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raya-rhaenyra-ahsoka · 3 years ago

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Why Daenerys Should've Stayed Longer in the North Than Attack Cersei Too Soon (Which is a dick move, really) PART 2

This is a continuation from my other post, as promised. Here’s the link to Part 1 here.

ALLIES FROM THE SOUTH

The Stormlands. With Dany recently legitimizing Robert Baratheon’s last living bastard, Gendry (Yay!), and appointed him as the new Lord of Storm’s End, I think he had pledged his loyalty and full support to her.

Now since the Baratheons are the overlords of the Stormlands, it ultimately makes the Stormlands part of Dany’s new rule in Westeros. And if the Stormmen questioned Gendry’s legitimacy, there are two people who can back him up: Ser Davos Seaworth, a landed knight, and Ser Brienne of Tarth, literally the heiress to Evenfall in Tarth Island. Both of whom are from the Stormlands and have served the late Baratheon lords, Stannis,

and Renly, respectively.

TV show-wise, Gendry had taken over Edric Storm’s plotline. Edric Storm was another one of Robert’s many bastards and it was him who Ser Davos saved from being killed by Mellisandre in the books, not Gendry. Gendry himself was grateful to Davos for saving his life and he sort of stepped up as his own parental figure. I also think Gendry reminded Davos of the son he lost during the Battle of Blackwater Bay.

As for Brienne, she and Gendry never shared a conversation in the show, but in the books, he even saved her life. Brienne came from Tarth, an island in the Stormlands, where her father Selwyn Tarth is lord and one of the many bannermen of the Baratheons of Storm’s End. Brienne came across Gendry in the Inn at the Crossroads while she was searching for the Stark girls. When she saw him, she literally thought he was Renly because of his striking resemblance to his uncle. Their exchange went something like this:

Brienne: Oh my god, Lord Renly?!

Gendry: Uh, what? Lord? Lol no, I’m just a smith.

I wished it happened in the show, it would’ve been funny.

Dorne. There isn’t much plot regarding Dorne in the show. (Again, f*ck D&D for ruining a great sub-plot of the story!) But in the books, the Martell heiress, Arianne was the ultimate feminist icon. She supported and fought for Myrcella Baratheon’s claim to the Iron throne over her younger brother, Tommen, and she hoped that the rest of Westeros would follow after Dorne’s right of inheritance regardless of gender and order of birth. But no! They disregarded that seemingly important plot that even George R.R. Martin was disappointed about the changes. (We hear you, George!) Nevertheless, Arianne would’ve supported a queen, yes. But between Daenerys and Cersei, she’d probably go with Dany mainly because of their family ties. In case you forgot, Rhaegar’s late first wife, Elia Martell, was Arianne’s aunt. Also, because of what happened to Elia and Oberyn Martell in King’s Landing, the Martells practically loathed the Lannisters. In the show, Oberyn Martell’s paramour Ellaria Sand, and his bastard daughters, the Sand Snakes, hated the Lannisters, that’s why they sided with Dany. But with all of them dead and House Martell now extinct, I think the new prince of Dorne would’ve allied himself with a tamer ruler, not one who plays with wildfire. (Note: this is when Dany stayed in the North and did not march south yet.)

Spies. In the Art of War, the use of spies implies gaining knowledge of the enemy, knowing their motive and their next move. With Lord Varys the Spider in Winterfell, who’s still serving under Daenerys, has its advantages. Vary’s networks of spies or as what he called them, his “little birds” are literally scattered across the seven kingdoms.

His little birds are actually children, and appearance-wise, cannot be easily identified as spies. With his intel, they could easily formulate a plan to defeat Cersei.

DEFENSE AT SEA

If Cersei couldn’t do it by land, she’ll go by sea. Which, Daenerys of course, have the appropriate fleets to defend, covering both the Narrow and Sunset Seas. Here's a map:

(Source: pinterest.com)

Enemies to the East. If Cersei will be stupid enough to attack through the Narrow Sea by sea, Daenerys has the fleets to defend. The Northern fleet, a.k.a the Manderly Fleet of White Harbor and the Arryn Fleet in Gulltown in the Vale will join forces.

Enemies to the West. And if they invade through the Sunset Sea, they’d have to pass the Iron Islands, where Yara Greyjoy’s Fleet will intercept them, with the help of the Mallister Fleet in Seagard.

Who would win depends. The only other person that’s probably as good as Euron at sea is his niece, Yara. The rest of Dany’s fleet would have to get lucky or outnumber the number of ships in a fleet.

At this point, you’ll probably be like, oh, what if they steer clear from the fleets and enter the North’s weakly defended areas? Okay, that job falls to the castles nearest to their borders. The northernmost castle is the Last Hearth, the seat of House Umber, which is practically already deserted. On the south is Greywater Watch, which has the strongest defense out of all four cardinal directions. On both east and west hold the seat of two branches of House Flint, with Widow’s Watch on the east, and Flint’s Finger on the west (Again, refer to the map above). Once they see Cersei’s fleet, they’ll inform the people in Winterfell.

People tend to forget that Daenerys has the only air support with her dragons. So when she hears about this, she’ll easily burn the enemy fleet with one dracarys away.

That is, if Qyburn hadn’t installed that big-ass crossbow in one of the ships, then she’ll have to be better at dodging them. It gets better if Jon’s willing to help her with Rhaegal, but we’ll never know.

OUTNUMBERED AND SURROUNDED

The map shows the Crownlands and its neighboring kingdoms of the Vale, the Riverlands, the Reach, and the Stormlands. (Source: pinterest.com)

Territories. With Cersei sacrificing Casterly Rock to tighten her grip on the Iron Throne, she technically had also sacrificed the Westerlands, which meant everything north of King’s Landing is Dany’s territory now. With Dany’s army and territories secured, the Crownlands, where King’s Landing is, is technically surrounded by the Vale, the Riverlands, the Reach, and Stormlands. I included the Reach because, well, she roasted the Tarlys and took the remaining men to her cause with a choice, bend the knee or die in a blaze of glory.

Armies. Dany has the combined armies of North, Vale, Riverlands, Westerlands, Reach, Stormlands, and maybe Dorne, plus, the Unsullied; fleets of the North, Vale, Riverlands, and Yara’s fleet from the Iron Islands; and the only air support, her two remaining dragons. Cersei on the other hand, just had the army of the Crownlands, King’s Landing’s City Watch, the queensguard, plus, the Golden Company without elephants; and Euron Greyjoy’s fleet.

I think it’s obvious that Dany outnumbers Cersei’s army, by a lot. And at this point, Dany has enough allies to lay a siege on King’s Landing.

DAENERYS VS. CERSEI

Let’s discuss the difference in the personalities and motives of Daenerys Targaryen and Cersei Lannister.

They both have blond hair, are the only girl among three siblings, and are queens in their own right. But that’s where their similarities end.

Cersei currently sits on the iron throne, and she is loving the perks that came with it. Endless Power, which meant she can do whatever she wants and not care about what people think, like sleeping with her brother. With the news of Dany coming back to Westeros, she sees her as a threat and wanted nothing more than for Dany to disappear so she could stay in power.

Daenerys, however, claims that being the queen of the seven kingdoms is her birthright, as it was the Targaryens that reunited the whole continent of Westeros. Of course, it’s still power, but at the same time, she sees it as a responsibility as well. (With great power, comes great responsibility. Wow, I’m quoting Spiderman now.) She believes that as a queen, it’s her job to take care and provide for the needs of her subjects and even makes an effort to hold court as she listened to their demands. She also thinks that slavery is a big no-no, so she freed them.

The key to becoming a great leader is finding the balance between being loved and feared by your subjects. Cersei is more likely feared than loved. She also doesn’t care about her people, a fact that she admitted to her brother, Tyrion once. Daenerys most likely had the scale tips on balance, with her being equally loved and feared by her subjects. She’s loved because she actually takes time to listen to the people’s needs, and feared because she could take you out using her dragons with one word.

If Dany did lay siege on King’s Landing (again, we aren’t counting her major mad queen moment), the only thing Cersei can use against Dany is the people living within the city walls. Cersei might have heard that Dany’s been freeing slaves in the cities surrounding Slaver’s Bay, and figured out that she has a soft spot for the common folk.

In conclusion, if Daenerys had simply waited out and took her time planning and gathering allies and supplies against Cersei, she would’ve been successful in her campaign to retake Westeros. But then again, we aren’t the writers for this show. In the end, they had Jon battling through himself while he chooses to reply with either of his two favorite lines, She’s my queen or I don’t want it. Or that Sansa and Arya doesn’t like Dany at all and think that she’s a power-hungry, dragon-riding bitch. Or that Bran doesn’t give a f*ck about anything. So, yeah. What do you guys think?

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priscilla9993 · 4 years ago

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Killian Jones and Alcoholism

This is mainly a summary of things relating Killian/Hook to alcohol/rum. It was done for a college paper and is very long, therefore it’s under the break. To warn you, it is going to be mainly Wish Hook based since I needed to narrow it down and it was easier to show how he handled alcohol as a recovering alcoholic. Enjoy!

The character in question for this case study is Killian Jones, well known by his more colorful moniker of Captain Hook, as portrayed from the ABC TV show Once Upon A Time. He lives in a region of a fantasy realm known as the Enchanted Forest. He used to be a Royal Navy Lieutenant with his older brother Liam, straight-laced on being good and not getting into trouble in any way, especially after getting somewhere in life and no longer subjected to being an indentured deckhand like when their father abandoned them as kids. During a daring quest to Neverland to find some medicine for the king, Peter Pan said they had been tricked to bring back a poisonous plant called Dreamshade, meant to be used as a weapon against unsuspecting enemies. Killian was wary, ready to denounce his service to the king, but his brother was willing to have faith in a noble king and country. With one swift motion of the plant’s prick hoping to prove otherwise, Liam began dying and realized his mistake. Recruiting the help of Pan and some magical water, Liam was cured but soon died in Killian’s arms on the voyage back to the king, the price of the magic being death if Liam ever left Neverland with the water running through his veins. His brother’s death made Killian vengeful at his king and country as his brother had been noble until the very end and everyone else was corrupt, playing noble, proving to him that the world was at fault. From that day on, he took over the ship and decided to be a pirate named Captain Jones, pursuing freedom, and throwing away all he’s ever known because being noble didn’t serve justice. This starts his life of thievery, promiscuity, and never-ending drinking. His coping solutions to deal with his emotional pain only gets worse when he loses his hand, first love of his life, Milah, and his honor after losing a duel against Rumplestiltskin, a coward turned into a powerful Dark One; which leads him on a path of revenge to kill the Rumplestiltskin, “the crocodile”, to avenge Milah and his pride. This leads him to makeshift a hook for a hand and him going by the nickname of Captain Hook, leaving the last piece of his past behind and never letting himself be vulnerable again.

Throughout the series, whenever he or someone in his vicinity is having a rough time, his solution is to pour out some alcohol and drink his feelings away, acting like an egotistical flirt rather than expressing himself and wallowing in misery. His choice of alcohol happens to be rum, a hard liquor. The acute symptoms he has in the show are the loss of judgment, a reddened face, confusion, potentially heightened sexual desire, and sometimes blackouts/unconsciousness. There are multiple times where he’s in a tavern, pouring doubloons into drinks for his crew, rum for himself, and flirting with women/barmaids to have a nightcap with. From here on, I will refer to him as Hook unless stated otherwise. On one occasion of his usual proclivities displaying or implying such symptoms, Hook tries to seduce a woman named Emma. She manages to use his habit of drinking to her advantage, making him jolly and willing to take her back to his ship for the said nightcap; her actual objective was being a distraction while his future self did recon for info on how to get back to their timeline in a Back to the Future sort of way. He continues heavily drinking on the way back with Emma without a care for his health. As soon as the plan goes awry with Hook seeing double, Emma not realizing Future Hook was still doing recon, he gets knocked out for good measure and partial jealousy. Future Hook justifies this, saying his past self was “asking to be knocked out, will wake up upset, and blame the rum.” The lines construe how frequent the drinking was for his future self to determine Hook’s ill-mannered disposition while drunk.

Eventually, in a parallel way that stems from drunk Hook, is a feeble and spent pirate coined as “Wish Hook”. I have and will be focusing on this iteration for the whole of the paper, but what was written before was his younger self’s background. Wish Hook is the same guy as Hook, but years older down the line, differing paths from Future Hook as he never found love again with someone like Emma and had let his grief and alcohol from more recent negative events consume him. Wish Hook had lived out most of his lifespan, having been a sober father, but cursed to be poisoned any time he drew near his daughter after a witch encounter. Haunted by his regrets and somber circumstances, he turned back to an alcoholic, spending his days eased by rum. His body and actions in this form show the physical and mental effects of chronic alcohol consumption. About ten years or less had passed between his younger self and he had become an experienced middle-aged man with a complicated history, yet he looked far older than his years and decrepit. Without a doubt, by looking at him, people could assume he was an old drunk, his liver and heart having gotten fatty and overworked from the alcohol catching up to him. His belly was rotund, his hair disheveled and gray with streaks of white, his stance crumbling to nearly falling over with each step, and clothes dirtied with filth and old rum stains. Wish Hook still had a flirty and dramatic personality to cheer himself up and mask his turmoil, rum making him courageous and numb, while his actions told another story. He didn’t have sexual desires or try to provoke anyone by that point, just wanted to drown himself in alcohol. His words typically came out slurred, his movements sluggish and unrefined, and he had low problem-solving skills when it came to formulating a plan based on anything other than motive.

In the Enchanted Forest, alcohol like rum is not hard to come by as long as money is involved. Killian Jones/Captain Hook as a pirate drinking rum all the time did not affect him negatively socially or career-wise. If anything, it boosted his status and reputation. For him to be mingling in bars asking for expensive hard liquor and fine women to spend time with was a pleasantry. Bar owners got money, the crew got free alcohol, the women got paid, and he got to immerse himself in pleasure rather than thinking about trivial or serious things. Hook was the life of the party as a pirate captain, seen as a person with good tastes and great to have a fun time with when it came to alcohol. However, when it came to settling down and being a father later on in his life, Wish Hook reserved himself back to his more vulnerable side, caring about how his alcoholism could affect his parenting or child’s perspective. There are moments like that where he’s introspective and wants to do better by others that look up to him or who he cares about. In the show, when he is parenting, there is never a time where he has a bottle or flask of rum stashed nearby or is drinking. Wish Hook deems alcohol as the problem when it affects his judgment or his perceptions on how he could hurt the way people he loves view him. Love in any form brings him back to his core of being the best person he can be.

Killian Jones’s problem originates in nurture rather than nature because his alcohol problems started after he needed a reliable coping mechanism to lean on to deal with grief and anger. Although both nature and nurture influence him, for argument’s sake, nurture has the upper hand. Growing up, his father was a person he looked up to and wanted to be like, but that changed when he found out his father was a criminal who sold him and Liam to pay a route for a selfish escape. What little of his parents shown on-screen left betrayal or sadness in him, not the desire to drink. His parents weren’t clear on alcoholics or drug users as far as it goes. The only things he inherited from nature were probably his mischievous personality, temper, looks, and a high tolerance for alcohol. Living on a ship and being a poor deckhand, Killian didn’t seem to be the kind of guy to squander his savings on alcohol or other frivolous means. However, he would be on a ship constantly surrounded by adults who drank with a captain who cared more about money rather than morals, feeling squandered by his oppressed freedom and building resentment for authority. Without his brother steering him on track, Killian was no more than a young man with impulsive rebellious nature. When Liam went to get them navy papers to earn them their freedom from Captain Silver, it took Killian an offer of temptations from Silver, as much alcohol as he could drink and a bet on his money, for him to fall hook, line, and sinker; no pun intended. Alcohol and gambling meant a reprieve from thoughts, a chance at earning more than what he had before, and the same social standing as the other men aboard the ship. Perhaps, as much as he wanted to be strong as his brother, one good force cannot shield against all of the negative parts of society and adulthood. From Captain Silver, Killian got his first taste of alcohol and his desires did the rest, leaving him blackout drunk and penniless for Liam to find. As he grew older and slowly became Captain Hook, there was nothing about pirate life, being an adult, or people to keep him from drinking. He needed people to talk to, who supported him and he could feel vulnerable in front of, but the few people he trusted in his life were dead. As anyone knows, pirates steal treasure, so they’re not exactly the forgiving or down-to-earth types. Instead, rum became the solution to drown or fuel his emotions, being the substance of celebration and de-stressor.

Hook’s rum/alcohol addiction would fall more on the dependence spectrum rather than abuse. What had started as a small reprieve to the woes of life became a daily saving grace when he was wracked with loneliness or anger. He depended on the rum to mask his disposition of physical pain from his missing limb as well as emotional pain having experienced love and loss. Abusing alcohol meant that it would put him into dangerous scenarios, have little to no commitment to change his habits to improve his health, and he’d put off important social aspects. If it was alcohol abuse, Hook wouldn’t try changing his habits when he sees it affects others or his relationship with those he loves. Sure, he spends most of his life binge drinking and making merry with the tides of life, but when given the chance and support to abstain from alcohol, he takes it in a heartbeat. For Wish Hook, the thought of being a father who abandons his child or messes up under hazy judgment didn’t add up to him. With the birth of his daughter, Alice, he made a vow to stay with her as long as he could and to be the person he thought she could be proud of. Nevertheless, when he had lost purpose in life by something he had no control over (via death, distance, or curse), his first reaction was to either turn back to alcohol or solve his problems. Sadly, after he had spent a couple of years looking for a cure for his poison heart curse, he gave up hope and chose to go from sobriety back to alcoholism, into a form of regrettable self-destruction. Hook knew that it was not the way to go about life but he felt he had no other choice and had nothing left to lose, leading him to further prioritize and depend on rum to continue living. He built a tolerance to it, needing a copious amount to get drunk, and potentially suffering withdrawals from it after getting in too deep. From the state he was in by the time he gets old and portly, being a nearly homeless drunkard, it can be assumed that he spent most of his days looking for money to acquire more alcohol so he could feel okay.

Finally, by the end of the series, Killian Jones had managed to go through all the stages in the Stages of Change Model. He was in the Precontemplation stage as a pirate and Captain Hook as he didn’t see a problem in his daily rum and alcohol festivities, making no commitment to change his ways. By the time he gets to be Wish Hook and becomes a father, hesitant about settling down, he could be in the Contemplation stage. He’d want to do something about his alcohol problem and not be stuck relying on it but doesn’t know how to go about it or why he should, therefore staying stagnant to change. When he has his daughter, Alice, in his arms for the first time, we see him in the Preparation stage, planning to give up his ship, sea life, status, and most importantly, rum. Hook gives himself time to think of why he would do so and how he’d commit to it, eventually telling his crew the news. By the time he is taking care of her, he has already taken the actions needed to wean himself off alcohol and apply himself towards abstinence, taking him through the Action and Maintenance stages. There is a relapse back to the Contemplation stage in the paragraph before when he becomes poisoned and loses hope. Even so, the silver lining is that he had made the hard journey back into the Maintenance stage with the help of Ariel detoxing him and others giving him a magical second chance of bodily time renewal, sparking the hope to reunite with Alice and find a cure for his poisoned heart.

Plans go awry on this end as we get to his final iteration as he is teleported and cursed into our modern day and age as Detective Rogers. Although his memories of what happened in the past as this persona are fuzzy, he is shown to stick to his renewed alcohol abstinence and maintains that in many ways, just like when he was Wish Hook. His habits become integrated as a function rather than a hindrance as part of the Maintenance stage. As Rogers, we can see him frequent bars such as Roni’s or Flynn’s Barcade when he is invited out with others. He is shown to let others know what to get him, as a regular or not, something non-alcoholic. This usually shows up as sparkling water or regular water with a lemon slice in it. His friends and work partner continue to support his sobriety through friendly acceptance and never forcing him to drink alcohol along with them. Rogers is tempted by alcohol again when he believes a missing girl from a cold case, one he was responsible for since he was drinking on the night she went missing, is dead. He sits on a park bench alone grieving, a full bottle of rum next to him, ready to drink. As Rogers gives it a whiff, he is disgusted at himself for getting back to this state again and slams the bottle down on the bench in frustration, not even having taken a sip. He came too far that doing so again would be meaningless and would get him nowhere. Even though he is in situations full of temptation, he makes huge strides to not relapse and maintain his sobriety, with the hopes that it will eventually lead him back on the right path of happiness and belonging. Fortunately, his actions have positive consequences that ring true when the curse breaks and he gets reunited with his daughter and has the strong support of friends and family. In conclusion, Hook is a flawed human being that is more complex and his struggle with alcohol/rum is just a part of him, one he will never lose but continues living with.

#killian jones #captain hook #wish hook #detective rogers #killian jones meta #alcoholism #alcohol #stages of change #character study #ouat s7 #liam jones #slight emma swan mention

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botanicallyinclinednerd · 4 years ago

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*sigh* I entertained the cursed thought of Evil!Leon and now it won't leave, so fuck it: bullet point frame work

Warnings for blood, temporary character death, graphic injury, murder, attempted murder, angst with a happy ending, magic reveal

First of all this is also immortal Leon, because I could

Morgana is discovered by a patrol headed by Leon and he's the only one of the round table there.

For some reason or another Morgana is having a really bad life day and completely obliterates the patrol in her rage.

And for narrative purposes/ the man is very sturdy, Leon somehow survives the assault, but he's not in good shape

Morgana, in her full sadistic glory, offers a painfully dying Leon a second chance, he need only pledge himself to her and she would heal him

Leon, while chocking on blood, defiantly glares at her, declaring "You're wasting your time Morgana, I will die before I betray Arthur"

And at this something hardens in Morgana's eyes and she lunges forward with a dagger and plunges it into Leon's heart, twisting it violently while hissing "so you shall" before pulling it back out

This, obviously, kills him

And for some reason or another, maybe its a part of why Morgana is having a no good very bad terrible awful day, she sticks around the site of the massacre for a bit rather than immediately leave.

Which is how she witnesses Sir Leon, whose heart she plunged a dagger into not an hour ago, take a gasping breath

This, quite understandably, scares the shit out of both of them

It scares the shit out of Morgana because she knows she killed him, there is no way he's alive

And it scares the shit out of Leon for much of the same reasons, he knows she killed him, why the fuck was he breathing (he did not know he was immortal before this point)

And while Morgana is still in shock, Leon asks angrily what she did to him, why did she bring him back (while he is scrambling for his sword and to rise, because that worked soo well for him the first time)

Morgana tilts her head at him, a slow sinister smile spreading across her face as she replies "I did nothing my dear knight"

And it is in this moment that Leon realizes he fucked up

Morgana probably kills him again for good measure, to see what will happen, and sure enough, he's back again in a little while.

Leon is freaking the fuck out and Morgana's day just completely turned around because she has Arthur's most loyal knight, his first knight, and he can't die

To make a long process short, she kills him for transport to where ever she's hiding, kills him a few more times because she can, and as she does so she formulates a plan. Since it has become quite obvious that Leon was not aware of his allergy to death, Morgana reasoned that no one back at the castle would know either. And if she could control Leon... well. Camelot and Arthur's head on a platter was as good as hers.

Since her last attempt to kill Arthur by proxy through a creature ended poorly, Morgana decides on an enchantment.

I’m thinking maybe the spell has a caveat, the only way for it to be broken is if Leon was killed by another Immortal's hand, something Morgana is certain is impossible, and is sure to gleefully inform Leon of this so in his last moments of free will, his hope and spirit would break

When Leon returns to Camelot, he doesn't act strange. A little haunted maybe, but not outwardly out of character

He says he was the only person to survive the attack by Morgana, and he barely made it away with his life (she either roughed him up to make this believable, or he did it himself)

Everyone is relieved he’s safe and back home

Arthur makes a light hearted joke about how this was the second time Leon was the lucky sole survivor of an attack, and he really needs to stop scaring Arthur like this, he’s starting to think he's doing it on purpose

And in the first indication that something might be off, Leon smirks at this, his laugh much darker than usual, and he makes a returning dark joke. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, nothing that couldn't be explained as him having survivors guilt and being exhausted and in pain

And for a while everything seems fine.

Everything is not fine.

Leon is a much more subtle assassin than Merlin was. Much more patient as well. His first attempt is in a patrol in the woods, where he tries to catch Arthur off guard.

Arthur notices in time and fends him off, expressing confusion, and Leon pulls what he pulled in Servant of Two Masters when he finds Arthur behind the tree: awkward apologetic smile (much more sinister this time, his eyes are much colder)

He apologizes profusely, being a bit self depreciating as he admits that he was still a bit jumpy from his last trek through the woods and was on edge

Arthur accepts this and just tells him to be more careful, though ultimately there was no harm done

Arthur turns away and Leon frowns/glares

Maybe Arthur makes a passing mention of it to Merlin, asking him if he noticed Leon jumpier than usual, and Merlin replies that he hasn't really seemed jumpy per say, but definitely quieter and more closed off

Again, this isn't a huge red flag considering that he went through, but Merlin starts to pay closer attention to Leon, just in case

Leon seems fairly normal. He's a little quicker to temper, and his humor is much darker than usual, and his smiles are more smirks than anything, but he's not really treating anyone any differently

His behavior isn't suspicious, he's not in questionable places, he's just Leon with some survivors guilt and trauma. So Merlin relaxes.

When a mystery assailant keeps setting traps and ambushes for Arthur in cleaver and subtle ways, Merlin is at his wits end trying to figure out who it is. And he’s getting worried, as the last two attempts very nearly succeeded.

Leon is a very patient assassin. This drives Morgana nuts

She demands he meet her outside the castle walls one night when he's on solo rounds of the castle to demand what is taking so long

"Do you want him dead or not?"

"Of course I want him dead, I want him dead NOW. Stop dragging your feet and kill him already!"

And let me tell you, Morgana may have taken control of his loyalty and twisted his motivations, but she could never rid Leon of his sass

"Morgana, this is why you've never managed to kill Arthur. No patience. No attempts on Arthur's life have ever succeeded for a reason, I'm avoiding those mistakes. You can have it done quick or done right, I'm trying to do it right."

In the end, Leon had a valid point, as it was Morgana's impatience that demanded Leon sneak away from his rounds to meet her, and caught Merlin's attention as he saw Leon sneaking into the woods

Merlin follows Leon and sees him meeting with Morgana and every alarm bell goes off in his head. Because Leon despises Morgana, and he would never betray Arthur, never. Not willingly at least. So Merlin figures out that Leon is compromised, and all those near misses on Arthur recently that Merlin couldn't figure out the source of must have been Leon's doing.

Leon tells Morgana she just needs to wait one day more, as he plans to kill Arthur the following night. Morgana hisses at him "see that you do" and leaves

Merlin follows Leon back to the castle where the knight continued on his rounds, prompting Merlin to run to his and Gaius's quarters.

Gaius isn't happy to be woken in the middle of the night, until Merlin explains what he saw

"Leon? Working with Morgana? Are you certain?"

"Pretty sure, yeah. I heard Leon tell Morgana he was going to kill Arthur tomorrow night. Leon would never betray Arthur, especially not to Morgana. She did something to him, I know she has"

They quickly rule out a femora and eventually conclude that it must be an enchantment. One so powerful to bind and manipulate one's loyalties and will would have to have a very specific condition to break it. The only way to stop/ save Leon and protect Arthur is for Merlin to figure out what it is so he can break it

He does not manage to figure it out

So when night comes and Leon is acting shifty as he heads in the direction of Arthur's chambers, Merlin has to do something, prepared or not

He comes up with an excuse or another to get Leon to come with him, its urgent, blah blah blah

Merlin pulls Leon into an empty room where no one would be likely to find them or interrupt them. And Leon tolerates Merlin's rambling excuse for pulling him aside for a few moments before he's had enough and brushes Merlin off, trying to leave

And Merlin doesn't let him, blocking the exit.

Leon is still trying to maintain his cover, but his patience is finally beginning to run out

He tells Merlin to move, he has duties to attend to, and Merlin cuts to the chase. “I can’t let you hurt Arthur, Leon”

And Leon studies Merlin, nods, and breaks out into a wide smirk. “Took you long enough to figure out. What gave me away?”

And Merlin is thrown by the sudden shift in behavior, but as long as Leon is talking he isn’t killing Arthur, so he’ll take it.

“I saw you talking to Morgana. I heard you plotting to kill Arthur.”

And Leon nods, tutting. “I really wish you hadn’t seen that Merlin.”

And Merlin is in desperate ‘try to reason with him’ mode, which is obviously not working because Leon is under a powerful enchantment. And while it was amusing at the start to toy with Merlin, Leon has had enough.

All patience has run out.

"Merlin, if you do not get out of my way and keep your mouth shut, I will kill you, and do so gladly"

Merlin of course does neither of these things.

Leon attacks Merlin, and Merlin barely dodges the sword. Merlin is, understandably, pretty scared. This is someone he considers a close friend, a brother, and he's currently trying to kill him. Merlin tries to talk Leon down, but its not working. There is taunting involved, and some very evil smirks

All the while Leon is swinging at Merlin with his sword, coming very close to hitting Merlin.

The final straw is when Leon knocks Merlin down, stands over him with his sword to his chest, and taunts Merlin that he is going to kill him, and then he's going to kill Arthur, and there is nothing Merlin can do about it

Well. Yes. Yes there is.

Merlin's eyes flash gold and before his eyes can even widen in surprise at this unexpected development, Leon is thrown backwards into a wall. Hard.

His head hits the wall with a sickening crack and collapses into a still heap.

Merlin is very much panicking as he scrambles up and over to Leon, feeling for any sign of a pulse.

He can't find one.

Merlin desperately tries to cast a healing spell but its not working. Leon's dead.

Important note for the record: Merlin did not know Leon was immortal. Merlin also did not know the stipulation that would release Leon from Morgana's enchantment.

So Merlin thinks he just killed a man he viewed as a big brother

He takes this about as well as could be expected: absolutely horribly.

He’s crying, babbling definitely, the words "I'm so sorry" "I didn't mean to" "please wake up" are mixed in there and repeated a lot

And then, lo and behold, Leon woke up

Its hard to say who was more surprised: Leon or Merlin

It would be fair to say Merlin, as his brother he accidentally killed ten minutes ago was sitting up in his arms, definitely alive

But it would also be fair to say Leon, who decidedly was himself again, free of Morgana's enchantment. Which should have been impossible, save from dying at the hand of an immortal. So not only is Leon dealing with being himself again, but he's also processing the information that apparently Merlin is immortal. And oh yeah: killed him by using magic

So they are both freaking out

And Merlin stammers out a mess of words that boils down to "what?? How are you alive? You, you were dead, I know you were dead! Oh gods, you were dead, I killed you, I swear I didn't mean to, you were trying to kill Arthur, you were trying to kill me, I was just trying to stop you, I didn't mean to kill you..." and he's clinging to Leon during this, and is totally not still crying

And Leon eventually manages to get a word in and halt Merlin's rambling with an exasperated and slightly hysterical "Merlin, I'm not dead!"

"You were!"

"Can we focus on that later? Is Arthur alright?"

And now Merlin is instantly back on alert, drawing back a bit to study Leon's face, but still holding his shoulders. "He's fine." At Leon's sigh of relief, Merlin asks slowly "Do you still want to kill him?"

And Leon is instantly horrified and shaking his head vehemently declaring "No!"

And then he stops, thinks, and realizes he truly meant it. He no longer felt any distain towards his friend and king, the sickly poisoning influence from Morgana's enchantment gone

Which was only possible at the hand of another immortal.

Leon's brain is going a million miles an hour, his often misused or missing brain cells taking longer than they should to come to the obvious conclusion, but in his defense, he had a lot to process, and it is a pretty unbelievable conclusion

"Merlin, you said you killed me?"

And the guilt is right back with Merlin apologizing and defending with "I swear I didn't mean to!"

"But you're sure YOU killed me? Absolutely positive?"

And Merlin's starting to get a bit annoyed, why the fuck would he lie about killing a man he viewed as a brother? "Yeah Leon, I'm pretty sure. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it"

If this had been normal circumstances, Leon may have comforted Merlin, but these were most certainly not normal circumstances, because if Merlin killed him, that had to mean one thing:

"Merlin, since when are you immortal?"

What ever Merlin was expecting Leon to say, it sure as fuck wasn't that (friendly reminder that Merlin doesn't know he's immortal at this point)

So it is with very real confusion that he says slowly "I'm... not?"

"Clearly you are, or I would probably be trying to kill you to get to Arthur right now"

This is clearly the wrong thing to say, because Merlin now thinks this is an elaborate trick, and somehow, has come to the conclusion that this isn't even Leon, or if it is, he's a Shade like Lancelot was.

So Merlin scrambles to his feet, grabbing Leon's sword and pointing it at him. Leon raises his hands in alarm and also to placate Merlin (he’s still not used to being immortal and forgot that the sword can’t actually do him permanent harm)

"Merlin, I'm not going to kill you. The enchantment Morgana had over me is gone, you broke it" ("with magic" is screamed loudly in his head, but one earth shattering topic at a time)

"I don't believe you"

"The enchantment had a condition to it: the only way to escape Morgana's control was if another immortal took my life. You killed me, and now that control is gone. I have no desire to hurt Arthur or you, or anyone else in Camelot." I swear to you on-" he goes to say his life and realizes that maybe that wouldn't mean as much anymore and adjusts "I swear to you on my honor as a knight of Camelot."

Merlin doesn't know what to believe. He wants to, but he doesn't know if he can. So he makes Leon explain everything, which he does. Leon still has all his memories, though some of them seem a little distorted and distant, but still there are the same

When Leon finishes, Merlin puts down the sword, approaches Leon and makes him promise again. He does so, and Merlin finally believes him

He collapses into a sitting position next to Leon, looking exhausted but relieved. They are silent for a bit until finally...

Leon eventually decides its time to address the elephant in the room: "Merlin, how long have you been practicing magic?" It’s said in a way that aims for nonchalance and misses by several miles

Merlin, naturally, goes pale and plays dumb

"Merlin, I saw your eyes glow gold and then I was being flung across the room. That's magic"

And Merlin's still denying it, fiercely, and Leon has had a very long day and an even longer month

"Merlin, I'm having a hard enough time knowing what's real and what's not right now, please don't make me question this too"

And what was Merlin supposed to do? Continue to deny what Leon clearly figured out?

"I was born with it" is whispered, a scared admission

"I didn't think that was possible"

"Yeah well, I'm special"

"I could have told you that Merlin"

This is going much better than Merlin thought it would. He expected anger, yelling at least. Not teasing, as tired as it sounds

"Are you going to tell Arthur?" Is asked in that same scared voice from before

He should. Leon knows he should. As a knight of Camelot, it was his duty to uphold the laws of the kingdom, and magic is against those laws.

But it was also his duty to protect the king, a duty, through no fault of his own, he had abandoned and gone against. Where as Merlin did his job for him.

That and he could not deny his friendship to the younger man, the protective nature he felt for him

Seeing Merlin stare at him with fear and resignation, like he had already been condemned to death, Leon realized there was really only ever one possible response he could give:

"No. I'm not"

Merlin did not expect this.

When he sees Merlin's surprise, Leon gently bumps Merlin with his shoulder. "Merlin, I know you. You would never hurt Arthur, would never do anything to put Camelot in danger. Magic or not, that doesn't change. I would not risk condemning you to exile or death when you have done no harm"

At Merlin's pained look between Leon and the wall, Leon sighs. "I'm fine Merlin. I'm more than fine, you broke Morgana's enchantment. It was not... ideal, but it was the only way"

Merlin shakes his head "Leon, I didn't know. I didn't know you'd come back. If it was anyone else, they wouldn't have. I killed you, using magic. How do you not hate me?"

"Merlin," Leon waits for Merlin to make eye contact, putting a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Magic has saved my life, in the past. And as far as I'm concerned, it saved my soul today. Am I wary of it? Yes, because I have seen the harm it can do in cruel hands. But I also know that it can protect and heal in kind ones. How many times have you saved Arthur's life?"

Startled by the sudden question, Merlin answers honestly "I've lost count"

"How many times have you used your magic to protect, to save?"

"Always"

Leon ruffles Merlin's hair with a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I could never hate you for upholding the same ideals I live by Merlin, regardless of your methods of doing so."

And finally, finally Merlin gets it. He's not going to be imprisoned, he's not going to be outed as a sorcerer, Leon is alive and himself again and has no intention of hurting him, and Merlin doesn't have to worry about losing his friend anymore because apparently he's immortal and he is too but he is not about to deal with that right now (and also let's be real, he’s still going to worry about Leon)

It is with this that Merlin finally relaxes for the first time in a long time, shuffling closer to Leon and leaning against him, the knight putting an arm around him and pulling him close, each taking comfort in the presence of the other

It's a lot to take in, and it will take many conversations and explanations over the next few days and weeks to even begin to unpack and comprehend it all, but for now, each man was left with the relief and knowledge that they were safe with the person beside them.

The end! This is not at all what I thought it would be when I first started to write it, but I'm okay with that. If anyone wants to write this into a proper full length fic feel free to do so, I just ask that you please credit me and send it to me so I can read it!

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bubble-tea-bunny · 5 years ago

Text

bloom

[claude von riegan x reader]

author’s note: i got fe: three houses over christmas break and fell absolutely in love w claude oml. i’ve only finished the golden deer route so far and i wanna do blue lion next, just not too sure when since i’m back in school, and i am busy. rip

word count: 7,152

Being set atop a hill, Garreg Mach Monastery is afforded beautiful views of the countryside every single morning. Rolling hills are silhouetted against a dark sky giving way to reds and oranges as the sun rises. Mist is low on the ground, a haze in the air like you’re dreaming. Dewdrops rest on blades of grass and birds hidden in branches sing to each other, and maybe they’re sharing poems about the wind catching under their wings. The weather is crisp and cool, cool enough to see one’s breath with every exhale, and it might be best to enjoy the cold and early hours from indoors, where it is warm and cozy with the flagstone floors, wooden rafters, and blazing fireplaces.

The romanticized musings of winter mornings are fully lost on the Golden Deer house today, as they have been the last couple of weeks. Instead, the air is harsh and bitter, biting at their cheeks left unprotected. They stand shivering in the field, simultaneously yearning for the coziness of the monastery and for Professor Byleth to finish giving out directions so that they might finally start moving around and hopefully get some warmth back in their systems.

Professor Byleth’s classes focus primarily on practicals, and Golden Deer had thus far been perfectly fine with that. The lecture halls could quickly grow suffocating, and the general quiet within them, save for a professor’s voice, made it all too simple to doze off. But when training takes them outdoors is when the blood truly gets flowing, for they’re afforded the chance to move around and spar, pushing each other to their limits. The golden deer love their homeroom professor dearly, of course, but with lowered temperatures comes lowered motivation to be out in the field first thing in the morning, and despite this being the start of the third week since winter began, they highly doubt they will ever grow used to the chill.

Claude thinks he might fall asleep right where he’s standing. Another issue with morning practicals this time of year is that the sun rises later. As someone whose internal clock tends to sync with the movement of the sun through the sky, he isn’t quite up to his typical level of jokes and antics until the day has fully broken.

His eyes close. The professor is addressing Leonie’s question, so he takes those several seconds to rest them as if that might be enough to get energized. His fingers feel frozen around the grip of his bow and he’s certain they’re stuck. He’ll need to unthaw in front of a fireplace when this is over. A nice, warm fire sure sounds wonderful right now…

Grass sifts beneath the boots of someone coming closer and Claude’s eyes slide back open. He glances to his left and grins tiredly.

“Hey, [Name],” he starts quietly, for you’re not standing very far. “Do you have any spells that might wake me up? Or at least feel warmer?”

You smile, sympathetic and similarly fatigued, and shake your head. “Unfortunately not, Claude.” Your cheeks and nose are red, and you punctuate your statement with a sniffle.

“I’m turning into an ice block out here,” Claude continues. The two of you are in the back, so there’s no issue of the professor overhearing. “Almost makes me wish for Hanneman’s history lectures instead.”

At this, you chuckle. For Claude, that’s no small claim. He’s fallen asleep in said lectures before, and you’ve had to wake him up before Hanneman noticed and woke him up himself. But you find you’d have to agree. While you mind them less, and can stay awake the whole way through, you do prefer the fresh air. Just… perhaps not when the cold is making your fingers numb even in your gloves.

After Professor Byleth has fielded everyone’s queries, she sets you all loose to begin your training. Everyone shares the same sentiment as they split off, but it’s Hilda who gives voice to the mutual relief inherent within them all at finally moving: I thought I was going to freeze in place if I was standing still any longer!

Once class is done, the sun has fully emerged from its hiding place and the chill is less severe. Claude isn’t bothered by it anymore, however, and he doubts his classmates are either. The professor’s practicals aren’t easy, and they’ve only gotten more difficult as the moons pass and everyone is well past the point of beginner. With blood pumping and heartbeats racing, there was no room left to feel cold.

The other two houses emerge from their classrooms and the corridors are filled with students. Professor Byleth has to raise her voice to be heard above the hustle and bustle, parting with a commendation for another job well done today. She separates herself from the crowds to return to her classroom, and Lysithea and Lorenz follow after her to ask a question. As for the rest of the house, you join the sea of people. There was some time yet until the next set of lectures, and in your case, you’re keen to freshen up.

Mail comes in at the beginning of the week. You don’t expect many letters. You expect only one, in fact. Every Monday, like clockwork, you collect the envelope with the familiar wax seal keeping it closed. What’s different about the letter today is that it’s accompanied by a small burlap pouched tied up with twine. It confuses you to receive, and you’re wondering what it could be, but despite the distraction, you say your thanks to the courier before taking your leave.

You settle down at a table in the reception hall to review your mail. Carefully you peel open the envelope, breaking the seal, and pull out the letter folded parchment. The correspondence opens with your name, written immaculately in your brother’s handwriting, and the noise around you seems to melt away and you’re not in the monastery but rather, somewhere closer to home, somewhere like home.

You and Ludwig exchange letters regularly, as you made him promise to do before you’d left to begin your schooling at the officers academy. You’d always been close, and he shares with you the goings-on of being head of the guard. He’s privy to many of the discussions your father has with other houses, as is necessary if he’s to take over one day, but he still laments the boringness of it all, sparing you of no detail regarding how heavy his eyelids felt, how the monotone voice of some such lord or other seemed to go on and on and on… (You can practically hear his exasperation and you giggle. Poor Ludwig.)

With the remark that he hopes he hasn't just made you want to fall asleep on the spot too, he changes the subject and turns the conversation on you. This is where you finally get an answer about what’s in the small bag, now sitting on the table: they’re peony seeds. Your eyes light up upon reading this.

I bought them at the market the other day, Ludwig writes. I know you’ve been asking me to send some. Peonies are native to the area where your home city is located, and they grow in abundance there. The greenhouse at the monastery is lacking in the pink flower, and you recently requested that Ludwig sends you seeds if he was able so you could cultivate your own. You’d gone from seeing them daily to not at all, and you’d come to miss them. A ghost of a smile rests on your lips as you pick up the bag, clutching it in your hand and already formulating the heartfelt thanks you will send in your letter back.

There’s a break in Ludwig’s letter then, a new line, a new paragraph, as if a new thought has just occurred to him.

You know what these symbolize, don’t you? Maybe when they grow, you can give them to the one you love most.

Ludwig closes with well wishes and reminders to study hard even though it bears no reminding. You’re studious, more so than he during his time attending the academy. He never could sit with his nose in a book for long. But it’s his obligation as your older brother, he argues, that he tell you to work hard—I want to see you succeed! So don’t let me down, okay?

You remain sitting after you finish reading, processing all the information. Getting letters from Ludwig is a great way to start your week, and nearly makes up for the fact that your morning practicals since the start of winter are a harsh wake up call after lazy and relaxing weekends. You’re always eager to reply, and you plan to write your response tonight and have it sent out first thing tomorrow morning. Then begins the waiting game again.

Your eyes slide back up the piece of parchment, paragraph by paragraph, reviewing every topic covered. Upon reaching the topic about the present he sent, your head tilts thoughtfully. Burlap and twine scratch at the soft skin of your palm. You look down at it, like you can see the seeds inside, and your cheeks are feeling warm. The one I love most…

“There you are!”

Being so deep in thought, you don’t notice someone approaching, and you jump at the loud interruption, nearly dropping the letter and the pouch of seeds in your surprise. Claude smiles apologetically and rubs the back of his neck. “Whoa! Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”

“It’s fine,” you brush it off with a dismissive wave and a smile. But your face is still burning, your mind lingering on the subject of peonies and true loves. You clear your throat and try to will away the heat, though it’s to no avail, and you know better than to assume Claude, ever so curious Claude, would brush over the reddening of your cheeks which the cold isn’t responsible for.

“What’s got you blushing so much this morning?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing.” Before he can try to goad you to give more information (because you know he wants to), you tuck Ludwig’s letter back in the envelope and stand up. “You ready to go to class?”

Claude’s grin is mischievous but he doesn’t pry anymore as he nods instead, and the two of you exit the reception hall. Dodging the question won’t work with him. He’ll find a roundabout way to come back to the topic after considering what the answer could possibly be, offering up his guesses for you to confirm or deny. But for once you doubt he’ll get this one, and you don’t know that you have the confidence to admit to him that he’s the root cause.

You walk slightly behind and look up at him briefly, staring at the back of his head. You imagine the scenario and can see him now, chuckling as he accepts the bouquet of peonies and pondering aloud if it isn’t he who’s supposed to be giving the flowers. You’ll laugh at his small quip because he always makes you laugh with little asides like that, then you’ll ask if he knows what they mean. And if he doesn’t, you’ll sheepishly tell him, your heart alight with the hope that maybe, hopefully, your affections are reciprocated.

The what-if has your cheeks bursting in warmth once more and you hastily look down at the ground, focusing hard on the motion of your boots as you take each step. The blush needs to be gone by the time you get to the lecture hall, or else other people will ask about it too and you can’t have that!

Once you feel the dusting of pink has gone from your face, you quickly spare one more glance up at Claude. This time he seems to notice and glances over his shoulder, flashing you a quick smile. You smile back instinctually, though it fades once he turns his attention back in front of him.

Or maybe it's too much to hope for, that your relationship could extend beyond anything more than friends. Doubts nag at the back of your mind that he won’t feel the same, and that your confession will have upset the current balance. You fear the prospect of it doing the total opposite and pushing Claude away. Why risk ruining a good thing?

———

Professor Hanneman’s most recent writing assignment practically makes the library a second home for you and Claude. You stay there for hours, poring over old tomes for material to reference in your essay. You see your fellow classmates there occasionally and wave hello, but no one seems to be in there are often as you both. It leads to Claude wondering half-seriously if there’s some lecture you could’ve somehow missed that had pertinent information for this paper. You can only shrug helplessly.

“Maybe I’ll ask Marianne if I can take a look at her notes…” you murmur, flipping through your own. You speak quietly because of the environment, but as far as anyone on the outside is concerned, you may also be doing it because you’re speaking to yourself. Claude’s resting his head on his propped up hand, his eyes having slid shut a few minutes ago.

But you know better, and you smile slightly as you turn to look at him. He hasn’t knocked out quite yet, and at your comment, his eyes open. He sighs, exhaustion creeping up on him, and also glances over what he has written so far.

“Yeah, I could probably go ask Ignatz. He takes good notes.” Claude sits up and yawns, which prompts you to check the time.

The clock on the far wall denotes it’s early afternoon, but being cooped up in the library, the last couple of hours have crawled along and felt like much longer. With a sigh, you gather up your notes, careful not to accidentally grab any of Claude’s. “As much fun as we’re having”—Claude’s laugh earns him a shush from the nearby monk organizing the shelves—“I need to get going. I’m meeting Professor Manuela at the greenhouse.”

Given that Professor Manuela specializes in healing magic, you often spend your free periods with her to better hone your skills. One of the places in which you spend those free periods with her is the greenhouse, reviewing the various herbs to have on hand in case anyone is injured. Spells are good, she’s advised you, but it doesn’t hurt to have herbs on hand as well to aid the healing process.

“I’ll head out too then,” Claude replies, voice extra quiet so as not to be reprimanded by the monk again. “All this fun and no one to share it with? Not fun at all.”

You walk out of the library together with an agreement to meet up again tonight. The paper is due in a couple of days, and usually you don’t like to cut it so close, but Professor Hanneman had given it at an unideal time, caught up in multiple other assignments as you are. To add insult to injury, they had due dates close to each other, which only makes the mad scramble to finish everything even madder. The best you can do to cope is take solace in the fact your plight is not an exception. Your peers are experiencing much the same.

Your talks with Professor Manuela don’t end when she’s finished her small lesson for the day, reviewing the nuances of an anxiety-relieving herb kept at the greenhouse. Every so often there’s a short story about her days with the Mittelfrank Opera Company. You’ve heard her sing before, and you delight in imagining her up on the stage in Enbarr. How amazing it must have been, you muse. You don’t think you could perform in front of thousands of people like that, but maybe in your dreams you could, at the very least, pretend.

Though what tends to be brought up, more so than the opera company and show business, are the professor’s most recent flings. The first instance she had shared with you the failed connection with a man she met at the bar, you’d blanched, unsure if this was even allowed. Weren’t the personal affairs of faculty not meant to be shared with the students? Your mouth opened, prepared to ask if you were really the correct person to share this with, but she’d kept going, and she was so distraught, that you couldn’t bring yourself to stop her.

Better to let the feelings out than in, is how you’d justified it. You refrained from cutting her short and listened patiently. If anything, you suppose you’re glad she thought you someone worthy to share these frustrations with. Even if you couldn’t exactly do anything about it or have any advice to give.

“Love lost then found then lost again,” Professor Manuela laments. The sky is turning orange and dinner would be served soon. If you were closer to the dining hall, you’d be able to pick up the delicious smell of tonight’s dishes wafting out through the open double doors.

“Or what I thought was love. Turns out he was just like the rest of them.” She laughs dryly.

“I’m sorry, professor,” you do your best to console.

Professor Manuela sighs. “Me too, [Name].”

Her words echo in your mind during dinner, where you’re only pulled from your thoughts by your friends pulling you into their conversation. But as you return to your dorm and sit in silence, they come back, and there’s nothing to keep you away from them here. Love lost then found then lost again. You repeat it over and over, and you can’t shake the notion that it sounds so… dismal. It must be tiresome to go through disappoint like that again and again. You don’t know that you’d be able to go through it more than once. The heartbreak the first time might be too much. And besides, who’s to say you could find it again? Or would?

This gives you pause, halting your motions of sorting through your notes where you sit at your desk. If someone were to ask who you love, you can only think of one person, and the possibility of losing him is too much to bear. So much so that it’s frightened you from trying to share your feelings in the first place. Will you even dare to entertain the possibility of someone else out there, that you could feel this way about? At present, such is beyond you. Not when you think of peonies and they make you think of Claude. They might always make you think of him, and how could you stand to lose someone like that? So maybe you can carry on with the current state of things forever, never venturing past the point of friends. (Though perhaps it’s less about can and more about must.)

There’s a knock on the door but you don’t need to ask who it is. Claude is standing on the other side with a smile, texts he’d borrowed form the library and various papers tucked under his arm. “Ready to hit the books again?”

You open the door wider to allow him in before closing it behind him. “Not one bit.”

Claude chuckles and sets his study materials down on your bed. “Yeah, me neither. But I think we could finish tonight if we really go for it.”

You plop down in your chair to review your notes and continue from where you left off earlier. There’s the shifting of paper and flipping of pages to your left so you assume Claude is doing the same, but then the noises quiet down. It’s suspicious, but not enough for you to check on him. Before the quiet stretches on long enough to finally merit your concern, he speaks up.

“A new project?”

You turn to him, wondering what he could mean, but he’s not looking at you. Instead, he’s looking at the pot sitting on your window sill.

“Oh, uh, yeah…” you respond. “I asked Ludwig to send me peony seeds. There’s none here, and I missed them.” You hadn’t planted all of them, since you needed to make sure the pot was small enough for the sill, and you have the rest stored away, along with Ludwig’s accompanying letter, in the top drawer of your desk.

“They remind you of home.” It’s a statement, not a question.

But Claude’s hit the nail right on the head, and you nod. “Exactly.” There’s silence for a few moments as you stare at the pot and the small sprouts jutting from the soil, the beginnings of pink peonies, then quietly you continue. “Admittedly, I do get homesick sometimes…”

The smile Claude graces you with then is sympathetic. “I’m glad you have those flowers, if only to ease up on some of that longing.”

Your thoughts have trailed to your small garden at home with the gazebo and small table for two. At Claude’s words, your eyes flicker to meet his. And you imagine him sitting there with you, among the peonies, and you would have him immortalized in oil paints, his smile that which makes flowers blossom and which keeps your heart warm so that in the very depths of your being, where the soul finds rest, is perpetual spring.

“Yeah.” Your reply is curt, and you do your best to ignore the tightness in your chest. Longing, yes, he’d gotten that right. But was it merely for home? Or was it for him too? “It helps well enough.”

The air had quickly felt as if it was closing in on you. To break past its uncomfortable hold, you change the subject, taking in a steady breath and picking up what you’ve written of your essay so far. “Well, let’s get started then! Maybe we can finish before midnight if we’re quick about it.”

Claude laughs and looks at the clock. “With how fast I’d have to write to make that deadline, my hand might catch fire!”

———

Somehow, you make it. You all do: Golden Deer, Blue Lion, Black Eagle, the victory of each student no matter the house is one and the same. The point in the school year where exams and homework assignments are crammed in around the same three weeks is finally behind you. The atmosphere of the school in those weeks had been stressful, and had many late—sometimes even sleepless—nights packed with studying. On the Friday of the third week, at the end of the school day, a collective sigh of relief sweeps through the hallways like a welcomed breeze on a hot day.

Hilda’s making plans to go into town to celebrate, and she’s adamant you go with her.

“Come on, [Name], I don’t want to go by myself!” She’s practically hanging off your arm.

“I dunno, Hilda, I’m kind of tired.” You shrug, but the arm she’s hugging doesn’t move much due to her hold. “Isn’t there someone else who could go?”

“But I want you there with me! It isn’t the same if it’s somebody else.”

You and Hilda get along well, and despite how long it’s been since you met, it still strikes the others as a surprise as much as it does you. While Hilda is outgoing and energetic, you’re generally calmer and more subdued. You’re happy to stay in, and as is the case today, to go back to your room and relax as a way to celebrate the passing of the stressful weeks composed of midterm tests and assignments. But you guess your opposing tendencies can be good for each other. You help rein in some of that energy, the gentle reminder for her to take a breather every now and then; and she encourages you to go out and take advantage of the sunshine, to go around exploring. And since last time you made plans, the two of you just stayed in your room chatting and gossiping…

“All right,” you concede, and halfway through it’s nearly drowned out by her squeal of elation. “But can we at least get changed out of our uniforms first?”

“Of course! I need to find something cute to wear. You too, okay?”

You laugh at her enthusiasm as you nod your assent. The request shouldn’t be difficult to fulfill, since she had assisted in redoing your wardrobe, which meant a majority of it was now Hilda-approved by default.

Once at the dormitory, you part when you reach Hilda’s room, which is closer to the entrance of the building. You’re still several doors down, and you spot a familiar figure coming towards you.

“I feel like I can breathe again!” Claude declares, setting a hand over his heart to complement his exclamation.

“I’ll be catching up on a lot of sleep this weekend,” you state. That would have begun right this instant, but, well, Hilda happened. “Though I’m sure I’m not the only one with that plan.”

Claude chuckles. “Far from it. But how about right now? You getting up to anything?”

“Hilda and I are heading into town. So shopping, I guess, is what I’ll be getting up to. What about you?”

“I have some books to return to the library, but after that, the rest of my day is free. I think catching up on sleep is gonna start a little early for me, and, to be honest, I feel like I’m more excited than I should be.”

You grin lopsidedly in amusement. “Hey, it’s sleep well deserved, right?”

You bid your goodbyes, Claude continuing down the hall and you retreating into your room. Rifling through your dresser, you opt for a white dress. The days have been growing warmer and the sun is pleasant to feel on your skin in the afternoons. You stand before the mirror and braid your hair to keep it out of your face, for there’s a small breeze today. When you’re finished, you momentarily remain where you are, studying your reflection and nodding in satisfaction.

Then your attention shifts to the left, in the direction of the window. You walk over and flip the latch so you can slide it up. Immediately cool air floats in, and you smile as you glance down at the pot on the sill. The peonies are slightly bigger now; leaves are forming, though it would be a while yet until the flowers bloomed.

While in town, you settle for following Hilda’s lead. She pulls you into basically every boutique along every street you walk on, the wares on display in the window piquing her interest enough to look in detail at the selection inside. So far, she’s bought two blouses and a pair of shoes, and she says she’s now on the lookout for new earrings, but she still gets sidetracked by all the boutiques, whether they carry jewelry or not.

You’re happy to browse but haven’t felt particularly compelled to purchase anything. Hilda picks out clothes and holds them up, aligning them with your figure as she imagines what you’d look like in them. This is cute! she’d say. You should get it! But you chuckle and respond simply with a Maybe because with the number of suggestions she has given, if you had indeed bought every single one, you’d have enough to fill half your closet. While you’re open to the idea of expanding your wardrobe, you’re inclined to be picky else you shop till you quite literally drop. Hilda might be okay with that, but you… perhaps not so much.

By late afternoon, your stomachs are grumbling and you’re searching for snacks. Eating a big meal now made no sense because dinner would be served by the time you returned to the monastery. Hilda spots a cafe at the end of the street: a perfect place for tea and pastries, which would be enough to keep you sated for the walk back.

“Going shopping is so much more enjoyable without the thought of homework in the back of my mind!” Hilda remarks. Following midterms, the professors wouldn’t be handing out any new assignments until Monday, which meant as far as anyone else in the academy is concerned, this weekend is as free as free can be.

“I feel kind of strange knowing there’s nothing to work on,” you state. “But I’m not complaining.”

The two of you are approaching a flower display set up in front of a shop, and you slow down to glance at the pots and bouquets. Hilda slows her pace to match yours, and she grins. “Ah, finally it isn’t just me who’s wanting to pull you into shops.”

You chuckle but don’t turn your attention away from the colorful arrangements. It’s only when you look through the opened door do you turn around to look at her. “I know we were going to get food, but…”

Hilda waves a hand. “Go for it. But I’ll just stay out here, since, well…” She holds up the armful of clothes and accessories she has. “I’d hate to accidentally knock anything over.”

You tell her it’ll only be a few minutes, then step inside the flower shop. There’s a skylight built in to the ceiling, the last few hours of sunlight today flooding in past the glass. Your boots thump quietly along the wooden floors, though occasionally you step over a squeaky board. It is the series of quiet squeaks that captures the attention of the florist, an older woman whose back had been turned to you until now.

Her smile is polite, and when she asks if there’s a specific flower you’re looking for, you contemplate for a moment whether you should tell her or just proceed to browse in search of it yourself. After all, you don’t mind combing through the aisles, if only to take in the pretty selection. But since she offered her assistance, you figure you might as well. Before you can change your mind, you say Yeah, actually and ask if there are any peonies.

She shakes her head regretfully and apologizes. “I’m afraid I’ve sold out of peonies.”

You’re disappointed but smile anyway, appreciative of her help. “Oh, well… maybe next time.”

You can’t say you’re surprised there are no more available. Peonies have been especially popular recently, with the coming spring. Since the ones you’re growing are still young, there are no blooms to be witnessed currently, and you would have liked to buy some to enjoy. It seems as though you were too slow to get a bouquet on today’s visit, but you could hardly be blamed, given you were basically cooped up in your room during free periods and the weekends this past moon to study.

You envision the bouquet in a glass vase, sitting next to the pot of young peonies on the window sill. Then invariably your thoughts shift and you envision handing them instead to Claude, a sudden shyness overcoming you being despite the fact you have been good friends for a long while, but with the implication of your actions, you can’t help it. And you’d like to hide your face behind the pink bunches, too embarrassed to meet his gaze, and your cheeks would burn, jut like they do now.

If you had been able to buy the bouquet, which would it have been? Would you have kept it to yourself, or would you have finally done it, admitted to Claude how much he means to you, a sentiment beyond mere friends? You’re still hesitant that the feelings could be mutual, and are adamant in telling yourself that to risk it would be far from a good idea. So you surmise that if there had, in fact, been peonies available, then that would’ve meant something, a strong enough sign from the universe of what you should do. The flowers in your hands would be the push you needed because Ludwig’s words play in your head again and peonies are pretty sitting in front of a window but they’d look even better in the hands of the one you love most.

You huff out a heavy sigh. And perhaps the opposite is a sign too. At best, a sign to wait; at worst, a sign that it isn’t meant to be. And the latter hurts to consider. Even for all your aversion to risking your friendship with Claude, a tiny part of you holds onto the hope that so long as you don’t acknowledge your feelings, so long as you keep them a secret, there remains the possibility for him to love you back. Those what-if’s have kept you satisfied up until now, but would they always?

Maybe the lack of peonies today are the universe telling you that it’s your choice to make. To reason that your profession of love to Claude depended on whether there were peonies in the shop today, was to discount the magnitude of your feelings. If they’re as strong as you believe them to be (and you believe them to be very strong), they will be that final nudge. The universe removes her hands from this one.

Hilda frowns when you emerge from the store empty handed. “No flowers?”

“Nothing caught my eye,” you explain, not going into anymore detail than that. Your stomach grumbles again, a well-timed reminder of your original goal, and the perfect excuse to change the subject. “Now come on, let’s get food!”

Maybe on the day the peonies in your room finally bloom, you’ll have the courage to confess.

———

When you’re back at the monastery and in the dining hall for dinner, you don’t see Claude anywhere. It’s an observation you make but doesn’t warrant your concern nor suspicion. You hadn’t arrived right when the cooks began serving the food, and by now other students and faculty are finished or are almost finished with their meals, and have left to continue with the rest of their evening. The table you’re sitting at with your fellow Golden Deer steadily empties until it’s just you and Raphael. He tells you he spent his afternoon training, and when you commend his dedication, he gives you a toothy grin and playfully flexes one of his arms.

“Have to keep my muscles big and strong! That’s why I gotta eat so much too, like right now!”

Even he’s lost track of how many times he’s gone back to get more food. Seconds, thirds, fourths… If no one else is eating it, then I will! You can’t help but laugh. His passion for food (more so to eat than to make) is unparalleled, and it leaves little to go to waste. The dining hall is growing quieter as people depart, and there’s still some food left being attended to by the cook, which you know Raphael will be going back for. With slight amusement you wonder if they make extra just for him.

Eventually you too take your leave, wishing Raphael a good night as you stand. The breeze is cool and you shiver, for you don’t have a jacket. You’d come straight to the dining hall when you got back. You hasten your walk to the dormitory, and with every step closer, the thought of sleep begins to excite you. It technically isn’t very late yet, but the stress of the last few weeks have caught up to you, and you’re ready to plop into bed and sleep for days. Besides, there’s sure to be other students who have already fallen asleep, like Claude, according to what he’d mentioned this afternoon, so you’re no outlier.

Or, it seems, not like Claude, because you see him in the hallway.

Your brow raises in confusion and you don’t have to say anything for him to know why you’re looking at him so surprised. He laughs and falls in step with you as you continue on to your room.

“I took a nap earlier and was a little more energized,” he begins, “so I’ve been chatting, hanging out, getting things done.” He shrugs matter-of-factly.

“What things need getting done?” you inquire curiously. “Not anything class-related, that’s for sure.”

“No, nothing about our classes.”

He doesn’t expand more than that, and you look up at him, expecting him to speak again, but he keeps quiet. You’ve arrived at your room now, and your hand curls around the doorknob. You take a second to open the door, opening it wide as a signal for Claude to come in if he wants.

“Then what’s—” Your question is cut short once you step into the room. In shocked silence, you observe the scene before you.

Bunches of peonies adorn every available surface: on your desk, atop your dresser, scattered over your bed and even covering the uniform you’d folded and left on top of it when you changed after class. The window sill where you keep your own pot of peonies is almost hidden beneath how many of the pink flower have been placed there. More are tucked among the books and knick knacks you have on the high shelves mounted on the wall. If you had any words, they’ve left upon the breath you let out, a sigh of disbelief and wonder. It’s beautiful.

You twist around, and the soft smile on Claude’s face from where he stands by the door is an instant giveaway. You want to ask him what this is about, but you can’t find it in you to speak. Thankfully, he understands fine, and answers without needing to be questioned aloud.

“Since you couldn’t go home, being at the academy to study and all, I figured I could bring home to you.”

Your lips lift at the corners in a grateful smile, though it’s shaky because you might cry. The thoughtfulness makes your chest squeeze painfully, that Claude would do this for you. You hadn’t paid any special mind to your comment about peonies and your attachment to them, but Claude had. It had stuck with him, and not only that, it had spurred him into action. Your room is filled to the brim with peonies and you’re certain you’ll see them behind closed eyelids as you sleep.

“Thank you, Claude.” You hope he can detect your gratitude, the heartfelt sincerity. You mean it with your entire being because never in a million years did you think anyone would go to such lengths for you. His smiles grows then, and you know that he had picked up on it. “But how—”

“—did I get all these flowers?” he completes the query for you. “Yeah, about that, I asked around from the merchants if anyone was bringing in shipments of peonies, and when I found someone, I bought the whole supply.” He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

That must be why the florist from this afternoon had no peonies available. You’re familiar with Claude’s talents, and have been privy to his fair share of schemes, but evidently, he’s so good that he’d managed this one right under your nose. Suddenly you want to ask why. Why had he done this? Multiple crates of peonies couldn’t be cheap, and though money is no issue for a noble like Claude, it’s still a lot to spend on one person. Did he truly value your friendship that much, that he hardly blinked at the prospect of doing something like this?

As if he could hear your thoughts, he speaks up again. “I did this to help you feel less homesick, but… there was more to it too.”

You tilt your head but keep quiet so he can continue.

“I like being the reason for your smiles,” he admits. “I want you to be happy. And when the opportunity to do this”—he motions to the room and the peonies—“fell into my lap, and I knew it’d make you smile, I couldn’t pass it by. I didn’t think twice. I mean… how could I?”

It’s silent for several moments as you process what he has said, and the implication behind his words. He did this because it made you happy. He did this because he does value your friendship but what’s more, he values you. What he shared mirrors your own sentiments, gives voice to the warmth you feel whenever you see him smile and how that’s all you want to dream of and when he smiles because of you, you always feel like the two of you could be something more.

By now it is impossible to deny that Claude is baring his heart to you in a way you never had the courage to. And he watches you the way you imagined you’d watch him, waiting nervously, with bated breath for the response, clinging to the hope that the yearning and the pining and the love, that it’s all mutual.

You swallow the lump in your throat, and your voice is barely above a whisper because if you were to speak any louder, your voice might crack. “So what are you saying?” This feels as if it’s not real, is just in your head, and you’re too nervous to come to any conclusions on your own lest you somehow take everything completely the wrong way. Even now, you’re second guessing yourself, wondering if you can finally acknowledge and confess your own feelings. But you have to know for sure.

“What I’m saying is…” Claude takes the few strides to close the distance between you, and when he’s standing before you, he carefully lifts a hand to rest on your face. He visibly relaxes when you don’t shy away from his touch. “You mean the world to me. You make me feel like I can move mountains, and I never want to let you go.”

You’re overcome with happiness at his words—he feels the same!—and you can’t contain your smile. His eyes light up when he sees it. “There it is.”

The remark only serves you to make you smile wider as you laugh shyly. The skin of his palm is warm against the coolness of your cheek, and you lean into his hand. You notice his gaze drop from your own, flickering to your lips, and then he’s closing what small distance remains, and his lips are soft, so soft, and you could stay here forever. This isn’t quite your garden of peonies and the gazebo with a table for two, but whether you were at the monastery or back home, whether you were in a gazebo or in your dorm room, you’re still surrounded by peonies, and most importantly, Claude is with you. That’s all that matters.

Your thoughts drift to the letter in the top drawer of your desk, and you only hold him tighter.

#claude von riegan x reader #claude von riegan imagine #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem imagine #fire emblem three houses x reader #fire emblem three houses imagine #claude von riegan #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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trashassassin · 4 years ago

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Two Halves of a Whole | 5: Privacy Policy (V x Reader)

You really need to stop making such misguided decisions, my dear reader. Though, I guess if you listened to your better judgement, then this series never would have happened, would it?

Word Count: 2338

Warnings: Strong Language

You were always a little bit nervous getting out of your car after returning home late at night. Logically, you knew that if someone wished to do you harm, there was nothing that would stop them from breaking your window to get to you, but the belief persisted nonetheless. The car was safe, outside was not.

It wasn't that you lived in a particularly unsafe neighborhood. It was simply that you assumed the worst of everyone you happened to come across. And it didn't help that you'd been feeling an increasing sense of unease as of late, the source of which remained elusive.

Your own cruel mind, most likely, but you couldn't help feeling that there was something different about it this time, even if you couldn't put your finger on exactly what it was.

After sitting in your car far too long contemplating all of this, you opened the door and stepped out onto the street.

It was always a bit of a walk from your parking spot to your apartment complex due to the fact that, if you wanted to park closer, you would need to shell out for a parking pass, which you were entirely unwilling to do. You recognized that the negligible amount of money you saved was not a good tradeoff for the anxiety you felt on your nightly walks, but at this point, you continued to refuse to pay on principle alone.

Cutting through the alley was the fastest way to get to your complex, as it led directly to your back door, even if it made the journey more nerve wracking. Your standard strategy was to take it at a faster than average pace, but not at a run in case that made you a more conspicuous target for someone untoward, throwing casual glances over your shoulder every so often just to make sure no one had followed you.

On this night in particular, upon one of your glances, you noticed something in the distance that made your heart drop. It was a shadow, stretched across the brick wall behind you. At first, you tried to convince yourself that it had been there the whole time and you simply hadn't noticed it, but as you continued to stare at it, it shifted slightly.

Your mind tried to push you to run, but your body was stuck fast. Would it move again? Something compelled you to wait and see if it would.

And it did, in a way that you never would have noticed if you hadn't been watching so closely. It seemed to you that whoever, or whatever, the shadow belonged to did not wish to be seen.

This allowed you the perfect opportunity to turn around and continue to your apartment, and possibly consider picking up a parking permit after all once you'd reached it. And yet, as you turned, you found that you still couldn't force yourself to move.

Curiosity burned in your mind, egging you on to turn back around and investigate. But only a fool would do such a thing, and you were no fool.

Right?

You glanced back again and the shadow remained in your vision.

Perhaps you were a fool after all because, slowly, with one hand wrapped around the pepper spray affixed to your keychain, you started toward it. You hugged the wall to your left as you inched forward in the (likely false) impression that this would help you maintain the element of surprise. As you reached the edge, you peeked around it, only to be met with a rather peculiar sight.

There was indeed a figure there, human, you suspected, the finer details of which were all but obscured by the glare of the streetlight not far behind it. It was covered almost entirely by a black cloak, or possibly a blanket. At least, it appeared to be black in the darkness.

The confirmation of another living creature gave you the motivation you needed to finally turn around and, just when you were about to do so, the figure lifted its head and looked up at you.

Your blood ran cold and your body froze in place.

This was it. This was how you were going to die and it was all your own stupid fault for not running away like you knew you should have. Curiosity killed the cat, as you'd always been told, and today, the cat was you.

The figure stood, appearing unsteady on its feet for a moment, giving you another perfect opportunity to run away, but it was as though your feet were glued to the concrete below. As it began to walk toward you, its eyes found yours again.

It didn't appear to have a particularly threatening physique beneath the blanket it wore, but you were well aware that appearances could be deceiving. It paused about a meter away from you and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the impact of your untimely demise.

But, it never came.

Instead, the figure spoke.

"Excuse me."

You opened your eyes. It was just a man, you realized, a perfectly ordinary man. The images you'd begun to formulate of a horrifying monster hiding beneath the sheet evaporated.

"I don't want to impose," he continued. "But, I was wondering if you might be able to help me."

You cocked your head to one side.

"What, do you need money, or something?" you asked. "I don't have any cash on me."

He shook his head, then reached his hand into the blanket. You took a few steps back, half expecting him to produce a weapon and begin brandishing it at you. But instead, it was a thin piece of paper, which he extended toward you.

"I was hoping you could help me find this man," he said.

As you took the paper from him and examined it, a chill ran down your spine. You did indeed know the man whose photograph was displayed there. He was a good friend of yours.

"Where did you get this?" you asked.

"That is… unimportant," he said, and alarm bells rang in your mind.

Then again, you were familiar with the sort of business your friend was involved with and he did tend to attract a rather unusual client base. So in that way, the interaction you were currently having was par for the course.

"You got a job for him?" you ask. "Something tells me you didn't find him by accident."

"Your assumption is correct," he said.

You didn't know a whole lot about the company's goings on, but you knew enough to know that anyone who sought out Devil May Cry and, by extension, its frontman, Dante, had a very specific purpose in mind.

"Alright," you said. "I'll give him your contact information next time I see him."

"I'd rather speak to him myself," he said. "It's quite urgent."

You did not drop your guard as you continued to stare down the strange man in front of you.

"How do you know him?" you asked, and he simply smiled. "Okay, then. Well, uh…" You pulled out a paper of your own, this one taking the shape of the business cards Dante had forced you to carry. "… Feel free to stop by in the morning whenever you get a chance. He hasn't been very busy lately, so I'm sure he'll be able to see you right away."

You handed him the card and turned to walk away for what you hoped would be the last time.

"Actually," he said, and, for some reason unknown to you, you again paused in place. "I was hoping you could offer further assistance."

Everything within you was telling you that continuing to listen to this possibly insane man was a very bad idea, but you stood your ground.

"What?" you asked, your voice cold.

"You see, I have nowhere to stay for the night."

Your eyes narrowed.

"There's a motel down the street," you said, pointing off in the vague direction of it. "I'm sorry, I can't help you there."

"Please." His face suddenly took on a rather urgent expression. "I'm in a bit of a difficult situation here. I only need one night."

The thought crossed your mind that this was possibly one of Dante's weird friends playing a trick on you, but you dismissed it as quickly as it appeared.

"A difficult situation, huh?" you asked, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"I don't have anything," he said. "They won't let me stay without identification. Please."

No identification? As sketched out as you were by the situation, your curiosity was piqued once again.

"Are you from out of town?" you asked.

"In a way," he replied.

This only intrigued you further.

He did seem harmless enough as you took a better look at him. In fact, he looked rather pathetic with the blanket draped over his thin frame. You realized upon closer inspection that the blanket was the only thing he had draped over him at all. His bare legs and feet were poking out the bottom and you could only infer that the rest of him was in a similar state.

So, you'd encountered a naked stranger in an alleyway, one who just so happened to be seeking a close personal friend of yours, with no identification on him whatsoever, and you were about to invite him into your home.

You wanted to make sure that you had properly established your ludicrous plan before you carried it out.

"I don't know who the hell you are," you said. "But you seem harmless enough. Come on."

You motioned for him to follow you.

"Thank you," he said, and he sounded genuinely relieved as he said it.

Even if you did end up dead and dumped in a sewer somewhere come morning, you were sure that Dante would stop at nothing to avenge your death, at the very least, so you had that going for you, if nothing else.

Against your logical judgement, you led this strange, naked man back to your apartment and allowed him inside.

"So, what do they call you?" you asked.

You flicked on the light and grimaced as your messy living room became illuminated.

"V," he replied.

"What, like the letter?"

"Yeah."

Yet another unusual thing about him.

"Well, V, make yourself comfortable," you said. You cleared off the couch a bit, tossing its contents wherever there was enough space, and motioned for him to sit down. "Would you like anything? Tea, or coffee, maybe?"

"No, thank you," he replied.

He sat down on your couch and was visibly shivering beneath the thin blanket he wore.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

You lifted your fleece blanket from the edge of the couch and tossed it at him.

"I'll be right back," you said.

You were going to make him some tea whether he asked for it or not. You couldn't just let him freeze on your couch all night after you'd so generously allowed him inside. And so, you grabbed the first box of teabags you saw, lemon ginger flavor, and brewed him a cup, along with one for yourself.

When you returned to the living room, he was already lying down beneath the blanket you'd given him.

"Here," you said.

You thrust the cup in his direction and he sat back upright.

"You didn't have to do that," he said.

"Well, I did, so take it."

He took the cup from your hands and you leaned back against the wall across from him, taking a sip from your own cup as you did.

"So, what's your story?" you asked. "How did you end up out here with no ID and no clothes?"

He stared at the floor.

"I have a bit of inside information that may be of use to your friend," he said, avoiding your question entirely.

"Inside information, huh? So, are you from the Underworld, then?"

He didn't respond.

"I'll take that as a yes," you continued. "Well, you don't look much like a demon, if that's any consolation, but I know that looks can be deceiving."

He still said nothing.

"Look, I'm not trying to pry, here. I just wanna know a little more about the weird naked guy I let into my house."

"If you think I'm crazy now, you'll only think me more crazy if I tell my story," he finally said.

You scoffed.

"Believe me," you said. "I've worked around Dante long enough to hear some seriously crazy shit."

It was clear to you that he wasn't going to relent no matter how many questions you threw at him, so you gave up asking and went back to your tea.

"I truly am sorry," he said. "Believe me when I say that I would not ask you to do this if I had any other option."

You shrugged.

"Whatever," you said.

You would have to have a chat with Dante regarding his clients and your privacy at some point in the future.

"I'll be sure to find a way to make it up to you when the case is settled," he said.

You weren't going to hold him to this, but you had to admit, you appreciated the sentiment somewhat.

"Well, I'm going to bed," you said, setting your still partially full cup on the coffee table. "Don't touch any of my shit and be sure to close the door when you leave, alright?"

"You have my word."

The entire thing began to feel a bit surreal as you headed up the stairs to your room. You could tell that there was so much more to this than he was letting on but, rather than putting you off, this fact intrigued you. You wanted to know more, so badly in fact that you had every intention of heading down to Dante's office the following day to ask him what the hell was going on.

Regardless of what it was, somehow, you got the distinct impression that you were already in way over your head.

#devil may cry #dmc #dmc 5 #v x reader #dmc v #v #fanfiction #writing #humor #series #plot #actual plot

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diveronarpg · 5 years ago

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Congratulations, LIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of ROMEO. Admin Minnie: How many times can we tell you how much we love your Roman, Lia!! Our darling boy has changed so much since you began writing him, and it’s been a wild ride and an honor to see him develop. The crown weighs heavy on those whose hearts still believe in good, and Roman is proof of the burden of carrying that weight. I can’t wait to see how you continue pushing Roman forward and capturing our hearts and imagination with your writing. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Lia

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | 6/10. I’ll actually be more active than usual since my classes are online for the time being, but in general, I’ll be able to pop in a few days a week to do replies.

Timezone | EST.

IN CHARACTER

Character | Romeo— The beautiful boy king Roman Montague.

What drew you to this character? | Mannnnnnn… Honestly, my entire body and soul belongs to Roman. Watching him grow in the RP has really been like watching a child grow up??? (yeah I don’t have kids so idk how accurate this statement is) But I wanted to revist the *cough* second time I revisted this part of the application.

“There’s something I’ve always loved about his inherent goodness, and how much he was loved for it. He was never a false prophet, he didn’t need to formulate a false persona, he was always himself, and that was enough for him to be adored. To Verona, Roman was proof that there still was some goodness in Verona, that there was some hope that the entire city wasn’t completely doomed and corrupt. He was proof that the gods hadn’t completely forsakened them. So what happens when he is no longer being shielded from the destitute of Verona? What happens when it begins to corrupt him, when it permeates through his essence? This is exactly what I intend to explore, especially with it being my second time around, and with Roman being a bit more in touch with his sinful side than I left him. ;-)”

He’s just so much more than people give him credit for? And that leads him to be underestimated, but boy— is ready to prove everyone wrong. >:-)

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

(I’ve kept the majority of the previous plots as they are still plots I hope to see through!)

MOTHER DEAREST | There’s no secret that Alba’s mind is deteriorating, and Damiano and Roman’s dismay, not even the best doctors, flown in from all over the world, are able to find a cure. I’m interested in seeing how this would affect the Montague empire, with Roman’s own mother being one of the biggest risks for the empire. I think this would force him to make some tough decisions, ones not even his father is capable of considering, absolutely blinded by the love he has for his Alba.

KING’S NOT DEAD | Roman’s gradual transition of power from his father is occurring much faster than he’d hoped for. Although he’s learning the ropes of being a boss rapidly, it would be interesting to see how he’d react to suddenly being forced to step in for Damiano unexpectedly. Maybe his father suddenly has to suddenly go away on business, or something involving Alba. Shadowing is one thing, but actually acting as the boss, that’s something else entirely. Will Roman be able to step up to the task? Stay tuned and find out ;) (I figured this is something to further be discussed with the admins, lol.)

NO LOST LOVE | If there was ever a woman suitable to rule alongside Roman when he eventually inherits the throne, it would absolutely be Pandora Phan. She is a soldier at heart— clever, determined, and unrelenting. But despite having this in common— the two couldn’t be any less alike. It would be a union devoid of love, completely for purpose and betterment of the mob. Roman understands this, but his love is something he is unwilling to compromise about. Although he’s agreed to the engagement for now, he’s only been keeping it up for the purpose of appearances, and he’s been secretly plotting about a way to end his engagement. It’s only a matter of time before he lets Pandora in on it.

MOST YOUNG KINGS GET THEIR HEAD CUT OFF | Not to say that we have Dark!Roman now, but… we kind of do? I think what is drawing me to Roman once again is his multifacetedness. He’s gradually become a person that is no longer an extension of his father. His motivations have shifted enitrely— before he wanted to take over the mob to appease his father, but this is no longer the case. He recognizes what he’s capable of now, and honestly seeing my bb believe in himself now is amazing. He’s becoming the leader he was always meant to be.….but he’s far from perfect. He’s growing more comfortable with his own depravity. He used to be disgusted at the idea that he took pleasure in the harm of another, but there’s something oddly satisfying about watching the Capulets fall, and rightfully so at that. It makes him feel good— in a twisted, fucked up way actually. It’s as if he’s purifying the streets of Verona. To him, the destruction of the Capulets is his way of serving the greater good. He also now recognizes the benefit of his charm— more than charming people into bed, that is. When he was younger he was just naturally charming without any other ulterior motives? But now he recognizes the advantage it gives him. The adoration that it emits from the people of Verona. They worship him for it. And Roman likes to be worshipped. I think this is a dangerous line for Roman to be crossing… and I am excited to explore this further.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yeah kill him with fire honestly

IN DEPTH

SAMPLE:

SIDENOTE: So, I wanted to revisit Roman’s first heartbreak as a way to show his growth. This is still under construction honestly (as I would like to develop in further for in character purposes), but for now… here you go! I was hoping to show a shift in dominance??? Damiano’s voice is the dominant voice from the beginning, but in the second para, it shows how much he’s grown into himself by how he stands up to his father and by his taking control of this part of the narrative. :)) I’ve been Roman for so long good lord, so I felt it was only right to give you guys something fresh to show just how much he’s grown over time! Sorry this is long as fuck omg forgive me.

VERONA, 2012

He heard him before he saw him.

It had been Damiano’s idea to have Rafaella write the letter. In reality, Alba wanted to do far worse, but with time, he’d been able to talk her down. It was he who realized Rafaella had been playing him, something the mafioso suspected from the start— but Alba’s insistence that Damiano’s interference would only cause Roman to despise him—beyond repair that is, as he’d already been aware of his son’s distaste for him—led him to sit back and allow everything to play out.

You have to allow him to make his own mistakes, amore mio. We mustn’t interfere until it goes too far— until we suspect he’s putting the mob at risk.

It wasn’t long before the information got back to him— information that could only have been acquired from the loose, fickle lips of his heir. Rafaella had become untouchable and she’d known it. Allowing her back into society, with all the information she’d managed to extract from his gullible son had been risky— but having her blood on his hands would be even riskier. Roman would already despise him for her exile, but her demise? That wasn’t something he was confident his son would bounce back from. The mob was no longer the place for his delicate heart. The loving bubble in which his mother had carefully surrounded him in would no longer do. It was now Damiano’s responsibility to prepare him for his destiny— and he would do so on his own terms.

He recognized the sounds that could only be likened to a wounded animal— the quieted, choked back sobs that Roman so desperately attempted to disguise. Damiano sighed, a mixture of pity and disgrace surging through him. The letter, to put it plainly, wasn’t cutting it. He needed the truth. It would be the only way for him to learn.

Damiano pushed the slightly ajar door open, before taking the seat across from Roman’s bed. He did not acknowledge him, but he attempted to quiet his cries even more. Neither of them said anything for several moments.

“There’s more to it— isn’t there?” Roman began softly, his hands still firmly gripping the dampened letter. “I know it was your decision to make her leave, but I also know there’s more to it.”

Damiano placed his elbow on his thigh, cradling his head carefully in his hand.

“It’s only fair that I give the girl the credit that she’s owed. I wish I could say that this was wholly of my own volition, but unfortunately, there’s far more to the story. Far more than I wish.”

Roman’s head turns up slightly. It is not anger that contorts his father’s face, but disappointment. “C-Credit? For what?”

“She was playing you, figlio. And you made it so easy for her. But I recognized that weakness within you long before she did. You were raised that way, after all. But it will be this way no longer. I can no longer do you a disservice by allowing you to be weak. Naive. Gullible. Because if I do?” Roman recoils as if he’d been struck with every name that falls from his father’s lips. “Then another Rafaella will come around, chew you up, and spit you out effortlessly just as she did.”

“No… Rafaella wouldn’t…. would she?” His eyes searched his father’s for sincerity. Possibly for comfort, he would not receive. It was comfort he’d never received from Damiano, but he still sought it out anyway. Pathetic. Even after everything, he still could not fathom that her love wasn’t true.

“She would, Roman! And you know why? Because the entire purpose of her involvement with you was to undermine you. To undermine our family. She didn’t love you and you need to recognize this. You need to be able to recognize the weakness within yourself, to prevent such ridiculousness from occurring again. You made it so easy for her. Do you know what you do the next time you feel inclined to confide in someone you love?” He paused for a moment, knowing good and well Roman didn’t know the answer to that. “You don’t. Not people outside of the family, at least. People like Rafaella— the recognize what you have. You’ll come to learn that this life— the life of a princeling is a gift and a curse. You’ve never needed to want anything, but everyone will want what you have. And they’ll do anything to get it. When you lay with rats, Roman, you realize that every inch of their being is committed to not appearing like one. But a rat is still a rat. And you gave the rat everything it wanted with minimal effort on its part. And my biggest regret is I allowed it all to happen. I allowed you to be stupid— to be foolish, to believe that what the two of you had, that superficial—” He could not even bring himself to say the word love, not after knowing what true love was. As if Roman and Rafaella’s dalliances were a disgrace to the word. “Do not embarrass yourself like this again. If you are going to be a fit leader, then you can’t continue being somebody people recognize as vulnerable. They’ll never respect you.” His only regret was not turning Rafaella into a weapon— such wasted potential on the slimy Capulets. But even Damiano was not convinced his efforts would work on a pest so deeply committed to being a pest. She’d been better off with Cosimo and his deplorable ways.

“I don’t respect you. You make it so hard to do so when you… ” he bites back his disgust, but he recognizes his efforts are working. The gradual chipping away of Roman’s soft exterior. He would shed his skin in favor of an armor far thicker. “But nevermind that. Your official training begins tomorrow at sunset. We’ll be interrogating a suspected informant. Be prepared for things to get messy. Don’t embarrass me either.” Damiano stands up swiftly, no longer able to stand the sight of his son.

“Papa?” Roman utters quietly before Damiano has completely exited the room. “Would you not allow me comfort? Not even this once?”

“Comfort doesn’t win wars. Neither does compassion. I won’t do you the disservice of believing it will get you anywhere in this city. Not in this life it won’t. Do you know where comfort and compassion got you, Roman? Mourning the likes of your rat lover. A person who probably hasn’t even given you a second thought. And you really think that I came here to comfort you? Don’t be inane. I came to give you a wake-up call. You’ll probably hate me for it in the long run, and guess what? I’ve accepted that. You’ll be a better man because of it. A stronger one. And that what matters. You’ll soon realize that you can have practically any woman or man you’ve ever wanted— but never allow them to make you weak. Never allow them to steal your honor. You’re a Montague. It’s time to start acting like one.”

VERONA, 2019

He heard him before he saw him. The hurried footsteps. His father was late.

Roman watched as the minute hand abandoned it’s partner, opting instead to move forward, now noticeable enough that his father was obviously late. Instead of quickening to anger, he focused his attentions on the paper lantern on his desk, attempting to funnel his emotions inside of it. It’d been easy enough in that current moment, but would it when it actually counted for something?

The door to his office opened and closed swiftly, but even as his father settled himself into the seat across from him, his eyes still remained on the paper lantern.

“Roman,” Damiano stated in a low, habitual growl.

“Father. You’re late,” Roman says plainly, something that takes Damiano off guard, mocking laughter vibrating his large frame. There was an energy radiating off of Roman that had not been there years prior. Confidence. He was not asking for respect, but commanding it. Damiano recognized that there was little option for him in the matter. Had he been…? Had that time finally—

“I’m serious.” He momentarily tears his gaze away from the lantern in order to meet his father’s. “I expect the same standard of professionalism you’ve always held me to. If I am to take over the mob one day— I expect that same level of respect.”

This response is enough to quiet the mob boss— maybe more so out of shock then the respect he deeply desired, but it was a start. “I have several issues that I hoped to address with you today.”

There was a fierceness to his silence— one that subdued any ridicule, any possible patronization emitting from his father. He watched as his father’s eyes searched his stoic expression, waiting for the exact moment in which he would realize. He’d suspected it, but acceptance would take much more effort on both their parts. Roman no longer feared him. He had cursed the invisible hand that guided him. bit it, fought it, bloodied it, rebuked it. The heir refused submission— he refused to be a vessel for his father to enact his torment. He wholly accepted his destiny, no longer seeing any use in running from it— but the power he now recognized was entirely his own. Damiano had no choice but to listen. And this had been everything that he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d ever hoped for. A son who refused to take a shit, even from his own father. He had to ensure that it was not good to be true. That Roman was not merely enacting the facade of a leader.

He nodded, waiting for his son to continue.

“As of recent, there are a few concerns I’d like to address regarding the mob’s administration,” Roman began cooly, eyes still searching the paper lantern. “Long story short— you’ve lost your touch. I don’t think your pride would ever allow you to admit that to yourself, but everyone can see it. The world can see it. I know how much you care about the reputation of the mob— which is why I’m offering you an easy way out.”

Roman could see the tinges of anger permeate through his father’s being, but it meant nothing to the man who did not fear him. Not a boy, not a princeling, but a conqueror. Hearing that you’ve lost your touch is never easy, Damiano knew better than most that he was getting old. He knew the time to usher in a new regime was rapidly approaching. But he also knew that Roman could not be asked to take the throne. He had to do so of his own volition. He had to command the throne. Demand that what was rightfully his be handed to him.

“The easy way out would be you gradually transferring your duties as mob boss to me. You’ll tell everyone that in your old age, you think its best for you to spend time with your sickly wife. That it is time to usher in a new era. You’ll tell them that your mind isn’t what it used to be, that dealing with your wife’s debilitating disease has driven you to irrationality.”

In all 27 years of his life, Roman had never driven his father to the point of stupefaction. Confidence surged in every word he spoke. But he could not lose momentum. “The difficult way out is you’ll be forced out. I mean, technically, the first option doesn’t leave you much of a choice either, but at least in that instance, your exit will be effortless on your end. I currently have a board of advisors within the ranks. I won’t reveal their names quite yet, though several of them will be fairly obvious. They wholly support my transition to the throne.”

Goade him. Test the thickness of the armor; ensure that it is authentic. Better you than anyone else. “You can’t seriously believe that you’re—”

“No!” Roman begins through snarled teeth. “You don’t get to do this to me anymore. The gaslighting, the berating— you can entirely fuck off with all that, dad. I didn’t call you into my office for you to listen to yourself talk. You’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you destroy everything we worked for. I won’t let you destroy me. Not anymore.” What was it that swelled in Damiano’s chest? Had it been… pride, perhaps?

“I’m ready. In fact, I’ve always been ready, father. I just was never what you wanted me to be. And I’ll never be who you want me to be. I’ll never be you and I’ll be a better man for it. A better leader for it.”

Damiano looks at Roman challengingly— expecting him to back down, to recoil as he always has— but Roman does not flinch. This was not the same boy who once mourned his lost love. Maybe Roman liked to believe so, but Damiano knew his son far better than that. He was different, maybe not in the way that he’d raised him to be—but he’d been different. He had not molded himself to be fit for the throne but instead shaped it into something that would be fit for him. Damiano’s test had been nearly complete. “You expect to lead a mob? Do you truly think you can garner the respect that I have?”

“And that’s the difference between you and I. Me— I never respected you. You convinced me that was what respect was, but that isn’t respect. That is fear. Do you truly think this city respects you? They’re terrified of you! But me? I don’t have to scare people into following me. They follow me out of choice— not because they believe it to be the only option. So let’s not make this any harder than it has to be, dad. It’s over. You’re over. What good have you or Cosimo brought to Verona from this stupid fucking war? Do either of you realize how ridiculous this all is? People are dying for your petty fucking war, and you don’t even care!”

I came to give you a wake-up call. You’ll probably hate me for it in the long run, and guess what? I’ve accepted that. You’ll be a better man because of it. A stronger one. And that’s what matters.

The authoritative air that seems to shimmer around Roman— it was real. Roman was not performing heir as he once had. This was real and even Damiano could now recognize it. He’d underestimated his son, a fault within himself that he was able to recognize. Maybe it’d been a result of his pride. Maybe he had lost sight of things. Maybe he and Cosimo had truly resorted to a petty pissing match. But nevermind that now.

He leaned back in his chair leisurely, hands coming together in a slow, dramatic clap. “I’m impressed, son. Truly. This backbone— where is it coming from?”

“I know you would like to think it’s from you,” Roman begins, laughing almost mockingly. “I know that you’re apart of me. I’m your blood after all. I tried to run from it— fearing that I would become you and lose every other part of myself. I thought becoming you was the only way that I would be able to rule, and that scared the shit out of me. But then I realized something— you have no true power. You only have as much power as everyone believes you to have. Without them— your power means nothing. So if you would like that illusion to be kept for the remainder of your days— then I wouldn’t cross me. You’re in the way of what I want, and if forcing you out is what it takes— then so be it.”

It had been this way for eons. Just as Kronos had overthrown his own father, Zeus had overthrown him. It had only been a matter of time. Even the gods got old and lost their touch. Even Damiano’s own father, who’d barely possessed such likeness in the first place. It would happen to Roman with his future child eventually— maybe not quite on the same terms, but it would happen with time.

“This is your final offer, father. I truly wanted to make this as easy possible for you, even if you don’t deserve it. After everything you’ve done— you deserve far less courtesy than this. So let’s not make this difficult for either of us. You knew this day would come. You just never knew when. Let my board of advisors and I proceed as planned, and your retirement will be a happy and prosperous one.” He smiles that 1000 watt smile— the one that will bring Verona to its knees. The smile that would end the war, that would finally usher in a new era. That smile had been the greatest weapon Damiano could’ve ever hoped for— how was he just now realizing this? That was the advantage Roman had and the one Damiano possessed no longer. That tantalizing charisma, and a clean canvas of a mind.

His work here had been done. Damiano had been convinced. Roman’s belief in himself had been genuine. He felt warmth— something he rarely felt at this point in his life, but it felt good. He was proud of his son. Of the leader, he’d become. But compassion had never been his way. Hw fumbled for the right words to say, something to encapture the depth of the pride he felt for his son—

“You don’t have to say it. I know you’re proud of me. I know that for whatever stupid reason you can’t admit that to—”

“No, Roman. You and your mother have shown me that it isn’t always a weakness that comes from compassion, but vice versa. Sometimes it is your own weakness that prevents you from showing compassion. A valuable lesson I needed to learn— even if it took more than half a century. Verona will be a better place because of you.”

He could see the emotion rousing in his son, the wetness settling in his eyes, and gods he had no desire to wait around while Roman ruined the moment.

Damiano began his exit in a single, furious motion.

“Thank you,” Roman manages, stopping him in his tracks. Damiano offers him a single nod before shuffling out of the office.

And for the first time in 27 years, Roman Montague had the last word.

EXTRAS:

SIDENOTE: This was actually the first part of the long ass sample I made, but I realized it had LITERALLY 0 to do with Roman??? Like he wasn’t even born let alone a thought? But it did help me find my daddy Dami and Mama Alba voice so it was fun afjwaeifj here you go!

VERONA, 1989

He heard her before he saw her.

There was something utterly engrossing about her voice, with the smokey richness only comparable to his favorite bourbon. But it was the huskiness that sold him— her passion unwavering even as her voice threatened to fail her, presumably from her repeated shouts.

Damiano stopped briskly in his path. He was late, but his curiosity bested him.

She was ferocious in every aspect— from the way her curls pooled heedlessly around her face, to her slender brows furrowed in determination. The dripping sweat only enhanced the bronze glow of her skin. Her willowy frame had been draped in a loosely fitted, Angela Davis t-shirt and dark bell-bottom jeans. She was chained to a towering tree, repeating over and over again,

Morte per gentrificazione!

Death to gentrification.

It was then he noticed everything else around them, the outside world previously silenced at the sight of her. Several police vehicles littered the surrounding street, as well as several aggravated men in suits discussing something fervently with a construction worker. He did not care to hear the circumstances of the situation from them, finding himself instantly pulled in the direction of the woman, disregarding the announcement made by several people that this was indeed private property he was entering. Even if he hadn’t been so focused on her— he couldn’t have cared less. He stopped at what he thought was a respectful distance, close enough to hold a conversation, but hopefully not close enough to impede her personal space. His mouth opened in preparation to speak, but the stranger managed to beat him to the punch—

“You can tell your bosses to stop sending stuffy fucking corporate lawyers my way. I gave them my terms already, and they’re non-negotiable.”

He blinked stupidly, not knowing how to react to her mistaking him for a stuffy, fucking corporate lawyer.

“I— was actually hoping to gain more clarity on the circumstances of your protest. I just moved to this part of town, and I’m not too familiar with the area.”

Her facial expression softened slightly, her eyes meeting his own with a raised brow. “Quite the nosey newcomer I see,” she begins challengingly yet playfully. “But this, mio amico, is the location of homeless shelter and soup kitchen. These bastardi di maiale—” she shouts in their direction as she states this, “—want to tear it down to build luxury apartments.”

This had evidently been enough to draw the attention of one of the bastardi di maiale, as he began his commute from the other bastardi, his face a sickly shade of salmon.

“This is my property. What don’t you get?! I have a right to do with it as I please. Now, if you don’t plan on getting off my property, I’ll have you forcibly removed, cang—”

All it took was Damiano’s hand positioned in front of his face to disrupt his throaty rant.

“I would stop while I was ahead if I were you,” he offered to the significantly shorter man. “You wouldn’t want to say anything you’d later regret.”

Gargles of protest exited his throat as he attempted to scramble for a retort. “Excuse me? How dare—”

“You’re going to sell me this property and go about your day. Understood?” Damiano says, lowering his hand. The woman watches him curiously, but his eyes remain on the bastardo.

“Now why the hell would I do that? This property is a gold mine! I’ll make mi—”

“Because your property won’t be worth merda once I’m finished with it. Build your luxury apartments. Fine. You will be reminded of my wrath each and every day. Your tenants will gradually forget what peace ever felt like. I’ll buy your property for whatever you paid for it plus 5%. And the more you run that bastardo mouth of yours, the less generous I feel, and the lower the offer will become. Do I make myself clear?”

The coloration of his skin reddens— a mixture of rage, embarrassment, and most likely fear. He did not truly need to build the apartments there, he supposed, and for some reason— his eyes met Damiano’s momentarily before returning to the ground— this man was someone he did not desire to have on his bad side. Maybe building luxury apartments on the property of a homeless shelter hadn’t been good—

“Sir? Have you considered my terms?” Damiano says smoothly, but there is no tolerance in his tone.

“I— accept your terms. We can draw up the paperwork immediately. I-It will be a pleasure doing business with you, signore—”

“Montague. Damiano Montague.”

The man’s eyes widened; he’d heard that name on some occasions, but never had the opportunity to meet the man in person. He’d been the man taking Verona by storm, with such a tightly held grasp that he did not need a face to accomplish such feats. He simply needed a name, and that was enough to bring the despondent city to its knees.

“Si-Signore Montague, it’s a p-pleasure—”

Damiano’s hand returned to its former place, heading the man’s blubberings once more. “Now, I would like to return to the conversation I was having with my companion before we were rudely interrupted by your ramblings. For the moment being, I’d like you out of my sight.”

His lip trembled but he did not protest— returning to the group of now wide-eyed bastardi di maiale. He returns his attentions to the strange woman— her arms now crossed, studying him peculiarly, attempting to figure out what he was after.

“Now that he’s taken care of—” he began with a sigh of relief. “Tell me more about this building. I hope to restore it to its former glory. In fact, I hope to make it even grander than before; in order to reach even more people than the original owners could’ve ever imagined possible. With your help, if you’d be willing, that is.”

She undid the chain, before sizing Damiano up, something not difficult for her to do as she could not have been more than two inches shorter than him. He couldn’t blame her for being wary of his intentions. This had all occurred in a span of fewer than fifteen minutes, after all. “Why would you need my help? You seem to have things pretty well handled.”

“This place means something to you. It means something to you to the point where you were willing to chain yourself to a tree and face off with these wealthy bastardi di maiale. You didn’t care about the consequences you might possibly face. The people are what was most important. They mean something to you, and quite frankly, something tells me you’d do a much better job of running it than I.”

She ponders his proposition silently for a few moments, before offering him her hand to shake. “Sounds like we have a deal. Alba Fascelli.” He shook her hand, before carefully bringing it to his lips, silently requesting her permission, only proceeding when she nodded. “I hope you know it’ll take more than a grand gesture to win me over, Dami. You haven’t even asked me out on a date yet.”

Damiano smiled warmly, as the familiarity the nickname roused within him made him feel as if he’d known her for years. “Trust me— I knew from the moment I walked over here that it would take far more than this to win you over. But I’ve never been one to step down from a challenge.”

She allowed her hand to linger in his for a moment longer, before crossing in front of him and releasing it. “0458446149. I’ll let you know when I’m available. Do forward more details about To Tame a Soup at your earliest convenience.”

He waved stiffly, still slightly stunned over her presence. “Addio, Alba.”

Alba. The name whose meaning he would come to understand later on in life. Sunrise. It would take meeting Alba for Damiano to realize that in his 27 years of life, the sun had not truly risen— not until meeting her, that is.

here’s his inspo tag!

there’s probably hella typos pls forgive me and tumblr deleted all my bold stuff and i’m sickkkkk but i’m too tired to fix it :/

#accepted #accepted: romeo

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arcticdementor · 5 years ago

Text

“Bourgeois Values,” “Anti-capitalism,” and Restoration.

(Time for another exercise in wasted effort in writing a long post nobody’s going to bother to read.)

Now, I don't exactly like using the term "bourgeois," what with the Marxist baggage and polysemy leading to ambiguity. But, lacking a better term for "bourgeois values" — as used by the likes of Amy Wax — I find myself using the term in this essay.

Now, per the polysemy mentioned above, the values of the "bourgeoisie" have been characterized in a number of ways by different folks from differing perspectives. "Materialism" — particularly in the sense of prioritizing material concerns over spiritual or other non-material concerns — is common, as are "philistinism" and conspicuous consumption. Or, there's also there’s more positive formulations, like that of Deirdre McCloskey, or the description from Wax and Alexander:

Get married before you have children and strive to stay married for their sake. Get the education you need for gainful employment, work hard, and avoid idleness. Go the extra mile for your employer or client. Be a patriot, ready to serve the country. Be neighborly, civic-minded, and charitable. Avoid coarse language in public. Be respectful of authority. Eschew substance abuse and crime.

I'd definitely rate this sort of thing as better than the kind of alternative one sees in places like the "hillbilly" communities suffering in the opioid crisis, the "rust belt," dysfunctional inner cities, etc. Now, the criticism of this I see is almost entirely from the left, and mostly consists of posing these values as some matter of "-ist." For example, Elie Mystal attacking Robert L. Woodson's defense of Wax, Alexander, and bourgeois values, as Uncle Tom groveling:

If a white guy said this, the only people defending him would be Nazis, but because a black guy wrote it, it falls to me to point out that this right here has ALWAYS BEEN the argument deployed by House Negroes to justify their position. I PROMISE YOU that if you went back to 1830 and asked the chuckling HNIC how he can live with himself, he’d say: “Look at my back. It ain’t got no scars because I reject undisciplined and irresponsible behavior. Without me, this whole damn plantation would fall apart. Now please excuse me, it’s time for Master to take a dump and I need to be there to wipe his ass.”

I point out that Woodson’s argument is steeped in the long history of coonery not to denigrate Woodson — his own words have done that far better than I could — I point it out to show that large swaths of Black America have adopted “bourgeois values” from the very beginning. Post emancipation, the bourgeois blacks actually won out. Now, most all of us African-Americans have totally adopted the white man’s cultural norms and are just trying to get our share of the rewards.

(I'm not unsympathetic to the argument that it's a foreign imposition of "white man’s cultural norms," and that resistance in favor of defending one's indigenous culture and values against such foreign impositions is valid; I just wish it were applied more consistently and broadly for all rival cultures to "universal culture,” as well as recognizing the tension between rejection of an alien culture's values and yet expecting said culture to provide you with all the benefits of those values all the same.)

But I'd like to push back from the right.

First, there's how the American right has deeply internalized these norms, and how this affects the issue of political organization and activism — or lack thereof — on the right versus the left. Especially the sort of thing David Z. Hines talks about. When you ask you're average Republican voter why we don't do this sort of thing, the usual answers are some variety of "nobody's got time for that; we've got jobs to go to and bills to pay—" (as if the left were composed entirely of college students, welfare layabouts, and paid astroturf) "—and besides, that's Not Who We Are." (As Hines put it: "THAT’S NOT HOW THE RIGHT DOES THINGS, they bellow, by which I assume they mean unpleasant stuff like “winning.”")

I'd like, some other time, to explore this in further depth, but in short, these replies all reduce to the same thing — the tactics are rejected because of incompatibility with the above "bourgeois values."

But our choices aren't only "bourgeois values" — with concommittant dedication to being dignified losers who will somehow win through our willingness to let the enemy destroy us — or Detroit/Middletown. Because, consider, what would Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington, think of those sort of "I've got a mortgage to pay" excuses? Or Otto, Fürst von Bismarck, Herzog zu Lauenburg? Charles the Hammer? Godfrey of Bouillon? George Monck, 1st Duke of Albemarle? What would the sort of man who rated non-material things like *honor* highly enough to risk their lives over them think of this sort of "think of the bottom line" mentality? What about aristocratic values?

I'm also somewhat hesitant about using the term "capitalism" unqualified, for the same Marxist-baggage-and-polysemy reasons as "bourgeois." On the one hand, I've seen people both on the far left and the far right use "capitalism" to mean pretty much anything short of outright Communism, and on the other, there's the "real capitalism has never been tried!" libertarians for whom the existence of a single business regulation renders a system "non-capitalist." Add in that I accept the arguments, by Jim Donald and others, that the Marxist model of "Capital" as entity/class is fundamentally inaccurate, and that "capitalists" are never actually the people in charge.

That said, this is where I have some overlap with what is often characterized as "anti-capitalism." Because I'm against the system which promotes and selects for the above "bourgeois values." Not in the sense of wanting to replace them with some sort of "socialist values," or with the antithesis of Wax and Alexander's list, but in the cause of restoring aristocratic values. As I once said a couple years back at Slate Star Codex:

But competent at what is key. Here, it’s “the aristocratic being overwhelmed by the competent” at making money. After all, there was a previous period where being competent at making money didn’t let you “overwhelm” the aristocrats. And, of course, there’s the issue of how the aristocrat lineages became such in the first place, which was, basically, as warlords. They were competent at being and leading a warrior elite. So there was a time when being capable at breaking faces on horseback was more important than being capable at making money, so the leaders-of-face-breakers and their descendants ruled.

Of course, I now dispute the idea that it was the money-making "bourgeoisie" who actually "overwhelmed" the aristocrats, or that it happened at the time the conventional narrative places it. For example, Wikipedia has it as "the late-16th and early 17th centuries" when the developing urban business class "had become the financial – thus political – forces that deposed the feudal order."

A better model, I'd say, is that changes in military technologies — particularly, the decline of castles — led to a trend of centralization of power away from the distributed feudal hierarchy (with weak, "first among equals" monarchs) towards "absolute monarchy" and the rise of modern states, and that the "bourgeoisie" were an effect, not a driving cause, a useful foil for centralizing monarchs to leverage against an aristocracy based in control of agricultural lands. Aristocracy and "military power in the realm of politics" looks to have still been pretty powerful, at least in most of Europe, through the English Restoration, and through the Napoleonic wars. From the very same Wikipedia page:

The English Civil War (1642–51), the American War of Independence (1775–83), and French Revolution (1789–99) were partly motivated by the desire of the bourgeoisie to rid themselves of the feudal and royal encroachments on their personal liberty, commercial prospects, and the ownership of property. In the 19th century, the bourgeoisie propounded liberalism, and gained political rights, religious rights, and civil liberties for themselves and the lower social classes; thus the bourgeoisie was a progressive philosophic and political force in Western societies.

[Emphasis added.]

Nor is the rise of science as big a factor as some portray; after all, "father of chemistry" and pioneer of the scientific method Robert Boyle was the son of Richard Boyle, 1st Earl of Cork, and it was the restored monarchy of Charles II that chartered The Royal Society out of Boyle's "invisible college." The scientific progress of the likes of Newton thrived under the Restoration aristocratic system. So, I reject the idea that aristocratic virtues are achievable only by reversion to "ignorant superstition" and 1400s technology.

That is, it looks like 1848, and the surrounding decades, were more of a turning point with regards to aristocratic values than any time in "the late-16th and early 17th centuries." The Crimean War, with Jim's favored example of the smearing of Lord Cardigan and elevation of Florence Nightengale, is another mid-19th century case. And, also [https://blog.jim.com/politics/defining-restoration-and-reaction/]per Jim[/l], this looks driven less by "capitalists" as by "priests." Wikipedia, again, has the "capitalists" having ascended to "the upper class" only by the end of the 19th century. And there, it looks to me like the elites at the forefronts of the various social reform movements, most with roots in one or another (mostly Protestant) religious "awakening," were clearly more powerful than "capitalists," whose influence is frequently overstated. That is, in line with Jim's recurring thesis, "warrior rule" was slowly replaced not by "merchant rule," but by the "priestly rule" of the post-Puritan religion, still headquartered in Harvard and Yale, with continuity of organization, personnel, and institutions all the way back to the Roundheads.

I see no reason why "bourgeous values" must inevitably displace "aristocratic values," nor that the latter is, as some claim, fundamentally incompatible with scientific progress. So, how do we of the “Red Tribe” go about prying ourselves away from our stubborn, self-defeating adherence to bourgeous values and shifting the system toward selecting for aristocratic ones again?

#long post #tl;dr #nobody's going to bother to read this #why am I wasting my time on this?#bourgeois values #aristocratic values #what would lord wellington do?#what would charles martel do?

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topazshadowwolf · 6 years ago

Text

The Door (Chapter 14)

An Undertale Fanfiction by: Topaz Shadowwolf Undertale is owned by: Toby Fox Setting: Post neutral run when Papyrus dies with chapter intros being before the child fell. Relationships: Sans and Toriel is the main focus, with a little bit of Undyne and Alphys Rating: I’m thinking Teen? Heads up: There are some depressed thoughts, feelings of worthlessness/wanting to die, mention of major character death, and the occasional bad word. Oh, and flowey being flowey, so you know, psychological/physical trauma. I really don’t want to say much more since I really don’t want to spoil anything further down the road…

You can read it on AO3! Here is Ch 13 Ch 12 Ch 11 Ch 10 Ch 9 Ch 8 Ch 7 Ch 6 Ch 5 Ch 4 Ch 3, Ch 2, and Ch 1on Tumblr.

Random thoughts from the writer about this chapter: I’m not dead and I did not abandon this fic. I was just lazy and lacked motivation. I love this fic though, so don’t think I won’t finish it. I might take 20 years, but it will be written.

It had been another dull day in the Ruins. The most exciting thing that happened was her finds while bug hunting. She caught a fairly large snail and a few unique bugs that she eventually released after looking them up. One was one of the smallest beetles she had seen, but it had the shiniest golden shell of all she had ever caught. It was mesmerizing, really, and she couldn’t help but hang onto it for a while to marvel at it as it crawled over her paw pads.

Because the day had been dull, she tried thinking up new and good funny puns and jokes to share with her friend since she wouldn’t have anything new to discuss. And while her friend did seem to enjoy hearing about her days in the Ruins, it didn’t seem fair to bore him with such meaningless drabble as what bugs she caught day after day. As kind as he was, even he must have limits on how much of this nonsense he could take.

When the time came she walked down the hall, hoping to hear her dear friend really let loose with his laughter. It had been a while since she had heard a good laugh from him. It wasn’t like when they first met anymore. She feared he was getting tired of this but was too kind to tell her so. The last few days his laughs had started sounding a bit…. forced.. It can’t be fun or pleasant for him, sitting out there in that cold snow every day just to entertain some silly old woman, such as herself. And yet he made the trips, sat out there, made her laugh, listened to her stories, and stayed for hours for her benefit.

Back when he laughed hardily, she knew he was enjoying himself, but ever since his laughs started weakening… well, it just seemed like he no longer found a reason to come out here. And she couldn’t blame him. He always sounded so tired, too. She knew he had several jobs and yet, she doesn’t insist on him taking a break. Instead, she eagerly awaited him and encouraged him to ignore his own needs. All of this must be putting too much stress on him, especially since she made this an everyday thing. Maybe she should ask him to come out every other day instead? That would give him a day to rest and a day without having to listen to her prattle on about nothing. When she gave him the option before, he had insisted that meeting every day was fine. But she really doubted that now, and was sure she would have to set the schedule. Her dear friend was just too kind to say ‘no’ to her.

Well, as she thought about it, even every other day sounded like too much. She can’t just base her happiness on him. She needs to pull herself together and let him make the schedule. He will know what is best for himself, even if it means they part ways. She will just need to be insistent that he needs to step up in scheduling their meetings in a way that doesn’t make things hard on himself. And, if he were to say he was done, well, at least, for this short time knowing him, she had some laughs and fun times.

That decided, she knocked on the door twice to see if he was there, “Knock, knock!”

“who’s there?”

His voice tore at her soul. It was so heavy with tiredness and sadness that he didn’t sound like the monster she first met. Was this because of her? It seemed hard to believe that she had caused him sadness as well, but perhaps this was getting in the way of other plans? Rationale told her it was something else. This had been a growing problem with him. He hadn’t said that anything was upsetting him in his life but she could hear it in his voice. There was no mention of anything other than work wearing him out. He might not be the most open and talkative about himself, but he did share some things that clearly mattered to him. But this, whatever was causing this, he didn’t share.

Paranoia made her worry that it was her. She wondered if that was why he kept it all a secret. Because she was the source of this sorrow. But, why? Had she done or said something that would hurt him so much?

“Friend,” she started, and he began to reply thinking it was part of the traditional joke, but it wasn’t. Instead, she continued, “What is wrong? Have I done something to offend you? Is this taking too much time out of your day? Truly, you have done so much for me already, you do not need to keep this up if it is a burden for you.”

“lady?” he sounded confused then she heard him shift, his voice getting closer to the doors, “no, lady, it’s… it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” She felt tears forming in her eyes as she placed a hand where she hoped his hand might be. Her nails scratched the door as it tried in vain to grab his hand.

Just open the door, you coward…

She couldn’t… for the safety of any other human that fell… and for her people, she couldn’t open this door unless it was an emergency.

“Day by day you are becoming less and less like the monster who first made me laugh so hard. While you are bringing me joy, I fear you are only receiving misery.”

He was silent and she closed her eyes, resting her head against the door, waiting. If he needed a moment to answer then she will give him the time he needed to think over what he wanted to say. After all, he had been too kind of a monster to her. It would not be easy for him to say she was boring and that he didn’t want to visit her anymore. So, she will let him better formulate an answer for her to tell her what she already knew.

But as time ticked by, and the silence grew, she decided to add softly, “We may not know what each other looks like, or actual names… but I still consider you my friend.”

“you’re my friend, too, lady… meeting you here is one of the main reasons i’m able to get out of bed in the morning. sorry, i don’t mean to worry you, but… no matter how i sound, i want to make sure you know doing this, being here… it makes me really happy,” he replied, and she heard a “thunk” as he likely placed his head against the door. “lately... a lot has been happening that is hard to explain and it’s, well, making things difficult. and... it was really… really hard... today. so, uh… heh,” he sounded on the verge of tears.

“Oh, Dishes, I’m sorry,” she replied. Her claws continued to scratch the door as her hand started to ball up with frustration. Again, she wanted to open these doors and comfort him, but…

“don’t worry about it… i’m sure it will work itself out eventually,” he said, but he didn’t sound any more convinced than she was.

“You are truly my friend, Dishes, and I want you to do what is best for you. So, if you need the day to yourself,” Toriel started but her friend cut her off there.

“that’s not really going to help, old lady… being by myself lets my mind cause some… skulduggery,” he said with a soft, chuckle.

The pun earned a soft giggle from her but she still couldn’t help but feel sad by that information. Her poor friend…, “In that case, I will keep you company then.” She tried to push away her saddened thoughts to feel happier for him. “Shall we tell some jokes,” She asked, hoping to cheer him up.

“alright, after that, how about telling me about your day? had to be better than mine,” he inquired.

“Oh, well… I really just went bug hunting and nothing much else,” she apologized.

“that sounds interesting,” he truly did sound interested in hearing about that. Whether he actually was or wasn’t, she didn’t know. But at that moment, he made it sound like it was the best thing he heard all day...

It was nice to just be back in their room at the castle, but not quite like how it felt being in her home in the Ruins again. Toriel was sure Sans also just wanted to return to the Ruins and let it just be them again. She would be lying if she said the thought didn’t cross her mind, and still lingered there. But, as it was, and with everything known, a sense of duty kept her here. There was still a bitterness in her that made her want to neglect this duty. It was the monsters that called for the death of all humans then forced her off the throne after she came back.

Did she really owe them anything? Did she really need to sacrifice her happiness for these monsters who turned on her so easily? She wasn’t their queen, she wasn’t in the guard, nor was she in any position that made her obligated to care about their welfare. And yet, here she was caring about them. She couldn’t just abandon them to a potentially dark fate. At least, not again. This was different than them seeking the blood of innocent children. This was them needing help from a potential threat that even she knew nothing about. A being that could remove her happiness even if she did try to hide. While Sans seemed more willing to accept his fate, she was not. Just as she rebelled against Asgore to try to rescue the humans, she will push her love to protect the peace they had instead of just letting what may happen, happen. So, as much as she wished to return to the Ruins, she couldn’t turn her back on them now.

Besides, it’s not like their time together was limited. That thought was silly. There was supposed to be no more of these “resets” that had plagued Sans and, unknowingly, her and everyone else in the underground. And that also meant they had plenty of time to share.

Well… not completely.

While she was a boss monster, sentenced to continue to live on and never age, Sans wasn’t. Over time he will grow old and die… That thought caused a shiver to travel up her spine. She didn’t like the idea of watching her dear friend and loved one slowly fade in front of her, but she loved him too much to not want him around. That is the sad trial that now was her life, one she will have to accept. She will watch the ones she knows and love wither and die while she will live on, ageless.

Chara’s body seemed to wilt to the illness they had had that resulted in such a horrible and painful death. Asriel, bloodied and broken, stumbling into the throne room and collapsing on the floor only to then dust in her and Asgore’s hands. Then there was Asgore himself, he changed before her own eyes from the monster she loved to… a creature filled with hate and anger. By what she was told by Sans he didn’t stay that way, reverting to his more meeker nature, if not more so.

Looking over at her dear one, she saw he was clearly exhausted and she scooped him up without a complaint. There was that tired, husky chuckle of his that only encouraged her to cuddle him close. She nuzzled his cheekbone and he started to laugh in reply while leaning into her touch. His boney hand reached up, petting the soft fur just behind her ear, and she hummed contently. Her dear, sweet skeleton, all dressed up as a cat, half curled in her arms in an adorable manner, was too much for her to let go. Placing him in bed and going about her own business will not do. So, she moved over to a chair to sit down. She felt well overdressed in this beautiful gown at the moment, but that didn’t matter. It was nice being the white queen with her Cheshire Cat for the moment. She hoped he felt the same as he cuddled close to her.

Soft snores signaled to her that he had fallen asleep and she was happy. Closing her eyes, she held him and thought about all she had learned, all they had been through, and all they will need to go through. If only things could be easy for them for the remainder of their days. But there were still matters left unsolved, things that still needed to be dealt with. There were obstacles that would interfere with their peace. Also, the mental and emotional wounds that were best solved out here before retiring away in peace. Once these matters have been resolved, and once they had true peace, she really saw no reason as to why they couldn’t just retire away to the Ruins once again.

Maybe she had grown used to her self imposed isolation; that being out here, among other monsters, was far more tiring than she remembered. She once was queen and did many things with her people. She didn’t really enjoy crowds then, but she still thrived in them and never avoided them. But now, she would far rather be alone with a good book and those she loves than be among a crowd. She had forgotten what it was like dealing with her people, and now… they weren’t even her people.

Their ruler is Undyne. Yet, even if she was not currently in charge of their well being, there was still a sense of responsibility because she once was. Even if they weren’t her people, they still felt like they were. Although she had turned her back on them, feeling betrayed that they chose to kill humans along with Asgore, humans much like her own Chara, she still didn’t hate them. And while they despised her declaration that monsters should no longer be at war with humans but instead ally with them once more and then sought to overthrow her… she still wanted what was best for them. She was angry with them, as angry as she was with Asgore, but she did not wish harm upon them, just as she wished harm hadn’t befallen her ex-husband.

And perhaps Sans helped with that. She had closed herself off from everyone, even emotionally from the innocent monsters in the Ruins. They knew little of the world beyond the doors; yet, she treated them as if they were as guilty as the ones she heard calling for the death of all humans. But Sans… knocked on the door she used as a physical reminder to close herself off. He invited her to open herself up again, which she accepted. He then made and kept a promise she thought she would never be able to get another monster to accept. He showed her that there was still something to be hopeful for, even though he clearly had little hope himself.

Her dear, dear sweet Sans. She highly doubted he knew how much of an influence on her he had been, and for once she wondered if the same could be said the other way around. Was it possible that she has been an influence on his life and she simply didn’t see it? He had said that before, that she had already repaid him for anything he possibly could have done for her. Sans even expressed that he owed her. Perhaps they were both right, they both have been a great force of good in each other's life.

Yes, it did seem that way, and she was finally now just seeing that. They had helped each other, made each other stronger and better monsters. Neither are in debt, neither owe each other, but both want nothing more than to pay the other back for what they did.

At this realization, she giggled softly before nuzzling her beloved skeleton on the top of his skull. They really were a silly pair of monsters.

…

Oh…

Oh dear…

In her haste to sit down with him, she forgot to grab a book or anything to occupy herself as he slept. With a sigh, she sat there in thought. She could get back up. If there was one thing she knew about her skeleton, he didn’t wake up easily. Though she was comfortable, and getting up just wasn’t something she wanted to do. She was just so content the way she was, even if it meant she was sitting there with nothing to do other than hug her dear skeleton. He was cuddled close, his slow breathing calming her troubled heart and thoughts.

How badly she needed this before. All those nights in the ruins when she couldn’t sleep would have been easily rectified had they only reached this point in their relationship sooner. Toriel closed her eyes, resting her cheek on his skull with a content sigh. How dearly she loved him. She hoped he felt that from her soul. A small green bullet of magic, in the shape of a soul, floated from her to him and she felt her face flush with embarrassment. Normally she was far better at controlling her magic, but at the moment she might as well be a lovesick child again.

To think she would again be like this. Some would think she should feel shame for it, but she really just giggled. It was a pleasant feeling, one she missed. As their relationship matures, they will advance past this, but she will enjoy this for now. She felt everything around her start to fade away as her own tiredness started to catch up with her. Tomorrow morning they were to meet up with Alphys to have a pleasant picnic. For now, though, they can rest. As she drifted to sleep, that is exactly what they did. It just felt like such a beautiful moment, that Toriel clung as long as she could to the edges of wakefulness, to savor this. Their breathing matched, his weight pressed against her, and her arms enveloped him. Soon, she couldn’t fight it any longer, as his soft snores guided her to sleep.

She wasn't sure how long she had slept before a loud knock woke her up. Toriel felt herself jump and Sans shifted on her lap, muttering something that, if she thought about it, sounded like a plea for a few more minutes. This made her laugh softly and she nuzzled her poor dear, enamored about this adorable behavior. Still, the knocking repeated itself and Toriel knew she was going to need to answer. It was obvious that the sleeping skeleton on her lap was not about to get the door. She lifted Sans from her lap and set him in the chair, though she could feel him move again in her arms, hinting that he was really awake. He just fought against wakefulness which took over in the hopes of going back to sleep.

Toriel walked over to the door and opened it to find... well, a monster she had never seen before. "Hello?" She asked before the odd rectangular monster wheeled past her.

"Hello, darling! I hope you don't mind me interrupting your evening but I just heard you were in New Home. I must have you come by my station for an interview. I'm sorry we didn't meet during your time as Queen," He said in a strange, static tinged voice.

"Oh, well, I suppose we could arrange that," Toriel replied, though she was unsure what to think of this monster or what he was saying. She then smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, but who you are?"

"I'm Mettaton," he said as if that was supposed to mean something to Toriel. When that didn't get a reaction he then added, "The biggest star in the Underground?" Toriel's continued confusion didn't seem to make him happy. Though how she knew that with his faceless features, she didn't know.

"heya, ti-83, what brings you here?" Sans asked from the chair, pulling attention off her and on to him. Toriel was thankful for that, to say the least. She seemed to remember Sans saying something about a robot who was famous in the Underground, but she wasn't expecting this to be him. There must be something about him that the other monsters saw that she didn’t.

"Hello, Sans," the robot said and his tone sounded not that happy about this interaction. "I was hoping you would have come by the resort now that you’re back on this side of The Ruin's doors."

"yeah, well, talk to undyne about that. i was a little locked up in her business," Sans replied. "anyway, i'm free now, what's up?"

"Well, you know your 'show' was popular, for reasons I'll never understand. I want to see what times you would like to book." Mettaton pulled a booklet from some compartment and from the look of it, it was a schedule book.

"huh, i thought you said my show was a waste of time," Sans chuckled then shrugged. "sorry, but i'll pass."

"Look, I know we have our differences, but this is for the people. They miss your stand up and your odd science talks," Mettaton plead but Sans looked away, leaning on the arm of the chair.

"um... yeah, still not feeling like doing it."

"You did stand up?" Toriel asked, surprised by this. "I'm sure you were very good."

"Yes... I suppose you could say that it was good," Mettaton replied. "It was more of a variety show he did. Not even I knew what he was going to do each time... One time he just slept standing up the whole hour."

"heh, good times," Sans chuckled.

"I'll pay you double if you come back," Mettaton bargained. This seemed to catch Sans's attention and the skeleton looked at the robot.

"double, huh? sure, for that much i'll do a show."

Toriel stood back and watched as the two then discussed the when for Sans's show that he will put on. Mettaton tried getting Sans to say what he would be doing, leaning toward a comedy act, but Sans just gave a non-committed shrug. It was clear he didn't know what he wanted to do, and Toriel wasn't sure he really wanted to do this show. Knowing he decided to do it based on the increased pay made her wonder what he wanted the money for as well. They were doing well financially, Toriel had more than enough money for the two of them. And yet, she didn't feel the need to bring that up at the moment. In truth, she felt it would help Sans to do something more than just hide here. Once the two had their business sorted out, Mettaton turned back to her.

"Shall we schedule our interview now?" Mettaton asked. He started jotting down something in his booklet. To her surprise, Sans spoke up before she could.

"i think we'll take a raincheck on scheduling that. i'm sure tori wants to focus more on assisting empress undyne," Sans said, again, leaning on the chair's arm, with his head on his hand, looking disinterested with all of this.

Something about what Sans said, though, interested the robot and he wrote some more. "Oh, you are assisting Undyne, darling?" Mettaton asked while turning back to Toriel. Why had Sans said that? He was also here to help, but the way he said that hinted that it was her responsibility alone.

"Well, yes, we-" She started but Sans got up and walked over.

"we are staying at that castle under undyne's direction so tori can help out with some matters is all. and she needs to focus on that," Sans said, putting an arm around the robot as if they were buddies. He directed the other monster out the door with a kind goodbye though she knew he didn't fully mean it.

There was silence for a moment, Toriel had to admit she was annoyed that Sans had interrupted her and she put her paws on her hips and glared at him. "What was that about?" She asked.

"sorry tori," Sans apologized and shuffled back to the chair. "mettaton was more of a fan of asgore's plan, even if he wanted to be a star among monsters and humans. i guess he just saw asgore being more likely to get him to the surface. do what you want, but i don't suggest going on any show of his for an interview, he'll just make sure the narrative he wants is the one heard."

That troubled Toriel, knowing that some monsters still feel that way about her. It was more than just Undyne who did not like her, and while Toriel never asked to be a loved queen, it still hurt to be so hated. She walked over and scooped up the skeleton to place him back on her lap. He leaned against her, and she could feel contentment from him. "What about telling him I was here to help Undyne?"

"it gives you an excuse to be too busy for him, and it is true... and it was a dig at undyne. one that, even if he supports her, he won't be able to help but spread." Sans chuckled softly before adding, "i made it seem like she needs someone else to help her with the ruling, and, well, who better than you?"

"Sans, that was rather mean to do to Undyne. She," Toriel then sighed and nodded a bit. "I'll admit she deserved it, after all she put us through, but that was still rude to do."

Sans just chuckled and shrugged, "yeah, maybe, but as you said, she deserved it. anyway, she's pretty good at running damage control. and if you decided to show pity on her you can set the story straight yourself. until then, though, let her deal with it."

"I will make sure the true story is heard. I'm not that vindictive. Though, I suppose that can wait until after the picnic tomorrow," Toriel said tapping her chin. It was better than just leaking the truth of what Sans had been through, even if it should be known. It would cause others to have trouble trusting the Empress. This, while rude, won’t be as shocking and it won't be as likely to destroy the faith of monsters in their ruler.

Morning activities were never something he enjoyed, they denied him the ability to sleep in and made him feel tired the rest of the day. Sans wasn’t sure how he got roped into this, but he tagged along with Toriel and Alphys as they found a spot to “stargaze.” This brought back some old memories that felt much older than they truly were, he remembered all the times he took his younger brother out here to look at the crystals and pretend it was the night sky. It was one of the things Papyrus insisted on doing because Sans was interested in stars. Though they did it in the evening and “camped” in Waterfall for the night. Alphys and Toriel somehow came to the decision that morning would work best for them.

Now that he was here, though, Sans remembered the nights he and Papyrus would spend in the field the three currently stood. Though, at that time he was just a child. Sans and his brother would lay in the grass for hours, imagining they were looking at an actual night sky, and the glowing stones above them were real stars. They even made their own constellations and Sans, for the fun of it, charted them. There were many cool and unique ones, along with a few that, as they grew to teenagers and young adults, clearly lacked maturity when named. The earlier ones they made as children had eventually be traded out for far better constellations, far more suited for The Great Papyrus and his brother, astronomer Sans.

Well… the “Butt” constellation with “Fart Gas Cloud,” or F.G.C. for short, were still up there, and still right next to each other. Papyrus had tried making them into something else, but even he admitted, it was a butt. Either that was the extent of their creativity, or that was undoubtedly what it was.

Tori, Alphys, and Sans rested in the grass, looking up at the crystals above. And, upon Tori’s request, Sans began pointing out all those constellations, saving the best for last of course. He heard Tori snort while Alphys rolled her eyes and sighed.

“S-seriously, Sans?” Alphys sighed, “I bet you n-named both of them, didn’t you.”

“actually, i named f.g.c. but paps named butt,” he said with a wink. Relaxing back, Sans sighed, looking back up at those two. He then said, “he named it when he was young… and we couldn’t rename it.”

“Well, it does look like one,” Tori said with a laugh. It was nice to know her humor matched his so nicely. It might seem silly to laugh at a group of glowing crystals that happen to make the shape of someone’s backside, but at least they could laugh together.

“we did argue over the ownership of them. i figured since pap spotted and named it, it should be his. but he didn’t like my fart by his butt,” at the drop of that punchline Toriel burst into a fit of laughter.

Alphys groaned and glared at Sans and Toriel. “I’m h-happy you found someone t-to share your humor with.”

Before Sans could reply, Tori wrapped him up in her arms. Her hug was tight but comfortable, and she nuzzled the side of his skull. Sans cuddled close, enjoying the warmth and softens of the monster he loved beside him. “I am as well,” Tori then said. She looked over at Alphys, who was clearly enjoying every second of this scene. “For the longest time, I thought I would never laugh again. Then… I met Sans. It doesn’t matter to me if our humor is childish to some… we laugh and that’s all that matters”

"heh, and when i heard that first laugh of hers..." Sans sighed wistfully as he thought back on that odd braying sound the had heard through the door that day. That beautiful noise that brought such light to his tired and dark soul. "well, i promised to myself that i would make her laugh again."

Toriel smiled at him and he smiled back at her. It really was a scene that would be thought as overly mushy if viewed by a non-romantic. Sans never thought he was much of a fan of romance until he found Toriel. She had brought forth this want to spend time with her, cuddle with her, court her. And with that came the romantic desires that he never once knew he had inside of him.

He then settled beside her as he listened to Alphys and Toriel as they point out more possible constellations in the crystal ceiling above them. It was fun seeing what their imagination would find among all those tiny lights above them. A few made him chuckle but, for the most part, they were either sweet or anime related. Toriel pointed out the brightest crystal and suggested it be named after Papyrus. Sans did say it should be fully called "The Great Papyrus" to which both Toriel and Alphys agreed with him. Sans then smiled and looked up at the crystal named after his brother. It was now his favorite one up there, and he hoped his brother was happy with the honor of having that crystal named after him.

As he watched the crystal he felt himself slowly drift off to sleep. Well, Tori and Al were doing well enough so he saw no reason why he should force himself to stay awake so he let himself rest. It was pleasant here, in the dark of Waterfall, cuddled close to the monster he loved so dearly, and under the light of The Great Papyrus. If Sans could fall asleep like this every night, or morning, he would be more than happy. He only fought to stay awake a while longer so he could soak in this moment as long as possible before falling asleep.

He should have stayed awake a bit longer, as he woke up with a start when he was assaulted by Tori and Al tickling him awake. Sans rolled around trying to get away only for nothing to work. No matter how hard he tried protesting the fairness of this attack it didn't work. It wasn't until he was out of breath, which was an odd feeling for someone who didn't need to breathe, did Tori pull him up onto her lap and hug him tightly. "Oh, my dear, I couldn't help myself," she giggled and nuzzled him.

"Y-you were snoring over our t-talking," Alphys said, arms folded as if annoyed, but she grinned away.

"eh, sounds like a reasonable reaction, then," Sans chuckled and nestled the back of his head under Tori's chin.

"By the way, S-sans, I'm surprised to see you are w-wearing that hoodie again. Did you like it?" Alphys asked, looking over Sans in the Cheshire cat hoodie she had made just for him to wear.

"More like his needed to be washed and I liked it," Tori said for him and he chuckled and shrugged his agreement.

Alphys giggled at what Tori said and Sans knew at some point he was going to have to get even with his science buddy. She had seen and been able to laugh and tease at a few too many things at his expense to just let it go. Or, he could just let it go... That would be the easier thing to do, really. Besides, in the long run, they are friends, and even though they had prank wars in the past, he just wasn’t feeling that up to it anymore.

“as tori said, mine just needed to be washed, but i’ll admit, al, you do make a cozy hoodie,” Sans replied with a shrug.

Tori and Al started to set up for lunch now that it was close enough to “brunch time” to qualify for a picnic lunch. Sans sat back and watched, intent on having a slice of pie over any of the other foods they set out. A sound caught his attention though, and he turned his head to look and spotted Undyne heading their way. He still had no desire for Undyne to see him dressed as a cat. With that, Sans saw it was time to see himself out. He knew a few good spots around here he could watch them and remain hidden. Perhaps it was silly to care about Undyne seeing him dressed as a cat, but after how she treated him, he just didn’t feel the need to show her any more weaknesses.

He grabbed a slice of pie then stood and saluted Tori and Al with his free hand. “welp, i’ll be around. i’ll see you but you won't see me. have fun.” And with that, he took a step while he used a shortcut to move to a ledge where he could watch everything going on and stay unnoticed.

Tori looked perturbed, but he did warn her earlier. He took a bite of the pie as he watched Undyne walk up to Tori and Al. She started talking with them and looked around as if looking for him. He wasn’t surprised since Sans was not about to leave far from Tori and he was sure Undyne knew that. Alphys gestured to the area around her then Undyne laughed. He figured that was about him, but still, he'd rather be considered a coward than let her see him like this. Besides, he already knew she thought of him as a coward so it was no big deal. Keeping the reputation of a coward is better than adding cute.

“Golly,” A voice said from just behind him. He didn’t need to turn and look to know who it was. After nightmares as severe as the ones he has had, the voice had been ingrained in his skull. “You sure did skedaddle out of there fast,” It said, mockingly.

“heya, haven’t heard from you for quite a while,” He turned and looked at the flower, looking down at the anomaly formed by misguided DT experimentation.

End notes: thanks again to @obsessedkatie for beta reading. Hope you all enjoyed!

#undertale #fanfiction #the door #soriel #sans #toriel #myfic #alphys #mettaton #Well #um #normally this is where I ramble on about stuff #but got nothing #so...#enjoy

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baaviraweek · 6 years ago

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letters

While serving out her sentence for her war crimes, Kuvira gets a visitor and a stroll down memory lane. Written for Day 1 of Baavira Week 2018.

Read on AO3 Read on FFNET

- iviscrit

"I'm surprised that you kept them."

Su opened the fastenings on the box, revealing a sheaf of papers. "They were the only contact I had with my son. Of course I kept them."

The top of the pile was still white and crisp, a heavy sheet of cardstock emblazoned with the Earth Empire sigil and their future monogram beneath. The expensive ink was still so dark it almost looked wet, Baatar's light engineer's scrawl a thready stripe in the salutation. "This one must be from the Mo Ce Sea checkpoint," Kuvira said, tracing her fingers over a slight distortion in the page. "Water damage, but the ink hasn't bled."

"That was the last time he wrote us," Su said, nodding. "Junior sent a photograph as well, but I shredded it."

"I'm not surprised." She set the letter aside, face down, and continued on through the sheaf. Sifting through the letters was like going back in time. The next letter was printed on stationary from an old Earth Kingdom fort in Garsai, the next on kitschy stationery featuring "The Blind Bandit" of Gaoling. "We visited Grandmother's old estate," she read slowly, under her breath. "Kuvira insists it was to give the troops a day off while we attended to infrastructure, but I'm sure this was selfishly motivated. We were unsurprisingly able to strike up a business deal with the Earthen Fire Refinery in short order-"

"He sent photographs with that one too," Su said, a bit of a smile at the corners of her mouth. "I kept those."

Kuvira turned over the page, only to find a letter written on cheap post office stationary from Senlin Province. "Not here, clearly."

"Yes, they're with the rest of the family photos," Su said. "There was a picture of him with the statue of my mother. I've never seen him so happy."

"He took a picture of me with her statue as well," Kuvira said, feeling a blush creep over her neck. "That must still be with our accounting logs, or maybe with the album on the train." She pulled out the next letter and then the next, smiling as she felt a torrent of memories as she re-lived their three-year military campaign, glancing through letters from the mag-lev written their own Earth Empire cardstock, letters on cheap scraps of recycled newsprint from seaport villages, letters from Ba Sing Se written on Earth Kingdom gift-shop stationery, letters written on sheets torn from Baatar's grid paper notebooks, and finally letters on the paper they had packed with them from Zaofu, beginning to yellow with age. She couldn't help but notice that the creases and corners were nearly worn away, the ink streaked and bleeding in places- perhaps proof that Su and Baatar Sr. had read them countless times, tracing the words with desperate fingers, perhaps proof that tears had been spilled.

"I wish I had saved the first one that he sent," Su said, her voice almost wistful. "I was so enraged that I burned it without reading. My husband was so upset with me, because he had no way to write back. He was convinced we'd lost him then."

"I'd never have let anything happen to him... as hard as that might be to believe." That oldest letter was long, consisting of three double-sided pages, an eclectic mix of trepidation, boastful aspirations, and insecurities. It was a letter she had urged Baatar to write, after weeks without a response from his family, a letter so deeply personal that she felt she had no right to read it, even after Su had delivered it into her hands.

"We wrote back after that, of course," Su continued. "I think a part of me hoped that he would come to his senses and come home, if we kept trying with him. For his father, I think he hoped the time apart would let Junior feel like a bit more like his own person. We often discussed whether or not we brought this on ourselves."

Kuvira resisted the urge to reply in the affirmative, reminding herself that much of her own plight was self-inflicted as well. "He sometimes would say he owed at least a third of his talent to his father teaching him physics from such a young age. Sometimes he even wanted to call home and collaborate, when he'd get stuck- of course you understand why he ultimately didn't."

"More than me, I think, Baatar was heartbroken," Su agreed. "I don't think Junior realized how proud his father was, seeing what he'd accomplished."

An awkward silence settled over the two of them, heavy with apologies and accusations for a different time. Kuvira set about putting the letters back in order, filing them away into the box and catching snippets as she did. Went to meet with Raiko and the United Council today- -had an idea for a new alloy formulation- -we are re-designing the metal armor into something more streamlined, look for news on patent acceptance soon- Omashu welcomed our protection today. Might get to meet with investors later- We spent the weekend at the Fort Bosco in Si Wong to let the troops regroup- -how are the twins doing? -haven't heard from Opal in some time, send me her new posting- We'll be traveling to the Western Seaport to meet with the naval officers, so mail your reply to their Mo Ce offices- Mother will be upset with me, but I think Kuvira would say yes if I asked-

"Why did you bring these to me?" she said at last, shutting the box and clicking the locks in place. "Why did you visit me at all?"

"We haven't been fair to each other, Kuvira." Su reached for the box, tracing her fingers over its hinges. "I know you blame me for a great deal. Maybe some of it is warranted. I blame you for even more. Maybe some of it... isn't warranted." She tried to smile, failed, and carried on. "Avatar Korra has been trying to get your plea bargain amended, on the basis of good behavior and a need for skilled metalbending labor. You could be re-assigned to one of Omashu's provinces bordering Zaofu, if she's successful. She seems confident."

"Meaning?"

"Your new location would be under my provincial jurisdiction," Su said carefully. "Korra didn't know if you'd want that. She asked me to check, so she'd know whether or not to close the deal."

"I don't mind at all, Su," Kuvira said, "and I really don't see why it matters. I go where I'm assigned-"

"Junior is still under house arrest, as you know," Su said curtly. "If you were under my jurisdiction, I'd facilitate your meeting with him. You understand of course that you will be disarmed, chi-blocked, and escorted in by my guard, fully restrained. He still wants to see you. If, of course, you'd want that."

She closed her eyes, blinking hard as she swallowed, willing herself not to let tears fall in her frustration as she processed this new revelation. He wants to see you. "Why didn't he write back, then?"

Su's voice came surprisingly gentle. "I don't know. I was surprised too. To be honest, I wouldn't have visited if I didn't know he still misses you. I think it would do him some good."

She opened her eyes, sighing in a heavy exhale. "I'll go wherever I'm assigned. Please thank the Avatar for her continued work on my case and convey to her my gratitude and best wishes."

"Your lawyer will send a wire once everything is finalized," Su said. "What should I tell my son?"

"There's nothing I can say," Kuvira said softly. "Is he well?"

"You'll know for yourself," Su said, drawing her chair back and rising, taking the box of letters. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again."

As the door swung shut behind her, Kuvira looked down at the envelope Su had left behind. It had a slick, clean white finish, unmarked with a sender's address. As she slit the envelope and shook out its contents, she felt the corners of her mouth twitch upwards and a sudden tightness in her throat. My darling Kuvira, it read.

The light, thready scrawl was unmistakable.

#baavira week #baaviraweek2018 #baavira #kuvira #baatar jr #day 1: letters #fanfiction

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shitsuji-hcs · 7 years ago

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Grell is morally irredeemable and here’s why

When we find ourselves attached to a certain character, we find it easy to write off their sins, and faults. Such can be said in the case of Grell Sutcliff’s character - who many forget is a manipulative, calculating serial killer. Though it is easy to pin all of Grell’s actions upon Madam Red, the one who started the Whitechapel murders (and more), it is arguable that Grell’s actions played a far greater role. For the purposes of this analysis into the Red Butler arc, feminine pronouns will be used for Grell. And a shoutout to @frederickabberline for sending the pics because of my potato phone.

Now this is the face of someone who isn’t just your “beautiful queen”. She’s a murderer in every bit of the sense that Madam Red was.

General TWs for the Jack the Ripper arc as well as some spoilers for the recent chapters.

Grell is no different from Sebastian in the formation of her alliance with Angelina - both of these pacts were formed under the manipulation of a weaker, distressed human. Angelina, though not to excuse her actions, was in a position of considerable mental turmoil, having lost all of those dear to her. Alike to this, Ciel had just seen the death of his brother, and Sebastian appears, both ‘contractees’ seeking vengeance against others for their place in life. As Sebastian offers to “become [Ciel’s] servant” just as Grell offers to “lend [Angelina] a hand”. With no other choice, against the will of two ‘omnipotent beings’, the human contractees can’t help but accept, lured in by the satisfaction of their wish - the destruction of those they abhor. In addition to this, to “lend” her help is patronising. There is no inquisition or asking if Angelina needs any help, or if Grell could be allowed to participate. To “lend” would suggest that there was something that Angelina would need from Grell, not the other way round. In fact, one may even say this is insistence. Grell wanted satisfaction for herself, just as Sebastian does from his own contract.

Now, the time between the death of the Phantomhive family, and the return of Ciel is at the most a full month, and just before this was the death of Angelina’s husband, and unborn child. Even her coworkers worry for her, concerned that she is “back at work so soon”, most likely a week to three after the tragedy of the Phantomhives. In less than a month for her, she loses her husband, unborn child, sister, the man she loved and her two nephews. Now, couple that with the fact that other people around her are claiming to hate all the things that she can never have again.

For three years, considering that Ciel disappeared in December 1885, and the last victim of the Ripper died in November 1888, Angelina was under the influence of Grell. We’ve seen how death, destruction, and Sebastian’s influence has brought ruin to a child who was once so happy - Angelina too had seen similar anguish, and was encouraged to bring further bloodshed. Grell may not have told Angelina to start murdering others, but she definitely had a hand in urging her to continue. Grell’s push upon Angelina is also seen when she refuses to kill Ciel; to say “you just go on and kill that brat now, you hear?!” allows no room to tolerate her resistance. The ending of “you hear” also adds more of a warning tone as well, hinting that she won’t accept Angelina’s protests as well. Soon enough after, we see her death.

Angelina’s death takes place in an instantaneous switch. The reason Grell even “loved” Angelina was for she was “dyed in the deepest crimson of spattered blood” - as soon as she could no longer perform the function that Grell desired most out of her, Angelina becomes a “plain woman.”

It can’t be said that Grell didn’t have any feelings for Angelina, as to say “loved” implies that there once were feelings. However, that key part of this interaction is how quickly Grell shifts her tone. This shows the lack of attachment that Grell really felt, despite claiming to love her.

Supposedly, Angelina might’ve had a change of heart, and ceased the murders, and would have never become known as Jack the Ripper. As the number of victims pile up, so does Angelina’s attitude to killing change. In the span of two pages, we see that she sees killing differently from pure “HATE. HATE. HATE,” to a lack of feeling. This isn’t to say that she isn’t driven to kill anymore, but we do see a contrast of her against Grell. In the panels where we do see Grell during the murders, she holds her iconic toothy grin. While Grell didn’t cause Angelina to act out in this way, Grell enabled these feelings of hatred to a point where Angelina felt it was acceptable.

This ^ is a hell of a lot of a difference from this.

Now, asides from Angelina’s mental state, and motives that drove her to commit murder, Grell’s part in this should be looked at - this is, after all, an analysis on Grell’s evil characteristics. As stated before, the character is nothing short of manipulative. Her introduction to Madam Red is that she’s “had [her] eye on [Angelina]... all this time!” By this, it can’t be said that Grell had a sudden chance encounter, and decided to pair up with the murderer. Grell had the time as an invisible being with all the time in the world on her side to formulate a decision on what to do with her. Instead of clearing up the souls of the dead, she instead took it upon herself to join in.

This isn’t just a whim, but rather it is cold calculation to take advantage of a situation. Grell has nothing to benefit from any of this, knowing that there would be risks in punishment in “[breaking] the rules that govern [the] reapers, killing women not on the list”, as she acknowledges herself. The only way in which a reaper benefits from an alliance with a human is through pleasure and enjoyment, since earthly possessions shouldn’t matter to them. Grell takes pleasure in murder, in opposition to Angelina’s bitterness for the disposition she’s in. In this particular case, Grell can be called more evil than Angelina for the pure wish of malice against their victims. In addition however, the English official translation highlights “after I’ve gone to all the trouble of assisting” in their act together, showing that Grell saw a situational imbalance between the two of them - Angelina was seen as a liability eventually, despite being the one who instigated. Grell bears no attachments to the human Angelina once she loses her purpose, and the reason why she was loved, therefore becoming useless in mere moments.

This analysis was not intended to excuse Madam Red from her actions. She did intend to kill before Grell even came into the picture. Even without Grell’s action, she sought to kill Ciel for interfering, despite the fact that the two could’ve run off anyways to find a way to deal with their situation better. However, it cannot, and should not, be ignored that Grell is equally as responsible to the Jack the Ripper murders. Grell’s manipulation, lack of regard for others, and pure murderous intent is enough to put her on the same level as a common demon. There is no way that Grell can be morally redeemed for the acts that she had committed.

Note: I would love to discuss this further with anyone so feel free to comment upon this post or send us a message.

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #grell sutcliff #grelle sutcliff #analysis #about black butler tag #mod sen

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funkymbtifiction · 7 years ago

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Hi, Charity! I have been having an identity crisis lately. (Yet another of many in the past year of a lot of self discovery and doubt). I spent quite a while thinking I was either enfp or infp, after retyping myself several times from intp to intj to infj and then xnfp. But recently I became convinced that I am an infj and was right in my typing when I first learnt about the underlying cognitive functions (intx was pretty much just from online tests). I know this sounds very vague so far and I’m not giving any details of why or how.

Hey, Mar.

Wish your e-mail address had worked, so we could have this talk in private. :)

Since you were vague in your descriptions of Ne/Ni, I wasn't able to tell which one appears to be dominant, but here’s a few thoughts reaped from the post:

I struggle with seeing myself clearly, but I don’t know if it’s because of Fe or because I’ve had a tough family situation growing up where I was basically not allowed to have an identity separate from my caretakers. I am easily swayed by other people’s opinions and start to doubt my convictions but again, don’t know if it’s Fe or poor self-confidence (or both?).

It could be Fe if you allow other people’s emotions to cloud yours, or it could be the Ne-dom problem of being unable to see yourself clearly. Every single Ne-dom I've ever known / talked to, myself included, had a hell of a time finding their own type and still cannot see themselves very clearly, because Ne is so busy gaining 'outside perspectives' 24/7 and has such poor self-awareness (inferior Si) that it tends to believe whatever idea anyone throws at it about themselves, even if it doesn't match who they are. The idea just sticks to them and them being a Ne/Si, they cannot properly filter it out (Si: Hey, I’m not like that!).

I could especially relate, among other things, to that sense of impending doom and being stuck in the same situation I am currently in and no hope for a better future. Not being able to imagine a better future for myself and seeing only all the ways in which I am stuck and will be stuck stresses me out quite a lot, actually. Sometimes I obsess over it.

All intuitives feel that staying stagnant is a literal hell, so this could be Ni OR Ne. But Ne/Si tends to have a more generic 'I'm not sure what I want, but this ain't it and I hope this isn’t all I ever have from my life' approach and NiSe tends to think, 'it's time I stop fixating on this single vision and DO SOMETHING TO MAKE IT REAL” followed by fear it may fail and then they’ll have nothing, since no other dream / career / ambition has outlasted this one.

To the point that sometimes I can only find solace in fantasizing about meeting that one person who will save me from my troubles, as unrealistic, unhealthily codependent and disempowering as it sounds.

Free amateur psych advice: other people cannot save you, because other people are just as imperfect as you are. This is common in a fearful N user, who tends to idealize and fantasize about a hero coming to rescue them, because they are so uncomfortable interacting with the sensory world on their own. The answer is that you have to save yourself, since no one else will. :)

An aspect of why I believed myself to be an enfp is that I could relate a lot to your more personal posts (especially about writing) or whenever you’d offer personal examples to illustrate type. Or in doubting my introversion because sometimes I would talk to a person and get so energized by that human connection.

What kind of energy? Emotional (Fe) energy? Or I MET SOMEONE FULL OF GREAT IDEAS AND NOW I'M WIRED (Ne) energy?

Right now I’m in the middle of rewriting a novel. It changes with each draft. People change. Motives change. Ideas change. Hell, I decided to change the murderer because another possibility will clean up the plot better so now I’m having to rewrite entire sections and leave other characters out / fill the holes they leave behind. I’m fine with it. It’s fun and somewhat easy. It energizes me. That’s high Ne. “This was fine last week but now it bores me and I have a better way to approach it, so it’s all gonna change and continue changing until I find something that works.” I sometimes joke that me being me, as a Ne, I’m not ‘done’ with something until I can read it twenty-six times in the editing process without wanting to change something at its fundamental level. I know I found the RIGHT idea, after using and discarding a bunch of alternate possibilities.

(My INFJ friend basically writes her novels in head, figures them all out in advance, then sits down and writes it out and changes very little in revision. Ni.)

I struggle to see if I do actually perceive the emotions of those around me and can easily step into someone else’s perspective and I’m observant of the unspoken agreements in a social situation, or if I’m delusional and I just like to think I’m an empath because it makes me feel better about myself.

Perceiving them (Ne) or feeling them (Fe)? When you are in a group, are you watching people so you can SPECULATE on their emotions (Fi) or are you immersed IN their emotions and sometimes lose yourself in the process (Fe)? Are you GUESSING at their feelings (Fi) based on a sense of inner self (”Are they bored? She looks bored. Can’t other people see she’s bored? I would not want to be bored, so we need to keep her from being bored. How are other people not see this?” Fi thinking can actually mean, “Because this would bore ME, I’m projecting being bored onto her when she’s not actually bored.”)

Side note: intuitives often over-estimate their own skills because their intuition / imagination is fantasizing an ideal self, instead of using their real self. And coming crashing down to earth and realizing they were wrong / are not very good at that / really are not a God is somewhat crushing to their ego.

One thing that really made me lean towards infj as a possibility is realizing that, at least for me, writing is a way of expressing and externalizing my feelings.

Why is this specifically shifting you toward INFJ? INFJs do not have a corner on writing. This is equally if not more common in the INFPs. Every Fi-dom poet of the last five hundred years can testify to externalizing their feels in writing.

MY emotions get so tied up inside myself that until I get them out on paper (Te) I cannot organize them or even figure out how to say how I feel -- and that's crucial, because Fi/Te types may resort to metaphors, ducking conversations, or intense internal monologues that may never be voiced (because it takes time to organize their thoughts before they speak on an emotional level) while Fe/Ti types can usually simply sum up their feelings vocally when asked, since that's what Fe/Ti does.

So, are you externalizing to get others' feedback on your feelings and affirmation (FeTi) or are you writing because you know no other clear way to restructure and share your abstract (hard to describe) feelings (FiTe)?

Before, I believed I had Fi because I have strong beliefs about individuality and personal integrity and I passionately hate the kind of group-think that leads to lack of personal integrity in favor of what the majority wants. But at the same time I strongly believe in equality. In fact, I believe what makes us equals is (as corny as it sounds) precisely that we’re all unique and irreplaceable and have a unique purpose for our life, that nobody else could fulfill quite like us.

You should ask yourself: do I pass immediate moral judgment upon hearing new information like a Fi-dom or do I internalize / interact with the ideas before I judge their ethics like a NeFi or do I try and fit the new information into my internal worldview and see how to use it to motivate people in a NiFe way?

Another reason for me thinking Fi is that somewhere along the line I had convinced myself that I hated people and I took on the identity of a misanthrope.

Um. Why would this connect to Fi in your mind?

I have been struggling big time with having too high expectations of myself and with my overall perfectionism, which more often paralyzes me instead of making me work harder. I am studying again after a few years, and the deadlines are just killing me. They feel like life or death. I obviously don’t know how to work with a schedule, I did 90% of the workload of two weeks in the first two days and then felt burnt out and spent the next week and a half distracting myself by researching random non academic stuff just for personal amusement, like mbti and the enneagram, and how to make pumpkin pie, and the relationship between veganism and the tv series Hannibal. Procrastination is definitely something I’m good at. It’s two days before the deadline and I’m struggling with that 10% of work that I haven’t done yet, and after spending the whole day stressing out about it and not being able to write a single sentence of my essay on cave art from the paleolithic, I am writing this instead. At least, just by writing this, I’ve already gained some clarity on what’s going on inside my head, which is always helpful.

I’m 90 pages into a book on perfectionism from a psychological perspective at the moment, but Jordan Peterson has wise words for this sort of behavior: finished is better than perfect.

I too am a perfectionist, but for me it's more spewing ideas out on the page (Ne) and then anxiously trying to formulate them into some kind of structure that has an overall point (Te) and then agonizing over the details in case I got something wrong that will cause people to throw out my good ideas in favor of the misinformation (low Si) due to Ne placing unrealistic standards on this situation due to being combined with perfectionism, which is fear based (if this isn’t flawless, people will judge it harshly and not listen to what it says).

I’m sorry I could not give your type based on what you wrote, but hopefully I explained enough about my thinking process and gave you good enough questions that you can find your type by being honest about your mental processing leading to behaviors.

- ENFP Mod

#question #enfp #infp #infj #mbti #submission

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leratotheot · 4 years ago

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Goal setting from the grassroots

The pledge made by the United Nations of “Leave No-one Behind” ensured countries' commitment to fast track progress for those furthest behind first(www.za.undp.org) The rate that this has happened is questionable and one can say that not much has been achieved. With the community of Inanda which can be classified as a marginalized population, their hope has solely rested on the affirmative action that would be put in place since the day of glory of the first democratic elections the country has ever seen. But this has become nothing but wishful thinking to the many that have lost hope in the government changing their narrative. Measures that should’ve have been put in place to combat poverty and ensure equality in the economic sector ensuring the creation of jobs has been a tale that the government tells the population to get votes and remain in power. As a health professional, it is in my scope to advocate for my clients' health and optimal wellbeing, making efforts to ensure that sustainable development goals are achievable to some extent in my clients' realities and also what is achievable within my profession. This advocacy will ensure optimal treatment outcomes for my clients. Out of the 17 SDG’s that the UN has formulated, I have identified 5 that I can work towards within the community I am in (Inanda)

The first sustainable development that I would work towards would be climate action. This goal would be achieved by educating the community about the effects of pollution and global warming. The community has evidence of dumping, littering, and overcrowding this is mainly because of the lack of housing structures in the community because it is largely populated by informal settlements. Climate change is already adversely affecting human health and health systems and projected climate change is expected to alter the geographic range and burden off of a variety of climate-sensitive health outcomes and to affect the functioning of public health and mental health care systems(Haines,2019). This is already evident in the Inanda community, many community members are presenting with climate-related health issues that are avoidable if the community takes the necessary measures to lessen pollution and their carbon footprint. The Inanda Wilderness park is situated at the heart of the Inanda community and one of its aims is to raise awareness about nature conservation and sustainability. This is seen through the many upcycled structures that are found at the park, I would show the motive of programs that raise awareness of eco-friendly living could be done by showing the community that upcycling can be turned into an entrepreneurial venture by using recyclable material to create crafts/functional objects that could be sold to the community at large(this is working towards some decrease in the low socio-economic status of the community). Community members would be equipped with skills and knowledge that will increase their knowledge of pollution and the impacts of it with the hopes that they would spread the word and increase awareness for people to start making eco-friendly choices.

The second sustainable development goal that I would work towards in the community of Inanda would be quality education by educating parents that have children with special needs more about the disabilities their children have and handling principles that they can learn when with their children. The programs developed towards achieving this SDG would consist of activities that parents can try at home with their children to facilitate continued learning even at home other than what they are taught at home. This ensures active engagement of parents in the children's lives as there is a lack of interest amongst these parents within the community of Inanda, this could be because they are unaware of how to deal/handle a child with a learning disability and lack of understanding of the actual disability. This shows a lack of quality education even from the health sector of not fully informing parents of the developmental delays that would take place in their children's lives and how to prepare for them on how to handle those delays. Hubert Humphrey allegedly said, “A society is ultimately judged by how it treats its weakest and most vulnerable members.” In this case, Inanda has stereotyped children with learning disabilities as well as their parents, They outcast these group of community members and this causes a further division within the community. These programs will be aimed at empowering these parents and challenging these stereotypes and for the parents to embrace learning so that they can assist their child in the best way possible.

The third SDG that I would work towards in the Inanda community would be health and wellbeing. The main focus would be on health promotional strategies to increase the community’s awareness and understanding of the role of occupational therapists within the community. Community members would be made aware that occupational based practice is focused on supporting their active and meaningful participation in life. The strategies to ensure this is done would be through collaborating with community stakeholders as well as other community-based services to increase involvement and awareness of the role of Occupational therapy in the community. This will fulfill one of the core values of OT within the community which is community immersion, home visits along with community caregivers ensure that home programs are carried out and that caregivers are trained on how to care for their loved ones. Creating occupation-based community programs that are specific to the community will further increase our involvement and awareness in the community. These programs ensure that occupational therapists are seen as equal partners with community members. They are aimed at bringing changes in human connection and fostering occupational engagement.

The fourth SDG that I would work towards in the Inanda community would be decent work and economic growth. The Inanda community has a low economic status with the majority of the youth is unemployed. The community is largely populated by a youth that is unskilled and uneducated. This goal would be achievable by developing programs that focus on prevocational, vocational, and work hardening skills. Some of the programs will consist of sessions where the youth will be taught about how to compile a C.V, interview skills, computer literacy, entrepreneurial training, and skills. The program will be aimed at getting the youth to identify niches or opportunities of potential income gain within the community through entrepreneurial skills. This will ensure that the youth can engage in economic decisions that take place within the community and for them to participate in the financial decisions that are made in their households. Collaboration with community businesses can be negotiated where internship programs are set up for the youth to learn skills at their establishment.

The fifth SDG that I would work towards the community of Inanda would be reducing inequalities. Awareness around the rights of disabled people would be done because this community is not only environmentally challenging for disabled people but there are stereotypes, myths, and social constructs that have been established by the community members that are associated with people that have disabilities. Advocacy would be the driving force of this goal being achievable and getting the majority of the community to be pro-disabled people.group sessions would help as a safe place for disabled people to express their frustrations of living in a community that is ignorant of their disabilities.

The sustainability of these goals will face many challenges that may arise from a macro level which is uncontrollable political changes or a Pandemic like the one we are currently facing and even at the micro-level(the community). Occupational therapists have the skill of adapting to any given situation ensuring interventions are carried out regardless of the state of the department of health, economy, or even the state of the country. OT always finds a silver lining in the grey clouds that could be hovering over the community

Reference List:

Ashwini,C.(2011) .Vulnerability before adaptation: Towards transformative climate action. Elsevier: Global Environmental Change(21)1160-1162

Haines.A.Ebi.K.(2019).The Importance for Climate Action to Protect Health. New England Journal of Medicine(380) 263-273.

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meaganmonroy927-blog · 5 years ago

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Freddy Palmer Personal Coach Ottawa And Some Of His Clients. Bodybuilding Fitness. Muscle Mass. On

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Eating a sugar free or fats free snack, particularly if you like one thing candy is seemingly a nice thought for Weight Loss Suggestions for Women program. 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Stopping nutritional deficiency is one other well being advantage of using best supplement to build physique mass and gain weight. For example, body building techniques are different for obese individuals and underweight individuals. There are additionally wholesome fats included, which will show you how to burn fat whereas figuring out. Its placing on our checklist of weight gainer reviews might have been increased was it not fairly so troublesome to mix properly. This gainer is fortified with large amount of L-Glutamine, L-Arginine, Creatine mono-hydrate and Branched Chain Amino Acids. The equilibrium between calorie consumption and calorie expenditure is crucial to unfastened weight and its healthy upkeep. Mass Load Complicated Carbs delivers 250 grams of advanced carbs (Micronparticulated Maltodextrin, Sweet Potato, Oat Fiber and Quinoa) and purposeful fats equivalent to MCTs, EFAs and CLA. Fortuitously for athletes seeking to pack on muscle mass complement manufacturers are in a position to fabricate dietary supplements with comparatively excessive BA ranges. This product is a good supply of calories and wholesome carbohydrates. Meal planning could be a helpful device if you happen to're making an attempt to lose weight. Let's begin with what not to do: don't try to use a scale to calculate modifications in Skeletal Muscle Mass. Hell, Clear Muscle (a powerful HMB-FA complement) requires 2 tablets to be taken three times a day. You may likely see good outcomes and feel higher simply by including more high-nutrient meals, and you will naturally cut energy whenever you make the swap. Having learnt this fact we're going to look at special merchandise which can assist on gaining muscle mass easier and a lot sooner. Weight gainers are designed to supply a big amount of each macro and micronutrients, in a convenient manner. Typically there is no clarity as to the best way to go about the means of weight loss, especially if there's a preexisting medical situation. Please note that your weight can fluctuate up and down several pounds from everyday, depending on fluid stability and digestive system contents: Don't be concerned about brief-term adjustments, observe the lengthy-term development instead. Pro Gainer additionally consists of essential minerals, vitamins, digestive enzymes, medium chain triglycerides, dietary fiber, and compels carbohydrates. In addition, skeletal muscle provides amine acids for synthesis of proteins in different tissues (crucial during wound therapeutic), for the immune functions, and for gluconeogenesis (alanine and glutamine) beneath catabolic circumstances. Arteriovenous research demonstrated that hyperthyroidism is associated with a internet improve of muscle protein breakdown, although no changes were observed in hypothyroid sufferers (Morrison et al., 1988). Relieves Fatigue: Enriched with vitamins and minerals, Muscleblaze Mass Gainer XXL 3kg aids to alleviate power fatigue so that you may train more durable in your subsequent gym session. The principle purpose of this plan is to keep carbs underneath 20-50 grams per day and get the rest of your calories from protein and fat. There are some people lately who feel so weak they usually suppose that they're too slim and desires to achieve some more weight. A loading section is normally a period of 1-2 weeks of supplementation with a high dose in order to increase the focus of creatine in your physique. People with Quick Metabolisms - If in case you have a fast metabolism, you could discover it troublesome to realize weight or even preserve your personal weight. However, other than chemical-based products, there are particular products that are made with herbs, due to which they're protected for the person and, increase physique weight effectually. Mass Tech Extreme is the best calorie mass gainer on our high 5 record. Every time his higher chest was bursting with sheer muscle-pressure his center and decrease chest followed, only to be beaten by his upper chest once more. Any weight loss program that restricts calories will lead to weight reduction, but some diets simply are usually not wholesome even if you're shedding kilos. This may be as simple as going for a 30 minute walk each day, or going to a 60 minute train class thrice every week. The Mayo Clinic Food plan is a life-style strategy to weight reduction that may show you how to maintain a healthy weight for a lifetime. Nearly all mass gainers style pretty bad. MuscleBlaze Weight Gainer powder comprises supports healthy weight acquire and is preferred by fitness fanatics and physique builders equally. On the seventh day, you will return to the all-protein food plan from the primary part of the food plan. Abstract Weight loss meals must be nutrient-dense and wealthy in protein and fiber. Use the shape to plan when and what you will eat every day. Skeletal muscle performs main roles in metabolism and overall health throughout the lifecycle. Regardless of the restrictions of the literature, this examine highlights the consistently null leads to studies investigating HT and retention of muscle mass. Finally, do any meal prep for the next night's healthy dinner in order that it is easy to throw collectively whenever you come house from work. To get the extra power without throwing your weight loss targets out the window make sure you're consuming nutrient-wealthy foods which are particularly wealthy in folate, iodine, zinc and calcium to help preserve the well being of you each. Earlier than we can come to a conclusion, we have to perceive the distinction between whey protein and mass gainers. Your muscle tissues are being depleted with each exercise, however with HMB, your physique isn'y going to wish or try to use any saved vitality in the precise muscle to assist itself recuperate. 111 Moreover, use of the metabolic pathway for glucose uptake is elevated in muscle mass present process HS. ninety six Thus, whereas the enzyme data are equivocal, it seems that in response to states of unloading, some shift in substrate preference may occur whereby carbohydrates are preferentially utilized based mostly on utilization functionality. In lots of circumstances, these treats contain extra energy than have been burned within the workout. You'll be able to solely think about the advantages that you will receive from this mass gainer which is free from any further sugar. On Monday, I am going to try the data and tools on this Wholesome Dwelling section to get ideas for making healthy meals at dwelling. Earlier than telling you lot of things about weight achieve complement I should declare one fact that now everyone seems to be dropping pounds however they should at first know that changing into skinny is just not a smart alternative. These meals can be found in veg and non-veg options containing 30-80 gms of protein. Skeletal-muscle endurance was outlined as the total work generated during 25 repetitions of concentric knee train, as decided from the realm beneath the torque curve for an entire exercise set.

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whittlebaggett8 · 6 years ago

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Shifting Nuclear Sands in South Asia: Understanding India’s Counterforce Temptations

Political scientist Christopher Clary discusses challenges pertaining to strategic stability in South Asia.

Following a terror attack claimed by the Pakistan-primarily based group Jaish-e-Mohammed in mid-February 2019, India and Pakistan have been thrust into their most severe disaster given that 2002. Given that 2002 — and because the breakout of the two countries as nuclear weapons possessors in 1998 — both India and Pakistan have calibrated their nuclear forces and approaches to satisfy the specifications of deterrence. Christopher Clary, an assistant professor of political science at the Rockefeller Higher education of General public Affairs and Coverage at the Condition College of New York’s College at Albany, and his co-writer Vipin Narang, an associate professor of political science at the Massachusetts Institute of Know-how, argued in a latest Worldwide Safety write-up that India, in particular, has in excess of the several years formulated a established of capabilities that propose the temptation — if not a political determination — to transfer toward a nuclear approach predicated on destroying Pakistan’s nuclear weapons. To examine their posting and other latest developments, which includes India’s take a look at of an anti-satellite weapon, The Diplomat’s Senior Editor Ankit Panda spoke to Clary.

The Diplomat: From Pakistan’s viewpoint, which new Indian capabilities do you imagine could be viewed as the most destabilizing? Which capabilities has Pakistan began investing in as a consequence?

Christopher Clary: The argument that Vipin and I test to make in our piece is that it is critical to assess these capability acquisitions collectively. India’s capability to destroy Pakistani nuclear weapons is ineffective if it does not have the capacity to discover all those weapons in disaster and conflict. India’s ability to find weapons is ineffective if it can’t strike them. India’s nascent ballistic missile protection capability looks innocent unless of course you mix it with expanding Indian potential to wipe out a sizable part of Pakistan’s prolonged-vary nuclear methods, substantially easing the requirements for thriving defense.

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Now, Pakistani analysts and government officers have been complaining about Indian strategic developments for decades. Pretty couple of of these developments ended up deeply categorised only to have been uncovered recently. The concern is that outside the house analysts commonly assumed that Indian efforts to establish precision-strike, nuclear-capable missile systems as perfectly as ballistic missile protection technological innovation have been just DRDO [Editor’s note: India’s Defense Research and Development Organization, the primary government agency charged with the development of indigenous weapons systems] science assignments. All these systems, all these tests, all these DRDO push releases have been explained away as an amalgam of technological determinism, standing-in search of, and inadequate political oversight of protection R&D. That argument, which was by no means very reassuring from a strategic stability point of view, now looks much weaker as these pricey Indian investments continue. And influential Indian interlocutors, this sort of as former Strategic Forces Commander Balraj Nagal, are now on the report explicitly rejecting these kinds of an interpretation.

Pakistan, which was worst-casing Indian developments the full time, now appears to be less paranoid than it at the time did. All of its fissile content output capacity, which seemed extreme, will make extra feeling as an insurance coverage coverage. And its developments of small-variety systems designed to avoid Indian missile defenses as effectively as MIRVs searching for to overwhelm defenses also make perception in this context. Now finally Pakistan could possibly wreck its economic system and be not able to compete, but its recent skill to retain up in any arms race direct Vipin and I to conclude that India’s pursuit of counterforce options is likely damaging to Indian interests, even as we are sympathetic to the strategic instances that motivated New Delhi to look at these alternatives.

You and Vipin really don’t conclude that India is possible to abandon its doctrinal posture of No Initially Use (with a carved out exception for biological and chemical weapons use towards Indian forces). In the coming decades, what indicators may possibly we seem for to predict that Indian doctrine itself may possibly bear assessment and transform?

Effectively, if an Indian prime minister starts speaking about how India isn’t retaining its nuclear weapons all around merely for Diwali celebrations, then probably we can see glimpses that political leaders are concluding these weapons are far more usable than formerly considered. But a lot more very seriously: the indicators India would mail if it were being to abandon no to start with use would be significantly much better than it would deliver if it hardly ever had adopted NFU to start out with. And the thought experiment I would request men and women to undertake is this: if India hadn’t announced NFU in 2003, do we consider they would do so currently if they ended up starting off from scratch? I have an understanding of the incentives that led [former Indian National Security Advisor] Shivshankar Menon to conclude, and I’m paraphrasing, “You know what, if we require to pre-empt, the logic of the NFU motivation doesn’t preclude that. No have to have to transform the doctrine. It is adequately flexible to permit pre-emption if Pakistan is preparing to launch.” The proof from other nuclear powers, in particular the U.S. case, suggests there can be a profound disconnect involving declaratory doctrine and focusing on approach, so I suspect India may prevent any community NFU reconsideration indefinitely.

India recently examined a modified Prithvi Defense Automobile exoatmospheric kinetic interceptor against one particular of its very own satellites, demonstrating for the initial time a counterspace ability. How could possibly the technologies demonstrated in that check affect Delhi’s technique and options toward Pakistan?

As The Diplomat’s very own reporting has emphasised, the test really had twin alerts: about kinetic anti-satellite weapons as properly as India’s significantly able ballistic missile defense capacity. You can see that in DRDO’s individual push launch: they could have called the auto that smashed into their satellite any identify they wished-for — Tremendous Shakti Killer ASAT or what have you — but they opted to just refer to it as a “Ballistic Missile Protection Interceptor.” And it is potentially equally sizeable that the so-termed ASAT take a look at demonstrated that India’s BMD could get to an altitude much better than any past BMD exam and, in get to do so, could travel at a velocity noticeably quicker than any previous examination. All of which would be valuable to hit for a longer time variety Pakistani missiles.

The Indian Air Drive struck Pakistani territory for the initially time given that the 1971 war at the finish of February. Does that strike show that there may well be more room for regular brinksmanship and conflict under the nuclear threshold in South Asia? Will the Pakistani response discourage India from upcoming retaliation of this kind?

I also use the analogy of “space” to communicate about India’s potential to interact in typical attacks on Pakistan, but there is a flaw to the analogy, which is it helps make it appear to be like all of a sudden there is a cliff or a wall. But that’s not how nuclear deterrence functions. As an alternative, as India probes further into Pakistan, as it causes much more soreness and harm in its initiatives to re-build deterrence, it is dialing up the hazard. If you pull the result in in Russian roulette and no one dies, the proper lesson to understand is not that the match is thoroughly safe! You can only infer that at the very least a single of the barrels was empty. So I did not infer considerably from Balakot, to be honest.

I’ve been on the record considering that at minimum 2013 in stating that India would be strongly tempted to use standoff precision-strike abilities in a long term India-Pakistan crisis, that a much more danger-acceptant Indian key minister could possibly do just that, that Pakistan would have some restricted capacity to use standoff capabilities in retaliating, and the principal cause not to interact in a standoff air strike is that it commences a tit-for-tat cycle that is hard to escape. And I think that analysis retains up quite effectively. One particular shock has been in India’s messaging right after the strike, which appears to have assumed there was a percent likelihood that the strike may well not wipe out the goal. I don’t know irrespective of whether any construction was destroyed by the strike, but I do assume the self-confidence India has exhibited in their abilities — and my suspicion is that it is overconfidence — is just what I would assume for a region contemplating nuclear counterforce. With regards to future retaliation, I feel we possibly have to wait around for the Indian election final results to know whether or not a long run Indian leader would seem at what Modi did as a unsafe adventure or as a essential (and well-known) riposte.

How does the truth that India has to deal with a 2nd nuclear-armed adversary — China — affect the progress of its nuclear forces and traditional weapons? Is India’s deterrent versus China credible nowadays?

Personally, I feel that the eventualities for India-China conflict are these kinds of that the demands for nuclear deterrence are really modest. The Himalayas make a fantastic border and give India specified strengths that mitigate the general military asymmetry with China. But many Indian elites — primarily Indian army officers — disagree with me! They believe India needs to do much extra to deter China, which include in the nuclear domain. The triangular level of competition noticeably complicates arms race security in southern Asia. Especially for movable or retargetable property — consider of plane, ships, missiles — India will always have to receive adequate figures of these units to hedge from the chance of two-entrance wars and Pakistan will have to plan for the probability that India will not have to struggle a two-entrance war and can deliver that extra navy capacity to the Indo-Pakistani struggle. Specified India’s measurement gain — which includes financial — in the medium phrase there is no question that we will have to changeover to an India-Pakistan opposition where by there is an plain regular armed forces imbalance. And it’s not at all obvious to me that transition can manifest with no massive threat.

This interview has been edited.

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