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helpistolethesecharacters · 3 years ago

Text

Death Does Not Discriminate Between the Sinners and the Saints

Part 1

Tony Stark x Male Demon Reader

Word Count: 3361

This is for the amazing @charliedakotariley who keeps absolutely making my day with all the sweet things they say.

This one is a bit angsty, but there is fantastic tooth rotting fluff at the end for anyone who gets that far. Keep yourselves safe and don't read anything that will make you go down a bad path.

Warnings: The title kind of says it, we are going to be dealing with the concept of a loved one dying in this. NO-ONE ACTUALLY DIES.

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Y/n had known for months now that something was wrong with Tony. They had gotten past the hurdle of Tony's new self-consciousness thanks to the arc reactor that was a part of him now, or at least Y/n thought they had. He had spent weeks reassuring Tony (in and out of bed) that he still found him attractive.

Of course, the rest of the world would be surprised to see Tony Stark be self-conscious about anything, but they didn't know him like Y/n did. He found Tony's public persona to be hilarious. As a literal demon he loved to watch Tony wind up anyone who thought they could get under his skin.

That had been a surprise to Y/n. He had approached Tony at a party one night for a little bit of fun. Hey, he wasn't about to censure himself, he was a demon. Fun was what he did best.

As cliche as it is, Y/n hadn't expected to fall for the dashing young man so many years before. He sighed for at least the tenth time that night. They had been together for years and still no-one had connected the dots.

'Friends my ass,' Y/n snorted as he thought back to that latest tabloid headline, 'or Tony's ass, as the case may be.'

The problem right now was that Tony was avoiding him. Y/n watched disinterestedly as Tony got eye-wateringly drunk at his birthday party.

Y/n was long over the days where all chaos was his preferred fun. That had stopped when he fell properly for the billionaire. He much preferred it when the chaos didn't stem from his boyfriend getting drunk, putting on his Iron Man suit and proceeding to destroy large parts of his home.

Pepper stood beside him looking equal parts furious and worried. She was alternating between biting her fingernails and sighing in frustration. She looked up at the much taller man.

"Isn't there anything you can do to stop him Y/n?"

Y/n's expression soured.

"No, he hasn't told me what's bugging him. He hasn't even looked at me once tonight."

That was when Rhodey came busting in wearing one of Tony's other suits. For a minute Y/n considered getting between them, but then he decided that if Tony couldn't be bothered to even talk to him, then he could get out of his own mess.

It wasn't until Y/n was back in his own apartment staring out into the darkness of the night sky that he realised what it was that had been bugging him.

Tony smelled like death.

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Y/n was a man of many talents. As a demon, he had lived for over a hundred years, all the while, seemingly never aging a day. He had been all over the world and met (and ruined) many amazing people. (Thank the devil for the light telepathic abilities he had that allowed him to make people see him as human looking. Well, at least more human than he really was.)

He had never once been in love. Until Tony. Y/n was starting to regret not getting closer to other humans over the years, because now he had no idea how to deal with the idea of Tony dying.

What was he going to do? He was a demon, they lived for over a thousand years at least. That was like the lowest natural age to die for a demon. He couldn't live the rest of his life without Tony, he was his everything.

That pulled Y/n up short. When had he fallen so low as to be so affected by the death of a lowly human? But that lowly human was Tony, his adorable chaos-creating boyfriend. He wasn't even dead yet, but Y/n was already acting like he was gone.

A glimmer of a thought flickered through Y/n's head.

There had to be something he could do, instead of sitting back and letting this happen. Tony could NOT die. Y/n wouldn't let it happen, no matter who had to fall in his place.

'How do you stop the death of someone who doesn't even know they are dying. If only there was a google search for something like this.'

Y/n grinned manically. They had healers in Asgard. Some of the best in the universe. He had heard whispers of paths between the realms here on Earth. Heck, he had even used some of them himself, how else did you think he got here in the first place?

Y/n's face set in determination. He could do this. He would stop Tony from dying even if it meant his own death.

He wasn't a demon for nothing after all.

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Getting into Asgard shouldn't have been that easy Y/n lamented as he stepped out into the lush forest that surrounded the portal. He was pretty sure that there was supposed to be some all powerful, all seeing God that watched over the realms. Y/n wasn't sure what to do about that, but figured that if there wasn't a squad of Asgardian guards waiting to arrest/remove him on arrival then he must not be a valid concern.

Y/n bared his teeth at the thought. He considered letting his perception field fall and making a big dramatic entrance, but let it go.

'For Tony.'

Y/n walked as carefully as he could through the forest. It wouldn't do to get all tattered and look even more suspicious than he already would.

Luckily it didn't take more than an hour to get to the edge of the forest, and even more luckily it bordered on the golden city itself.

Y/n stopped to take in the grandeur of the city of Asgard and thought that he must be the only demon to have ever set foot in this realm. How ironic that he wasn't even there to try to destroy it like so many of his kin had dreamed of doing.

No one really paid Y/n much mind as he made his way into the city proper. It turned out Asgardians were taller than humans generally speaking, so Y/n actually fit in better here than on Earth where he just about towered over everyone.

He even saw a couple of other people with skin as pale as his was, and the same white hair. No one had eyes like his though. Y/n knew that his eyes looked like the lava that covered so much of his home realm. They even glowed if he got too emotional.

This realm was so much more open. The streets were wider, there was so much more room to move than on Earth. Y/n was starting to feel like a tourist, gaping at every little thing in the city. That wouldn't help him in blending in, but he couldn't help it. He had the sudden urge to see if he could do a full spin and not knock anything over.

That had been one of the hardest things to unlearn when he first made it to Earth. His long armored tail was pretty unwieldy in such tight enclosed spaces, so he had had to learn to balance all over again with his tail tucked closer to his body. Unfortunately his perception field only changed how people saw him, so if they tripped over his tail and really looked to see what had tripped them, they sometimes saw what he really looked like. Luckily for him, they were usually written off as insane or, as one really unlucky woman found, it was written off as women's hysteria.

Y/n reined that thought back in and tucked it away for later. If he got out of this alive he would think about it later.

Y/n was sure that the best healers would work in the palace, but that would mean trying to sneak in and abscond with a royal physician. That would be noticed much more quickly, and would be met with a much harsher response.

Y/n set his shoulders back in determination. He would just have to be incredibly convincing, or this would go sideways much too quickly.

'Well,' Y/n thought grimly, 'at least that would solve the problem of watching Tony die slowly.'

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

The palace was quiet. This was just too odd. Something supernatural must be at work here.

Y/n was starting to freak out. He had made his way into the palace totally unhindered, and even his admittedly amazing luck had never been that good.

He slunk around another corner, still on high alert. Which was why he didn't miss the shimmer in the air that meant something else was in this space with him.

Y/n shot out an arm at it, aiming for the same height as his own neck.

His hand caught around a slimmer neck than his own, and he tightened his grip to almost unbearable for a demon. He wasn't about to underestimate the people of Asgard.

The stories of Asgardians from back on his own realm lauded them as incredibly strong and fast, and able to live as long as demons themselves.

The Asgardian struggled fiercely for a moment, but when it became apparent that Y/n was stronger than them, they slumped and dropped whatever incantation had allowed them to be invisible.

They appeared to be male, and around the same age as Y/n, but then, so had Tony when they had first met.

Y/n shoved the man away from him hard, and took up a fighting stance.

The other man sputtered and heaved in deep breaths to make up for his previous lack, thanks to Y/n. He looked pretty pathetic, laying against the wall, black hair falling over his face, which was red from lack of air.

"Why have you brought me here mage?"

The man looked up, affecting a surprised expression.

"What makes you think I have brought you here? Are you not an assassin, here to remove either the King or Crown Prince? Both are in the throne room, if you were interested."

Y/n remained in his stance, passive.

"I have the feeling that you know why I'm here already."

The man pulled himself up at last.

"Fine, I might have sensed you when you first stepped foot in our realm. I must say, I haven't seen anyone from Helheim before. Whatever are you doing here, a place that some have dubbed the promised land, home of the Gods?"

"You don't half think highly of yourself, do you?"

The man's response is a sneer.

"I need help."

Y/n stood up from his stance. It didn't feel like this man was going to attack him, and he could hardly ask for help much less receive it while preparing to attack.

He definitely gave off an odd vibe, but it wasn't an 'I'm about to kill you and all of your family just for breathing near me' vibe.

The man looked positively delighted.

"A demon of Helheim needs help," He crowed. "What can I, the humble Loki of Asgard, do to help you Oh Great Demon of Helheim?"

Y/n's left eye twitched, but he reigned himself in once again. Just because Loki seemed like he would benefit from a good smack upside the head, that didn't make it his job to deliver it.

"My, paramour, is in need of a healer. We do not have the ability to heal him, and I will not see his life ended without every attempt having been made to save it."

Loki apparently noticed the pause at the beginning of my request.

"My, my, what type of paramour could you possibly have that would warrant such a delicately put request? Surely not another demon, I thought you were nigh on indestructible?"

He was wandering around Y/n now, getting closer in his circling, all the better to whisper intimidatingly in his ear.

"Perhaps, to be in such desperate need of rescue that you, a demon, would risk everything by coming here of all places, your 'paramour' is something a little more frail?"

Y/n took it back, Loki was pure evil. He grit his teeth and squashed the urge to deck him in his smug face.

"Me thinks, perhaps, something so frail as, a human?"

They stood face to face in silence.

"Your silence speaks volumes my dear."

Y/n lost the battle. With a cry of outrage that came from somewhere deep inside he leapt at the smug God and prepared to smash his stupid face into pieces.

Shockingly his fist simply went through Loki's face. The image rippled and flickered out as it did so.

It flickered back into place beside him.

He spun into a roundhouse kick and the God went down.

"Stop! Dammit, just stop!"

'Some God,' thought Y/n.

"I was sent to get you."

Y/n was done with these so-called Gods and their mind games.

"What do you mean you were sent to get me? Spit it out!"

Loki looked up and glared at Y/n from his position on the floor.

"You were Seen. The moment you stepped foot into Asgard Heimdall Saw you and reported it to the All-Father. Luckily for you Queen Frigga Saw that you weren't here to attack, and that you only sought our help. I was sent to collect you and bring you to her rooms."

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The Queen turned out to be much sweeter than Y/n had assumed. He had heard stories of course, but how much could be believed from the daughter who was banished to Helheim?

"Y/n, come, sit. How was your trip dear?"

Y/n was confused. She was acting like they were old friends. As far as he knew he had never met the Queen of Asgard before.

"Ma'am, I'm here for aid. My partner is not long for our home realm. I could smell death on him."

Y/n looked at the ground and clenched his hands into fists.

"I can't lose him. I thought once before that he was gone for good, but he fought tooth and nail to come back to me. Now I am having to sit and watch as something pulls him ever closer to deaths waiting arms. Please, I'll do anything, but please, heal him."

Y/n knew he was begging, but what else could be done. He had thought maybe he could intimidate a regular healer into healing Tony. After that was hazy, but he had been prepared to do anything that would be necessary to make Tony better.

This was not going to plan. He couldn't do anything to make the Queen decide to help him, he would just have to appeal to her softer side.

Frigga knelt by Y/n's side and softly took one of his hands in hers. Her eyes softened as she took in the genuine distress on Y/n's face.

"There is nothing to be done dear. No, don't panic, your loved one is fine. You were right, he was dying, but events have conspired to keep Tony Stark alive. Something needs him still alive, and I am talking about something bigger than you or I. He lives, and at this moment is going just a little bit more out of his mind than normal in his search for you."

Y/n was on his feet and by the door before Frigga had even finished speaking.

"Wait!"

Y/n turned, not wanting to waste another second when he knew that Tony was looking for him, but not able to be disrespectful of the one who had given him hope back.

"Eventually, when you are both ready for that next step, come back and bring your partner. I can organise for one of Idunn's golden apples. You can grow old together."

Tears gathered in Y/n's eyes at the offer.

"But, why? I'm a demon. Tony is a human. Neither of us are anything special. Why are you offering this to us?"

Frigga smiled, beautiful but so broken.

"Because you remind me of someone. So passionate and loyal to the ones who you love that you are willing to flatten entire realms."

Y/n didn't know what to say to that, so he turned back to face Frigga fully. He bowed from the waist to her.

"Thank you Queen Frigga of Asgard. I am in your debt."

Y/n heard her words spoken softly as he left, not entirely for his ears.

"Will you ever forgive us, my dear daughter?"

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

Tony was broken. He had thought that the lowest he could get was knowing that he was dying from something that was supposed to be saving his life.

He was wrong. When he had finally come up for air after the whole thing with his arc reactor, Shield and the Hammer Fiasco as he was calling it, he had realised that he hadn't seen Y/n since his disastrous birthday.

He had searched for what felt like forever. Not even Jarvis could find any mention of Y/n anywhere in the world. It was like he had dropped off the face of the planet.

Tony was now spending his time in his boyfriends apartment. He was sure that when he finally came back from wherever he had been, this was one of the first places he would go. He loved his boyfriend, but they were both equally as vain as the other. Any big dramatic entrance back into Tony's life would need to be planned out meticulously by Y/n. So he was sure if he just waited in his apartment he would see him again.

He was not wrong, he realised with rising hope as he heard the door swing open. He poked his head up over the back of Y/n's couch, hair a mess, goatee completely unkempt, knowing that he was wearing rumpled clothes that hadn't been washed in a few days.

In short, he was the only thing that Y/n wanted to see when he got home.

They collided with a slightly painful thump, banging limbs into each other, but not caring in the slightest.

"Oh God, Y/n, I'm so sorry! I--"

"Tony! Thank God you're alright!"

They fell into hysterics at this. Both knew that it wasn't funny at all, but after all the stress they had been through lately, simply being in each others arms was the most amazing feeling in the world.

Neither of them wanted to move, but common sense won out in the end, and they found themselves on the couch some time later.

They had pulled a soft blanket out of somewhere and where wrapped up together, totally unwilling to move for as long as possible.

"I was so scared when I realised you were dying. Why didn't you tell me?"

Tony had never heard Y/n so quiet before. He sighed heavily.

"I wanted to, but then whenever I tried to tell anyone, it wouldn't come out. It was never the right time, and then I realised that I didn't want anyone's last memories of me to be clouded with the knowledge that I was going to die soon. You especially. I didn't want you to have to carry that around, that I was dying and there was nothing you could have done about it."

They were silent for a while after that.

"Maybe that makes me selfish, but I couldn't bear the thought of adding to the hurt you were already going to feel when it happened. God, I'm so sorry."

Y/n just pulled Tony in closer, wrapped him up a little tighter into his arms.

"It's okay, but next time, tell me. I know you remember that I'm a demon. You have the best memory in the world. Next time you have some unsolvable problem, let me in. There might be something I can do that you can't, but even if there isn't, we would still shoulder that problem together. There's nothing I would rather do, than try to help lighten the load."

Tony was crying now, he could feel the tears dripping openly down his face, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I love you, so much it hurts. Never leave me."

"I will always love you Tony. You've changed me irrevocably. If there ever was a point where I could have turned away from you, if was long ago. You're never getting rid of me now."

#Tony Stark x male reader #Male reader #iron man #tony stark #Iron man 2 #Loki #Death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints

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lucadansembourg · 4 years ago

Photo

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠… 𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐃’𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐆

the basics.

name. wren albert d’ansembourg.

title. his royal highness, prince of luxembourg & duke of esch-sur-alzette.

age. 25-31.

family. luca ( @lucadansembourg ), wendy ( @wendyjuliette ) & lara d’ansembourg (ADOPT HERE) - siblings ; theodor ( @theodcr ) & josefina olderburg (ADOPT HERE) - cousins

relationship status. utp.

occupation. socialite & influencer.

follower count. 27 million followers on twitter,16 million followers on instagram, 11 million followers on tiktok, 6 million subscribers on youtube & 2 million followers on twitch.

faceclaim options. maxence danet-fauvel, charlie rowe, alex fitzalan, henrik holm, tarjei sandvik moe, deaken bluman, chase stokes, brenton thwaites, felix mallard, charlie gillespie, george sear.

group. @highsocietyhq

the story.

the d’ansembourg twins were a shock to the world, and maybe that’s the way that wren preferred things. from the moment he was born, he wanted to be an outsider. while his sisters were prim, proper and put together, and his brother an overemotional idiot, wren stood as a monument to the weird that most people kept hidden away, locked in a drawer for no one to see.

he might have grown up in the palace, but he would escape as often as he could. wren craved normalcy in his early years, and he managed to achieve that by sneaking out a side door to play football in a side alley with the local kids. his friends that may not have been “approved” by his parents, but they were approved to show him about the world - the real world, not the one of royalty.

wren thought of himself as separate from his siblings, and not just because he was the baby of the family, but because he was just... different. he didn’t care for politics, didn’t care for other royal activities. in his teen years, wren was practically a recluse to his family, hidden away in his dorm room at le rosey or his own private rooms in the grand palace, constantly feeling like the only puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.

wendy jokes sometimes that he must have been adopted, but wren is sure he wasn’t meant to be born into palaces and riches beyond anyone’s wildest dreams.

while his parents always expected him to grow out of it, he did the opposite. he never stopped caring about the strange things he’d always regarded as more important that schoolwork. following lara to le rosey was one of the first truly “royal” things wren had done in his entire life, and he still managed to be awful at that. he was constantly in disciplinary hearings or getting shouted at by whichever teacher he pissed off with his detached attitude. but it didn’t crush his spirit at all, in fact, it only made him act out more.

maybe it was an attention thing - that would explain the next ten years of his life that he’d spend vying for the favor of strangers over the internet to determine his own self worth, or whatever the therapist said.

perhaps it was the years of his only friends being two kids raised by their laptop screens just outside the palace, or the hundreds of hours of looking at memes instead of actually doing as he was told, but something in wren made him want to do whatever he liked, no matter what others thought of him.

when lara went off to oxford, wren took a gap year. and then another. and then another, and soon it had been five years - his sister had a master’s degree and he had a massive social media fanbase. he’s not sure which of them did better for themselves.

when his father died, wren realized that he was actually going to have to be a prince for the first time in his life. before, he’d let lara take the reins on anything and just showed up to parties in bright colored suits and weird patterned socks and ties that didn’t match. but now that his older brother was king: wren was expected to pull his weight.

he was terrible at it, for starters. he said too much, threw jokes and lies out to the press just to see what they’d print the next day. he became somewhat of a cryptid for gossip columnists and tmz reporters, because if you could manage to catch him, wren would deliver biting remarks and hilarious anecdotes about the royalty around him. he loves to watch reporters scramble to confirm stories in any way they can.

when nathalie died, he came back to luxembourg and found himself a bit aimless. he took up art during this time, making some really dark paintings and a whole lot of collage work, which he then had to convince luca to not hang up around the palace, because luca constantly plays at being everyone’s proud older brother.

but he managed to pull the family back together, and things got easier, gradually. mainly, he helped everyone heal by not changing a thing - he stayed unabashedly strange through the entire ordeal, and in the process became a rock the others could rely on.

maybe he wasn’t a misshapen puzzle piece, but just a weird one that took some time to figure out the location of. he didn’t feel like the outcast anymore, but instead a valued member of the family - and had they always treated him like that? he wasn’t sure - and that was the worst part. how could he stay in their favor if he didn’t know what he did to earn it?

his (not so) “secret twitter" is well known by most of royal stan twitter, and getting a follow back from him is something that is worn like a badge of honor. he pretty much exists on there to roast his siblings’ outfits and choices, but also to poke fun at all other royals. truly, it’s just one more piece of controlled rebellion. he wouldn’t say things to hurt his family... on purpose, at least.

it became an arnauld d’orleans hate twitter during the occupation. he would come up with very colorful roasts to go along with photos taken of the french king from bad angles. it was resistance, the only way wren d’ansembourg knew how to do it. his plenty of instagram lives and twitch streams helped, too - bringing visibility tothe occupation of luxembourg to places that many people would have turned away from it altogether.

and when the occupation ended, he threw a party in the back alley behind the palace that he grew up in. by the end of the night, it was attended by thousands of luxembourgian citizens. lara frowned upon it, but wendy had the time of her life, so he had enough support to call their “sibling vote” on whether he’d fucked up, a dead tie.

he ran a charity stream that raised over eight million dollars for relief in belgium after the bombings, taking requests for things he could do in his room. he only broke four priceless artifacts during it,.

when he was invited to the protection program, he was the most wary of it. he didn’t need to network, he didn’t need to be protected from anything. wren knew he could care of himself, but a change of scenery seemed... kind of fun. it was getting boring in luxembourg, now that things have settled. and as long as he’s able to be connected to wifi, and he’s allowed to do at least three stupid tings a week, everything ill be alright.

interested? contact me!

i do want to say that i feel like the main thing i am looking for in a wren applicant is that his vibe is.... strange. i imagine wren is a 100 gecs song if it came to life. he’s an ancient chaos god trapped in the lanky body of a d’ansembourg man.

most things are negotiable, and i’d love to discuss any changes or ideas you have. please contact me ( @lucadansembourg ) if you’re interested in filling this connection !!

#hshqadopt #henrik holm fc #maxence danet fauvel fc #rich kids rp #royal rp #semi appless rp #wrenadopt #quite literally if you don't stan wren we aren't friends #i went overboard on this because i have to make sure anyone who's interested understands what a deeply strange dude that wren is #it's important to me ok

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montagnarde1793 · 4 years ago

Text

Ribbons of Scarlet: A predictably terrible novel on the French Revolution (part 4)

Parts 1, 2, 3 and 5.

Inaccuracies: the minor, the inconsistent, the fuck no and the unintentionally hilarious

I have no intention of detailing every historical inaccuracy in this book. I’d say we’d be here all day, but we’ve already been here all day, so maybe all week?

The book is riddled with minor errors, oversimplifications and dubious interpretations — some of which could be chalked up in theory to writing from a limited POV, but this is not a book that allows for that kind of complexity. Opinions may be those of the characters, but explanations for events and who belongs to what group and so on tend to be those of the authors regardless of which character is speaking.

Given the level of detail of this book, I would count things like Condorcet’s being made a member of the Constituent Assembly or the Revolutionary Tribunal being founded by September 1792 minor errors. They might even have been deliberate (combining the Constituent and the Legislative Assemblies or the Tribunal of 27 August and the Revolutionary Tribunal, for “simplicity”’s sake).

“Les Enragés” is also an official group and that’s their official self-designation in the world of this novel. Um. Ok.

Also things like the complete lack of self-awareness revealed by the assumption that because 21st century Americans consider omelettes a breakfast food this must be a universal constant.

Anyway, I find that kind of thing irritating but pretty inevitable. Errare humanum est and all that.

Other minor errors are forgivable in and of themselves, I suppose, but indicative of a larger lack of understanding, similar to some of the implausible scenarios the authors set up (cf. Manon Roland’s random trip to Caen).

There’s a moment, for example, when one of the figures on trial for “conspiracy” in the red shirt affair appeals to the crowd by saying “I am suspected merely because I am an émigré.” (p. 490) which is hilarious when you realize the fact of being an émigré and returning to France after the cut-off date was already punishable by execution — a law pushed among others by our friends the reasonable, moderate “Girondins.” And I say this not to condemn them (on this point, at least) — there were actual, serious arguments in support of such a law — but to highlight a trend. The authors have decided that certain figures are reasonable, so they give them what they consider to be reasonable opinions, whether or not those opinions line up with those they actually held and, as we’ll see, they’ve decided others are dangerous extremists, so likewise they only get to do things the authors consider extreme, or at best hypocritical.

Usually there’s at least some consistency to the errors — too much in fact, as noted. But the fanciful claim that the guillotine was painted red and that everyone who was executed was dressed in red to hide the blood is repeated more than once, before being replaced with the accurate assertion that dressing the condemned in red was reserved for assassins (also arsonists and poisoners, in accordance with the penal code of 1791).

More serious are the “errors” that serve a certain narrative, like the repeated assertion that Louis XVI abolished torture and notably execution by breaking on the wheel. Er… no he didn’t. I’m going to charitably assume that the authors just confused torture for the purposes of obtaining a confession with torture as a punishment. Louis XVI abolished the former, not the latter. That may seem like a nitpick, but they make a very big fuss about it.

People were still being broken on the wheel until the implementation of the Constituent Assembly’s penal code which provided that all executions should be equal and as quick and painless as possible — ultimately leading to the adoption of the guillotine. The first execution by guillotine is apparently such a crucial event that we have to implausibly have Louis XVI’s sister sneak out and witness it, but we’ll just ignore the fact that the “hero” La Fayette’s cousin bloodily repressed the mutiny of Swiss soldiers in Nancy resulting in a number of hangings and one man being broken on the wheel — repression that La Fayette applauded — in 1790, because 1790 is a year in which nothing happened.

Besides, as is well known, La Fayette never did anything wrong (Sophie de Grouchy forgives him for firing on her when she was petitioning for a republic in 1791 (p. 509-510) so you should too, I guess. Though while we’re here, her signing the Champ de Mars petition is a pretty unlikely scenario, actually, given that only the Cordeliers petition remained after the Assembly’s 15 July decree and that even before that Condorcet didn’t dare to sign his articles in favor of a much less democratic republic than the Cordeliers were advocating for Le Républicain (which prudently stopped publication after 15 July).)

The abolition of torture thing is merely one of a number of errors or exaggeratedly charitable interpretations of Louis XVI’s actions to fit the myth of the fundamentally well-meaning, soft-hearted reformer who was just in over his head. Mme Élisabeth’s violence, while I commend it for its accuracy, serves to highlight her brother’s pacifism. We’re meant to believe that of course it was nothing but revolutionary slander/conspiracy theories to think he was actually intending to use foreign troops to restore himself to absolute power, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Mme Élisabeth asserts that she would like that to happen but her brother would never and Manon Roland confirms it from her point of view too.

On a similar note, Condorcet gets his usual “consensual figure” treatment. We’re unsurprisingly fed the myth of Condorcet as the paragon of democracy and feminism, with nary a touch of ambiguity. Even Pauline Léon can only reproach him with being ineffectual. That’s par for the course, as is framing the people’s fears of grain speculation as a conspiracy theory at least from Sophie de Grouchy’s point of view, though nothing in the text contradicts her at any point (p. 61), but framing Condorcet’s pre-revolutionary math lectures at the Lycée as him and his wife opening a school for popular education and Sophie de Grouchy personally teaching Reine Audu to read at her husband’s invitation… That’s pretty disingenuous.

On the other hand, nothing is too awful to be believed without question of the “radical” revolutionaries, whether it comes from dubious sources (as regards the myths about Lamballe being stripped naked and/or raped before or — depending on the “source” — after being massacred, or about Charlotte Corday’s head being slapped by the executioner and her body examined for evidence of virginity, or Robespierre’s lusting over Émilie de Sainte-Amaranthe and personally participating in Catherine Théot’s rituals) or is just made up. Surely the September Massacres were bad enough without imagining that random bystanders — including children — were being raped and massacred in the streets? Since calling for the execution of adult royals based on their actual actions doesn’t sound sinister enough, let’s have Pauline Léon demand the massacre of Louis XVI’s underage children too!

On that note, I have to wonder whether part of the problem is that we’re so used to hearing about atrocities on a scale that dwarfs anything that happened in the 1790s that what the sources suggest — which could still be pretty ugly, don’t get me wrong — doesn’t live up to the hype. The French Revolution is built up in reactionary propaganda like it’s one of the periods of the worst violence in history. I suspect that it’s like with a scary movie: your imagination will conjure up something far scarier than what they could show you on screen. So, expecting to find horrors, you readily believe whichever sources (or “sources”) have the most of them and fill in the blanks when the sources don’t match up to your image of what terror, chaos and violence look like.

It’s basically just deductive reasoning: they say there was horrific violence, so I’m going to depict what must have happened according to my mental image of horrific violence. It’s no different really from deciding a character is reasonable and therefore giving them the opinions you find reasonable. But not only is this poor methodology (which perhaps you don’t care about, as a novelist), it sucks out everything that’s nuanced or complicated or surprising about history for the sake of flattering your own prejudices. And that’s a shame.

Anyway, as for the red shirt affair, it’s generally believed by historians to be a cynical maneuver on the part of the Committee of General Security* to make Robespierre look like a tyrant by executing a large group of supposed co-conspirators with would-be assassins Ladmirat/Ladmiral and Cécile Renault but needless to say — and following G. Lenotre’s lead — that’s not at all how it’s portrayed here. Robespierre is of course personally involved for his own (necessarily hypocritical) reasons. He wants Émilie de Sainte-Amaranthe but in this telling she and her family have reason to believe he’s cozying up to royalists like them for personal political gain too. Oh, also, Saint-Just and Fouquier-Tinville are lusting over Émilie de Sainte-Amaranthe too, because why the fuck not?

*To use the misleading standard translation (sûreté ≠ sécurité)

Particularly ludicrous is the insinuation that not only did the Convention abolish slavery entirely as an expedient — which, to be fair, some historians argue, though there’s ample evidence that proves there was more to it than that — but that they had to because otherwise the British and Spanish would come to the slaves’ aid first. As if the plantation owners were not doing their level best to deliver their colonies over to the British precisely to preserve slavery. That bit was just insulting.

But you know, why let a little thing like reality interfere with dividing the world into reasonable people and hypocritical demagogues and the mobs that they incite, am I right?

And it’s often the absence of certain realities that poses the greatest problem. Like, counterrevolutionaries aren’t a real threat, that’s all a figment of the revolutionaries’ imagination... but as usual this idea coexists uncomfortably with the existence of actual counterrevolutionaries in the narrative.

The war, which dominated everyone’s reality from 1792 onward, is barely mentioned. Manon Roland is made to treat the idea that the Prussians were well positioned to march on Paris after the surrender of Verdun as an absurd rumor (p. 268-269) and we’re meant to agree. (This was very much not an imaginary threat, if you didn’t know.)

Also! Get ready because I’m going to cite Serna favorably for once:

Il est frappant de noter combien l’historiographie s’est de suite intéressée aux massacres de Paris et aux prisonniers d’Orléans, sans vraiment porter son intérêt sur les morts civils sur le front et la mise à sac des villes et villages à la frontière, deux poids deux mesures qui ne peuvent qu’interroger.

– Pierre Serna, « « La France est république » : Comment est né le Nouveau Régime dans le Patriote français de Brissot » dans Michel Biard, Philippe Bourdin, Hervé Leuwers et Pierre Serna, dir., 1792. Entrer en République, Paris, A. Colin, 2013, NP, note 37.

(Translation: “It’s striking to note how the historiography took an immediate interest in the massacres in Paris and the prisoners of Orléans, without really getting interested in the civilian deaths at the front and the sacking of cities and towns along the border, a double standard that we can’t help but question.”)

I mean, we know why: military violence, up to and including every kind of war crime, is normal and expected as long as it’s a proper war conducted between two foreign powers (though the various foyers of civil war also don’t really come up in this book). But yeah, that is a pretty big fucking hypocritical double standard, isn’t it? And one that this particular novel reflects rather than invents (as is also true of many of its other flaws, to be entirely fair).

It’s also particularly ironic, for a book that touts itself as feminist, that the real gains made by women regarding inheritance, marriage redefined as a contract between equal partners dissolvable by divorce, the rights of single mothers and illegitimate children and so on — even if the periods of Reaction that followed reversed them — are nowhere to be seen. Nor do we see women voting on the constitution of 1793 or fighting in the army or any of a number of things real women did. I concede that no one novel can be expected to show everything, but given the things they bent over backward to include, would it have been so difficult to include things that are thematically relevant?

This wouldn’t even piss me off so much except for the way Pauline Léon’s storyline ends. Her arc consists of her being convinced of the folly of those of her beliefs that the author doesn’t approve of so that she can be used as a mouthpiece for the moral the author wants us to take from all this and then being forced into marriage because she gets pregnant. And I cite (p. 433):

They would silence us all.

One woman at a time.

First the Angel of Assassination. Then Widow Capet, who had once been queen. Olympe de Gouges five days ago. Now proud Manon Roland.

A professed Girondin, Manon was still against tyranny and had been an advocate for the republic since the dawn of the Terror. Once, I wouldn’t have been able to admit that, but I could admit it now. Now that it’s too late.

And, when she tells Théophile Leclerc he got her pregnant, he replies (p. 435):

“‘We must marry. You’ve no other choice,’” he continued when I didn’t respond. […]

We had wanted liberty in France. But what freedom was there now? I had none. Théo would possess me utterly. I knew it, because the look her gave me had me wanting to crumble to the ground. All the choices I’d fought years for had been stripped away.

And now, I was nothing.

If there’s one point in history before the last 50 years or so that that’s not true it’s in 1793, when this scene is set. Will she be more comfortably off if she marries? Yes, and that would unfortunately be true pregnant or not. But there’s nothing forcing her to marry him if she doesn’t want to and even if she does he doesn’t own or control her under revolutionary marriage law. Were things perfect for women in 1793? Of course not, but given that they were a lot worse both before and especially after, I’m more than a little sick of 1793 being portrayed as the most misogynist of all the misogynist eras.

Ironically though, they omit Amar’s report and the closing of women’s political societies* which is a far more relevant and accurate point if you’re trying to make the case for revolutionary misogyny. Not to mention, it’s kind of baffling to leave it out of Pauline Léon’s storyline as it was targeted against the society she led in particular. (Her section ends instead with Manon Roland’s execution.) But I guess that would require introducing Amar and we can’t have people believing that Robespierre, Danton and Marat weren’t the only Montagnards; they might get confused otherwise. Maybe at this point I should just be glad they didn’t give Robespierre Amar’s speech in the name of consolidation of characters?

*NB, mixed societies were never closed (until the Thermidorian Reaction shut down all political clubs), so the result is a bit more ambiguous than is often claimed.

Anyway. We’ll finally conclude this mess in the next part…

#en anglais #French Revolution #Révolution française

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sebastianshaw · 4 years ago

Note

Fic idea where its a swap and Shaw had a demon in his (titts) chest and Haven is the partner of Emma for the hellfire club. Bonus points if Haven has Shaw's mutation?

(Ok so firstly this is a wild concept and I LOVE IT! I’m sorry this took AGES to do because honestly this is so cool? But Bill happened, and, y’know...anyway! Also please take note this would be 80s villain Emma so she’s a bit more evil/heartless than you might be used to.) Radha Dastoor was a bit of a mystery to her White Queen counterpart, and it was in ways the latter’s telepathy could not help her with. For instance, she truly was not involved in the Inner Circle for her own gain. And though she had achieved the title of Black Queen, she did not wear it half so proudly as she did her nickname from those children she spoke of from years ago---Haven. And how had she even become Black Queen anyway?! She wasn’t ruthless or cutthroat or cruel, she did not politic or power-monger or manipulate. She just got here because it seemed everyone liked her just that much. How in the world did that work?! No one in the Hellfire Club liked ANYONE else! And no woman ever got anywhere by being likeable! ”And tell me again why I should care about this, darling?” ”Sebastian Shaw is an American industrialist on a scale rivaling a modern Rockefeller or Forbes--” ”Yes, I’ve heard of him, his wife drags him here sometimes.” ”---but we have evidence of his companies turning to most...uncharacteristic activities for him.” Haven spread out papers from a folder beneath her elegant gold-ringed fingers, ”Funding terrorist groups of all kinds, with no apparent commonality to their causes, only to the degree of chaos and violence they commit. Orchestrating civil unrest and environmental disasters across multiple countries. The death toll has hit the millions.” ”Again, explain to me the part where this concerns me enough to offer my aid.” Haven was trying to appeal to her morality, which Emma found hilarious. Would this poor dear never learn? It seemed she would, for she sighed and gave Emma a good answer at last, “Because the holdings of the Hellfire Club are taking a beating as well, Emma.” ”Then we either kill him, or find a way to profit from this.” Really, what was Haven expecting her to say? This was so tiresome. And knowing Haven, she’d hate either option. Not that it would stop Emma from doing it. She’d probably do both! ”And, Emma---it’s not just his money doing this.” Emma arched an eyebrow, and Haven continued, “He’s manifested...incredible powers. Powers beyond...description. The reports suggest teleportation, reality warping, just...wiping people out. Into nothingness. Rewriting them from existence.” ”A mutant.” ”Perhaps. He’s in his 40s and I have it on good authority he never showed such abilities before.” ”Good authority?” ”His wife. Lourdes. She’s a mutant herself, and she---she brought this to my attention. She is terrified, Emma. Terrified of her husband. Of what he is doing. Of...who he is now. She says he is not himself.” ”Darling, none of us are who we pretend to be UNTIL we get the power to show it without risk,” Emma smirked. So many people, she knew as a fact, seemed good only because they did not have the POWER to afford to be what the world considered evil. This Sebastian was likely not a different man at all, but only showing who he had truly been all along beneath the surface. But Haven was right, this late-age manifestation was unusual, and perhaps he was not a mutant---but if he was this powerful, as Emma now perused with interest from the sheets, then he should be harnessed as any other asset. ”Very well,” she acquiesced primly, crossing one boot-clad ankle, “When can we leave?” ”Right now,” Haven replied, “Lourdes is a teleporter.” ***

The security was child’s play. Emma simply turned off the minds of the human ones-- “You didn’t KILL them did you Emma?” “No, darling, sadly that might prompt a police investigation and then it gets to be such an irritation wiping EVERYONE’S mind who knows about it”--- and as for the mechanical ones, well... ”Not that I ever understand you, Haven, but your mercy towards machines is truly ridiculous,” Emma commented, hanging back as Haven tore through the massive mech guards with her bare hands as though they were paper...paper that she was really very careful with, all things considered. Haven, too, was a mutant, but her powers, unlike Emma’s own, were physical. The other woman could absorb the physical force of any blow, and not only be unharmed by it, but channel it into strength. In other words, the harder she was hit, the more powerful she became. A most ironic power for a pacifist. And a pacifist she was. She never used these powers for anything worse than a gentle restraint on others when she could have crushed their bones into gelatin. And she ALMOST did the same with these machines, taking them out yet in the way that would cause the least damage. ”It’s reflex, really,” Haven admitted as she tossed a robot the size and weight of a car aside from her, “I logically KNOW they’re not alive, of course, and cannot feel pain, but my body just...automatically halts itself from doing all I could.” ”It’s called muscle memory, dear,” Emma side-stepped a bit of gravel that had been projected her way when the ‘bot crashed into the pavement of Shaw Industries’s now very battered private parking garage. She didn’t want dust on her shoes! ”You’re so used to reining yourself in you do it, as you say, automatically. Even with automatons!” ”Why, Emma, that’s quite a clever wordplay!” ”Also automatic, darling.” Once the droids were all dispatched, they continued, until they reached Shaw’s office and found him---not there. ”The roof,” said Emma, “I scanned for his mind, and he...I think he’s one the roof but Haven...” For the first time Haven had ever seen, Emma Grace Frost looked afraid. ”Haven, there is something else there in him. And it isn’t human.” *** He was one of the biggest men that Haven had ever seen. Photos had not done him justice, particularly since those photos had been taken of him while in the confines of a restraining business suit that disguised his massive physical. Now he stood before them in the middle of the roof, missing the top half of said suit, hirsute chest bared. But more remarkable than how a 40-something man stayed in a shape akin to an Olympic powerlifter, was that even from a distance, his eyes were solid black, like oil filling his sockets. And the fact that he was levitating before them as golden energy crackled in the air around him, the sky dark above, a strange vast symbol beneath his feet. ”Hello Dastoor, Frost” he said calmly, “I felt you poking around in here...he told me. So there’s really no point in lying, I suppose. A relief, really---I was getting tired of keeping things under wraps.” ”Under wraps? You’ve been making a bloody mess of the entire planet!” Emma said, but Haven heard the shakiness under her typical posh indignance. Haven didn’t blame her. The very air around them was...wrong. There was an ENERGY in it, a presence, something horrible that seemed to crawl under her skin and nest in her cells like a toxic infection of the soul. Every breath felt like an anathema against nature, every hair on her body seemed to simultaneously be standing up and trying to invert at the same time, her skin wanted to do the same, her stomach wanted to void itself--- ”I’m making the ideal world, you understand,” Shaw said, still very calmly, ”All of this destruction, it has a purpose---to give man something to rise above. The strong will prosper from it, the weak eliminated by it or crushed under the heel of the worthy. The world has become too soft, too gentle, and the parasites have flourished, feasting on the work of the deserving, miring the great in mediocrity. You and your kind, Emma, Haven, you understand that, do you not? The Hellfire Club has sought power, control, has always used its influence to push things as it pleases...and our goals are not dissimilar. He has told me of your powers, and I make you this offer: Be my angels, my acolytes, and you may live.” ”No!” both women erupted, but for different reasons. Haven because the idea was repulsive to her, immoral, evil. Emma because she had seen what was steering Shaw, what was only TELLING him that this man-made apocalypse would create his ideal world as it pushed him forward towards its own agenda...and what that agenda REALLY was. ”Shaw, you are being used!” Emma shouted, afraid to go back in his head again, ”It is NOT remaking the world for YOU, you are merely--” Emma vanished. As though she had never existed. Haven looked at where she had been, then back at Shaw, just before she too disappeared. ”No!” Lourdes emerged from her hiding place in the shadows, “Sebastian, what did you do?!” ”Lourdes?” Sebastian blinked his obsidian eyes. Up close, one could see they were not EXACTLY solid black---they were dotted with stars. And right now, flaming suns supernovaed within their centers. ”Lourdes, I had to, these women came here to--” ”Sebastian, I brought them here to save you!” she wailed, “Can’t you see you’ve gone mad?!” Shaw blinked down at her. And after a moment, he said, ”No.” But Lourdes sensed he was not speaking to her. ”No, I won’t. Not her. Let her go. She can do no harm.” ”Sebastian, what...who are you talking to?” Lourdes eyes widened. He really HAD gone mad. ”Lourdes,” he raised his hand, outstretched to her, ”Those women...they don’t exist anymore. Because I decided they did not. And I could decide the same of you, but---” I can’t ”---I shall let you live as a punishment instead. You will live with the knowledge you brought DEATH to these women who COULD have lived in the world I created---where YOU could have lived with me. Go--” Go, get away, save yourself “---and rue this day the rest of your miserable, wasted existence in the great plan to come.” “Sebastian--” Lourdes began to plead, tears welling in her dark eyes as she looked up at what had once been her husband. “Go!” he roared, and Lourdes vanished, not erased but teleported far away, not by her own power, but by his.

And Sebastian Shaw looked out at to the world he---W̴͈̔̌̏̄̅̃͆̂̌͗E̶̢͍̻͂́́̑̋̌̉̊͊̽͌̿͝ͅͅ

̸̢̡͈͇̯̪͖̬̳̼̬̈͆́̈́̍̆̎ ---would conquer-----D̸̖͎̜̣̱̈́̿͐̎̈͂͌̈́̈̕͜͝ͅE̴͕̥̣̖̋̽̈̉̈́͒̊̚S̷̳̦͉͚̲̭̱̤͌̃̈̈͋̑͑̈́̈̎̀̕T̶̳̹̆̆̈̈̃̐̍͋̈́̈́͒̀͘R̷̡͔͓̝̞̳͉̟̱̤͌̎̈̆̓̒͜O̷̢̢͇̥̯̻̝̠̦̫̲̝͕̣̒͊͋͂̋̽͂̏̂̄̆̉́̈́̑Y̸͓̓̂̉̽̈́̓̂̍̈̈́̇̽̕͝--and reshape in his---M̸̛̳͖͐̓̍̽̔̎̍̈́̈́̏̿͠Ÿ̷͖̰͎̯́̐̈̚--image

#fic #writing

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thedistantstorm · 5 years ago

Text

Project Compass 19

Read along on AO3 Here

<< Previous Chapter << >> Next Chapter >>

This time: Ezra tries to navigate the fallout.

Next time: Un’hee recognizes something from her past.

One step forward, two steps back.

The Chiss didn’t have a literal translation for this phrase, but that didn’t exactly matter. It still counted. Ivant had taught Un’hee the meaning of this phrase some time ago, when she’d heard him mutter it under his breath and not understood what the strange sounds were that made up his peoples’ Basic.

Un’hee had known something was wrong the moment Eli had called her into his office. She’d also known that her being called upon had nothing to do with the first part. Though, she had to give it to him. He played it well. She wouldn’t have known anything had happened, if she hadn’t crossed Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo on her way to see him. Vah’nya eyed her strangely from the corner of the room.

“You did well, Un’hee. Better than the rest of the Navigators,” Ivant informed her.

“Even better than Vah’nya?”

Vah’nya smiled into the mug of tea she cradled between her hands. “Yes, Un’hee,” She said. “And Bridger, too, though we can hardly consider a first-timer decent competition.”

Ivant was quick to defend his fellow human. “He fell within the limits. He also did a damn good job of getting us back considering he’d never had to navigate a ship this way before.”

“I didn’t have to take the reins, not even once,” Vah’nya considered. "I was surprised."

“So why am I here?” Un’hee asked. “And why is Thrawn-”

“Ah,” Ivant scratched the back of his head. “You ran into him, didn’t you?”

“He was projecting again, Eli,” Un’hee frowned, accusing, “You’re hurting him.”

“Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo is hurting himself,” Vah’nya defended, instead. “He makes his own choices.”

When both girls fixed each other with glares, Vanto held his hands out in a pacifying gesture. “Both of you need to stop,” He said gravely. “Whatever is happening between me and Thrawn is our business.”

“Right,” Un’hee said, displeased. “No offense,” She continued, playing with the end of her singular braid, “But I know there’s all sorts of ‘need to know’ things happening around here, and this is going to become one of them quicker than you think.”

Vah’nya and Eli shared a look, both showing some array of worry and panic. “Un’hee,” The Senior Navigator began patiently, “Why do you say that?”

The girl shrugged, leaving them in suspense for a moment. Then, “I talked to Ezra last night,” She admitted. “He told me that Thrawn is worried because of what happened on the bridge yesterday.”

“He told you? You haven’t been near him,” Ivant said pointedly.

“I have a datapad,” Un’hee rolled her eyes. “And we’re friends. And,” She emphasized, “Vah’nya wasn’t around to talk to. Ezra actually messaged me because he couldn’t get a hold of you,” She pointed at Vah’nya. “He was worried.”

Vah’nya tilted her head. “I was occupied,” She answered.

“Yeah, I know.” She crossed her arms. “We all know what happened. You had a vision.”

“You all?”

“We’re not stupid,” Un’hee rolled her eyes. “You didn’t cut our numbers back because we’re the weakest of the bunch. I noticed it first, but I wasn’t the only one.”

“You’re getting awful mouthy, Navigator,” Ivant said, his tone not quite stern, but the undercut of a warning lingered all the same. He evaluated her silently, and she squirmed under the scrutiny.

“I just don’t think that pushing him away is smart,” The younger navigator admitted. “I feel like that’s a bad idea.”

Ivant sighed, rubbing at his temples before speaking. The first bit sounded almost like an admission. “I don’t like it either, Un’hee, but it’s not about what I like or don’t like. Those orders came from Admiral Ar’alani. And, regardless of how I feel, it’s the smartest choice. The more he knows about the project, the more danger he’s in, and by extension, you and your sisters.”

She looked down and away, halfway between disappointed and ashamed. “We aren’t going to let the Grysk have him, or any of us,” She urged, looking to him for confirmation. “Right?”

“Not if we can help it,” Ivant assured her. “But I won’t lie to you, Un’hee. I can’t tell you it would never happen.”

Nodding the girl rose to her feet, pressing both hands down on his desk. “I know. I’m just worried,” She inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring as she reigned in the sharpness of her feelings.

“I’m worried too,” He said. She didn’t need him to tell her that, she could see it in the crinkling lines on his forehead, the way he pursed his lips. “I wish there was another way.”

Un’hee wanted to tell him there was, that surely Thrawn could help them, and they could figure it all out together, but she didn’t know what the Grysks were planning. She didn’t want to know. But something told her she’d be finding it out regardless. She turned to look at Vah’nya, but Vah’nya looked down into her mug with blank, expressionless eyes.

Un’hee resisted the urge to shudder. Something bad was coming, and she was pretty sure Vah’nya had already seen it.

Ezra usually gave Thrawn a wide berth when he was like this. The man was not above the occasional bout of cathartic destruction to release energy, but after about an hour of miscellaneous growling and banging and muttering, the Jedi very carefully knocked on his roommate's door and stepped back, waiting.

"What." Thrawn looked put together, but then again, he always did. His eyes were definitely scary though. Very Grand Admiral Thrawn of him, Ezra thought. And it made sense now, looking back. After all, at the end, the Grand Admiral had been out of control. He pushed the thought away, along with all of his thoughts about how if Thrawn snapped, he'd be in big trouble.

"Firing sims." Ezra indicated the weapons belt slung over his shoulder. He didn't waste words, already aware he was poking the beast on this one. "Wanna join?"

Thrawn eyed him, and Ezra saw the faintest indication of a snarl on his lips that came and went almost imperceptibly. "I do not want your pity."

"Pity?" Ezra shook his head. "Look, I don't know what happened, I-" Well, that wasn't quite true. He knew something had happened, he just didn't know the details. Except that Thrawn was clearly reeling from some emotional blow Ivant had dealt him, and everything he'd been talking to Vah'nya about had unironically come true.

"And there it is," The Chiss hissed, reading Ezra's face. "I wish to be alone," He snapped, already toggling the door controls.

Ezra caught it with a hand, reversing the hydraulic mechanism with the Force before Thrawn could turn away.

"Look, I don't pity you,” The Jedi began sharply. “I'm your friend, and I care." He sighed. "If you want to continue slamming things around alone, fine. But you could go shoot something in the sim rooms and that's got to be way more satisfying with a lot less consequence."

"Is that what you do when you are distressed about this sort of thing?"

Ezra's eyebrows went up. "Listen, my teenage years were one big 'ol nightmare, in case you forgot. The girl I liked had just discovered she wasn't into guys." He finished with an innocent shrug.

"Sabine Wren," Thrawn said.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Ezra waved Thrawn's words away like they were a bad joke. "It was obvious to everybody but me. You probably saw it in her art."

"The colors she used in her later pieces were more indicative of self discovery," Thrawn mused, but the human didn't take offense.

Ezra laughed. "Well, if you ever want to hear a hilarious story about your ex-enemy's colossal failure at romance, you let me know." He stepped back, and angled his hands down, indicative that he wouldn't try to stop Thrawn this time if that's what he chose.

Thrawn eyed him carefully for a brief moment, considering. Then, his shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. Ezra considered it a victory. "The sims on the lower levels will be unoccupied at this part of the shift."

"Sounds good to me," Ezra said. He didn't look over Thrawn's shoulder at the chaos that had befallen his belongings, politely ignoring the wreckage the Chiss would have to set to rights later on. He couldn’t, however, help but notice the cracked screen of the datapad on the ground in the doorway, beside Thrawn's left foot. "Do we need to stop at the quartermaster on the way back?"

"My datapad is fine, Bridger."

"Right." He seemed less than convinced, but didn't argue. "Well, if it's not, I think I have an extra one."

Before he took a step, Thrawn glanced down at it. With a nudge of his foot, it skittered to the side. The screen flickered pitifully. "Perhaps,” He relented, “We should visit the quartermaster afterall."

Ezra cracked a smile. "Probably wouldn't hurt."

It had been a moment of miscalculation. At least, that's what Thrawn told himself. After all, what else could it be? It was as if he had been speaking Galactic Basic and Vanto had been speaking Sy Bisti. The translations were similar, but not equal, not entirely. Each language had its own nuances, own minute, tiny discrepancies. Undercurrents. Hidden meanings.

And, most importantly, to his shame, they had been on the bridge, of all places. Otherwise devoid of crew or not, the entire situation had been so vastly inappropriate. If a subordinate had approached him in this manner, he wouldn't have been half as kind. Or kind at all, really. The thought of it brought a rare heat to his cheeks.

Thankfully, his only company at the present was one very overprotective human Jedi who could not see the subtle glow in infrared, and was too distracted by his current simulation to note the mildest purple tint to Thrawn's cheeks, to see the evidence of his shame manifest.

What had come over him? It was not as though he were a fool. He understood desire, though he had not felt it in a long, long time. He would not have acted, he knows, if he did not think his feelings - feelings he was only just understanding the depths of, himself - were reciprocated.

But they were not.

Frankly, he should not feel as surprised as he did to find it so. It was one thing to be forgiven for his transgressions. Returning his feelings was something… other. Something more than Thrawn deserved. After all, Eli might be grateful for the end results of his manipulation, but it was manipulation all the same. As such, Thrawn could hardly blame the younger man for not being similarly interested in him, considering.

But he had cared for Vanto for a long time. Perhaps loved him for nearly as long, too. Hindsight was a valuable tool, but feelings were intricate, crystalline and fragile. And now, in his position, Vanto had to put his command, his duty first. Thrawn understood that as well.

He raised his weapon and unloaded an obscene amount of plasma upon the targets as they appeared. The smell of ozone, the smoky aftertaste of violent discharge did help.

It didn't change the way his chest felt heavy, or the way his mind seemed to cycle through possibilities, producing increasingly infuriating irrationalities, though, and after a third, flawless run of the console's most difficult offering he growled, holstering his weapon.

At this, Ezra stopped. He stepped back, then turned to look at Thrawn. "The Jedi part of me is supposed to give you some sage life advice, I'm sure," He said carefully. "But I've gotta be honest with you. There's nothing I can say to make it better. It just karking sucks."

"I have never-" Thrawn shook his head, as if surprised to find himself in this moment, as if waking up from a dream. Of all the individuals to have this conversation with, he thought sardonically. At least the Jedi was well-intending. Having this conversation with his brother, for instance, would have been far more mortifying. "I do not make these sort of… miscalculations," He said, scathingly.

"You're not perfect, Thrawn. I know that might be surprising to you, but you're not. And that's not a bad thing."

The Chiss looked away from the Jedi's clear blue gaze and ignored his comments entirely. "You clearly got over your previous… infatuation," He said, uncomfortably. "How?"

Ezra looked more uncomfortable than gloating. "Have you never-"

"Of course I have," Thrawn snapped. This entire situation was absurd. And yet, this was the only human for… well, aside from Eli, he might be one of fewer than a hundred in the Unknown Regions, not to mention the only other one within the Ascendancy's ranks of (reasonable trustworthiness), at that. He was a resource, as loathe as Thrawn was to admit he needed the assistance. "But not," He sighed. "Nothing like this."

"Okay. Well, I don't know how Chiss do it, but I kind of let it out…” As if realizing exactly what kind of admission he’s about to lay before Thrawn, he flushes. “I, uh, I don't think - if you'd want me to explain to you now teenage humans do things-"

"I get the idea," Thrawn gestured, leaning back towards the side of absurdity. He could be this brat's parent, he thought, swearing mentally. Jedi wisdom be damned.

"W-well, okay. Look. It sucks. I'm guessing it's worse since you're always right and this time you weren't-" He ducked his head at Thrawn's very displeased glare. "I'm also guessing anyone else you ever saw was either some military fling to blow off steam, no strings attached, or someone who liked you and you got bored quickly." Ezra looked expectant.

"The Force told you that?"

"Nah. We're both warm blooded. Besides, you can't be that old."

Thrawn's eyebrows went up in a sinister arch. "Remind me again how we've gone this long without killing each other?"

Ezra's shrug was over the top. "I'd say it's because we needed each other to survive, but you keep me around for the comedy."

"Right," Thrawn growled, not willing to argue that ridiculous point. "Your point, Bridger?"

"My point is that it sucks for now, sure, but it'll fade. Sabine and I worked through it. Now she's like a sister to me. Maybe Vanto could be like a brother to you."

Thrawn clenched his fists.

"Or," Ezra said carefully, recognizing the sharp snap of the Chiss’s frustration, his miserable anger, "He could come around. I mean, you were on the bridge."

"While I realize you're trying to soften the blow, I do not believe either outcome to be remotely achievable."

"Well," The Jedi shrugged. "If you want, I can talk to my sources and see what they think."

"Absolutely not," Thrawn said. "If it does not happen of his own volition, I'll not have it happen at all. Perhaps in this instance it is best I come to terms with swift and utter defeat."

Ezra tried to argue, but it was clear that Thrawn was finished listening.

#thranto #mitth'raw'nuruodo #vah'nya #un'hee #eli vanto #ezra bridger #eli vanto/thrawn #sw fanfiction #my writing

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zios-plotbun-farm · 5 years ago

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I just had the BEST MCU Crossover Fanfic Idea ever :D

Ok so I was looking around on pinterest and was looking at a bunch of MCU fanart of IronStrange, then supreme family and then it snowballed from there. So I end up coming across a bunch of crossover fanart of all kinds which included another OTP of mine, Spidypool (and not with MCU spidy ok ew).

I saw BBC Sherlock and Dr.Strange, Spiderverse plus Deadpool, Tony and Bruce [IronDad & BatDad], Ant-man and Night at the Museum, Tony and RDJ Sherlock, Wonder Woman and Thor, etc.

Lots of crossovers as you can see.

So considering that in canon alternate dimensions/timelines are an actual thing I had the idea what if all these characters actually meet. Like it would be a slice of life thing focused on fluff, humor and drama. Maybe a lil angst considering I'm having it be after endgame with Tony having lived but him never having gotten together with Pepper after Civil War (so no morgan) and instead gets together with Stephen after Endgame (OTP IronStrange <3) with supreme fam [peter, harley & lil sis] and has it to where some people keep accidentally traveling dimensions or coming to theirs.

Could possibly consequence from the time-traveling Idk or just people screwing around with shit they shouldn't or accidents all accidents lol. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

If anyone takes this up they are definitely gonna have to do a ton of research or have been in all these fandoms cause wow so many characters. I have decided to write these in parts based on fandom. Although the story doesn’t have to be written in arcs since it’d probably be better as connected one shots instead.

1) Spider-verse Portion (Humor & Romance)

Starts off with Miles accidentally getting taken to the MCU dimension while trying to travel to Peter B's using a device made by Peni and ends up meeting MCU Peter. Device either is busted or malfunctions so Peter takes it and Miles to Tony for help to see if he can fix [he tries but can't which he's mad about].

So Tony ends up having to call in Stephen to help which gets them bickering while Stephen looks for ways to send Miles back to his home with Tony still trying to fix the gadget. Miles ends up asking Peter if they're together which Peter says no but that they have so much UST that they might as well be together. Miles sympathizes and tells him about his Spidy Mentor also doing the same with his partner Deadpool, who had when first meeting Miles, promptly said he is his and Peter's new adopted son/nephew.

Then Peter and Miles get into a few shenanigans trying to get Tony and Stephen together after Peter asked for his help (they include the cloak too). After which Miles gets sent back, Peter goes home to tell Ned about his latest adventure and Tony & Stephen schedule a date after finding out about each others pining curtesy of 2 spider kids and cloak.

Inspiration X X

2) Hero Dads (With Fluff & Angst)

Tony after awhile gets the device that Miles left behind to work. Although not enough to send a person through yet, but he can send a couple machines he made that he can connect to even across dimensions (may have had a little help from Stephen).

Ends up using them to connect to the other dimensions internet to see how different they are and he first tests it in the DCverse and sees all these other heroes just like the avengers. Finds out about Batman being a billionaire (and dad) like him after using his awesome hacking skills to find out who Batman is and his fellow heroes. Ends up later messaging the man after Tony ends up being confronted by the realization he was the adopted dad of a bunch of kids (Peter, Harley + sis, Riri, Vision, FRIDAY, bots) queue inner crisis.

Bruce is at first suspicious but then later amused after talking and messaging with Tony as they both bond over their kids. Both sharing stories, pictures, and videos about their kids then later their lives and how similar they are. They become inter dimensional pen pals and complain to each other about their fellow heroes too.

Could be spaced out into one-shot chapters about certain topics. Like kids, childhood, their hero coworkers, maybe love lives hmmm.

[Ok I just finished reading some Tony & Bruce fanfic and yes I now have another fav Brotp that involves Tony. It can be added with the Science Bros(Tony & Bruce.B), Iron Bros(Tony & Rhodey), and Snarky Bros(Tony & Loki)]

3)BBC Sherlock (Romance Drama & Humor)

While working on the device with Stephen besides him Tony gets visited by Everett Ross and T'Challa for 'reasons'. But something happens that causes it to malfunction for a bit and transport all those in the room to another dimension.

They end up coming across BBC Sherlock and Watson who Strange asks if they can stay with for a bit since the group have no place to stay until Strange can get a message to Wong to help them back. Queue lots of shenanigans with alternate selves with boyfriend(s?) nearby [not sure about having everpanther or no].

Tony definitely flirts a little with Sherlock causing Strange to be mildly jealous and even more so when Sherlock finds some interest in Tony for how smart he is. Maybe during the stay they help solve a crime and apprehend the suspects. With Everett showing his awesome agent skills, Tony his god level hacking, T'Challa his hand to hand no suit, and Stephen his magic.

Sherlock and Watson are totally shocked and fascinated about them. Before they return to they dimension Tony leaves a device like the one he sent to DC so that they can communicate if they ever want to.

ADD-ON: Maybe have Sherlock and Watson visit the MCUverse at some point and have them get into an adventure with Strange and Ross. Lots of magic and gun fights abound poor Sherlock and Watson too much chaos in this universe. lol

Inspiration X X

4)RDJ Sherlock

Tony finally gets the device to work complete and begs Stephen to go with him to test it out just in case it can't do a return trip. Stephen reluctantly agrees and Tony ask him to look for a dimension that has a look alike of him since last time they meet one of Stephen's.

So Stephen decides to be cheeky and takes him to the one where now Tony's look alike is Sherlock. Tony finds this hilarious and gets along with him while Stephen regrets his decision cause he wanted to get payback for the flirting last time but that didn't work. Queue Tony and Sherlock getting into shenanigans while Stephen and Watson try to rein them in (and falling). They then use the device to return home after maybe solving a crime or two with Sherlock.

5) Night at the Museum (Humor)

After hearing about the alternate dimensional shenanigans Tony, Peter and others have been going on. Scott is quite curious and asks Peter to ask about his own counterpart and so Peter offers to see about look into it with the help of Miles (they have been keeping in touch through Tony's devices).

After the talk they go looking to for a dimension but end up accidentally activating the transportation function which takes Scott, Cassie and Peter to the Night at the Museum dimension. There they end up meeting Larry and his son who had come to visit the museum and get talking.

Larry decides to show Scott and others what happens after dark in the museum with the help of Tilly and Mr. McPhee. Considering that Peter was able to send a message to Tony about what happen and when they can come back they were okay to stay a night before leaving.

Inspiration X

6)Thor's Foodie Friend (slice of life & fluff)

At some point Thor ends up interrupting Tony while he was talking with Bruce and gets introduced to his fellow billionaire/hero. Bruce then ends up mentioning Diana aka Wonder Woman after remembering what Tony said about the God and how similar the two are. Thor is intrigued and wishes to meet her and so Tony let's him borrow a second device he made after Bruce gives Wonder Woman another device that Tony made to pair with Thor's. They end up being buddies like Tony and Bruce and talk about all the weird cultural stuff they have learned and still are after living on earth.

Don't have much ideas for this one since I don't know much of Thor or Diana ^_^;

7) MCU Actors (Humor, Drama, Angst, Fluff & Romance just every thing >.<)

This is Tony just screwing around with the device until he ends up stumbling across a dimension where there are no heroes at all and everyone he knows are actors instead (essentially its like Supernatural but with MCU instead). He starts looking through their internet cause his interest is peak which is where he finds out that in that dimension his and everyone's lives are movies and comics.

Which he finds both disturbing and yet awesome at the same time although he finds its not completely the same considering the ending and who he ended up with. (Later learns its based on the main dimension that their world branched off of. He's so glad they aren't the main one.)

This could then have one-shots about multiple characters seeing all the fandom stuff they have based off them in this other world. You know conventions, cosplay, AMVs, fanfiction etc. Possible have some kind of viewing night to see stuff with everyone together. Maybe at some point they get the smart (dumb) idea to travel to that world to talk to their actor counterparts. [Those being Tony, Loki, Stephen, Steve, Bucky, Thor, Peter and who ever is a fun idea to write] Maybe even attend an actual convention in that dimension by replacing their actor selves for fun and also bring those conventions back as ways for good PR who knows.

[God so many interesting ideas I have that I’ll never write ugh]

And that’s all I got for this mass crossover fic that kicked me over the head and wouldn’t leave me until I wrote it out phew~

Anyone interested or wanting to write this can just message a link or add it onto this post I want to read them. :D

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knightedrogue · 6 years ago

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Privacy

For @swimmergirl71, who wanted more H/L OT content on her dash. I’ve been writing for hours, it feels like, but here you go! Written while at work and with no promises for quality.

Sweet-Air Blossoms. She smelled them everywhere. They bloomed gorgeous and aggressive in the heavy air of Oyaka, so much so that the local government had begun monitoring their growth for fear they’d strangle the ecosystem into chaos. Beautiful, with bright orange streaks in a deep purple-and-pink nest of petals. Some of them were as large as her head. Enormous. Like umbrellas.

Aggressive, too: not an indigenous plant, one introduced by the Imperials fifteen years ago. Their vines pierced those of other native species and starved them of water. Deadly, toxic to all species around them except, apparently, the stupid humans who thought them merely pretty and therefore harmless.

Leia Organa could empathize with being underestimated as merely pretty.

She sighed, put a hand above her eyes to shield them from the blazing Oyaka sun as she took stock of their surroundings. Sweet-Air Blossom-tinted air brushed against her skin, the wind pulling at her locally-made sarong, toes pressed into white, untouched sand. The sky was endless and blue, a crescent in the dark nothingness of the Outer Rim, where the stars seemed so much more distant than anywhere else in the galaxy.

Paradise, she thought, glum and angry.

The mission brief had been simple: plant the Alliance surveillance equipment at the Okaya Imperial Bioengineering Complex, get the security feed running and then return to the cold wasteland of Hoth. The Alliance had provided her with plenty of resources—wire-snaps and tiny nano-cams and false visas to visit the heavily-protected checkpoints—and while a superior nuisance to her personally, she had to admit they’d also provided her with the perfect mission partner. Han Solo knew far more about both illegal surveillance and Imperial science complexes than he should. Together they’d been able to snap about half the cams to the enormous Sweet-Air Blossom trellises surrounding the complex.

Halfway through they’d been spotted by a curious Okayan blooming master wandering around the compound. Leia had had a cover story prepared for such an eventuality. They were attending the Imperial Galactic Conference on Horticultural Progress and had simply lost their way, sir. Scientists, you know. They couldn’t resist looking at the trellises before the conference began tomorrow morning. Where might the nearest soil-shop be? They’d happily be on their way ….

But Han had been quicker.

“Newlyweds!” he’d said too loudly, startling the master bloomer. “Lookin’ for some privacy, if you know what I mean.”

Leia had blinked, mouth open, struggling to come up with an adequate response to … that.

“Yes. Privacy,” she’d said through gritted teeth.

The master bloomer hadn’t been convinced, had demanded to escort them to the nearest checkpoint, at which point they’d abandoned the surveillance equipment, and crunched the cams under their feet as they’d fled to their ship, a nondescript short-distance Kauti D-464…

… which had promptly dropped like a stone out of atmosphere as they’d tried to make their desperate getaway.

“Privacy,” she hissed. “Privacy.”

Han tried to shrug, immediately regretted it and muffled a tight groan. Laid out like a corpse, arms at his sides and flat on his back he had little recourse but to wince. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“When did it seem like a good time to foist a cover story on me like that one?”

He rolled his eyes, and mouthed foist as he shifted his feet in the sand. “Tropical planet. Two humans alone in a dark, quiet place. Newlyweds. Privacy.”

“Are you ever not thinking about sex?” she asked.

“Sure as hell not thinkin’ about it now.”

Leia struggled to rein in her anger and focus on his injuries. When they’d ejected from the ship, Han and Leia had aimed their short-range thrusters toward the same hidden cove. Leia had landed on the white beachfront just at the water’s edge, soft and gentle. Han had landed on a thicket of Sweet-Air Blossoms, whose venomous underbellies had pumped his bloodstream with enough mild neurotoxin to incapacitate him for days. It wouldn’t take that long for Chewie to come for them with the Falcon—patiently waiting to dock with their Kauti ship just out of the system—and their distress signals were both working. Perhaps he’d come at nightfall under the cover of darkness. That seemed like a reasonable Wookiee plan. And Sweet-Air Blossom neurotoxin wasn’t strong enough to paralyze any vital systems in an adult human male.

Just the myelin surrounding the nerves in his arms.

The result was a hilariously semi-paralyzed Han Solo on a beach in paradise.

“You have the antidote aboard the Falcon,” she said. “You’ll be fine in a few hours.Stop complaining.”

“Wanna make me?” he countered.

She kicked sand onto his chest in stupid, useless anger. Very rarely did she find herself quite this mute but the man brewed rage like pheremones.

He tried to wiggle his torso side to side to dislodge some of the sand, but couldn’t quite manage without the use of his arms. Leia had the wild urge to laugh at him: he looked like a South Aldera seal.

She kicked the sand again, ugly satisfaction roaring through her chest as she watched him squirm.

“Stop it, Leia,” he said, voice rising in his frustration. “Leia!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is that making you uncomfortable?” she said, crossing her arms and glaring down at him. “Are my actions negatively impacting you?”

She kicked more sand on him, aware that she was acting completely childish but finding very little need to care. He had a nasty habit of using sex as a cover story while on missions: he did that with Luke, too. Like clockwork. Newlyweds. My companion for the night. My girlfriend.

It made her furious and it made her uncomfortable. Why was his first instinct always to cover their missions with shades of a sexual rendezvous in darkened spaces?

“Fuck, there’s sand in my teeth. Leia, stop.”

“I had it handled!” she said, voice rising. “You did this. You always do. And now we’re stuck here and you’re a lump of paralyzed Corellian on the beach and what if we’re found?”

He could breathe and snark and drink water but he couldn’t exactly sit up. And she couldn’t lift him. Chewie would be able to do it without a second thought but until their savior came, Han was stuck, flat on his back in the punishing sunlight and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

Leia turned away and walked in a circle, trying to dispel her pent-up energy. Han was an idiot but he was also in need of care. Making a mistake—or two, or twenty—didn’t mean that he deserved to get burned in the sun and struggle with dehydration. He was a sentient creature. She could be angry with him all she wanted but one bad action shouldn’t beget another.

Also, she thought. You’re in love with him.

She shook her head. Traitor, she told herself. I am not in love with him.

Han groaned in frustration, interrupting her inner tirade and turned his head to look at her.

“We’re not gonna be found by anyone but Chewie,” he muttered. “And it’s not my fault the ship failed. It woulda failed whether I used that cover story or not, and you know it.”

Leia pursed her lips and reluctantly nodded. He had a fair point there.

“So could you please get this sand off of me? It scratches and it’s driving me crazy.”

She sighed and nodded again, walking back to his prone body and kneeling in the sand. She brushed a hand over his chest, his paralyzed arms, his neck and face, contrite when she noticed just how much sand she’d gotten on him.

She also blatantly ignored the rush of heat that suffused her body when her fingertips brushed against the open front of his shirt. Like herself, Han was dressed in the typical tourist garb of visitors to Oyaka, though the clothing was different across the genders. Han wore long, loose white shorts and an unbuttoned, lightweight shirt. A stretch of tanned skin ran from the low waistband of his shorts to the exposed skin of his collarbone.

Delectable.

She’d been eyeing the stretch of bare chest all day. She wanted to touch it, press her palm against heated skin. Wanted to kiss it, him, all of him, but there had always been a good reason not to do it—

Privacy, her inner voice mocked.

No, she answered herself. You can’t because it is inappropriate.

“Do you need water?” she murmured, desperate to corral her wandering thoughts. “The sun’s hot and you look a little peaked.”

“Peaked?”

She grimaced. “Thirsty. Sick. Wan.”

He didn’t, really, but there should be a reason why her right hand was still running slow circuits over his exposed chest. Illness seemed the logical explanation.

“I can’t move, Worship,” Han said. “How are you gonna get me water?”

She didn’t have a good answer for that, either. The seawater was salty and she didn’t see anything that looked remotely like bacaonuts or other water-plump vegetation. The sky was clear and she didn’t think rain would be coming anytime soon.

Water, she thought. There’s got to be some water around here somewhere. If Sweet-Air Blossoms grow there’s a water source nearby.

Her eyes fell to the patch of vegetation that had paralyzed Han.

“Did you read the mission brief?” she asked him, eyes glued to the blossoms.

He made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. “I read enough.”

She rolled her eyes. Why did she find his insulting insouciance so damn attractive… and her hand was still … and she was worried about him, that was all …

No, the inner voice said. You’re in love with him.

Shut up, she told herself, and then stood, fingertips slipping from Han’s chest. She ignored the call of her name, crept closer to the blossoms, hesitant but remembering very clearly the relatively simple anatomy of the plant. The part shaded from the sun by the blossoms was poisonous, yes. But they survived by stealing water from other plants, which meant ….

On the other side of the patch and down a short ditch she found it. A bushleberry grove, lilting on one side from the rampant predations of the Sweet-Air Blossom. Thick roots swelled out of the ground on the hardier side of the grove and from hair-thin stalks burst clusters of bushleberries, red and green and black. Hundreds of them, sparks of color amongst the shade of the venomous blossom patch.

She crawled beneath the stalks, dirt and sand all over her arms as she wrestled with the bushleberries, prying two handfuls loose and then two more. She made a small pocket from her loose blouse, lifting the seam of the fabric so that the skin at her belly was exposed. He won’t mind, her inner-voice said.

Leia ignored herself.

“The hell did you go?” Han said once she reappeared. “Don’t go running off when I can’t follow you, goddammit, Leia.”

She didn’t answer. With a little bit of effort she reached him, settled on her knees next to his head and revealed her bounty.

“Bushelberries?” he asked, then flicking his eyes to hers. “Really?”

“Water rich vegetation is how the blossoms survive. Where there’s a blossom patch—”

“—there’s something good nearby,” he finished for her. He raised his eyebrows with appreciation. “Good thinking.”

“Good reading. It was in the mission brief.”

He looked like he wanted to wave a hand dismissively. When nothing happened, he rolled his eyes. “I skimmed.”

“Uh-huh.” She grabbed a berry, lifted it to his lips. “Water-rich, non-poisonous. It’s going to have to work for now.”

He took the berry between his teeth, eyed her carefully. White teeth into plump berry-flesh, a droplet of juice running down his chin, to his throat.

Leia wanted to lick it.

Once he chewed and swallowed, he lifted his head in what she assumed was supposed to be a mocking tilt. “Tastes like sand.”

Leia grinned, the spell broken. “You deserve it.”

She leaned over, brought another berry to his lips, watched him chew and swallow. A quiet moment paused in which Leia absolutely did not watch the play of his lips around a red berry or admire the deep green of his eyes. She adamantly refused to look at his throat, working under warm, kissable skin …

She did not imagine blue sheets and legs intertwined, hands in hair and lips on pale skin. She did not.

“It made a lot more sense for us to be newlyweds than coworkers,” he mumbled.

Leia’s eyes shot to his, focus coming to her with a punch. “What? Why?”

He paused, shifted in the sand, legs sprawling and bent. When he next spoke, his words were nonchalant. “We burn too hot to be coworkers,” he said.

Too hot, her inner-voice echoed. Love!

She stared at him, admiring his ease with concepts that frustrated and eluded her. She understood his sentiment: hot didn’t mean love, it meant fervent feelings of all kinds. And when Han Solo said that they burned too hot to be coworkers, it wasn’t about romantic passion at all. It was a zipping, electrical back-and-forth, and maybe some newlyweds had that. Enemies had chemistry like that, too.

Leia didn’t nod, didn’t agree, tried to stifle the inner-voice of glee that wanted to interpret hot as something it really wasn’t. She stalled by eating a bushleberry, the light citrus taste on her tongue.

And now her inner-voice went ballistic, visions accompanying it. Kiss him. Lick him. Touch him.

Privacy.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she murmured, leaned down and kissed the side of his mouth, not really a kiss, just a press of lips to skin. For the bushleberry juice, of course. Not for any other reason, of course.

#KR writes

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bokutosbiceps · 7 years ago

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Hi, I'd like to request jealousy headcanons, please and thank you for Edogawa, Chuuya and if you have any guys from BSD that you want to add to this lovely jealousy fest, go ahead.

oh boy oh boy oh boy. anon, you should nottt have given me free rein on this one. i honestly would write for all the characters for BSD. but i have some constraint, i’m not an animal. i’ll just add daz, aku, and sushi. ANYWAY. i hope you enjoy :3- Pocky

Ranpo

he’s the closet jealous type. he will deny that he’s ever been jealous in his entire life, because he’s the greatest detective and they don’t get jealous

you point out that him being the greatest detective has absolutely nothing to do with him being jealous of guys hitting on you

whenever he sees you getting hit on, he’ll keep his distance and just watch with the saltiest expression on his face. eyes are narrowed. head resting in the palm of his hand. mouth slightly twisted in a disgusted frown. he’s just observing and thinking of different ways he could toy with this person who decided they could just take you from him.

yes, he likes to really mess with the people who flirt with you. he’ll sabotage their clothing, things around them, their drink/food

one time, when you dragged ranpo to a dance club (you told him there’d be lots of good food), ranpo spotted someone feeling you up on the dance floor while he was scarfing down wings at the bar

he snuck behind the guy and tied his shoelaces together in a flash and then went back to the bar to watch the chaos unfold

when the guy tried to lead you in the direction of the bathroom, he tripped and his face smacked into the floor; you giggled lightly, knowing your boyfriend in denial had done this

the guy ended up heading home with a bloody nose because he was so embarrassed and pissed that he humiliated himself like that

you head back to Ranpo by the bar and he asks what happened to your “date” with a very spiteful smirk–you just hit him playfully and eat some of his food, not moving from his side for the rest of the night

sometimes he’ll confess that he was jealous when he can’t come up with a good enough plan to get the person who’s hitting on you away from you

he’ll whine about it a lot and guilt trip and bury his face in your chest, knowing full well what he’s doing

“I’m sorry Edo…how about we go get some ice cream or something?” you’d offer, trying to make up for his sadness; Ranpo would suddenly feel all better and drag you in the direction of the nearest ice cream parlor (he’s mapped them all out in his head don’t underestimate him)

Chuuya

chuuya is pretty confident, so not much can make him jealous, but when he does get jealous, this man becomes very aggressive

meaning that whenever he sees anyone so much as look at you, he’s barking at them to mind their own business

it’s honestly hilarious. a literal guard dog.

other times, when he sees that the person who’s flirting with you is physically inferior to him, he’ll just sit back and watch—but all the while being close to you

sometimes he’ll just snake an arm around your waist and set an easy smile on his face while he watches the person stumble over their words trying to talk you up

chuuya, however, knows he must keep his guard up because you are the most beautiful thing out there and he has to protect you from groping hands and wandering eyes

you guys rarely go out in public because he’s afraid of this

the rare times that he takes you somewhere really nice (for a date or just because he loves you) he’ll make sure he’s physically attached to you.

also because he likes to show you off.

“Me and my beautiful s/o are here for our reservation. Aren’t they gorgeous? And they’re dating me!”

you guys are honestly a power couple

when Chuuya gets jealous and you don’t notice or you play along with it (because it’s kind of funny to see stems coming out of his ears as he tries to contain his anger) you will definitely be in a world of hurt when you get home

Chuuya will quite literally drag you out of wherever you are, with the deadliest glare on his face

people who are walking past consider calling the police or ask if you’re being kidnapped because of how set he is on taking you with him

as soon as you get home, he throws you on the bed and it’s about three hours of “punishment” sex (lots of teasing, denial, and rough play)

Dazai

Dazai doesn’t get jealous, plain and simple. he’s blissfully aloof

well, you think he is, but he always knows what you’re up to and who’s trying to hit on you

Dazai is so comfortable in you and his relationship that his last worry is you getting stolen from him, and it’s not because he thinks you’re not attractive enough, it’s because he knows that you love him too much to be swayed by some random guy

however, he was not planning for one of your childhood friends to come visit you

cue jealous!Dazai

as soon as he saw your childhood best friend hug you with the passion of a military man seeing his wife for the first time after being overseas

he knew he was going to have a tough time keeping himself calm

Dazai was less than enthusiastic when he found out that your friend (let’s call him Guy) was staying over at your apartment while he was in town

Dazai made a mental note to sleep over at your apartment every single night and be there every single day

Dazai quite literally became you and Guy’s shadow, always lurking about or keeping you close while Guy was around

you had to ask Dazai what was his deal when Dazai quite literally pointed a knife at Guy when Guy only passed you the salt at dinner

Dazai is very reluctant to admit that he’s jealous of Guy and is super pouty while he mumbles an apology to guy (that you literally had to wring out of Dazai)

when Guy leaves, Dazai lets out a sigh that he’d been holding since Guy got there, and wraps his arms around you in a bone-crushing embrace

“I’m so glad I have you all to myself again.. It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever!” he’d say, with a very happy smile on his face

you’re confused since Dazai was with you every single minute that Guy was there

after realizing that you would never leave him for anyone else, Dazai quits being jealous, no matter if you knew the person or not

Akutagawa

ugh. he will cut a bitch. this man is possessive as hell

he will make sure he is attached to you like a third arm whenever you guys are anywhere in public

he feels the need to protect you from everyone and everything, he doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost you because someone knew you were dating him

and it’d be even worse if you left him of your own volition

he wants to be the right person for you but he truly doesn’t know how–it’s easy being in a relationship with him and he knows it

however, before you guys are in a relationship and he doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings for you, Akutagawa got extremely jealous of you and Tachihara

Aku had heard about Tachihara from Gin, and how he was a bit of a womanizer and an impulsive guy

it seemed that Tachihara had taken an interest in you, and was trying his hardest to get you to have some sort of relationship (though Aku didn’t know the nature of the prospective relationship, he did not like the idea of you in his clutches)

one day when Aku was on his way to the Boss’ office, he spotted Tachihara follow you into the bathroom, unnoticed by you, and quickly followed after him

he made it just in time: Tachihara had you pressed up against the sink and you looked disgusted and somewhat scared, and your knee was cocked and ready to kick Tachihara where it hurt most

Aku quickly activated Rashomon and slammed him into the mirror, making it shatter and Tachihara’s nose bust and bleed

“I had that under control!” you’d insist angrily, but Akutagawa just scoffed and

you hadn’t really noticed him before them, but now you were certainly on each other’s radars

word about what happened Tachihara spread quickly through the Port Mafia, and members were warned not to mess with you, unless they wanted to experience Akutagawa’s wrath

Atsushi

Atsushi doesn’t know how to act other than being jealous

this poor boy is constantly afraid that you’re going to be swept off your feet by someone who’s better (taller) than him

when he gets like this you have to hold his face in your hands and make him look you in the eyes and tell him that you love him and only him

he will melt

but he can’t do anything when he sees you getting hit on; he’ll just stand there looking helpless and depressed

sometimes Dazai playfully flirts with you just to get Atsushi flustered

it quickly turned into practice for when someone actually flirts with you

Atsushi is hopeless. he doesn’t know how to handle this and Dazai is absolutely no help

you’ve learned to quickly brush guys off when they take interest in you because you don’t want Atsushi to notice and feel like crap

you care about him too much to see him so sad and insecure

there was one time where Sushi lost control when a guy was being way too disrespectful and sexual toward you

Sushi popped him right in the nose and knocked the guy out, and you were shocked at how aggressive he had gotten and how he was seething

but right after he felt terrible and you had to take him home because he couldn’t stop sobbing, he’s just not cut out for being a jealous person

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #headcanons #ranpo x reader #ranpo #ranpo edogawa #chuuya x reader #chuuya #chuuya nakahara #dazai x reader #dazai #dazai osamu #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa #akutagawa ryuunosuke #akutagawa ryunosuke #atsushi nakajima #atsushi x reader #atsushi

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 7 years ago

Text

Okay but consider this:

Torbjorn/Ingrid/Reinhardt is a thing, and they all raised the kids with their unique skillsets bc who knows who belongs to who, really?

What if Ingrid was one of the knights, like Reinhardt, and she taught the kids to kick ass? Perhaps she met Torb through him, or vice versa? We need a bit more info on Ingrid, maybe... but if anyone can deal with ol’ fuckmachine torb, it’d have to be someone who is equally as passionate/talented.

You know how people are when they get within four feet of another talented person and the ideas fly. Ingrid fights with Reinhardt, in or out of her old armour and they laugh reminiscing over old battles, old friends they no longer have the chance to drink with...

There are in-jokes and bad puns. Rein is overenthusiastic about most things, and Ingrid was just the same for a long time until Torb came home minus an arm one day, and reality sort of shattered. The people they had lost in the past... that was one thing. Losing torb, or Rein? After all they had built and sacrificed for the chance to be happy? No.

Love can sometimes mean fear and worry, for the other person, when they’re far away and out of reach of your protective barrier/shield range. Ingrid understood why torb would often venture away, and had even gone on her own missions sans the craftsman before, and yet... the impending arrival of their first child changed things.

Really, none of them had actively envisioned growing old, having a home or a family like people did before the Omnic crisis... all that existed was the here, the now, the moment in which you were still breathing and could fight for something better, fight for tomorrow. And then it happened.

Ingrid had always been very close with Reinhardt, had been since she first picked up her squire attire, training alongside him in the guard. Good times, bad times, bruises and terrible jokes at the worst times... it had bonded them. Torb knew, he understood how that sort of thing came about; had it himself with the other original members of overwatch. You couldn’t risk your life beside someone, watching their back in battle, and not feel at least some degree of familiarity with them...

But whatever was between Rein and Ingrid always seemed just off anything concrete, like there was a missing element that would weld them together. Well, it happened like that sometimes, when you were battleborn and welded together in that way; there needed to be a push, or some event to change the way you perceived one another. But they were content as they were.

After the bastion units were introduced, the knights needed something more, something better, stronger, to keep them alive when facing down these metallic demons. Only one smith in the world could possibly have the ability to forge something of that nature... the man who originally created the omnics, good and bad. Torbjorn.

They sought him out, and he adapted their ancient suits and weaponry, allowing more protection, longer lasting shields, stronger attacks. Ingrid liked the smaller man from the moment she laid eyes upon him, even if his way of speaking was a tad brusque and dismissive; he was used to working amidst chaos, she could understand that.

Ingrid also enjoyed the look of admiration in his eyes as he gazed up at her the first time, like he’d seen a Valkyrie or other such ethereal warrior descend from above. She did tower over him somewhat, and the armour added an extra inch or two; he seemed to take his time reworking her attire and weaponry, fine-tuning it a tad more than he did for most of the others.

The swede didn’t say all that much, just grumbled somewhat as he clanged the hammer, tweaked wiring, fiddled with various decorative pieces and scoffed at damaged components. He was confident it could be dealt with. Nothing was too difficult for him.

Ingrid held a liking for him, and felt it reciprocated, but also noticed she seemed not to be the only one in her garrison with such sentiments. And judging from the expression this Torbjorn wore when he beheld the dashing Reinhardt entering his workshop... well, she might have been jealous, under other circumstances. She was, however, a tad put out when discovering that Rein had beaten her into asking the engineer out, and had to put up with the all-but-glowing Reinhardt regaling her with tales of the outings they went on (if you could call them that, she was relatively certain Torb just took him places so he’d have someone to carry all the components he got for their armour, back to base) and the dates they spent in the workshop talking. Well, Rein talking and Torb hammering away, occasionally interjecting something...

Although, things changed after the... Bastion Incident. Losing their leader changed them all, most importantly Reinhardt... the brash young man seemed downcast, crushed inside, darker... since then. It was guilt, it was shame and anger and sadness, a regret for impulsive actions, a thousand what-if scenarios weighing him down...

Torbjorn couldn’t reach him, in that pit of despair in which the larger man languished. He did try, but it just seemed beyond him; he could sympathise, his own actions had unleashed the omnics, and yet... there was a gap between them that grew wider for every day Reinhardt slipped further into darkness. Ingrid had to step in, though she grieved too a man who had been not unlike a father to them all, an inspiration and hero as well as their leader. She could understand Reinhardt’s pain, could speak to him on that level, through the bond forged of years fighting together, training side by side and failing spectacularly in front of one another.

Ingrid hurt, but knew in her heart nothing could have been done that day to change their fates. She managed to drag Rein from the darkness, day by day, prodding at him until a reaction other than void filled the room. She made him angry, made him sad, made him yell, cry, laugh, rage, clutch his head in shame and... hope. Grief locked inside and trapped by guilt was a poison, it wormed its way through your veins, slowly eating away emotions, feeling, memory, friendship... it had to be drawn out, cast out and away before it reached the heart.

With meticulous bullying, Shieldmaiden Ingrid dragged Reinhardt through all the stages of grief and loss with her bare hands. And afterwards, was rewarded to see him smile again, even if sadly as he recalled the past.

In all of this, they had forgotten someone... and when they recalled his absence, it was too late. Torbjorn had been called away, and left quickly, feeling rejected and helpless to assist the knights he adored through such dark times. He was a man of action, of thinking and preventing; healing was not his forte, nor were words.

At least on a mission he could help someone, save someone else, DO something. Feel he had saved the world with every omnic shot down by a turret. And he felt that, perhaps, he had been replaced anyway. The captivating, competent, Ingrid had stepped into the breach and shielded Reinhardt from his darkest feelings when he most needed it... and Torbjorn had done nothing. No, it was over. He could not fix what had been broken, and that was a blow to his heart.

Still, there was truth in the thought. Reinhardt and Ingrid were very close, much more than before, after he finally began to stabilise. His youthful vigour and good humour returning. She told him he looked every bit the warrior and did not flinch at the scar over his eye, an eternal reminder of what he had done... she called it distinguished, and then joked about it. Her laugh warmed his heart, as his smile did hers.

In quiet times they would date, it was hard to ask another person to move in with you when you already lived together (although they also had to put up with the other members of the guard, all crammed into the traditional rooms of eichenwalde). But their love was good, a light of hope that pushed them through each day, and made things easier.

Still, he had a duty to join Overwatch... and she, had to remain, to follow the new leader and fight the Omnics again to defend the people of her homeland. Ingrid often wrote to Reinhardt, but it was a long time before she received a reply, as they were always moving about the globe. His first letter was a delighted missive about having found Torbjorn again, and that even though it was a little awkward he had done everything he could to fix the situation. She had buried her face in her battleworn hands at that, imagining with horror, the terrible jokes and puns and tales of glory Rein would have told the engineer (at top volume), probably following him around like a puppy until the grumpy builder finally just gave up trying to avoid the knight.

Hilarious. Though her heart ached a little to be so far from them; even though their work was important. Ingrid was called once or twice, to Overwatch, for a mission they felt would suit her abilities in tandem with the other members. Mostly she and Rein were alternating shields for Torbjorn, who did his best to get a turret or three going from alternating angles, mowing down robotic enemies in all directions.

Rein seemed distant, in his element at this Overwatch, and no longer... hers. Not completely. She could understand, that was simply how life could be. But it stung a little. Though, another seemed to notice this, and take extra time working dents from her armour, and analysing her weaponry before and after battle. Talking to her all the while, so she would feel included, feel part of the team. A small flicker reawakened, one that had burst to life many years before when first meeting the Engineer; and slowly, but surely, the two began to drift together like a pair of magnets. Forging something between them in the workshop that was far stronger than it might have been before...

Love seemed a paltry word, but it was there. It was hard to see one another for a long time, with the world constantly demanding they be in different places and times, always. But they found a way. If Reinhardt was hurt by their unintended exclusion of him, he made no mention; she still got letters, and the occasional souvenir from places around the world she would have loved to see one day. Some she eventually got to travel to, and others... well they were on the list for ‘One Day’.

Ingrid surprised the engineer when she proposed, he honestly hadn’t seen it coming at all, but was pleasantly surprised all the same. Torbjorn agreed immediately, and turned away to begin furiously working on the ring he had been crafting to ask her...

The other original members of Overwatch were amused, because they’d just held a wedding for a certain other pair of officers, and some commented that it just ‘seemed to be in the air’ right now. Still, Reinhardt hugged the pair as he sobbed delightedly, nearly crushing their spines by accident when they asked him to be best man...

But of course, things don’t always go to plan. Marriage ceremonies are magical things, when there’s time, but often in these times they were brief but beautiful and then the omnics arrived. Luckily, none did on that day for them, but everyone was prepared anyway... just in case.

Reinhardt had mentioned to Torb the places Ingrid had lamented not having seen, in her letters to him, and he managed to coerce the strike commander into letting him borrow a shuttle to take her to a few of them for their honeymoon. Ingrid had an excellent time, and felt that nothing could be more exciting.

It was months later, when she took a hit in battle that they realised she needed to reinforce her abdominal armour... Torb was over the moon, but frantic about her still fighting ‘in her condition’. She asked him at what point he felt that having a child would drain her ability to crush omnic skulls with her warhammer? And he, wisely, kept silent. She did stop after a while, the armour was protective but as she swelled somewhat, it began to get a little tight.

She wasn’t the only one either. Now that things seemed to be calming down, a few other members of the guard were expecting (whether it was they, themselves or their partners) and she at least had someone to talk to about it. Or complain about everything with, as Bjorn often said, as he patted his own bump (his partner Olga had been frantically making baby chainmail for the last four months, and he was exceptionally amused by the whole situation. Ingrid somehow felt Torb was probably doing the exact same thing).

But then... she got the letter. Her heart seized in horror, knowing that his downplaying of the event was nothing more than a feeble attempt to calm her. Her beloved Torbjorn had lost an arm, an eye... to those robotic bastards. She was furious, angry, guilty... I could have shielded him, she thought over and over again as she re-read the sentences. But no, Reinhardt was there, thank all the gods, Reinhardt had saved their Torbjorn.

If he had been a moment too late... Of course they had all dealt with injuries and the injured during battle, and after; seen terrible things, held dying teammates’ stomachs closed as their entrails threatened to fall out onto the filthy ground... but this, this was worse. He was so far away. But he was safe, that’s all that mattered. He was SAFE, she told herself. Reinhardt would keep him that way.

Ingrid had apparently gotten so pale that Bjorn had called out for the garrison medic to check she was alright; he and his wife, Olga, sitting with her long after the medic had left, reassuring her. They understood her fear, her fright, the strange ache of loss. She woke up squished between them early in the morning, and placed a hand to her bump, silently reassuring herself that all was well.

It was only when calm that she could finish the letter, and laughed the others awake accidentally as she found Torb had promised to let Reinhardt name their firstborn, and also allow him to be Godfather. Well, she could not say he had not earned it, and she had an inkling of what the name might be... Long before, when they had dated, the pair had talked over (hypothetically) names for children they might have... and he had always favoured Svengard and Brigette. He thought they sounded heroic, a good legacy. She had no objection, and immediately went for a pen and paper to return the message...

Given the circumstances, she found a way to get to Overwatch’s current base as soon as possible. Just about kicking down the infirmary door wearing half her armour and wielding the warhammer like she was going to knock some common sense into her husband. It took a second before Reinhardt realised who the intruder was, and deactivated his shield. Laughing and greeting her with a warm hug, expressing delight when an impatient and overactive future shieldmaiden kicked at him from within her mother’s stomach. “A little warrior!” he grinned, in delight, but surpassed his obvious desire to ask more by stepping aside so she could see her husband.

Torbjorn was smaller than before, but clean, crisp infirmary sheets had that effect on people. One eye was covered by a patch, and there was a rudimentary socket at his shoulder where they would eventually provide a prosthetic instead. Ingrid wrapped herself around him, a litany of greetings and admonishments fell from her lips in swift succession as she assured herself he was alive, and considering the circumstances... doing well enough.

He laughed tiredly and answered her statements as best he could. When the pair had calmed, basking in the sensation of relief that both were alive and safe; they noticed Reinhardt was missing, having excused himself to give them time.

“Ah, the big softie...” Torb sighed, “Took my injury to heart, he did. Can’t help but love him for how much he cares, though... but you might want to go and make sure he’s not sobbing in a corner somewhere. Don’t have any armour to fix that sort of thing...”

Ingrid laughs, that did sound like their big knight. She kisses Torb on the nose, “Well, I will be back with him in a minute, we’ll sort this out.” She was not entirely familiar with the base, but Rein wasn’t hard to find at all. He liked to find a high vantage point when brooding, or thinking things through, so he could be alone but still protect the others by keeping watch for threats. He was, predictably, on a balcony, staring off into the distance. That same look was on his face. The one he had worn after-... well, After.

“He’s alive, thanks to you.” Ingrid reminds him, placing a hand to his shoulder, and feeling how tense he was under the armour. “Sure, you didn’t save all of him, but I’m certain he can craft something far more fun to play with, when he’s stronger...”

He huffs a laugh at her teasing, “Well, I suppose I will just have to make up the slack in the meantime. You recall how good I am at chopping wood and doing dishes...”

Ingrid smiles, indeed recalling the domesticity of their lives as part of the garrison, as a couple. “Excellent qualities. I trained you well.” “Oho, did you now?” Reinhardt grins, rising to the bait. “I seem to recall a certain someone whose understanding of cooking was limited to hot water and instant noodles...”

“You recall no such thing.” Ingrid retorts, trying hard to look angry, but bursting into laughter anyway. He was right, she had not always been great at cooking, though he had not been averse to doing it for their formative training years until he manage to trick her into helping... it was how he relaxed from the day’s work, the same way she would wind down by doing the sweeping or something easily repetitive while her mind wandered.

“Does Torbjorn know you once managed to boil an egg until it exploded?” Reinhardt asked, expression conspiratorial and mirthful. “Or perhaps you failed to mention the occasion when you mixed up the bottles of salad dressing and wasabi?”

She smacked his arm, playfully. “You will tell him no such thing. He’ll leave me for you if he ever finds out how terribly I used to cook...” Ingrid pauses at the flash of expression Reinhardt quickly concealed. “You still love him too, don’t you, Rein?”

His expression widened, guilty, unconsciously moving away from her.

“It’s alright, Rein... I suspect he returns those feelings, as much as I do.” she replied, airily, as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if Ingrid’s heart wasn’t pounding a mile a minute hoping to all the gods and valkyries she was correct.

He was so quiet, she thought for a second that maybe-...

“You always were so perceptive, Lady Ingrid.” he finally answered, using the familiar term of endearment that used to annoy her so much when she was younger. Reinhardt seemed to comprehend the remainder of her sentence then, and he jolted as if shocked. “...as well?” he tried to articulate.

Instead of answering, she simply takes his hand and begins to tow the romantic warrior back inside, back to the infirmary. They were of a height, and seemed to fill the corridor as they moved through the base, seemingly on a mission of urgent proportions.

For the second time that day, though thankfully without her hammer this time as it had remained behind with her husband, Ingrid burst through the infirmary doors to gaze upon Torbjorn.

“Husband, will you marry this big fool so he can stop quietly pining on the roof?” she starts with, and Torb startles in surprise. He manages to clear his throat, but no words come out. The engineer simply nods, slightly confused, but using his good hand to pat around his attire for something vaguely circular and ring-like.

Ingrid spins about to face Reinhardt, and half-kneels as best a rather pregnant person can, holding out a gauntlet she’d stripped off in lieu of a ring. “Reinhardt, would you do me the honour of marrying Torbjorn and myself, so we can stop pretending we can exist without one another in this world?”

“I-... of course, are you certain?” the large knight splutters, inexplicably caught between confusion and joy, both warring for dominance on his face. He had not anticipated this. Rein took the gauntlet, and helped Ingrid to rise again, and looked to Torbjorn to gauge the other’s reaction.

A large nut, possibly off a bastion unit, hit his square in the forehead. “That’ll have to do for the moment, I’m afraid.” Torbjorn apologised, “I didn’t exactly have time to make a ring, now did I...?”

Confused, delighted, and certain the world had gone mad, but in his favour, Reinhardt threw back his head and laughed until tears fell from his eyes. Torbjorn muttered, “I’ll take that as a Yes then...” in the background, as Ingrid pecked a kiss to his forehead.

Rein swooped her off the ground, and spun around, joyously and she whooped. She’d loved it when they were younger; back then she could still lift him up properly and return the favour... “I’ll take a Rein-check on that particular ride...” Torb added, when the knight put Ingrid down again.

“And you shall HAVE IT my small beloved!” Rein responded enthusiastically, at great volume. “Hah ha! We must tell the others!”

“What’s this about ‘small’?” torbjorn mutters, before he registers what the knight had said. “Oh no you don’t, get back in here Rein, we’ve got plans to discuss...”

But it was too late, Rein was already down the hallway shouting at some Overwatch member or other that he was getting married, and couldn’t be happier. Ingrid laughed, “Oh Rein...” she glanced to her husband, “I suppose you could say, he’s all... hardt.”

She had to dodge the pillow Torb threw at her, and the engineer groaned. “Five minutes and he’s already infected you with his bad puns... how will any of our children turn out normal under these circumstances?”

Ingrid moved over to the bed and placed his remaining hand on her abdomen, and their little shieldmaiden obligingly kicked back. “Because she will have the best parents imaginable, my clever craftsman.”

In the distance, Reinhardt was still delightedly telling people, his delight echoing off the walls and corridors of the base. Torbjorn laughed, “Yes, it seems so, my warrior queen... it seems so.”

By the time Brigette was born, the trio had mostly worked out how to function as a family unit whilst being pulled away one or two at a time, with little warning. At the very least, Ingrid would have Olga and Bjorn around the base they shared when the other two were away.

They had intended to get a house, but realistically it was impossible. They had a choice of the Overwatch bases, or Eichenwalde; Ingrid chose the latter, so she could be closer to the others they had grown up with. They were also family. Bjorn and Olga’s child was three weeks Brigette’s senior, which meant that it only made sense for them to stay in the same quarters; a little further away from the other knights, who prized their sleep no matter how adorable the newborns were when not shrieking the base awake.

Ingrid did miss Torb and Rein when they were away, but they always came back as swiftly as they could... turning down several missions where possible, to spend more time with them. Torbjorn adored his daughter, she was the light of his life, and Rein equally loved the babe, even if she was so small Brigette almost disappeared in his arms when held.

Torb had had to work on how he held their baby, as the new prosthetic had a claw at the end rather than a hand, it worked better for crafting he had said when first revealing it. But it made holding Brigette a rather unique task until he got used to it; he liked to hold her, talk to her about his projects, even if she was so young he didn’t think she understood. But there was a spark in her eyes when she beheld his workshop that always made him wonder...

Reinhardt treated Brigette like she was made of porcelain. She was just so small, he felt too big and clumsy to hold her; but then, Ana Amari said he’d been just the same when Fareeha was born, no matter how many times the medic had tried to reassure him he would not drop his goddaughter. It was an endearing trait.

Ingrid had no siblings other than those she had bonded with during her time in the guard, and there were not so many babies there; it was lucky that Bjorn and Olga both came from large families, and were able to let her practice holding their own infant daughter, prior to Brigette’s arrival. It made her feel more confident, training always did.

The children cried in the night, and various people arose to see to their need. More often than not Brigette just wanted to be held, whereas baby Anya was often hungry. Eventually everyone learned to distinguish a vague semblance of which cry meant what...

If it sounded like someone was hungry, Ingrid or Bjorn would get up to see to their daughter/technical niece’s needs. However if the wail seemed to be one of distress, pain, fear, fright or need for comfort, then Torb, Olga, or Reinhardt would get up. Certainly they had it mixed up a few times, and there was always formula in the fridge in case certain people were too exhausted to rise and feed... but it worked.

It also saved their lives.

The five new parents and their daughters were living in combined quarters at one end of the eichenwalde castle quarters, and the rest at the other; to prevent crying awakening all of the base several times a night and such. (Not to say the others did not delight in the chance to play with and/or babysit the girls, everyone in the knights was practically their aunt or uncle. and there was something adorably hilarious about massively bulky men, women and gnc warriors cooing over teeny little infants).

Which is most likely why they survived when a battalion of omnics smashed through the doors, killing those on night watch instantly and horrifically, before aiming their canons towards the densely populated guard quarters. Fire and splintered wood, cinders and scream, it shook them awake.

Ingrid and Rein had their shields up before they were even properly awake. Torbjorn threw down a turret and ran for the infants while his partners armoured up; Olga and Bjorn were shielding the cribs with their own weapons, and neither girl was harmed. Only crying, frightened and needing reassurance.

Bjorn grabbed Anya; Torb took Brigette, and together the group made a run for it. Now was not the time to fight, but retreat. If the omnics were here, then there was no one in the surrounding town left to save, and no one they could help in the guard barracks. Screams tugged at their heartstrings as they ran, but the shrieks of their children made then turn a deaf ear to them...

Bastion units signalled victory in horrifying beeps as they ran into the night, alive but left with nothing.

Contacts from the Overwatch days managed to find them, smuggle the group away from the danger; though the group was split up for safety, anonymity. Quiet, heartfelt farewells were offered, before they each took transports to new lives...

And so it was.

Ingrid and Reinhardt and Torbjorn raised their daughter, and all the sons and daughters who followed, in seclusion and safety. Well, as safe as it could be.

There was occasional trouble, but that was how life was, really. Nothing two knights and a mechanical genius couldn’t handle...

Then one day, they got a call.

Overwatch.

And everything changed.

#overwatch #torb #ingrid #rein #random headcanon bc brigette clearly has a badass mother figure #two random ocs in there as members of the guard bc no one stopped me

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kyoune · 7 years ago

Text

recurring

fandom: mystic messenger word count: as yoosung would say.... “around 600 2000?” notes: saeran “ray” / mc, persephone & hades reincarnation au, takes place on v’s route, beware of spoilers!

in your dreams, instead of an elixir, you see pomegranate seeds.

The newly opened florist attracts a mean crowd.

Ivy vines crawl among the cracks of the tattered brick, framing the building’s GRAND OPENING banner, slung carelessly across the center sign. Though the initial front of the store looks worse for wear, it’s lively - filled to the brim with customers, they swarm among the doors, buzzing

The breeze that tickles you feels familiar, brings back memories of wildflowers and spring days. the fields of Nysa are in full bloom. They’re so pretty this time of the year, hm? A maternal voice hums in your ear, from a figure whose slender fingers (like yours, strangely) glide through your hair.

You don’t know why or how you can recall that specific place; it’s a place you’ve never been, yet the nostalgia is so strong.

When you open your eyes again, you are in the middle of the streets of Seoul, a bumbling young woman thrown to and fro by the rambunctious afternoon crowd. Ah, right. There’s somewhere you need to be, and your stomach is growling and -

-- there’s an unknown app on your phone.

Why do characters in horror movies act so stupidly? you used to ask. A handful of popcorn in one lazy hand, you’d binge watch the latest productions on your TV screen, shrouded in the dark and shaking your head, cringing at the thoughtless acts of “bravery” the protagonists would perform. How foolish, you had thought.

Little did you know, your own mockery would soon turn sour in your mouth.

It’s incredulous how a few taps and a phone call later, you’d gotten yourself into an unknown car, let yourself be blindfolded and taken away. It was stupid, yes, stupid, you admit, but there was something in that voice you couldn’t let go, a melancholy immune to time.

The car slows to a halt, graceful and soundless. Must be an expensive car, you think, as the nauseating lurch of gravity gently guides you forwards, putting more bubbles of anxiety in your stomach.

When the blindfold comes off, it is not the light that hits you hardest; it’s white hair, and a magenta heart, eyes the shade of a blue so shockingly otherworldly.

You’ve seen those eyes before.

“Ah, there you are.”

Decked in purple and black and greys, from head to toe, Hades, god of the underworld --

“Ray.”

“I don’t know what your tastes are, but I hope you like it.”

You do. It’s pink, and posh and god is it your dream room. Perhaps he simply has the same tastes, or perhaps he’s been stalking you - either way, it perturbs you that you almost don’t mind.

In a way, he feels less like a captor, and moreso a protector. Hell, with all these preparations done and his anxiety apparent, he appears like an admirer.

You wonder if this “Stockholm Syndrome” thing is getting to you, but then lunch comes, and food erases any debate of it from your mind.

(While you lift a forkful of eggs to your lips, a scenario pops out of nowhere: A tall man, robed in darkness strides towards your general direction. When your eyes meet, his face is kind, and lonely, and looks a little too close to someone else you know.)

As night befalls the residence, the screams and cries (of happiness! or so Ray claims...) die down. In their place, footsteps and shaky whispers brush along outside your floor, and the building turns into a haunting likeness of Hell. It’s a bizarre place, and it makes you uneasy, but for some reason, you don’t feel like much of a stranger. In fact, call yourself crazy, but you feel secure.

The underworld is intriguing. Outside is the river of Styx, of inverted nature. Souls and hands of the lost yearn to latch onto you, but Ray promises he will protect you, he swears.

“I shall be no unfitting husband for you…”

When you sit up and rub your eyes, however, he’s nowhere near you at all, and you wonder why your dreams are someone else’s memories.

“How do I pursue you, Ray?” you had joked, your smile reaching up to your eyes, and he’d been speechless, breathless. You are so lovely, so unlike him. Your voice lilts up the air and fills it with an energy he didn’t he was lacking, and perhaps, just perhaps this is what people mean when they say they’ve found their missing half.

Speechless and out of breath, he fumbles against embarrassment, fingers idly thumbing his tie. Dismissing the idea with a casual laugh, Ray flashes you a smile, sincere and twice shy, and tells you that unfortunately, those AIs are the only options.

You shoot him a pout at this, to which his smile widens. Before he figures you can do any more damage to his poor, lonely heart, he leaves, but not without parting words.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Persephone.”

An hour after he has taken his leave, you muse over that statement.

...your name isn’t Persephone.

“If you drink this elixir, you can be with me forever…”

Persephone is smarter, this time. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

But you have no shame, you remember pomegranate seeds and your first exposure to a real “contact”. You recall the beginning of no returns, and of periods where the Earth grew barren in grief over your disappearance.

Now, V’s face is the sad, mourning Earth, stripped of Mother Nature’s gifts. In his urging shouts, and alarmed “Run! It’s dangerous here, go!” you see Helios, the Sun. Go back, he pleads, your mother wishes for your return.

Hurried footsteps of hooded believers clash against the monotone droning of the computers behind you, and the mixture of V and Ray’s screams confuses you. Where do I go? Where can I run?

Caught between the chaos of the present and memories of someone else’s past, you blink, and see pomegranate seeds rolling on the floor, all red, red, red, and it makes you forget about the teal-haired hero and the sound of shattering glass.

“You…..”

As a new chaos unfolds before you, you wonder who you really are.

These are not AIs. You’ve known this from the start, because you are no fool.

How you know it best, however, is when the RFA members yearn for you, attracted like sunflowers to the sun. V and 707, red and blue, drone on and on about “research”, and a peculiar desperation in their searching rings a bell somewhere within.

But you’ve never known these people. Never in your life have you seen these faces, or heard their names (well, Jumin is an exception, probably, but it doesn’t strike much of a memory), and yet they are your family.

Maybe it’s the power of friendship? you tease, fitting in the group with ease. Their replies, as always, are hilarious: Jumin muses about the scientific validity of such a force, all while ordering Jaehee to compose another report. You can practically hear her sigh through the texts, joined by 707 playing along, Yoosung’s shocked stickers, and Zen being Zen.

This everyday banter is what you fall asleep to.

And you can feel it now, your lids heavy with the weight of sleep and stress. As if on cue, a total darkness consumes your vision, and a high-pitched shriek begins to ring in your ears.

( Demeter, your poor mother - her wretched wails can be heard from underneath the surface of the Earth. Like a banshee, she cries and cries, walking the Earth and demanding for you. I want my daughter back, give her back… )

An all-too familiar pop! tears you away from the vision, and you sit up again, gasping. Reflected off your phone screen is a message from V: “..those are the coordinates of my current location.”

You really should stop dozing off...

(Or you’ll get captured by Hades again.)

“Please stay with me… please don’t leave me... “

It’s a curse, you swear; you’ve seen this before. On his knees, Ray begs, pleading with the same desperation you thought you saw from the RFA. Voice cracking and soaked with tears, his fear of abandonment tears deep into your heart, a double-edged blade that cuts both you and him. One side needs you, the other wishes to save you, and the two worlds unknowingly engage in a game of tug-of-war with you.

But all you are is just a girl.

You are Persephone, you are the maiden of spring, and you are leaving.

“I will return to you.”

You lace your fingers into Ray’s, a soothing hand ruffling his hair, and seal your promise with a kiss. Head held high, a blank face betraying any hesitation you might feel, you beckon for 707 to hurry, before the Savior can catch up. Your lips move without you knowing.

“Come along, Hermes.”

707 slows, just for a bit, and shoots you perplexion.

“Who’s Hermes?”

The months fly by, and the calendar dates start to feel off. When did time start to hurry so much?

“Mint Eye’s headquarters have been detonated.” Someone, maybe 707, maybe V tells you, one day. “Rika went to one of our parties.” is told to you on another. You don’t really recall whose voice it was, because you’re lost in fuzzy daydreams of Hades and Persephone, and the possibility that Saeran is still alive.

Then, a phone call arrives one day, and your hands begin to tremble when the name “Saeran Choi” is uttered from the other line.

The hospital is a pallid white, too industrial, too formal. You wonder if this is also some alternate form of the underworld, because it makes you uncomfortable, makes you feel sick (ironically). But it has that same feeling, that certain security you’d feel nowhere else…

Or maybe you just feel that way because you see him, Ray, Saeran….

Embalmed in tangled sheets and IV drips, he’s barely even a person; as soon as you dare step in his direction, the nurses sense your intent and rein you in, their voices weary and their grip on your arms a touch too forceful. Substance abuse and mental neglect had shaped him into a violent, unstable man, and they all fear for your safety, but it’s alright, it’s alright, because he was once a god too.

So you raise at them the eyes of a God’s wife, silently imploring for their understanding. They’re the eyes you’ve used in your dreams, and it comes natural to you now. Though you don’t expect them to work, they do, and when Saeran rises, they fully back off.

Your eyes meet blue again, the otherworldly blue you love so, so much, and the maiden of spring intertwines her fingers with the god of the underworld.

“I missed you.”

author’s notes: god playing v’s route i thought of two things: 1) this kind of feels like persephone and hades with regards to ray/mc’s relationship and 2) please tell me ray gets a happy ending (and im heartbroken to learn he doesn’t...) so! this fic is a little kind of self-indulgence, a reincarnated hades/persephone! ray/mc thing with the added bonus of them having a happy ending :)

i havent written fanfic in a year & kind of rushed this + moved around some parts of the timeline so sorry if the events are kind of out of place...

more saeran fluff is on the way… and i do want to try my hand at zen or vanderwood fluff soon.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #saeran choi #please..... saeran route....... im so sad

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laresearchette · 6 years ago

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Sunday, November 25, 2018 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: 2018 SOUL TRAIN AWARDS (BET Canada) 8:00pm JINGLE BELLE (Lifetime Canada) 8:00pm HOLIDAY GINGERBREAD SHOWDOWN (Food Network Canada) 9:00pm

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT DIRTY JOHN (Premiering on Netflix Canada - TBD) HOLIDAY WARS (Premiering on Food Network Canada on December 02)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME/CRAVE/NETFLIX CANADA:

NETFLIX HAROLD AND LILLIAN: A HOLLYWOOD LOVE STORY

CFL FOOTBALL (TSN/TSN4/TSN5) 1:00pm: Grey Cup Pre-Game Show (TSN/TSN3/TSN4) 6:30pm: RedBlacks vs. Stamps (TSN/TSN3/TSN4/TSN5) 10:00pm: Grey Cup Post-Game Show

NHL HOCKEY (SN) 3:00pm: Flames at Coyotes (SNWEST) 10:30pm: Oilers at Kings

NBA BASKETBALL (SN/SN1) 6:00pm: Heat at Raptors

MIRACLE ON 34th STREET (CBC) 6:00pm: An adwoman's (Maureen O'Hara) lawyer boyfriend (John Payne) tries to prove that Macy's Santa Claus (Edmund Gwenn) is the real thing.

HOPE AT CHRISTMAS (W Network) 7:00pm: Sydney decides to spend Christmas in a house she inherited with her young daughter. When she meets Mac, he tries to make her Christmas wishes come true by helping her open herself up to life, love, and believing in the spirit of Christmas again.

COVER STORY (Game Show Network) 7:00pm (SERIES PREMIERE): In 1984, contestant Michael Larson outwits the game board on the TV game show, "Press Your Luck," evading the dreaded Whammy for more than 70 spins and amassing unprecedented winnings.

A CHRISTMAS FURY (CBC) 8:00pm: Family matriarch Mamie Lou has plans to make a life change, but they get derailed by the arrival of a child who puts the chaos back in Christmas and sends everyone reeling. With the family business up for grabs, the siblings are at each other's throat. Starring Mary Walsh, Mark McKinney, Susan Kent, Shaun Majumder, Jonny Harris, Sherry White, Joel Thomas Hynes, Adrianna Maggs, and Rick Boland.

CHRISTMAS ON THE COAST (Super Channel Heart & Home) 8:00pm: Needing inspiration, hard-hearted New York novelist Dru Cassadine needs to write the "novel of her life" before Christmas is over, but her newest romance story may just star her and the most eligible bachelor in her hometown.

GONE (Bravo Canada) 9:00pm: A Pittsburgh man is abducted in broad daylight, but the only witness is an elderly woman who is almost completely blind.

STITCHED (Slice) 9:00pm (SEASON FINALE): The designers create garments using animal prints; the designers create looks for moms and daughters; the designers create red carpet runway looks.

HOLMES & HOLMES (HGTV Canada) 10:00pm: Mike's vision for the suburban house hits a structural snag, and MJ attempts to rein him in before the budget takes another hit; Mike throws another curve ball at MJ that could have serious repercussions for their business plan.

THE CURSE OF OAK ISLAND (History Canada) 10:00pm: After years of searching, Rick and Marty finally strike gold.

q (CBC) 12:00am: Hilary Swank, Ken Jeong and F--ked Up are in with their latest work and Arkells play from their album Rally Cry.

#cdntv #Cancon #canadian tv #canadian tv listings #gone #stitched #holmes & holmes #the curse of oak island #q #cfl football #nhl hockey #nba basketball

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m3gz77 · 6 years ago

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2x4

Part Ten

Pairings: Bucky/Asset x OFC’S?

Warnings: Swearing, violence, flashback.

Words: 3,951.

Summary: Rydian starts to learn more about her masked savior.

Authors Notes: This story has ruined my sense of self. Enjoy.

Asset

When she finally fell asleep I was tired myself. I never got tired before or hungry but I was. It was Bucky’s fault. His human frailties that we often overlooked. I made a note to eat something soon.

I could still hear her music blaring in my ears even after she fell asleep. How anyone could sleep through noise like that was beyond me.

Night had fallen and I closed my eyes leaning my head against the wall listening to the beat. I don’t know how long I sat there minutes, hours, it didn’t matter. What did matter were the hushed voices and light footsteps coming up the stairwell.

‘They found us.’ I told Bucky forgetting that he wasn’t here.

She was still sleeping and they hadn’t found us yet, I jumped up and ran to the lamp next to her and switched it off.

Darkness. It’s what I’m born of.

I stalked down the hall, there were two of them. I slid my blades from their holsters on our back and slit both of their throats without a sound. I stepped over their bloody corpses and walked into the open office still littered with desks.

These men had night vision goggles but they were looking for us in the wrong place. I stalked over to one of the agents and sliced his throat like I had done to the others only this time his gun went off and the rest of them reined fire down on me.

I ducked down low, between the desks and took them out one at a time by slicing the tendons of their ankles, once they were down I slid my blade across their throats with ease.

Heading to the stairs I saw a lot of them near the entrance. I hopped over the edge and took them by surprise. I kicked and sliced, Punched and stabbed. One guy I slammed into the drywall so hard he stayed in the wall. I found It hilarious, he looked like a strange puppet his arms and legs awkwardly positioned.

A scream made me pause my slaughter and I felt electricity serge up our spine. I spun around and grabbed the taser baton in both hands before I broke it over our knee. The man looked frozen in fear as I flicked out my wrist and slit his throat; effectively taking out my last threat.

I took off up the stairs back to the room. When I reached the room I saw a man straddling the girl; Rydian. He had her pinned to the floor near our bags, and was sitting on her legs, her hands held down above her head, our blade in her hands.

She had a small cut on her cheekbone and her eyes had a glint in them that made me want to purr. For the most part her eyes were wide with fear and panic but underneath that there was the furious wild glint of a survivor. A fighter.

I flipped my blade in my hand and threw it. It thunked in his temple and his body flopped down on top of Rydian. I grabbed his collar and pulled him off of her, dropping his body next to her and switched on the light.

Turning to her I caught her terrified gaze. “Time to go.”

Rydian

I woke up from being yanked to my feet violently. My headphones were ripped from my ears and suddenly everything seemed too loud. Ear piercing pops sounded in my ears and someone was pushing me forward.

My mind was hazy but I almost immediately realized that the person pushing me wasn’t my masked man. He would have held the back of my neck, this person just sort of jabbed at my back. I turned around, and the guy looked scared, his movements shaky. I knew it wasn’t me he was afraid of but I used it anyways.

I kicked the lamp over and ran for the bags in the dark. I heard the guy shoot his gun but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I reached into the bags until I felt the cold metal of a knife. As I pulled it out and turned around the lamp switched back on and I ran at him.

He easily blocked my attempt and took the knife from me. Fudge. I felt a sting in my thigh as a fist connected with my face and I cried out in pain. Falling to my knees and pushing away the pain I head butted him in his naughty bits.

He dropped the knife and I scooped it up, sadly he was faster and grabbed my wrist as I went to stab him and he slammed me into the dirty carpet. I scooted back as much as I could scrapping my back but not having the luxury of worrying about it now.

He stopped me by sitting on my legs and straddling my hips. He hit me again as I struggled against him only this time it was so hard I saw stars. He hit me so hard I was sent into a flashback.

I was thrown onto the ground and he shackled my ankle. I fought against him with everything I had but it wasn’t enough as he crawled on top of me and straddled my hips.

“Who’s a good whore?”

No!

I snapped back. I would not let that happen again, not ever.

Suddenly the guy stopped moving and flopped on top of me making it hard to breath with his full weight on my chest. It wasn’t for long though, almost as quick as the heaviness came it was gone again. The lamp turned on and flooded the room with light as the masked man stood over me and trapped me with his eyes.

“Time to go.”

He had said it so calmly that it made me uneasy. I had almost been killed, again, and he was just Dandy. I stood there and gawked at him as he shifted around the room grabbing the bags and placing them by the door. Next he went for my stuff.

He shoved all my stuff inside and threw it over his shoulder. He grabbed the lamp last and shoved it in my hands. I took it but stayed still, I still couldn’t move.

He stalked forward and grabbed all the bags, turning around to face me I could see the urgency in his blue orbs. I needed to follow him, my feet started to move and I followed him out of the room.

I had the lamp in my arms but I wished he had just pushed me through the dark again instead. Dead bodies lay everywhere, blood splattered the walls and floors pooling around open throats.

Men were strewn on the floor, over desks, and everywhere that didn’t have a fresh corps was littered with tiny animal bones. I didn’t want to see any of it, I kept my eyes forward.

I could see the back of his jacket. Skipping forward to catch up to him I grabbed his collar, he flinched away from me but let me hold on as he maneuvered us back out of the building.

I kept my eyes closed trusting him to guide me until we got outside. He stopped and I peaked open my eyes, seeing we were outside by the trunk of the car I let him go.

I went to get into the car but he grabbed the back on my neck and moved me to the S.U.V. next to it. Pushing me into the drivers seat he threw the bags in the back seat.

“Move.” He ordered and I moved over to the passenger seat as he slid in behind the wheel. Turning the S.U.V. around we sped away.

My body and mind were still reeling as I chewed my nails and tapped my feet on the dashboard. I kept trying to wrap my head around everything that had happened, the masked man, the bad guys, the flash back, Him. My mine was utter chaos.

I felt his hand grasp around mine and I stopped fidgeting as he put it at my side, though this time he didn’t let me go. Instead he kept his large hand wrapped around mine, and his eyes on the road.

I didn’t stop him. I took comfort in his warmth and let it seep into my skin, calming my panicked thoughts. Occasionally his fingers would tighten for a moment and then loosen again. I didn’t want to comment on it because it was helping me and I didn’t want him to let me go.

We ended up driving like that in silence for a long while until the sun came up over the trees and we were far enough away to be safe for now.

We drove for a few hours after that before he finally stopped to switch cars, this time stealing a Winnebago. He put all our stuff on the counters and chairs. I decided since I wasn’t tired I would sit up front with him. It sounded better than sitting alone with my hectic thoughts as company.

We drove in silence, the air outside tight and foggy. We were somewhere in the mountains and if I looked close I could make the mountain tops out through the think mist. It was beautiful and haunting at the same time.

“Why not the gun?” His gruff voice broke through my thoughts but his question didn’t make any sense, it was so random. It was like he had been having a conversation in his head and somehow thought I would actually know what he was talking about. I didn’t.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you take the gun?”

“What gun? When?” He needed to be more specific.

“In the parking garage. There were two men and you chose a single blade. Why?”

I thought about it and it was true, there had been a gun in the bag, but I grabbed a knife.

“I don’t know I just grabbed whatever I touched first. Why?” I asked him but he didn’t answer me. He never gave me any straight answers and it was annoying. I was stuck here just like him, the least he could do is explain.

“Why can’t you ever take the muzzle off and give me an actual answer?” I spat at him not caring if it made him angry. I wanted him to answer me and if making him angry would help then thats what I would do.

Out of nowhere the old R.V. swerved to the left and I slammed into my door, before I knew it I was jerked again and launched into him. I bounced off of him and fell to the floor on my stomach. He slammed on the brakes and the resistance sent me sliding to the front scrunched between the seat where I finally stopped.

I could hear him gasping for air leaning over the wheel. He sounded terrified, I knew the sound because that was how I was when I came back from a flashback or night mare.

I pushed myself up and sat back in my seat. I thought he was going to snap and push me around again, so when he finally looked at me I was shocked to say the least.

There was pain and terror in his blue eyes. As they focused on me guilt washed over them and my stomach dropped. What the Blarg had happened to him? He was fine a minute ago; well fine for him, but now he looked like…he looked like me.

“What did I do?” He asked desperation in his voice, it caught me off guard, he seemed so vulnerable.

“What?” I whispered confused and concerned by the look in his eyes.

He took a slow breath and shook his head, his face down and hair falling in his eyes, hiding him from me.

“Your face.” He sounded far away and small. Did he think he hit me?

“You didn’t do this.” I assured him still confused and it was no doubt showing all over my face.

“What happened?” He asked me his voice thick like he was having trouble forming the words. He didn’t make any sense. What happened? He was there! Suddenly I heard his voice in my mind echoing in every corner.

‘Our boss.’

He hadn’t been talking about me and him, he had been talking about himself as two separate people. What the crud-nuggets?

How do I handle something like this? I felt my fingers go to my mouth, as I touched my lip I heard him growling at me. His eyes still held all of the confusion and guilt from before, but he was growling like he always did. It seemed off; wrong. Maybe he really was two people. I swallowed hard.

“Whats the last thing you remember?” I asked and it took him a few moments before he said anything.

“I was… I was…” He looked so confused. “We were in the woods…” His eyes were unfocused and far away as he spoke. “You ran… he found you, and… you, you were yelling at us… and…” He blinked a few times and his brows furrowed, pinching in the middle as he tried to recall what happened.

His eyes focused suddenly and shot up to mine.

“Did I hurt anyone?” He demanded.

“No.” I paused, “Well.”

His face dropped in defeat and I tried to make it better.

“Its okay, they deserved it.” I hadn’t meant to sound so mean but it still came out that way. It still hadn’t helped him one bit. His eyes were frantic and full of questions, his breathing fast and shallow. He was panicking, I knew that feeling well, and I hated it. I needed to help him.

“Turn around.” I tried to sound commanding but it came out small and timid. I tried again this time being more forceful and pushing his shoulder as I spoke, trying to move his large frame.

“Turn around.”

He started moving like a robot as I guided him. When he was facing the window I reached to roll it down, the cool air seeping in. It wasn’t helping, he was still panicking. It was like he couldn’t breath.

I gripped the velcro of the mask on the back of his head and ripped it apart, pushing it off of his face and onto his lap. I hadn’t seen his face yet and I didn’t want too, not until he was ready, so I hugged him.

I wrapped my arms around his ribs and hugged him from behind, my eyes closed and my face pressed against his back between his shoulder blades. His jacket was cold and when he felt the contact he froze, his entire body becoming tense. He even stopped breathing.

“Breath.” I used his tactic of one word orders and it worked. He took a slow breath; in and out. Good. Relax. I thought as I gripped the straps on the front of his jacket and held him closer, hoping that he was taking comfort from it.

I hugged him until he finally relaxed. Waiting until I could slowly pull away and sit in my seat without setting him off again.

He sat there breathing quietly, it made me uneasy. What if he was angry when he turned around? What if he wasn’t? I curled in on myself and made sure not to rub my lip.

He sat up straighter and his hands came up around his head replacing the mask. Swiveling in his seat he put the R.V. in drive and took off down the road. He was quiet for a few minutes, the fog seeming to block us off from the rest of the world and stretching the minutes into an eternity.

“Thank you.” He finally spoke his voice rough; unused.

“your welcome.”

I thought about what he said he remembered. It was when we were in the woods but that was days ago? The more I thought about it the more it made sense that he was two people. Why he was suddenly so aggressive and bossy, only speaking when he had too. Then other times he seemed so confused and afraid, but also kinder.

Either he really was two people or he at the very least thought he was, enough to make me believe the act. Of coarse if it was true and he really was two people then a lot had happened since then. Days in fact. The least I could do is tell him what happened and hope it would help.

“When we were in the woods you sort of zoned out after I yelled at you.” I paused to see if he wanted me to stop. He didn’t do anything but look forward so I continued.

“I went to touch you and you snapped back to reality…”

I told him everything I could remember and he listened quietly only occasionally would he start to rumble from his chest. I told him that after the woods we went to a Wal-mart, how he killed two men saving me because they were trying to shove me in their van. He relaxed a little after that.

I told him we went to a creepy warehouse, “I passed out after we got there, I was out for three days so I don’t know what you did during that time.” He grunted in response and I continued.

I told him how bossy and rude he was to me, and about the men that attacked us while I was asleep at the warehouse. How he had save me again, he didn’t growl this time.

“…then you swerved the R.V. and now here we are.” As I finished he was pulling into a rest area. Why though? We were in a moving rest area, we didn’t need to stop.

He pulled into a vacant spot in the deserted parking lot, the fog covering everything in an eerie way. I sat still only slightly nibbling the inside of my lip as he cut the engine and peered out the windshield for several moments, his eyes darting every which way. He was searching for threats. Even now after his “episode” he was still in mission mode.

He slid out of the seat and was at our bags in an instant. He moved so fast and sudden it made me yip. I hate that yip it always made me sound like a scared child.

He grabbed the med-kit and headed to the back where the bedroom was and I slid out of my seat to follow him and sit on the bed in front of him. I knew thats what he wanted me to do before he asked. It was almost routine now whenever he grabbed the med-kit.

He let out a small rumble, it was less of a growl and more of a purr. I liked the sound of it, it was much better than his normal aggravated grumble.

He crouched in front of me, his knees brushing my outer thighs. I could feel his warmth through the tight jeans I had on. It was a strange feeling not having the urge to shy away from the contact.

I hate being touched by anyone after everything I had survived, but right now? In this moment?

He worked on my hands, seeing my arms and cut up fingers for the first time. Cleaning and rewrapping my arms he moved to my face.

I knew I had a cut on my temple, and my cheek hurt but I had no idea what he was actually seeing. I hadn’t looked into a mirror in a while and more than that I didn’t want to. I probably looked like crud.

He held my chin as he worked his heat sinking into my chin, I needed a distraction. I watched him as he worked, much like he watched me all the time even when he thought I didn’t notice.

I was looking for anything, some kind of evidence that he wasn’t just him. It was hard to tell, he was so motionless all the time, covered from head to toe, only his eyes visible and even they were hidden behind his dirty matted hair.

He needs a shower. I need a shower too, my hair was oily and stiff, and it was gross. I could smell myself too, I stunk like sweat and dry blood. The smell sent an unpleasant feeling to my stomach and I bit my lip.

I heard him growling again and I let my lip go. Rude. Wait. Was that him? Or was it the other one? The other him?

I broke it down the best I could in my head. He was rude and pushy, but not all the time, he was also conflicted and kind-ish. I would make a list later. Maybe one was him and the other is? Him too?

I thought only one personality could exist at once? But I had seen both; well I saw one while I heard and felt the other. Blarg this is confusing. Not knowing his name only made it worse. I didn’t know one name and for all I knew he could have two.

Something clicked. Maybe that was why he couldn’t answer me before! He had said he couldn’t remember his name, but maybe it was just because he didn’t know which name to give. Two names, two people, only one body. That had to be confusing.

I could feel my heartbeat pick up and my breath hitch at the realization. I felt so bad for him because someone must have really fudged with his mind for him to be so broken.

I felt pressure on my jaw. It hurt and I could feel something vibrating through my body. I slipped out of my mind and back to reality as if waking from a dream. He was in my face, so close I could feel his breath through the mask as he growled at me. His metal hand was gripping my chin tightly and his pupils were needle points full of rage.

He was back, his aggressive side, and he was angry. What had I done now? I was biting on my lip again, hard too because my lip was soar.

“I said stop.” He rumbled, and I stopped.

Had He been speaking to me? I hadn’t noticed if he had, I had been so deep in my mind, I felt like I was slipping back there again. But I couldn’t I had a question I needed to ask.

“Your name…?” I sounded far away and I pulled myself back out when I heard him growl in warning.

“No.” He said pushing off of the floor and turning to leave. I grabbed his metal wrist to stop him.

“Wait.” He paused in my grasp but refused to look at me.

“I get it now.” I paused thinking. “Before… when I yelled at you…”

What am I trying to say? I knew he wouldn’t indulge me for long, I needed to find a way to phrase it.

“I asked you your name.” I stated stalling.

I felt his metal arm twitch and whir in my grip. I needed to figure out how to ask him that made sense but I was losing him. I searched my brain. He pulled his arm from my grasp. I was out of time.

Screw it the only way to ask him was to be blunt and hope I didn’t sound crazy.

“What are your names?”

@whitewolfbumble

#Winter Soldier #MCU #Bucky Barnes

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swipestream · 7 years ago

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Robert E. Howard and the Third Reich

Robert E. Howard

“The ancient empires fall. The dark skinned peoples fade, and even the demons of antiquity gasp their last…but above all stands the Aryan barbarian. White-skinned, cold-eyed, dominant. The supreme fighting man of the Earth.” Robert E. Howard, “Wings in the Night”

This quote is used at a Youtube video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=upSOO8rjHrw#t=15) entitled “He-Man=Nazi.”

The “Robert E. Howard was a Nazi” argument seems to appear with some regularity. Luckily we have Godwin’s Law which is the first one to use the Nazi or Hitler analogy loses the argument.

Robert E. Howard’s life did overlap the first years of the rise of Adolph Hitler and the German Worker’s Nationalist Socialist Party dominance. Howard’s first mention of the Nazis was in a letter to H. P. Lovecraft in June 1933:

“Nor have we ever banned or burned books, as the ‘civilized’ Nazis are now doing in ‘civilized Germany.”

Howard’s mention of the Nazis is full of sarcasm so he was not impressed with Hitler’s new found power.

In Fall 1933, Howard had this to say to H. P. Lovecraft:

“You say that Germany is not typical of Western civilization. Why not? Wherein is Germany less civilized than England? It see to be a

H. P. Lovecraft

characteristic among civilized people, that each advocate maintains that his is the only true civilization. I have heard an intellectual declare that Germany was the only truly civilized country in the world. You make out a logical, sensible and in many ways unanswerable case for English civilization; but the German, the Russian, the Italian, the Japanese each presents arguments in favor of his particular civilization just as logical, sensible, and unanswerable.”

Robert E. Howard was not a Germanophile You get the sense that he viewed the Germans as something somewhat different if not alien. He did have a grudging respect for the Germans in Texas:

“They are thrifty, prudent, law-abiding, and attend to their own business.”

Chip Rommel

He might have respected them but you get the sense he did not particularly liked Germans.

He mentioned that when WWI broke out, he was for Great Britain and France. He might have had a sense that Germany was willing to destroy Western civilization in its quest for dominance. German historian Fritz Fischer laid out the thesis that Germany was responsible for WWI. German planners had dreams of a German empire that encompassed “Mitte Europa” and “Mittl Afrika.” The incorporation of Russian, Austrian territory, Belgium, the Netherlands, Alsace-Lorain in Europe. Belgium and Portuguese colonies in Africa would be seized as part of a new world power.

Robert E. Howard was paying attention to the German elections in 1932 as he had this to say in a letter to Lovecraft in March 1932:

“I note that in Germany, by the way, the citizenship of Hitler has been questioned to the extent of forcing him to withdraw from the presidential race. I hope Von Hindenburg carries the election. During war days I would cheerfully have lighted a torch to burn him at the stake, but now I think he is one of the strongest stabilizing factors in Europe, and that his re-election would be to the advantage of not only Germany, but the entire world. He was doubtless the ablest general of any nationality in the Great War, and now seems to be about the most level-headed statesman on the Continent.”

The Hindenburg-Hitler coalition government had him worried:

“And in Germany the steel helmets are goose-stepping.”

Hitler had been sworn in as Chancellor of Germany in January 1933, right when the first Conan stories were appearing in Weird Tales. He had taken over effectively as dictator by the end of March 1933 in the wake of the Reichstag fire and new legislation granting him sweeping powers.

Howard was suspicious of Fascism and National Socialism from the outset. In this passage from December 1932, Howard had a distrust of ideology in general:

“I do not expect a permanent state of slavery, but I do look for a period of more or less length, in which class and individual liberty will be practically unknown – oh, it won’t be called slavery or serfdom. They’ll have another name for it – Communism, or Fascism, or Nationalism, or some other -ism; but under the surface it will be the same old tyranny, modified, no doubt, to fit modern conditions. The victims probably won’t realize they are slaves for a long time, until conditions get too utterly hellish. They they’ll doubtless rise, overthrow the existing rule, and institute another regime, in which the people will for a short space held [sic] the reins in chaos and confusion, then natural rulers will institute another mode of government – different in name and outward aspects, but fundamentally the same as the old, or capable of becoming modified to resemble the old type: and which will itself drift irresistibly toward eventual serfdom and ultimate dissolution.”

Howard knew war would be the result of the clash of ideologies in a letter to Lovecraft December 1934:

“Yes, you’re right about Europe being a stewing caldron. I don’t believe any of them really want war, but their combined stupidity and cowardice will eventually result in an explosion.”

Howard was aware of potential German aggression when he brought up to Lovecraft:

“What objection could we offer against Germany’s grabbing Austria, Finland, Poland, Scandinavia?”

Howard seemed to view Fascism as a front for international banks and corporations:

“As for war, that will come when international capital is ready. I do not believe, and have never believed, that Mussolini, Hitler and the other European strong-arm, he-man dictators are anything but figure-heads and tools for international capitalism. The same crowd that recently approached Smedley Butler with a proposition to overthrow the government and set up a Fascist dictatorship”

Hitler’s Third Reich was actually a mirror image of the Soviet Union. The police state, the concentration camps, the mass executions; all were pioneered by Joseph Stalin. The Soviet Union supported an internationalist revolutionary ideology of class warfare. Hitler was an ultra-nationalist and hated communism and any international movements. The Soviet Union was a rural agrarian nation attempting to industrialize. Germany was an industrial nation that could not produce enough food for its population. Hitler envisioned a Greater Germany encompassing Poland, Ukraine, and Belorussia as its bread basket.

Hitler himself had this to say about capitalism:

“We are socialists, we are enemies of today’s capitalistic economic system for the exploitation of the economically weak, with its unfair salaries, with its unseemly evaluation of a human being according to wealth and property instead of responsibility and performance, and we are determined to destroy this system under all conditions.”

Hitler skillfully used capitalist bankers to bankroll his projects during the 1930s, which in a few years included building Germany’s military might. Howard was correct that there were interests backing Hitler though in the end it was Hitler using industrialists and businessmen.

H. P. Lovecraft had a love for the strong man restoring order whether it was Mussolini, Hitler, or Roosevelt. This theme ran in the barbarism vs. civilization debate between the two. Howard had this to say in January 1934:

“You seem to take it for granted that Fascism would guarantee absolute freedom of thought and mental research. I wonder if this faith is justified. I don’t notice any hilarious renaissance emanating from Germany or Italy or Austria resulting from the exhilarating freedom of dictatorship. It had always seemed to me, erroneously perhaps, that suppression of speech and thought generally accompanied dictatorship.”

Howard maintained his stance:

“You accuse me of ‘hating human development’ because I mistrust Fascism. Well, there can’t be much tolerance about a system whose advocates denounce as ‘enemies of humanity’ anyone who disagrees with them. According to that, you consider as ‘enemies of humanity’ every man and woman in the world who is not a Fascist. I do not condemn the reforms you say would be possible under Fascism.”

There were authoritarian conservative regimes in Europe such as Admiral Horthy in Hungary, Salazar in Portugal, and de Valera in Ireland. Most were all reactions to the threat of communist revolution. Mussolini and Hitler both used socialist/communist ideas of creating a new man, a new era. Howard knew that you could not remake man into something new:

“I simply do not believe they would exist under a Fascist government. Of course you can draw glowing pictures of a Fascist Utopia. But you can not prove that Fascism is anything but a sordid, retrogressive despotism, which crushes the individual liberty and strangles the intellectual life of every country it inflicts with its slimy presence…And Fascism is nothing but a new fad-name for industrial tyranny. It’s the final step of entrenched special privilege-holders, which would peon the people beneath them beyond all hope.”

You can’t remake a people without the threat of the iron fist. He laughed at Lovecraft’s attempts to come up with a compassionate, kinder, gentler Fascism:

“You say that the type of Fascism you advocate is without despotism and persecution of intellectual freedom; you might as well say you advocate a cobra without its venom, a skunk without its stench, or a leper without his scabs.”

Howard knew bad things were coming in the next few years and it was not going to be pretty. It all fed back into his view of rise, decay, fall, and regeneration, repeat:

“You are right economics will have to revolutionized entirely if the nation is to continue, and the choice seems to lie between fascism and communism – both of which I utterly detest. And doubtless the world will eventually, as you say, sink back into barbarism – if any humans are left alive after the next war. And since the inevitable goal of all civilization seems to be decadence, it seems hardly worth while to struggle up the long road from barbarism in the first place.”

Steel Helmets on the march

Robert E. Howard and the Third Reich published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

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