”

It took eight days before Stiles could once again visit The Family Bean. He had had a burst of inspiration following his last visit and had locked himself up in his apartment. His Dad John and his editor Danny were used to these binges, so they had taken turns visiting him to make sure he was alive and eating actual food rather than inhaling takeout, junk food, and soda.

He had sent off the first few chapters to Danny yesterday and had then slept for about eighteen hours, before Erica had barged in to make sure he hadn’t died. She had been pissed at him last week, annoyed that she hadn’t sampled Stiles’ berry-filled menu, but she’d gotten over it and had even brought groceries before dragging Stiles to The Family Bean for some fresh air and free lunch.

And if that wasn’t enough to perk Stiles up, she and Kira proceeded to tell him how well-received his menu was.

“The kids absolutely loved it, and Laura practically licked her parfait cup clean,” Kira said as they sat around the table for lunch. She had prepared honey sesame chicken, egg rolls, and sweet potato salad. She definitely had Stiles beat when it came to savory meals.

“Valerie was surprised that her dirty chai tasted great. She wasn’t biting people’s heads off more than usual,” Erica shared. She was running her fingers idly over her soulmate Mark, the three claw marks that spanned across her forearm.

Stiles felt pleased at the compliment, but he couldn’t help sending Kira an apologetic look. He didn’t want to usurp her clients and her kitchen.

Kira just laughed. “It’s fine. I know it’s due to your magic fingers and secret recipes. Just teach me how you do Valerie’s dirty chai and we’re good.”

“Sure thing, but it’s nothing special” Stiles said. “I did bring dessert, as thanks for letting me play around last time.”

Kira bounced on her seat. “Tomato pie?”

“With extra bacon and jalapeños, just how you like it.” Stiles grinned and showed her the pie, making Kira squeal.

“You gals eat up. I’ll mix us up some lattes, if you want anything,” he offered.

Stiles went to the kitchen to fix up Erica’s usual iced cinnamon honey latte and Kira’s vanilla almond. He was in the middle of finishing them up when he heard voices out at the main area. He recognized Boyd’s low voice and decided to make him a cup of blond roast with soy milk. He paused when he heard unfamiliar voices and took a peek out the service window. He instantly recognized the small group that had joined Kira and Erica.

There was Boyd, who immediately sat down beside Erica and kissed her cheek. His soulmate Mark was obvious, a rose on the back of his left hand. Stiles liked their marks, very beauty and the beast.

Having come in with Boyd was Derek, who looked just as handsome as he always did in a fetching dark blue suit. With him were his younger siblings, twins Cora and Cameron Hale, the artists of the family, who made music and art, played a bevy of instruments, and also drew and painted. Stiles was only two years older than the twins, but they had more talent in their pinkies than Stiles had in his whole body.

The twins’ Marks were one of the most popular, not just because the two were celebrities, but also because they were incredibly visible. Even from a distance, Stiles could see the compass between Cora’s collarbones and the lighthouse that popped up over Cameron’s collar at the left side of his neck.

Suddenly feeling shy, Stiles stayed in the kitchen and watched and listened.

“Nice spread, Kira. Is that for us?” Cameron asked.

“No, you Hales have your own food upstairs,” Kira said. “I heard Wild Flour Italian sent lunch over.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Jennifer Blake owns that joint. She’s been trying to get us to come over. No doubt she’ll just use it as some sort of advertisement. I’d rather take a bite of this.” She pointed at their table.

“That pie looks good,” Cameron said. “Can I have a bite?”

Stiles saw the gleam in Erica’s eye.

“Go on,” she said. “They’re good.”

Stiles watched as Erica and Kira offered the Hales a slice each. For some reason, he felt anxious to hear about how his food will be received. It had been nice to hear the rave reviews from Kira and Erica, but it was different seeing their reactions in person.

Cora let out yum-yum noises, which buoyed Stiles’ spirit.

“Okay, that’s pretty tasty. I love the caramelized bacon.”

“Wait, is this tomato in pie? Like a tomato pie?” Cameron asked, inspecting his plate. He took a large bite.

Kira bounced on her seat in excitement. “Yes, isn’t it good?”

“Who made this?” Derek asked. He didn’t look displeased, but he didn’t look happy either. He had a really good poker face. It might be good for business, but it was hard for Stiles to interpret. Stiles noted that he kept on eating the pie though.

“My Food Guy,” Erica said with a smug grin.

“Her Food Guy’s the one who made the berry-eautiful purple ticket that received quite the sensational reviews,” Kira added. She glanced at the service window and Stiles knew she saw him hiding there.

“The one who made my drink, too?” Derek asked.

Kira nodded. “The same one.”

“Spence went gaga for those waffles,” Cameron said. “And Mattie couldn’t believe someone got CC to eat fruit.”

A loud ring cut through their conversation and everyone started pulling out phones to check. It was Derek’s.

“Mom’s calling. Time to go,” he said, standing up.

In reply, Cameron started shoving the rest of the pie in his mouth and also popped in a couple of egg rolls.

“Where’s the Food Guy, though?” Cora asked, head turning to the kitchen. Stiles ducked down behind the counter. “If he makes stuff like this, I wanna meet him.”

“You can order a purple ticket if you want, but he’s not here all the time,” Erica said, and Stiles glared at her in his mind.

“He works part-time?” Derek asked.

“Not quite,” Kira said. “He’s—”

They were interrupted once more by a ringing phone, and this time Boyd spoke.

“Talia wants you all upstairs. Now.”

Stiles peeked out again. Cameron attempted to bring the entire pie tin, but settled for polishing his slice off. He then joined Cora in writing up a purple ticket order. After a moment, Derek put an order in too. The Hales left in a hurry and Stiles leaned right out of the service window just as Kira came bouncing towards it.

“There’s the man of the hour,” Boyd said, with a smirk.

Kira giggled. “Order up, Food Guy. You got a purple ticket.”

“I’m so proud.” Erica mockingly wiped a tear away. “Stiles, my Food Guy, charming the Hales off through the power of food.”

“Oh, fuck you all.” Stiles glared, ducking back into the kitchen.

At the last minute, he reached out and grabbed the purple ticket from Kira, ignoring the others’ laughter.

Over the next three weeks, Stiles prepared four more purple tickets. According to Kira, his drinks and desserts had become quite attractive to the Hales, both because of the taste and the mystery.

“At this point, they don’t even want me handling the tickets. They always ask if The Food Guy is around before they send their orders down,” Kira said. This time, she was the one helping Stiles prepare and pack.

The Wolf’s Den was going to be holding meetings nonstop, so Stiles had to prepare a variety of drinks and snacks. It would have been easy if they had simple requests, but the Hales were a mix of eclectic and frustrating.

“I’m glad you’re cool about this, but the Hales are bound to find out that the one making all their desserts isn’t even an employee,” Stiles said, as he added an extra shot of syrup in Laura’s honey and milk iced coffee. Just like her usual orders, she had asked for ‘any drink that’s sweet’ which was such a large ballpark that Stiles wanted to clock someone over the head, maybe her.

“I’m more surprised that you keep making these for free,” Kira said.

Stiles shrugged. “It’s a challenge, and I like challenges.”

“Really, just for the challenge?” Kira asked. “Stiles, Valerie fell in love with your version of her dirty chai. I did it the exact same way you did, but she insists that it tastes different. Same with Cameron’s favorite spiced coconut coffee. Same with all the desserts you made for the kids…”

Her face turned serious. “Don’t you think there’s more to this? Don’t you think it’s a ping—”

“It’s just for fun, Kira. It’s nothing,” Stiles said, heart rabbiting in his chest. He pushed it down firmly. “Plus, it’s surprisingly inspiring for my stories. Right now, I’m writing a new story for my spy series and I’m trying to solve this thing going on between James and Quentin.”

Kira’s face fell but she smiled, if a bit awkwardly. “Ah, well. Whatever you say, Food Guy. I’m just happy I get free labor out of it.”

“So you’re the Food Guy?”

The two of them jumped up in surprise and they turned around to see that someone had come in through the kitchen doors.

“Nathan, hello!” Kira greeted. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

Nathaniel Hale was the youngest of the brood at nineteen, and with his dark hair and piercing blue eyes, he was quite the heartthrob in an already beautiful family. If that wasn’t enough, he was an athlete and a rising star in soccer.

Stiles didn’t really care at the moment, too busy wondering if the kid had heard what Kira had been saying.

Nathan leaned against the counter. “Everyone was arguing over who was going to pick up the ticket this time. I walked out while Laura was arm wrestling with Cam.”

Kira laughed while Stiles looked away, suddenly awkward.

“Uh, that’s cool and all, but I’m not remotely interesting enough to warrant an arm wrestle.”

Nathan shrugged. “Your stuff tastes amazing.” He smiled at Kira. “No offense, Kira. You’re still queen. But you… you’re interesting.” He gave Stiles a look. “You know, I’ve been ordering the same caramel vanilla iced coffee from The Family Bean for years now. You made it once and now everything else tastes different.”

Stiles couldn’t help flinching. Oh yeah. Nathan had definitely heard Kira.

But Nathan turned to Kira, breaking the stare. “Anyway, is the ticket ready? Can I take it up?”

Kira smiled and handed over the bag. “You just want to lord your victory over the others.”

“Of course. That’s what having siblings is all about.” Nathan scoffed, but grinned. “Anyway, thanks.”

Kira smiled. “Enjoy your meal.”

Stiles watched Nathan leave and rubbed his left shoulder. He had a weird feeling about all this.

A single touch was all it took to find someone’s soulmate. However, people couldn’t just go around touching one another. Some did, but there were laws against touching people without their consent. So Nature, in all its wisdom, gave people the capability to locate their soulmates by following a trail.

The best trail was through family members. Take for example one other famous Hale love story, that of Valerie. Her husband, the Italian magnate Piero Barone, was from a family of vintners. During Talia and Desmond’s trip to Italy, they met Piero at a wine tasting event and immediately felt what Mark experts called a ‘ping,’ a connection between them that hinted at the identity of Piero’s soulmate. Piero followed the Hales to America, met the family—all of which gave off similar pings—was finally allowed a Touch Test with Valerie, and the rest was history.

There were other kinds of trails, like what happened between Boyd and Erica. They both attended the same university, though Boyd had graduated several years earlier. However, even without knowing Boyd, Erica inadvertently joined the same groups and organizations that he had, and even lived at the same apartment that he had rented when he had been a student. Then after Erica graduated, she decided to take a year off to travel. Months later, when Boyd went on sabbatical, he ended up following almost the exact same itinerary. They finally met by chance during an alumni event and got to talking, which revealed all of the things they had in common. Before the event was even halfway through, they had done a Touch Test and found their match.

Stiles’ favorite trail story was of his parents’. John and Claudia met when they were children. Having no siblings, they didn’t have the benefit of a family trail, and being young meant there weren’t a lot of experiences that could link them. However, they had always known there was something special about one another. They grew up together, grew apart, and met later on in life. They still didn’t have the same life experiences—she was a librarian, he was a deputy—but the moment they saw one another again, they just knew.

Sometimes people just knew.

“Well, well, well. I didn’t know we were serving twink in the menu.”

Ordinarily, that comment would have had Stiles lashing out with his sharp tongue, but upon looking up, he hesitated. First of all, the other person was clearly drunk and it was only, Stiles checked his watch, three-forty-seven in the afternoon. Second, the other person was none other than the infamous Peter Hale, Talia’s younger brother.

The eternal bachelor, he was called, well known for his many dalliances and relationships. He was also the Hale with the most well-known Mark, not because it was at a visible spot, but mostly because he tended to flaunt the large image of a bird in flight that was across his chest via his tendency of wearing unbuttoned shirts.

In Stiles’ opinion, Peter reminded him of one of his book characters—the rich and powerful Anthony, who, underneath all the bravado, was desperately looking for his soulmate, only to find it in the fair-haired, gentle-hearted Steven, who wouldn’t take his crap. He wondered who Peter’s soulmate was.

“Oh, for god’s sake. Uncle, come back here!”

Stiles looked up to see Derek jogging over to them, looking both pissed and worried at the man leaning against The Family Bean’s pristine counter.

Peter ignored him. “Oh, lay off, Derek. I want a drink, and this twink is going to make me one.”

Derek turned to Stiles. “Peter, do not call—” He paused, dark eyes widening.

Stiles felt his heart jerk in his chest and his left shoulder burn. He felt like he had been hit in the head, so did Derek going by his gaping.

Peter suddenly tilted sideways, interrupting their stare down. Neither Stiles nor Derek were able to catch the man before he ended up sprawled across the counter. The sight of him had Stiles dredging up some semblance of control. He sighed.

“You are very rude, and also very drunk, but because I feel sorry for you, Mr. Hale, I’ll make you a free drink.”

Derek let out a gurgle and then a cough, obviously holding back laughter. Peter propped himself up on wobbly elbows.

“You feel sorry for me? Don’t you know who I am, kid?”

Stiles was both annoyed by Peter and buoyed by Derek’s reaction. It was probably what sharpened his tongue.

“You’re Talia Hale’s younger brother, but between the supposed—ahh, what was it—Big Bad Wolf of Media and this so-called twink, I’m not the one nursing a hangover at this time of the afternoon.”

Stiles shook his head and walked off, ignoring Peter’s angry, garbled words and the sudden chuckle from Derek. The latter made Stiles’ shoulder ache.

Stiles ignored that and prepared a quick takeout bag. He could hear Peter and Derek arguing out on the main area. It was the work of minutes to prepare a quick smoothie and throw in some crackers and fruits. He walked back out and handed the bag to Derek, but then quickly tucked his hands to himself. The other man’s piercing stare was making him sweat.

Peter grabbed his drink and took a gulp of the smoothie, before asking, “What’s your name, kid?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Not even a thank you. How rude.

“Not a kid, and there’s no need to know my name since you’re just going to forget it.”

Peter smirked lasciviously. “Oh, that mouth on you.”

“I’m also not into geriatrics,” Stiles was quick to bite back.

Peter’s jaw dropped. “Geria—”

Derek suddenly burst into laughter and the sound of it seemed to fill Stiles’ heart and mind, making his face flush and his body warm. Derek smiled at him and Stiles felt warmth bloom in his chest.

Stiles cleared his throat, trying to will the blush away. He rubbed his shoulder. “Well, anyway, I’m happy to help. I’ll tell Kira you guys dropped by. See you around.” He glanced at Peter. “Not you. Drop dead.” He stepped back.

“Wait!” Derek lurched forward, startling Stiles and also Peter, who, true to Stiles’ words, slid off the counter to the floor. They ignored him.

Derek leaned forward over the counter. “I’m sorry if I’m forward, but are you—”

Stiles shook his head vigorously. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

He ducked back into the kitchen, ignoring Derek’s calls and Peter’s drunken warbling. He leaned against the door and slid down until he could curl up into a ball. He placed a hand over his burning shoulder.

Sometimes people just knew.

Stiles was tempted to stay away from The Family Bean after that. He really wanted to. But it was hard to stay away.

Even harder to stay away from a ping.

Stiles wasn’t stupid enough to let that slip away.

Still, it was hard to face up to it and admit that he had a soulmate.

So for the next two weeks, Stiles stayed away from the front of house, always hiding in the safety of the kitchen. He kept on making purple tickets whenever they came, but he avoided coming out for any reason, especially after Derek started coming by nearly every day. Sometimes he even brought his work over just so that he could stay as long as possible.

It confused Kira and Erica, but they assumed Derek just liked the food. The other Hales also started coming by and many times, Stiles could hear them asking Derek why he was hanging around The Family Bean instead of working in his office. Always, Derek kept mum.

Because as it turned out, Derek hadn’t told anyone about the ping.

In fact, Stiles had a feeling that the only person in the Hale family who knew was Nathan. Maybe because he had already been suspicious of it. Out of all the Hales, he was the only one who didn’t ask Derek about why he kept hanging around the café.

The other one who knew was Boyd.

Derek had been called to a meeting one day, so Stiles had felt it safe to come out and work at one of the booths. He had already fallen so far behind on his writing commitments. After a few minutes, Boyd had dropped by and had joined him. Stiles knew he was typing gibberish on his laptop, but he kept on as an excuse not to look at Boyd, who was looking at him intently.

Finally, he spoke, “Looking back, I guess it wasn’t just your banana bread that won me over.”

Stiles jerked, sending a series of characters across the screen.

Boyd kept on. “I always had a good feeling about you from Erica’s stories, but when we met, that was definitely a ping.”

Stiles bit his lip. “Does Erica know?”

Boyd shook his head. “I love her, but Erica would have thrown a party if she knew.”

Stiles sighed, both in relief and in trepidation for the moment Erica find out.

Boyd studied him. “Derek’s a good guy, you know.”

“I know I got that impression from all the stories you and Erica had of him,” Stiles said. “I always thought it was surprising considering he could afford not to be a nice guy.”

Boyd studied him, making Stiles shift in his seat. “Is that the reason you won’t meet with him? Or do a Touch Test? Because he’s a Hale?”

Stiles almost protested, but he deflated. “…I don’t know.”

Boyd hummed under his breath. “Well, you’ve always played your cards close to the chest when it comes to soulmates, but I know you’ll figure it out.” He stood up. “But you better make it soon. Erica and the rest of the Hales are bound to figure it out.”

Stiles groaned and sank down on his seat.

“Noted.”

The day after that, a still-conflicted Stiles was once again at The Family Bean. Kira had gone up to the Wolf’s Den to deliver the latest purple ticket, so he had to stay and man the counter.

The door let out a little tinkle, and Stiles froze the moment he saw the woman entering the café.

He’d know Talia Hale anywhere.

Stiles almost panicked, but then he remembered that she didn’t know who he was. He took a deep breath.

“Um, good afternoon, Mrs. Hale. What can I get you?”

The woman smiled, quite warm and friendly despite her fierce reputation. “Just some tea, please. And are there any new desserts?”

It had been a moment of weakness, but Stiles had actually brought over some peanut butter stuffed cookies and added it to the purple ticket in the hopes that a certain Hale would like them. He still had a few cookies left, but he wasn’t sure if he should offer them to her.

“I smell cookies,” Talia said pointedly. “I’ll have some of those.”

Stiles gulped. “Ah, we have some peanut butter stuffed cookies. Let me get those for you.”

He swallowed his nerves and served the woman, who took a sip of tea and a bite of the cookie right there on the counter.

She smiled, studying the cookies. “Very tasty.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Stiles smiled politely. He turned away to leave and maybe gather his strength in the privacy of the kitchen.

“When we started hearing about The Food Guy, I admit I was quite intrigued. It’s very rare for someone to grab the attention of my entire family.”

Stiles paused and turned to her.

He should have known.

Stiles nodded stiffly. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Talia smiled, sharp and knowing. “And you, Food Guy.”

“Any reason for the visit?” Stiles asked, shifting on his feet.

“I wanted to meet you,” Talia said, taking another bite of her cookie.

Stiles frowned. “That’s all?”

“Were you expecting anything else?”

“Uh, well, I…”

Talia shrugged and sipped his tea. “I don’t blame you for any misgivings you might have should you prove to be soulmates with my son. I’m well aware of the reputation of my family. My late father, Everett, embodied the might of the Hale name better than anyone. You should have seen him back in the days.”

Stiles held up his hands. He couldn’t help the feeling that he had to explain.

“It’s not that there’s a problem with Derek or your family. Being a Hale isn’t the problem… not entirely…” he hesitated, but then plunged on, urged by the ping he could feel inside him and the desire to make someone understand. “My mom passed away when I was seven. She was soulmates with my father. He was—I was—we were never the same after.”

A heavy silence fell, and Stiles was both nervous and intrigued. Talia’s face changed. Something in her eyes darkened and she pursed her lips.

“Forgive my sudden melancholy, but I was just reminded of something.” She sipped her tea. “I was reminded of my youth. My father, Peter, and I had never been the same after mother walked away.”

“Walked away?” Stiles was taken aback. It was rare to hear any mention of Talia’s mother, but everyone had chalked it up to grief at her passing. “But you all said she died—”

Talia interrupted him delicately. “People think of Marks as the be all and end all where the only answer is yes. But even soulmates are a choice…”

“Desmond grew up without a penny to his name, so he rejected me as he could only see himself as an embarrassment to the Hale family. My opinionated father had, unfortunately, been a contributing factor to that line of thinking. I grew up with a rather jaded view of Marks and pings, and I had seen his rejection as a challenge and not a privilege. Desmond and I, our story had been tempestuous, quite unlike the romanticizing people had done.”

She finished the last of her tea. “If I may be allowed to request one thing, all I ask is that you make a choice so that Derek can do the same. No one in this family will certainly blame you for it.”

Talia pushed her empty cup and plate towards Stiles, and smiled. “Have a good day, Food Guy.”

Stiles watched Talia walk away.

He had some thinking to do.

Stiles took a deep breath and tried not to crush the boxes in his hands. He was nervous and his left shoulder was throbbing.

“Ready?” Kira asked him. She was carrying the other delivery boxes.

“As I’ll ever be,” Stiles replied.

Kira smiled, both encouraging and proud, and nodded to the guard on duty. The man held open the double doors for them, and Stiles was instantly met with a wall of sound.

“Purple ticket delivery,” Kira called out, leading Stiles inside.

The office was spacious, as it should be if it was going to accommodate all of the Hales, and all of them were there. There was a long table at one end where Talia, Matthew, and Boyd were talking and laughing. Desmond was on one couch, talking to Piero and Erica. Laura and Cora were seated on armchairs and were arguing loudly about something. Peter was egging them on. CC and Spencer, were seated in front of a television at a kids’ play area set up in the corner. Cameron was with them, all of them singing along to whatever cartoon was playing. Derek, Valerie, and Nathan were huddled around a table, looking at blueprints.

“Oh, yes! The food’s here!” Cameron cheered, which sent the children shouting as well.

Kira navigated the area like a champ, while Stiles slowly shuffled after. “You guys ordered a lot. I had to ask for help. This is Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t miss the way Derek’s head suddenly jolted in his direction, nor Talia’s proud smile, nor Erica’s sudden screech of “Stiles!” which had everyone else turning their way. Stiles winced. He was going to get his ass kicked later for not telling Erica about this.

“Well, well…” Peter grinned. “Hello there, twink.”

Stiles shuddered. “Still not into creepy old geezers.”

“Oh, wait, wait! Is he the guy who called you a geriatric?” Laura asked, before shrieking in laughter.

“And the one who said Peter should drop dead,” Cora added, cackling.

Laughter rang around over Peter’s protests, and it made Stiles’ heart stutter. He felt warm all over, like the pings going off in his head were doubly delighted at the Hales. He glanced at Derek, who was smiling warmly.

Stiles winced when he caught Erica’s gaze though. She looked between him and Derek and her eyes widened. But Boyd was suddenly there, hand over her mouth and whispering to her.

Stiles helped Kira take out all of the food and the ravenous Hales were quickly upon them.

“Food Guy’s stuff tastes awesome,” Nathan said, licking his cupcake’s icing. He waggled knowing eyebrows at Stiles, who bit back a grin. Cheeky kid.

“Please pass our compliments to the chef, Kira,” Desmond said, reaching for his drink.

Kira giggled. “You can thank him yourself.” She waved at Stiles with a flourish.

Stiles felt a little like a deer in headlights when all their gazes alighted on him.

“You’re Food Guy?” and other iterations of the exclamation rang around the room.

Stiles flushed. “I’m glad to hear you all like what I’ve been making.”

“Oh, wow! How wonderful!” Piero piped up. “I haven’t felt a ping in such a long time. How nostalgic, don’t you think, dear?” He turned to Valerie.

“That’s a ping?” Matthew asked, confused, before his face cleared and he rubbed his chest. “Oh, hell, this is a ping.”

“Is that the tingly feeling here, Uncle Mattie?” Spencer asked, pointing at his tummy.

Erica finally managed to get out from under Boyd. “Stiles, did you ping with Derek? Is that why you’ve both been hanging around The Family Bean? You’ve both been pining over each other!”

Stiles groaned, while gasps and shouts suddenly rang around the room.

Kira sighed. “Way to ruin it, Erica.”

“You mean I was pinged through a tomato pie?” Cameron was asking, wide-eyed.

Cora started laughing. “Oh my god! Uncle Peter flirted with Derek’s soulmate!”

“That’s Uncle Derek’s soulmate?” CC asked.

“Yes, he is.” Nathan looked like he was immensely enjoying all this, and Stiles was starting to realize that he was a little shit.

Derek stepped towards Stiles. His face was a little red, but he was smiling and Stiles thought he was the handsomest man he had ever seen.

“My family’s a mess. Please ignore them,” Derek said, ignoring the protests from his siblings.

Stiles chuckled. “At least they keep things interesting. It’s just me, my Dad, and her.” He jerked a thumb at Erica.

“Oh, fu—dge you!” Erica said, glancing at the kids. She turned to Boyd. “And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

Boyd rolled his eyes. “I was giving him space to process things.”

Stiles ignored them and turned to Derek. He only had one chance to do this.

“Ah, sorry, it took a while. I was figuring stuff out, but I thought we should get to know one another first.”

“Of course,” Derek said immediately. He reached out a hand. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Stiles.”

Stiles glanced at Talia, who was whispering to her husband. She winked at Stiles.

“Soulmates are a choice.”

Stiles smiled at Derek. He could feel his Mark tingling in anticipation.

“Me too, Derek.”

He reached out and took his hand.

#kevaaronday #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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darker-soft-starker · 5 years ago

Photo

Gold Digger / Sugar Baby Starker AU

Warnings: some nff mentions, mentioned erectile dysfunction

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

Tony isn’t Peter’s first wealthy boyfriend.

His laundry list of previous entanglements is by no means lengthy, however it is somewhat selective. The criteria is simple: men with money - lots and lots of money.

Four years ago Peter been desperate. Six weeks behind rent his landlord was threatening to have him evicted, electricity already cut off, he’d dropped out of school to work three jobs. The cost of his aunts cancer treatment was so high even the most dubious loans couldn’t cover them. Everything was beginning to pile up with no way out.

So, in despair, he became an escort.

It was high end and he got lucky. One of his very first clients was a man so wealthy he practically exuded dollars from his pores, dropping a ten thousand dollar tip on Peter on their first night. The man seemed to like him, hiring Peter again and again, dressing him up in designer clothes and taking him to the most exclusive venues.

Peter would have enjoyed it, had the man not been the scum of the earth.

No matter exorbitant his gifts were it never made up for how bad a man he was. Money couldn’t cover up his drunken racist remarks. Lavish luxury couldn’t excuse how the man looked down on the poor, literally spitting on the homeless as they passed them on the streets.

By the time Peter had cycled through a few rich clients he’d more than covered the cost of his aunts treatment, their rent paid six months in advance. He could even afford to pay off his student loans and move out on his own. He resigned with the escort agency, keen to get his life back on the straight-and-narrow.

Except, he had a taste for it, now. The creature comforts, the luxury cars, the attention. The satisfaction he got from ripping off perverts who hired him because his young face made him seem underage.

The things he had seen made his stomach turn. How was he supposed to go back to a normal life knowing what he knew about Hollywoods seedy underbelly beneath its glistening city lights?

So, he went out looking for them.

They were all the same. Incredibly privileged men with more money than humanity, morally bankrupt despite their bulging bank accounts. All wanting something young and pretty on their arm and warm in their bed - no matter how much they have to fork out for the illusion of a smitten partner.

It only ever took a few sweet words, wide eyes and wandering hands to hook them in and drain them dry.

Once Peter would have his fill he’d sell their secrets to rival companies, then to law enforcement. It was by no means a humanitarian endeavour, but it made him feel good in the same way donating to charity did.

And he looked damn good doing it.

------

Peter had met Tony on a cloudy Monday morning.

He’d heard all about Tony Starks philandering antics and his acerbic personality and pegged him to be just like the others, just another playboy looking for something to play with.

So he managed to get hired as Tony’s personal assistant, hamming it up as a meek, clumsy newbie. As the weeks progressed, the more flimsy Peters’ outfits became, one too many buttons open on his thin dress shirts, voice soft, eyelashes fluttering as he leaned in close to the man to pass him his coffee or a contract.

It was the same drawcard he’d used for all the affluent assholes he’d dated prior; whether a high powered lawyer or a CEO, they all seemed to have a weakness for simpering submissive types, those who dropped things too many times, those who played dumb, didn’t engage in intellectual conversation.

It took Peter an embarrassingly long time to figure out that kind of behaviour didn’t interest Tony for anything more than a one-night stand.

Sure, he’d caught the end of Tony’s prolonged stares more than once, had noticed the appreciative leers whenever he bent over a table or to pick something up, but it wasn’t enough to truly engage him.

It wasn’t until one day, Peter frustrated and exhausted from a poor nights rest, had spoken back to the man with a scathing remark that Tony had really started to pay attention.

Tony likes bossy. Tony likes being challenged by someone he considers an equal. Once Peter dropped the facade of wide-eyed innocence, proved his smarts and snarked back it was like reeling in all-too-willing fish.

They’d been bantering all day, mostly light-hearted, because apparently that’s flirting, according to Tony and Peter can’t fault him for that.

Peter had been teasing Tony for hours, all his usual tricks. In the afternoon he’d squeezed behind Tony’s chair and set his hands on the mans shoulders, lightly massaging the tight muscles through his shirt. A treat for all his hard work Peter had simpered, going back to their discussion on quantum field theory.

“I know what you’re doing, you know,” Tony had said, but relaxed into the touch anyway.

“Do you? Is it working, Mr. Stark?” Peter had asked, hands coming down to stroke at Tony’s chest. The man had near purred as Peters hands trailed over his pectorals.

“It’s definitely working. At least let me take you to dinner first.”

So he did. Peter had been wined and dined that night, followed by the best fuck of his life, riding the man in the backseat of Tony’s car. And the rest was history.

Back then he’d only forecasted the longevity of their relationship to be a few months. A fleeting romance, however long enough for Peter to get into Tony’s wallet and for Tony to show his true colors.

Except, Peter is still waiting, is the thing.

Despite all his expectations and his fevered observations, Tony hasn’t slipped up yet. With the mans combined net worth and reputation, Peter had expected more than one skeleton cluttering his closet, red flags and scandals waiting to be uncovered.

The only secrets Peter finds in two years are the ones Tony whispers into his skin at night, his deepest insecurities and worst memories.

As time drags on Peter is beginning to suspect that maybe he rolled the dice wrong and maybe Tony just isn’t a bad guy.

Not long ago they were in Paris. They’d sat upon their terrace drinking coffee in the morning sun, making up life stories of the people passing below. Tony snorted at a particularly funny one and looked at Peter with such unadulterated affection and said:

“I fucking love you, Peter Parker.”

That was new.

------

The guilt is also new to Peter.

It’s not that Peter has never experienced remorse, but he’s not once felt a single modicum of contrition for the men he’s played or the luxurious gifts he took with him.

Peter keeps waiting for Tony to give him a reason to cut him off. Keeps waiting for the incriminating tabloid pictures proving Tony’s infidelity, anticipates some white collar crime to sneak into the newspapers, or like his last boyfriend, a violent temper.

But it’s been two years and Tony has yet to slip up. His interest hasn’t waned, his hands haven’t wandered. Peter would know - he’d set Tony up on three seperate occasions and the man is unfailingly faithful.

The only thing that has changed is the ever increasing way in which Tony softens for Peter, how the fondness reaches his eyes and is woven into his words.

Tony isn’t Peter’s first wealthy boyfriend, but he has been his longest. The longer their relationship continues it becomes considerably clear that Peter miscalculated terribly.

Because, despite public opinion, Tony is a good man. A really fucking good man.

Peter is never left wanting for intimacy or possessions, the only absence in his life is misbehaviour. Of course Tony isn’t perfect, he has his vices. He drinks too much, works too hard, loves like it’s going out of style. He spoils Peter and values everything he has to say. It’s the worst.

So, the guilt.

Peter feels lied to. The public, playboy persona of Tony Stark does not align with reality at all. Peter went to Tony for his transactions but Tony ended up giving him his heart instead.

It was Peter who was supposed to do the ruining, not the other way.

------

Galas were never really Peter’s thing.

There was too much ceremony and exaggerated decorum for it to be any real fun. Any entertainment was usually in the form of a high profile guest tripping over themselves or a rowdy politician overindulging on the free alcohol.

Tonight it was to commemorate some new arts centre. They’d been there for an hour already but it felt like entire night was dripping by in slow-motion, minutes bloated in boredom.

Peter is sullen, given up playing nice with the socialites and pretending he has anything in common with these people. He just wants to be at home in the jacuzzi, being hand-fed caviar and truffles. Is that honestly so much to ask?

As he’s about to suggest as such to Tony, a hand touches his wrist to get his attention.

He frowns, looking over as some guy gestures to him, eyeing him up and down.

“How much?”

Tony’s arm around his waist keeps him upright as he politely removes his arm from the strange mans grasp.

“Excuse me?”

The man, short, stout and wielding a fat cigar between his fingers like a weapon, points at the diamond encrusted necklace dangling from Peters neck. The pendant, a large bejewelled spider, rests heavily against his sternum, hung by a solid gold plated chain.

“My niece loves the creepy fuckers,” the guy says by way of explanation, smoothing his tie down upon approach. “Got a thing for them. Has her own pet tarantula, can you believe?”

The arm around Peters waist tightens.

“It was custom made,” Tony supplies, pressing a kiss to Peters cheek whilst squeezing his hip. “Just for Peter. Cartier were generous enough to make it for our anniversary.”

Peter smiles at the mention, looks every bit the doting boyfriend as he leans into Tony further, winding his arm around the older mans waist. The man never fails to exude an effortless, old-school debonair charm, the satin lapels of his tuxedo reflecting the lowlight of the chandelier glow.

The stranger nods, chest hitching with a laugh.

“Anniversary, huh? Well, congratulations,” he commends, nudging Tony with his elbow. “How long? Six weeks? Six days?”

“Two years,” Peter says, voice hardening.

“I’m sorry, who are you again?” Tony adds, flagging down a waiter and scooping two flutes of champagne from the tray. “Do you know this guy, baby?”

“Nope,” Peter replies, accepting a glass from Tony with his free hand, toasting their glasses together with a clink. “No idea. I think he works here?”

“Does your manager let you mingle with staff?” Tony adds. “Isn’t that so adorable, honey?”

“So adorable,” Peter agrees, smiling at his lover.

He enjoys watching the scowl form, the flustered, sheepish twitch of the mans lips as he struggles to find something to say.

“Excuse me,” is all the man says, turning on the spot and disappearing into a crowd of haute couture.

Tony lets go of his waist to turn further into Peter, hand coming up to trace the delicate chain up to the bump of his collarbone. It really is an exquisite piece, Peter concedes as Tony’s fingers grip the pendant, using it to pull Peter closer.

Peter goes willingly, flushing their bodies together. He slips both of his hands onto Tony’s hips, wondering if he could get away with snaking them into the mans back pockets, if he could squeeze Tony’s ass in public view. There’s something arousing about being crass in a formal setting like this, surrounded by Los Angeles’ elite and foregoing all of their staged propriety.

Tony must sense the intent because his gaze surrenders to Peter’s, leaning in to place a placating kiss on the corner of Peter’s mouth.

“Tony, Tony,” comes the chiding tone of Obadiah Stane. “What have I said about being indecent in public?”

“To only do it if I’m getting paid for it?” Tony quips, but loosens his grip on Peter nonetheless to shake his hand with his associate.

Obadiah gestures to Tony with the hand that holds a glass of whiskey, speaking to Peter. “Think’s he’s a wise guy, doesn’t he?”

Peter smiles demurely, hand coming to rest on the back of Tonys neck. He knows better than to think that the man actually wants to hear his opinion on the matter.

“And, please remind me, which of us graduated college at seventeen?” Tony retorts not unkindly. “I think I’m absolutely qualified considered to call myself wise, wouldn’t you say Pete?”

It’s not Peter’s function to be funny in this play, so he swallows the already formed quips and nods, fingers stroking at Tony’s hairline as he pastes a wide smile on his face.

Tony tugs playfully on Peters pendant, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. “Why don’t you get us some more drinks, sweetheart. I’ll come find you.”

Glancing between the two men, Peter agrees, letting his fingers brush the back of his neck as he walks away.

It’s not the first time Tony has tried to shield business from him, won’t be the last. In the early days Tony would rave ad nauseam about his company, all the tech being developed, conjoined at the hip to his office. He’s been quiet about it, lately.

Peter doesn’t know what that means and reminds himself that he shouldn’t actually care. He’s done nothing to earn Tony’s trust, after all.

When he reaches the bar he orders himself a vintage wine, sipping it as he cooly observes the room.

The elite. The upper echelons of society. Or so they call themselves, as if they aren’t just every bit animal as Peter, if not more. As if the room isn’t full of criminals and adulterers, their wealth built on the exploitation over the lower ninety-ninth percent of the rest of the world.

While Tony talks shop Peter leans against the edge of the bar, sipping, observing. He spots Pepper Potts in the distance and raises his glass to her when she nods to him.

She doesn’t make much effort to hide how little she thinks of him, which is a shame, Peter thinks. He is ever so grateful for her hiring him as Tony’s PA those two years ago.

If she hadn’t taken a look at his heavily falsified resume and considered him a shoo-in then where would he be right now? Probably on the arm of some lower level wall-street rat, which would be comfortable, but not where he wants to be.

It doesn’t take Tony long to finish, clapping Stane on the back and ambling over to the bar. He takes in the curved line of Peter’s inelegant slouch with unashamed appreciation, loafers skipping with a squeak against the polished floorboards as his step falters.

“That just for you?” Tony asks, nodding towards his half drunk wine. “You ready to go home, doll?”

Peter tucks his elbow into his chest, protectively clutching the glass closer to him. “Mhmm,” he hums agreeably, taking a large sip and downing the rest, watching Tony watching him. Once drained Tony offers his arm.

Depositing the empty glass on the glass counter with a clink Peter takes his arm, rolling his eyes at their antics, grinning nonetheless.

They wave to various dignitaries, trust fund babies and political hopefuls as they make their departure, promising nebulous future appointments and catch ups, none of which will happen, but they all like to pretend.

Outside in the cool fall air Tony pulls a stack from his back pocket, depositing it into the hand of the nearest valet. The woman scurries off to retrieve their car as soon as the notes nestle into her palm.

A sleek sports car, a model that Peter has never seen, pulls up while they wait, a woman covered in silk slipping inside. Tony whistles at the seamless lines, the near silent growl of the engine as it takes off into an opportune gap of traffic.

“I want one,” Peter says, transfixed at the gleaming paintwork. He turns to Tony and tugs on his tie. “In rose gold.”

“In rose gold,” Tony echoes softly into the night air, rolling his eyes. Peter can already see him mentally pulling out his checkbook as he smooths his tie down. “Anything else, baby?”

Peter only smiles as the Audi pulls up, slipping into the far end of the backseat and pulling along with him. He still has an ounce of refinement from his aunts lessons in him, so he waits until they have left the parking lot to sink to the car floor inbetween Tonys knees.

This isn’t a hardship for him at all. In fact, having sex with Tony is his favorite past time.

With practised movement he slithers his hands up Tony’s thighs, spreading them apart. Their driver turns up the music as Tony’s zipper slides down.

Tony is predictably soft when Peter pulls him out, lazily fondling his length, Tony’s eyes getting progressively hazier as his cock gets stiffer. Peter enjoys laving the head with kitten licks, Tony’s soft groan as he licks his way from the base back up before taking the entire head into his mouth.

It takes a while for Tony to get fully hard. Peter knows he’s insecure about it but it makes their age gap more apparent - and incredibly arousing.

Seated like a king upon his throne Tony hums in satisfaction, gently brushing his knuckles against the high crest of Peters cheek.

“So good at that, darling. Want to push your pretty head down and fuck your mouth.”

Peter groans affirmatively around the flesh in his mouth, encouraging Tony to do just that as he reaches for the older mans hand.

“God, I love you,” Tony breaths, gently thrusting up.

Peter’s glad his mouth is occupied with Tony’s cock so he doesn’t have to reply.

------

When they get home after the gala Peter has worked Tony up enough to get thoroughly fucked against the windows of their bedroom, come shooting all over the glass. They shower and stumble into bed shortly thereafter.

Under the sheets Tony curls into Peter, placing a sleepy kiss on his bare sternum, the warm exhalations from the mans nose tickling his skin.

It’s not until Tony falls asleep that Peter allows himself to return it, pressing his lips into the older mans hair and sighing into the greying strands. Not for the first time he wonders if he’s in over his head.

There’s a slimy feeling all over his skin. Tony loves him. Tony is good and he loves Peter. Peter, who came into this relationship because he thought the man was made of too much stone to bleed.

Somehow under all of the glamour and supposed moral superiority he’s become the very type of snake he’s been trying to ruin these last years.

He’s been a fool for staying this long, allowing himself to grow fond. Peering down at Tony’s vulnerable form, Peter knows he shouldn’t stay. Can’t stay. Better late than never to do the right thing, isn’t it?

Tony deserves better.

------

It’s for the best, he tells himself.

Sad, but resolute, starts pulling away. He surreptitiously packs his things, stays longer and longer at their Beverley Hills apartment until Tony begins to notice his prolonged absence.

One night they are having dinner out at some high-end restaurant, Tony preoccupied on his phone. It’s happening more and more lately. Once there was a time where the man would determinedly dedicate the entire night to making Peter see stars without touching his phone once.

Maybe he’s losing interest in Peter after all.

The thought shouldn’t make his chest hurt.

“Sorry about that, baby,” Tony says as he hangs up, reaching over to take Peters hand.

“Work comes first,” Peter appeases, squeezing Tonys fingers before pulling away to re-arrange his napkin.

Tony looks at him, eyes searching for just a moment.

“You come first, Pete. You mean everything to me, you know that right?”

Peter nods, throat tightening up. He offers Tony a smile he knows must look flimsy and sips his wine to avoid saying something stupid.

“Me and Obie are working on something, baby. Something big. I know I haven’t been around much, but trust me when I say it’s going to be worth it.”

The hopeful, earnest smile on Tony’s face makes Peter feel like the worst person in the world.

However fine their food is, all Peter tastes is guilt.

------

It takes a few weeks but he makes his arrangements.

Every day spent apart feels like a sandpaper scrub to his heart, leaving him raw and aching. When they’re together Peter hides his the wet pinprick of his eyes until Tony isn’t looking, only allows Tony to take him from behind so in his head he can call it fucking instead of love-making.

Tony Stark loves hard. It isn’t fair of Peter to take advantage of that anymore.

So he picks fights. Begins acting like the vapid airhead he pretended to be when they first met. He spends less time in their bed and watches as Tony looks at him with increasing sadness.

Peter wants to be the type of guy that Tony deserves, but he isn’t. He might not have much money of his own but the one thing he can give Tony is the opportunity to be with someone who didn’t use him.

Turns out it’s Peter that’s just like the others, after all.

------

More and more time is spent at their alternative apartment, then May’s apartment. He tries to figure out what his life is supposed to look like, after. The sadness is distracting, but it doesn’t have any right being there.

He scrolls through endless online job listings, but ultimately his efforts are fruitless.

How is he supposed to explain the gaping gap years on his resume? What are his applicable skills? Being a money hungry sugar baby?

Not only that, but Tony Stark is nothing but high profile. Over the last two years Peter has been in countless pap photos, endless grainy TMZ clips. How is he supposed to go back to a regular life when he’s had articles written about his relationship?

It makes him frustrated and depressed. It makes him miss Tony who best waved away all Peters worries with a kiss and stream of distracting words.

He tries to stay away.

The need to be in Tony’s arms again wins over his moral crusade.

-----

On a midday venture back to the the mansion in Malibu, Peter intends to only be there a little while. Maybe have lunch with his - with Tony.

He thinks he really should pick up the last of his belongings until he stops dead in the living room, color draining out of his face as he spots the older man.

“Tony?” he slowly approaches, hovering by the sofa. “You okay?”

Tony sits hunched over upon the sofa, head buried into his hands.

“S’all gone,” Tony whispers, burying his face deeper into his palms.

“What do you mean,” Peter asks cautiously, moving closer and sinking to his knees to kneel between Tony’s legs, loosely clutching at the mans wrists. “What’s gone, babe?”

Tony gestures vaguely to everything around them, lifting his face from his hands long enough to indicate at their surroundings. His hands shake as they are brought back to his mouth, eyes red.

“You. Them.”

Peter shakes his head, guilt coming at him for a whole different reason. “I don’t --”

“They voted me out,” Tony interrupts, voice hoarse. “I put everything we own into this new deal. It was gonna earn us billions, baby - and when they accepted the board voted me out - he fucking framed me --”

“Ssh, hey,” Peter soothes, leaning inwards to press a kiss to Tony’s jaw. “It’s okay, Tony - “

“After this deal I have nothing,” Tony shakes his head, refusing to meet Peters eyes. “I threw all our chips in knowing it was a good bet. Fucking Stane, I swear to god I’m --”

Tony runs out of steam, his head hanging low, the defeat making the man look smaller. Shame and fear roll off of Tony in waves, his hands visibly shaking, chest hitching.

Something in Peter snaps and he lets go.

“I know I don’t tell you this enough,” Peters voice cracks, “but I love you. I really fucking love you.”

“I’m losing you too,” Tony whispers, wrecked. “I can see it. You don’t want me anymore, and why would you? I have nothing to offer you.”

Peter shakes his head, peppering kisses over the glistening tear trails on the mans face, resolve solidifying. It breaks his heart to see Tony like this - how could he ever think of leaving him - the only thing Tony ever wanted from him was unconditional and free.

He may not be what Tony deserves but Peter has always been selfish.

“I’ve lost everything, baby. I’m nothing.”

Peter shuffles closer on his knees, tilting his head down to capture Tony’s red-rimmed gaze.

“You’re everything. I don’t care if you don’t have a single penny. I want to be with you, okay? You’re my Tony.”

Tony smiles wetly. “And you’re my Peter. You’ll stay with me?”

Peter nods, kissing him sweetly, an idea forming into his mind as his anger grows towards Tony’s former associate. The fucking nerve of anyone knowing the real Tony Stark and wanting to hurt him sets his cells ablaze. There’s one way to right this wrong, to prove himself.

"If you’ll have me - and... if you want, I’m going to help you.”

Tony blinks, expression going serious. “What do you mean?”

Peter grins wryly.

“Let’s just say I know a thing or two about getting into someones skin. Stane won’t see me coming.”

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #starker moodboard #starker fic #gold digger au #sugar baby peter parker #sugar daddy tony stark

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somerpmemes · 4 years ago

Text

Halloweentown Starters

Change as needed

Halloweentown

“And it’s totally too late for him.”

“How does all this stuff fit in here?”

“A wonderfully lucky number: 13.”

“Hey, look! A pentagram!”

“Ghosts tend to be very depressed creatures anyways.”

“Every time you come into this house it’s chaos!”

“You can’t tell what’s in a monster’s heart just by looking at it.”

“Excuse me but we have an impressionable young child here.”

“But the truth is there’s nothing special about me.”

“I was only trying to do what you should have done long ago.”

“What do you mean boring like me!?”

“I’m gonna have a hard time getting back to sleep until I find out if you’re crazy or not.”

“Careful, she could be a mirage.”

“It’s a pretty nice place. Better than a lot of graveyards I’ve hung out in.”

“I thought I heard someone listening.”

“What are you so happy about? I thought you didn’t wanna come.”

“Why do the troublemakers get all the attention?”

“We can’t save them unless we save ourselves first!”

“This could be a good look for me.”

“I’m not very good with pain.”

Halloweentown II: Kalabar’s Revenge

“Now you’re gonna corrupt all the children in your neighborhood!”

“I don’t give to charity.”

“___, you are ever the optimist.”

“Nothing’s worth anything if you can get it just by wishing.”

“Well, it’s a little crowded in here, you wanna give me a tour?”

“Usually people’s rooms look like them. Yours doesn’t.”

“Well, you strike me as unconventional, but in a good way.”

“Was that there before?”

“Oh, I never turn down help.”

“Meeting you is everything I hoped it would be.”

“Forget the party.”

“All you do is destroy.”

“There’s gotta be something we haven’t thought of, right?”

“I’m in control of my own future, and it doesn’t include you.”

“What is this, some sort of biblical plague thing?”

“Tell me you don’t feel like something’s wrong.”

“Don’t feel bad, he hates everyone.”

“Well, that’s very sweet of her, and I hate it when people are sweet!”

“I have messing up to do.”

“Take a number. I’m now serving NOBODY!”

“I can’t believe it! We came all this way for nothing!”

“Well we’re just… rocking to the beat.”

“Oh, that’s not normal.”

“Does anybody know where we can find a swamp?”

“Theoretically, I can’t fly.”

“I need somebody who believes that anything is possible. Do you believe that?”

“I’m not sure how this’ll work out but I’ll always believe in you.”

“I don’t care how strong you think you are but you can never beat me.”

“Is good stronger than evil? Let’s find out!”

Halloweentown High

“I don’t suppose there’s a parade involved?”

“You people really have to get out a little more.”

“People have changed. People are more tolerant now.”

“We have to show people they have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Oh my. Don’t I look stylish?”

“We don’t really have time for introductions but I really wanna stress how important it is to blend in.”

“Wow, some things really are universal.”

“I must warn you, I have quite a little temper.”

“What’s a green puff of smoke anyways?”

“Never knew the weight of the world could be so heavy.”

“You know what? I can be okay with this, you just watch me.”

“They know we’re here.”

“There’s that witty repartee again.”

“___, come on! We’ve got interacting and socializing to do!”

“Why does none of this surprise me?”

“Would now be a good time to beg for mercy?”

“But now that you’re thinking clearer, would you have done it any differently?”

“Okay. Enough wallowing.”

“Everyone suddenly looks suspicious to me.”

“You are nothing but a little old flirt, you know that?”

“I think you owe me at least some sort of explanation.”

“Some things are just worth taking the risk.”

“Unfortunate but necessary.”

“You said that no one was gonna get hurt.”

“So he lost an ear. It’s not like it won’t grow back.”

“Being aware of my surroundings as I am, that seemed highly suspicious.”

“I hate paybacks.”

“You’re not a fool. A flirt, maybe, but not a fool.”

“How do you know if someone really cares about you if you don’t show them who you really are?”

“I’m just going through an awkward stage.”

Return to Halloweentown

“You stole that from Spider-Man.”

“I prefer the power of my brain.”

“Hi. I’m not your type.”

“Please tell me you’re not crushed on that.”

“Don’t they have any self-respect?”

“You were ranting.”

“I have no idea what you said but you looked cute saying it.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. Or three times.”

“But you don’t control someone you love. That would be a nightmare, not a dream.”

“That’s what people with powers do. They wield them.”

“I’m the same. Still a dork, still dateless.”

“You’re cute when you’re thinking. I can almost see the tiny gears grinding in your head.”

“You don’t have the power to control me, do you?”

“Having a near death experience is uhh… strangely comforting.”

“I live for trouble, dearie.”

“I can control hearts and minds.”

“What makes you think I’ll stick around?”

“You make things sound so sinister, ___.”

#halloweentown #long post #rp #rp starters #starters #sentence starters #sentence starter meme

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champagnesuperhoeva · 5 years ago

Text

Seasonal depression is on its way back, so why not analyze another scene from Red Dead Depression 2???????

I’ve been meaning to do another screeching ramble about one of Red Dead Redemption 2′s many incredible scenes, but just couldn’t put my finger on which one. So I threw a rock and hit the Saint Denis bank robbery, that’s the story

strap in, motherfuckers, it’s time to regret the concept of empathy

It is such a missed opportunity that we weren’t able to chaperone the girls as they went about putting on their various bullshit personas to gather reconnaissance. I want to see Tilly reading a newspaper with glasses, a fake nose and a mustache

Something Red Dead Redemption 2 spoiled me on is just how much ROI they squeeze into every last line of dialogue. Not a single word feels generic or hamfisted. Every sentence, every twitch and blink, adds up to a greater whole. The more I watch, the more I unearth. There are several AAA titles that frequently get painted with the ‘Good Dialogue’ brush like Uncharted that don’t hold a candle to Rockstar’s work here.

Take Hosea grilling Dutch here, for example:

Dutch acquiescing to Hosea’s justified criticism is depressing in its hindsight. Sir Spam der Linde is an arrogant blowhard that could give Dr. Gregory House a run for his money...and yet he still mumbles and bows his head when being told he needs to get his shit together. Compare this to earlier in the game, when he was snipping at both Hosea and Arthur for all their doubts and questions. Double that for the camp interactions you can find where Dutch and Hosea argue about the Blackwater Heist.

Is reality finally sinking in a little for our manic pixie dream man? Does he just have a hard time bullying Hosea, who’s around 5,000 years old and doesn’t give a fuck? For every answer you get, you get another question...and I fucking love it. This character -- and the series at large -- toes the razor-thin line between transparent portrayals and thicc layers of intrigue. This kind of carefully sewn subtlety is sorely lacking in not just videogames, but mainstream media in general. Sometimes I still can’t believe I got to experience this game.

This little scene is just one of many ingredients to make you wonder that, if the bank job had turned out all right...if Dutch really would’ve started changing for the better.

Arthur clutching his belt buckle like he clutches my neck in my dreams

So the plan is made and the cowboys are off to Sand Penis, and I bet nobody in the history of the world has made that joke before

Just the build-up to the bank sends goosebumps up my arms.

Even with apprehension in the back of your mind, it’s hard not to get sucked into the whirlwind of adrenaline here. You have each member playing their part, from Abigail as the helpless damsel to Charles and Bill as crowd control. Great back-and-forth dialogue as characters anticipate what’s about to happen (with some delicious doubting from John). It’s like a group project, except you don’t want to slap your partners!!!*

*except micah ‘I Haven’t Scrubbed My Nailbeds In Fifty-Three Years’ bell

Fun fact: if Dutch hadn’t said ‘one last time’, the bank robbery would’ve been a success. Should’ve browsed TVTropes.

The direction of this game remains impeccable.

This is a simple shot of a few dudes riding their horse...and it’s made just that much grander by the camera angles, slung low to the ground to create a stronger sense of scale. With the tense drums in the backing track and the sudden quiet that’s befallen our beloved anti-heroes, this provides the perfect finishing touches to one of the most memorable and stressful parts of the game:

The runway.

We start off this display of cowboy couture with Dutch Fam Der Linde, well-known in the West for wearing crushed velvet while hiking the open trail. Dashingly long coattails make up the bulk of this iconic look, with a sexy pop of red to round it all out. A complimentary red bandana lined with a hint of gold brings out the buttons, chain and belt buckle. Very regal. Much fucky. Still want to slap him for future crimes, so 9/10

A surprising comeback from the man who invented skid marks. Lavender pinstripes add a splash of character on an otherwise minimalist black ensemble. Complimentary silver bow on the hat and dark bandana makes me uncomfortably wet, so 9.5/10, would leer again

A classic suit with just a touch of more. A wide velvet collar with matching velvet cuffs create a refined softness, contrasting the gold buttons and dramatic coattails. Shoes shiny. Skin moisturized. Even his everyday ponytail looks fancier than ever. 15/10, if Javier kicked over my sandcastle I’d thank him

What are those????????? I think Bill got pranked by Uncle while out shopping for robbery gear. That, or he confused one of Susan’s tablecloths for a three-piece. The topmost layer of dust is so thick it could be peeled off and donated to charity. 3/10, could probably still pass for a picnic table

Shameless. Unacceptable. Walking around like a bootleg Egoraptor with a crinkly suit that looks like that oil-stained pizza napkin you keep forgetting to toss. Why did I take a screencap that makes it look like Dutch is jacking him off. Micah’s even jutting his beer gut out in an ominous foreshadowing for the Guarma chapter. ThereIsn’tANumberLowEnough/10

Arthur strolling in with that slow, confident walk that gets me pregnant in both legs, someone please fetch the plan B

Dutch calls a Hosea an artist and is most certainly one himself. He speaks with the affect of a poet, even as he’s holding a pistol in people’s faces and making them shit themselves in slow-motion. This man redefines stage presence. Why would he want anything less than the best, when this is the final hurrah of his iconic, infamous career:

THE RUNWAY: PART TWO

Bill out here just confusing everyone’s laundry for low-level loot. 5/10, may or may not be susan’s granny panties

charles: “is my iron giant cosplay valid robbery wear”

dutch: “no, charles, iron giant cosplays are not valid robbery wear”

dutch: “gorons from legend of zelda aren’t valid either”

JAVIER IF I GIVE YOU A 10/10 WILL YOU LEAVE

Here’s a little detail I didn’t notice (even after several viewings of this scene): Charles over in the corner looking like a dweeb.

Notice how awkwardly he holds that rifle: two-handed and with his knees bent, suddenly looking like he’s never handled a weapon before. This is such an odd contrast from the unapologetic badass we know. Remember, this is the same man who can wield a sawed-off shotgun one-handed like it’s nothing. One of the most adept physical fighters in a gang full of cutthroat motherfuckers.

This detail on top of his dorky robbery gear? It’s actually a peek into just how out of his element he is.

Charles has been with the gang for less than a year at this point. Even then, he’s usually helping with tracking, hunting and scouting. Whenever he goes off with Arthur on a mission, he’s always the first to suggest a peaceful route. This is not someone who’s used to robbing people for a living and it shows in the most adorable way. What you see here is a man putting on a persona of what he hopes looks like a bloodthirsty robber.

This whole scene is a fucking blast. Herding the upper-class elite into the far rom, figuring out the combination key under codenames, listening to the banter of the squad in the background. It doesn’t help I’m a slut for baroque-styled architecture and half my attention was on the pastel decor. Yeah, yeah, I know we have three thousand dollars on the line, but look at that gold filigree

These outlaws move like a finely oiled machine, not a detail out of place...which makes the ensuing mess all the more tragic.

...and this post is getting too long, so I’m going to post the second part separately. Ain’t I a stinker?

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #RDR #RDR2 #arthur morgan #john marston #dutch van der linde #javier escuella #bill williamson #hosea matthews #micah bell #charles smith #shitpost #analysis #TEDTalk #meme #my post #I want to see javier preparing that outfit at the camp #just adding blush to his mask and making tilly double-take while eating her stew

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kathyprior4200 · 4 years ago

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Hazbinphobia: Arrival of Adina

Adina fan art collage

Adina artists: (PLEASE GO SUPPORT)

Vivziepop

Hele-nae https://www.deviantart.com/hele-nae/art/Adina-and-Fitch-594650932

Buhitter https://buhitter.com/search?q=zoophobia

https://buhitter.com/author/AngelOfTheCode

MatrixArt28 https://www.deviantart.com/matrixart28/art/Adina-VivziePop-600498071

http://www.tjhongshengyuan.com/video/av33912053/?spm_id_from=333.788.videocard.5

SLoad666 https://aminoapps.com/c/hazbin_zoophobia/page/blog/a-d-i-n-a-fan-art/eYJp_lgQt3uEb4KZR62402Lp0ZnDe7DgDz6

“Here There Be Dragons”

“In the very beginning, a primordial force (known as Mother V by mortals), existed in the dark antimatter in space. The force caused a major explosion, one that mortals call the Big Bang. After stars and galaxies were formed, planets soon followed. Crafted from that very explosion was an all-powerful being: God. He was everywhere, where there was light, He existed within it. With a flick of His finger, He created the sun, moon, stars and the planets in the Milky Way Galaxy. Then, three main dimensions were formed: Heaven, Earth, and Hell.”

“The first one was Heaven, His residence. It was a marvelous place, with buildings made of gold, sitting on top of fluffy white clouds. The sky was endlessly blue, the environment a paradise. Angels were formed, divided into nine hierarchies: Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Powers, Principalities, Dominions, Virtues, Archangels and Angels. Jesus was the son of God who was killed on Earth, then reborn. God soon created His Archangels: Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Azrael (black haired Angel of Death), among many others. His favorite one, however, was Lucifer, the Light Bearer. Lucifer was the embodiment of pride and perfection. The Rings of Moon, Mercury, Venus, Sun, Jupiter, Saturn, Fixed Stars and Primum Mobile were formed, God existing in the last one. (Also called the Rings of Faith, Hope, Love, Charity, Fortitude, Justice, Temperance, Prudence, and Wisdom). C.H.E.R.U.B. was an organization that saved lives on Earth, traveling to the living world via the Bible. It consisted of sheep cherubs and a cherub boy.”

“The denizens of Heaven were animal-like (like those in Hell), and were ignorant to those suffering in Hell. They took on traits of flowers, harps, doves, dogs, cats, swans and other things considered “holy�� or “pleasing” (unlike the spiders, and mythical monsters in Hell). Heaven, too, consisted of councils and Overlords who ruled certain Rings of Heaven, though they were far more just than the ones in Hell. Like in Hell, there were those born in Heaven (the Heaven Born) and do-gooders (the opposite of sinners). Like those born in Hell, the Heaven-Born had more power and a higher status than the do-gooders who had formerly been human. In God’s garden stood the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.”

“For many years, all was well.”

“Then one day, God decided to create new beings in His image, who could reproduce and unite with Him after death. They were called humans. The prideful Lucifer did not like the thought of God favoring man over angels. To Lucifer, he and the other angels were superior to humans and mostly immortal…why would God favor man instead?”

“Flooded with pride and anger over God’s strict rules, Lucifer ignited a rebellion against Him. Using his Morning Star sword, Lucifer fought Michael and Gabriel, leading other angels who followed him. God told Lucifer to submit and to end the madness, but the light-bearer refused. Michael defeated Lucifer and soon enough…Lucifer and the angels on his side were banished from Heaven.”

“The second world was Earth, consisting of oceans, land, animals, plants and humans. It was a neutral world between Heaven and Hell. Mortals there could be good or evil or many shades in between. The majority of them were flawed in God’s eyes, so only those worthy enough could go to Heaven. This often translated to straight, white, faithful men getting first pick. Humanity evolved from cavemen to farmers, to townsfolk and city-goers. Wars were fought, inventions were made, and lives were lost and gained. For the most part, humans were concerned with themselves, for better or worse.”

“Lucifer roamed the Earth for a thousand years before being sent to Hell, the fiery third world. There, he became king, while Lilith became queen after her banishment. Together, they created Hell and Pentagram City as a place where fallen angels and sinners could freely express themselves and take whatever risks they wanted. Drugs, murder, rape, and thievery were rampant. Overlords were placed into positions of power, ruling territories and districts. The Rings of Limbo, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Wrath, Heresy, Violence, Fraud, and Treachery were formed, Satan being trapped in ice in the last one. The Immediate Murder Professionals consisted of imps who would travel to Earth to kill humans upon the requests of their demon clients. Lucifer and Lilith raised their princess daughter, Charlie, who always saw the good in everyone. Charlie would later form the Hazbin Hotel to try and redeem sinners so they could potentially go to Heaven, in order to stop the yearly purges.”

“Parallel to the Hazbin world was the world of Zoophobia. It was a world where humans, animals and anthromorphic beings (bi pedal animals with human traits) coexisted. Bi-pedal animals took refuge in Safe Haven to escape the humans who despised their differences. Safe Haven was one of the districts where Xirxine Labs and Phoenix Academy resided. A human named Cameron was sent to the academy by a mischievous goddess, knowing she had an extreme fear of animals. She eventually got to know the staff and students there, working as a therapist to help the teens. A Heaven and Hell also existed in the Zoophobia world. In Hell, there lived mythical monsters, Lucifer, his fox wife and trouble-making son Damion. Up in Heaven were angels, the same God as before and an angel named Adina.”

“Who is Adina? She is a white, centuries-old angel with glowing teal eyes, long lashes and long white hair. She has large white feathery wings extending from her back. She wears a white dress and robe, bordered by dark teal trim with little white Christian crosses along it. Adina is the mother of dragons in Zoophobia and spiritual consort to God. She was created by God to “save” some people while torturing others. In this way, she performs many tasks: 1. Instilling fear in sinners 2. Encouraging more people to worship the Heavenly Father 3. Gathering information and allies to use against Hell 4. Caring for her sons, whom she created. Adina is also the head of the Exorcists or Exterminators who purge demons in the Hazbin Hell every year.”

“Like Samael and the Exterminators, Adina enjoys torturing demons and sinners, often creating illusions of their worst fears. Her methods and the annual exterminations are ways of keeping demons in line, for them to know their fate and to not rebel against God and Heaven, like Lucifer did. She also has the ability to possesses others and convince them to take her side. Those influenced by her will have teal glowing eyes. (Take Mirage, the killer demon who possessed a brown-haired young woman. She caused havoc until Adina took control of both of their souls, creating a formidable ally.) Chainsaw, a white being with a chainsaw weapon with a cross on it, is Adina’s merciless ally.”

“However, Adina’s closest allies in the fight against sinners are us dragons.”

“Oh? Allow me to introduce myself…”

Surrounded by a teal aura, a humanoid silently walks forward. He is slender with a pointed dark teal tail, black pants and a green vest with white sleeves. He has a white face, a pointed chin and nose and rectangular glasses. His analytical eyes are light green sclera and glowing teal irises, like Adina’s teal eyes. His hair is dark green with two tall furry tufts with light teal tips atop his head.

“I am Fitch, dragon shapeshifter and oldest son of Adina. My large dragon form is in various shades of green: light green stripped underbelly, dark green tail and wings, spikes going along my back. My tail, claws and horns form my head all have teal tips, followed by forest green colorations. My mouth looks beak-like when it’s closed, but my teeth are sharp as ever.”

“I am a demon hunter along with my mother. From a very young age, I have learned to wield a variety of weapons to use against the demons of both Hells. (I’ve only been to the Hazbin world once, and I barely remember). One of my signature weapons is a staff with several spinning blades on it. Many people think I’m heartless, a merciless killing machine, but like Azrael, I’m merely doing my job. My mother enjoys manipulating people and killing demons…it’s just the way she is. My mother also supports Xirxine Labs, the facility where scientists perform experiments on Zoophobia denizens. They may be unethical, but sacrifices must be made in the phases of progress.”

As for me? I feel no remorse nor joy in particular. Demons are like rabid animals wrecking havoc across the realms…someone has to interrogate them and take necessary means.”

“I have three younger brothers.”

Another dragon walks forward, surrounded by dark purple and yellow. He wears thin yellow shoes and long black pants with yellow ends. His curvy black tail is decorated with several dark bows shaped like butterflies. His undershirt is yellow and his tailcoat is the same color as his pants, complete with buttons and a black bow tie under his neck. His face is pale, his eyes have lavender sclera and yellow irises. Finally, his hair is dark black, almost purple, with yellow bangs and tips on his two tufts.

In his dragon form, his skin is thick and purple. He has the black bow tie and buttons along his back, spines down his back, large wings and two sharp horns.

“Marx is a film producer and believed to be a former stage actor. He considers himself a victim of circumstance and is often very grumpy and bad-tempered. Marx and I are no longer in contact, due to disagreeing with certain life choices we have made. He makes me sick. Seriously, he goes around trying to impress others with his so called theater performances instead of doing more important work. Not to mention, joining the mafia, no less! You, know, the shady flirtatious black and yellow Castello, his brother Ribbon who does his dirty work and Salem, part of his black cat army. That mafia is almost as bad as that Italian Hazbin one with Henroin, Angel Dust, Arackniss, and Molly.”

“Safe Haven is supposed to be a secure place where the bi-pedal animals don’t have to worry about paranoid humans hunting them down. But the mafia and the monsters who keep entering the world thanks to that troublesome goddess makes things difficult. At least Lesson, the white cat, helps encourage people to seek the right path and convert to Christianity, like my mother wants. In fact, he works for her and Heaven (Though, his too-wide smile and eagerness gives me the creeps.)”

“Gustav, that German self-centered snake student teacher is Marx’s adopted son. He only likes students with talent; I heard he was very mean to a shy girl on stage.”

Fitch sighs deeply.

“Marx going against our mother’s wishes is seriously going to get him into major trouble. Thanks to Adina, my place in Heaven is already guaranteed. (And yes, “thou shall not kill” is in the Commandments but sometimes killing evil is necessary).”

“Alright, enough about him.”

Another dragon enters. He has a large goofy grin, a green shirt and a pale green face. His eyes are cloudy white, indicating blindness. His hair is jet black, black bangs going sideways and black tufts. In his dragon form, he is slender with light green and dark green colors blending into each other.

“Malcom…I rarely think about, actually. He is a blind dragon teacher at Phoenix Academy. Apparently, he’s friends with another teacher named Perci. His blindness helps heighten his other senses. He’s passionate about learning and helping others. Meh. I consider him a coward, as he’s not willing to kill off any demons. At least he’s not like Marx.”

“And finally…”

The last dragon emerges, surrounded by orange and red. He wears black and white shoes, long red pants, and a black tank top. A spiked collar is around his neck, giving him a gothic look. His claws are black and his skin is white with an array of lines and symbols on it like tattoos. His sclera are orange, his irises red. His hair is a fiery bold orange, as are his two ear tufts. In his dragon form, he is white with black spikes down his back, tattered wings with the black designs, and a tail with sharp orange spikes at the end. His clawed feet are red-orange.

“Hatchet and I see each other often. He is a handful, but admittedly, my closest family. Hatchet can create things with his fire and loves eating rabbits. His acid is acidic, so others would best steer clear. When he’s not eating rabbits or goofing off, he does pyrotechnic tricks, such as twirling flaming batons around. Perhaps he grew attached to me back when I would take care of him when we were younger. He was often the wild one, always getting into mischief. We all live distant lives now. Like Malcom, Hatchet always tries to get along with all of us. Though Malcom and Marx are perhaps closer to each other, like Hatchet is with me. Heh. Strange how two dragons with opposite personalities could get along so well. Adina likes all four of us, but she and I are closest.”

“Yes, that’s about it. Adina and I have been through a lot.”

“I remember those moments when Adina would coax people, like the green haired Iggly student into her wings, getting him to tell her everything. I’ll never get over that terrified look on his face.”

“Or when Adina tortured a white spider demon with his worst fears and said, ‘There is no mercy for the damned.’”

“She once saved this pink bi-pedal animal, embracing her and saying, “Let me save you, my little creature.” My mother always tries to do what is best, even though other people seem to be afraid of her.”

“One other time, I fought and interrogated an uncooperative demon with red eyes. Adina hovered by my side as I raised my teal weapon over his head. She declared, ‘Such is the will of the Lord, so shall it be…’ Later I accidentally killed a delicate white butterfly creature in my hands. I’ve been mocked over my love of butterflies by my brothers, my father, and by many in Zoophobia.”

“Whenever I would get tired or hesitant about my job, my mother would give me a warm smile and say in her soothing voice, “Just remember, it’s for the greater good.” Those words have stayed with me since. It always hurts when Adina says she’s disappointed in me after I fail a task, which is rare, thankfully. But I do what I do for her…it’s my one purpose in this life.”

“I know that those demonic beasts have a safe haven in the Hazbin world like the demons do in Zoophobia’s Hell. Maybe once mother and I find it, we can stop those scum from spreading and planning devious things. Of course, we would need to take out the powerful ones when we can. Everyone knows that angelic blades can instantly kill demons. That’s why I carry mine wherever I go.”

“Adina has summoned all four of us to go on a mission. Not like the interrogation or cleansing missions in Zoophobia Hell. No. This mission was very special. The four of us were to accompany her to the Hazbin Hell world, and find out more information about the princess and her hotel. Some say that the princess wants to unite Heaven and Hell’s denizens of the Hazbin world to create a larger diverse culture full of music, laughter and dancing creatures. Preposterous.”

“God had heard about the program from a distance. Rumor was, if demons were to be redeemed, Heaven would get overcrowded and chaos would ensue. The unwanted guests would disrupt the entire Heavenly system, possibly creating an apocalyptic war as deadly as the one where Lucifer tried to fight God. God only allows those with no flaws or sins to enter Heaven; it’s been that way for centuries. Adina, God, the angels and exorcists all agree that those in Hell are dangerous and should not be allowed into paradise.”

“Hatchet and I remain loyal to mother, though for Hatchet, it’s mostly because he cares for me and doesn’t want to let me down. Marx is grumpy and reluctant as usual. Perhaps he’s upset over a broken relationship or a show or something, not that I care. I briefly saw him drinking at a bar one time. Malcom, blind as he is, looks concerned. He obviously doesn’t want to leave his students and partake in this mission. Alas, Adina is a powerful being, perhaps second to God, so no one dare disobey her if they want to live a pain-free existence. Being dragon-shapeshifters, we can easily fight when needed. And in our bi-pedal forms, we can easily spy and blend in with Hell’s inhabitants.”

“Adina brings out a special device, shaped like a music box. It is golden and pink in color, nearly indestructible. After typing in a code (A24, 921028, VVZPP), the music box slowly opens with a faint whirl, revealing a figure of a fluffy cat. The cat slowly turns around on the stand as cheery music begins to play from the box. The cat stops and from its eyes, flashes a black outline of a portal in the air.”

“The portal lights up in neon pink, revealing elaborate symbols and one spot shaped like a horse named Spindle.”

“There was only one other device in the Hazbin world that could open a portal to Zoophobia, Heaven and perhaps Earth (along with open any door in the Hazbin Hotel), it was another music box with a black winged Sinner’s Key. All that was needed was the key or a grimoire) and a powerful demon or angel who could open portals.”

“A golden Do-Gooder’s Key (The kind used in Heaven) is revealed from an outward moving slot from inside the box. Adina picks it up with her delicate white fingers and places it through a glowing key hole in the portal. After she turns and releases it…”

“Vivienne, Vivienne, Aperiam in porta!”

“Adina chants the phrase to open the glowing portal in front of us. It is the only known gateway to the Hazbin world. The fabric of Zoophobia fades in front of us, revealing a hole to a crimson sky world.”

“We all get ready to go through...set to fulfil our destinies…”

“But let’s go back to the past a bit…”

“The Dragon’s Keep”

Many years ago, my brothers and I were born from special eggs in the Zoophobia world. Adina became lonely over the centuries. Although she had lots of power, it was tiring to travel to different worlds and interrogate denizens all the time. She eventually wanted someone to help her out in her work. Although she was ruthless to demons, she did care deeply for those in Zoophobia and Heaven. She felt like she was part of something bigger; she was doing part of His work, after all.

“Oh what a marvelous place Heaven is,” she sighed to herself. “But the days drag on. I feel my legacy will eventually go unnoticed. If only there was a way I could pass down my values to a new generation.”

Then, it came to her: she wanted children of her own.

But in Heaven, casual sex was seen as one of the many sins not allowed. Plus, angels and demons were creatures that could not reproduce, unlike humans.

Adina soon went to God for advice, bowing respectfully when she saw Him. She stood on a light blue rug that led to a set of marble steps. Golden pillars reached up into the sky, hovering on clouds that appeared on both sides of the open space hall. Two guards dressed in white stood hovering on either side, with flames for faces and six red wings flapping softly from their backs. Above Adina were the fixed stars and galaxies, shining brightly overhead, in contrast to the sky on the sides. Not too far away, angels were darting around large white roses, spreading songs and feelings of joy to other beings born within the petals. She was briefly reminded of her own birth, her name meaning “gentle” and “mild.”

“Your Heavenly Grace,” Adina said, soon standing up, folding her white wings behind her. God appeared as a large golden eye surrounded by golden wheels with eyes covering them and small angel wings spread out from them. The wheels and wings were moving, but God as the eye stared unblinkingly at her. A white marble throne stood behind Him.

“My lovely consort,” he replied, kindness in his voice. “So wonderful to see you again. What is it that you seek?”

“I grow ever lonesome, and feel that what I do isn’t quite enough.”

“My dear, your work is more than enough. I chose you to be the angel of Divine Retribution. You have organized and led countless Exorcists to Hell and back. Not to mention you saved so many souls who almost lost their way. Are you not happy?”

“I truly am, my Lord. It’s just…I want someone who can help carry out my work. One who could work with me, but also be cared for by me. I’d like to have children of my own.”

“Ah,” said God. “A beautiful wish. Alas, you know that angels cannot procreate.”

“I do know. That’s why I came to you for help.”

“Well, there is a way,” He said. “You remember you were created from holy starlight and dragon’s blood, right?”

She nodded.

“You have the ability to give birth to offspring. Dragon shapeshifters, and powerful ones. Here’s what you will do.”

Adina listened intently.

God had sent her on a journey across the world of Zoophobia. She was to retrieve four special items and bring them to a nest in a vast cavern. She remembered the instructions she was given:

“Find the fur of a polecat on a rock during the full moon.

Find a gold frowning theater mask in the camp of rule breakers by the river.

Find the hatchet that lies within a volcano, where fire roars to life.

Find a religious text in the hands of St. Columba where the wind blows high.”

Earth, water, fire and air.

Finding the polecat pelt was easy; she traveled to the forest and there it was, illuminated and clean in the moonlight.

Getting the mask was harder. She had to ward off several shady looking creatures, and a few monsters as well.

After grabbing the ax from the volcano and nearly plunging into lava, she had to use lots of holy water to heal her singed skin and wings.

Finally, she found the leather bound book in the hands of a St. Columba statue, high up in the mountains.

“Head to the largest habitable cavern. Create a large secure nest and place the objects inside.”

At last, she traveled to the cavern, created a large nest of sticks and twigs, and gently placed the objects inside. Her glowing eyes allowed her to see in the dark. Toward the back of the cave was a pile of gold coins and a few precious gems scattered around.

“A decent lair for dragons. They will reside here before being introduced to the rest of the city.”

“Recite this spell to begin the transformation and birthing process.”

Adina hovered her hands over the objects and chanted in Latin. The objects lit up in flaming spheres of light, transforming into speckled oval-shaped white eggs.

The effort of doing the spell made Adina fall unconscious for several days.

Adina stirred awake, her eyes fluttering open. She could hear some movement coming from the eggs. She stood up from the atone floor and let out a soft gasp.

Her children were about to hatch!

She carefully took the nest, flapped her wings forward, and placed it in a secure spot on top of a high cliff near the cave. She made sure that it lay within the sunlight and not too close to the edge.

The eggs then gradually turned different colors. The one from the polecat pelt turned dark green and teal. The one from the mask became yellow and black. The one from the hatchet was red and orange. Finally, the egg from the book was light green and black.

The green and teal egg wobbled first. A dark crack snaked slowly over the surface. More cracks began to appear, creating intricate designs. Ever so carefully, bits of shell fell off from different spots. A beck poked through, and the rest of the shells fell away.

There I was, small with a dark green body, wings and a pointed tail. My new green-teal eyes scanned the area, curiously. It was love at first sight when I saw my mother’s smiling face. Adina stroked my head and back lovingly with her fingers, me letting out a pleased sound. I nudged my face repeatedly into her hand, a musical chuckle coming from Adina.

“You are going to do great things, my little Fitch.”

Around thirty minutes later, two eggs began to stir. The fiery colored one and the yellow-black one. The eggs bonked into each other several times, and chirping could be heard from inside.

“Oh? Who’s coming next?” she asked.

Adina soon had her answer. A part of the yellow and black shell was shoved off, landing onto the nest like a door breaking down. A dark purple and yellow dragon did a little pose before stumbling out of the shell remains. He shook off the embryonic fluids from his scales, showing a grin of small teeth just beginning to form. Moments later, the fiery egg beside him exploded, sending shells and sparks everywhere. I jumped into mother’s hands, terrified, while the purple dragon covered his little head with his arms. A slender white dragon appeared, shaking away bits of shell from his small horns. (This was before he got all his tattoos). His red-orange eyes darted around excitedly, spotting the purple dragon.

“Hatchet!” Adina scolded as the white dragon began to play-wrestle his brother with loud croaks. “Leave Marx alone!”

But little Marx soon joined in the fun, pushing his brother back with his little feet. Hatchet’s small spiked tail smacked Marx in the face and the dragon squeaked in brief pain. Little me jumped from mother’s hands, biting Marx’s tail.

For several minutes, the three of us rough-housed in the nest, testing out our new senses and bodies.

Adina soon grew concerned. “What about the last egg?”

Indeed, the last egg had remained as still as ever. Adina shooed Hatchet away when he tried to knock on the hard light green shell.

“Oh dear,” she sighed. Was it a stillborn? She couldn’t bear that. Minutes became hours. The egg still hadn’t hatched by the morning.

Finally, in the evening, after Adina had almost given up hope, a small chirp was heard. The other dragons peered to get a closer look. Cracks snaked along the egg shell in multiple directions. At long last, holes appeared in the egg, before a closed eye was revealed through one hole. The egg split open and a light green and darker green dragon was revealed. He was slender, with thin see-through wings and a thin pointed face. He sniffed and slowly opened his eyes.

“Malcom,” Adina exclaimed, overjoyed to see her youngest son. Malcom took several shaking steps forward, and bumped right into Marx. Marx growled in protest. Malcom’s eyes were cloudy white.

“He’s blind,” Adina realized.

Malcom’s ears picked up the sounds of bats fluttering from above the cave. He jumped into the air, but fell flat on his back. I helped him up and licked his face.

“You guys will need flying lessons one day,” Adina said.

For several days, Adina brought in meat, game and other foods for us. Hatchet, in particular, loved to eat rabbits. The four of us were much closer back then, than we are now. Eventually, we would learn to breathe fire, fly, talk and hunt for ourselves. We were to go to school and learn to live a more civilized life when we turned one year old, (equates to five human years). Adina had given us brief glimpses of the city and some tidbits.

“Bi-pedal animals wear clothes,” she said. “But full animals don’t have to. Eating humans or other creatures is forbidden.”

“Awww man,” Hatchet groaned.

“Shut up and go chase a rabbit,” Marx muttered to him.

“Rabbit? Where?”

Marx rolled his eyes as Adina continued.

“Do not go outside the Safe Haven border without permission. There are dangerous humans out there with weapons that can kill you.”

“But we’re dragons,” Hatchet mentioned in his child-like bi-pedal form. “We live longer than them and are more powerful. Can’t we just burn down their cities and stuff?”

“Did you not hear what mother just said?” I chided him. “They have weapons that can pierce through dragon scales. Interacting with them would only put the districts in danger and confusion. Idiot, I swear.”

“Swearing’s not very nice,” Malcom added. “I heard one guy say something really bad to another, he was like, ‘oh no you didn’t,’ the other was like, ‘yeah huh, I just did,’ and then…”

“You talk too much,” I deadpanned.

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

“Pay attention, my sons,” Adina said, before continuing her lecture.

A week after we were born, we had gotten the hang of hunting for ourselves. Me and Hatchet, in particular were the better hunters among the group. Hatchet would eat rabbits whenever he could. (To this day, I don’t understand his obsession with them). We steered clear of bears or black horned monsters who could overpower us or swipe us down with their paws.

Adina taught us how to speak, read, write, and, of course, how to fly.

“Feel the direction the wind is blowing,” she said. “Flapping your wings propels you forward but don’t overdo it. Deep breaths and remaining calm are key. Try and land straight on your feet…”

She said this just before Malcom came in for a faulty landing. He bashed into a rock face, tumbling down onto the ground in a heap. Marx tripped on his tail and almost fell, but managed to straighten himself up. Hatchet laughing whenever I fumbled only encouraged me to work harder. Hatchet was doing pretty well, if you didn’t count the time his white wings got torn up a bit from flying through tree branches.

It took a few years for us to fully master our flying and shapeshifting abilities. But I grew fast and learned fast.

I led my brothers when we practiced diving off a cliff. Taking a deep breath, I jumped off the cliff, morphed into my dragon form and spread out my wings gracefully. Adina’s face blended into the clouds; she looked proud. Hatchet was up next.

“Whoo-hoo!” he roared, as he morphed into his white dragon form and took off. A gust of yellow fire shot from his mouth, creating a ring for him to fly through. I smiled a bit and rolled my eyes at him. We weren’t at full size yet, but we weren’t too far off.

“Isn’t this amazing, Fitch?” Hatchet called as he flew beside me. We stared at the canyons and rocky ground below us. “Rawr!” he called, pleased to hear his voice echo through the air.

“Focus, please,” I said. “Mother’s looking for grace and agility, not loudness.”

“Fitchy…am I being too quiet?!”

His loud voice and laughter rang in my ears.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over your need to shut up,” I retorted.

Hatchet scoffed. “You’re always so…erm…stuffy. I’d say almost as grumpy as Marx back there.”

Marx was pacing back and forth back on the cliff in his bi-pedal form. We all wore white loincloths over our waists that would appear even after we had transformed from our dragon forms. Our chests had thin fur that matched our hair colors.

He appeared to be talking to himself, as if planning some kind of imaginary show.

“Jerry the knight gallops through the woods, only to tremble in fear at the four mighty brothers. Then the camera…one of the objects from the city that Adina told us about…pins up and down as we stomp toward our victim. He runs and runs, the scene going by in a blur…”

“Are you going or what?” Malcom asked.

“Right!” Marx called, raising a fist and standing straight. “Life is but the next grand adventure. We now roll too…”

He spread his wings…

“Marx of Karl, taking off!”

He jumped into the air. Malcom misjudged his next step and plummeted rapidly to the ground with a shocked yelp.

Hatchet and I turned around. “Malcom!” Hatchet cried in fear.

Malcom was briefly scared, but soon got over it. With a new happy look on his face, he spread out his green wings and swirled toward us. “Speak up so I can hear you!” he called out.

“We’re going this way!” I said as I led the group once again.

“What the…” Marx began, looking at Malcom. “You’re not scared.”

“No. Not really.”

“This is only your third time in the air. And you can’t see anything!”

“I can hear, smell and feel where things are. It’s easier on the ground but I’m just happy to be with my dragon bros!”

“Bros?” Marx raised an eyebrow.

“Hey look, I’m not even in my full dragon form! You should totally try it!”

The three of us morphed into our bi-pedal forms, while still retaining our wings. We huddled close to support ourselves.

“W-w-w-whoa this feeling sure is new,” Hatchet muttered, trying not to look down. I, too, was feeling vulnerable, flying for the first time in this form.

“Don’t look down,” I suggested.

But of course, he didn’t listen.

“Oh, no, Fitch, I’m looking down! Yaahhhh!”

“Get off me!” I said, pushing him off when he grabbed my back. He clawed at the air in desperation.

“You’re not drowning, Hatch,” Marx sighed.

Marx muttered some prayers as he grabbed hold of Hatchet to steady him. Hatchet took some deep breaths, settling down.

“Hahahaha!” Malcom laughed in bliss. “You’ll get used to it eventually!”

“How long is eventually?” Hatchet asked.

“How should I know?”

The four of us landed haphazardly into a nearby lake after a wind knocked us slightly off course. Water splashed everywhere after we landed. Hatchet shook off water droplets from his scales and wings.

“Bleh! I hate baths!”

“I’ll say you needed one, Hatch,” Malcom said with a grin.

A deep growl rumbled in Hatchet’s throat. “Wanna see what it’s like to drown? Oh wait, you can’t.”

“At least I don’t have to lay my eyes on your monstrosity of a form.”

“What was that?!”

“Heheheh. You heard me, Hatch.”

“Empty threats and callous fighting, per usual,” Marx remarked, crossing his arms as his brothers landed some kicks and punches in the water. I stood up and narrowed my eyes. I had trouble seeing things off in the distance. Those things Adina called glasses would be very helpful.

“That’s quite enough, both of you!” I commanded, a burst of teal fire escaping my mouth. It was enough to make Hatchet and Malcom pay attention. Good.

“Anyone up for a swim?” Malcom asked.

“Absolutely not,” Marx replied.

“For once, I agree. I say we find ourselves some food and get out of here,” I advised.

“Alright,” Hatchet agreed, separating from Malcom with a grin. “What are we waiting for? Food would be great right now.”

“When are you not hungry?” Marx asked Hatchet.

“Let me think…Never!”

Turning back into our dragon forms, we hunted for food before heading back home. Hatchet had a knack for finding rabbits almost anywhere…and wouldn’t share with us.

“That’s my rabbit!” Hatchet declared.

Marx tried to grab the small dead carcass from his brother’s hands.

“For Viv’s sake!” cried Marx. “You’ve had enough of them already! It’s my turn.”

“Let go!”

“You let go!”

The boys struggled for a bit until Hatchet accidentally ripped off Marx’s loincloth.

Marx turned red and angry in the face as Hatchet stuck out his tongue and laughed.

“You’re such a filthy hothead!” Marx spat as he picked up the cloth and tied it back around his waist.

We found a river of fresh water for us to drink. In our dragon forms, we spit water at each other playfully and had a contest to see who could spit the farthest. It came as a tie between me and Hatchet. Hatchet, being the most athletically inclined, won intense races we had, both on the ground and in the air. A black creature with horns chased after us and nearly devoured poor Malcom, but thankfully, several hard punches from me and the others caused the beast to flee. In celebration, Hatchet juggled fireballs in his hands before catching them all in his mouth.

“That beast will be “dragon” himself to oblivion! Haha! Get it?” Hatchet chuckled at his joke. Malcom giggled while Marx and I groaned in annoyance.

Once we all got back, we turned into our bi-pedal forms once more. Adina said that those would be our default forms most of the time, so she encouraged us to get used to them.

As we reached the mouth of the cave, Hatchet stuffed a severed brown rabbit’s head into his mouth with a greedy look on his face.

“You know that is considered bad manners, don’t you?” I asked, referring back to mother’s lecture. Hatchet wiped off some blood from his pointed face with his arm.

Hatchet scoffed. “Who cares? We aren’t going to the city for…another month, at least.”

“It’ll be here faster than you know it, Hatch. It’d be best if we all prepare ourselves soon.”

“Whatever you say, Fitchy.”

“Stop calling me that. It’s Fitch.”

“Same thing.”

Our steps echoed as we arrived back into the cave at dusk. Hatchet shot a jet of fire up toward hanging bats, who screeched in protest, flapping their wings.

One scorched bat fell down and landed right into Malcom’s mouth as he yawned. After a look of surprise, he happily chewed up the creature and swallowed.

“I guess food can fall from the sky,” he said, licking his lips.

“Jeez Malc, you’re even blinder than the bats,” Marx mentioned.

“Technically, bats use echolocation to track down their food and figure out their surroundings. They aren’t as blind as you think.”

“Hmpth. Know-it all.”

We curled up in our bed nests that were spread out among the cave. They were nests with a few pillows and some blankets inside them. Malcom was the only one who hadn’t outgrown being tucked in. Since mother was busy, Marx came over and helped relax his brother. Malcom’s nest was by a chest of gold coins and some fancy books. They were some of many treasures that Adina magically provided for us. (She had a knack for spoiling us when she wasn’t stern.)

Marx sighed and hopped into his nest by a pile of royal robes nearby. Hatchet slept near, well, a hatchet, along with a few golden goblets and gems. I soon curled up in my nest, the one nearest to some discarded swords, and bladed silver weapons. Apparently, Adina said she would teach me how to use them later on.

“If you want to protect yourself and your brothers,” she had said, “You’ll need to learn how to defend yourself.”

Of course, she hadn’t told me anything about hunting demons until I was older, but I was still eager to learn, nonetheless. The full moon and stars shone through a hole in the cave, a beautiful sight. Before long, the four of us were snoozing peacefully away.

The assassin, the actor, the punk, and the nerd. A very unique dragon family indeed.

#adina #zoophobia #fitch #heaven #fanart #hazbin hotel theory

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fymagnificentwomcn · 5 years ago

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Farya was not only a bad and unnecessary character, but was also sooo annoying, not only for me?

I mean…

outside how her character was out of the place, she wasn’t even likeable? My mum knew nothing of Ottoman history & how her character is so ahistorical and she hated Floprya so much, you cannot imagine.

Her ranting that if Mu/rat does not kill Ayşe, she will do it herself & being all “Damn ilahtar and Kösem, they will try to convince Murad not to kill Ayşe, and otherwise he’s so merciless DANG”.

Her feeling of superiority and being special truly shows you why she had best relations with

Mu/rat and Atike in the palace lmao.

She’s also repeatedly completely ignorant of Ottoman system & yet thinks she can be Valide (ater)?

Kösem, Gevherhan, and Ayşe told her multiple times how it works and what might ultimately befall her. Of course Ayşe wanted to just piss her off, but she actually told her truth – Murad was keeping her as his mistress closed in golden cage and just waiting when he decides to grace her with his presence, mostly at night to have some fun ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) . Living outside harem meant that (surprise!) She had a worse situation than slave Ayşe, who had an acknowledged & legitimate position as haseki and mother of princes. Being a foreign princess meant nothing there – she was kept in hiding, had no clear position in Murad’s life, and was actually living in sin with Mu/rat (yes, Murad was so mad about Kasim breaking the rules, but he was doing something far more scandalising himself when it came to sexual propriety & he was the ruling padişah). Her being so happy about not being placed in harem initially & thinking how she was so special she was given a separate palace.. shows precisely how ignorant she was of the system she CHOSE to live in.

Kösem and Gevherhan warned her how not having a kids meant she would later fade into obscurity & even legal marriage could not change it – she completely dismissed it because of “their great luv” & stuff.

Kösem knew Murad much better than Floprya did LBR and when she said his “great luv” would pass, she knew what she was talking about – she was even shocked when Mu/rat gifted Farya with necklace because it wasn’t in his nature to do romantic gestures and caring about giving his women gifts. And even if you don’t trust these women because they don’t like you much, look at how this man is truly behaving towards you (if you ignore his behaviour towards Ayşe because yes we know you are a special snowflake).

Ignoring stuff such as period-appropriate behaviour (Murad laughing at Farya wanting to command an Ottoman army, I guess even less misogynistic men would laugh her off), he calls her his prisoner even before the pig incident, and afterwards…. 1) he hits her without even asking her why she put a freakin’ pig in; 2) keeps her wounded and bleeding in cell while making his decision, at the same time being all emo about how poor HE is because he loves this woman and she hurt HIM so; 3) when he (graciously, please everyone clap) decides to spare her, he doesn’t just let her go, he makes a show in which he scares her and “shows her her rightful place” aka on her knees before him; 3) continues to be offended and passive aggressive towards her afterwards; 4) gives her throne away behind her back without even asking her if she wants to stay with him; 5) rides after her, tells her “you slept with me, so you are my woman & you belong in my harem” & takes her on his horse forcefully (it doesn’t matter if she secretly wanted it inside); 6) didn’t explain why he gave her family’s throne to someone else even after he took her back to the palace, Atike had to do it; 7) yes, kept her without any status and intention to change it hidden in another palace, without any participation in his daily life and only visiting her when it suited him, not even sticking to any promises to come if he decided so, only the terrible incident with Farya’s miscarriage made him marry her and seeing how his “great luv” began to die after it, one does question whether it was out of love or him simply wanting to show everyone (both his mother and subjects) that he could do as he pleased, even against any rules; 6) he actually never promised her he would marry her and not have other women, it was only Farya always saying this – conversely, in MY Suleiman DID actually promise this to Hürrem and then did not keep it [doesn’t make Murad less of a dick, but shows how delusional Farya might be because he never actually said so himself or agreed to it].

And I said in one of my previous posts how Hürrem (and any harem women) weren’t homewreckers because it was indeed their only chance to have a family & love, but damn Floprya is a homewrecker because she truly didn’t have to stay with Mu/rat – she had her family, her throne, friends to come back to… please you knew what mess you created by coming there, and you had all the signs how violent this guy was and about his attitude to women… you could truly do a lot better, honey.

Murad never saw her as a consort of importance either. He never asked for her opinion on anything (he’d sooner even ask his mother) and when she got an accidental chance to say something (pleading with him not to execute a poor guy who forgot his lamp to bring his dad dinner, nota bene an incident described by Ottoman historian Mustafa Naima, just without Farya in the picture obviously), he completely ignored her and looked pissed she even dared to do so. It was frankly the only instance Floprya tried to talk Mu/rat out of something bad – even when he executed people who simply had been on the market during the attack on her (and even completely unrelated ones as later turned out), even though Kosem had already punished the actual attackers, our “kind-hearted” Floprya did nothing…. I’m not surprised he didn’t consult her before because he never does & well… talking sense to him never works because Kösem tried to reason with him it’s wrong, even for him because it provides people who want to go between him and ordinary people with great opportunity… and he didn’t give a fuck as always, but Farya never said anything, even following this? It was a matter closely connected with her and we never even see them talking about this or Floprya’s reaction to it? I can’t believe she didn’t hear about this… she likely just didn’t care.

Kösem also told her that marrying a sultan is not enough, and (since we know she couldn’t have kids) she should at least drag her ass and do something useful, like take care of people? Well, it was the only time we saw Floprya doing charity.

Following the wedding, Mu/rat began to gradually lose interest in Farya, including going after Sanavber after he saw her with dagger pointed at him because it seems he has a dagger-fetish & now Floprya even stopped wielding his favourite toy to have his attention… And again never forget Atike’s “Murad finally met a woman worthy of him, she can wield a sword like A MAN!” (STFU ALREADY ATIKE).

Speaking of Atike… Floprya encouraging Atike to pursue Silahtar even if it’s clear from Atike’s words he isn’t responsive to her, bah, even after it’s known he loves someone else… how stupid you can be to encourage Atike to get the guy who loves someone else and keep telling her again how special & daring she is, so go on and take what you want? Or Floprya threatening Silahtar to expose it was Gevherhan because he called her out on threatening Ayse at night with knife (yes, Ayşe was guilty, but there was no evidence at that point & it was not for her to go and punish somebody without evidence like that). He was just doing his job.

Farya later begins to openly mention her frustrations and how she’s now sidelined because she cannot have children… which of course makes her more the bitter and angry at Ayşe & striving towards revenge so bad – she isn’t satisfied that Ayşe got exposed and would be punished, she wants her DEAD & would not accept any other option (never mind that poor, innocent children would be orphaned in such a case).

Even after the matter is revealed and she does regret what she did, she’s as defensive as ever and tries to put all blame on depressed, abused woman aka Ayşe… she sees no fault of Mura/t’s there.

Still, she didn’t deserve execution for that, especially from hands of person who was chiefly responsible for the tragedy aka her husband… and her being pregnant saving her was meaningful.

Yet she continues to be ignorant about Ottoman system – now that Mura/t continues to pay her little attention even though she gave birth to two sons and instead spends time on drinking parties with Yusuf & other male buddies, she wants to be Valide and supports changing succession law back to the one involving fratricide… Okay, she doesn’t care about Murad’s brothers, but her own sons? Mu/rat being all “I don’t give a fuck” to Kösem pointing out one of his sons will kill the other is… well, him being himself, but Floprya should get worried about implications for her sons, right?

The scene with Sinan is SO indicative of Farya later on – she sits on balcony frustrated because she sits at palace all alone with her sons, while her hubby spends time on one of his parties & watching some (sexy!) dancer after promising her he would be now focused on his family (and even in that scene she still looked so scared of him), Sinan comes, calls her future "Valide Sultan”, she smirks, brightens up & already feels relevant and in better mood, so immediately does what he wants her to do and sends message to Mura/t about Kösem holding meeting with statesmen and ulema about changes in succession law.

Yet another win for Sinan!😂

Farya and Mu*rya stans claiming she was sooo "good-hearted” and they were equals.. were we watching the same show, eh? He didn’t treat her as her “equal” or whatever, even in “their best days”. The relationship was a disaster WAY before he tried to kill her.

I really never hated MY/K ship as much as I hated Mu*ya, a total disaster that really had nothing appealing to me – it was straight-up abusive plus it wasn’t even interesting. I swear even Mihrimah and Rüstem, while thouroughly dysfunctional, were more interesting to watch as a totally fucked up, toxic couple ugh.

- Joanna

Tagging @onlythelonelysurvive because it might be of interest to you and maybe take your mind off your worries :)

#magnificent century kosem #Muhteşem Yüzyıl: Kösem #muhtesem yuzyil kosem #farya bethlen #answered #anti farya bethlen #anti murya #sorry not sorry have no chill here #kinda appropriate for the day #considering Mu/rat is the biggest misogynist in MY/K next to Lutfi the Incel #mods opinions

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twilightofthe · 4 years ago

Note

Padme/Satine Pirate AU?

Another pirate AU for one of my fave rarepairs thank you So Much uwu uwu

(OTP prompts list found here)

Sadme/Padtine/Satidala/goddammit Padmé why are your names so hard to portmonteau 9 - Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this?

(Padmé here is v loosely based off of the legend of French pirate Jeanne de Clisson)

Satine does not particularly like her life in the convent. Hell knows-- begging pardon --she doesn’t quite believe what they preach, and many of the women here hold the stifling conservative views on women as the bastards back home that were the reason for her loss of land and title in the first place.

But she will not run away and she will not concede. She will get her position as Duchess back-- the matter of the fact is that she is supposed to be dead, so for now it is living at the convent by the sea with the well-stocked library and resources that is not too far from her ancestral lands, and daring to send out letters to anyone she feels she might be able to trust, searching out who may be able to lend a sympathetic hand, or more specifically, resources.

Satine has a Plan, and a ship with blood red sails melting out of the fog one morning while Satine is tending the vegetable garden is not part of that plan.

Neither is a group of mostly women trudging up the beach and towards the cliffside stairs that lead up to the convent, covered in ash and-- is that blood?

The woman in the lead is in bright red and her brown hair twisted back intricately off her face. Her face is youthful and her warm eyes are older than her years. They glow in the overcast light and she speaks in a way Satine recognizes as high upbringing as she introduces her group as travellers in need of shelter and meal for a few nights; surely the women of the Good Lord wouldn’t mind?

Satine’s eyes land on the sword on her hip that is yes, still definitely dripping blood, and the woman assures her that they swear they will do no harm. The convent is one that practices charity and offers shelter to travelers making a holy pilgrimage. Satine is currently armed with naught but a basket of cabbage and carrot. They will need the permission of the Mother Abbess to stay-- luckily, the Mother Abbess is Satine herself.

(An accident, honestly. Satine had been looking for an opportunity when she had endeared herself to her predecessor, and was not expecting to inherit the job a year later, but she had given herself a respectable position and being in charge would offer even more opportunity. If God existed, He surely could forgive her her pragmatism and ambition. She had done well in the five years since, even if she didn’t terribly care all that much for the theism itself vs the opportunities for charity and helping educate young women)

She invites the strange group of women in. She asks them to please not drip blood on the carpets. Their leader introduces herself as simply Padmé. She’s looking around, wiping the blood off her sword onto her stained skirts, and Satine wonders how it happened. Padmé sends another woman off to send a message. Satine wonders who it is going to.

Throughout the day, Padmé spends it in the library. Satine finds her there, they talk politics and classics and languages. Padmé is brilliant, and she has such ideas, such passion. Satine hasn’t been able to talk about much more than religion for years.

Satine invites them to evening prayer, they accept, but she notices throughout that Padmé does not speak the entire time.

She asks her afterwards.

Padmé gives her a simple smile. I am Jewish, she says.

She is brave, to admit that here, Satine thinks. Life is harder for people like Padmé because the world is prejudiced and cruel. She guesses from the bloody sword that Padmé knows a thing or two about the cruelty of the world.

Well, since Padmé won’t judge her for it

I don’t believe in anything, Satine says

Padmé laughs. It is bright and clear, like birdsong. And yet here you are, she remarks.

Here we both are, Satine counters, adjusting her habit as they sit beneath one of the stained glass windows.

Padmé can hear the question in her voice and fiddles with her bloodstained skirts. She looks back at Satine and her gaze is clear and unrepentant.

“I am here because the rest of my ships were separated from me. They will be continuing my current crusade at the nearby fort along the northern coast.”

“Crusade?”

“I had a title once upon a time as well, Lady Kryze. I was once Lady Amidala myself. Have you not heard of me?”

The revelation of Padmé’s name removes all surprise on Satine’s part from being recognized; a fellow noblewoman would have likely heard of her troubles. And she has heard of Lady Amidala.

A minor noble who caught the eye of the High King for her talents, Lady Amidala and her lands were favored until the King asked of her something she could not do. As punishment, the king sent soldiers, burned her ancestral lands until there was nothing left and killed many of her people. Lady Amidala had been forced to sell all her assets and had disappeared. It was the biggest scandal amongst the nobility since Satine’s own deposing; of course she had heard of it.

Satine mentions she was unaware of the former Lady’s fate. Padmé just cocks her head and asks if Satine has heard the rumors of the ships lost at sea, that never return?

Satine has. Merchants stopping by mention their fear to sail along the coast.

They are not bad storms, Padmé admits. They are me, she says, and she sounds proud. Padmé had tried to appeal to the King for a more equal society rather than the large gap in living standards between the nobility and the majority poor of the kingdom, had tried to make changes in a political manner. But he had thrown her out and continued with his harsh laws, so now she will make herself known in a way he cannot ignore. Padmé raids his ships and visits his seaside forts and razes them to the ground like he did her home.

Satine is stunned; violence like that is never the answer.

Padmé shoots back that is Satine not supposed to be dead? Her authority was challenged by those who would refuse to cede her her rightfully inherited lands after her father’s death, and who overthrew her after she refused to either take a husband or to bend her laws to the favors of the more powerful and influential.

Satine stands up. She is dealing with it, she explains. She will regain her position rightfully and honestly and without another war. It’s just..... taking her time.

Padmé stands up too, catches her wrist. Is she not tired, in the slightest, of waiting?

Satine has been waiting for five years.

Is she not tired of inaction?

Satine looks at the hand that has been washed of blood but have still spilled so much, remembers what she once had, what she could once do, and the man who is in charge now, how her people must be suffering.

She takes her hand out of Padmé’s. She cannot be like her. She cannot start a war.

She bids her goodnight, sends one of the other younger acolytes to show any remaining guests-- pirates, they are pirates --to their quarters when it is time to sleep.

Satine is awoken in the early morning by sounds of violence and shouting ringing throughout the stone walls of the peaceful abbey. She is out of her bed and opening the door to one of the King’s royal soldiers if the uniform is right, brandishing a sword at her and grabbing her wrist in the same place Padmé did. Satine barely has time to react to him before she is being tossed into a wall and as she lays there, stunned, there is more yelling and the slashing ring of metal, and another body crumpling beside her, and a small, strong hand pulling her to her feet.

Padmé smiles at her apologetically, saying that she and her crew have brought these soldiers here, where they thought they would be safe.

They should be safe, Satine says angrily. Criminals or no, houses of God are not supposed to be desecrated with violence, should be open for everyone, and that is the law of the land itself. The King is breaking the laws, he can’t--

Padmé tucks a strand of Satine’s loose hair out of her face. Satine hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t wearing it. Her head feels lighter without it.

They will not hurt the nuns here, Padmé promises. If the King cannot protect his subjects, Padmé will instead.

Satine spends the battle in a nightgown wielding a torch. She doesn’t hurt anyone, but she keeps soldiers back and escorts frightened nuns through the maze of the stone walls and into the crypts below to hide. The aforementioned mazelike walls are what help Padmé’s crew turn the tides of the fight; having had a day there to get a vague sense of direction in comparison to the soldiers running blind.

In the morning, there is a rainbow outside and blood and death inside the convent. No nuns were killed, thankfully, but one of Padmé’s was, and several soldiers before they were driven off. The soldiers will be back, Padmé warns Satine, as her girls head back for the ship that, after all of this, was not even touched. The nuns here will not be safe. She offers to take anyone who wishes to leave either to the nearest nunnery, or to allow them to join her crew if they wish.

The other sisters are obviously distressed by this, but Satine feels a laugh catching in her throat at just how many take the offer to join the pirates.

And what about you? is Padmé’s question for her as they’re boarding the ship and sailing away from where Satine stagnated for the last five years. The ocean breeze feels good in her hair.

“Do you want your lands back?”

Satine stiffens. She does, of course she does, she wants to free her people, but--

She can’t condone retaking it by piratical violence. She can’t do it. It isn’t her way.

“Then come with me. I’ll take you to the people who can give you the support you need to retake them honorably.”

Satine looks at Padmé and her sun-warmed eyes. She would be here... while Padmé burns forts and ships.

Padmé’s smile is sharp. Satine has her war, Padmé has her own. This is merely a temporary combining of resources.

Whatever is so bad about a temporary alliance?

She holds out her hand. It is covered in blood again.

Satine takes it and lets Padmé bring her knuckles to her mouth in a kiss.

Maybe she finally made a connection that would get her where she needed to be after all.

#THANK YOU I KINDA WANNA MAKE A WHOLE ASS SAPPHIC PIRATE ROMANCE NOW #and u bet ur ass i'm tagging as much as possible because i want this to be seen and SW fandom never notices wlw ships #ask #asks #wrenvibes #political wives #Padme Amidala #satine kryze #morai's fic #star wars

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theholycovenantrpg · 4 years ago

Photo

CONGRATULATIONS, RACHEL! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF CAPHRIEL.

Admin Cas: This decision felt practically impossible to me. We received two applications for Caphriel, and each application offered a completely different perspective of her, tapped into two totally opposite aspects of her character, but what drew me back to your application, Rachel, was your eagerness to tackle the — ah, less savoury aspects of Caphriel, shall we say? You said it yourself, it would be easy to look at Caphriel through rose-tinted glasses, given all she’s sacrificed and all she insists on doing for mortal-kind, but the matter of the fact is that she’s still an Angel. Yes, she’s kind, she’s selfless, she’s sombre; but she’s also haughty, she’s also resolute, she’s also violent. I think it was this line that sold me: “Though she despises war, Caphriel carries her sword wherever she goes – can she not say that she is prepared, if she must, to cut down those that stand in the way of her love?” I can’t wait to see what other terrible things Caphriel is willing to do in the name of love in your capable hands! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Rachel

Age | 22

Personal Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | Inspiration comes in waves, but I try my best to keep a net one or two posts per day. It might mean I spam the dash with all my replies on one day and then am lurking the rest of the week, it might actually mean one reply a day, it all depends on work and life and such. I am around every day to chat about things, though! You can count on me lurking on discord an alarming amount of the day.

Timezone | PST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group? | Rosey was like Hey. I think you’ll enjoy this. and she was right!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Caphriel

What drew you to this character? | It took me a long while to settle myself on Caphriel. I was torn between a number of characters as they were posted, but I kept circling back to her – her radiant kindness, the exquisite pain of loving wholeheartedly, despite the weight of sorrows that she carries for others. She is a breath of light that is so deeply compelling to me. It could be easy to see her through rose tinted glasses, but I think there’s an edge to her that I really want to try to draw out.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? |

I. TAKE UP THY BLADE

Love has brought Caphriel to violence, and it shall do so again. She committed unspeakable acts against God and her fellow angels in their great coup all for the sake of humanity, acts she would repeat tenfold if it meant they remain as they are: stumbling towards a light of their own making, figuring out their place as they define it. Though she despises war, Caphriel carries her sword wherever she goes – can she not say that she is prepared, if she must, to cut down those that stand in the way of her love?

If and when the divine beings start to chafe at their self-imposed equality with the human race, if and when they seek to be once again revered without question, Caphriel will once again take up her sword against her brethren. It is an inevitability, one she feels in her bones.

Caphriel may not go to bat for every human that she encounters, but there are individuals whom she found fight tooth and nail to spare the horrors of the world. She would put herself on the line for humanity as a whole in a heartbeat, if it came to it, though she would prefer to teach her brethren the things she’s learned from the humans first, instill in them the same deference that she holds. Break from them the desire to be worshipped, for that era seems firmly in the past. I think it would be very interesting to have her interfacing with her fellow angels, attempting to teach this point – in all likelihood, it would go poorly, especially among those that still crave power over anything. She cannot force love when it is absent, but she would bleed herself dry if it would make them understand.

Perhaps the angels get restless. Perhaps her shared animosity with Nerissa comes to a head. Perhaps someone dares to harm those that are beloved to her. I feel there are many paths that can lead to her digging back into that measure of destruction she holds within herself, all varying degrees of boundary-testing. This would be a longer-term arc for her as the plot develops, as there are a lot of dominoes that would have to fall first in order to get her to turn to violence – all other avenues must be closed, or she must really, truly feel like it is the right thing.

II. I WOULD DROWN IN THE FAVOR OF YOUR EYES

As an immortal being, Caphriel has lost a great many things. She watches the decay of mortals with a bittersweet resignation, but there are always a special few mortals whose loss she feels keenly, who she weeps for ages down the line. Luca Riche is one of these, though she has not lost him yet – and she is determined to keep him, greedy and indulgent, for as long as she can.

History repeats itself, it seems – she loved Abel then as she loves Luca now, but this time she is at his side, an equal rather than a distant observer. He is not hers to protect, but she aches to do so, would likely turn at an instant on one who did him harm. The thing is: did she love Cain less, for his sin? Did she resent him for his violence against his brother? She had wept for him as he bore the mark even as she turned her back on the darkness he harbored within himself. Her draw towards Luca unwittingly brings Jasper into her sphere, and she can sense a similar darkness about him. The brothers have her transfixed once again, but can the violence between them remain unfulfilled?

I would love to explore the established connection with Luca and how that affects her connections to Jasper. Does she see the animosity harbored by Jasper? Is she blinded to the issues by Luca’s own love for his brother, and her love for him in turn? She is a bit of a meddler, albeit a well-meaning one, so there’s a distinct possibility that she would try to facilitate some form of reconciliation, especially if the strain between the brothers begins to reflect negatively onto Luca. It might just blow up in her face.

Whether she eventually learns they are Cain and Abel does not, I think, truly matter – either way there is still the push and pull of her benevolent love vs. the specific instances of Jasper’s darker leanings, the sickly sweet danger of her love for Luca. She was not a direct actor in their story initially, but she could be now – I think she will cling to this, and it may eat at her. This possessive love could so easily turn to rot – she hovers on a precipice which, really, either brother could knock her over the edge of.

III. THERE IS BLOOD ON THE WALLS OF YOUR HOME

Caphriel’s position within the hierarchy of angels feels, despite her mantle as virtue of Charity, quite tenuous. She shuns Caelum in favor of Sanctus Terra, adores humanity more than she ever has her brethren. She took up the sword with the rest of them, followed Michael into the fray not because she believed in him, but because she believed that God had turned against His people. All that she has done has been for humanity – how plain is that for other angels to see? It is etched into the very marrow of her bones – it seems impossible that the other angels would not be wary of this, unsettled by this almost lack of loyalty.

Michael made her the virtue of Charity – but does he trust her? She had walked away while he was building his empire – does this not smart? Do the other angels view her has naïve for placing her lot so heavily with humanity? Her ferocity still lingers in their memory, but the goodness that she radiates now may turn the stomach of those angels lingering in the darker corners of Caelum.

She spends most of her time in Sanctus Terra, and I would like to really dig into her feelings about coming ‘home’ to Caelum. Whether she is drawn in some official capacity or simply visiting as part of her travels, there are a lot of mixed feelings about the place and the people. She harbors no ill will for her brethren, but their pride chafes on her after too long a stay.

It would be interesting to push this divide to the brink, test the limits of Caphriel’s love and loyalty. When given an ultimatum, which side would she choose? She was made to love and protect humanity, but can she really turn aside from her own divinity so easily?

IV. A HEART IS A MUSCLE LIKE ANY OTHER

This is building off something Minnie had in her sample app! I think it’s really compelling that Arianne and Caphriel occupy the same niche in a strange way. They both can assuage the suffering of another being, though Caphriel’s empathy is a bit less immediate of a fix than Arianne’s manipulation of the heart. There is an element of violence to both of their pathways – for Caphriel to take a memory permanently rather than just see it, she must wield her sword; for Arianne, it is easy to simply stop a heart entirely. Caphriel aims to soothe from a place of love; it seems that Arianne seeks the power that comes from dependance.

They are strange parallels, and I would love to have a possible confrontation between the two. Caphriel tries so hard to love all humanity, but I think that Arianne would push at her limits. She has made herself into humanity’s protector, though the threats she works against are myriad and deeply, deeply unexpected. Arianne’s ability poses a particularly strange threat, one that I believe Caphriel would keep an eye on, especially if she got wind that people were really hooked on Arianne. Her interest is equally a strange sort of covetousness for the position of humanity’s aid and wanting to mitigate what could be a real threat to people.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | If she were to go, it would not be without a fight. In short, yes, but only if it’s really compelling for the narrative/serves a strong purpose.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation |

Love. A deep, abiding love for humanity in all their glorious failures and corruptions, their triumphs and joys. Caphriel cannot rid the world of all its woes but she can ease the pain of them, and the desire to do so has driven her to the ends of the earth and back again. Her love is a ferocious thing, not the gauzy lightness of poetry but rich and radiant, forged in blood and tears.

Before God’s defeat, Caphriel ached to understand the woes of humanity on a more intimate level, to feel them herself rather than observe their effects from afar. Her empathic power allows her to do that, and she gladly takes humanity’s pain onto herself. She is a hardier being, at the end of it – they will not weigh her down as they do the frailer humans. She will not let them.

Her love is not always good. This is, I think, the crux of her character, and what keeps her from becoming something flimsy. She has spilled blood for this love. Overthrown her creator. Likely even committed violence against the humans she so loves for the sake of sparing the masses further pain. Though her love comes from a place of righteousness, it is, ultimately, her own, and there are those that would see it as a curse or as the delusions of one individual. Her love can blind her to elements of reality and she can lose herself in the memories of others.

She exists in a strange middle ground – not quite angel, not quite human. It is her divine nature that allows her to act as she does, yet she has always hungered to know the depths of humanity. This counterbalance propels her, though she may not even understand the true extent of it.

Character Traits |

+ STEADFAST

Caphriel’s love for humanity has not wavered for eons. She remains committed to them, driven by the desire to help, to ease their suffering, to feel as one with them. Her unwavering devotion to humanity has shaped her life and all her most important actions: her turn away from God, her participation in the coup, her retreat to Sanctus Terra once it became habitable. Though this devotion is overall a net positive, it can, in certain cases, take on a negative aspect.

- OBSESSIVE

There are certain things that she cannot let go of. Her love can turn to obsession, to covetousness, blinding her to the dangers of her actions. Her hunger for connection to humanity has gnawed at her for eons, driving her forward at times against her better nature. She can lose sight of the forest for the trees if she is not careful in moderating herself.

+ COMPASSIONATE

Her powers of empathy heighten her already compassionate nature. She wants to help, to listen to others when they talk of pain, of suffering, to work with them to ease their burdens.

- MEDDLESOME

Her acts of charity are not always welcomed by those she bestows them upon. Her ministrations and particularly her empathic ability often pry deep into a person’s psyche, which she doesn’t realize may alienate those that have not sought her presence.

+ GENTLE

Angels can be fearsome things. The sword worn across her back and the brilliant white sweep of her wings may be unsettling, but Caphriel’s calm and kind demeanor puts that to rest. She radiates a sense of contentment, in harmony with the hum of her blade, the sweep of her wings through the air.

- VIOLENT

She does not often give into her baser natures, but when Caphriel is incited to a fight, she is vicious. She made a name for herself among the angels during the war with God, her greatsword forged by Michael himself whetted on the bones of her kin. Her mild demeanor may belie her fighting prowess, but the truth is: every angel is terrible. Even one built for love such as she.

In-Character Para Sample |

When she descends to the earth at the end of it all, after the bones of her Lord God have stripped themselves bare, after the Blood Plague has ravaged the new, fledgling land, she weeps. The first touch of her foot to the land of Sanctus Terra breaks her chest open, pain and joy and love, uncompromising love, spilling from the very core of her, mirrored in the souls around her. She walks, heart open, into the fold, sword a comforting weight upon her back, wings a blinding mass behind her. She learns to fold them away, over time; saves the revelation of her erstwhile divinity for more intimate things. She tucks the gleaming herald of her wings out of sight, but still she glows, lit from within by the undying flame of her love.

She walks the length of the land, leaving no corner unexplored. Her footsteps are those of Moses, of John. Of all those that wandered the earth, driven by love for their people, for their Lord. She trails a path through the indelible marks of history, the eons crumbled to ash in the reformation of the world. She carries these pilgrims with her, their memory mingling with new stories, their pain and grief and love cradled between her ribs.

It is her sword that announces her presence now, its gentle hum blown by the breeze into the small town she has wandered to. Her cloak is heavy and warm in the noonday sun, her body one large and familiar ache that comes from hours on foot. A small child stops in their tracks at the sight of her – she offers them a warm smile. That seems to spook them more than anything, and they run to hide behind the legs of a woman who bustles around the yard of a nearby home. People peer from windows as she passes, pause in their ministrations to watch her go by. They listen to the radiant hum of the sword that glints on her back and they wonder.

She takes a deep breath, lets the energy of the town seep under her skin. They are all so tired, these people – they all seem to be, the further she moves from the center of the Holy Land. Settlers bending the will of the natural world to their own, terraforming the same soil their ancestors had once turned, eons ago. She has drawn up a crowd by the time she arrives in what seems to be the main square, a rough dirt clearing amidst the houses. The people keep their distance, intrigued but wary – she cannot begrudge them this, though she aches to close the space between them, to take them up in her arms and sooth the furrows from their brows. To nurture them as they nurture the land.

There are people in the square – older, she thinks, though she’s never been good at gauging these things, so used to faces that do not line with age. Humans pass so quickly, their meagre collected years a blip in her existence, yet she yearns to understand the scope of their lives, the honors of reaching fifty years, sixty, when all she knows are millennia. She sees the child from before in the corner of her eye, trailing behind her with their mother, so small. A man and a woman speak in hushed tones as she approaches - snippets blow to her, but she captures none but their names - Gideon, the woman says, Sarah, he responds. Old names, familiar ones, and Caphriel is overcome with her desperate adoration of a people too stubborn to die out, rooted deep into lives eons ago whose stories no longer grace people’s lips but in their most basic form: the name of it all.

“My name is Caphriel,” she intones, as the man named Gideon steps forward to meet her. “I come seeking shelter and to bring aid where it is needed.”

“Why do you hide your wings, Angel?” The man before her says. She sees the glint of mistrust in his eyes, the tension in his stance. She had hoped, once, that she might someday no longer be recognizable at first glance – her brothers had laughed at her when she’d said it, so she buried that seed deep within herself. Her cloak was a small concession to herself, though it seems in this case it had been a misstep. It is no hardship to her to assuage his fears, so she bows her head briefly and removes her cloak, unfurling her wings behind her, a blaze of white stark against the dirt road, the richness of her dark skin. She sees the spark of wonder in the man’s eyes and she smiles, a small but radiant thing.

“I do not mean to hide what I am, or to dissemble and take your hospitality under false pretenses.” The low murmur of the crowd quiets as she speaks. “I take solace in walking where my brethren would fly, and have found it convenient to cover them when they are not in use to shield them from the wind and dirt.” She cocks her head, coy, lets her smile bloom wider, drops her voice like she is telling a secret. “They are a true pain to clean when they get dirty.”

She hears a ripple of laughter from behind her, bright feminine voices, and she knows she has settled into the hearts of these people. Even Gideon, frame still stoic, returns her smile. “Come,” he says, gesturing her into a home along the central square. She folds her cloak in her arms as she walks beside him, eyes adjusting to the change in light as they duck indoors. It is sparse but comfortable, and Caphriel feels at peace. “We don’t get many visitors here, let alone the start of a host of angels.”

“No host,” she says, unlacing her scabbard from her back, laying it alongside her folded cloak. “Just me.”

“Well, that’s lucky,” he replies, “Seeing as I’ve only got one spare bed.”

Her laugh is melodic, filling up the space between them, bright and bubbling with happiness. “Gideon,” she smiles, tasting the prophet’s name on her tongue, rich with history and repetition. “I want to help you. If you tell me what you and your people need, I swear I will do everything in my power to aid you. All I ask in return is a roof over my head for as long as it takes.” She holds out her hand, palm up, a minute act of supplication. “Let me help you.”

“Well,” the man before her says, “Caphriel.” He clasps her hand to shake. She feels the warmth radiate up her arm, into her heart. “Let’s get started, then.”

#accepted #accepted: caphriel

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shlee-e · 5 years ago

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Holy shit. I’ve officially watched every single @therealjacksepticeye video on his channel. I can’t believe I’m finally completely caught up.

Story time, I got into jack when a friend in college showed me one of his videos. We watched an episode from an Outlast series on silent while the teacher was lecturing. By all rights I shouldn’t have liked it, far too spooky and too “vulgar” humour for my taste (at the time). But this boy intrigued my interest and I did what any sane person does when they find a creator they like, I went back and started watching from his very first upload. And I spiralled from there, watching his videos in chronological order. Tbh his early videos weren’t that great, but it sure was nice to have the Survival Hunter keeping me company while I hid away from my six unknown roommates in my first year of school. There were some early series that I truly fell in love with, Don’t Starve, Ib, Little Inferno. Along with the games that made me laugh super hard like GTA5, Skate 3, and Turbo Dismount.

Then I hit the “booper dooper” stage where I enjoyed watching Jack collab with other youtubers and rant over conventions. Channel milestones seemed like there were every third video and his content just kept getting better and better. This was also around the time I watched some of the big series like Undertale and Papers Please. I wasn’t even there during the max hype for these games but boy was I hyped none the less. Eventually I couldn’t hold myself back from keeping up with relevant games, so I started binging new series along with the old ones. I got to invest in Dream Daddy and Doki Doki Literature Club in real time. I remember being in my new and improved apartment while watching some of my favourite games like God of Boy, Detroit become Conner, and the new Spider-Man! I also kept up to date with watching live streams, especially the charity events. It’s absolutely incredible all the money this channel has raised! I’ve managed to hold up my end for each charity and have gotten myself that shiny pin collection.

Jack had become such a part of my life that when he went traveling for his How Did We Get Here Live Show Comedy World Tour, do you have 90 minutes?, I just had to go. The show itself was such a fantastic experience!! I hadn’t been more giddy for something in so long I was literally vibrating! I got to see the late showing in Toronto and I truly didn’t want to see it end, so as a send off I actually got the crowd to start chanting PMA! Who knew it could be so fun to wield the power of 1000+ people?! I stuck around after the show and chatted with a few other fans who stayed late as well. I was over the top excited when Jack himself came outside and said hello to every single one of us who was still at the theatre. I’m sure he was exhausted from doing two shows that day but I very much appreciated him still giving us some time. I happened to be the first one he talked to as I was on the end of our little circle and since I didn’t want to take up to much time I quickly said hi, got a hug and let him move on. I can confirm that he gives fantastic hugs. But when everyone else started telling pieces of their stories and getting pictures I felt like I missed out. I was grateful that once he had spoken to everyone, he agreed to also getting a pic and a signature with me. That night became such a treasured memory.

And then the Jacksepticeye Variety Channel easily became some of my favourite content. Funniest Home Videos and Meme Time are still some of my favourite things to watch. I got so antsy to catch up, the months drew closer and closer to the most recent uploads while I watched that newer content. Resident Evil 2, Minecraft, Death Stranding we’re so much fun! I hooked it all up to my new tv in my third and current apartment. Until finally today, watching the most recent episode to date video, which was a beloved meme time.

What a fucking incredible journey this was. Over the past four years I got to watch Jack grow and experience so many different things along the way. I may have loved the green haired version of Jack, but I love the Gaelic Gladiator more. It’s amazing to see what he’s done for himself and what he’s been able to accomplish throughout his career. From voice acting in games, to interviewing some of his favourite celebrities, to making quality narrative cinematics with his ego characters. And I myself have grown to! I’ve gone though three years of school, graduated and gotten my second degree. (Big Brain cus I’ve also gone to college, twice) And now Ive got my first job working as an animator in the gaming industry! I cannot express enough how much joy Jack has brought me over the years, he truly does feel like a long distance friend. I cannot wait to see what he’ll get up to next and I’m excited to come along for the ride! But what the fuck and I going to binge watch now?

Ps: This so happened to coincide with Jacks 30th birthday so HAPPY BIRTHDAY JACK!! Hope you have a good one!

#jacksepticeye #therealjacksepticeye

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lastsonlost · 5 years ago

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Just when you thought this story could not get any more disgusting.

Now we have one slimy disgusting trash person being offended by a whole group of slimy disgusting trash people.

The Des Moines Register reporter fired in the wake of a scandal involving offensive tweets — posted by a viral star he interviewed and then his own — broke his silence Friday, telling BuzzFeed News he had been “abandoned” by the newspaper after following standard editorial practice by performing a social media search on the person he was profiling.

“This event basically set my entire life on fire,” reporter Aaron Calvin said.

Calvin, 27, was dismissed by the Iowa newspaper Thursday evening following criticism online in the wake of his article about 24-year-old casino security worker Carson King.

On Sept. 14 at the Iowa State University vs. University of Iowa football game in Ames, King had appeared in the background of ESPN’s College GameDay holding a sign that said “Busch Light Supply Needs Replenished,” along with his Venmo handle. After King received $600, he announced he would instead donate his growing beer fund to a local children’s hospital. The fundraiser soon went viral, and Venmo and Anheuser-Busch offered to match the donations. King wound up raising over $1 million, and he was quickly catapulted into being a local legend and viral internet hero.

Upon the fundraiser hitting the million-dollar mark, Calvin decided to profile King, whom he’d already covered in several stories. But soon Calvin, who worked as a BuzzFeed employee between 2013 and 2014, found two racist tweets King had posted when he was 16. Calvin wrote that the tweets, which have since been deleted, were jokes “comparing black mothers to gorillas and another making light of black people killed in the Holocaust.”

Calvin told BuzzFeed News it’s standard practice at the Des Moines Register to background check people they profile through court records and social media. “I was reminded by an editor to background Carson...and I found a few tweets that he published in high school that were racist jokes,” he said. “I knew if I found them, other people would find them as well.”

Des Moines Register executive editor Carol Hunter declined to comment for this story, but referred BuzzFeed News to an op-ed she published in which she called “backgrounding” an “essential” part of reporting. “The process helps us to understand the whole person,” she wrote.

Calvin said his editors told him to ask King about the tweets, so he did. "He was deeply regretful, and I recognized that these were not representative artifacts of Carson,” Calvin said.

In writing his profile, Calvin said he decided to include just a “brief mention of these tweets and his apology at the bottom of this profile, after the glowing synopsis of his charity.” The reporter said he felt an obligation to share the information he’d uncovered with the public, but thought he did so in a “thoughtful” way that showed the tweets no longer showed King’s worldview.

He also maintained he did this with the full blessing and awareness of senior editors. “Throughout this entire process of the discovery and inclusion of the tweets, the editor knew, the editorial board knew, and the executive editor knew how I’d included them and handled them for the article, and as far as I knew, approved of that,” he said.

On Tuesday night, before the profile was published, King held a press conference to apologize for the tweets, which he said had been found by a reporter. He said he wrote the posts when he was a high school sophomore and had been making reference to the show Tosh.0.

“In re-reading it today — eight years later — I see it was an attempt at humor that was offensive and hurtful,” he continued. “I am embarrassed and stunned to reflect on what I thought was funny when I was 16 years old. I want to sincerely apologize.”

Anheuser-Busch cut ties with King after the press conference. King said he did not blame Calvin, saying that he appreciated that he’d pointed out the tweets and had simply wanted to apologize. “The Des Moines Register has been nothing but kind in all of their coverage, and I appreciate the reporter pointing out the post to me,” he tweeted.

Upon publishing the story, Calvin said he was immediately met with criticism from people across Iowa who accused him of trying to denigrate a local hero.

But any media ethics debate about the newsworthiness of tweets written by someone when they were a teenager was soon swept aside by a tidal wave of harassment, doxing, and death threats Calvin received.

Soon, influential right-wing media figures also began circulating screenshots of Calvin’s own past offensive tweets that had been uncovered. In posts dating back to 2010, Calvin had used “gay” as a pejorative, written “fuck all cops,” and spelled out the word “niggas” twice when he was quoting others, including a Kanye West lyric. “Now that gay marriage is legal,” he wrote in one 2012 tweet, “I’m totally going to marry a horse.”

Calvin told BuzzFeed News these were “frankly embarrassing” tweets that he “would not have published today,” but said they had been “taken out of context” and were being used to “wield disingenuous arguments against me.”

Calvin said editors at the Des Moines Register directed him to apologize in a tweet, which he said he agreed to do because he was “afraid and just trying to comply with what I was being told so I could possibly hold onto my job.”

In the tweet, Calvin apologized for “not holding myself to the same high standards as The Register holds others.”

“I regret publishing that tweet now,” Calvin told BuzzFeed News. “Because I was never trying to hold Carson to any kind of ‘higher standard’ or any kind of standard at all. I was trying to do my job as a reporter, and I think I did so to the best of my ability.”

As soon as the story broke, Calvin said he began receiving a barrage of death threats. He said HR reps at Gannett, which owns the Des Moines Register, forbade him from speaking to the media and told him to leave his apartment for his own safety. They offered to put him up in a hotel, but he stayed with a friend instead.

“I recognize that I’m not the first person to be doxed like this — this whole campaign was taken up by right-wing ideologues and largely driven by that force,” he said. “It was just a taste of what I assume that women and journalists of color suffer all the time, but the kind of locality and regional virality of the story made it so intense.”

On Thursday, while he was speaking to police about the death threats, Calvin said he got a call from Gannett representatives. “They told me they were going to offer me an option — that I could resign or I could be fired — with no severance,” he said. “It was really a semantic difference, I guess, so I chose to be fired.”

A Gannett spokesperson told BuzzFeed News the company does not comment on personnel matters.

In her op-ed, Hunter, the executive editor, wrote they were now evaluating how reporters perform background checks on subjects and what information should be published from those checks. She said their focus was partly on “the shift in social media culture and how activities on those platforms reflect upon a person’s newsworthiness in general.”

With regard to Calvin’s firing, Hunter wrote that they “took appropriate action because there is nothing more important in journalism than having readers’ trust.”

King did not respond to a request for comment on Calvin’s dismissal.

Calvin said he hasn’t heard from Gannett or his newsroom leaders since his firing, but said some of his former coworkers have reached out in support.

Though Calvin said he regrets his tweets, he thinks they were taken out of context by bad actors to make him look like a racist and homophobe. “As I said when I was speaking with Carson, I don’t think people’s past social media statements should be made to make blanket characterizations about them,” he said.

He also expressed his frustration about the “false narrative about me ‘canceling’ Carson.”

“Carson was never in danger of being canceled — there was no attempt or intent to quote-unquote ‘cancel’ him,’” Calvin said. “He’s raised hundreds of thousands more dollars since this happened. The governor of Iowa declared a ‘Carson King Day.’”

(“You can make a mistake in your life, and still go on to do amazing things,” Gov. Kim Reynolds tweeted Wednesday. “@CarsonKing2, thank you for reminding us all of that! #IowaProud.”)

Calvin said he’s still afraid to go out in public and is still staying at his friend’s house. He isn’t sure what he will do next, but hopes he can keep reporting.

“I’m just taking it day by day,” he said. “I feel like I’m a good writer and a good reporter and I was doing my job to the best of my ability.”

Calvin said he also still deeply believes in the “necessity of local journalism.”

“Frankly, it’s really disappointing to me to be abandoned by my former employer,” he said. “I still in a lot of ways support the Register — I just wish they had believed in me.”

Have you ever read so much bullshit that it made you almost vomit in your mouth?

This motherfucker just try to roast a man's life and is now trying to play the victim after he got a dose of his own hypocritical medicine.

Also BuzzFeed is in rare form today. We have both the right-wing Boogeyman, online harassment and women and people of color being in votes for pity points.

Did you ever see obvious manipulation look so obvious?

#carson king #Aaron Colvin #buzzfeed #call out culture

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