#i have known poor people who have given their animals everything they possibly could so they can be as happy as possible | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

laurasimonsdaughter · 3 years ago

Text

The Counterfeit Marquise

A literary fairy tale published in 1697, presumably by Charles Perrault and François-Timoléon De Choisy (who spent a considerable amount of his life in drag, just like the protagonists of this story).

Translated by Ranjit Bolt, featured in Warner’s Wonder tales: six stories of enchantment (1996).

Cw: gender disphoria.

The Marquis de Banneville had been married barely six months to a beautiful and highly intelligent young heiress when he was killed in battle at Saint-Denis. His widow was profoundly affected. They had still been very much in love and no domestic quarrels had disturbed their happiness. She did not allow herself an excess of grief. With none of the usual lamentations, she withdrew to one of her country houses to weep at her leisure, without constraint or ostentation. But no sooner had she arrived than it was pointed out to her, on the basis of irrefutable evidence, that she was carrying a child. At first she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing a little replica of the man she had loved so much. She was careful to preserve her husband’s precious remains, and took every possible step to keep his memory alive. Her pregnancy was very easy, but as her time drew near she was tormented by a host of anxieties. She pictured a soldier’s gruesome death in its full horror. She imagined the same fate for the child she was expecting and, unable to reconcile herself to such a distressing idea, prayed a thousand times to heaven to send her a daughter who, by virtue of her sex, would be spared so cruel a fate. She did more: she made up her mind that, if nature did not answer her wishes, she would correct her. She took all the necessary precautions and made the midwife promise to announce to the world the birth of a girl, even if it was a boy.

Thanks to these measures the business was effected smoothly. Money settles everything. The marquise was absolute mistress in her château and word soon spread that she had given birth to a girl, though the child was actually a boy. It was taken to the curé who, in good faith, christened it Marianne. The wet nurse was also won over. She brought little Marianne up and subsequently became her governess. She was taught everything a girl of noble birth should know: dancing; music; the harpsichord. She grasped everything with such precocity her mother had no choice but to have her taught languages, history, even modern philosophy. There was no danger of so many subjects becoming confused in a mind where everything was arranged with such remarkable orderliness. And what was extraordinary, not to say delightful, was that so fine a mind should be found in the body of an angel. At twelve her figure was already formed. True, she had been a little constricted from infancy with an iron corset, to widen her hips and lift her bosom. But this had been a complete success and (though I shall not describe her until her first journey to Paris) she was already a very beautiful girl. She lived in blissful ignorance, quite unaware that she was not a girl. She was known in the province as la belle Marianne. All the minor gentry roundabout came to pay court to her, believing she was a rich heiress. She listened to them all and answered their gallantries with great wit and frankness. My heart, she said to her mother one day, isn’t made for provincials. If I receive them kindly it’s because I want to please people.

Be careful, my child, said the marquise: you’re talking like a coquette.

Ah, maman, she answered, let them come. Let them love me as much as they like. Why should you worry as long as I don’t love them?

The marquise was delighted to hear this, and gave her complete licence with these young men who, in any case, never strayed beyond the bounds of decorum. She knew the truth and so feared no consequences. La belle Marianne would study till noon and spend the rest of the day at her toilette.

After devoting the whole morning to my mind, she would say gaily, It’s only right to give the afternoon to my eyes, my mouth, all this little body of mine.

Indeed, she did not begin dressing till four. Her suitors would usually have gathered by then, and would take pleasure in watching her toilette. Her chambermaids would do her hair, but she would always add some new embellishment herself. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in great curls. The fire in her eyes and the freshness of her complexion were quite dazzling, and all this beauty was animated and enhanced by the thousand charming remarks that poured continually from the prettiest mouth in the world. All the young men around her adored her, nor did she miss any opportunity to increase that adoration. She would herself, with exquisite grace, put pendants in her ears – either of pearls, rubies or diamonds – all of which suited her to perfection. She wore beauty spots, preferably so tiny that one could barely see them with the naked eye and, if her complexion had not been so delicate and fine, could not have seen them at all. When putting them on she made a great show of consulting now one suitor, now another, as to which would suit her best. Her mother was overjoyed and kept congratulating herself on her ingenuity. He is twelve years old, she would say to herself under her breath. Soon I should have had to think about sending him to the Military Academy, and in two years he would have followed his poor father. Whereupon, transported with affection, she would go and kiss her darling daughter, and would let her indulge in all the coquetries that she would have condemned in anyone else’s child.

This is how matters stood when the Marquise de Banneville was obliged to go to Paris to deal with a lawsuit that one of her neighbours had taken out against her. Naturally she took her daughter with her, and soon realised that a pretty young girl can be useful when it comes to making petitions. The first person she went to see was her old friend the Comtesse d’Alettef,11 to ask for her advice and her protection for her daughter. The comtesse was struck by Marianne’s beauty and so enjoyed kissing her that she did so several times. She took on herself the task of chaperoning her, and looked after her when her mother was busy with her suit, promising to keep her amused. Marianne could not have fallen into better hands. The comtesse was born to enjoy life. She had managed to separate herself from an inconvenient husband. Not that he lacked qualities (he loved pleasure as much as she did) but since they could not agree in their choice of pleasures, they had the good sense not to get in one another’s way and each followed their own inclinations. The comtesse, though not young any more, was beautiful. But the desire for lovers had given way to the desire for money, and gambling was now her chief passion. She took Marianne everywhere, and everywhere she was received with delight.

Meanwhile, the Marquise de Banneville slept easily. She was well aware of the comtesse’s somewhat dubious reputation, and would never have trusted her with a real daughter. But quite apart from the fact that Marianne had been brought up with a strong sense of virtue, the marquise wanted a little amusement and so left her to her own devices, merely telling her that she was entering a scene very different from that of the provinces; that she would encounter passionate, devoted lovers at every turn; that she must not believe them too readily; that if she felt herself giving way she was to come and tell her everything; and that in future she would look on her as a friend rather than a daughter, and give her such advice as she herself might take.

Marianne, whom people were starting to call the little marquise, promised her mother that she would disclose all her feelings to her and, relying on past experience, believed herself a match for the gallantry of the French court. This was a bold undertaking thirty years ago. Magnificent dresses were made for her; all the newest fashions tried on her. The comtesse, who presided over all this, saw to it that her hair was dressed by Mlle de Canillac. She had only some child’s earrings and a few jewels; her mother gave her all hers, which were of poor workmanship, and managed at relatively little expense to have two pairs of diamond pendants made for her ears, and five or six crisping pins for her hair. These were all the ornaments she needed. The comtesse would send her carriage for her immediately after dinner and take her to the theatre, the opera, or the gaming houses. She was universally admired. Wives and daughters never tired of caressing her, and the loveliest of them heard her beauty praised without a hint of jealousy. A certain hidden charm, which they felt but did not understand, attracted them to her and forced them to pay homage where homage was due. Everyone succumbed to her spell and her wit, which was even more irresistible than her beauty, won her more certain and lasting conquests. The first thing that captivated them was the dazzling whiteness of her complexion. The bloom in her cheeks, forever appearing and reappearing, never ceased to amaze them. Her eyes were blue and as lively as one could wish; they flashed from beneath two heavy lids that made their glances more tender and languishing. Her face was oval-shaped and her scarlet lips, which protruded slightly, would break – even when she spoke with the utmost seriousness – into a dozen delightful creases, and into a dozen even more delightful when she laughed. This exterior – so charming in itself – was enhanced by all that a good education can add to an excellent nature. There was a radiance, a modesty in the little marquise’s countenance that inspired respect. She had a sense of occasion: she always wore a cap when she went to church, never a beauty spot – avoiding the ostentation cultivated by most women. At Mass, she would say, One prays to God; at balls one dances; and one must do both with total commitment.

She had been leading a most agreeable life for three months when Carnival came round. All the princes and officers had returned from camp, and everywhere entertainments were being held again. Everyone was giving parties and there was a great ball at the Palais Royal. The comtesse, who was too old to show her face on such occasions, decided to go masked and took the little marquise with her. She was dressed as a shepherdess in an extremely simple but becoming costume. Her hair, which hung down to her waist, was tied up in great curls with pink ribbons – no pearls, no diamonds, only a beautiful cap. She had dressed herself, but even so all eyes were fixed on her. That night her beauty was triumphant.

The handsome Prince Sionad was there, dressed as a woman – a rival to the fair sex who, in the opinion of connoisseurs, took first prize for beauty. On arriving at the ball the comtesse decided to go and sit behind the lovely Sionad. Chère princesse, she said as she drew near and introduced the little marquise, here is a young shepherdess you should find worth looking at. Marianne approached respectfully and wanted to kiss the hem of the prince’s dress (or should I say the princess’s) but he lifted her up, embraced her tenderly and cried delightedly: What a lovely girl! What fine features! What a smile! What delicacy! And if I’m not mistaken, she is as clever as she is beautiful.

The little marquise had responded only with a bashful smile when a young prince came up and claimed her for a dance. At first all eyes were fixed on him, owing to his rank. But when people saw her answering his questions without awkwardness or embarrassment; saw what a feel she had for the music; how gracefully she moved; her little jumps in time; her smiles, subtle without being malicious and the fresh glow that vigorous exercise brought to her face, total silence, as at a concert, descended on the hall. The violinists found to their delight that they could hear themselves play, and everyone seemed intent on watching and wondering at her. The dance ended with applause, little of it for the prince, popular though he was.

The acclaim that the little marquise had received at the Palais Royal ball greatly increased the comtesse’s affection and concern for her. She could no longer do without her and she offered her rooms in her house, so that she could enjoy her company at her leisure. But on no account would her mother agree to this. The little marquise was almost fourteen and, if the secret of her birth was to be kept, it was vital that no one should be on intimate terms with her except her governess, who got her up and saw her into bed. She was still quite ignorant of her situation and, though she had many admirers, felt nothing for them. She cared for nothing and no one but herself and her appearance. People spoke to her of nothing else. She drank down this delicious praise in long draughts and thought herself the most beautiful person in the world; the more so since her mirror swore to her every day that the praise was justified.

One day she was at the theatre, in the first tier, when she noticed a beautiful young man in the next box. He wore a scarlet doublet embroidered with gold and silver, but what fascinated her were his dazzling diamond earrings and three or four beauty spots. She watched him intently and found his countenance so sweet and amiable that she could not contain herself, and said to the comtesse: Madame, look at that young man! Isn’t he handsome! Indeed, said the comtesse, but he is too conscious of his looks, and that is not becoming in a man. He might as well dress as a girl.

The performance went on and they said nothing more, but the little marquise often turned her head, no longer able to concentrate on the play, which was The Feign’d Alcibiades. Some days later she was at the theatre again in the third tier. The same young man, who drew such attention to himself with his extraordinary adornments, was in the second tier. He watched the little marquise at his leisure, as fascinated by her as she had been by him on the previous occasion, but less restrained. He kept turning his back on the actors, unable to take his eyes off her and she, for her part, responded in a manner less than consistent with the dictates of modesty. She felt in this exchange of looks something she had never experienced before: a certain joy at once subtle and profound, which passes from the eyes to the heart and constitutes the only real happiness in life. At last the play ended and, while they waited for the afterpiece, the beautiful young man left his box and went to ask the little marquise’s name. The porters, who saw her often, were happy to oblige him; they even told him where she lived. He now saw that she was of noble birth and decided, if possible, to make her acquaintance, even if he went no further. He resolved (love being ingenious) to enter her box by accident.

Ah, madame, he cried, I beg your pardon: I thought this was my box. The Marquise de Banneville loved intrigue and made the most of this one. Monsieur, she said to him with great frankness, we are indeed fortunate in your mistake: a man as handsome as you is welcome anywhere.

She hoped in this way to detain him so that she could look at him at her leisure; examine him and his adornments; please her daughter (whose feelings she had already detected) and, in a word, have some harmless amusement. He hesitated before deciding to remain in the box without taking a seat at the front. They asked him a hundred questions, to which he replied very wittily. His manner and tone of voice had an undeniable charm. The little marquise asked him why he wore pendants in his ears. He replied that he always had: his ears had been pierced when he was a child. As for the rest, they must excuse these little embellishments, normally only suitable for the fair sex, on the grounds of youth.

Everything suits you, monsieur, said the little marquise with a blush. You can wear beauty spots and bracelets as far as we’re concerned. You wouldn’t be the first. These days young men are always doing themselves up like girls. The conversation never flagged. When the afterpiece was over he conducted the ladies to their coach and had his follow it as far as the marquise’s house where, not daring to enter, he sent a page to present his compliments.

During the days that followed they saw him everywhere: in church; in the park; at the opera and the theatre. He was always unassuming, always respectful. He would bow low to the little marquise, not daring to approach or speak to her. He seemed to have but one object, and wasted no time in attaining it. Finally, after three weeks, the Marquise de Banneville’s brother (who was a state councillor) called and suggested that she receive a visitor – his good friend and neighbour, the Marquis de Bercour. He assured her that he was an excellent man and brought him round immediately after lunch. The marquis was the handsomest man in the world; his hair was black and arranged in thick, natural-looking curls. It was cut in line with the ears so that his diamond earrings could be seen. On this particular day he had attached to each of these a pearl. He also wore two or three beauty spots (no more) to emphasise his fine complexion.

Ah, brother, said the marquise, is this the Marquis de Bercour? Yes, madame, replied the marquis, and he cannot live any longer without seeing the loveliest girl in the world.

As he said this he turned towards the little marquise, who was beside herself with joy. They sat and talked, exchanging news, discussing amusements and new books. The little marquise was a versatile conversationalist, and they were soon at ease with one another. The old councillor was the first to leave, the marquis the last, having remained as long as he felt he could.

After this he never missed an opportunity of paying court to the girl he loved, and always made sure that everything was perfect. When the good weather came and they went out walking to Vincennes or in the Bois, they would find a magnificent collation, which seemed to have been brought there by magic, at a place specially chosen in the shade of some trees. One day there would be violins; the next oboes. The marquis had apparently given no instructions, yet it was obvious that he had arranged everything. Nevertheless, it took several days to guess who had given the little marquise a magnificent present. One morning a carrier brought a chest to her house which he said was from the Comtesse Alettef. She opened it eagerly and was delighted to find in it gloves, scents, pomades, perfumed oils, gold boxes, little toilet cases, more than a dozen snuff boxes in different styles, and countless other treasures. The little marquise wanted to thank the comtesse, who had no idea what she was talking about. She found out in the end, but reproached herself more than once for not having guessed at once.

These little attentions advanced the marquis’s cause considerably. The little marquise greatly appreciated them. Madame, she said to her mother with admirable honesty, I no longer know where I am. Once I wanted to be beautiful in everyone’s eyes; now the only person I want to find me beautiful is the marquis. I used to love balls, plays, receptions, places where there was a lot of noise. Now I’m tired of all that. My only pleasure in life is to be alone and think about the man I love. He’s coming soon, I whisper to myself. Perhaps he’ll tell me he loves me. Yes, madame, he hasn’t said that yet; hasn’t spoken those wonderful words: I love you, though his eyes and his actions have told me so a hundred times. Then, my child, replied the marquise, I’m very sorry for you. You were happy before you saw the marquis. You enjoyed everyone’s company; everyone loved you and you loved only yourself, your own person, your beauty. You were wholly consumed with the desire to please, and please you did. Why change such a delightful life? Take my advice, my dear child: let your sole concern be to profit from the advantages nature has given you. Be beautiful: you have experienced that joy; is there any other to touch it? To draw everyone’s gaze; to win all hearts; to delight people wherever one goes; to hear oneself praised continually, and not by flatterers; to be loved by all and love only oneself: that, my child, is the height of happiness, and you can enjoy it for a long time. You are a queen, don’t make yourself a slave: you must resist at the outset a passion that is carrying you away in spite of yourself. Now you command, but soon you will obey. Men are fickle: the marquis loves you today – tomorrow he will love someone else.

Stop loving me! said the little marquise. Love someone else! And she burst into tears.

Her mother, who loved her dearly, tried to console her and succeeded by telling her that the marquis was coming. There was a lot at stake and this incipient passion caused her considerable alarm. Where will it lead? she asked herself. To what bizarre conclusion. If the marquis declares himself – if he plucks up courage and asks for certain favours – she will refuse him nothing. But then, she reflected, the little marquise has been well trained; she is sensible; at most she will grant such trifling favours as will leave them in ignorance – an ignorance essential to their happiness.

They were talking like this when someone came to tell them that the marquis had sent them a dozen partridges, and that he was at the door, not daring to enter as he had just returned from hunting.

Send him in! cried the little marquise. We want to see him in his hunting clothes. He entered a moment later, all apologies for powder marks, sun burn and a dishevelled wig. No, no, said the little marquise. I assure you, we like you better dressed informally like this than in all your finery. If that is so, madame, he replied, next time you will see me dressed as a stoker.

He remained standing, as though about to leave. They made him sit and the marquise, kind soul, told them to sit together while she went to her study to write. The chambermaids knew what was what and withdrew to the dressing-room, leaving the lovers alone together. They were silent for a while. The little marquise, still flustered after her talk with her mother, scarcely dared raise her eyes, and the marquis, even more embarrassed, looked at her and sighed. There was something tender in this silence. The looks they exchanged, the sighs they could not contain, were for them a form of language – a language lovers often use – and their mutual embarrassment seemed to them a sign of love. The little marquise was the first to awake from this reverie.

You’re dreaming, marquis, she said. What of? Hunting? Ah, beautiful marquise, said the marquis, how lucky hunters are! They are not in love. What do you mean? she rejoined. Is being in love really so terrible? Madame, he replied, it is the greatest happiness in life. But unrequited love is the greatest misfortune. I am in love and it is not requited. I am in love with the most beautiful girl in the world. Venus herself would not dare put herself before her. I love her and she does not love me. She has no feelings. She sees me, she listens to me, and she remains cruelly silent. She even turns her eyes away from mine. How heartless! How can I doubt my fate? As he spoke these last words, the marquis knelt down before the little marquise and kissed her hands – nor did she object. Her eyes were lowered and let fall great tears.

Beautiful marquise, he said, you’re crying. You’re crying and I know the reason for your tears. My love is irksome to you. Ah, marquis, she answered with a heavy sigh, one can cry for joy as well as pain. I’ve never been so happy. She said no more and, stretching out her arms to her beloved marquis, granted him the favours she would have denied all the kings of the earth. Caresses were all the protestations of love they needed. The marquis found in the little marquise’s lips a compliance that her eyes had hidden from him, and this conversation would have lasted longer if the marquise had not emerged from her study. She found them laughing and crying at the same time, and wondered whether such tears had ever needed drying.

The marquis immediately rose to leave, but the marquise said to him pleasantly: Monsieur, won’t you stay and dine on the partridges you brought? He needed little persuading. What he desired more than anything else in the world was to be on familiar terms in this house. He stayed, even though he was dressed in hunting clothes, and had the exquisite pleasure of seeing the girl he loved eat. It is one of life’s chief delights. To watch at close quarters a pink mouth that, as it opens, reveals gums of coral and teeth of alabaster; that opens and closes with the rapidity that accompanies all the actions of youth; to see a beautiful face animated by an often repeated pleasure, and to be experiencing the same pleasure at the same time – this is a privilege love grants to few.

After that happy day the marquis made sure he dined there every night. It was a regular affair and the little marquise’s suitors, who had had no cause to be jealous of one another, took it as settled. She had made her choice and they all admitted that beauty and vanity, however powerful, are no defence against love. The Comte d’****, one of her most ardent admirers, had a keen sense that his passion was being made light of. He was handsome, well built, brave, a soldier: he could not allow the little marquise to give herself to the Marquis de Bercour, whom he considered vastly inferior in every respect to himself. He decided to pick a quarrel with him and so disgrace him, thinking him too effeminate to dare cross swords with him. However, to his great surprise, at the first word he uttered when they met at the Porte des Tuileries, the marquis drew his sword and thrust at him with gusto. After a hard-fought duel they were parted by mutual friends.

This adventure pleased the little marquise. It gave her lover a war-like air, though she trembled for him nevertheless. She saw clearly that her beauty and her preference for him would constantly be exposing him to such encounters, and she said to him one day: Marquis, we must put an end to jealousy once and for all; we must silence gossip. We love one another and always will. We must bind ourselves to one another with ties that only death can break.

Ah, beautiful marquise, he said, what are you thinking of? Does our happiness bore you? Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to pleasure. Let us remain as we are. For my part, I am content with your favours and will never ask you for anything more. But I am not content, said the little marquise. I can see clearly that there is something missing in our happiness, and perhaps we will find it when you belong to me entirely, and I to you. It would not be right, replied the marquis, for you to throw in your lot with a younger son who has spent the bulk of his fortune and whom you still know only by appearances, which are often deceptive.

But that’s just what I love about it, she interrupted. I’m so happy that I have enough money for us both, and to have the chance of showing you that I love you and you alone.

They had reached this point when the Marquise de Banneville interrupted them. She had been closeted with her agents, and thought she would refresh herself with some lively young company, but she found them in a deeply serious mood. The marquis had been greatly put out by the little marquise’s proposal. Ostensibly it was very much to his advantage, but he had secret objections to it, which he considered insurmountable. The little marquise, for her part, was a little annoyed at having taken such a bold step in vain, but she soon recovered, deciding that the marquis had refused out of respect for her – or that he wished to prove the depth of his feelings for her. This thought made her decide to speak to her mother about it, and she did so the following day.

No one was ever more astonished than the Marquise de Banneville when her daughter spoke to her of marriage. She was sixteen and no longer a child. Her eyes had not been opened to her situation, and her mother hoped they never would be. She was careful not to agree to the match, but to reveal the truth would have been a painful solution both for her daughter and the marquis. She resolved to do so only as a last resort. Meanwhile she would prevent, or at least postpone, the marriage. The marquis was in agreement with her on this, but the little marquise – passionate creature that she was – begged, entreated, wept, used every means to persuade her mother. She never doubted her lover, since he did not dare oppose her with the same firmness. Finally she pushed her mother to the point where she said these words to her: My dear child, you leave me no choice: against my better judgement I must reveal to you something that I would have given my life to conceal from you. I loved your poor father and when I lost him so tragically, in dread of your meeting the same fate, I prayed with all my heart for a daughter. I was not so fortunate: I gave birth to a son and I have brought him up as a daughter. His sweetness, his inclinations, his beauty, all assisted my plan. I have a son and the whole world believes I have a daughter. Ah, madame! cried the little marquise, is it possible that I …? Yes, my child, said her mother embracing her, you are a boy. I can see how painful this news must be for you. Habit has given you a different nature. You are used to a life very different from the one you might have led. I wanted you to be happy and would never have revealed the sad truth to you if your obstinacy over the marquis had not forced me to. You see now what you were about to do? How, but for me, you would have exposed yourself to public ridicule?

The little marquise did not answer. Instead she merely wept and in vain her mother said to her: But my child, go on living as you were. Be the beautiful little marquise still – loved, adored by all who see her. Love your beautiful marquis if you like, but do not think of marrying him. Alas! cried the little marquise through her tears, he has asked for nothing more. He flies into a rage when I mention marriage. Ah! Could it be that he knows my secret? If I thought that, dear mother, I would go and hide myself in the furthest corner of the earth. Could he know it? In floods of tears now, she added: Alas, poor little marquise, what will you do? Will you dare show your face again and act the beauty? But what have you said? What have you done? What name can one give the favours you have granted the marquis? Blush! Blush, unhappy girl! Ah, nature you are blind: why did you not warn me of my duty? Alas! I acted in good faith, but now I see the truth and I must behave quite differently in future. I must not think about the man I love – I must do what is right.

She was uttering these words with determination when it was announced that the marquis was at the door of the antechamber. He entered with a happy air and was amazed to see both mother and daughter with lowered eyes and in tears. The mother did not wait for him to speak but rose and went to her room. He took courage and said: What’s the matter, beautiful marquise? If something is distressing you, won’t you share it with your friends? What? You won’t even look at me! Am I the cause of this weeping? Am I to blame without knowing it?

The little marquise dissolved in tears. No! No! she cried. No! That could never be, and if it were so I would not feel as I do. Nature is wise and there is a reason for everything she does.

The marquis had no idea what all this meant. He was asking for an explanation when the marquise, who had recovered a little, left her room and came to her daughter’s aid. Look at her, she said to the marquis. As you see, she is quite beside herself. I am to blame. I tried to stop her but she would have her fortune told, and they said she would never marry the man she loved. That has upset her, Monsieur le Marquis, and you know why.

For my part, madame, he replied, I am not at all upset. Let her remain always as she is. I ask only to see her. I shall be more than happy if she will consider me her best friend.

With this the conversation ended. Emotions had been stirred, and would take time to settle. But they settled so completely that after eight days there was no sign of any upheaval. The marquis’s presence, his charm, his caresses, obliterated from the little marquise’s mind everything her mother had told her. She no longer believed any of it, or rather did not wish to believe. Pleasure triumphed over reflection. She lived as she had done before with her lover and felt her passion increase with such violence that thoughts of a lasting union returned to torment her. Yes, she said to herself, he cannot go back on his word now. He will never desert me. She had resolved to speak of it again, when her mother fell ill. Her illness was so grave that after three days all hope of a cure was abandoned. She made her will and sent for her brother, the councillor, whom she appointed the little marquise’s guardian. He was her uncle and her heir, since all the property came from the mother. She confided to him the truth about her daughter’s birth, begging him to take it seriously and to let her lead a life of innocent pleasure that would harm no one and which, since it precluded her marrying, would guarantee his children a rich inheritance.

The good councillor was delighted at this news and saw his sister die without shedding a tear. The income of thirty thousand francs that she left the little marquise seemed certain to pass to his children, and he had only to encourage his niece’s infatuation for the marquis. He did so with great success, telling her that he would be like a father to her and had no wish to be her guardian except in name.

This sympathetic behaviour consoled the little marquise somewhat – and she was certainly distraught – but the sight of her beloved marquis consoled her even more. She saw that she was absolute mistress of her fate, and her sole aim was to share it with the man she loved. Six months of official mourning passed, after which pleasures of all kinds once again filled her life. She went often to balls, the theatre, the opera, and always in the same company. The marquis never left her side and all her other suitors, seeing that it was a settled affair, had withdrawn. They lived happily and would perhaps have thought of nothing else, if malicious tongues could have left them in peace. Everywhere, people were saying that, while the little marquise was beautiful, since her mother’s death she had lost all sense of decorum: she was seen everywhere with the marquis; he was practically living in her house; he dined there every day and never left before midnight. Her best friends found grounds for censure in this: they sent her anonymous letters and warned her uncle, who spoke to her about it. Finally, things went so far that the little marquise went back to her first idea and decided to marry the marquis. She put this to him forcefully; he resisted likewise, only agreeing on condition that the marriage would be a purely public affair, and that they would live together like brother and sister. This, he said, was how they must always love one another. The little marquise readily agreed. She often remembered what her mother had told her. She spoke of it to her uncle, who began by outlining all the pitfalls of marriage and ended by giving his consent. He saw that, by this means, the income of thirty thousand francs was sure to pass to his family. There was no danger of his niece having children by the Marquis de Bercour whereas, if she did not marry him, her notion that she was a girl might change with time and with her beauty, which was sure to fade. So a wedding day was fixed on, bridal clothes made and the ceremony held at the good uncle’s house. (As guardian he undertook to give the wedding feast.)

The little marquise had never looked as beautiful as she did that day. She wore a dress of black velours completely covered in gems, pink ribbons in her hair and diamond pendants in her ears. The Comtesse d’Alettef, who would always love her, went with her to the church, where the marquis was waiting. He wore a black velours cloak decked with gold braid, his hair was in curls, his face powdered, there were diamond pendants in his ears and beauty spots on his face. In short, he was adorned in such a way that his best friends could not excuse such vanity. The couple were united for ever and everyone showered them with blessings. The banquet was magnificent, the king’s music and the violons were there. At last the hour came and relatives and friends put the couple together in a nuptial bed and embraced them, the men laughing, a few good old aunts weeping.

It was then that the little marquise was astonished to find how cold and insensitive her lover was. He stayed at one end of the bed, sighing and weeping. She approached him tentatively. He did not seem to notice her. Finally, no longer able to endure so painful a state of affairs, she said: What have I done to you, marquis? Don’t you love me any more? Answer me or I shall die, and it will be your fault.

Alas, madame, said the marquis, didn’t I tell you? We were living together happily – you loved me – and now you will hate me. I have deceived you. Come here and see.

So saying he took her hand and placed it on the most beautiful bosom in the world. You see, he said, dissolving in tears, you see I am useless to you: I am a woman like you.

Who could describe here the little marquise’s surprise and delight? At this moment she had no doubt that she was a boy and, throwing herself into the arms of her beloved marquis, she gave him the same surprise, the same delight. They soon made their peace, wondered at their fate – a fate that had brought matters on to such a happy conclusion – and exchanged a thousand vows of undying love.

As for me, said the little marquise, I am too used to being a girl, and I want to remain one all my life. How could I bring myself to wear a man’s hat?

And I, said the marquis, have used a sword more than once without disgracing myself. I’ll tell you about my adventures some day. Let’s continue as we are, then. Beautiful marquise, enjoy all the pleasures of your sex, and I shall enjoy all the freedom of mine.

The day after the wedding they received the usual compliments and, eight days later, left for the provinces, where they still live in one of their châteaux. The uncle should visit them there: he would find, to his surprise, that a beautiful child has resulted from their marriage – one to put paid to his hopes of a rich inheritance.

#Charles Perrault #François-Timoléon De Choisy #genderqueer folktales #trans representation #laura retells #except not really it's more like laura copy pastes this time

191 notes · View notes

ajaxwrites · 3 years ago

Text

GENSHIN IMPACT FANFIC REC LIST II

(previous: part i)

Seaglass by Aevas

There was more to the contract than a gnosis and test of Liyue. It seemed like a simple deal five hundred years ago: so long as Morax never had a soulmate, the Tsaritsa would never harm Liyue and she would not get his gnosis. But the moment he gained a soulmate, all that belonged to him was forfeit. He thought the deal left Liyue safe—he'd lived thousands of years without a soulmate. The Tsaritsa would be dead and gone by the time she'd have a chance to collect.

Five hundred years later, Childe appears in Liyue, Zhongli gains a soulmate mark, and everything falls apart.

(The obligatory soulmate AU, featuring a Zhongli with PTSD, an oblivious Childe, and demon-worshipping cultists.)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: I CANNOT BELIEVE I SLEPT ON THIS FIC FOR SO LONG. Read it and I mean it! I admitted initially steered clear of this fic because I wasn’t comforted with a soulmate tartali fic pre-Osial but this fic is actually post-Ostial *facepalm* The writing is phenomenal and Aevas does some beautiful worldbuilding that you typically don’t see in Genshin Impact fics. I love the dynamic between Childe and Zhongli here and the angst is real. The author writes the two as very human characters who makes mistakes, etc. and notably Zhongli struggles with the concept of Childe as his soulmate (who understandably is upset by the rejection when he realizes). They get better though. Also very plotty. A+ writing.

it's a hard rock life for us by reptilianraven

“Ah, no need to worry about that,” Azhdaha waves a dismissive hand. “There is no real Kun Jun. He’s dead.”

A leaf blows past and plaps onto Aether’s face.

“You killed him???” Paimon screeches.

“No,” Azhdaha scrunches his eyebrows. “He was dead when I found him.”

“And you just decided to wear his corpse?” Aether says, leaf still on his face.

He shrugs. “It was free real estate.”

“Azhdaha...” Morax says, sounding vaguely pained.

Or the one where Historia Antiqua Chapter II: No Mere Stone goes a little bit different and Azhdaha gets more time.

He ultimately uses that time to bully Morax into confronting his immortal neuroses, to make Aether and Paimon suffer, and to figure out how to get that ginger boy Morax has his eye on to make a move already.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe, Past Azhdaha/Zhongli

Notes: Very lighthearted, humor-filled fic. Love how Azhdaha is so flippant. Interactions with Zhongli and Childe are pure gold.

if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes by moonlight_mist

Childe has a Weapon problem- specifically, that he can't keep one.

He's too reckless, too wild, and too keen on pushing his Weapon partners past their limits. He's just about ready to give up when he meets Zhongli, a Weapon who just might be the solution- so long as Childe can manage to keep his dick in his pants.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This is a Soul Eater AU with some college/university AU vibes (?) but you don’t really need to know much about the anime. It’s a cute AU and I love the premise. Light angst but otherwise, it’s a pretty semi-plotty fic. Easter egg Kaeya and Diluc though.

To Kill A God by IlluminanceinTales

In Snezhnaya, they call them sansis—lost souls that have no guidance but themselves. It’s an apt description, given that most of the time, wannabe-Archons have to go through dozens of tests with nothing as their reference, relying solely on their wit and strength and hoping it would be enough. At least, until they survive the end of the whole game—and they might not have to undergo a painful reincarnation which feels like a hundred bones being stitched together again.

On his seventh game, Childe Tartaglia reincarnates this time in the body of a young man.

Damn, he thinks, looking down at his thin body, his slightly calloused fingers. This won’t be good when facing the other Hydro Decisions.

In a world where an Archon's position is not chosen but fought for in games, Childe Tartaglia is a Hydro Decision who's poised to become the next Hydro Archon. Of course, that's only if he survives his seventh reincarnation. All would be so much easier if it weren't for a certain Geo Archon interfering with every possible chance he gets.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Think Hunger Games meet Political Intrigue meet Genshin Impact. Love the premise and world building that’s done. Features overprotective Zhongli and lots of Childe whump. Has one or two supplementary OCs that aren’t really important outside of plot device reasons. Warning for character death tho lmao.

Three's a Family by IlluminanceinTales

Childe finds a kid that looks just like him.

Of course Zhongli wants to keep him.

Or: How a harbinger and an archon accidentally become fathers. The kid is their wingman

Ships: Childe/Zhongli (?)

Notes: Your everyday cute AF kid fic. Fluffy as hell and super cute. Zhongli and Childe get domestic pretty quickly. Xiao gets dubbed a grandfather and begrudgingly plays along. Super wholesome.

in pitch dark i go walking in your landscape by snowbrigade

He glanced down at him, at the silvery scars peeking out from beneath his robe, and at his eyes, properly now. They were the bright blue of high quality noctilucous jade, but he could see it, an underlying darkness.

Zhongli wondered what his eyes betrayed about himself. --

Rex Lapis is dead. Zhongli, formerly known as triad leader Rex Lapis, is a detective investigating his own "death." Childe, also known as Tartaglia of the Fatui mafia, is undercover as an escort looking to kill Rex Lapis- until someone beats him to it, and he wants to know who. Goals intersecting, they form a partnership of ulterior motives.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: There’s like one scene that skews NSFW but otherwise surprisingly not explicit. Really fun AU. Like how the author addresses Childe’s reaction to being stuck with the undercover escort stuff and how the dynamic between the two develops. Pretty plotty so far.

Phantom Lines by iskendaris

“It’s a measure of one’s self, Mr Zhongli.” Childe says. “Maybe you don’t understand it since you work as a consultant, but as an ambassador from the Tsaritsa, as one who fights in her name— this is how I learn to know the measure of myself.” “I understand,” Zhongli says thoughtfully. “It is a warrior’s way, to test one’s strength against the incomparable. To find where one falls short. To find where one has risen to the challenge.”

In which Childe has insomnia, vandalizes public property and runs into a mysterious funeral consultant on his first night in Liyue.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: THE FEELS. I can only describe this as the fic where Zhongli pays Best Boyfriend Ever only to FUCK UP big time (via Gnosis deception). Poor, poor Childe. Look, he gave the boy feelings and then broke him. You can really feel Childe fall in love in this love. He also does mental swooning a lot lmao.

adventitious by Anonymous

It's said the Ley Lines remember all things that happen in this world, from the surface down to the deepest depths... But in the hidden corners where the Gods' gaze does not fall, there are those who dream of dreaming.

There's a dormant bud where Kaeya's eye once was. One day, it will bloom. (Never forget: memory is untrustworthy.)

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: I don’t even know where to start. This is very headcanony and lore-focused. Very much concentrated on Khaenri'ah. The implications of this story is grotesque to say the least (according to this fic, Visions are the literal eyes of the people of Khaenri'ah). Warnings for eye and body horror.

Without Those Dark Memories by StrangeDiamond

Diluc awakens in Stormterror’s Lair with no memories of the past five years. Kaeya is on the trail of a rogue alchemist, with a habit of testing his chemicals on unwilling human subjects. Now, in addition to capturing the criminal, Kaeya has to shake him down for an antidote . . . and deal with an amnesiac Diluc who acts exactly like he did before their brotherhood fell apart. (Standalone Fic.)

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: This is sort of a classic amnesia fic. I particularly really liked the way that Kaeya was written in this. I feel like the author did a really good job nailing his character and they have a way of capturing the subtle things.

Through the warmth, through the cold by strikedawn

“It’s you!” Paimon shouted with a twirl in mid-air.

“…Excuse me?"

They were drunk. Were they drunk? Was he drunk? Because Kaeya had the feeling his guests had been talking to him for a while now, but none of their words had made any sense whatsoever.

That was, until Venti stepped firmly in front of Kaeya’s desk and set his hands on the top, the better to lean over towards Kaeya and say: “For the end of the Windblume festival, Sir Kaeya Alberich, we’re going to auction a date with you.”

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: Shortword, Kaeya gets auctioned off. Diluc makes impulsive (but good) decisions and scores himself a Date but displays an inability to do Date Planning. Venti deserves a pat on the back. Very sweet.

Hide and Seek by Kiri_Kaitou_Clover

Childe did not expect regaining his memories would bring him such frustration.

He makes the best of the situation by messing with one amber eyed consultant in anyway he can.

A reincarnated storm god wades through life in Liyue, all while screaming about one dragon god's incompetency at being human.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Features Childe as Osial’s very exasperated reincarnation, who gets the joy of discovering that his rival/enemy Morax is not only an idiot but also broke AF. He still falls in love anyway. Contains this golden line:

"Did... did that complete blockhead really use my money in order to get me a gift that basically says that he is proposing to me?!"

(Osial was screaming. When had the other god become like this?! Had he always been like this?!)

Getting that Bread by tzitzimeme

Concubine AU where Zhongli is Emperor, Xiao is an assassin sent to kill him while disguised as a woman in his imperial harem, and the only reason he doesn't actually do it is because he pities Zhongli for being so catastrophically stupid (also Xiao falls in love).

Ships: Zhongli/Xiao

Notes: Like Xiao says, Zhongli is an idiot. Fluff and humor filled. Xiao spends a good 95% of this exasperated by Zhongli’s bullshit.

prayers for a boy by Recluse

The only way to reconciliation is fierce combat!

Hm... Come to think of it, there will be a lot of interesting news to be heard the next time we gather for drinks. Filling in the blanks.

Ships: N/A

Notes: I...don’t really know where to begin with this? It’s exactly what the summary implies...but more? I was tempted to describe this as the fic where Zhongli puts his foot in his mouth but...that’s not exactly write? I feel like this was more of a character study. It explores the aftermath of the Osial Incident and how Zhongli and Childe reconnect. Platonically...though I guess it can be read romantically.

one kind of longing, two places of sorrow by lady_peony

Zhongli's hands rest behind his back, both gloved hands clasping one another. His fingers tighten around one another for the merest moment, before he relaxes his grip.

"There is a tradition in Liyue," Zhongli says, his back still to Childe standing behind him, "of inviting out a companion to a last meal before a farewell."

A pause.

"A tradition?" Childe echoes.

"Yes."

"With a companion?"

"Yes."

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: The fic where neither of the two communicate about jackshit but go on a quiet, sad not-date before Childe leaves for Snezhnaya. Childe pulls (? on accident or on purpose, I can not tell) the equivalent of leaving the jacket in the car post-date to get date to call for the second date. Also, the author has a gift for like...writing angst...without writing angst? Like the whole fic is like brimming with everything that the characters aren’t saying but the thoughts aren’t necessarily written out BUT YOU KNOW THOSE DUMBFUCKS ARE JUST LIKE. BRIMMING WITH FEELS?

The People of Liyue by queer_occurrences

But Zhongli whispers, his low voice rooted in the back of Childe’s mind. “Changsun, the merchant, who is never too Mora-enthralled to turn away a needy child. There’s Tiantian—she will allow anyone to join the Adventurer’s Guild—she knows what it is to be desperate.”

Childe ducks away from them and hurries out over the bridge. It’s a warm, sunny day, the kind he would have complained about, whining about his delicate Snezhnayan skin. “It’ll burn, or worse, freckle. Would you still like me if I was freckled?”

Then Zhongli would say, “The people of Liyue will remember your sacrifice.” And he would wrinkle his nose.

Or: after it all goes down, Childe takes a walk.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: The author has a way with perfectly balancing angst with humor in a way that makes you cackle. There’s a lot of feels in this one. Zhongli tries communicating--Childe runs away a lot. There’s a lot of love for Liyue in this one.

cold blooded, warm blooded, hearts all the same by reptilianraven

Teyvat Petting Zoo @tyvtpettingzoo

Well would you look at that! Zhongli, our resident spinytail iguana, has gotten quite cozy with Childe, our new (and very feisty) ginger ferret! Aren’t they adorable all cuddled together like this? 😍😍😍

[Attached image shows a brown spinytail iguana curled up against a ginger ferret. The iguana’s head is nuzzled under the snout of the ferret.]

At the Teyvat Petting Zoo, Zhongli and Childe fall in love.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: ...I promise I’m not weird. This is just super cute. Cross-species love affair? Childe the ferret is very besotted. The internet is confused and the zoo keepers are just done.

a geo archon's guide to the modern era by Erina

“Morax,” Xiao says after Zhongli finishes his retelling of the incident. “He thinks you’re a weirdo.”

“No, don’t say that,” Barbatos snickers. “You’ll give him hope that this is salvageable.” He lowers his voice. “Morax, he thinks you’re a boomer.”

(In which Zhongli hibernates for centuries and wakes up in the modern world)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This took me, I shit you not, FIVE SEPARATE ATTEMPTS to read. Not because it was bad but BECAUSE THE SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT WAS REAL. Like, omg, just reading about Zhongli’s introduction to modernity made me want to dig a hole and die. Super funny though. Do not read in public or you will look like a lunatic. Has a...parallel (?) fic in the same series called buy two get one archon free where Zhongli gets reversed isekai’d into an anime convention.

time flies like an arrow by Erina

He’s tired, tired of the unbreakable loop of watching his loved ones pass on, tired of getting attached only for the connection to be violently ripped away from him. He wonders if the real victors during the Archon War were those who perished, who died long before their godhood turned into a curse that chained them to the land that they were fighting for.

But that is not a problem for Childe to worry about. That is Zhongli’s burden to bear, delivered to him in a pretty package years ago in the form of a gnosis.

His very first contract.

(Zhongli and Childe, across many lifetimes)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This is a quiet fic. It’s this kind of slice-of-life fic colored by this overpowering sense of love and loss as Zhongli remains immortal and Childe dies and lives and dies and lives for hundreds of lifetimes, but always finds his way back to his geo archon. It’s so lovely but also unbearably sad.

Tartaglia’s Favorite Professor by GreyLiliy

The famed hitman Tartaglia of the Fatui Syndicate spends his days as the charming college student Childe. The two lives remain as separate as possible in order to maintain a flawless cover to keep the authorities off his back and to better serve the Tsaritsa.

However, new intel about a rival syndicate intersects his two lives in a way he could never have predicted.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Mafia AU meet College AU. Childe is somehow both a horny AF college student and murderous hitman. Zhongli gives off major DILF vibes. GreyLily somehow makes this work while also avoiding cringe. Highly recommended!

like a handprint on my heart by fallingintodivinity

“Strictly off-the-record,” Jean says, with a small smile, “I’m really happy to see you and Captain Kaeya getting along again, Master Diluc.”

“We’re not – we’re not getting along,” Diluc tells her, indignant. “We’re working together. Unwillingly, I might add.”

“Yes – oh, yes, of course.”

Diluc stares at Jean suspiciously. “Are you laughing at me?”

Jean clears her throat primly. “I would never.”

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: Super, super cute! Sort of reads like a first date fic except genshin impact style? Writing style is very refreshing!

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfic #fanfic rec #rec list #zhongli/childe #childe/zhongli #tartali #chili #diluc./kaeya #luckae #fanfiction #took a while but i have been steadily reading my way through the fandom #still not all my recs #but you can check my ao3 for what i'm reading lmao

99 notes · View notes

akaiamedama · 4 years ago

Text

Of crocodiles and rings and a possible connection to a teased weakness

Crocodile is a guy that is real extra and dresses sharp and loves his bling bling, right? He’s a man of high standards, so of course, he’s gotta wear bling to show that. Other bling loving characters are Capone Bege and Blackbeard for example. All three of them like to show off that bling. Now why do I mention the other two? Coz look at these three bling loving gentlemen, wearing rings on every finger and tell me where the difference lies. I’ll wait.

Exactly!

As opposed to Bege and Blackbeard, Crocodile doesn’t wear a ring on every finger. Obviously he cannot wear 10 rings coz he only got one hand with 5 fingers but he also never wears 5 rings. No, no. This guy, ladies and gentlemen, kinda makes it a point to always leave out one finger and that’s the ring finger. Ha- interesting.

Now, of course this could be mere coincidence. But let’s be realistic here, it’s Oda. He clearly has a reason for it as he’s been true to this detail ever since Crocodile was introduced over a decade ago and the only real question is ‘why’?

Why would Crocodile do that? He clearly loves wearing rings so why not wear them on every finger? Why leave out the ring finger for crying out loud? If one wanted to leave a finger without a ring, one would probably leave out the pinky or the thumb but who puts rings on every finger and leaves out the ring finger? I tell you who.

Crocodile. That’s who.

If you’re one who believes in symbolism and all that stuff, then you’d probably find it interesting that the ring finger symbolises releationships with others especially romantical ones as it is seen closest to the heart and therefore or because of it is the finger a wedding ring is worn on. In most cultures the engagement ring is worn on the right hand and the wedding ring on the left as the right hand is often the ‘physical’ one and has a greater visibility. It’s probably interesting to note that the left hand is considered to represent your character and beliefs. Ha. Interesting that Crocodile is missing that one, huh? Anyhow, in Crocodile’s case left or right hand doesn’t really matter as he only has one left (duh) so an argument can be made that sides don’t matter and the importance lies on the finger itself.

The way it looks right now is that he’s making a statement leaving out the ring finger and there are a few possibilites here. Of course it could be a family ring and he could be from an important family but really, not only would that be a bit to similar to Doflamingo, it would also not make sense to not just replace the family ring on the occations he’s not wearing it. But he never wears a ring on that finger so one can only come to the conclusion that there’s some sentimental thought behind that.

The most logical would be that there is a ring he believes should be on that finger. Either he’s keeping it free for a future event coz he doesn’t have the ring yet (which I doubt) or he’s keeping it free coz technically there already is a ring for the finger. This could be a ring he doesn’t have anymore and regrets it (like he lost it with his left hand or threw it away) or a ring he does have but decides not to wear for his own reasons. Whichever it is, it clearly has such an important value that he doesn’t just covers it up or replaces it.

Now, given the ring finger and it’s symbolism the thought of a wedding ring isn’t too far fetched. We don’t know enough about his past to say that he could never have been married so I think it’s worth looking into.

Let’s just imagine for a second, that the ring missing is indeed a wedding ring, what could that mean?

He could have had a wife but she died and even though he’d technically not be married anymore, people who lost their partner almost always keep their wedding ring as a memento. If they move on, they don’t wear it anymore but they often keep it. This could give another perspective to the ‘wounds’ Daz was referring to after Marineford as he was clearly not talking about Luffy’s physical wounds but about the emotional wounds that came with losing a loved one.

Crocodile could have had a wife but she betrayed him and he took the ring off as to break the relationship and connection. Then the choice to not wear a ring on that finger in the future could serve as a reminder to himself not to trust people, not even those close to you. This could possibly explain his huge trust issues.

However, these two scenarios, while possible, don’t strike me as the most likely simply due to the two following scenes:

“If you want to protect something, do it right!!”

This could be totally random and only refer to the moment at hand but it could also indicate that he knows a thing or two about how to successfully protect someone. Which leads us to the infamous

“I know one of his weaknesses ...!! But if he cooperates with us ... then I won’t say anything about it!!”

Think about it, the biggest weakness ANY pirate of Crocodiles caliber could have is a loved one or people they care about and their identity and location to be known by the public or enemies (marines, pirates etc.) because no matter how powerful a pirate you are, if information like that was to spread and reach the wrong ears, this could have catastrophic consequences for you and the people you care about. It’s used over and over in OP stories like when the marines hunted down Gol D. Rogers offspring and slaughtered all newborn who could potentially have been Roger’s child or when the marines swore to kill Luffy for being Dragon’s son or when Zeff was used as leverage to force Sanji to comply. I doubt anyone knows Usopp is Yasopp’s son or that he had a woman and child in Syrup village otherwise someone would have probably attacked them to get back at Yasopp. Maybe that’s one of the reasons he left them. As to protect them.

Ivankov and Croc met years ago when Croc was still considered a rookie, so in his early/mid twenties. If there is indeed a ring to that finger and the person is still alive, Ivankov could know her identity or location and this could totally be the weakness Ivankov was refering to. Of course this only works if the person is still alive.

Now I know, you’re probably scratching your head, thinking I might be a bit nuts going this direction considering it’s Crocodile we’re talking about but really, think about it. His choice of jewelry is mega weird so what could be the reaaon for it? Also it’s hardly the weirdest theory out there (looking at you femCroc theorists).

This would also tie in neatly with why he decided to have his Baroque agents working in teams of two with male/female. I mean, unlike other characters, he clearly doesn't seem to see women as the weaker sex and him having his agents work in pairs has to be grounded somewhere. Maybe he was raised like that and his parents where a good example of how well men and women complement each other or maybe he made the experience himself. If so, I tend to think that he wasn't betrayed by the woman... or maybe he was and that's one of the reasons why he was so paranoid and basically expected Robin to betray him. All possible, really.

It’s also apparent that Oda incorporates marriages a lot more often nowadays than he did in the early years of One Piece. Mr 9 and Mrs Mondey got married on a cover page and have a baby, Capone got married and his henchman Gotty married too, Sai and Baby 5 married, Sanji and Pudding were meant to marry and let’s not forget poor Senior Pink’s backstory.

Last but not least, I’d like to point out a seemingly random fan question Oda answered in an SBS which seems just kinda odd once you consider everything I said above.

Now the question focuses on “they never had a child” and “I wonder what faces their children would have”, yet Oda starts with “They’ve been to weddings before ...” ... WOW. Really? Why would he say that? XD No one even asked about weddings. Funny. So they’ve been to weddings, huh? As what? Guests? Grooms? You know? It doesn’t seem to mean anything but if you consider Crocodile’s rings and such imo it’s just a weird thing to say. Then the mysterious “I wouldn’t say whether they had children or not ...” .....

Note: Especially during Alabasta Oda often forgets to draw Croc’s rings at all or accidentally leaves out the wrong finger but he is consistent with the rings since Impel Down. He still forgets them from time to time but he doesn’t switch the fingers anymore so one could reason that he had a vague idea of Crocodile’s reasons behind the rings when he introduced him but only solidified it or gave it more details once Croc showed back up. The anime and games however often just leave out the wrong ring probably thinking that it doesn’t matter.

#one piece #sir crocodile #crocodile #eiichiro oda #one piece theory #crocodile theory #wani yarou #crocoboy

190 notes · View notes

sushiburritonoms · 3 years ago

Text

I've been having terrible writer's block lately, not enjoying anything I've written, not getting anywhere with WIPs. Poor @darkisrising and @bronze-lorica have had to talk me off edges lately (thanks guys you're the best!). I think I finally have a chapter 3 for Sacred Texts but I'm sitting on it for a while to see if that's the direction I really want to go. I'm soooo sorry for the delay.

In the meantime I was looking through my notes for The Father the Son and the Exile and I found a bunch of scenes I wrote and abandoned as the fic moved in different directions. I figured I'd post some of them because they'll never see the light of day otherwise and because I have nothing else to offer right now.

Originally in Exile, Din and Luke were supposed to make it to Tython. I had them meeting up with Han AND Leia on the planet Ajan Kloss (its the planet Luke and Leia train on in TROS). Its interesting looking back at this, Din and Luke have a different dynamic since I wrote this a long time ago back in March when the story was going in a different direction (I also wrote an homage to one of Writer Owl's fics in the dialogue). I enjoy playful Luke, I don't really write him that often and that's a real shame. Anyways here's wonder wall, enjoy!

Ajan Kloss was a swampy humid hellhole of a planet that no rational, sentient being should visit, let alone enjoy. Of course that meant that Grogu and Luke were comfortable in the sticky humid environment. In fact there was a rare smile stretched across Luke's face and he sounded almost nostalgic as he talked around their campfire.

“There’s a certain type of moss that grows on the trees here that’s edible.”

Din refused to look up at Luke from where he was cleaning their meal. “I’m not drinking any tea you make out of it.”

“It’s more of a garnish?”

Din sighed. “Don’t touch my fish.” He forcefully stuck a stick lengthwise through the fish as an emphasis.

“Grogu should really have more vegetation in his diet. Master Yoda used to eat plants.”

Din snorted. “You’re welcome to try.” It wasn’t like the kid never ate vegetables but they were always fried and covered in spices. That probably wasn’t what Luke was getting at.

“Maybe later. He did eat two whole frogs.” Luke edged himself closer to the fire. “Maybe after this we could swing by Dagobah. You know, assuming we’re not about to trigger some sort of sneak attack or trap. There are tubers I could dig up for him that Master Yoda ate, plus I could pick up more gnarltree bark.”

Din blinked and raised his head up to properly look at Luke. He knew what Luke was doing. He was trying to distract himself with thoughts of the future. It was a tactic Din often used himself--strategize every possible outcome in the hopes the future won’t be as terrifying as it feels.

On the one hand, he was amused and touched by Luke’s continued fixation on Grogu’s eating habits, even if it was hypocritical of Luke given his own poor diet. It reminded Din of some of the older members of the Covert that used to watch Din when he was little. They always used to harass him to eat everything offered to him and gave him sharp nudges when he tried to skip directly to the occasional sweet treat left out for all the foundlings to share. It was very Mandalorian of Skywalker and it felt good. Familiar.

On the other hand, Din really, really didn’t want any more tree bark in the Wayfinder. So Din didn’t really know what to say.

“Hold this.” Din shoved a fish skewer into Luke’s hand. Yeah that worked.

Luke took the skewer with a hint of a smile. “Master Yoda used to eat certain mushrooms too, I think I can safely identify them. Or maybe I could put together an aquarium in the Wayfinder and we could take more frogs with us. I bet I can repurpose one of the smaller cloning cylinders I have in the back and add a filtration system...”

Din shuddered at the thought of living with a cloning vat filled with frogs and the likelihood of frogs, moss and tree bark for dinner several nights a week. Just no. “This is why our people are ancient enemies,” he shuddered. “You live like animals.”

There was silence. Too long of a silence. Din looked up.

Luke was staring at him with a shocked look on his face. “Our people are ancient enemies?” He whispered.

Ah kriff. Din winced. “So I’ve heard.”

“....Oh.” Luke looked crushed. “Nobody told--well. There’s a lot nobody told me,” he sighed. “About being a Jedi.”

Damn damn damn. Din wanted to throw his hands up in the sky.

“I guess that makes sense,” Luke mumbled. He was fiddling with the fish skewer in his hands. “All the other Mandalorians I’ve ever met have tried to capture or kill me. I thought it was just the Bounty…”

“I’m not like other Mandalorians.” Din interrupted, desperate to turn the conversation. It was technically true, probably just not in a way that helped their relationship. Er--their partnership? Their--whatever this was.

“I mean I like you…”

Din froze. What.

“You’re really good at fishing and Grogu loves you. I’d hate to have to kill you.”

Din’s heart restarted in his chest again. Was Luke...messing with him? “You wouldn’t leave a mark.”

Luke blinked up at him innocently and fluttered his damn eyelashes. “I could totally kill you in your sleep.”

The little shit! “I’ll poison your tea.”

“It’s pretty much already poison. I’m immune.”

Heh, true. “Your fish then.”

“I’ll just go grab a frog.”

“You’re staying here and eating my damn fish!”

Luke burst out into sudden loud laughter. It was like a sudden fierce rainstorm in the way it showered over the camp. It startled Grogu, who had been ignoring both of them in favor of playing with some shiny rocks nearby. He tilted his head and then matched Luke’s laughter with a baby chuckle of his own.

“Sorry! I think it's just my nerves talking but that just sounded wrong and so funny--”

Din just shook his head. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what had set Luke off but he didn’t care. “Crazy Jedi.”

“Trigger happy Mandalorian.” Luke gave him a giant smile. “Hurry up and finish this.” He gave Din back the fish skewer and chuckled again. Despite his comment about his nerves, Luke’s shoulders were relaxed and his legs were spread out comfortably by the fire. Din could stare at his lopsided smile all evening, especially as the sun set and the fire highlighted the delight in his eyes. The sun shone through the lighter parts of Luke’s shaggy long hair. It was now untied from the neat bun it had started in and looked soft and golden in the light.

Stars above help him. Luke was beautiful. Din was tired of denying the thought. He wanted to touch Luke’s face with his bare hands, run his fingers through his hair and that was terrifying. He hadn’t wanted to take off his armor for anyone, besides Grogu, in ages. Maybe with Omera...but this was much different. The feelings he’d had for her were a momentary weakness compared to the colossally bad idea this was to develop an attraction for this damaged Jedi. Din had no idea what tomorrow was going to bring. Even if nothing happened, there was the uncertainty of the next day and the next to worry about. Luke was a marked man and every day there was a chance something could take him out. Take him away. The thought burned in him like a chemical fire inside a reactor. Caged deep inside of him, destructive it released, and burning with an intensity greater than Din could stand.

This was why he never got involved with people before he found Grogu. He didn’t know what to do with the intensity of his feelings and how to fit them into his unpredictable life.

“Din?” Luke’s smile fell slightly. “You ok?”

“..Yeah.” Din did what he always did. He pushed his feelings away and tried to focus on the present. What had they been talking about? Food. He sat and thought for a moment. Maybe...

“I have a contact on Tatooine, from a rural town few people have heard of. Mos Epsa.”

“Mos Eps--I thought that was wiped from the planet years ago.” Luke looked impressed.

“It’s still there.” Din handed Luke a cooked fish skewer and settled back with his own. “We could go there, for a while. We’d be safe. I’m assuming we can both eat Tatooine food.”

Luke picked at his fish. “I do miss blue milk.”

Good. “I’ll add it to the list.”

Luke chuckled. “You have a list?”

“Of safe planets we can stop at. We should have alternatives to the drop pods and not be reliant on the New Republic. My list is probably different from yours so we have more options.” Din stabbed his fish a little harder with his skewer to make his opinion of Luke’s employers known.

The smile on Luke’s face got impossibly wider. “That makes sense...Thank you.”

Din grunted. The smile on Luke’s face was too distracting. Instead he looked down at his food. Oh. Right. Damn.

Luke made the exact realization at the same time. “Sorry! I forgot, I can go back to the ship--”

“Shut up and sit down, Jetti.” Din shook his head. He only hesitated for a half second before he reached up to his helmet and unlatched it. He opened it wide enough to take a bite.

“Or you could do that. Of course.” Luke babbled. He turned his head so he wasn’t looking at Din. Which was sweet. But also meant he wasn’t looking at his food.

“Eat.” Din growled. “All of it.” How was it this hard to feed a grown adult? Grogu gave him less trouble. Gods help Skywalker, Din was about to channel some of the fiercest warriors he knew to get him to eat more.

Luke gave him a mock solute. “Yes sir.”

Din began to reach for his sidearm.

Luke responded with a rather unnecessarily dainty bite of fish.

Din began to unhook his blaster.

Luke nibbled at one edge of a fin.

The blaster powered up.

Luke kriffing licked his fish.

“That’s disgusting.” Din gave up. He couldn’t help it--he chuckled as he powered down his blaster.

“Yeah it is,” Luke stuck his tongue out. “Fish is gross.”

“I thought you said you’d eat anything.”

“I do. I don’t have to like it. I didn’t grow up eating fish, it’s both slimy and spikey at the same time.”

“You eat frogs.”

“You can eat a small frog in one bite! I’ve gotten fish bones stuck in my throat.”

“You’re not supposed to eat the bones.”

“Nobody told me that the first time. What part of ‘raised on a desert planet’ does no one understand?”

“You’re an idiot.”

Luke sat back. “I’m done now, mom. May I go now?”

Din sighed. “No.” He held out another fish skewer.

“You got to be kidding me.”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“How hard is the har--YIKES! NO! LETGO! ARGHHH!!!!!”

‘Yup’, Din thought to himself as he held the struggling, still too skinny, Jedi in a headlock. He had it bad and he was going to regret this.

Tomorrow. He’ll regret it tomorrow.

“DJARIN LET ME GO NOW OR YOU’RE GOING IN THE SWAMP!”

Here’s hoping the desert boy could swim.

#Still bummed I never used any of this #Luke the frog eater #lives on a diet of moss leaves and swamp dew #Luke was actually less damaged in this version wtf sb #I made it gayer but also angstier #I miss the exile universe so much #may the writers block end and the words flow soon #have i posted this already?#I feel like I have argh idk #I still like it #The Father the Son and the Exile #sb fics

23 notes · View notes

peach-the-owl · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Hope you are having a great month! If possible can I make a request with a Godling (Godlings from The Witcher) Reader who travel with the Mighty Nein. How would having such a 'powerful' being (child-like) effect their relationship. Also, just as a guilty pleasure how would Lucien react to them-knowing their 'other' self raised/cared for them?

Since there isn’t much seen about godlings a few things will probably be a little more on the headcanon-y side of what I think they’re capable of. Hope you all enjoy regardless 😁

Godlings

Mighty Nein & Godling!Reader

Jester

Her childlike nature was what originally drew your attention to her, enjoying the little pranks she’d pull on unsuspecting folks you watched from a distance at first but drew in curiouser by the day. You were first discovered by the archfey that lingered near her who also liked to stay hidden, making a few rude comments when he practically shoved you into the open for her to see. When you got to know her better, you and Jester spent a lot of time singing songs together or causing absolute chaos, although you certainly were no follower to the "Traveler" and didn’t plan on it anytime soon. You were her new secret friend, always hiding yourself when another member of her party would come along. When you grew comfortable enough you finally decided you would join your friend on her adventures, much to Jester's delight. Everyone else was surprised by your sudden presence in the group, little was known to them about godlings aside from normally living in burrows, you argued that you were just a bird of a different feather.

Nott/Veth

The goblin reeked of an old crone's curse, you making that statement very clear when you hobble out of your burrow, scaring a few people in the group which you appropriately laughed at. At first they thought you could help break the curse on Nott, and while you did have means of breaking curses, this one in particular was cleverly crafted making it near impossible to break aside from the crone who placed it. You agreed to help them locate the witch seeing as you had nothing better to do and they promised food. Nott found you to be quite adorable with those big eyes and tended to be very motherly around you, now you could argue that you were much older then her but you weren’t going to pass up on this kind of free affection. When the curse was lifted you still decided to stick around wanting to see what all this trouble had been about. Newly freed from her curse, Veth still acted as a motherly figure towards you as she had before, and honestly you rather liked it sticking with her and blessing that good life be given to her family.

Caleb

Godlings were secretive and shy by nature yet kind and helpful so long as you gain their trust or you’ve peaked their interest, and Caleb was a very interesting man to you being almost as secretive as you were. When you made your presence known he was shocked to see such a rare being of once presumable myth approach him, but he also didn’t want to lose an opportunity to learn about your kind in more detail. You made a deal, you'd come along with him and he'd get to know everything he wanted about your kind so long as you got to learn more about him and play with the friendly little kitty he had with him. You were a lot more mature then Caleb expected hearing how godlings normally enjoy mischief and merriment, you told him you did like doing all those things but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be serious too. He learned more about you just by watching you interact with everything around you over you simply telling him different facts about yourself, and grew to really appreciate you more because of it. You grew appreciation and learned a lot about him through his interactions too, the stories he told did help some for context on certain things but you much preferred this visual over verbal learning.

Caduceus

You'd been a guardian for the Clay family and their home for generations, providing protection and care where you could, being given food and tools for your burrow as thanks by them. They were respectable folk, caring for the nature of the woods as much as you did. When the strange blight started plaguing your wooded home you did everything in your power to help push it back, but there was something unnatural about it that even you couldn’t hold it off forever. It got so bad that it overtook your burrow, forcing you out, thankfully the Clays were happy to house you, so while most of them left in search of a cure you stayed back with Caduceus still doing what you could to try taming or at least keeping back the plague. When adventurers came along you acted on the defence at first, being calmed by Caduceus to get a better grip of the situation. They were all surprised to see such a rare and normally secretive being like yourself be so comfortable and open once you'd dropped the defensive act, even more so when you asked if you could join them on their travels. Your home needed help, but it certainly wasn’t going to get any if you just sat there and did nothing, you managed to slow the growth of the strange blight hoping it’ll grant enough time for you to locate the cure you needed.

Fjord

Godlings were known to live in more wooded or boggy areas so finding one living by the sea was a rarer sight then your kind themselves were. You liked the sounds of the waves they were calming and you had many pretty seashells to do with as you wished. When you first met Fjord it was because he mistook your sandy burrow as an animals den, boy was he wrong and the reaction he had when you popped out scaring the daylights out of him was priceless. You smelled great opportunity for mischief from this, popping out of nowhere to scare the poor half-orc when he least expected it until one time when you had you realized the ship you snuck onto to scare him was now sailing across the sea, meaning you were now stuck here. Sure you knew how to swim but you had limits to yourself and would never be able to find your way back to shore. With less places to hide you were almost forced to interact with the crew, which Fjord learned made you rather uncomfortable but since you didn’t mind his presence he decided to pull you off to the side and have a privet conversation. Through this conversation you learned a little more about Fjord and started to grow respect for the guy, promising to stop scaring him so much, but not completely give up on it much to his dismay.

Beau

The Cobalt Soul had research on all sorts of creatures and different species that lived throughout all of Exandria, one of the few things they had little to no information on however were the rare and elusive creatures called godlings. They were beings said to have great power but were usual docile unless provoked, they were so rare some thought them to be only creatures of myth. Beau herself used to think nothing much of them until they were assigned to investigate a home that was "haunted" where she met you. Seeing your big bright eyes and pale blue skin was enough for her to see that you were in fact no myth but the real deal. Itching to get more information and payment for ridding the house of its "ghost" problem Beau was determined to befriend you, problem was she could be a bit aggressive and you were a bit more shy then she’d like. However with enough time and patients she was eventually able to lure you out and convince you to leave the home, promising if you came with her she’d be all the protection you’d need. You still didn’t fully trust her but you liked her confident attitude and her more childish side when she was willing to show it.

Yasha

Big, tough and silent, to you the woman was very intimidating, but she was picking the flowers all wrong so you’d have to suck it up and confront her about it. You march your way over to her and freeze when she turns to look at you, she looked confused by your appearance perhaps she didn’t know what you were but what did that matter right now. You start to scold her over her flower picking and to your surprise she apologizes, offering you one as a sorry, you puff out your cheeks and decline telling her that it was sloppily picked, and if she really wanted to say sorry she’d need to learn how to pluck flowers properly next time. To make sure she wouldn’t ruin the poor flowers again you show her the proper procedure to plucking them, when you were done she offered you a daisy, this one having been picked properly you accept and watch as she leaves. You lived life as normal only to one day see the same woman had returned she looked saddened as she plucked up some flowers, you carefully make your way over seeing she was using the technique you taught her. You sit in front of her and just watch until she finally notices you, you first saw recognition for in her eyes, guess she remembered you, but past that you could see pain, like she’d just lost someone important to her. Now that you thought about it she had a similar look to herself when you first met but this was different, it was recent. You pluck up and offer her a forget-me-not which she slowly takes from you and stores away into a little book, the two of you sit there in a silence of understanding before she eventually leaves again, you never even knew her name.

Molly

He discovered you on accident when the circus set up their show tent right over your burrow and you relentlessly caused problems for them. He felt bad for ruining your home so he asked if you’d like to come run away with the circus instead. You were hesitant at first, but his childish nature was oddly alluring and you’d fit right in with all the other crazy colourful characters so you figured why not. He didn’t quite know what you were and he didn’t really care, the two of you enjoying yourselves and causing mischief wherever you went. When the circus disbanded you were saddened because this was now the second home you lost although this group of adventurers were quite the delight in and of themselves. Still all good things come to an end, and losing Molly was the last straw, not only did these Iron Shepherds take away your friend but they kidnapped innocents and one of them actually ate children. All this infuriated you, and once those who had been enslaved were free people saw just how terrifyingly powerful an angered godling could be when the Sour Nest was reduced to nothing but rubble in the blink of an eye.

Bonus:

Lucien

He was almost jealous that the imposter inhabiting his body at the time had befriended such a powerful and mysterious creature. Knowledge on your kind was almost nonexistent, even the Somnovem had little information, this furthered Lucien’s curiosity and uncertainty. He knew his limits but not yours and from what he’d heard this group you were with talk about you could turn from docile to very dangerous if pushed the wrong way. This could spell bad news for his plans if what they said was true, but could also be a useful asset if on his side. Now all he had to do was figure out how to regain your favour…

41 notes · View notes

maxwell-grant · 4 years ago

Note

Can we talk about the Black Bat both in general, and and how he may have been an influence on two superheroes (Dr. Mid-Nite and Daredevil) and a supervillain (Two-Face), but was proven in a court of law to have no connection with the superhero who immediately comes to mind (Batman).

Having finally read a couple of his original stories and runs, yeah I got some thoughts on him.

While not the first bat-themed pulp character, nor the first fictional detective with a disability turned superpower (that would be Max Carrados, who actually was blind), Black Bat’s main claim to fame nowadays is his correlation to superheroes with the mixed traits he has that would all become massively popularized by characters who debuted afterwards. Regarding the Batman lawsuit, it wasn’t so much proven that they have no connection, as much as the publishers of both characters argued they did it first, and then agreed to stay out of each other’s territory, with Batman staying out of pulp magazines and The Black Bat staying out of comics (not that it would stop his publishers from rebranding him as “The Mask” and doing comics).

Black Bat actually couldn’t have inspired Batman, because Batman debuted 4 months prior. Plus, both were already ripping off the same guy, and both of them were far from the first bat-themed pulp characters at the time. And the idea that he inspired Daredevil I find too much of a reach. Dr Mid-Nite I can definitely see the resemblance, and while Two-Face doesn’t have much similarities to Tony Quinn past the origin and the anti-hero aspects, “handsome crusading District Attorney disfigured after getting splashed in the face by acid goes on a rampage” is not exactly vague enough of a concept to pass for coincidence. Two-Face debuted just 3 years after Black Bat, while Bat was still a pretty successful character (he managed to outlast nearly every other pulp hero), so it’s very possible that Kane and Finger had a look at Black Bat’s origin and used it as the basis for their Jekyll & Hyde-themed villain.

Okay so, that’s that for Black Bat, but what’s the character actually like? What’s there to him other than historical oddities? Does he have what it takes to survive and thrive again in a modern landscape?

The thing that sticks out to me about Black Bat is that he is a pulp character who feels like he was designed specifically with the arrival of the superheroes in mind, as when comic book superheroes began to carve a space for themselves, one of the responses the pulps had was to put out new heroes intended to be a part of both worlds, hybrids of pulp heroes and superheroes who could try to capture success in either format, characters like Ka-Zar and Black Hood who started in one and then jumped to the other.

Black Bat’s got a lot of the usual hallmarks of dark detective pulp heroes and his adventures are largely him battling ordinary criminal masterminds and gangsters, but he’s got an iconic costume, he’s got a super dramatic origin story that the stories keep coming back to (unlike most pulp heroes whose origin stories are not usually mentioned), and he’s got superpowers brought in the aftermath of a tragic accident. Not just skills anyone can have by training hard enough, actual superpowers, even if they don’t see as much usage as his pulp hero skillset.

To the world that knew about him, Anthony Quinn, once a virile, upstanding representative of law forces whose name had held terror for evil doers, was now an impotent blind man whose sight had been permanently destroyed by acid thrown at him in a crowded courtroom, and whose face was horribly scarred about the eyes. For a long time he had seemed to live in a world apart.

Such actually had been the case during the long months when Tony Quinn had lived in a sea of blackness. But Nature had been as kind as possible, giving him something in return for what had been taken from him. As a result he had since realized that his senses of feel, smell, and hearing were far more acute than formerly. Under his sensitive fingers whatever he touched had begun to tell strange new stories. His sense of smell had sharpened. His ears had become the ears of a hound, picking up with ease and sifting multitudinous sounds that once had been inaudible.

More months had gone by until, in the darkness of a lonely night, a girl with golden hair and blue eyes hadcome in through an open window like an angel out of nowhere to offer him hope where eye specialists had said there was no hope. Through a delicate operation by an unknown small town surgeon the corneas of the eyes of Carol Baldwin's policeman father - dying from paralysis brought on by a gangster bullet - had been given to him. An extraordinary thing had occurred. When at last Tony Quinn had been allowed to remove the bandages, he had been astounded by the miracle that had happened. His were the eyes of darkness as well as the eyes of day!

Interestingly also, Black Bat actually became one of the most prolific of pulp heroes when brought over to Germany. When German publishers Pabel decided to reprint a couple of Black Bat novels for the KRIMINAL-ROMAN serial, they discovered “Die Schwarzen Fledermaus” was somehow so popular that in 1962, they retitled it Fledermaus (Bat) and ran with it, reprinting all the original 60+ stories and then, when those ran out, creating 900 more at least. In fact, it seems like they are still publishing Black Bat stories even today, and now that he’s public domain it’s something just about anyone could get into.

Problem with that is, it’s not easy to conceive of The Black Bat having any kind of substantial popularity again, when he’s doomed by design to always be compared to Batman, to always just be seen as first glance as “oh it’s earless Batman with Daredevil’s shtick and Two-Face’s backstory”, and of course he doesn’t have a chance in hell of playing catch-up to the popularity of those characters (well, at least outside of Germany). Whatever niche he could have as an alternative to Batman is also null by the fact that said niche of Not-Batmen is already filled out quite extensively. He doesn’t have an incredibly strong personality the way Batman and The Shadow do, nor is he, despite being ostensibly a serial killer, enough of a trigger-happy anti-hero to latch on to the appeal of characters like The Spider or Punisher. The latest Black Bat comic run by Dynamite played up his ruthlessness, outlaw status and drew him on the covers perpetually holding guns and often with a big creepy smile. But smiling murder pulp Batman is already a niche that Midnighter fills considerably better than Black Bat ever could. So what’s left for him?

If I had to find a unique niche for Black Bat, I’d play his unique traits in ways that separate him from the super characters that ran with those later. I’d ditch the whole “oh woe is me I’m poor and helpless because I’m blind” shtick that’s terribly condescending to actually blind people, and make him at least truly blind in some form. Maybe he’s blind by day and by night he sees too much, or maybe his vision has some terrible secrets that go beyond mere enhanced eyesight. Maybe his powers are growing and expanding in ways he doesn’t know where they will lead him. But alongside that, one take on the character could be based on the fact that he really has nothing to lose. He is not Batman, he is not The Shadow, he isn’t Daredevil, he’s got little reputation to speak of, and he’s never going to be any of those characters.

He’s lost the position he’s coveted his whole life, he’s lost the respect of his peers, his former professional ethics don’t mean shit now, he’s had a long and painful brush with darkness that scarred him for life in ways both literal and metaphorical, and in the aftermath he’s begun spontaneously developing abilities that would be incredibly painful and uncomfortable for an average person to just develop without years of growing up with them. And then, a mysterious woman walked through his window one day, gave him the eyes of a dead man, and now he sees things in ways no person was ever supposed to, and now he goes around at night terrorizing and killing criminals in an animal-themed costume.

The most he has to lose currently is the life of his sidekicks who’ve worked very hard to help him heal and focus and find a new purpose, which only means that they are on the chopping block everytime you wanna give a gut punch to Tony Quinn. And no matter how famous, or even great, his adventures are, or how prolific and successful he is or even has been, he’s always going to be the Bat-themed superhero who couldn’t cut it. He’s Not-Batman, stripped of all the grand splendour and allmighty self righteousness and reputation and role as foundational figure of an entire genre and most popular bestest superhero of all time ever praise be thy Bat God, sharing more traits with one of Batman’s most personal and tragic villains than the titular character.

That’s not an indictment, that just means that Black Bat ultimately should have more narrative freedom, since he is unburdened by reputation and status. He is a public domain nobody best known by his association with characters who eclipse him in popularity, who’s always going to have that accursed Bat prefix and costume to damn him by association, so why not work with it? He could be the character you go into to tell stories that you couldn’t tell with Batman or other big name superheroes, the grimiest, sickest, even weirdest crime tales of all. What does the Black Bat have to lose?

Those who have nothing to lose stand everything to gain, after all.

Also, Masks 2 once presented an alternative version of the character called The Black Bats, who dresses like a baseball player and dual-wields baseball bats, which is nutty and I’d definitely prefer Black Bat to ditch the generic pulp hero guns and instead just go crazy batting everything in his way.

“I gotta tell ya, this is pretty terrific! Hahahahah, yeah!”

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #the black bat #tony quinn #batman #two-face

27 notes · View notes

emilyofjane · 4 years ago

Text

Why the Disney Princesses definitely need therapy: a Hot Take

Snow White

Losing her parents as a child and having to learn to take care of herself at a very young age (Snow White is 14 in the movie, and judging by her work ethic, she appears to at least have some experience with living independently before moving in with the 7 dwarves)

Lack of socialization due to isolation

Depression due to isolation and loneliness. This makes the whole “Someday My Prince Will Come” thing much more believable, because Snow White really isn’t in any sort of immediate danger and doesn’t need “saving” or whatever; she’s just tired of being alone and wants human companionship. (And tbh who can blame her? The poor girl’s literally talking to birds and moved in with the first group of humanoid creatures she could find ffs)

This one’s a bit of a stretch, but I’m pretty sure Snow White would also have an unhealthy fear of strangers and/or an irrational fear of being poisoned after the whole apple fiasco

Cinderella

Being raised in an abusive home environment for most (if not virtually all) of her life

The complete lack of positive social interaction throughout her life has probably led to problems with social withdrawal and isolation at some point, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she has repressed symptoms of chronic depression due to loneliness.

Her closest emotional confidants are literally two talking mice, and that just screams “My only friends are animals because their love is unconditional I’ve been invalidated and unloved by every human being in my life” (aka extreme emotional neglect)

She probably has tons of questions about her biological parents that were never answerd because, again, her stepfamily hated her, which would obviously lead to some emotional baggage

If we consider Cinderella III: A Twist in Time to be the new canon, she definitely has some unresolved PTSD from her near-death experience (the “almost getting crushed to death in the carriage because it was transforming back into a pumpkin” scene)

Aurora

Existential crisis because the three fairy godmothers basically rewrote her entire identity as “Rose” and hid the fact that she was a princess

Never knowing who her real parents were as a child, leading to emotional baggage similar to that of Cinderella and Snow White mentioned above

Either the emotional burden of having to make up for 16+ years of lost time with her biological family, or the grief of losing her biological family without ever getting the chance to know them (idk whether Aurora actually got to meet her parents by the end of the movie or if they died before she woke up, because I don’t remember exactly how much time had passed while she was in the coma)

Speaking of the spindle prick-induced magical coma (which is a really long-winded and inefficient way to kill someone honestly, idk what Melificent was thinking), Aurora also has to deal with the emotional burden of how much time has passed while she was in a coma, which would only further feed into the existential crisis and emotional trauma in bullet points 1 and 3.

(Also, off the record, but Aurora’s entire life post-movie is just a hot fucking mess and she really deserves a second movie exploring that concept imo. I know that Sleeping Beauty has already gotten a live-action villain spinoff, but the story of Aurora herself really deserves to be reexamined under a modern lens also. Aurora is easily one of the most overlooked Disney princesses and tbh she deserves more love.)

Belle (feat. the expanded lore from the live-action movie)

Witnessing her mother die from the plague in their own home

Being forceed to move from the more culturally progressive city of Paris to the unnamed “poor provential town” in the movie, where she is clearly the odd one out and is subject to gender inequality on a daily basis (in the form of being publically shamed and socially ostacized for being an educated woman)

Being regularly sexually harassed by Gaston, which is further exacerbated by the villagers and their close-mindedness. Not only is Gaston’s behavior enabled and encouraged by the villagers, but they even go so far as to idolize Gaston — as shown during his namesake song — despite his obviously predatory actions, simply because he is a cishet white man that they find conventionally attractive

Watching her father get arrested despite being 100% innocent...TWICE

Also being arrested when her father is wrongly convicted a second time, by none other than her abuser

Watching her lover — who besides her parents was the first person in her life who truly loved her and respected her intellect despite being a woman — nearly die in her arms, as well as everyone else in the castle (who ALSO respected her regardless of her gender) nearly die at the same exact time.

...And you know, Stockholm Syndrome or whatever. (But tbh, given how everyone in the castle was very kind and respectful and how the Beast was a tsundere at best, Belle would probably suffer far more from PTSD brought upon by Gaston and her previous environment than from “Stockholm Syndrome” in a castle where everyone actually treated her like a normal fucking human being. Unpopular opinion I know but as a sexual assault survivor this is literally a hill I will die on.)

Jasmine

I’ve actually never watched Aladdin all the way through, so unfortunately I can’t give a full analysis of Jasmine’s conflicts...but I have seen that gif of her saying “I am not a prize to be won” and that just screams “I’ve suffered a lifetime of female objectification and gender inequality despite my social status, and not even in the highest position of authority possible am I allowed to have a voice” and idk about you but that is really fucked up man

Ariel

PTSD from being manipulated by Ursula to give up her voice and nearly losing everything (both her previous life in the ocean and the promise of a new life on land with her love interest) because of it

Near-death experience from *vague hand gesture to whatever the fuck that was at the end of the movie*

Inevitable depression from abandoning the only home she’s ever known (the ocean) and leaving her friends and family behind

She’ll probably also need some form of behavioral therapy to help her adjust to her new home on land, whose culture is still extremely foreign to her — and maybe even additional therapy for social anxiety, given how her first 3 days of human interaction were so mortifyingly embarrassing that she’ll probably be laying wide awake at 3 AM and thinking “oh my god I can’t believe I looked Eric’s parents dead in the eyes and brushed my hair with a dinner fork” for the next 10 years.

Tiana

PTSD from literally being turned into a frog

Overworking herself to the point of near burnout, and being unable to fully live out her prime adult years because of said burnout

Constantly dealing with shitty customers, bosses, and other white-collared people disrespecting her and treating her as subhuman because of her career choice, which is unfortunately a common shared experience among restaurant workers and those who work hourly wages

Since this movie takes place in the United States presumably before the 1960’s, it’s probably safe to assume that Tiana also probably had to deal with segregation, Jim Crow laws, and other forms of racism off-screen on a daily basis, which would obviously take a toll on her mental well-being and further exacerbate the issues mentioned in #3

Grief from losing her dad, which has likely been repressed due to her workaholic tendencies denying her the ability to properly take the time to mourn

I don’t even know what to categorize the whole witch doctor shenanigans as, I just know that she and Naveen are both going to need some SERIOUS therapy after going through all that shit

Rapunzel

Being raised in an emotionally abusive and controlling environment for her entire life

Being completely isolated for 18 years with no social interaction whatsoever with anyone except her own abuser

Existential/identity crisis from discovering that she’s actually a princess, that her “mom” was actually the one who kidnapped her as a baby and tried to cut her hair, and that everything she knew about herself and the world she lived in was essentially a lie to keep her obedient to Gothel

Near-death experience (the drowning scene)

Internalized fear and mistrust in strangers — and quite possibly in people in general — due to Gothel’s lifelong warnings that people in the outside world would only want to take advantage of her

Watching the woman who raised her MERCILESSLY STAB THE ONLY OTHER PERSON SHE EVER KNEW AND LOVED IN THE GODDAMN CHEST

Watching the woman who raised her LITERALLY CRUMBLE TO DUST IN FRONT OF HER VERY EYES

WATCHING FLYNN, THE ONLY OTHER PERSON SHE EVER KNEW AND LOVED BESIDES HER GODDAMN ABUSER, FUCKING DIE RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER before she miraculously healed him

Because Flynn’s revival was such an uncanny revival that not even Rapunzel knew how she did it, she obviously thought he was gone for good...and since Gothel was gone also, there must’ve been at least a split second before she healed Flynn where, for the first time in her entire life, she was completely and utterly alone. That alone deserves to be a bullet point because holy shit

I’m not even going to get into Tangled: the Series man this list is getting too long as it is

Elsa

Losing her parents at a young age

Abandonment and isolation issues (mostly self-inflicted due to her own fear of hurting others, see #3)

Internalized fear and self-doubt of her powers — and, by extension, fear and self-doubt in herself

Guilt from nearly plunging Arendelle into an eternal winter

Guilt from almost losing her sister (twice!) due to her own direct actions

(Coinciding with #3) Guilt from isolating herself from her sister to protect her, only to nearly get her killed by the very thing she was trying to protect her from

Anxiety. Just lots and lots of general anxiety.

(Omitting Frozen 2 for Elsa because I haven’t seen it yet and this list is getting too long)

Anna

Also losing her parents at a young age

Abandonment and isolation issues, but hers are moreso due to Elsa “shutting her out” as a kid and having no one else her age in the castle to interact with

Lack of socialization in general for much of her childhood, as well as any social anxieties/lack of social knowledge and etiquette/etc. that would come with it

Abusive relationship with Hans (I know it was only one day, but holy fuck that was a trainwreck. What Hans did to Anna is a literal breeding ground for PTSD and trauma)

Coming to terms with the fact that the trolls fucking erased her memories of Elsa having ice powers and that Elsa isolated herself to protect her (and not, you know, because she hated her or something)

Leftover guilt from holding a grudge against Elsa for most of her childhood for shutting her out, because NO ONE BOTHERED TO TELL HER THAT IT WAS FOR HER OWN GOOD and she never knew why

Basically Anna and Elsa both need joint therapy or family counseling or something because holy shit their parents did NOT handle this situation properly AT ALL

(Also omitting Frozen 2 for Anna because I haven’t seen it and this list is also getting too long)

Moana

Surprisingly, Moana’s movie was relatively tame — in fact, because her tribe returned to voyaging and she is now exploring the seas/following her passion, these events were arguably beneficial to Moana’s mental health rather than detrimental. The only emotional baggage I can really imagine Moana having post-movie is leftover grief from her grandma dying and maybe the stress of having to put up with Maui’s shit

#shitpost #meta #disney characters #disney princess #long post #this has been in my drafts for literally a year so i may as well post it

33 notes · View notes

kalle-and-lita · 3 years ago

Text

The party was in full swing. There was music above the cacophony of laughter, the smell of perfume and food hung heavy in the air. Lita clung to the wall to the best of her ability, feeling out of place and out of sorts the moment she was thrown into this dress.

Granted, it was a very pretty dress. With soft folded fabrics and muted, dark colors. Even the gloves were smooth to the touch, but they did not cover the scars on her shoulders. Or her neck. Or even the ones across her back.

She was exposed for all to see and the very thought made Lita uncomfortable. But this was her debute as the confidant and ear to Primarch Konrad Curze. Hers was an important and coveted position, and she needed to make the best impression possible. Or so said the Primarch of the Emperor's Children. She felt like a bystander as she watched Fulgrim dress her like a doll.

Lita fiddled with the fabric of her dress, and silently prayed that she could just disappear. This was all so much, and much too new for her to take in at once. It felt like only yesterday that her King had come back for her after they had spent so long apart. And now she was supposed to attend parties, in the presence of people and Primarchs she hardly knew?

If she had had time to prepare, or given free reign in her choice of dress, then perhaps she wouldn't feel like a raw nerve. They stared. They always stared. She could see the burning questions in their eyes, the pity. She didn't want their pity. She just wanted to be left alone.

Even her Primarch, whom she almost always clung to, was on the other side of the room. Whisked away to mingle and socialize, despite the clear disdain written all over his face. It was clear enough that he was even making the poor mortal dignitaries nervous. Lita chuckled, even after all these years her King was still the same.

So she put on a smile. After all, she had to do her best for both their sake. And she did her best to ignore their pitying gazes and their silent questions.

"You!" Lita paused mid conversation and turne her gaze up to a Primarch she never met. His skin was the color of a blazing sun, much like the mane of his hair. A single eye gazed down at her with an intense curiosity.

"Yes, you, little one. I've finally found you!"

He was a Primarch, that much was clear, but as to who she couldn't tell. She had only ever met Fulgrim.

"I see that the Remembrancers of the Eighth speak true, to a degree. I must admit that my curiosity was piqued when I heard that my brother had taken a confidant aboard his flagship."

Lita bristled at his words, just what were those Remembrancers saying about her? The Primarch laughed at her obvious distaste,

"Relax, little one, I did not mean to offend. Apologies if my words came across as such. I am Magnus, the Red. Primarch of the Fifteenth Legion, The Thousand Sons."

Lita curtsied politely as he dipped his head, "There is little need for apologies, Lord Magnus, I fear I find myself in an unfamiliar setting and that it has put me on edge."

Magnus nodded sagely, "You come from Nostromo, such sights and sounds must be offputting. Well, worry not. I shall keep you company! Should deter the worst of these nosey dignitaries, hmmm?"

Lita chuckled at his playful wink, but nodded all the same. She followed him as they paced the perimeter of the ballroom, their peaceful exchange quite refreshing. She learned much of Magnus and his Legion, and of his homeworld of Prospero. She couldn't wrap her mind around such a sight, this planet that took pride and stock in learning. It was admirable, and much different than that of Nostromo. Just what could have they achieved if the Barons had been different? If they had concentrated more on their constituents than themselves?

Lita shook her head free of those thoughts, they would do her little good now.

The pair nearly finished their second circuit when one of Magnus' sons approached and bowed.

"My apologies Lord Magnus, we have need of you."

"Of course, if you'll excuse me Lady Lita. It was quite the honor to meet you. I look forward to seeing your work with the Eighth."

Lita nodded, "Of course, my Lord."

She watched him navigate the crowd and disappear through the large doors. Once again alone, she scanned the crowd and found her Primarch still in Fulgrim's clutches. She couldn't help but smile in amusement, he looked absolutely livid. The nobles were shaking in their boots while his brother chattered away obliviously. She thought to join him, if only to distract him enough that the others could escape. Horrified gasps drew her attention elsewhere and she turned to another of her Primarchs approaching brothers.

This one was different. Covered in warpaint and battered battle armor, unlike the glittering gowns of the people around him. He lumbered through the crowd, pushing aside anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. Lita tried to scramble out of his path just like the rest, but tripped on the hem of her dress.

This unknown Primarch shot his gaze down the moment she hit the ground. A murderous look in his eye shot a chill down her spine. Then everything seemed to happen at once. A black mass flew out of her peripheral and slammed the pair of them into the opposite wall and floor. People were screaming as they tried to escape just as Lita was yanked off the floor.

She was taken away, tucked safely beneath the arm of the Phoenician as the sound of god awful fighting rang in her ears. Like two wild animals yowling and screaming. It followed her out the ballroom as they fled while the rest of the Primarchs ran to break up the fight.

A side room was found and she was gently deposited on an empty chair. She struggled to find her breath, her anxiety rose. She was not a fool, Konrad had attacked his brother. As to why, she did not know.

"Are you hurt?" Fulgrim knelt down, his hands hovering over her in hesitation. Lita shook her head, unable to find her words. "Just relax, you're safe here. Do you know what happened?"

"No," Lita swallowed down the lump in her throat, "Lord Magnus had just left my company when one of your other brothers approached."

"Angron." Fulgrim nodded.

"He seemed to be in a bad mood and I just wanted to get out of his way, but I tripped. After that..."

She felt as if she didn't need to explain any further. Fulgrim stood to pace, and the passing minutes seemed to span a lifetime. Lita found herself playing with the hem of her dress, cursing that she'd even been dragged out to begin with.

"Did he seem strange," Lita asked, "Just before the incident?"

The Primarch gazed thoughtfully at the nearby bookshelf for a moment, "I'm unsure. I suppose that it must be easy to gauge his mood for you, after all you've known him the longest. However, I did notice that he became uneasy and still just before he turned and attacked our brother."

One of his visions then. Lita looked down at her lap. She could only guess at to what he had seen, but easily assumed it had much to do with her. She sighed, and cursed all this wretched waiting this time.

After what felt like hours the door finally opened. Another one of Fulgrim's brothers entered, clad in dark clothes and a rebreather.

"Is it over?"

The stranger nodded, "Guilliman and Horus broke up the fight fairly easily once they were done trying to kill each other."

His voice was low, hissing. His tone as nuetral as the bored expression she could see in his eyes.

"How bad?"

"What's left of them certianly isn't pretty." Fulgrim cursed, and Lita clutched at her dress tighter. This unknown brother resolutely ignored her, "They're being taken to the Medicae Ward a few floors down, we've already sent word to their First Captains."

Awkwardly, the silence stretched until Fulgrim's brother saw fit to leave.

"What a mess..." The Phoenician pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed as the door shut. He turned to give Lita a pained smile, "Come, let's get you back to the Nightfall."

"No," Lita pushed herself from the oversized chair and hit the ground with a sharp thud. "Take me to him. Please."

He looked like he wanted to argue with her, but Lita stood her ground. She leveled him with the best of her glares, back straight and head held high. He could just as easily pick her up and carry her off, but for whatever reason he relented to her demand.

The Medicae wards were cold, but then again she was still in her dress. The darkened hallways were silent as she was lead through what felt like a maze. Serfs eyed the pair of them, but scurried off all the same when shooed away by her disapproving companion. One door, at the farthest end of this seemingly endless palace, buzzed with activity.

The technicians and doctors parted as the pair of them entered, the room dark save for the flickering of machine lights. A large glass tube stood center in the room, filled with clear liquid with her Primarch suspended inside. Tears slipped down her cheek at the sight and she found herself at his side in mere moments.

He looked beaten and bruised to hell and back. Obvious broken bones and teeth marks across his skin. Her knees felt weak and she collapsed in quiet sobs.

"We heal quickly," Fulgrim whispered, "He'll be well soon enough, he just needs a little extra help is all."

Lita nodded, wiped away her tears and resolutely stayed by his side. Even long after Fulgrim left, and despite the curious and cold gazes of the people around her. She was his confidant, his ear. It would not do well to leave him when she was needed most.

KoFi

#lita #warhammer 30k #konrad curze #night lord #My writing #lita x konrad curze

8 notes · View notes

ultimatetornshipper · 4 years ago

Text

Daminette December Day 5

@daminette-december2019-2020

I can’t believe I’m doing this oms, Sweaters didn’t exist okay? I had no choice!! lmaooo no regrets tho, I’m loving where this fic is going.

Anyway thank you for everyone who left such lovely comments on the previous chapter I literally almost cried thank you!!

Princes and Pedestals

Chapter 5 – Sweater

“Oh I can’t wait to show you the stables, we each have our own horse. I named mine Lavender, since my favorite color is purple. Cass's is named Rose, Dick's is Robin, Damian’s is Ace, Tim named his Cloud and Jason...,” Stephanie stopped walking and released Marinette’s hand, turning around, she sighed, “Well, you should know, Jason was ten when he got his and the horse had been sick and well... it resulted in him naming the poor animal Sweater. He refuses to change it,”

Marinette laughed at Stephanie’s clear annoyance with this fact. She’d come to her room this morning and simply insisted that she show her the stables before negotiations regarding their alliance took place. Marinette had agreed, she was coming to quite like this girl and her energetic nature.

Stephanie kept walking, this time at a slower pace, she lead Marinette out of the castle and greeted the gardeners. The servants they passed greeted her back and smiled widely, everyone was clearly fond of her. Marinette couldn’t blame them, Stephanie’s energy was contagious.

“You’ll probably get your own one-,” she started, before interrupting herself, eyes widening, she laughed nervously, “I mean if you stay long enough you’ll practically be family so I wouldn’t be surprised, if you got one, that is,”

Marinette thought her behavior was strange but she’d found that questioning Stephanie’s actions only led to more questions.

“Hey Steph, wait up!” someone yelled. Marinette turned towards the voice, seeing Prince Richard approaching them. He was the only brother at the summer castle she hadn’t informally met yet.

When he caught up to them, he nodded his head to her, “Your Majesty,”

She returned the gesture, smiling, “Your Highness, feel free to call me Marinette,”

She saw approval flicker across his eyes, he smiled back, “As long as you agree to call me Dick. Where are you two ladies going this fine morning?”

Stephanie rolled her eyes at him and started walking again, “Calm down, worry wart, I’m just taking her to the stables. Wanna join us?”

“I’d love to,” Dick replied, walking along with her and Stephanie. He looked towards Marinette, “She tell you about their names yet?”

She nodded slowly, “Yeah, she did. Do you mind me asking why you named yours Robin?”

“Robin was my mother’s nickname,” he said, a sad smile on his face, he shrugged, “I guess when I first got here I just wanted something to remind me of her, naming my horse after her... it helped ease my grief,”

Marinette felt as though a knife was being twisted in her heart, the black dress she wore suddenly heavier than usual. It was then that she realized that she only had two days left before her mourning period was officially over. Two days before a year was over since it had happened.

She realized they were both looking at her, she needed to respond. She looked up and smiled at him, nodding, “I can understand that,”

Stephanie touched her shoulder and looked her in the eye, “I-,”

Marinette gave her a meaningful look and shook her head. Stephanie searched her gaze for a few seconds before she nodded solemnly and opened the door they’d stopped in front of. She walked through and started pointing out which horse was which.

The atmosphere was heavier than it had been, but as they progressed it seemed to lift. Marinette zoned them out slightly, making all the right faces and noises. She wouldn’t be surprised if they knew she was faking it, given their demonstrated ability to read people, but she couldn’t bring herself to care in the moment.

She thought back. There really only was two days left. A year ago today they’d been laughing, playing card games and pretending that everything was alright. They'd known the end was near and wanted the last few days of his life to be happy.

Outside his room the atmosphere had been sad, Rose was crying while Juleka softly scratched her back. Nino had been torn apart, clutching on to Alya's hand for dear life, the red head trying to console him. And Marinette... Marinette had held herself together. She held all of them together.

And when he finally faded, she’d made herself go numb, but people looked at her like she was seconds away from falling apart anyway. And maybe she was.

She hadn’t been able to take it, though. She’d disappeared for a week under the guise of going on a mission. She went to their base near the north western shore and there she cried more than she thought anyone should be able to. Chloe and Luka had kept everyone away at her request and she’d screamed and mourned and grieved. But after that week she didn’t shed a single tear again.

She returned and refused to speak about what she’d done during her week or where she’d gone. She’d comforted everyone else and after a few days they stopped asking questions. She’d organized his funeral and worn her black dresses.

And she’d been wearing them ever since, they were the only outward sign that anything was possibly wrong.

She never spoke of it. But she only had two days left. Tomorrow a year ago he died. And she had no idea how she was going to make it out alive.

After half an hour in the stables listening to Stephanie and Dick's stories they made their way inside and had breakfast before she met up with Master Fu to finalize their thoughts and preparations for the negotiations of the alliance.

She sat next to him on one of the many benches in the castle hall. After a few seconds, she broke the silence, “He’s my match,”

Master Fu nodded slowly, “I sensed it too, you have the ring then?”

She nodded and removed said object from one of the many pockets in her gown. She curled her fist tightly around it.

“I assume you wish to offer him the position?” he said, still only staring straight ahead.

“Yes,” she replied, her heart heavy, responsibility weighing her down.

“I trust you, Guardian,” he said, pausing, he looked at her, “I am proud of who you’ve become Marinette,”

The words meant more to her than she wanted them to, she didn’t want to care what he thought. It was because of him that the ring had been given to the wrong person in the first place. He hadn’t even told them when he’d realized and it lead to the boy she’d loved’s death.

They reviewed the terms of the alliance and headed over to the room where negotiations would take place.

When she entered everyone inside stood, proper greetings were exchanged and everyone sat. The king and all the children she’d met were sitting on one side of the table, she and Master Fu sat down on the other side.

The atmosphere was different here. Stephanie smiled at her but it didn’t really reach her eyes. They had something on the line, Marinette was itching to know what.

Had she been wrong in thinking they didn’t need this alliance as much as she and her court did?

They discussed the terms and though a few compromises were made, it all went over rather smoothly. She and King Bruce did most of the talking while the others rarely spoke.

“Right, now that we have most of the details sorted out, we have a proposal for the type of alliance we wish to establish,” King Bruce said, she noticed all the siblings tense, Damian's destruction and chaos spiked. That was strange, did they know something of this proposal?

“Yes?” she replied warily, all eyes were on her, but she kept her gaze locked on the King.

“I propose we strengthen this alliance with a marriage, between you and my son,” he said simply.

The room held its breath. She saw Fu move, about to reply but she held her hand up to stop him. She was intrigued by his offer, and if could easily work out in her favor if she played her cards right.

She held the King’s gaze, she had a feeling she already knew the answer but she asked anyway, “Which one?”

“Damian, my youngest,” he replied immediately. She’d been right, this would make her life much easier. It also showed her that, for some reason, they needed this alliance too.

She looked at where the siblings were sitting, they were all staring at her, clearly trying to gouge her reaction. But she kept her face perfectly blank.

Then she made the mistake of meeting his gaze. The green eyes flung her back in time and for a second she felt the façade slip.

Live for both of us, m’lady. The words rung through her ears. The words had been haunting her for almost a year. One of the last things he had said to her, a different kind of desperation in his eyes, he wanted her to move on, to be happy, to live.

She quickly snapped back to reality and put back her mask, but they’d seen it, the dent in her armor. Their reactions were varying levels of confusion, curiosity and understanding.

She turned to the King, “I have one condition,”

The entire room tensed again, even Fu didn’t know what she was going to say, but she didn’t let it stop her.

“Which would be?” he replied, he was intrigued, but wary of what she’d said. That was good, she had his attention. She just needed to phrase her words right, she needed to give Damian a choice in this too, somehow.

“Anyone I marry needs to be able to rule alongside me. In order to do that, he needs to wield a miraculous, but it can’t be just any miraculous. He needs to be able to accept the responsibility of wielding the Black Cat miraculous,” she put it down on the table and their eyes jumped back and forth between her and the ring.

She turned to Damian and fisted her dress in her hand when his eyes met hers, she needed to explain further, she needed to speak, she could freak out later, “I’ll give you a day to consider my condition, in that time I’ll entrust you with the miraculous, you can get to know Plagg, the miraculous’s kwami,” he nodded. She stood and pushed the ring forward so that he could take it.

“Does this mean you accept?” Dick asked, eyes now fully focused on her, the tension still there.

“If Damian accepts my condition, then yes, I accept,” she said simply, hoping that would ease his worry.

It didn’t. He stayed tense, his siblings all in similar conditions as the silence stretched after his words. Marinette looked over them, what could be worrying them so much?

“Um... Marinette, I – we,” Stephanie said hesitantly, gesturing to her and her siblings, “We were wondering if you'd be able to stay in Gotham instead of him moving to – well we know you lead the whole Order and everything but we don’t want to lose him, you know. And I know it’s a lot to ask but...,” she looked at Marinette, and she could see her desperation. So that’s what it was. They didn’t want to loose Damian.

She considered her options. She liked these people, and it wasn’t like she ruled a country, she wasn’t tied down to one place. It wasn’t like them and Gotham where they had to stay in the country.

All she’d have to do is move home base to Gotham and have her court travel and live here, she wanted to be near them. She also wanted to find a place as close to the Castle as possible, but it wouldn’t be hard considering Damian would be her husband.

She pushed the association she’d once had with the word away.

Maybe it would do them all good to move on. To make new memories in a new place. It would certainly do her good not to be somewhere she had made memories with him.

She turned her focus to the siblings. She was pretty sure Cassandra was holding Damian’s arm under the table, Damian was toying with the ring, but his face was resigned. Jason was staring at her as though through willpower alone he could convince her to let Damian stay with them. Dick and Stephanie both looked hopeful and desperate. The King had a blank look on his face but she had no doubt that he, too, was on the edge of his seat.

She met Stephanie’s gaze and gave her a soft smile, “Sure,”

“Sure? What do you mean? Like sure he can – you two- you'll both stay with us like at home?” Jason said, already standing, hands on the table. The others stared at her in varying degrees of surprise and shock. Cass was smiling at her.

She nodded, “I just need to move my Court's home base to Gotham. If he accepts the ring and its responsibilities, I’d be willing to have them move here too,”

Steph stood and ran around the table, grabbing her in a tight hug, “ Thank you,” she said softly.

Marinette felt her heart warm at how much they cared. Damian was staring at her in shock, his mouth slightly hanging open. Dick had a huge smile and Bruce was looking apologetic for Stephanie’s actions.

Marinette looked at this family of people, who she doubted would be related in most situations, and how well they fit.

She watched as Jason squeezed Damian’s shoulder and Dick hugged him from behind. Cass ran a hand softly through his hair and said something to him that made him smile.

She felt her heart long for that kind of familiarity.

Stephanie pulled back from the hug but held on to her arm. The blonde smiled at her fondly, and Marinette suddenly had a feeling that maybe, it was only a matter of time before she’d have it.

Taglist:

@animegirlweeb @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @forgottenfriends @wolf-for-life @heyitsbugette

75 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 4 years ago

Text

WINSoD - Pt.5

If One Should Fall...

Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2, part 3)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 3120

Summary: In which distribution of forces on the stones-retrieving mission changes. Because— reasons.The reason being a special visit someone pays you.

Warnings!: skip to post-Infinity War and the summary of it - you can imagine; deaths, violence....briefly tho, + language, mention of the inability to bear children, brief suicidal thoughts, kinda religious motives because SPN

A/N: Enormous time skip, because obviously CA:CW didn’t happen and the timeline is changed from canon already. Also, the title (What I’d Never Say or Do had I been in my right mind) is reeeeeally applicable in this one and somehow… it felt right to connect the chapters like this. Do not murder me…?

Part 4

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Forever was a funny word. A funny concept, perhaps. People always said they wished for some moments to last forever and what they meant was for them to last as long as possible, with no change in sight. Or they said that something unpleasant felt like it lasted forever, their souls craving an end of the misery, a fundamental change as the polar opposite to the first case.

You lived through both in the past years.

Sitting on your ass in a Wakandian palace, watching a battle unfold in front of you, an ensemble of great warriors fighting yet another army from space, that felt like forever, a never-ending nightmare and you only got to watch.

It set a pattern for you for several more years to come. To only watch.

You watched an alien creature steal the sceptre that the Avengers had decided to store in the palace and it did so while killing everything in its way. Princess Shuri had the great idea of hiding you and cuffing you so you wouldn’t stand in the creature’s path while she tried to stop it with the others. She ended up in shattered glass, only unconscious, as if thanks to a miracle.

You watched as… as she fell apart to ashes only minutes later; just like many, oh so many others.

Half of the population, they said.

Thanos, The Mad Titan, had wiped half of all living creatures.

The moment was carved into your brain forever. And the eternal time you waited for anyone to come back from the battle, to see Steve alive, because God, please, let him live – yes, that sure as hell felt like forever too.

Lives were lost. Bucky, Sam, Ryan, Wanda, Pietro, Peter, Shuri, T’Challa, Strange, Fury… the list went on and on. All of them, gone. Forever.

The world changed. Avengers ow officially didn’t exist and yet recruited new members all over the freakin’ space, which was the only way of finding out Tony Stark, who had disappeared on a spaceship, in fact, survived.

The missions of the greatest defenders of Earth changed as well. Some members took off to start a family, lucky enough to still have a partner to do so. Or to have the ability to pass their genes.

You couldn’t. Or maybe Steve couldn’t, it didn’t matter. You never pried after the source of your inability to have children; you two were one, a unity. You didn’t want to know so you could point fingers. You could tell Steve blamed himself, as well as he knew that your irregular period was definitely not helping. You made your peace. In fact, you admired Tony for finding the courage to create an environment for a child in this mad world; your lack of faith in being able to do the same had the opportunity rose ironically helped you to come to terms with the fact of your body was not functioning right.

In a way, it only drew you and Steve closer. You had valued each other before, yes, but now… you truly were like one. You backed him up in how he decided to honour Sam’s memory by starting a support group and he was the one to sense that in a search for reassurance, strangely materialistic, you craved an official bond with him, despite never saying a word.

You were Steve’s wife now – and you were each other’s rock, even during the poor attempt at defeating Thanos again.

Five years was a long time, a forever, one might say, but when Scott Lang, one of the people believed to been dusted, reappeared, forever and never became relative again.

Which led you to now; what was left of the Earth’s mightiest heroes was planning on retrieving the infinity stones.

Because they figured out how to time-travel.

Observing your reflection in the mirror, the circles under your eyes, you couldn’t but run your hand down your face and sigh.

You were still struggling with accepting the incredible fact of the possibility of coming back in time, yet you had to shush the hope inside you. Hope was a dangerous thing; certainly on such big scale as everything could being as it had been, hope that all the people who had lost their lives during the Snap could be resurrected.

As for a person who in fact had died once, it was easier for you to believe it was possible and you weren’t sure that it was a good thing. The fear of losing what you still had – read Steve, mainly – in the process, was paralyzing. It would mean your end, one you might deliver by yourself if it came to it, because you weren’t as strong as your husband. You wouldn’t make it through. Not after everything that happened.

You sighed again and tried to shake off the darkest thoughts.

When your eyes fell on the reflection again, a man stood behind your shoulder.

You spun on your heels and jerked away, your bottom bumping into the sink with a startled yelp escaping your lips.

In a fraction of second, several ways of defending yourself flashed through you mind; but the man was already three feet away; in a blink of an eye, before you could even move further.

Chest heaving with frantic breaths, hand over your heart, you stared at the intruder dressed in a three-piece suit and a red cravat. Of average height and maybe few pounds over healthy weight, smoothly shaven so his smirk could stand out, he looked… peculiar, especially given the fact he had found himself in the ladies’ room.

It shouldn’t have surprised you he spoke up with some kind of an accent on top of everything, but it did.

“Saving the world is exhausting, isn’t it?”

You stared at him, speechless. Your brain kicked into an overdrive, analysing how much of a threat he was, if he was like Pietro, too fast for Friday to catch him, or what was he-

“Who the-“

“I’m Crowley, darling. And you don’t need look so scared. If I wanted you dead, you’d be already lying here in a puddle of blood,” he reassured you like a sleazy businessman, all pretence at kindness.

You winced at the visual and narrowed your eyes.

“Alright, Crowley, what do you want? And what exactly are you?” you demanded, uncertain why you felt calm despite the man appearing out of thin air and speaking of you dying in the bloodiest way. Were you truly so numb these days?

He smiled, as if he was old friend. “I am a friend of Moose and Squirrel-“ What. “-or Sam and Dean, as you know them. I have no doubt they mentioned me. After all, my mother is assisting them more than she would like. You met her, incidentally.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out – you hadn’t met many people during your time with the Winchesters. This man… was probably a warlock. A witch. Rowena apparently had a son.

Well. Shit.

“Okay. So… you’re a witch or something. Means I shouldn’t trust you fully. Noted. Now what do you want?”

His face twisted in a theatrical insulted grimace, his palm laid on his chest as if you just shot him through the heart – which, by the way, would probably do nothing to him.

“First of all, I am here to help, so I don’t think you have other option than trusting me. Second of all, I am not a witch, I am the King of Hell, thank you very much-“

Somewhere in the back of your mind, Sam Winchester’s voice whispered something about the King of Hell having been Dean’s bestie for a while, which did not make you feel any better, only more confused.

“And thirdly… I’m here to tell you what you, my darling, need to do for this mission to be successful.”

You stared at him incredulously, his casual stance and animated speech bewildering, and had no clue what to make of it.

Yet, you let him speak. You let him give you the advice no one ever wanted to receive. Ever. But this sleazy man had told you about how he had saved the world before, side by side with the Winchesters and everything suddenly made sense.

Crowley, the King of Hell, answered the most burning question you had been asking yourself ever since coming back from the death, doing so more and more often these days.

Why.

Why were you given the second chance at life? Why you of all people? What was the purpose?

And now you knew.

Rowena was the greatest witch the supernatural world had ever created and she supposedly looked through all the possible futures she could. Tony had once told you, drunk and hurting, that Strange had done the same right before the battle and he only saw one way of how it could end with Thanos’ loss. Now Crowley told you the ‘one’ future was still in play, that everything was actually still on the way to the world’s victory.

The price of victory was high. History had taught you that.

But the price people paid for losing was higher.

And as much as you hated what you apparently had to do…

“Okay,” you rasped, guilt already gnawing at your chest, tears strolling down your face, fear eating you up from the inside, fear of unknown and yet known, instincts fighting the urge to do the right thing and finally actually help to the heroes you found yourself among while still useless.

You were only watching too long. Forever, one might say.

“Okay?” he echoed, clearly surprised by your antics.

You only nodded, wiping away your tears and forcing your breathing to calm and steady. There was no way you could go back to the base of operating in the living room like this. You needed to be a fucking grown-up. Grown-ups had to be okay with not being okay. You must finally become worthy of being Captain Amer- Steve’s wife.

“Yes, Crowley. I’ll do it. Though I still have no idea why you came here to tell me. Aren’t you supposed to be the bad guy?” you teased him lightly, your mouth speaking its will without permission, the question only half-expecting an answer.

“Well, my darling. It’s the end of the world as we know it. It doesn’t matter now if you’re good or bad. Not if you want the world not to end.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

You were a terrible actress; a Razzies-nominee kind of actress. You couldn’t lie to save your life (the irony of such statement was not lost on you, yet it wasn’t properly appreciated either) and you were aware of the fact that Steve liked that about you. You could never lie to him. So you never tried.

You knew you couldn’t break that streak now, because he would see right through you. So you stooped lower than ever. Omitting the truth. Lying by not sharing the whole story. Whether you could make that work, only time would tell.

When you finally managed to compose yourself – at least more or less – and exited the bathroom, you found out that not much had changed. The team was still debating the details of best approach, uncertain but determined expressions on their faces.

Steve spared once glace at you and instantly was able to tell something was wrong. He hid you from the view of the others by his broad figure, concerned eyes scanning your face, observing and searching for any clue; for the source of your distress. As if the fact that they were – you all were, even if they didn’t know yet – about to time travel wasn’t enough to give one palpitations and serious stress-induced headache.

His tender fingers tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear as if it would help the mess your hairstyle must have been. A small encouraging smile graced his lips despite his own mind no doubt weighted down by numerous worries.

He didn’t have to ask for you to start talking, the brilliant colour of his eyes sweet and inviting enough.

“What if something goes wrong?” you questioned in a hushed whisper, not having to pretend to have such haunting thought. “What if… I don’t even want to think about what could it be. You’re going to need someone capable to pull you out. I am… I am not that capable. Definitely not when it comes to science of time-travel.”

Despite Steve acting like a human shield, your concerns were acknowledged by everyone, their heads snapping your direction. Steve, feeling all the curious eyes, cleared his throat and gently took your arm, leading you away from the prying ears.

“….excuse us for a second,” he hummed absently, waiting until he was out of earshot to speak with you again. “Doll… what- what is this really about?”

“What do you mean-“ you bluffed lamely in an instant, but the look Steve gave you shut you up.

“I know you, sweetheart. You can’t lie to me.”

If you weren’t dreading what you were about to do, you might throw a ‘watch me’ back at him. Instead, you aimed for an irritated tone – one that would be justified in case he would truly be questioning the claim you were about to point out.

“So you think I’m not afraid for you?”

A frown crossed over his face, his palm on your bicep tightening before he eased his hold to brush his thumb over the very same spot. “No! That’s not- I just know there’s something more. What is it?”

Gulping and averting his gaze, because the intense burn of genuine concern was unbearable, your mind raced with the effort to find the right words.

Your stomach was tied in tight knots, turning at the idea of playing Steve, more so for such nefarious purpose. But how else you could have convinced him that it couldn’t in fact be him and Natasha going to Vormir to retrieve the soul stone?

“I… I want to help. I need to help, Steve. You’re— you're so strong, always the hero and I’m not even close, I-“

“-need to prove my worth?” he finished easily, a knowing look in his eyes, and fuck him, how did he know—

He might not understand fully, he had no way of knowing what Crowley told you to do, but still, Steve was still able to recognize what fuelled your determination, what were your motives.

You opened your mouth uselessly, a shaky exhale brushing Steve’s face as he lowered his head to you, his eyes wide and genuinely troubled. God, you couldn’t bare the intensity of his gaze.

“Christ, doll. Where’s this coming from? Don’t be rid-“ From the corner of your eye, you saw him lick his lips as he swiftly cut himself off before calling you ridiculous. His large warm palms framed your face, forcing you to lock your gaze with his, passionate words accented by the burning fire of his irises. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Not to them, certainly not to me. You are my everything and you are the most amazing person I have ever met-“

You closed your eyes, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite your better judgement. You never doubted Steve’s feelings, yet he was always quick to reassure you, having the patience of a saint whenever he noticed a hint of insecurity.

“I know. I swear I know that, I know how you feel, but- let me do this. What if… what if you don’t come back? What if you don’t come back and I’d be just sitting here, knowing I could have done something, but I didn’t. You’re too familiar with that feeling, Steve. Please. Let me come with you,” you pleaded in a hushed voice, hating you reminded him of losing you, but knowing it might be effective. “You know you can protect me when it comes to it.”

Brows drawn together, Steve observed you, baffled and yet understanding at the same time, torn between the instinct to have you protected at the compound and the responsibility he felt towards this mission. This was the fight of your lives; deep down, he must have known he couldn’t afford to jeopardize that even if it came to you. Which, naturally, didn’t mean he had to like it.

A clearing of one’s throat that sounded a bit like a clap of thunder interrupted your staring contest and you both glanced towards Bruce’s huge green form in the doorway, sheepish expression comical on his massive face.

“…sorry to interrupt, but… we kinda all think she has a point so-“

Steve’s sucked in air between his teeth, letting his hands drop from you face, only for one of them to run through his hair, the other balling in a fist.

You shrugged, the battle of emotions – victory and defeat at the same time, because God, why – no doubt visible on your face as Steve turned his attention solely to you once more.

“I’ll give you guys another sec…” Bruce hummed, backing out of the door, leaving you to deal with clearly irritated and reluctant Steve.

Thanks, buddy.

Wordlessly, Steve’s fingers slipped beneath your jaw, pulling you in for one of the strangest kisses of your life. H poured all his emotions into one simple gesture, hungry and intense, intimate wet sound of a dirty encounter of mouths echoing in the otherwise silent room. You allowed yourself to get lost in the sensation of Steve’s lips on yours, in his arm grabbing you and pressing flush against his hard chest; it was all too harsh for anyone to believe it was not a display of affection of a half-desperate man.

Breathless and with vertigo nearly overcoming you, you rested your forehead against Steve’s, mirroring his action once you parted. His eyes were closed shut, as if too heavy to kept open, but you could see that something in his expression shifted; you and Bruce won.

Peripherally, you noticed Crowley’s faint figure, the shortest of appearances as he nodded in approval and goodbye. You suspected he did something so Steve gave in; you didn’t care what and how, hoping it didn’t harm your soulmate.

Tears stung in your eyes when you realized what was to come and you forced them to be kept at bay, shutting your eyes close again.

“Fine, have it your way,” Steve rasped, his voice clearly irked, yet resigned. “But if you get one scratch on you, doll, just one, I’ll hold you responsible.”

No, you won’t.

You charmed a guilty smile, a lame tiny thing, and he inhaled sharply, only for huffing the air out.

“How could I, having my chivalrous man by my side?”

It earned you a kiss on your forehead, Steve’s fingers interlacing with yours when you made your way back to the other room where everyone waited.

Oh, how much it now hurt, the amount of faith Steve could put into you, charmed by your teary smile, that little thing puling on his heartstrings.

Oh, just how much it would hurt…

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 6

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

This chapter might seem a bit strange, but hopefully it fits the atmosphere of Infinity War and Endgame…

Thanks for being here. I love you for your encouragement :-*

P.S. Here, have the last part of a SPN guide - visuals and references for Amara (God’s sister who gave back ‘reader’s’ memories) and Crowley (from this chapter).

61 notes · View notes

rosesgonerogue · 4 years ago

Text

I didn’t so much fall in love - It kicked me in the face Chapter Seven

Tim shouldn’t have felt nervous about his fitting, but his stomach had been in a state of unrest since the moment he walked in and saw her in the kitchen. Just seeing her brought a whole barrage of emotions he didn’t know what to do with.

“Listen to Alfred,” she reminded her son as she pulled off her apron - not that he would need the reminder.

“Shall we?” Tim asked, offering his arm. Marinette didn’t miss the blush dusting his cheeks, but she also did her best not to draw attention to it, thanks to the matching one she was sporting.

They walked for a few moments in silence until he said, “So do I need to be blindfolded, or do I get to see the suit so far?”

“You get to see it. Now is when you tell me if you want me to change anything. It’s not done, by any means, but you’ll get the general idea.”

He had practically spent his entire life in suits at this point, so in theory Tim should have known what he wanted, or even had some idea of what he was looking for - and he did, if he was just picking one off of a rack. But this was MDC. Of course it would be per-

“Um, I know you’re the fashion expert, but don’t most suits have a lining? Or something like that?”

“The lining is going to be a surprise. Right now we’re looking at the fit, the style… Basically this is when you tell me if you hate it,” she said, handing him the garments before leaving the room.

Obviously the clothes were unfinished. The pant legs were unhemmed, the suitcoat’s seams were exposed inside, and there was untrimmed thread everywhere. But as Tim put it on, there was a warmth that accompanied it. Something about the suit just felt right. He wore a stupidly satisfied smile when he let Marinette back in.

She immediately began circling him, eyeing the whole thing critically, occasionally commanding him to raise his arms, or sit down, or something similar. Finally her face cleared. “I only see a few minor adjustments that need to be made. Do you have any requests, or notes?”

“Well, I would like it to be lined,” he teased. “But other than that, this is the best suit I’ve ever owned.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said with a smile.

Tim deliberated for a second before saying, “Listen, Marinette. I don’t know if Bruce brought this up to you, but I - we would like to invite you to the Wayne Gala. Childcare is provided for any who wish it, and it’s a masquerade, so you could potentially meet some new clients without compromising your anonymity.”

It wasn’t what Tim wanted to say - the words “date” and “plus one” kept pounding through his mind.

“I’ll have to figure out a dress, but I would love to,” Marinette said with yet another smile. She was quiet for a moment, looking down before she met his eyes again, hers filled with resolve. “Before the gala, though, would you… You can say no, and this will stay strictly professional. But would you like to go on a date with me? It would just be to coffee, since I don’t have anyone to watch Leo, but-”

“Yes!” Tim said eagerly, too eagerly. He cleared his throat before saying in a more subdued tone, “That would be wonderful. I would love to join you.”

If Tim thought her smiles were bright before, now they were positively blinding. “Perfect. It’s a date.”

************

Marinette couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit shy after that, but as her hands deftly pinned his suit, every fiber of her being sang with excitement. She had to keep it professional, though! At the moment she was on a job.

Before she could say something and promptly put her foot in her mouth, she sensed a presence, confirmed by the sharp sound of a backpack hitting the floor. It seemed Damian was back from school, then. In a way she appreciated the presence of someone else in the room, but any relief he supplied was killed when he had to go and open his mouth.

“So you’ve decided to use Alfred as a babysitter now?” he asked in that cold, superior tone of his.

“Sir Pennyworth offered, and I gratefully accepted,” Marinette said, carefully pinning exactly where Tim’s suit coat needed to be taken in. “I can assure you that my aim is not to take advantage of anyone.”

Based on her research, Damian Wayne hadn’t had an easy life. There was little to no information on what his life had been like with his mother, but he resembled a wild animal, suspicious, snarling, and scarred. He may finally be comfortable with his family, but it was clear he felt that Marinette was a threat, and it was doubly clear that he would use whatever means necessary to drive her away.

But that was no excuse for what he said next.

“He’s a valuable tool, isn’t he? People probably jump at the opportunity to give more than the asking price to the poor single mother with the adorable child. Or were you legitimately unable to keep his father? You-”

Damian was cut off by Marinette’s hand slapping loudly across his cheek. She shouldn't have moved so quickly, it was almost beyond the average human’s capability, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“I don’t care what you say about me, I’ve heard it all before. But don’t you dare bring Leo into this. Since you’re so hell-bent on tormenting me with this, I’ll tell you. Leo doesn’t have a father.”

Tim felt his heart stop at the look in her eyes, equally feral and wounded. Meanwhile Damian seemed… confused. It had to be at that very moment that Jason and Dick stumbled in from taking care of a hostage situation. Dick made to greet everyone, but Jason stopped him, taking in the icy atmosphere.

“That’s nonsense, one way or another he has to have a father,” Damian sneered, losing a bit of his icy facade.

“No, Leo does not have a father. There was a man once that took more from me than should be allowed - he took until he broke me. Leo is not that man’s son, he was the only thing the universe could have possibly given me to make up for what was lost. That man has nothing to do with Leo.”

“Damian, you need to apologize to Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Dick said, face stormy now that he had somewhat of a grasp on the situation.

Marinette simply held up a hand. “There’s no need, Mr. Grayson. I’ve been called everything he insinuated before, and that was just by people who were supposed to be friends. But mark my words, Damian Wayne. If you ever insult my son again, there will be hell to pay.”

The silence and tension in the room was palpable, and Marinette fought to push down the little part of her that found their fear both satisfying and amusing. Instead she straightened her cardigan and said, “Each of your suits are over there. Go try them on.”

If she had to hide her smirk from seeing all three of them fleeing with their suits, well, that was her business.

Taglist:

@ii-fox-demon @queen-in-a-flower-crown @novaloptr @saphiraazure2708 @iamabrownfox @smolplantmum @redhoodedtoad @loysydark @slytheringinger300 @finallyaniguana @brokenwordsarehard2 @abrx2002 @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @moonlightstar64 @marinettepotterandplagg @black-streak @purplesundaze @maribat-is-lifeblood @the-fusionist @river9noble @chocolatecatstheron @darkthunder1589 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @dast218 @k-poplunardreams @meanids @changelinggarden @ladybug-182 @pawsitivelymiraculous @zotinha456 @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @somebodyspersephone @spider-person95 @zestyzealot @toodaloo-kangaroo @kokotaru @kurogaya913 @tis-i-beanbandit @annapointone

Note: We're getting closer and closer to the end, but this might not be the last that we see of Leo! I keep getting more and more ideas about what he would be like when he was older, so don't be surprised if this fic becomes a series. Last chapter I had an issue with the tagging, so sorry if that was an issue for y’all. As always, just let me know if you want to be added to the list! Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought!

Edit: FYI, I really debated on whether or not to put in Marinette’s little scuffle with Damian, but I ultimately decided that it’s a good character building moment, blah blah blah. (It’s self indulgent, like this entire fic. I thought it was an interesting moment, so it stayed.)

#maribat #timinette #marinette x tim

303 notes · View notes

secret-engima · 4 years ago

Text

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret DoTF Characterization Rant

OKAY, ME RANT RAMBLING ON LUNA’S CHARACTERIZATION IN DAWN OF THE FUTURE IS A GO.

This is … likely going to get messy, but I’ll try to keep it at least moderately coherent. Lemme start by saying that- for the most part- I did actually enjoy Luna’s chap. I’ve been enjoying the book (kinda-sorta-mostly, I really liked Aranea’s chap at least) and I don’t think it’s like- a BAD book? Necessarily? But I feel like it is extremely telling in regards to how the characterization/lore is treated that my brain is automatically filing this thing under “fanfic that’s not my HC but is okay-ish” rather than “canon I will be gleefully tweaking as I please”. My brain is literally looking at this officially licensed book and equating it to fanfic. To fanfic that NEEDS EDITING.

With that out of the way, lemme attempt to summarize my (main) issues with Luna’s Characterization and then I’ll expand on them from there. Get ready for the salt.

1. Luna’s backstory is inconsistent. She herself states multiple times that Oracle training is grueling and involves both physical and mental trials as well as things like fasting for long periods of time WHILE doing said training, yet she is mostly treated like a well-meaning but overall pampered, naive princess who is only now being forced into hard circumstances and has to adapt accordingly. She is also treated like she doesn’t know “common people” that well and doesn’t know how to interact or pick up things like lies (????). A common example is how she treats Sol as trustworthy but reserved when according to Sol’s POV she is literally debating shooting Luna as a possible threat. And Luna supposedly doesn’t pick up on this danger. But we’ll get back to that.

2. Luna is characterized as being oblivious to how people outside Rich Oracle Circles live. That despite traveling all over the world she has never really seen it’s “ugly” sides because she’s always traveled in fancy guarded processions with the sick brought to her. Pretty sure the book specifically mentions at one point that she’s never “considered” what it would be like to be anything other than an Oracle. Admittedly this issue could go under number 1 or 3a but I’m putting it here because I’m salty.

3a. This and the next problem are heavily intertwined and, not going to lie, I could make an entire rant just about these two issues all by themselves, not just in Luna’s context. The first is that Luna is portrayed as not being able to make her own decisions, not even wanting to make her own decisions, until she is forced to or has her “eyes opened” by Sol, our jaded Long Night survivor character. The author treats Luna’s sense of duty as some form of social brainwashing she needs to “get over” and spoiler alert I hate it with every fiber of my being.

3b. Playing right off the whole “Luna is incapable of making her own decisions and that’s why she does her freaking job until someone ‘opens her eyes’” is the idea that Luna’s faith is a character flaw. Lemme reiterate. The story treats Luna’s faith. As a character flaw. Rather than the entire cornerstone to her character and one of the big reasons she’s as amazing as she is. Her faith is treated as foolish and shortsighted, something that has only survived for this long because it has never been challenged and, heads up, the rant I am going to go into on this one specific thing is going to be long and extremely salty.

Alright I think I’ve covered the basics. Starting from the top, BRING ON THE SALT.

…

1. Luna is pampered, well-meaning but naive and bad at reading ulterior motives of people.

….*slow, deep breath* Luna. The Oracle. Who became the youngest Oracle in history. Because her mother was murdered in front of her while her home was burned down and conquered by the people who then proceeded to rule her country, subvert her brother to their cause, and generally control and monitor every aspect of her life that they could. Luna, who was fully prepared to take a single suitcase and escape her own home and run off alone to get to Altissia and had to be stopped by her own brother (who you’ll note brought a bunch of soldiers with him, which indicates he did not expect a submissive response if he came alone).

This girl who was canonically physically abused as a child by a Niflheim officer (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZHzBtIfpdg slow this down if you need to confirm, but she is grabbed and manhandled and hit by an adult man when she only looks to be twelve, around the age Tenebrae first fell), who has spent twelve years living under the rule of a nation that is not only aggressively atheist but has willfully attempted to kill one of the very beings she serves and openly plans to do so again. The woman who successfully survived the fall of Insomnia with only one magic-less glaive as her backup for most of the event, then evaded the search efforts of an entire empire with only her own wits, a dog, a Messenger who has only ever been shown to talk rather than fight, and the extremely grudging on-off help of her brother who works for said empire. All while waking up the Astrals and forging covenants that were slowly killing her from the strain, which is the exact thing the empire was trying to prevent her from doing. Then, when it became necessary to complete the last covenant, turned herself in to the very same empire that has imprisoned her since she was a child and has been actively hunting/trying to stop or kill her since Insomnia’s fall.

That girl. Is pampered. Is naive. Is bad at reading people and telling when they have ulterior motives or are lying.

Pull the other one. I’ll kick you.

But seriously, how are we supposed to believe this? Luna’s life post Tenebrae’s fall to Niflheim is only pampered in the sense that she was given fancy clothes and fed regularly (outside the grueling fasting periods mentioned in this same book). She had no freedom, no privacy, her guards were all either men who wore the same uniform as those who killed her mother or were monsters infected with the very scourge she is sworn to purify. The Oracle is famous, is revered by the people. To keep the people on their side, the Empire would have flaunted her, would have taken her to all the shiny events. Luna would have had to dine with, converse with, even dance with the very same people who ordered and condoned the murder of her mother, her own imprisonment, and the brainwashing of her own brother to the enemy side. She would have been the epitome of a bird in a gilded cage or a dog on a silk leash and humans are not meant to live like that.

Am I really expected to think she survived a situation that oppressive, that toxic, that actively hurtful, for years by being naive and bad at reading people? Am I really expected to believe that she cannot tell when people are out to use her or hurt her or are lying to her? Am I really expected to believe that she is pampered and doesn’t have, at the very least, PTSD from seeing her mother murdered and her brother join the very people who did it, let alone everything else that would have followed over those years?

Really?

Luna didn’t have a pampered life. She suffered abuse. Longterm emotional abuse, likely sporadic physical abuse until she learned to play along well enough to escape such punishments, and almost certainly gaslighting (again: religious leader being held captive by an aggressively atheist nation that wants to kill the pantheon this religious leader communes with).

Luna would have learned to navigate the canonically cutthroat politics of Niflheim while being at best an outsider and at worst a target because of her beliefs, her nationality, and her loyalties to the Lucians (nobody was surprised when Luna went on the run. Nobody. Her continued devotion and loyalty to the Lucians -Niflheim’s enemy- was absolutely a well known factor). She would have learned to pick truth from lie and when to pretend she hadn’t noticed in order to survive. She would have lived twelve years knowing that any mistakes or misplaced moments of trust would be paid for in either her suffering of the suffering of the people close to her like her servants, or just the citizens of Tenebrae in general.

And none of this is taking into account her Oracle training, which the book does not elaborate on but repeatedly states was hard and grueling and she completed it years earlier than any Oracle in history.

There are a lot of words I would use to describe Luna, but pampered and naive are not among them.

…

2. Luna is oblivious to how people outside her rich circles live and has never considered being anything else but an Oracle until Sol specifically points it out.

The book states that she mostly travels in procession (ie, with tons of servants to serve her every need and bodyguards to keep the masses at bay) so clearly she can’t go anywhere too dangerous, otherwise her servants wouldn’t be able to come. Right? Oh boy where do I start with this.

I know! Let’s start with the fact that Luna canonically maintains the blessings on Havens! You know those things. They’re your only safe place to camp at night and they can be found in all sorts of nifty locations like the middle of the wilderness where cars can’t go, chocobos won’t go, packs of wild animals will literally leap out of the bushes to eat you (Voretooth packs can get up to twelve or more members all trying to eat you at once, fun fact), and poor choice in clothes will lead to broken ankles at best? The ones that can be found in the depths of locations so dangerous that even the Hunters are leary of going inside and are actively forbidden from approaching unless they are a very high rank?

Off the top of my head some of the Havens that come to mind is the one in the middle of Malmalam thicket, the top of an active volcano, multiple spots in the middle of the voretooth and coeurl infested desert, two up in Vesperpool aka the home of all demon crocodiles and flocks of cockatrice that are bigger than the average car and can literally turn you into stone if you aren’t careful.

Yeah those places. She maintains those. Depending on how often Havens need to be maintained and if the weather/nature shortens that time then she might also have to periodically enter the dungeons Noctis explores in game that also have Havens hidden inside where it is always dark all the time and infested with daemons.

The book also states that the sick (who are highly infectious and not supposed to be touched by people who can’t heal the scourge and in the later stages of sickness become extremely violent and prone to biting in order to infect other people) are … brought to her…

By whom? Exactly?

Moving on from that giant and obvious plot hole to the “never seen or considered other lifestyles” bit: Luna has traveled literally all over the world. In her duties of healing the otherwise incurable she has gone all over Niflheim, Tenebrae, and Lucis. She has walked through the streets of cities filled with lights and glamor and stood on the dirt roads of towns so small they have to go to the next town an hour or more away to buy groceries or check their mailbox and who’s royal hotel suite is just a caravan with a new coat of paint and “welcome Oracle!” sign. Luna’s work is to cure the Starscourge, which is a disease that I can almost promise the rich don’t get. Because the rich and fancy do not risk their lives by going into daemon territory (Prompto, a middle class Insomnian, didn’t even know what wild animals would be like, you expect the rich and famous to be any better?).

The vast majority of Luna’s patients would be people like Dave the Hunter, or Sania the scientist who wades into the wilds. The truck drivers and the farmers and the electricians risking their lives to repair power lines in the middle of nowhere. She wouldn’t be going to cities except to talk to the refugees who fled there from the outside and thus picked up the Scourge. Her only two social circles would be Niflheim’s cutthroat nobility and the “unwashed masses” who come to her for healing. Guess which ones she’ll be more invested in getting to know on a personal/friendly basis and interacting with.

Of course Luna has interacted with and understands “common folk”. Luna is a caregiver, not just physically, but emotionally. She is beloved by the people because she is kind. That means she talks to them. More importantly, she listens. She has held the hands of the farmer as he begs her to heal him, because the harvest season is so close, and if he can’t work, if he dies, then what will become of his wife or the people his farm feeds? She has embraced the sobbing refugee mother as the other breaks down in gratitude for a child who’s skin is a healthy shade and who’s veins no longer bulge a sickly purple. She has met people who are not rich, but who are content. Who have lives that do not hinge on the razor thin dance of staying true to self and not exposing weakness to those who want to eat her alive. Who can laugh with their neighbors and kiss that nice boy down the street just for the fun of it, who can defy curfew to dance in the rain with the person they love and risk, at most, a lecture and a weekend grounding.

And no, they aren’t rich, no, they aren’t influential or powerful, but they are peaceful. They are happy.

Am I really expected to believe that Luna has not looked on these people’s lives from afar, listened to their rambles as they try to distract themselves from the sickness she is drawing from their veins, and not yearned to be the same? That she hasn’t thought over and over again about running away and being free from her gilded cage? That she doesn’t know anything about the lives of the people she heals even as she walks down their streets and steps into their houses so she can heal those who are too sick or too violent to be safely taken out of their room? That she has never thought about what life could be like if she wasn’t an Oracle as she watches the landscape roll by and walks through the wilderness to find the lonely farmsteads that the townsfolk tell her has sick children that cannot be let out of the shed for fear they will bite?

Setting all of that to one side, what human hasn’t thought of being someone else? What person on this planet, hasn’t looked at another person’s life that is so very different from their own and gone “huh, I wonder what that would be like” even if only for a moment before moving on and forgetting about it? Humans are creatures that dream by nature, that are curious by nature. To assume that Luna is not just because she gets to have the fancy dresses and servants is stupid.

…

3a: Luna is unable to make her own decisions and is only the dutiful Oracle because she doesn’t know any better and needs a “wiser” rebellious character to “open her eyes”.

Okay buckle up. I have tried to suppress the salt until now but over these last two points I don’t care. I will be salty. I will be sarcastic. I will be mean. I will reference Real World faiths (tho I’ll try to keep that to a minimum).

Both 3a and 3b are actually systemic issues in storytelling (particularly noticeable in movies/shows but maybe that’s because I’m pretty lucky with my book choices) that I despise with a passion. Specifically 3a relates to the chronic issue writers seem to have with characters not being allowed to be happy with their role in life. There’s this persistent thought, this narrative push, that if a character is following in the footsteps of their family, is entering the “traditional” profession that their parents (or grandparents, or entire generations of predecessors) have been in before them then they must be unhappy with their lot in life. That this is clearly the character being “repressed” and that if they are content then they are either a bad guy (see: every antagonist from a proud military family or every ruler who thinks they are better than everyone because of bloodline ever) or they are just blind to their own unhappiness.

Now, the basic idea of “character discovers they are unhappy in current role and seeks a new one” can actually be done really well. But those stories that do it well have a lot of internal conflict, a lot of self-reflection and searching and choosing to take a new path after really giving it some thought. Maybe they have help along the way, or encouragement, or another character to show that it’s possible by example and that’s okay.

What is not okay is infantilizing a strong, intelligent character by saying “oh it just never occurred to them until they are told that they are unhappy by this much more worldly wise character and then they went and did it”. That is not okay. It not only trivializes the efforts of every real person who has proudly followed in a parent’s footsteps to become something (a doctor, a missionary, a soldier, an actor, even an electrician, pick a life goal and I promise someone has been inspired to do that by their parent being one before them) but it also takes an otherwise strong, dedicated character and implies that they are too stupid to think for themselves or have any free will until the plot and a Shinier Character demands it.

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret is an Oracle, as her mother was before her, and her mother before her, and all the way back two thousand years to the very first Oracle we see in canon. Possibly back even farther, depending on if any of Aera’s ancestors were Oracles too. That isn’t a suffocating tradition, that is a heritage, that is a culture, that is a necessary, life-saving service that canon proves literally kept the world from falling into eternal darkness (Luna was the last Oracle, the day after she dies is literally the last time we players see sunlight until the end of the game when Noctis dies to restore it). Luna is not stupid or repressed for following in those footsteps, she is breathtakingly strong for shouldering her heritage as the Last Oracle with pride even when the forces controlling every other aspect of her life want her to be ashamed of it and give it up.

The empire that took over her home when she was twelve are actively anti-magic and anti-Astral. Luna is someone who speaks to the Astrals and is born with a magic that can heal the very sickness they want to weaponize. They couldn’t outright forbid her from training to be the next Oracle because that would cause the people to riot, but they could and absolutely would try to make her give up in any way they could. They would have insulted her, demeaned her, hurt her, and imprisoned her. They wouldn’t have wanted a “real” Oracle, they would have wanted a puppet who said pretty promises and then did nothing to stop them.

It would have been so easy for Luna to go down the same path her brother did. To give in to the empire and it’s propaganda that she would have been forced to listen to every single day of her life for twelve whole years. It would have made her life so much easier to be a puppet Oracle who didn’t have to walk miles through the wilderness to maintain Havens, or defy the empire by maintaining loyalty to Lucis, or leave her manor home to heal the sick that could not come to her themselves. As a puppet Oracle she could have stayed in the Manor and only treated cases that could reach her doors and were vetted by the empire. She could have eaten the finest foods and worn the best dresses and never had to worry about a pack of hungry Voretooths or a rogue Behemoth tearing her apart. Most of all, Niflheim wouldn’t have been nearly as oppressive or violent. They would have gladly given her the illusion of freedom and control as long as she played along rather than been fully willing and prepared to run into the jungle with a suitcase just to escape as seen in the movie.

Luna was not blindly fitting into a mold and she was not and has never been incapable of making a decision. The fact that she shows up in canon as a strong, dedicated woman who is in control of her emotions and not afraid to face down a giant sea monster with the power to summon tidal waves with just her words and a glorified pointy stick proves that. The idea that she needs a “wiser” character to come alongside her and “free her” from her own duties is not only stupid, it undermines one of the key things that makes Luna such a strong character despite her relative lack of screentime.

Furthermore, canonically, one of Luna’s main reasons for sticking with her duty as Oracle isn’t because it’s tradition, it’s because of what Niflheim did. In the Kingsglaive movie, when Nyx Ulric is getting angry at Luna for doing really reckless, life-threatening things, she tells him quote:

“I do not fear death. What I fear is doing nothing and losing everything.”

That’s not a woman who is blindly following a path laid out for her. That is a woman who is desperately, furiously fighting against the people who killed her mother in front of her the best way she can: by being the Oracle they cannot stand for her to be.

But sure. Luna is only the Oracle because she doesn’t know better and it never occurred to her to be anything else until some jaded kid with a shotgun made a snide comment about it.

3b: Luna’s faith is a character flaw that has only survived this long because it wasn’t challenged by a worldly wise character who knows better.

Not going to lie but words cannot express how much I hate this trope. This is another thing that shows up a lot in television/movies but also in books too, and that is that a character is not allowed to have a faith in something/religion unless they are 1. Foolish, 2. Brainwashed/tricked into it, 3. A crazy fanatic, or 4. It’s a character flaw they have to overcome by becoming more jaded and atheist and hateful.

Because … that’s not how it works. There are- millions (billions) of people all over the real world who are intelligent, well educated, thoughtful, kind, and religious. And no I’m not just talking about Christianity (tho I am Christian so you can see why this trope grinds my gears so hard). There’s Hinduism, there’s Islam, there’s Buddhism, there’s Judaism, there’s so many faiths and belief systems okay. And no we don’t tend to play well with each other or accept the validity of the others but that doesn’t mean we’re fanatics or brainwashed or stupid. And no we really don’t appreciate it when media introduces a character who follows a religion (even fictional ones!) only to make them an antagonist or rip it away from them in the name of “improving their character”. Just like every other cultural group ever who really doesn’t like their heritage and culture being used as a butt of jokes or is turned into a caricature or used as the basis for the antagonist being Evil™.

But no. We can’t possibly have a character who’s faith makes them strong or gives them comfort in times of hardship unless they are deluded. We can’t possibly have a character who is both intelligent and faithful. We can’t possibly show a character who is breathtakingly courageous and selfless as well as religious unless we point at their faith and go oh look a horrible character flaw to overcome by having non-believer characters open their eyes via sarcastic commentary.

And look. Look. I am well aware that the plot of Dawn of the Future has Bahamut as the Bad Guy™. I am fully aware of that. But if you want to be purely honest and technical, that doesn’t invalidate Luna’s faith because (spoilers) the other Astrals fight Bahamut to save the world. They hear her cries and the come to fight on behalf of Lucis and Noctis and all of Eos and they kill Bahamut even when that ensures their own destruction.

But we’re not actually here to talk about whether the Astrals deserve Luna’s faith in them, we’re here to talk about why insisting Luna’s faith is, by nature of being a faith, treated like a flaw and why it is treated like something so weak it only survived to this point because Luna didn’t face anything “bad” enough to “snap her out of it”.

Spoiler alert, it’s not a flaw and it’s not weak.

Going back to something I have mentioned several times already: Niflheim is an empire run by people who actively want to kill the very beings most of the planetary population worships. The very same people in charge of Luna’s life for twelve years, starting from when she was twelve and very emotionally vulnerable and traumatized, hate the Astrals. I repeat: They hate the Astrals. They have devised weapons to try (and spectacularly fail) to kill them. Half their continent is a winter nightmare-land because they tried to kill Shiva the Glacian and she went “haha, nice try, lemme leave a fake corpse here that constantly pumps out freezing temperatures and blizzards”.

Am I seriously, honestly, supposed to believe that these people didn’t try to tear down her faith at every single opportunity? That Ravus wouldn’t have tried to bully and cajole and harass her into abandoning her faith because he knew that her faith was what kept her walking her chosen path as Oracle and that said path was destined to kill her? Am I seriously supposed to believe that Luna didn’t spend those twelve years having to sit there and bite her tongue to keep from raging at these cutthroat nobles as they gloated and sneered and spat on the names of the Astrals who gave Luna the very magic she uses to heal those in need?

Luna never needed Sol to come along and say “what have the Astrals ever done for you?” because I promise that she’s heard some variation of that exact phrase from everyone in her life. From her own brother to the Emperor himself she has heard some form of this question, this taunt. In the Kingsglaive movie, General Glauca even says something to the order of, “To what god do you pray? The gods do not listen.” Right before he kidnaps her.

Luna’s faith isn’t something blind, and it is not a flaw. It is a cornerstone of her character. Luna’s faith is a bloody, stubborn, tenacious thing that she has nurtured and shored up and been steadied by through twelve years of emotional abuse and physical imprisonment. Luna’s faith is an unshakeable thing that can only come from long nights spent crying into the silent dark of the room and asking “is this real? Am I right? Should I give up? This hurts so much, what do I do?” and finding the answer to be “yes this is real. Yes I am right. No, I won’t give up even though it kills me. Yes it hurts, but what I believe in is stronger than this pain.”

Faith is not optimism and it is not fanaticism. Optimism can be broken by hardship and fanaticism has no room for selfless kindness or acceptance of other people not being as devoted as they are. Faith is personal. Faith is a bedrock, and maybe it’s a bedrock that makes no sense to people on the outside, but it is a bedrock and it can make mountains move.

Just as Luna proves when she runs rings around an Empire to win the respect and cooperation of Titan and of Ramuh, to stand amid the rain and tell an enraged TideMother that “it is in mercy that men offer praise, and in shedding grace that the gods solicit worship” and not flinch because she knows she is right.

Luna’s faith is a fierce, scarred thing that has taken every kind of suppression and propaganda and poison the empire could throw at it and kept on going.

Furthermore. Luna’s faith is treated by Sol as something empty. Because when did the Astrals ever help her or comfort her or save her?

I can answer that. They helped her when they gave her Umbra and Pryna, who kept her company through her life and gave her a way to talk to Noctis. A way to reach out to a person who was not either imperial, warped by imperial propaganda, or too afraid to speak out against the empire for fear of dying. They comforted her when Gentiana became a second mother for Luna after the death of Queen Sylva. A physical shoulder to cry on, a sounding board to bounce fears off of, a well of advice when it was asked of her, a rock to retreat to when Ravus turned away from her and the empire continued to control as much of her life as they could.

Gentiana, who is really Shiva in disguise, has been with Luna since she was a small child.

One of the Astrals themselves has been with Luna for almost her entire life. Has guided her, has comforted her, has led her to safety as she fled Insomnia’s ruins.

Shiva had no reason to do that. The Oracles have done their duty since the time of Aera without her help or company. Shiva didn’t have to stay. She didn’t have to linger and offer comfort and become Luna’s friend. She didn’t have to listen to the last words of a scared young woman who wanted only to see her fiancé one last time and promise to carry them to Noctis in the event of her death. Shiva didn’t have to cry on behalf of Luna. Shiva didn’t have to help Luna remember what it was like to be an ordinary woman (“Yet others need not hide their grief. Is she [Luna] so different from them?”), and in fact, if Shiva had played up to most of the stereotypes, she would have done the opposite and done her hardest to suppress any part of Luna’s personality that wasn’t her Oracle duties.

But she did. Shiva was there, and she remembered. Shiva loved and we as a fandom may yell at the Astrals a lot for not doing more to take care of the Starscourge, but of all of them Shiva gave the most because she came down and she lived, and walked, and loved this Oracle, this scared child, this frightened, weary woman who couldn’t even turn to her own family for comfort. Shiva’s husband Ifrit was betrayed by humankind and yet Shiva still defended them, she kills Ifrit to protect the man (the king) that Luna loved.

And at the end of the game, in those final moments outside the Citadel, when it’s just Noctis and his Retinue against all of Ardyn’s armies of daemons, when Luna calls out to these Astrals whom she has remained faithful to her entire life, even unto her death…

They answer.

Every. Last. Astral. Who is not corrupted like Ifrit, comes down at her prayer and fights. Even Leviathan who’s only voiced lines are screaming wrath against the humanity that forgot her, even Bahamut who otherwise remains aloof in his plane of magic beyond the concerns of the mortal world. Luna calls, and they answer her.

“What have the Astrals ever done for her” indeed.

Luna’s faith is a driving force of her character, it is irrevocably intertwined with her duty, with her choices, with her desire to help people and save the world even if it costs her own life, and in the end her faith is rewarded. Not in the way we want for her, because we love the ultimate happy endings where everyone lives and nobody dies. But Final Fantasy XV was never a story about happy endings. It was a story about coming of age, and tragedy, and sacrifice. Of holding onto hope against all opposition, and of having faith that someday the dawn will return, even if bringing about that dawn requires personal sacrifice.

…

Okay this is over 5k words, I’m tired, and I’m extremely salty so I can’t really figure out how to wrap this up but there we go, my salty personal rant about why I think Dawn of the Future messed up some really critical parts of Luna’s characterization and why it’s Really Bad that they messed up those specific things.

Also I kinda despise them making Bahamut the bad guy in DotF because yes he’s a jerk and yes he really could have done the whole Prophecy thing a ton better, but in the original FFXV one of the things that made the game so heartbreakingly tragic to me is that most of the characters involved weren’t pure evil. They could be greedy, and flawed, and crazy, but in the end the source of the problem was too big to pin on one character.

Do you pin the entire thing on the god of war for his mistakes in trying to bring about peace, or the god of fire for trying to destroy humanity and no longer being there to do his job and purify the plague? Do you blame the Astrals for their hubris or humanity for theirs, because Ifrit loved humanity until they betrayed him so deeply he went mad? Do you hate Ardyn for causing the Long Night or pity him for being a victim of Somnus’s greed? Can you blame Somnus for everything even though the Scourge was going on long before him and kept spreading long after he sealed Ardyn away? The whole thing is a tragedy because at this point it’s a problem too big to fix without someone paying a price too heavy and we hate that because the characters who pay that price are the ones we grow to love over the game.

But that is an entirely different rant for an entirely different day when I am not so tired and my hands no longer hurt from writing this much in one sitting. Thank you and good night.

80 notes · View notes

unmaskedagain · 5 years ago

Text

White Horse (This Ain’t a Fairytale)

Quick one-shot. Needed to do something sort of different.

Marinette had dreamed of the moment. The moment she would finally be brave enough to look Adrien Agreste in the eyes and tell him how she left; that she loved him. She had pictured, hoped, how would be a thousand times. It would be like fairy tale. Adrien the handsome prince. Her, the princess. He’d sweep her off her feet. And they’d go get ice cream together, ready to start her happily ever after. Like in the movies.

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” Adrien frowned, scratching his head, like he didn’t know what to say. “I just don’t think of you that way.”

In retrospect, Marinette should’ve known better.

“Oh,” Was all Marinette could say. She felt numb, despite knowing her heart had shattered in her chest.

Because of course he wouldn’t feel the same. Marinette so stupid to think he would. She should’ve known… She should’ve known!

Adrien shrugged, “It’s not you,” He offered. “I like someone else.”

Because of course he did.

“Yeah,” Marinette nodded, looking anywhere but at him. “Cool. I get it.”

“I might’ve considered once,” Adrien rushed to add. “But you sort of changed.”

Marinette took a step back, “Changed?” She didn’t change at all.

“You’ve been distant from the class and all our friends,” Adrien explained. “And the whole Lila thing?”

“Lila?” Marinette said numbly. “She’s a liar, and people deserve to know the truth. And I haven’t been distant from the class. They’ve been ignoring me.”

“Because you keep calling Lila out,” Adrien put in. “It’s causing problems. She’s not hurting anyone.”

Marinette looked at him, really looked at him. “You don’t think that she’s hurting anyone. Not even Nino who she promised would meet a big time director so he’s not finishing his piece for film festival. Or Nathanial who broke off a great partnership with Marc because Lila promised he was better off and that she introduce him to DC comic book writers? You don’t think that’s hurting him?”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Adrien shrugged. “They’ll be other opportunities. Marc will take Nathanial back if he apologizes.”

Again, Marinette just stared. Because no! No Marc wouldn’t because Marc was already poached to work on Claude’s graphic novel about a kid who finds out he’s the descendent of Van Helsing.

Could Adrien be serious? Was he that naïve? Was Marinette? Had she gotten so lost in his eyes that she never even stood a chance of seeing what he was really like? How could she claim if she had ever loved him if that was the case?

“And when the class finds out Lila’s lying,” Marinette raised her hand to stop Adrien from interrupting. “And I have no further intention of outing her,” To her disgust he looked pleased. “When they find out she’s lying, and the fact that they stopped being my friends, bullied me, harassed me in some cases, and basically given me the cold shoulders for almost a year. Do you think I will forgive them? That we’d go back to being friends?”

“Of course you will,” Adrien said brightly. “Why wouldn’t you?”

Marinette just blinked, amazed. “Because they hurt me.” She just shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when get there.” And Marinette would take sweet pleasure in burning it down. “I’m going to go now…” She started to walk away.

“I’m sorry again!” Adrien called.

Oh that Marinette knew for certain. And so was Marinette for that matter.

Over the next few weeks, Marinette was in a state of confusion. Her heart had been crushed. But it seemed to fade rather quickly. Mostly because every time she thought about him, she’d hear his words and feel sick. All those dreams she had about her and Adrien made her want to bang her head against the wall. Because what if that’s she came across; with all her fairytale wishes. Life wasn’t a fairy. She wasn’t a princess. No one was going to come sweep her off her feet. And unlike Adrien, she had always known that life wasn’t anything like the movies.

The issue was that maybe she was more like Adrien then she thought. Didn’t she think that once her friends knew the truth everything would be okay? Didn’t some part of her think Alya and her would go back to being besties? That’ll it would all be bygones? But what about all the hurt feelings? The broken trust? The cruel words? Those all didn’t just vanish. That wasn’t how life worked. There was no possible way for them to go back to the way it was.

And the more she thought about it, the more Marinette wasn’t sure that she wanted it to.

Marinette had been really tired of being taken for granted; all those school trips, dances, birthday parties, fundraisers, and she never even got a thank you. A lot of her classmates just frowned in disapproval once Lila mentioned how she could’ve done it better, made it better if Marinette had let her help. So Marinette gracefully quit being class president; let someone else take the lead. She was tired of doing free commissions; it cost a lot of money and time and no one seemed to even care. Then Lila mentioned how she had a tailor and personal designer who was so much faster than Marinette, who might be doing it on purpose as no one could be that slow. In the face the suspicious glares, Marinette had casually mentioned how great it was for Lila to offer to help their classmates as Marinette would no longer be able to do free commissions. Then Marinette decided that the next thing to go was demands, not asks, of her time. This had come after Alya had dropped off her little sisters’ at Marinette suddenly and cited how busy she was. Only for Marinette to see posts about a class party.

Then Marinette made sure she was always busy. And she asked her parents not to just let anyone up to her room. Marinette had to go get then now.

No, Marinette was quite sure, she rather nothing went back to the way it was. Too much had been said and done. It was too late for fairy tales or movie magic. Too late for anyone on a white horse to come around to carry her off to a happy ending.

Time passed, and Marinette watched with a twisted feeling of glee in her chest, when the entire class seemed to slowly fall apart. First it was the winter school trip. Originally, Marinette had planned an amazing tour of presidential office and then a quick trip to the beach. However, when it became clear that nothing had been done yet for the trip despite months of warnings, Marinette backed out of going. She laughed for days, when she saw the pictures of the class on a local farm.

Then it was the school dance. Lila’s personal designer apparently suffered a horrible fire in her studio and all the dresses were destroyed; leaving most of the girls in the class in tears. They’d gone in old dresses. Marinette, however, had worn her most fabulous design yet. A beautiful, lacy, scarlet dress that made her look WOW, as her new friends had put it. Luka had been her date; only as a friend of course. The two had realized that while they had a lot in common, the attraction wasn’t sexual.

Fundraisers were next. And the targets were never hit. Trips to festivals, museums that required more than a few hours ride, and the like were cancelled. The annual spring trip, something the class had looked forward to for two years, had been all but cancelled. Usually, it was trip to another country for two weeks. Marinette had planned on New York. But Marinette was no longer class president by the first week of October.

Marinette’s only problem came when Rose and Juleka broke up. The one other pairing, Alya had once sworn, the class was more invested in than Adrien and Marinette getting together. The two had been so in love. Then Lila happened.

She got into Rose’s head about deserving a prince, about how shy Juleka couldn’t really be serious about her if she never expressed it like others did, and what about Prince Ali? How would he feel if he found out Rose was dating someone else.

And Rose, poor sweet Rose had always had a head full of fairy tales. She never stood a chance.

It wasn’t surprising when Luka and Marinette found Juleka crying on the deck of the boat. Marinette had taken mercy on the girl. She made not have been Juleka’s friend anymore but she was still Luka’s sister. And anyone could see she needed time away,

So After a quick intervention, Juleka now knew Lila to be the biggest Liar on the planet. Marinette invited her on her trip to Metropolis for spring break. The trip had been under the guise of World explorers club, which had been just Marinette and her new friends (Claude, Marc, Ondine, Aurore, Luka, Bridgette, and Felix) who saved enough money to spend two weeks in the States away from their and any and all drama.

To make it look education, and to stop Mendeleiev from giving them suspicious glares, they even book a tour of LexCorp. Again, mostly to appease Mendeleiev.

However, Lexcorp was the highlight of the trip if you asked Marinette. She’d run into Connor Luther-Kent, a small town boy, with biceps as big her head, and the biggest blue eyes she’d ever seen and promptly knew exactly how she’d be spend the rest of her vacation.

Connor had led the tour.

…Okay so Connor was supposed to lead the tour. But he and Marinette had kept sneaking glances at each other with blushes on their faces so much that his Aunt Lena, who swore she wasn’t spying, took over the tour. Eventually Connor and Marinette felt the far back of the tour, trading jokes and accidently touching hands. They didn’t even notice when tour ended.

“And the concludes the tour,” Lena announced. “Oh pretty French girl making eyes at my nephew, Connor’s free tomorrow around 6. He’d love to meet you at the fair in town. Maybe win you a stuffed animal.”

Connor turned bright red.

“Oh Marinette would love to go, handsome farm boy,” Mendeleiev answered with a smirk. “She just wants to say her curfew is eleven. She’ll brings friends, so brings some of yours. And she respectable girl who doesn’t kiss on first dates.”

Marinette squeaked.

“Understood,” Lena beamed at the embarrassment of the blushing teens. “Connor’s a gentleman. And such a boy scout, if pretty French girl doesn’t make the first move, nothing will happen. He’s a shy one.”

Mendeleiev crossed, “That might be a problem. Marinette’s just as shy as handsome farm boy. I guess we’ll see what happens.”

“Guess we will,” Lena smiled.

The two women and the rest of Marinette friends just stared at the two teenagers who looked ready to die.

The fair was great. Marinette’s friends and Connor’s got along great. Though Luka skipped out with a handsome kid named Tim. Aurore found redhead named Wally intriguing. Ondine ditched everyone to go hang out with a black boy with blond hair name Kaldur. Marc and Claude left together. And finally Juleka and a girl named Artemis went to ride the Ferris wheel together. Turned out, Juleka had a thing for blondes.

Marinette and Connor spent the entire time, holding hands, and eating weird fair food, and getting more than a little lost in each other’s eyes.

The rest of the trip was pretty much the same. The two friend group would meet up and usually break off into couples not long after.

Marinette did find herself covering for a curfew breaking Luka at one time, another for Ondine. And most surprising for Juleka, who assured everyone she was fine through texts, but didn’t make it back to the hotel till the next day. Luka high-fived his sister on her way in.

The only times, it was a couple-free zone when was when they had to do something educational. The daily planet had been fun. Lois Lane had been insightful and gave great advice to Aurore. She had been interviewing an Olympian swimmer who had no problems shelling out advice to Ondine. And then to the local history museum and the art museum.

It took everything they had to convince the teacher that a movie premiere was education. If the movie was some action superhero blockbuster, it might’ve been easier. But still the glasses wearing teacher caved, though with way she eyed Chris Evans, Marinette thinks they might tried too hard.

And once when Marinette got backstage passes to see Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale perform on their Pop and Rock tour. Neither star hesitated to bring Marinette and her friends on stage. They had announced her as their fashion designer, who did the amazing dress Clara was wearing and rocking look Jagger sported. Luka got to play guitar for Jagged. Clara and Jagged did a cover of an old *NSYNC song that her mom had revealed was her favorite song growing up.

(God Must Have Spent) A Little More Time On You.

The bluenette had shed a few tears on stage, in front of everyone.

Marinette would find out later that the concert was live streamed.

Her most heart stopping moment came when Marinette met Connor’s parents; it had been an accident. They had been going to outside concert when Connor remembered he needed to drop something off at his dad’s place, and it was just going to be for five minutes. They had gotten to the penthouse. Connor left her in the living room. Marinette had been looking at the pictures on the mantle when she heard a clearing of the throat.

She turned around and came face to face with Times’ man of the year, Lex Luthor. Never again, will she considered Gabriel Agreste scary. He was tickle-me Elmo compared to Lex Luthor, maybe a rouge furby doll. Those things were always creepy.

Lena stood next to him with a pretty blond woman Marinette knew to be Kara, who Marinette knew from picture to be Connor’s aunt, who worked out of National city.

“You must be… Marinette?” Lex drawled.

Marinette fought not to smooth out her fifties-style chic sliver dress. “Yes, Sir. Connor just stepped away.”

They made light conversation after that. Marinette telling about her interests and achievements and wondering where Connor was because five minutes her ass. When Connor’s other dad arrived.

A ruffled looking man looking man, that looked remarkable like Connor, that wore the most hideous plaid shirt she’d ever seen. “Hi’ya, I’m Clark. Connor’s dad.” He introduced. Clark held out his hand. “You must be Marinette, Connor hasn’t stopped talking about you since you two met.”

Marinette shook his hand with a smile. And she didn’t mean the say, doesn’t how it slipped out. “Who let you out of the house dressed like that?”

The two men froze. So did the women.

“What?” Clark asked a stunned look on his face.

“Seriously!” Marinette said, unable to stop herself. “That shirt shouldn’t just be thrown away. It should be burned to ashes and fed to the designer.”

Clark blushed, and pushed his glasses up. “I like it. It looks like my other ones.”

“There are more of those sins of nature!” Marinette exclaimed. “How? Why? Who hurt you?”

Lex smirked.

That was when Connor came into the room, with a smile on his face. He wrapped an arm around Marinette’s waist and looked at his parents, “What’s going on?”

“An intervention,” Marinette snipped.

Lex Luther pointed at Connor, “Marry that girl.”

Lena and Kara fell down laughing.

Connor’s face turned red.

Clark looked like a confused puppy.

Marinette came with apology cookies the next day.

Connor and Marinette were officially boyfriend and girlfriend by the time the trip ended.

While they were gone, however, things in Paris weren’t going great for the class. The three days of break had been great. Spring trip was just to an amusement park which had disappointed quite a few, but they’d perked up when Alya pointed out that at least Marinette wasn’t there to ruin it all for them. As far as they were concerned life was good without the bluenette.

Then the fourth day happened. And Juleka posted her first picture. Marinette, her new friends, Juleka; the World Travel’s club, in Metropolis. The mood quickly soured after that. The pictures of their fabulous hotel rooms. The pictures of them at LexCorp with Lena Luther herself; Max was left reeling. Then came the pictures the fairs and dates the group had gone on. Alya had nearly cried when she saw the pictures of the tour of the Daily Planet. Rose had cried when she saw Juleka with some beautiful girl named Artemis.

The worst of it happened when the entire class got together to watch Pop and Rock on tour as Alya’s house. The concert had been stream. And They had all been so excited. Until Marinette was called on stage, and along with all her friends. The popstar and Rock star dedicated a song to Marinette.

It had been a trip worthy dreaming about.

That was when the class remembered just how amazing Marinette had been at planning school trips. Why they ever wanted her to resign, they couldn’t remember.

Adrien saw a picture Marinette and some dark haired boy holdings hands and for some reason felt his heart break a little.

When they got back to Paris and the break ended, Marinette and Juleka walked to class with their heads held high and love in their hearts. When the girls got to their seats, Alya was the first to try and ruin their good mood.

“Have fun over break?” She snapped.

“Loads,” Marinette raised an eyebrow. “As many times as you like Juleka’s pics of the daily planet I’d assumed you know that.”

Alya’s temper grew as jealous soared through her, “You could’ve at least invited your friends.”

“I did,” Marinette stated. “Or don’t you remember when you yelled at me the lunchroom that you weren’t my friend anymore. And rest of you agreed.”

Some looked ashamed. Others still looked petulant.

“Our trip sucked,” Kim groaned. There were nods in agreement.

“Talk to your class president,” Marinette shrugged. “Last I check, that wasn’t me.” She motioned to Lila. “I’m surprised Lila couldn’t do something better with all the connections she has. I’m sure she could out due a bunch of kids who just saved a few bucks over the course of the year.”

Lila smiled pleasant but the look in her eyes could’ve killed Marinette, “I was so busy. With all my charity work. There was no time.”

Marinette hummed in response.

“You all looked so amazing at the movie premier!” Rose beamed. It was clear to those who really looked that the blond was sad, maybe even heartbroken.

Juleka nodded, finding that the sight of her ex-girlfriend wasn’t as devastating as it would’ve been before the trip, “Marinette designed all of our clothes.”

It took six months after that for Lila’s kingdom to crumble and for the entire class to apologize to the bluenette. Unfortunately, Marinette didn’t react like they’d hoped. Sure, she accepted their apologies, even forgave them, but she made it clear they weren’t friends. They’d never be friends again.

Adrien had given her a disappointed look afterwards and had tried to convince her that everything could go back to the way it was. She shrugged, and didn’t dignify him with a response.

It was three months after for Hawkmoth to finally be defeated thanks to Connor who turned out to be Superboy and the rest of Young Justice who may or may be dating the rest of the new team Miraculus.

It was a week later that Chat Noir and Ladybug revealed themselves to each other. It didn’t go as either of them had hoped.

Marinette didn’t know who was more surprised. Her or Adrien. She frowned when she saw the hope in the blond boy’s eyes.

Adrien had been stunned and then a happy smile appeared on his face. Ladybug and his princess was one in the same. She had liked him. Had asked him out. Adrien may have been stupid to turn her down but that it didn’t matter anymore. It would all work out, “Princess,” He said. “I knew we were meant to be.” That was what he thought until Superboy flew down to stand next to Marinette.

Marinette gave Adrien a pitying smile, “I’m not a princess, Adrien. This isn’t a fairy tale. This isn’t the movies. We already had our chance. I’m leaving Paris. I’m joining the justice league. It’s too late to catch me now.”

#ml salt #ml fic #marinette dupen chang #Marinette deserves better #class salt #adrien salt

3K notes · View notes