#if she grew up on a world embroiled in war i think both she and her parents would be purely dogmatic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

awesomerextyphoon · 4 years ago

Text

A Warrior’s Heart

Prologue

Main Paring: Stucky x Black!OFC (Ifekerenma ‘Ife’)

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, War Crimes, Corruption, Smut, Mentions of Anxiety, Depression, and possible Panic Attacks

Rating: 18+/Explicit

Word Count: 1,461

Summary: Ife didn’t mean to have her employers be the subject of a hostile takeover by Stark Industries. She just held up the city of Novi Grad long enough for the Avengers to defeat Ultron. So naturally, Tony finds and blackmails her into joining the team. No good deed goes unpunished, huh?

A/N: This is my first long form (12+ chapters) story. I’m including characters and/or aspects from Disney’s Atlantis: the Lost Empire, Lilo & Stitch, Big Hero 6, Gargoyles, Inuyasha, and Toriko. Furthermore, I will be including elements of Netflix MCU and Agent Carter as well. Special thanks goes to @jtargaryen18 for the title. Reposting on any site without my permission is strictly forbidden. Reblogs are welcomed! 😊

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Just keep the lie going.

That’s the line many of us have to repeat every day, and by us, I mean Non-Humans. Throughout history, humans have created myths and legends about us; some are true, others complete nonsense, but most are somewhere in between.

Let’s rewind a bit, okay?

Life on Earth lines up with most of what the textbooks say until about 5M BCE. Beings that would later be called gods and goddesses start to form with Mother Earth (the Amazing Gaea) as the focal point with other beings such as dragons, elves, and giants start to show two million years later.

The Celestials (sanctimonious assholes) came to Earth to see what’s happening after hearing about various fantastical anomalies (or that they were just bored). Gaea encouraged some (about 30K) of the human ancestors (Homo Erectus) to ‘the Space Gods’ direction. It took a few months, but they were able to create the species that later be known as Eternals. They also did some other shit but Gaea kicked them out when they wore out their welcome.

Around 200KBCE, the Kree (galactic genocidal nationalistic maniacs) happened upon a group of Eternals living on Uranus and traveled to Earth to ascertain whether other beings had similar potential. They experimented on a good number of early humans (about 150K survived) thus creating the first Inhumans (Inhomo Supremis). Several members of the Kree expedition tried to turn the Inhumans into weapons of the Kree Empire but were kicked off the planet by remaining Eternals and Non-Human factions.

Ten thousand years later (190KBCE), other early humans congregated around ‘magical hotspots’ which led to the births of the Homo Magi, Homo Superius, and Homo Animalis sub-species.

Soon after (okay, 15,000yrs later. Leave me alone.), the Mother Crystal (a semi-sentient comet, or Matag Yob) descended onto the island continent of Atlantis, imbuing the human inhabitants with longevity, knowledge, prosperity, and protection. At its height (around 55KBCE), Atlantis became the technological/cultural center on Earth (besides the Eternals).

It didn’t last long, though.

Five thousand years later (50KBCE), the first (and hopefully only) Pantheon War broke out. What exactly happened is lost to history (none of the people involved will fess up.), but what we do know is that shit went down.

Hard.

All that is known (admitted) is that almost all of the pantheons got into a Pantheon War (probably over some dumbass reason), a failed invasion by the Kree (really?), and the whole continent of Atlantis ‘sank’ into the sea in the span of three years (though some escaped).

Neat.

Fast-forward about 38K years (yeah, we’re making some jumps here) to the beginnings of the three most technologically advanced human nations of Earth: Wakanda, Sypavê, and Fetuilelagi; each with their own extraterrestrial metals/minerals.

Earth was pretty quiet until the ‘Christianity Dilemma’. So around 90CE, several ‘deities’ from the Greco-Roman, Norse, Germanic, and Celtic pantheons called for a Council of the Godheads’ to discuss ‘the ‘threat’ with Archangel Michael. It worked out well enough (no one wanted another Pantheon War).

Most of the world was in a pretty good state with a few ‘hiccups’ until the Bubonic Plague aka ‘The Black Death’ hit in 1346/7. It ravaged Eurasia and North Africa killing at least ½ the population and was seen as the start of non-belief in Europe. Worse, it was the beginning of Non-Human persecution and discrimination. You see, while the Black Death took out humans left and right, the worse a Non-Human got was a two-day flu. Many started to return to their respective realms once the Plague subsided and their once friendly neighbors started to accuse and persecute them.

The feeling of unease did not end but rather subsided. A tip from a Non-Human in Queen Isabella’s court alerted several groups in the Pre-Columbian Americas. Genocidal rapist, sex-trafficker, and all-around monster, Christopher Columbus does make it to the ‘New World’ (people were already there, dumbass) and devastated the indigenous population for centuries to come. By the time Columbus was executed in 1498, it was too late.

As many as 40 – 70% of the indigenous population was wiped out due to ‘virgin soil epidemics’ such as smallpox and influenza. Pantheons from negatively impacted areas called for a Council of the Godheads and demanded the ‘deities’ of the colonizers take action.

It went about as well as you’d think.

Earth was about to be embroiled in another Pantheon War until a few ‘level-headed’ individuals struck a bargain. No one was to interfere with human affairs whether it be good or ill. It was later amended to not have any ‘divine’ intervention (Sure). So by 1593, they had ‘bowed out’ of Earth affairs outside of their respective demi realms.

Outside of the matters of the ‘gods’, the rest of the world was dealing with its own problems. Tensions between humans and non-humans grew since the immediate aftermath of the Black Death. The Age of Enlightenment had started to pop up in intellectual circles across Europe around 1647. It focused on reason and free-thinking (Neat), but it also stoked up fear and anxiety towards Non-Humans (Boo!). Things came to a head in the 1670s. It got so bad that the Inter-Realm Parliament ordered all Non-Humans that weren’t exiled to return. They later founded the Bureau of Non-Human Affairs, BNA, in 1692 to deal with such matters in the future.

Two white-passing Non-Humans, Marcus Ashton and Jakob Schwartz founded Ashton & Schwartz Inc in 1809 along with a private partner. The company made waves in biomedical, chemical, agricultural, and climate science (they had to explain it to the populace) as well as pollution cleanup/prevention. One of their biggest inventions was a truly biodegradable plastic-like substance called biokivó̱tio or biokivo for short. The company made an even bigger impact with Non-Humans by solving issues pertaining to agriculture, large scale portal creation, and maintenance.

When the founders’ private partner decided to shut down the company in 1928, Ashton & Schwartz were a household name (especially since all major fossil fuel investments ended in 1900).

Barely ten years later and the threat of World War II rocked the planet to its core, especially the dropping of the Atomic Bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The war Council went behind current President Henry Wallace’s back and had them done on the same day, August 7, 1945.

Well, that got everyone’s attention.

The Inter-Realm Parliament issued an edict that every one of ‘age’ (biologically 18+) would have to spend at least five consecutive years amongst the humans. It didn’t take long for BNA to lay the groundwork.

Wakanda, Sypavê, and Fetuilelagi (who will now be known as The Unconquered Alliance or UA.) saw this as a ‘we need to end this’ type of situation. Within three weeks of the bomb dropping, they formulated a plan and got to work kicking the colonizers out of Africa, starting with Belgian-colonized Congo (80% of the uranium used in the bombs were mined from there). They also made a deal with British-colonized India.

Once they were successful in their test run, The U.A. moved forward with similar models until they were to liberate the continent in 1955. Meanwhile, Sypavian forces kicked out most of the Nazis that fled to South America and ended US/European influence in Central and South America.

The United States tried to play it neutral until The UA (mainly Fetuilelagi) freed Hawai’i from US occupation in 1951. The war was sold as “We must fight to preserve our freedom!” (Keep telling yourselves that).

Once both South/Central America and Africa were liberated, other colonized nations asked for their aid. UA agents/dignitaries offered to relocate Black people from the Caribbean, Europe, and the United States. As many as five million African-Americans took the offer, including former Howling Commando, Gabe Jones. By then the US was clamping down domestically through the FBI and local/state police.

Irked by the knowledge that the UA had satellites, the US jumpstarted the Space Race (they had more than a few satellites, but good for you).

As with most wars, both sides partook in some ‘questionable actions’ (i.e. Syria, Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, Cambodia, and Laos).

The war climaxed in 1977 when a UA (Sypavian) agent discovered plans for a super-weapon in the US. A Special Ops team led by N’Jobu realized that the weapon was a mega bomb that would’ve wiped out the African Continent.

After weighing their options, The UA came to an agreement with BNA: BNA would gather their most powerful Homo Magi and cast a spell to erase the memory and evidence of the war from every human outside of the UA in exchange for letting some Non-Humans live openly in UA borders.

They shook on it, unaware of the chaos that would follow.

Next>>

---------

Taglist:@opheliadawnwalker3 @sherrybaby14 @stargazingfangirl18 @hevans-angel @threeminutesoflife @cockslut-padalecki @golden-ariess @sapphirescrolls @holylulusworld

87 notes · View notes

blog-sliverofjade · 4 years ago

Text

Hearth Fires 15: Conflicted

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary: Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 3685

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the precious @pandabearer

The small, green valley was thrown into early twilight by the forested mountains that protected the Arrow settlement. The children were playing their hearts out, as if trying to eke out that much more life before the day’s end. Judd Lauren, inarguably a lethal blade of a man, made a mix of cubs, pups, and psy give chase before allowing them to swarm him. Remi shook his head; he was still amazed that the assassin was capable of laughter, let alone could play with children with such care.

“I’ve asked around and a couple of other packs around the country are experiencing the same issues, mostly in places where there was already anti-psy sentiment. Word is they’re running militia training camps,” he said to the man who led some of the most dangerous people in the world. “Have the psy been having similar problems?”

Before Aden could answer, a baby leopard bounded up to bat playfully at Remi’s boots, tail swishing back and forth. He scooped up the cub for a tap on the nose and a quick cuddle before sending her off to rejoin the game.

“No,” Aden answered when they were alone again, watching his wife clean up the aftermath of a sugar-fuelled feeding frenzy. Even though Halloween was still a few weeks off, Zaira had brought candy; the cubs and pups enthusiastically introduced their psy playmates to the concept of Halloween and trick-or-treating. Remi suspected she didn’t grasp the concept of the holiday and was just using it as an excuse to spoil the children. Heaven knew the baby Arrows could certainly do with the occasional spoiling, and she knew that better than anyone.

Envy sank its claws into him. The Arrow pair weren’t mated in the changeling sense, yet they had an unbreakable bond that was obvious even to the non-telepathic races. He yearned to know what it was like to be so intimately connected with someone who suited him on every level. A predatory changeling alpha needed a mate by his side, someone who knew when to bend and when to show their claws, someone who would help their pack grow and thrive. He wanted someone he could trust enough to let his guard down and just be. No duties, not dominant, not alpha, just Remi.

Compared to most alphas, he’d taken some time to wake up to his alpha instincts. Once that need overrode his reservations, he’d gone about it with the laser-like focus of an apex predator. However, there were some aspects he hadn’t anticipated. At first, some of the women tried to climb the hierarchy by climbing into his bed. He’d shut that down right away, making it crystal clear that intimate skin privileges between packmates would in no way impact one’s position either positively or negatively.

Ever since then, he’d been sure to never pay too much attention to any one partner when his need for intimate skin privileges grew too much. He’d inherited too many of his father’s traits that had turned dark after his mother passed. He would be driven to take and possess a lover entirely, demanding complete sexual submission. Dominant changeling women weren’t exactly known for their surrendering natures, and any paramour he took would have to be dominant. Any other personality would be crushed by him simply being who he was. The fragile equilibrium of the new pack couldn’t handle such an imbalanced relationship.

A submissive couldn’t fight against a dominant, especially against sexual aggression from someone in a position of power; it was against their very nature. And he would slit his own throat before he shed the blood of any of his people, before he turned into the monster that stalked his darkest nightmares. He’d simply come to accept that being alone was the price he had to pay in exchange for the family he’d built.

“On top of that, we’ve had a perimeter breach in the eastern and northern sectors.” The second occurrence had been reported when Remi’d been arguing with Lorelei; he’d had to see her safely home before going to investigate. He’d bullied her into shifting to her other form by threatening to throw her over his shoulder and carrying her if she didn’t. The obstinate ocelot went into the change still wearing his shirt. His scent, already coating her in a superficial layer from wearing his tee, spread more evenly on her body when the fabric inevitably disintegrated. That had satisfied something primal, deep below the conscious level.

Coming of age in a brutal pack had irreparably changed him. He managed the violence that lived in him by directing it at those who would harm his people, but those same drives darkened to a sexual hunger when it came to her. He was rapidly becoming addicted to her. Unfortunately, his drug of choice was touch averse, specifically his touch. He hated the loss of control, feeling like a juvenile fresh from his first kill again. The pack needed him to keep his head on his shoulders, not lose it sniffing after a female.

“You’re getting harder,” Tien had said as he’d driven her home. It wasn’t a criticism: it was concern from one packmate to another. His touch hunger was already causing friction and there weren’t enough mated pairs at the higher end of the hierarchy to counteract the instability. And the only person he wanted to sate that need with was dividing his attention.

“She’s a liability.” If they thought he wasn’t doing right by the pack, especially if he was focused on an outsider to their detriment, he’d soon be facing challenges, and that would tear them apart when they were already facing outside dangers.

“Not everyone’s built for combat, that doesn’t mean they have nothing to contribute.” She misinterpreted his flat statement and defended the submissive, an arch statement reminding him that neither end of the power hierarchy was worth more or less than the other. That was what maternals did, protective in their own way.

He knew that better than most. Lorelei’s strength shone whenever she was in the same room with him; annoying as it was, he respected the hell out of her for standing up to him. What his father had forgotten, or perhaps never known, was that strength wasn’t always physical; a person’s value couldn’t be calculated in terms of how much blood they could shed. He would never understand how his father could have treated their most physically vulnerable as unworthy of respect. It ultimately led to his downfall.

“That’s not what I meant, Tien,” he’d growled, hands tightening on the manual controls until the wheel groaned in protest. “She poses a security risk. I never should have let her so deep into our territory.” They had changed the site of the autumn barbecue at the last minute to one more distant from where they made their homes at the heart of their land. But with several non-predatory changelings disappearing in the area recently, his instincts were driving him to keep his people protected deep within their territory and ban anyone who wasn’t fully allied with RainFire.

Changelings of any stripe needed freedom; too many restrictions, even if they were for protection, stifled them. The proper balance of safety and freedom gave cubs a firm foundation and the safety to develop their strength and personalities. It was an alpha’s honour to ensure cubs have what they need to flourish, not crush them by keeping them tightly confined without room to grow.

“She’s a baker, hardly a master spy. What’s she going to do? Steal Avery’s cheesecake recipes?” she’d scoffed. “What she is, is scared. I don’t think she knows how to stop protecting herself; it’s why she’s short-tempered.”

Remi had a different interpretation on that. He’d kept his reservations about her stability to himself, not even warning his sentinels. That was the true risk she posed: he was already keeping secrets from the soldiers who shed their blood in defense of RainFire because he wanted to protect an outsider when all his energies should be focused on safeguarding his people, not divided between them and a woman he couldn’t have.

When she went feral, and there was no doubt in his mind that she would if she didn’t learn to balance her two aspects, he would be the one to take her down. It would be his responsibility because he would have failed both her and his pack, which meant he could not permit that outcome to come to pass.

“Physical reconnaissance?” The question wrenched Remi from his musings.

“Seems like,” he said grimly. They still hadn’t been able to pinpoint who was behind the incursions and it was maddening. A stray breeze blew his hair back into his face and he shoved it back with one hand; he needed a haircut otherwise he’d soon need hair ties.

“I could have the squad monitor for any related activity, although the possibility of finding any evidence is minute.” A smile lit up Aden’s face as he watched his mate attempting to settle a squabble between a cub and a baby Arrow with cool logic.

“Don’t waste manpower, but I’d appreciate any intel passed our way.” The elite military unit protected the heart and conscience of the psy race: the empaths. Aden would never sacrifice their greater mission for RainFire’s sake; it was an unspoken understanding between the two men. Despite their differences, they both had an adamantine core of integrity, and both had been forged in crucibles of the cruellest kind. “I’ll send the info on the missing changelings.”

A wolf couple roaming in the area had disappeared sometime over the past week; he’d only known because they’d failed to check in during the window of time they said they would be leaving as arranged when they’d asked for permission to be in his territory. Two of the most powerful Tk’s he knew, one of them a true teleporter, had already tried to teleport to the two missing, using their faces as a lock and both had failed, which meant that they had either been disfigured or were dead.

Normally spending time with the cubs soothed even his worst moods, yet today it sat uneasily on him that he was on a playdate instead of searching for the wolves; his overdeveloped drive to protect was punishing him. Logically, he knew that the children needed to play with their friends before the semi-monthly gatherings would be disrupted by the holiday season. The pups and cubs were more flexible and would be fine until the new year; it was the psy who needed the foundation of routine, and even though they weren’t his in the strictest sense, it wasn’t in him to hurt a child, no matter how obliquely.

Aden Kai, a scary motherfucker who could create an impregnable shield that could deflect bullets back along their trajectories, smiled, hard eyes softening as Zaira climbed the rise towards them. A faint line between her brows was the only indication of her apparent puzzlement, and held up two identical cups.

“Tavish and Jasper are in disagreement over who gets the blue cup. These are both blue. I’m not familiar with Logan’s medical history, but no visual impairments were noted at Owen’s last physical.”

Remi’s shoulders shook with laughter as the two lethal Arrows looked to him for advice, perplexed. If only all of his problems were simply bickering cubs.

FROM: Zayaan Derici <email redacted>

TO: Lorel Maddox <email redacted>

October 15, 2083 2:30PM

Subject: RE: Fion and Mila Caine, RedRock

I cannot express my gratitude for your parents saving my life from our rogue member nor can I convey the depth of sorrow I’ve carried with me all these years, yet I know that it’s merely a drop compared to your loss.

Your parents were fine, courageous people. If you would like to know the details of what happened, I will gladly provide them, but I didn’t want to burden you with the knowledge before you were ready.

I’m ashamed that I didn’t look for you; I’d forgotten they had a little girl. Please forgive me, you would have been “a baby” in my 10-year-old mind. When I was older, I tried to find their relatives, but RedRock’s records were destroyed in a fire that night. I was astonished when your alpha reached out to me and elated when I received your email.

You may wish to move on and not re-visit this tragedy. I would not fault you for that, but I hope to hear from you again. I’ve attached a picture of my two cubs, Fiona and Mila; they are named after your parents.

Gratefully yours,

Devon Gutierrez

Two days passed without incident: no ultimatums, earth-shattering maxims, moments of bloodthirsty madness, and definitely no arguments with a certain autocratic leopard. One would think that would be restful, and yet, no matter how many times she gave herself a firm talking to, Lorel found herself restive.

The longing she felt for him was stronger than mere lust, which was something she’d more or less dealt with on her own since puberty. It was like her very skin ached for touch and without it, she felt untethered from the earth, like she didn’t exist without tactile contact to anchor her. His touch had fanned her ever-present hunger to a voracious need that kept her awake at nights no matter how many times she used her battery-operated boyfriend.

Lorel was grateful that Irena, who was across the workspace from her, didn’t appear to have the same sense of smell that cat changelings had, otherwise she’d never be able to look her in the eye again.

“Irena, could you please pass me the passionfruit?”

“Depends, will you get me that gorgeous cat’s number?” she asked, handing over the bowl with a mischievous grin.

“I don’t think he’s looking,” she shook her head with a rueful smile and began to cut the purple fruit.

“Damn. Wouldn’t mind getting eaten by a cat, if you know what I mean.” Looking up briefly from the sugar cookies she was cutting out, she waggled perfectly manicured eyebrows. This week’s designs were ghosts, pumpkins, and witches’ hats.

“Irena!” Her knife slipped and juice squirted down her apron.

The crow laughed gaily at Lorel’s shock, the sound filling the kitchen. It was still early and they were preparing for the day; they didn’t have to worry about scandalizing customers yet.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” she asked once she’d recovered from the embarrassment. “And if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I will make sure you get all the early morning shifts during the holiday season.” She jabbed a warning finger at Irena; SweetCheeks would have to start baking at 3 am, two hours earlier than usual, to meet projected seasonal demand.

She shuddered and nodded acquiescence, waiting for Lorel to continue.

“Do alphas, or wing leaders,” she added, remembering the avian-specific term Irena used, “have certain… expectations of packmates?”

“Uh, depends on the person and the needs of the flight, or pack.” Her dark brows drew together when she looked up briefly from the dough.

“No, I mean single pack members.”

“What, you mean like one of them cults where the guy in charge sleeps with all the women? No, that is not normal. I won’t say it’s never happened, but people can be evil.” Hazel eyes aghast, she shook her head furiously. “I haven’t heard anything like that about RainFire, and we’re on good terms with them.”

Lorel had not only heard of instances of alphas becoming corrupt and taking advantage of those they were meant to care for, she’d also been forced to watch documentaries on them. Ostensibly, it was to protect her from becoming a victim of the depraved culture of changeling packs. While she didn’t think that authoritarianism was the default culture of packs, neither had she known exactly how abhorrent such occurrences were considered among changelings. She could smell Irena’s scent sour at the thought despite the competing aromas coming from the ovens.

Face warming, Lorel sketched in with broad strokes what had taken place in the woods the week before, never looking up from her work.

“Kissing between packmates is usually more like kissing a sibling. That sounds more like he’s looking for intimate skin privileges,” frowned Irena.

The kiss between them had been the farthest thing from that. It had been wild and sensual and like nothing she had ever experienced before. When she woke from fitful dreams in the bits of sleep she did manage to get, she swore that she could still taste him on her lips.

“And if there was a misunderstanding, like someone thought he was abusing his position as alpha?” The words he’d used were imprinted in her brain, they’d been so full of restrained fury. Once the hormones and adrenaline had faded, she’d nearly thrown up she’d been so disgusted with herself. Conflict of any kind usually left her feeling deeply discomfited, or at least it did whenever her ocelot wasn’t complicating matters with its temper. And it was always worst when she was in the wrong.

“You did not,” winced Irena. “In that case, I’d say it’s a damn good thing you’re not in the pack yet because his pride will not take that well.” Eyes wide, she shook her head and blew out a breath, golden-brown cheeks puffing up.

“He said I was ‘touch hungry.’ How was I supposed to know it wasn’t just a line? Like when doctors used to say, ‘I diagnose you woman, the cure is medically induced orgasms’!” she threw her hands in the air in frustration, sending green bits of pulp flying, even as she pinked at her own words. In fact, she was pretty sure that was the first time she’d ever uttered the word “orgasms” aloud; Chloe and Irena were definitely bad influences on her.

Giggling, Irena pressed the back of her forearm to her forehead. Since her hands were covered in flour and bits of dough, it was the equivalent of clapping a hand over her face.

“Flights- packs, whatever- are good for that, and no, I am not talking about group sex,” she said once she had breath again, sniffing back tears of mirth. “Mind you, some of those cats…” she trailed off with a slyly speculative expression. “Anyhoo, there’s different skin privileges between packmates, family, and lovers. Any might help alleviate touch hunger, but all the hugs in the world won’t cut it if you’re in dire need of a good dicking.”

“Do you enjoy making me blush?” Lorel mock glared.

“Yep,” she chirped unrepentantly. “One of these days I expect to see blood spurt out of your nose like in anime.” She waggled a hand near her face to mimic a spray of blood. Lorel flicked a passionfruit pit at the crow who giggled and batted the airborne seed towards the sink where it landed with a plink. “If he’s offering as a packmate, there’s no strings attached. It’s just fulfilling each other’s need. You set your own boundaries when it comes to skin privileges, all you have to do is say no and they’ll back off entirely. If he wants a relationship, that’s a whole nother kettle of wax, and I don’t know what big cats are like. Now if it was a corvid, I could give you a crash course.”

“How can I tell?”

“Ask him,” she said, hands spread wide, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Lorel stared at her like she was speaking another language.

“Communication? You know, the basis of all healthy relationships?”

Unsure how to respond to that, Lorel busied herself with straining the passionfruit pulp. She’d had few healthy relationships and even fewer romantic relationships, none of which had qualified as healthy.

“Lorel, are you a virgin?” Irena tilted her head in a way that was distinctly not human.

“No!” Her voice was so high it could have shattered glass. Then, in a calmer register, but not looking up, “Not technically. Besides, I don’t think he even wants to look at me; I’m half-surprised he hasn’t given up and banished me entirely.” Inexplicably, the thought made her chest ache till it felt like she couldn’t breathe. “I haven’t known him very long, but I feel like he’s mine.” This last she whispered to herself, confounded by the sudden realization. She hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t even known she was thinking it until the words tumbled out.

Irena crossed the workspace to enfold Lorel with a hug, face set with lines of sympathy. Instincts told her to maintain her guard, to hold some part of herself back, but she was so tired that after a moment she released the tension she carried. Slowly wrapping her arms around the crow, she laid her head on the taller woman’s shoulder and breathed in the scent of friend, allowing herself to relax.

Lorel made acquaintances easily, but she’d never clicked as deeply as she had with the friends she’d made in the short time she’d been there. She’d always kept herself apart to protect the people around her from the violent madness she’d seen as an inevitability.

To hold that at bay, she lived by rigid rules to keep her other half, the one ruled by needs and emotions, under control. Being good and demure and all the things she was taught to be had gained her nothing, certainly not the approval of her grandparents; if anything, it put her more at risk of going rogue, if Remi was to be believed.

Now she knew differently because he was trying to show her a different way. He’d never demand that she silence herself or hide her wildness, on the contrary, he challenged her to embrace it. Such an attitude was a stark contrast to the people she’d called family for so long. He didn’t know that she would have to give up everything she’d ever known, including the people who raised her.

5 notes · View notes

simplysoriya · 5 years ago

Text

Reprieve from Chaos

A breath of fresh air was hard fought. Every breath in the midst of chaos was labored. After months embroiled in the turmoil of the Vale, seeing nightmares play out both in mind and in reality. Watching friends, family, and ideals unravel and fall apart was a daily occurance. Seeing pain became second nature. Every day was a new horror; people in cages awaiting their fate, the spirits of the dead ripped from their grave and fed upon, otherworldly creatures roaming the hills as their haunting counterparts scoured the skies. Vying for favor or power the Mogu and Mantid had swarmed and sowed destruction in their wake, making a bad situation nothing but worse. Every single day there was a new source of heartache, a new feeling of sinking as a place so peaceful was destroyed before their very eyes. The fighting had calmed, if only minorly, but the pain had remained fresh renewed by yet another harrowing event after another.

Soriya was grateful for the time away from the Vale, even if not for the reason. Kirollis’ wounds had been worse than they were able to treat with nothing but the triage tents and wartime supplies sent in. He needed treatment to stem the blood loss, made worse by the Mantid poison that replaced it. The fighting had yet to spill in the Jade Forest, and the Temple dedicated to the healing arts of Mistweaving- a discipline she praticed herself. Nowhere else in all of Pandaria would be better for recovery.

Yet even with sound reasoning she could not keep the pangs of guilt at bay. Every ounce of her being screamed to rejoin the fight. Her mind constantly flipped through each situation where she felt she made a difference out in the field, only to concede that without her aid things would be considerably worse. Every warrior she had healed enough to get back into the fight or back to safety, every enemy that she had faced herself, each effort to help fight back the darkness. Every second she spent away was another life lost because she was here, resting, relaxing, recharging- while those brave men and women put their lives on the line for what they believed in.

Silently she wished she could do the same. Even when she was there, doing everything she could, it never felt like enough. It never felt like the difference was made no matter how hard she tried. No matter how much of herself she poured into it. It did nothing to shake off the feeling that it wasn’t enough.

Gentle was the spring breeze as it passed through the ancient grove. Rustling the milky pink petals of cherry blossoms, coaxing them down to the ground from the endless canopy above like a snowstorm without the cold every time the wind whipped. Hoisted high by the ancient and mighty tree trunks that rose from the rolling emerald hills. Carrying the faint but ever constant aroma of freshly sheared lilacs mingled with vanilla and almonds through the picturesque woods.

Well-worn cobblestone path running through the mountains led to the secluded cliffside grove. Breaking off into walked-in dirt pathways that led deeper into the mystic cherry blossom fields of Pandaria’s Jade Forest. Locals still toiling away at keeping the grounds walked whimsically though as they finished their tasks dutily tending to the Arboretum.

It was serene there in the Arboretum as peaceful energy was cultivated and promoted as carefully as the tended area itself. A serenity that was lost on Soriya as she sat and stewed in everything that upset her over the last few months.

Lazily she leaned forward on the railing of a wooden bridge as the babble of the brooke below added to the atmosphere. Her forearms planted on the banister as she leaned forward with an absent and dull look in her eyes. Simply staring out to the cliffs that sat above the Great Sea, littered with long rocky spires that obstructed the horizon as Cloud Serpents young and old slithered through them.

More often than not a sight that would inspire a look of awe and wonder in the young woman who frequently travelled the world. Yet one of her favorite locales in all of Azeroth failed to bring a smile to that weary face.

The sound of footsteps behind her wasn’t enough to stir her from the thousand yard stare she wore.

“Your father mentioned I might find you here.” The voice of an elder Pandarian rasped in a gentle tone.

Long elven ears stood perked at attention as she recognized the voice as Grandmaster Zheng. Almost immediately Soriya stiffened her posture and stood up straight before she turned to meet the mild-mannered Pandarians gaze. Her head dipped down respectfully, shoulders following suit as her hands clasped together before her chest in a bow.

Resetting her posture the young monk paid him a quizzical look with a single auburn brow hoisted in surprise, “I didn’t know you were looking for me, if I had I would have stuck around the Temple.”

The Grandmaster chuckled softly as he shook his head, “I don’t mind excuses to stretch these old legs. Besides, you were far easier to find than the other times I’ve tried.” His words came gentle as he referenced her penchant for exploring. They had always shared a close relationship and Zheng had often taken an interest in her life outside of their order.

Drifting forward with slow and deliberate steps Grandmaster Zheng took purchase of the space next to her on the bridge. Resting his forearms against the banister much like she had just before as he looked out over the Cloud Serpents hatchery. “This is one of my favorite places in all of Pandaria. Have I told you that?”

“Mine too.” Soriya agreed as she remained facing the cherry blossom trees as she leaned her back against the railing.

“You certainly don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.” Zheng noted.

Soriya grew quiet a spell as her arms folded under her chest. Always did she try and focus on the positives, of the good, even in the worst of situations. But that stubborn belief was all but extinguished as she stared out silently. Not wishing to bring to attention all the harrowing events that Pandaria had seen recently.

Zheng continued in her silence, “With everything that’s going on… it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. To lose yourself in the negativity that surrounds the creatures that embody it.” A wizened rumble emanated from his throat. “Darkness is always easier to accept when we feel it is the only thing left.”

Auburn brows knit together at the statement. She didn’t speak a word and still he honed in on exactly what was bothering her. Finally, after another long pause that was met with nothing but understanding, Soriya spoke, “I just feel so useless.” The admission came in a quiet tone.

“Have you not been doing everything you can to help those in need? Struck by hardship? Too weak to help themselves?”

“Does it even make a difference? No matter what I do I’m not strong enough to stop what’s here. I can’t save anybody from this.. it’s... I’m… not this amazing hero. I can’t just step up and… I can’t even help the people I care about.” Her voice shrank to a quivering peep by the time she had finished.

With a slow and singular nod of his head Zheng replied, “Spared the people from their suffering you have not. Not even the Celestials could circumvent the nightmare that descended on the Vale. But to say you have offered them nothing…” Seemingly offended by the ideal, “Master Duskhaven you give people hope. Reminding the people that there are those that will stand up when tragedy strikes can be as simple as offering a hand when all seems lost.” Turning to look at the monk he posed, “A lesson you knew very well once upon a time.”

Zheng continued, “Wars like this are not fought with weapons or troops. They are fought with ideologies. Darkness will never concede to light, just as light must never concede to darkness. For us to lose that hope, now, of all times? That is the true devastation that darkness wants.”

Soriya grew silent once more as he spoke. Her face grew longer with each passing word. The guilt she felt only amplified by his assessment of the grander scheme and how lost she was from it had never been more clear. He was right, of course, even if she didn’t immediately see it. And suddenly she was left to wonder why she let it get as bad as it did. Why she let those thoughts eat at her, consume her, putting aside all the good she had done in place of the abundance of bad.

“Times like these are never easy, my young friend. But we endure because we must. We endure because if we do not… then the darkness wins.”

Slowly Soriya nodded her head in understanding as she did her best to take his words to heart. In a muted voice she asked, “What if I’m not strong enough? Grandmaster I… I made a mistake.” She paused, swallowing the growing lump in her throat. “There’s a creature out there that wants something from me. Something it thinks I stole from it.”

“The last egg of the Eternal Serpent.” The Grandmaster added without missing a beat, much to Soriya’s surprise.

“How did you know about that?”

“It’s not every day a student of mine uncovers the truth behind a longstanding Pandarian legend…” Though he was always more in-the-know then he projected.

That reasoning, however, was fair to her. Continuing her explanation of her battles with one of the newly appointed Paragons. “He keeps going after everything I care about. He’s in my head… he almost killed my dad.”

“Kirollis filled me in on the details.”

“I don’t think I can beat him… I just… after all this time, all I’ve learned, it still doesn’t feel like enough. How am I supposed to use my fists to beat an opponent like that? How can I fight against these things if I can’t vanquish them…”

The elder monk smiled softly before placing a hand on Soriyas shoulder, “Monks do not always fight with their fists. You study the healing arts but wish to take on the monsters of this world. Perhaps you need a tool that would compliment your skillset.”

“I still use a staff, and I have these punching gloves…” Soriya interjected as if that was the answer to it all.

Rubbing a paw over his elongated beard Zheng would ponder this for a moment longer. Mentioning after that moment passed, “There is an old swordsmith that I know of who may be able to help you with this. Though it will be a hard path to follow. The last I spoke to him he was living in the Kun-lai mountains enjoying his retirement.”

“You think he’ll make me a sword? I don’t… even- I’m not too great with those.”

The elder monk smiled broadly as he corrected, “He will make your sword.”

#story #stories #vale of eternal nightmare #sori stories #RP #Canon #monk

19 notes · View notes

inkstaineddove · 5 years ago

Text

A Marriage Story

Ships: PruHun, AusHun

Characters: Prussia, Hungary, Austria, minor France

Summary: 1867: The formal marriage between Austria and Hungary, creating the Austro-Hungarian Empire and ammunition for Roderich to use in his personal war against Gilbert.

January 1867, Berlin.

Gilbert had never been feeling better. With every passing day, Prussian hegemony over Germany grew stronger. He was becoming a nation feared and respected by all others, no longer possible to write off as a bit player in Europe. He found himself standing taller and walking with a spring in his step. It felt like the culmination of one long struggle that began in 1740, his quest to make a glorious kingdom out of a backwater electorate. He stood before the portrait of Frederick the Great in his office and grinned. "Old man, you'd be so proud of me. I took those damn Austrians out in a matter of weeks!" Gilbert grinned from ear-to-ear. "You should've seen the fear in their eyes, you would've loved being there."

A knock at the door. One of his maids entered and bowed her head. "Herr Edelstein is here."

"He is? Bet he wants to sign away more territory to Italy! Send him up." Once she was out, Prussia began scrambling around the study. He needed to look his most powerful, needed to show that prick who the seat of power was. He grabbed his old sword in the corner of the room and retook his spot before Frederick's portrait.

Austria entered and, seeing what the Prussian was going for, rolled his eyes. "You went too heavy on the symbolism."

"It's my first showing before the new sick man of Europe. You're all about appearances, shouldn't I try to impress?" He set his sword down on his desk, smirking at his reflection in the metal. "I don't think you're here for me to show off, though I wish you were. I make a good peacock. What's your purpose? I wouldn't think you had a lot of spare time, considering there's an army you need to replace."

Normally, this kind of taunting would grate on Austria's nerves. Today was a special occasion, he came bearing good news. Such good news that he actually managed a chuckle. "I let the generals do the repairs. In return, they let me don my uniform and rally the troops before battles. It's a better arrangement for us all." A smile spread across his face. "I'm here for an exciting reason. I'm getting married."

Gilbert's eyes widened. "Oh my god, that's fantastic! I've got just the thing!" He removed a bottle of champagne from one of the cabinets and poured them a glass. "I've still got a few of these in here from when we were celebrating the end of the war last year. This is amazing, Roderich. Remember? You were all nerves only a few months ago, thinking about what everything meant for you. Your bedroom diplomacy works again! It's like they always say: if you can't take it with a sword, take it with charm." They clinked glasses. "I presume that means she's in Budapest?"

Roderich sipped slyly from his glass. "I don't think I've ever heard that phrase, but maybe it's one of those new ancient Chinese proverbs." He smiled sincerely at his host. "She is, though she'll be back in Vienna very soon. Erzsébet's finalizing the details with her people. It all has to be very official. Though I don't quite understand why you're so excited for me. This comes at quite a cost for you."

"What, did you think that little skirmish meant the end for us? Please. If we were fine after the Seven Years' War, we're certainly fine after this one. All's fair in war, or however it goes. Which is why I'm excited for you! You can't have multiple spouses, we've evolved beyond that. Who's the lucky nation, who do I get to welcome into the family?"

"Oh no. Gilbert, I'm terribly sorry. You seem to be confused." Austria had an expression of mock pity. He put his hand to his chest. "We're not getting a divorce. It's a new phase of our relationship, a marriage of equals, or so I tell her. That actuality remains to be seen, but she gets her name tacked on and regains sovereignty. That was enough to avert a potential disaster."

Prussia's blood ran cold. He set his glass down, no longer wanting to touch the champagne. He felt a fool. "I'm glad you're finally giving her the respect everyone else knew she deserved. I'll make sure to get her a gift celebrating this." His eyes narrowed. "Was the ride from Vienna worth it? I'm glad you've gotten in your laugh for the day."

"You're going to kick me out already? I have an invitation for you. This time we're having a ceremony - my idea, I thought it would be fitting for propaganda purposes. It would be an honor to have you as my best man. There's no one else I'd rather have by my side on such an important day. Think of it, you'll be so close that it'll be easier to pretend she's reciting her vows to you instead."

Gilbert's fist twitched. He needed to break something, needed to explode. His heart had dropped to his feet and prevented him from moving. "Why would I do that, I don't believe in marriage." He swallowed down bile and looked outside the window. "I would never fantasize about that. What I care about is only the physical. Real men care nothing for romance." He felt Roderich's stare, knew how unconvincing he sounded, and wanted to puke.

"Are you sure? I've heard you make statements on the contrary when it came to her." Roderich shrugged nonchalantly. "But if that's the case then you won't mind giving her away to me either. Would you? There's no one else to ask, we don't exactly have fathers do we?" Their eyes met. Roderich's smile was cruel. "I was certain this would be another favor. You'd at least know what it was like to walk down the aisle with her, even if it was the wrong way."

Something inside of him broke. Gilbert leaned against his desk for support. "Marrying her once wasn't good enough for you? Why are you doing all this?" He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from breaking down. He would not let Roderich catch him cry, he would not let anyone see him so weak. "If that's what you have to do to prevent her declaring independence, whatever. There's no need to waste the money on publicly humiliating me."

"There's no price tag on revenge." Austria sat an envelope on the desk. "There's all the details. I must be going, I don't want to return home too late." Heading to the door, he turned around. He handed Prussia a bottle of scotch. "I figured you'd need this. See, I'm nothing but caring." With that, the Austrian left as quickly as he came.

Gilbert drank thirstily from the bottle. He slumped down in front of his desk, his head in between his knees. All his earlier bravado had flown out the window. He bit down on his fist, repressing an anguished cry. For so long, he felt like he'd been in the command of his personal situation. Politics was rough, it was turbulent, and the winners of yesterday easily became the losers of tomorrow. He'd accepted that for centuries now. But his personal relations had felt so stable. Naturally, Roderich would get his hits in occasionally but it was never anything he couldn't handle. Nothing that could never be returned. This was cutting the marble, this was a laceration that would not heal.

Finally, the tears began to fall. This was truly personal.

---

March 1867, Vienna.

Prussia's carriage pulled up to Austria's home and he hated himself. The past two months he'd debated over whether to actually show or not. Watching this whole affair, this sham wedding, would kill him. The thought of not being there for Erzsébet would kill him more, to let her down when she might actually want him around. He'd sucked up his pride and forced himself here. That didn't stop him from being embroiled in self-loathing.

Nor did it stop him from drinking the whole way there. Gilbert had always been a heavy drinker, but he'd begun leaning on the habit more as the wedding moved closer. He took a sip from his hip flask to calm his nerves before entering the home. Roderich was waiting for him in the parlor. "Gilbert! I'm thrilled you actually decided to make it. How's my favorite cousin?" He hugged the Prussian, who didn't return it.

"If I could kill you in your sleep and have you actually be dead, I wouldn't hesitate to do so." Another sip from his flask.

"You're such a tease. I'd lead you to your room, but you know where it is. Your usual place next to mine, I know how fond of it you are." Roderich patted him on the arm. "I'm sorry for being rude, but I have to run a few errands. Make yourself at home."

"I would appreciate if you fell off a cliff on the way there."

Roderich laughed, not paying him any mind, as he walked out the door. Gilbert glowered and slumped onto a sofa. He hated Roderich, hated his stupid castles and his extravagant home. There was no modesty to it. There was no subtlety to it. Looking around, he understood why Erzsébet would consider it a gilded cage. It certainly made you feel as if you were trapped in a sadist's world. And what a sadist he found himself cornered by. His mind drifted off, trying to come up with various plans for satisfactory revenge.

He didn't realize Erzsébet was there until she stood in front of him. "You actually came, I'm pleasantly surprised." She smiled gently and cuddled up besides him. "Selfishly, I hoped you would, though I would've understood if you stayed away. It's not my particular idea of a good time either."

Her presence perked Gilbert back up again. He kissed her cheek and let his head rest in the crook of her neck, smiling against it. "I didn't figure out what I was doing till last night. It felt wrong to not be here with you. And, if we're both being selfish, I want to see you in your dress." She brought his lips to hers. Apparently, he'd given the right answer.

They sat, nestled together in quiet contentment. Gilbert's nerves had calmed down simply by having her in his arms. It made what would be coming in two days seem much more bearable. "Has this made your situation better yet? If this is done and nothing gets changed, I'd be willing to declare war to help you." They both knew Bismarck wouldn't agree to it, but it was a nice sentiment.

"Too early to tell. He seems happier, but that's probably because I've quit threatening rebellion in the interim." She sounded bored. "Many of my people aren't thrilled about it, so I doubt it'll be an easy peace between us. I had to do what I could for them - my people, I mean. Life was becoming even more unbearable. Even if I find the solution personally distasteful, I'll go through with it if it means they won't be treated like criminals." She sighed. "It's a curse."

"Is this the only way he'd accept the deal?"

"If I pressed hard enough, I don't think it would've been. I'm so tired, Gilbert, it felt better to accept this nonsense than to fight over it. I'd rather suffer a personal indignity than drag out negotiations longer then they needed to be."

"I wish you would've! I wasn't asking to get involved in all this! It's not like he's humiliating one of us!" The Prussian huffed.

She shot him a look. "Are you really going to blame me for this?" She smiled, receiving his silence well. "This doesn't have to be so horrible. We can make the most of our time together." Erzsébet kissed him sweetly, trying to convince them both.

Gilbert smiled and slid her onto his lap, his arms wrapped securely around her hips. For now, his complaints settled back below the service. "That's a much better way of looking at things. Erzsi, it's your weekend. Anything my sweet love commands and it will be done."

She giggled against his chest. "I should probably help you practice your dancing. I'm sure some poor woman will want to dance with you before she realizes you have two left feet."

"Right, this is all about practice, absolutely nothing to do with you wanting to dance with me." The pair rose. Gilbert bowed slightly and extended his hand out to Erzsébet. His smile turned tender. "My lady, would you do me the honor?"

She took it, returning his smile. "Most certainly." They swayed together, Gilbert twirling her around and being hyper-aware of where her feet were and Erzsébet teasing him whenever he stepped on them. Eventually, Gilbert couldn't suppress his laughter. Curiosity shaped Erzsébet's face. "Everything alright?"

"There's no music. Can you imagine how silly we must look to anyone passing by?"

"What, you can't hear it?" He looked at her as if she were insane. It was her turn to laugh before humming. It was a mixture of various harmonies, those coming from her memory and those newly invented. "Hear it now?"

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't wipe a stupid smile off his face. "I do. I think it goes like this though." His turn to invent the music. An even stranger mix of the usual classical pieces and some military marches. Erzsébet joined in, turning their song into something new and chaotic all together. Both found themselves unable to stop or unable to quiet their laughter. It was ridiculous, but it was also magical.

Neither of them noticed Roderich in the other room. He'd stood there for a few minutes, observing. Gilbert had been right, it looked incredibly strange from a distance until he'd heard the hums. His fingers itched to sit at the piano and provide them something much more coherent to dance with. He forced the urge aside, reminding himself that he only felt that way because he was a showman and enjoyed his craft. He also ignored the small part of him that felt a pity for both of them, knowing what would be coming in a few days. It was the weak part of him, the part that sympathized too much with humanity's foolishly compassionate nature. He buried that small part of himself down. What good would it currently serve him?

Roderich entered and cleared his throat. He hated the slow way they parted and how Gilbert's hand still lingered on her hip. He hated the conspiratorial looks they shared between each other. "I hope my absence wasn't too deeply felt. I also hope it won't be too upsetting that I'll be out for a few hours tomorrow as well." The hate went deeper, for himself, for his humanity.

"Oh, did something all of a sudden come up?" Erzsébet cocked her head to the side in confusion. "If it's something that concerns both of us, I can come along."

Roderich shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I can take care of everything on my own. It's best if you stay here and attend to whatever matters need to be taken care of in the home." He glanced at Gilbert, who seemed relieved. If there was a heaven, Roderich considered, this moment better be what allows him to enter into it.

---

Gilbert laid besides Erzsébet in bed, her head on his chest and his fingers threading through her hair. He stared at the portrait of Roderich in the room. "He does realize how weird that is, right? To fall asleep over your own ever-watchful eye. It's unsettling."

"I've tried to get him to move it into any other room, but he likes it." She shrugged. "I don't think he really does, I think there's a safe or something behind it. That's my theory that I will do nothing to confirm or deny."

Gilbert's mind had already drifted back off. He couldn't stop considering the oncoming marriage. The whole thing was a farce, nothing more than a ploy to get into his head. He understood it as that, but he couldn't stop having it dominate his mind. He kissed the top of Erzsébet's head. "You don't have to go through with it tomorrow."

"Really? Then what would I do?" She peered up at him through her eyelashes, a bemused smile dancing across her lips.

"We could run away. Bring the dress with you, we can get married and I'll hold a coronation for you as my queen in Königsberg." He took her hand and kissed it. "I'll pull out all the stops for you."

She wrinkled her nose. "You're going to make me choose between Vienna or Königsberg? Is that really a fair contest?"

"No, but then I'd take you to Versailles and you'd be crowned again there, a magnificent gesture befitting a magnificent woman. Then we can sail across the Channel for our honeymoon and see the cliffs of Dover. Or maybe we can tour Italy, running around through Rome and getting lost there. Or St. Petersburg, it's been so long since I've seen the Amber Room and I'd love for you to show it to you." Gilbert gently caressed her cheek.

"If we're running away, shouldn't we get out of Europe? Everyone will be able to find us here." Erzsébet hesitated, not wanting to feed either of their fantasies, but finding the romanticism irresistible. "Brazil is supposed to be beautiful. I've never seen the Pacific Ocean before, we could flee to Canada or America."

"Anywhere! Anywhere to be with you, I'd chase you around the whole world if I had to." She was right there, yet Gilbert's whole being was filled with deep yearning. He looked down at her, his eyes burning with intensity and desperation when they met hers. "Say the word. One word and we can be rid of all this." He barked a nervous laugh. "Shit, Erzsi, think about it. We might even be happy."

"Gilbert, seriously. You don't really mean any of this. If we became outlaws, who would you have to fight?"

She'd never seen him look so old, so tired, as in that instant. It seemed as if the weight of the world was upon him. "The fighting takes its toll. Erzsébet, I'm covered in blood. It would be nice to have a chance to wash myself clean of it, to start something pure." He looked at her and she hated the spark of hope in his eyes. Abhorred it because she recognized it within her too. "I need something to believe in and I quit God long ago. Why can't I believe in this?"

"Love, or whatever this is, can't save us. Nothing can save us." She feigned strength, but her voice was no more than a whisper. "We survive, Gil. In that process, maybe we scrape out a few moments of genuine happiness, but none of that is promised. It's not some piece of territory, you can't take it through force." Erzsébet sat up, hugging herself and looking down at the sheets.

"You really think that?"

"No, but I have to."

Silence hung thick between them like fog. He reached out for her. "Gilbert-"

The Prussian returned his hands to his lap. "Life is shitty, trust me, I understand. If you live only to survive, you won't know when you can stop and actually enjoy what's around you. If there can be no respite in the present, fine. That's fair." Seeing she was more relaxed, he took her hands and kissed them. "But please, Erzsi, allow yourself to imagine a future. One where there's no more worries, no more lordship and you have more than paper sovereignty."

The Hungarian smiled. She had always feared the present, feared the uncertainty and hardships it wrought. How there could be no stable ground to stand on and how, no matter the moment, she was still a bit-player in larger dramas. He was right, though. The future, with its unknown qualities, was hers and hers alone. She visualized herself, high atop it all and unable to be forced into situations that didn't suit her, situations that compromised her dignity for short-term relief. Finally, something she could believe in. Erzsébet kissed him, smirking against his lips. "You owe me a vacation. I'm warning you that I don't travel cheaply."

"On second thought, Roddy can keep you. Hey!" In retaliation, Erzsébet pushed Gilbert back down onto the sheets. Tomorrow would be a day for their worries to be fully felt. But for now, in lighter spirits, all she wanted to do was feel at ease.

---

Hungary stared at herself in the mirror. She couldn't hide the disgust in her eyes. She closed them, drawing her thoughts to Budapest and the demands of her own people. Since 1848 they'd wanted more. Equality, dignity, common respect. This renegotiation of terms would do little to quell those demands. Everyone had to know this was temporary, that this wouldn't (or, really, it couldn't) be her permanent fate. Erzsébet shuddered at the thought, her eyes open again and staring with a quiet determination.

She took a sip from the bottle of wine besides her. An empty one laid on the floor. Erzsébet had been drinking all day, trying to quiet the noise in her head. It hadn't been effective. Deep breath in, out. In, out. This was purely political, nothing personal. A rap at the door roused her from her thoughts.

Prussia sauntered into the bedroom. He stood before her and took both of her hands in his. "I do." At her incredulous look, he smiled. "What? I'm practicing for when it's my turn." He took a step back to admire her fully. "You look absolutely gorgeous. I'm jealous."

She kissed his cheek. It was her turn to check him out. "I'm impressed. You look so natural, no longer like a scared dog when you're dressed up." She laughed at his aggrieved expression. "I'm teasing, though it's true."

He rolled his eyes, not wanting to comment on that. Instead, he went to the window to see whether they were ready for them down in the garden. They had some time still. Gilbert sipped from his flask, though it did nothing to calm his upset. "Are you still sure we can't flee? I think we could get away with stealing a couple horses."

"We could, but I'd feel bad for the guests that had to travel." Her head appeared on his shoulder, arms enveloping his waist. "Let's get this over with. The sooner the inks dried, the sooner we can all forget about this."

They made their way down the stairs, hand-in-hand, providing quiet support for the other. Hungary stopped suddenly before they could enter into the garden. Prussia shot her a look. "What happened to 'getting this over with'? Some of them can see us, you can't get cold feet now."

Erzsébet pulled him down into a deep kiss, onlookers be damned. "I do." His eyes shot open, pleasantly startled and surprised. He began trying to speak, but she pressed her finger against his lips and winked. "Just practicing."

As they walked out, Prussia suddenly didn't care what was happening. He didn't care that he very noticeably had red lipstick on his face nor that the Austrian dignitaries looked about ready to send some strongly worded letters to Berlin about his impropriety. He did appreciate the knowing smile from France, who was shaking his head in amusement. For now, he was on top of the world and could imagine they were here for him. He even felt bold enough to give her a peck on the cheek before taking his place to stand besides a fuming Austria.

It quickly began to fade away as the minister spoke, reciting vows that he was not apart of. He knew his eyes were supposed to be on the priest, but he couldn't remove them from Erzsébet. Her beauty was overtaking. She was so close, what was stopping him from shoving Roderich to the side and taking his place besides her? This was symbolic anyways and, at the very least, it would make for a good show. He could easily overpower any of these people here - except, possibly, any other nation but why would they stop him? Only Austria cared - so it was purely a moral conundrum. Look! It was his chance! He had plenty of reasons why these two should not be wed, he could list them by heart right now.

"Actually-" the whole wedding party's eyes shifted to him. Austria looked ready to strike, silently urging him to go on so there could be a brawl. But it was Hungary Gilbert was really looking at. Hungary, his Erzsi, who shook her head just slightly. Prussia swallowed his bile and fixed his gaze on Roderich, turning his contempt at him. "I don't think he can handle her."

The crowd, pleased and taking it for familial ribbing, laughed. The trio at the altar shared an uneasy moment, Prussia and Austria begging each other to start something right there. Hungary was staring the minister down, forcing him to continue. The priest complied, clearing his throat and drawing back the two men's attention.

As the ceremony continued, Gilbert felt himself being sucked back in, able to willfully ignore Roderich from his vision and again only see Erzsébet. His breath caught in his throat. How beautiful she was, how absolutely stunning. The life he could imagine with her. Hell, the life he'd been imagining with her since they were two little rascals, terrorizing all of Europe in their zeal. She was his partner-in-crime, his soulmate, the only being alive who ever understood him so completely. He caught himself mouthing along to the vows, promising to cherish her for better or poorer, for sickness or in health. He caught her eyes. She blushed and Gilbert's heart swelled till it felt ready to burst. Roderich elbowed him in the ribs and his head was yanked from the clouds. How bitter reality tasted.

The crowd, especially the Austrian and Hungarian delegations, erupted into cheers. When they parted, Gilbert couldn't stop himself. "Have you guys ever slept together? That was such a sexless kiss, do you want me to take her on the honeymoon instead?"

Erzsébet tried to hide her laugh behind her free hand. Roderich forced a smile for the crowd and, through gritted teeth, hissed, "I would sooner wish you dead."

The reception began without affair. Prussia made himself comfortable by the bar, ordering back beer after beer without a care. Once he had a nice buzz, the day began to feel much more tolerable. Gilbert looked around at all the suits before him. Sure, the company was stuffy, but at least he could drink for free and would be left reasonably enough alone. The dream of isolation was crushed by a worried Roderich approaching. "We're in trouble."

Gilbert raised his hands up. "I've been here, I haven't broken anything! France probably did it, go start something with him!"

"Not that kind of trouble! Unfortunately, my people want this looking as real as possible so you have to give a speech. I don't know what they think our relationship is really like, but apparently they think you capable of not making us all look like imbeciles." Roderich crossed his arms over his chest, his left foot tapping in agitation. "Try not to let your quest for making me look stupid take everyone else down with you." He grabbed a glass of champagne and tried to hand it to Gilbert. "Take this instead, it makes you look more dignified."

"Roderich, we already look like morons, how much worse can I make it?" He sneered at the champagne. "To hell with sophistication, I'm drinking what I'm drinking. Piss off."

They stalked away to the center of the room. Once Austria was seated by Hungary, Prussia started banging a knife against his glass. Instead of a delicate tapping, it was a loud clanging that certainly got everyone's attention. Showtime. "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. None of us are here because we want to be, but because we have to be. Doubly so for the bride and the groom." Receiving a warm laugh, Gilbert felt emboldened. He turned to the couple and smiled. "I should talk mainly about them, I guess. This is, ostensibly, their night. What a beautiful bride, you don't deserve her, Roddy. Oh, Erzsi, you'll have to be on high alert. You don't know where some treacherous Prussian might try and take you." He shot a knowing look at his crowd before turning his attention back to her. "He might be sleeping next to your room, be careful." The crowd roared in approving laughter. She shot him a look and he kissed her hand. "Really, I mean it. You're the most amazing woman on the earth. If you ever need to get away from him, I know a hotel in Berlin that's always open."

The crowd was loving him. Roderich, on the other hand, was not. Gilbert turned his attention to him. "Aw, Little Master is getting jealous. Don't worry, I'm getting to you too." He opened his mouth to speak, a thousand taunts in his mind. "After you got married to Spain, I never would've expected to see you wind up with a woman. Though, if we go by medieval standards, can we be sure this really is a valid marriage?" Prussia held Austria's gaze, daggers passing between them. "Makes you wonder who's arranged so many political marriages: you or Queen Victoria." The audience was still receptive, still believing all parties were in on the joke. A thousand different taunts danced across Gilbert's tongue. It would be so easy to keep going. He shook his head and smiled, conjuring up something different. Prussia looked out at the guests. "Isn't he a bastard? I've had to deal with him for centuries. Centuries, always chasing at my coattails." Prussia shook his head, nostalgia getting to him for a second. "What a bastard. Now, I'm supposed to give him these warm regards and act like we're best of friends. He's the France to my Britain, the Athens to my Sparta, the thorn in my side."

Austria put a hand to his chest, genuinely touched. "Prussia, that's quite sweet actually. The Athens to your Sparta? You detest me that much?" The guests, finding their whole dynamic peculiar, returned to idle conversations and dancing among themselves. "And here I thought my loathing for you was too strong."

Prussia gave him a strange look. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Three glasses of wine in the morning and three of champagne after the ceremony. Can you tell?"

Gilbert nodded. "Horribly." An idea came to mind. "Hey, are you two going on a honeymoon afterwards? Not much of a real one, but to get these fools to buy into the whole charade?"

"We're going to Venice for a few days. Some beautiful hotel my emperor booked to make her people think everything is warm and loving on my end." Roderich dramatically rolled his eyes. "Like it would be. They think their lady is incapable of being so cruel and selfish."

Said lady patted him on the arm. "I can hear you." There was a lack of emotion behind her eyes. "I would consider your words with a bit more tact if I were you."

In his stupor, Austria disregarded her. "Oh, please. You've said worse about me to my face." He began considering where they were and who they were around. "On second thought, that's probably good advice."

Just then, France sauntered up to the three of them. He raised his glass of champagne, his eyes filled with mock joy. "My congratulations to the couple. What a beautiful union." He turned his attention to Prussia, who was growing more annoyed by his presence. "Any idea on when you'll officially join or will you be forced to continue in your supporting role?"

Prussia glowered, balling his hands into fists. What he would give to smack that stupid look off the Frenchman's face. Austria, in his stupor, mistook his derision for genuine kindness. "Thank you, Francis. It's a lovely thing, isn't it? How wonderful it all is." He drank down another glass of champagne and shook his head. "Ah, my head feels fuzzy."

Hungary handed him another glass. "Drink this and you'll feel better." At France's surprised look, she shrugged. "Isn't it better for us all if he's completely out of it?"

"It's probably...for the best if I...mingle with the other guests. See how. They're doing." Roderich muttered. He rose on shaky feet. "Yes, I should. Make the rounds." He smiled at the three nations in front of him before turning to walk back to the house.

"Roderich! The guests are the other way! Oh, never mind. It's better he goes and sleeps it off." Francis chuckled, sipping from his glass. He cast a conspiratorial look between Gilbert and Erzsébet. "What do you two have planned? I can't expect that you'll both take this lying down. I was hoping for a better show." Silence. He sighed. "I'm not asking for the intimate details on...whatever this mess you three are in. Simply enough, I don't care. But I came here expecting a bigger blowout and I'm desperate for it. It would be out of character for either of you to take such a provocation with no push back."

Gilbert rubbed the bridge of his nose. He did not want to be having this conversation with Francis of all people. They really had no choice though, especially with how he was staring at them. "I'm trying to figure out a way to get rid of Roderich so I can go on the honeymoon instead. Erzsi thinks it's an insane idea so she's not being very helpful."

"Because it's ludicrous! His people paid for the damn trip, Gil. They're going to ask him about it and he has to have some idea on what to lie about." She huffed, crossing her arms. "This isn't as easy as locking him out of his own bedroom."

Francis raised an eyebrow. Now that was a story he'd like to know more about. The best way to hear about that juicy bit of gossip would be to get in their good graces, provide them with some sort of indispensable service. He snapped his fingers. "He went back inside, he's probably passed out cold in bed. How soon do you think it'll be before he wakes up?"

"I don't know, not until mid-morning at the latest. Why does that matter?" Erzsébet sighed, sipping from her glass.

Gilbert understood. His eyes lit up and a grin cracked across his face. "My God, Francis you're a genius! If we sneak out tonight, we'll be in Venice in no time! Between the hangover and how much time it would take, Roderich won't be able to do anything to stop us!" He took Erzsébet's hands and kissed them. "We can stick it to that bastard! Come on, Erzsi, let's do it!"

What a tantalizing idea. She bit her lip. There would be hell to pay when they came home. Roderich would be in a rage. But, he wouldn't want to appear weak to his own government. He'd likely lie to them about what happened. There would be no reprisals against her people. She was a big girl, she could handle all the negative personal repercussions. Erzsébet smiled, laughing. "Why not? It'll be a much better time."

They got up, giggling to each other. Francis stopped them, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Before you two go, a favor. I think it's only fair that you provide me with some indispensable information in return for my assistance with your predicament. Please, tell me about that incident where you locked him out of his own room?"

---

Sunlight beamed down into the bedroom and into Roderich's eyes. He groaned. His head was throbbing violently. Remembering yesterday, he cursed himself for how much he drank in his victory. "Erzsébet, are you awake yet?" His voice was hoarse and his mouth felt like sandpaper. "We should leave soon."

No answer. He reached his arm across the bed, his hand grasping mattress instead. "Erzsébet?" Roderich sat up and looked around the room. There was no trace of her. Her packed bags were gone. He stumbled across the hall to Gilbert's room. "Gilbert, have you seen Erzsébet?" He knocked on the door and received silence.

"No." The room was empty of all of Gilbert's belongings. Panic settled into his stomach like a brick. They wouldn't. No, they absolutely wouldn't. It was too brazen, even for them. Roderich ran down the stairs and grabbed one of his servants. "Where the hell are they?"

"Frau Héderváry and Herr Beilschmidt left around four hours ago, sir." The servant smiled, forgetting herself. "They looked quite happy. I had some cleaning to do and didn't wish to get in their way." With that, the maid went back on her merry way, not caring about the distraught look on her boss' face.

Roderich ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't stop himself from laughing. A thousand wicked plots rose into his mind. "I'm going to kill that bastard. They have to return to Vienna eventually." He had never been so sure of something in his life.

---

Gilbert looked out through the carriage window. He reflected on the previous day as he watched the Austrian landscape roll by. His heart still ached from what the confines of existence and the current political reality had forbid him from doing. But, in unspoken moments and through messages meant for an audience of two, he knew what really mattered. In all these years of sneaking around and growing feelings, he'd strangely never felt so secured in where he stood with Erzsébet.

"Gilbert? Are you paying any attention?" Erzsébet nudged him with her shoulder. She broke out into an easy laugh. "You're in a completely different world."

"That's not true. Even in my thoughts, I'm still with you." He leaned against her, breathing in the smell of her hair. If he closed his eyes, he could believe this is what tranquility would feel like. "When we get to Venice, what are we doing first?"

#hws prussia #aph prussia #hws hungary #aph hungary #hws austria #aph austria #hws aushun #aph aushun #aushun #pruhun #aph pruhun #hws pruhun #hetalia #aph #hws #hetalia fanfic #hetalia fanfiction

24 notes · View notes

christinesficrecs · 6 years ago

Note

hey boo!! i was wondering if ya got any fics you could recommend that have tattooed stiles? xx

Ooh yes!!! 😍

Beltane by DevilDoll | 8.2K

Watching Stiles heal someone has always been a little uncomfortable for Derek, like he's seeing something intimate and private that shouldn't have an audience. That's nothing compared to how it feels.

Layover by dr_girlfriend | 3.6K

Big, serious brown eyes were staring right into his from only a few inches away. The child had clambered half over the arm of Derek’s chair to study him at close range, her little rosebud mouth pursed in concentration.

“Uh.” Derek couldn’t look away as the girl reached out one pudgy hand and patted him gently on the cheek. Her scent was soft and sweet and somehow a bit familiar, just enough to keep Derek from shying away. Derek didn’t know too much about kids but he guessed this one was probably three years old or so, head still oversized in proportion to the short limbs and round little belly.

She seemed fascinated with Derek’s beard, eyes widening further under incredibly thick lashes as she petted Derek’s cheek some more, smoothing down the short stubble. Finally she grinned widely. “Good wuff.”

Queer Your Coffee by alisvolatpropiis | 3K

For a second, he thinks he must have fallen asleep while he was waiting, because what he sees when he looks in the window surely must be a dream.

Stunning brown eyes like glowing honey and sweet little nose, slightly upturned; a shapely pink mouth, bottom-lip pierced by a thin black hoop that he's worrying with the tip of his tongue as he smiles a gorgeous hello.

He's the most beautiful man Derek's ever seen.

And he’s shirtless.

So, uh, wanna be my boyfriend? by Nerdy_fangirl_57 | 3.6K

Derek broke up with Kate Argent less than a week ago and she already has a new batch of arm candy plastered on her side. Everyone around campus is gossiping about when Derek will ‘move on’ and get a new girlfriend.

Thing is, dating is the last thing Derek has in mind after the disaster that was Kate Argent. Then Kate starts getting a bit too ‘friendly’ with him and he snaps.

“I have a boyfriend!”

And that’s how he got tangled up into agreeing to go on a double date with Kate and her boyfriend on Friday, leaving him with only 3 days to find a fake boyfriend.

Font size twenty-four by Vendelin | 10.4K

Stiles is a librarian and research professional extraordinaire. So, when Derek comes in, asking for help with research for his new book, it's only natural for Stiles to offer his help. He just didn't count on late night waffle eating, or that his heart would go boom.

Flowerwolf & Beacon Roots by alisvolatpropiis | 5.2K

Derek tries not to show his surprise, curiously hopeful, but still suspicious of Laura’s involvement. “Oh. How do you know my coffee order then?”

He grins. “The cute baristo knows your order, dude. All I had to do was ask for Grumpy Flower Guy’s usual.”

Derek huffs. “I’m not grumpy.”

“He says grumpily,” Stiles smirks, winking.

Dragon’s Breath by trilliath | 56.1K

Between the hunters and the monsters that have interfered with life in Beacon Hills, the pack has had to learn a lot in the last few years, including Stiles teaching himself to practice magic in private. It's not exactly a secret from the pack, but it's not something he's shown much. When it comes time to put his skills to the test, Derek is the only one who finally gets to see Stiles's wild magic put to use saving Erica's life from a new threat in town.The aftermath changes something between them, and those tenuous lines tangling them together may mean the difference between life and death for them both.

little boy lost by smartalli | 14.8K

If someone asked Stiles to write a parenting book, Stiles would say the best and most important rule is to love your kid. Just love the hell out of them, and make sure they know it.

The second most important rule would be don’t turn your back on a curious three year old with supernatural speed.

Stiles is currently failing at the second rule. Badly.

Better Fortunes by SmallBirds | 39.6K

When a group of sinister men attempt to kidnap Stiles Stilinski from the Brooklyn apartment he shares with his stepsister, Lydia, Stiles is forced to activate a spell that translocates him to where he'll be safest.Derek Hale isn't sure what to do about the soaking wet young man he finds wandering down a Beacon County roadside during the middle of a thunderstorm, but he feels compelled to help him. There's something about Stiles that Derek finds fascinating, and before long the two become embroiled in each other's lives.Despite the threat to his life and the sudden upheaval of everything he's ever known, Stiles is having a hard time feeling too upset about that.

Stand Fast in Your Enchantments by DevilDoll, Rahciach | 76.9K

Stiles knew damn well what a pissed-off wolf sounded like, and every hair on the back of his neck was telling him that somewhere in this room was a very pissed-off werewolf.

There's Monsters at Home by calrissian18 | 83.6K

“How did you get past the wards?” Derek had put them up, with Peter’s grudging assistance, after the Alpha pack had made themselves at home a few times too many.

The guy pulled a face. “You mean the wards a five-year-old girl with the mental ability of a goldfish could deconstruct?” He blinked wide eyes at Derek. “Gee, I don’t know. It’s bound to go down as one of life’s great mysteries.”

Derek despised him.

A Desperate Arrangement by mikkimouse | 115.5K

After seven years of lengthy negotiations, the treaty between the Hales and the Argents has fallen apart and the two countries fell into war.

Months later, there's an uneasy truce, thanks to the intervention of King Scott McCall, but it won't last. In a desperate attempt to maintain the peace, the Hales sign a treaty with the McCalls to marry Prince Derek to Prince Stiles Stilinski, King Scott's brother.

In the history of the world, there have been many better ideas.

Tattoo My Heart by inhystereks | 2.3K

Stiles was born with the phases of the moon tattooed down his spine.

As he grew older, he would lay awake at night wondering.

Why the moon?

And when Scott got bitten, he laughed until he cried. And then laughed some more.

#asks #sterek #ficrecs #tattooed stiles #Anonymous

1K notes · View notes

strawberryybird · 5 years ago

Note

So whats your favorite thing about each of your fe3h favs? Anything you could just go on a long rant about for any of them? or interactions between them that you wish had happened or wanted to happen.

Waking up in the morning and going through all of the drunk blogging and “-thank-u-for-weathering-my-deep-need-to-be-liked-and-given-attention-off-main-I-guess” if this isn’t a whole mood on its own I don’t know what is. Anyways it sounds like you had fun and it was definetly fun reading everything. I hope you are feeling okay the day after everything. And to tack on a random question which fe3h character would you want to get drunk with if it was just the two of you?

Hi Hello!! thank u for enjoying my drunk blogging !!! and for the asks!!! (and the lovely comments on my fics actually hi there ur wonderful!!!) i’m currently cursing the damage i’ve done to my sleep schedule and suffering under my (truly deserved) hangover lmao ;p apologies u don’t get drunk me, only uncaffeinated hangover me, but we talk to the same degree and make the same spelling errors lol

ah yes.. im a fountain of moods (all of u still with me here are saints hhhh)

ok content time:

the second one first: i absolutely want to get drunk with ferdinand von aegir. the man’s a hop, skip and a vodka shot away from a mess. i love him. he’d be full of conversation and would buy the rounds every time as a true nobleman should !! he’d probably be really good at instigating drinking games but horrible at playing them.. i love party gay ferdie von aegir.

i’m going to LIMIT the faves i list because truly i love them all very much but i have to at least pretend i have some restraint and i don’t want to make this even More of a wall of text it’s going to become . SO

edit: ok i started writing this at like. half ten pm. when the fuck did it become monday.

edit edit: Disclaimer time: these are my conclusions and my conclusions alone. I’m not saying I’m objectively right or correct. I’m very much approaching this from an English Lit-ish point of view because that’s just how I look at a lot of media. I’m not asserting my opinions or conclusions as the only viable to interpret this media, and if anything I say offends you then I am sorry, it was not my intention but I acknowledge that I have hurt you. This is not the exhaustive list of my thoughts on the whole thing, there’s a lot more depth and detail I didn’t go in to.

My favourite thing about Edelgard is the Everything, but notably I really love her proud nature and how in VW it quite directly gets her *spoilered*, and in CF it’s integral to her success (bc it’s her own rigidity within herself that keeps her standing i think) and I Like Tragic Characters (and it’s very elinor dashwood). because it’s one of the qualities that can throw her character into a villainous light & it’s really interesting !! but at the same time.. it’s not quite ‘pride’ purely, and it’s kinda the wrong word. it’s some mixture of determined/stubbon, anger, self-reliance, and that really hard veneer of personality u develop when you’re around people who aren’t healthy for you to be around, and the very very critical need to be right about the choices you made because the weight of the consequences would kinda ruin you if you weren’t. (the dean winchester effect huh) and wrap that up together with a big scoop of ‘i believe my way is right’ (’and my way Has to be right’) and then u get a lot of what i LOVE about Edelgard’s character

My favourite thing about Dorothea is really how she was the character that Hated the war. genuinely the contrast between white clouds dorothea & timeskip dorothea Breaks My Heart EVery Time I See Her !!!!! that and Spoilers!!! (her last words in AM unrecruited is edelgards name and i literally had to stop and cry about it for five minutes.) she’s one of the characters that post-war doesn’t have a Massive political stake in the war - like there’s her anger towards the current class system (another reason i bloody love her PLEASE give me angry feminine characters) but i think it’s her bonds with edie (or byleth&whoever if recruited) that keep her actually fighting in the war & it’s kinda different and i like that (actually i think she parallels/sends up/contrasts really really nicely with mercedes in that way)

my favourite thing about Marianne is just everything. how she finds worth within herself if you play VW (and the very very harrowing hc that she didn’t if you don’t), how she’s full of a quiet rage for the crest system but you eek it out of her as you play the game. how she’s still loved by the deers despite her appalling mental health (fight me on that canon) and the game essentially has her ‘save’ herself by finding worth and life within herself. i love her so much ok. (i also love her because she committed identity theft.. she and i share a name with the second dashwood sister oho (but i don’t use that name on the internet hhh) (also because my favourite shakespeare play is king lear (no really it is), my birthday is in red wolf moon too, i used to have very long hair i wore in a plait most days for school, little 11 and 17 year old me acted Exactly like white clouds marianne did & genuinely i love marianne von edmund to pieces but God it hurts to see her in game sometimes bc her journey mirrors a lot of mine & i love this character. so much.) WOW that was a lot. am i sure im not still drunk

so claude is not only one of my favourite characters in the whole damn game, but also shares the name of one of my favourite painters so i simply have to love him ;p however i can’t give a proper opinion on him yet because i haven’t finished playing deers yet :( but !! i love how (as is with all the lords) he has a veneer of personality to him, but in contrast to Edie where it’s quite seemless with her actual personality, Claude’s veneer of personality seems very opaque and plastered on. i may or may not just be wildly imagining things but he’s a very different personality in his lower supports with Lysithea than he is in his B support with Marianne, for instance. like, i love characters that are obviously a lot more socially intelligent than i could ever be, and claude is *chef kiss* BEAUTIFUL ON EVERY LEVEL.

i’d wax lyrical about Ingrid too but honestly there’s many better people out there with the good ingrid content than i could do. shortly, i love the New Take on the pegasus knight archetype she brings, and i really like her perspective on femininity !!! she’s such a good character & she brings so much to the game and to the pegasus knight character too!!!!! she’s such a bright personality and altho i wish so many of her supports weren’t centred around make-up (hhh dorogrid fans i pray for you), i think she’s really going to pave the way for whoever’s next in that character slot. (like, you can’t tell me she’s not an offshoot of Phila from awakening lmao)

no ok i’m adding in Hubert because i love this vampire man. i really really love the devoted servant archetype and we all know i love edelgard’s tragedy. and i love hubert. so much. the way he enables edelgard in pretty much everything is just so so interesting to think about, and i love his intensity about it. he’s like the ever present reminder that edelgard’s will kinda has to work otherwise the potential consequences of her being wrong are personified in hubert imo. it’s only touched on in VW in his letter but like. god i wish we got more but it’s a wonderful starting block. i love his comic relief as well, he’s such a fun character to have !!!! and also i have so many hubert fics in my bookmarks that just Get him. i love hubert. oh i love hubert.

i’m going to cut myself off there because . that’s just a LOT.

as for characters i would sell a limb to have them talk to each other, honestly it’s Edelgard/Marianne. (and only 51% because of all the projection i have going on with those two ok don’t at me i k n o w). that support chain would be too powerful and honestly i wish they had one becuauese it would have gone so Hard about what Edelgard was doing and what Marianne thought about it, and how they connected over it & they probably would have had their supports set over cups of tea or smth .. it would have been amazing.

(but i’d rather have nothing than an awakening-level-content support where they talk about eating fucking bear meat instead of talking about how they grew to trust each other with and their ability to save the fate of the world HUH AWAKENING. (i’m salty about fredrobin forever)

also hilda/dorothea supports . we were robbed. they’re best friends and you can’t actually tell me otherwise. they run the disaster bi chat of garreg mach. honestly i just would Love a support chain for them that starts with them talking about self care routines and something really small like accessories or perfume and it goes into how self-esteem and how dorothea has to find the same worth in herself as hilda so easily can. (hilda’s the queen of self esteem she’s a babe) and in CF they could have dialogue and then we cry about it. and in SS they talk about how they both chose their place with Byleth and not at edie/claude’s side like i’m just free balling here it could be Anything and i’d love it.

also big shocker .. dorothea/marianne supports . they both hate themselves in their profile CAN THEY PLEASE CHAT.

also i accidentally fell in love with the claude/edelgard ship and i desperately need them to interact on the same level that edie and dimitri get to because.. aren’t there supposed to be three main characters huh intsys .. and like i get what the game goes for with two of the lords embroiled in a personal war against each other at the heart and the third actually finding something close to the truth because he’s not involved in age old grudge matches but at the same time That’s one of the things that really really falls flat for me in the game. dimitri’s villain is edie, edie’s villain is big dragon wife, claude’s villain is the lack of communication that everyone in fodlan suffers from apparently. lack of communication and lies. ymmv with what im saying rn but i would have preferred if all three lords had strong personal ties to each other and in Each Route it was brought up. or just snip dimitri’s dialogue out of CF because i have beef with how that WHOLE moment went down on so many accounts hhhh honestly it makes me angerey to think about lol

.. back on topic- can the lords pls talk to each other because it would be SO interesting in white clouds and i like seeing how their personality presentations clash

also . can i marry manuela yet. my crops are dying here.

.. im so sorry about this but it’s midnight and i’m too tired to edit so. have this. thank you so much for the questions!!!! very kind (and brave) of you to ask me!!!!! i had a lot of fun writing all of this & as always if anything you didn’t quite /get/ i’m happy to re-explain myself!! :)

#ask #OH HELL THIS IS A POST HUH #fe meta #i mean it's not its just me having opinions rather loudly on ur dash #also that paragraph about edelgard is pretty much what i keep in mind to write her for my rtau fic #this is LONG im SO SORRY but NOT SORRY AT ALL #ur an actual angel if u sat thru this all #anyway. thank u so much for the ask that's so kind of u and i sent this mess back out into the world #my apologies oml #ok it's gone midnight im hitting post before i chaneg my mind #kalinary

12 notes · View notes

amydancepants-peralta · 6 years ago

Note

3, 23, and 45 for the prompts!

Hiii Anon, I’m so sorry this took me a while! But here go you, response to 23: “Just tell me why you did it! Because I’m in love with you, ok!”

Title courtesy of Foo Fighters (and I know the lyric ‘is watch him as he goes’, but ‘falls’ works much better here, so just roll with me on this xD) Hope you enjoy! xx

there goes my hero (watch him as he falls)

There had always been a tiny part of Amy’s mind that was a little concerned that maybe she wasn’t the badass she made herself out to be.

Sure, she knew how to fight. But that was because she grew up watching (and learning) as her siblings sparred. She was tenacious, because with her and her Mom as the only two women in the house, she had learned quickly the importance of standing your ground. And she certainly knew how to use her mind, but the mind wasn’t everything. Logically, she knew that she was tough - and always held onto the belief that when push came to shove, her natural born instinct would be to fight like hell.

That was until this afternoon, when she and Jake had followed up on what turned out to be bad intel from her CI, resulting in them chasing their perp into a nearby stockyard. With his head start, neither of them had managed to catch which direction he’d been heading in and so they’d split up, Jake heading west while she stayed east (or, as Jake had put it, you go this way and I’ll go that way).

Maybe it was the lack of sleep she’d experienced the night before. Or maybe it was sheer stupidity. But for whatever reason, she didn’t notice the perp gaining on her until it was too late, and he was standing in front of her with the barrel of his gun pointing straight at her chest.

And she froze. Despite all the training, and god knows how many simulations she’d been in. She froze.

The rest of it played over and over in her head, a continuous loop she cannot seem to escape. She remembers her body tensing up as she heard the perp cock his weapon, remembers her eyes squinting as her face turned into a grimace, and then suddenly: Jake was there. He was there, and his hand was on her shoulder pushing her away, his body in-between hers and the perps, and then the shot rang out.

Round and round. The shot rang out, and Jake was there, and then suddenly he wasn’t.

He was on the ground, and a scarily large pool of red was surrounding him, and the perp was getting away but she didn’t care. Instead she was shouting words into the radio, free hand frantically pushing her jacket off her body to cover the wound (a through and through, she remembers thinking), and before long there were paramedics and officers and Terry’s familiar voice and her hands just would not stop shaking.

This wasn’t her first time witnessing a shooting. And as part of her job, she knew it would not be her last, either. But this one had been different. She’d never had her partner in front of her, mouthing her name as his face grew pale and her once grey jacket pushed against his shoulder, turning crimson at an alarmingly rapid rate. Never had the knowledge that it should have been her on the ground, because she was the one that froze, and now Jake was on the ground bleeding and it was all her fault.

There has just been so much blood. It was what she kept coming back to, what she found herself repeating to Terry over and over in the car on the way to the hospital - There was so much blood, Sarge, don’t you think there was so much blood? Too much blood to be okay. I’ve never seen that much blood. Terry? Was it too much blood? He’d remained silent beside her, eyes trained on the road ahead, clenching jaw the only indicator that he’d heard her at all.

And then Amy was silent too, mind lost in the memory of the previous week. Her consuming one too many drinks at Shaws, followed by Jake taking her home in a cab. She had been so eager to stop the world from spinning, resting her head on his shoulder, but that only seemed to make it spin faster. Before long his nose was in her hair, and okay, maybe she was completely drunk but she could have sworn she heard him say her name. She’d lifted her head to answer him, but his eyes were closed, and there was so little distance between them that Amy could feel his breath against her skin. The urge to push forward - to close the gap and find out if his lips were as soft as they looked - was strong, but then he’d opened his eyes and she’d felt her face rush with blood, the blush so obvious from being so clearly caught out.

He’d smiled at her, that small smile that he’s only given her a handful of times, the one that was secretly her favourite, and her heart had skipped a tiny beat. And then the cab had pulled over outside her apartment, and just like that, the moment was gone.

It had been close to a year working together when the conversation of dating colleagues had come up. Jake had been filling the silence of a stakeout with his usual jabber and had just finished describing, in elaborate detail, the disaster that his previous relationship had left behind. That she had been a cop from another precinct, and that things were great until they weren’t, and that before Jake knew it he’d unknowingly embroiled the Nine-Nine in an all-out war with the Eight-Six.

It had taken months for their Sergeant to smooth things over, he’d admitted sheepishly, and Amy couldn’t help but take the opportunity to announce that she never wanted to date another cop. Nothing but bad ideas, she remembered saying, and if she had only glanced back in Jake’s direction, then she too would have seen the flicker of anguish that had crossed his face.

But she hadn’t, and even as they grew closer, Amy had held onto the rule like her talisman - fooling even herself into believing that they didn’t flirt with each other, that they weren’t growing closer every day, and that there definitely weren’t nights where Jake infiltrated her dreams.

An hour passes by. And her mind never stops thinking about what happened.

She finds herself standing outside his hospital room, filled with irrational anger, willing herself to calm the hurricane down before stepping through the door. At some point Terry exits and takes one look at her appearance - hair long pulled from its professional ponytail; bottom lip red from her incessant chewing, arm a constellation of crescent scars as her nails continue to dig in - and wisely steps aside, mumbling something about Jake getting changed into a clean shirt, and still Amy finds herself unable to step into the room.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, she shakes her hands free and pushes the door open with a little more force than was probably necessary. It bounces off the wall with a heavy bang, not unlike the sound of the gun earlier that evening, and she jumps at the sound. She turns, sheepishly looking for him, and he’s sitting at the edge of the bed in a standard issue NYPD shirt, one arm wrapped in a sling, eyes wide and strangely silent.

He’s been waiting for her. She can tell from the look on his face. But the sudden confrontation of her partner in front of her, one shoulder covered in gauze and nursed against his chest is unfamiliar to her, and everything she had been about to say suddenly seems irrelevant.

He clears his throat, sensing her discomfort because of course he does, he’s her partner, and he knows her body language better than she does. “So, they said I have to keep my arm in a sling for the next couple of days, but that otherwise I’m fine.”

She nods, fingers digging into her arms again.

“Through and through. Only a few stitches, really. That good ol’ Peralta Luck came through for me again.”

Another nod. He sighs.

“I’m fine, Amy.“

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “But it could’ve been worse.”

“It could’ve, yeah. But it wasn’t.”

“You weren’t there,” she whispered, trying desperately to fight the tears threatening to escape. “You were on the other side of the yard, away from the danger. And then, you - ”

“I heard his footsteps. Dude was a heavy walker. There was nothing happening on my side, but on your side, I could hear his. Yours, I would know anywhere. And when they both stopped, I knew something must have been going down. The rest, I guess, is history.”

“You should have stayed away, Jake.” There is was, that irrational anger that Amy had thought she’d managed to stash away, rearing its ugly head. “You should have stayed back, and called for backup, and not put yourself into harm’s way.”

Jake shakes his head, his disagreement so obvious that it serves only to fuel her fire.

“You know I’m right on this, Peralta! We weren’t even wearing vests. It made absolutely NO sense for both of us to end up in front of that gun. You could’ve distracted him, tried to take him down, or - ”

“Don’t you dare suggest that I should have stood there and watched him shoot you, Santiago. There’s not a chance in hell that I was ever going to let that happen.”

“Alright, fine. But still ….”

He stands, craning his neck as he clenches his jaw, mouth turning into a grimace as he fights to say what he so obviously is dying to say.

And so she pushes. “Just tell me why you did it, Jake!”

“Because I LOVE YOU, okay? Are you happy now? I love you. I am so in love with you it’s ridiculous.”

She stares at him, mouth opening slightly as his outburst continues.

“And I know you don’t want to date cops, and I know that we’re better off just being partners, and I’m trying the best I can to not be in love with you. But I can’t do that when there is a bullet flying towards you, Amy. I can’t. I won’t. There’s no point to any of this without you here.”

“ … Jake.”

He shakes his head, taking a step back. “Don’t. It doesn’t matter, Ames. I’ve been getting pretty good at the whole ‘Jake Doesn’t Love Amy’ act, and after tonight I’ll fall right back into the role, I promise.”

“But, I -”

“Seriously, Amy. You’re off the hook. This whole thing is just as much my fault as it is yours, and honestly, I’ve been holding out for a super cool scar for ages, so who’s to say that I wasn’t just thinking about that when I did it?”

The memory of his warm breath on her skin in the backseat of a cab washes over her again, and Amy knows that this time she can’t let the moment slip away.

That maybe she was a badass, but that her bravery sometimes took on other forms. A stranger pointing a gun at her could make her freeze, but the mere thought of walking out of this hospital room without finally being honest about her feelings could propel her into immediate action.

That this was Peralta, and yes, he drove her crazy sometimes, but also: this was Jake, the man that filled her with the intrinsic knowledge that he would never do anything to hurt her. That after today, he was going to have a scar on his shoulder, and that was entirely her fault. And she would be damned if she was going to be the reason there was a scar on his heart as well.

And so she steps forward, bold steps turning timid as the distance falls shorter, heart pounding out of her chest as she moves to place her hands on either side of his neck.

“ … Don’t.” His body stiffens.

She pulls back slightly, eyes raking over his face to distract herself from the sting, searching for more information. He shakes his head, sad brown eyes meeting hers.

“Don’t do this because I’ve made you feel bad about today. I don’t want you to kiss me because you feel obligated.” Another shake of his head, looking away as he closes his eyes. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I only want you to kiss me if..” he never finishes the sentence, because suddenly her mouth is on his, and in an instant everything else just seems to fall away.

She was kissing him, and it shouldn’t make any sense, but it absolutely did. He was the perfect fit, lips slotting against hers, warm and soft and fundamentally Jake. His body freezes, but only for a moment, and then she feels him melt into it, releasing a soft sigh into her mouth as she presses harder.

This was it – this was the feeling that she had been waiting for. That sense of fulfilment, of everything clicking together for the first time in a long time. And right now, Amy can’t think of any logical reason why she had held back for so long. He could have died today. Jake could have died, and she would never have felt what it was like to kiss him. And honestly, that would have been a terrible waste.

Slowly – reluctantly - she pulls away, smiling as his lips chase hers as she moves.

“I …” she swallows, throat suddenly dry. “I don’t know if I’m ready to say the L-word just yet,” she whispers, forehead resting against his as she struggles to swallow again, her heart suddenly taking up residence under her tongue. “But I’m also not ready to go back to pretending.”

“Pretending?”

“Yeah. Pretending that this thing isn’t real. That I don’t think about kissing you every time I see you. You know, that kinda stuff.”

He raises his chin slightly, brushing his lips against hers in the most tantalising manner. “I might be familiar.”

It’s Amy’s turn to sigh against his mouth this time, pushing herself closer to him, reveling in the new sensation of Jake’s lips against hers, and in the back of her mind she wonders why they waited so long to do this. Something that feels as good as this did, should never have been denied.

His right hand traces light patterns against her shirt, sending tiny shockwaves along her spine, and as the kiss deepens he raises his left arm to pull her closer, the resulting groan of pain vibrating against her lips. She pulls away with a sigh, eyes flitting straight to his shoulder before returning to his face.

“You’re going to need someone to keep an eye on you, Jake. Make sure you don’t …”

“Do anything stupid?” She shrugs, and he reciprocates with a grin. “You’re not wrong. Although, if you want me to come home with you, you could’ve just asked.”

She pulls him in for another kiss, letting her teeth sink into his bottom lip this time in reprimand as she pulls away. His responding moan does things to her, and the years of repressed feelings begin to fight their way to the surface. Her head falls to his good shoulder, sighing as his arm circles around her, and although they were still standing in the middle of a hospital room, Amy already feels as if she is home.

Her actual home however, with all its comforts, beckons, and reluctantly she pulls away, trailing her hand down his right arm until her fingers are linked with his.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

A blush washes over her, and she resists the urge to tuck her hair away, choosing instead to keep her hand interlocked with his. Together they move towards the door, for the moment silent as the reality of what they have just started begins to sink in.

And then -

“So, just out of curiosity … would this be a bad time to mention that I’ve got a real thing for nurses in uniform?”

She smirks, leaving a mental tick to the checklist already forming in her head. “Duly noted, Detective.”

#my fic #b99 fanfic #cliche post prompts #here goes nothing #hero jake jumps before thinking #for anon

45 notes · View notes

wardencommanderrodimiss · 5 years ago

Text

I remembered a really goofy AU I dreamed up over the summer and I’m probably not gonna get around to doing all the art I wanted to do for it so let’s just talk about it instead. Let’s just chat about my Ace Attorney/Breath of the Wild AU.

(You all know me. You can’t be surprised by now.)

I have never actually played a Zelda game besides BotW, and I’ve cobbled this all together from only a few vague glances at the wiki. Just like, just work with me, okay.

THE MAIN CAST

Phoenix: a young Rito bard-in-training who leaves his training and the village in a quest to become a warrior and save his childhood friend, who he’s only now discovered did not so much “move away” as he was instead “kidnapped”. (Birdnapped? Hatchling-napped?)

Dahlia: a beautiful young Gerudo con artist who claims to be out traveling Hyrule searching for a husband, but has a tendency to rob men blind and leave them for dead - if she doesn’t leave them actually dead.

Mia: a Gerudo warrior who rescues Phoenix from Dahlia and takes him under her (metaphorical) wing to train him to fight. She’s out traversing the land searching not for a husband, but for her long-lost mother.

Maya: Mia’s sister, a young Gerudo magic-user training to become chief of all the Gerudo - all the ones in her tiny far-from-the-desert village, anyway. She is, how do you say, really fucking bored with it, and craving a life of adventure, she tags along with Phoenix.

Pearl: a very young and powerful Gerudo magic-user, and Maya and Mia’s little cousin. Maya rescues her from her cruel mother and takes her along with her and Phoenix on their world-traveling adventures.

Miles: a Rito warrior and Phoenix’s childhood friend, taken in and trained in the arts of war by his father’s murderer. That truth, when he finds out, shakes him to his core and sends him on a journey of self-discovery.

Franziska: a Hylian soldier, and Miles’ sister. The fact that her father is a cold-blooded murderer upended her life as well, but she loves her “little” bird brother more than her father and she herself has run off trying to track Miles down.

Gumshoe: a Goron traveler sworn to help Miles after Miles saved his life. He’s very friendly to Phoenix, Maya, and Pearl, and Franziska, but wishes they would all get along.

Godot: a Rito warrior forcibly retired and grounded after losing his sight in a fight with Dahlia. He loved Mia and resents Phoenix, thinking she wouldn’t have been killed if she hadn’t taken on dead weight.

Also I drew Phoenix

Anyway, so the main plot of this, as you may be able to gather, is that Phoenix, kind gentle and naive, finds out one day that his best friend from childhood actually wasn’t just adopted by a Hylian warrior who found Miles after his father was killed by monsters on the road. No, said Hylian warrior killed Miles’ father, stole Miles - thinking that having a warrior who is loyal to him and able to fly is a good deal - and just fucked off and got away with it all these years. Knowing this, Phoenix bids his home village adieu and sets out to learn to fight and find Miles and kick Manfred’s ass.

The first person that Phoenix meets is Dahlia, and they travel together for some time before she tries to pull her usual “rob him and murder him” modus operandi when dealing with a man, but Mia steps in and saves Phoenix. Phoenix thus ends up tagging along with Mia for a while, learning to fight from her, but she is unfortunately killed on the way back to her home village. Phoenix continues the rest of the way there to bring the news to her sister, and then he gets embroiled in some local Gerudo politics. (Like, local-local, like tiny village in the mountains on the other side of the continent from the desert politics.)

After this detour, he sets off again with Maya and Pearl in tow, all three of them with a renewed vow to find Miles or die trying. They end up meeting Franziska, who really doesn’t like them, but they learn from her that she’s Miles’ adoptive sister, she and Miles both know the truth of Miles’ father’s death, and Miles ran away first and she’s also looking for him. They don’t stick together, but because they’re both on Miles’ trail, they keep running into each other and butting heads. Gumshoe is also in and out of the picture.

Anyway eventually they find Miles and form the weirdest mercenary band anyone has ever known: two Rito, two Gerudo, a Hylian, and a Goron. Godot’s just dicking around somewhere in the background this whole time I don’t know when they meet him or where he ends up going.

Also, characters whose places in the story I haven’t thought out yet but I don’t want to not mention them at all, so.

Kay: Rito

Sebastian: Goron

Lang: Zora

Ray: Rito

Courtney: Hylian

Stay tuned (or not) for the next-gen cast.

#misc aa AUs #SEE this is what this tag is MADE FOR this kind of absolute fucking nonsense

3 notes · View notes

shipping-n-handling · 5 years ago

Note

hey idk if your still doing the writing prompt thing, but can you do one for bellarke?

Hey anon! Sorry for getting to this late, I’ve been doing a ton of schoolwork recently. I’ve been obsessed with the 100 and bellarke for a couple years now, so this was a nice change of pace from my normal content. Hope you enjoy, and I will be sending my therapist bills to you ;)

In the end, even stars must eventually die.

Clarke had been organizing the newly elected leaders of Sanctum and instructing them on the responsibilities of their roles. Raven was revamping the radiation shield surrounding the sanctuary and manufacturing more mobile stations to eventually expand it as the population grew. Murphy and Emori were somewhere in the Prime’s compound making that same population grow, while Indra, Octavia, and Diyoza were instructing Sanctum’s Wonkru-infused guard in hand-to-hand combat to further their skills. Gabriel, Niylah, and Jackson attempted to establish a larger hospital amongst the buildings of the sanctuary, while Gaia had taken it upon herself to create a history of the settled moon for posterity. Madi and Hope (reluctantly) were finally taking part in normal activities like school, while Bellamy, Echo, Miller, Jordan, and a dozen of Sanctum’s residents combed the nearby woods for supplies and isolated Children of Gabriel cells.

After Wonkru’s slow integration with Sanctum’s citizens and the downfall of the Primes, Clarke was beginning to imagine for the first time that they might finally be ready for peace. Russell Lightbourne had been exiled by demand of the people, realizing that a slow and sure death was a fitting punishment for one who had been running from it for so long. Octavia’s disappearance into the temporal anomaly along with Diyoza and her daughter’s reappearance had been enough of a headache for Clarke, who was now dealing with rebuilding a once-functioning society. The elected leaders, though they meant well, were very new to their positions and needed careful guidance. If left to their own devices, Clarke was almost certain Sanctum would starve or be embroiled in another war by the year’s end.

With an involuntary huff of frustration, she plopped down on the chair that headed the large table and rubbed her temples slowly. One of them, a native to Sanctum, droned on about the seasons on the moon and the traditions that came with the first harvest of the year, most of which had been centered on the Primes. In her mind, Clarke’s thoughts drifted outward beyond the meeting hall towards the woods, where Bellamy was undoubtedly trekking with the scouting party. A small smile flitted across her lips as she imagined him enduring Jordan’s growing love of corny jokes, which he had learned from book discovered in Sanctum. In her mind, she could almost picture both Bellamy and Miller rolling their eyes at the end of each punchline.

In the intervening months since the collapse of the temporal anomaly, Bellamy and Echo had slowly drifted apart. There was no big fight, no public declaration, but it soon became apparent to everyone that they had decided to call it quits. Both Echo and Bellamy separately told Clarke that they had just realized they were too different, their outlooks on the world too disparate. Despite their split, both remained friends and continued to build the sanctuary alongside Clarke and the others. Despite herself and the friendship she shared with both Bellamy and Echo, Clarke had felt a surge of hope when she pieced it together. Inwardly, she chastised herself over these feelings, that a relationship that appeared to make Bellamy happy had failed, but she could not help it. Sometime over the past several years, she had fallen in love with Bellamy Blake.

While she could not point to a single moment that caused it, Clarke remembered vividly how she came to the realization. It was over a year into her isolation with Madi on Earth, when they had just gotten done with a fishing excursion. Like a ritual, Clarke had retreated to the rover and was beginning to set up the equipment to initiate her daily radio call towards the Ring. Madi had followed her to the rover and began watching her with a curious expression.

“Clarke,” She asked in Trig. “Why do you still do that?”

“Do what?” Came the muffled reply as she leaned forward to grab a particularly uncooperative cable.

Madi eyed her efforts with slight exasperation. “Call him. You said it’ll be a few more years before the ground is livable for everyone, and he hasn’t responded to any of your calls so far.”

Clarke paused before answering. Though she had assured Madi otherwise, there remained a possibility that Bellamy and the others had not been able to make it to the Ring. Or worse, that they did exist up there and were never able to come back down. The thought of never seeing Bellamy again haunted her nightmares. Oh, no. “I have to hope that h-they can hear me.” She responded finally, earning an raised eyebrow from the small girl. “It’s important to have hope. Besides,” She added teasingly. “If I don’t give them directions, they’ll completely miss us and I’ll be stuck alone with you forever.” Madi rolled her eyes and began walking back towards the camp.

“Whatever,” She called over her shoulder. “Say hi to Bellamy for me.”

Clarke’s heart lurched, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t the group she was desperately trying to reach, not entirely. Though she missed them terribly, it was Bellamy that she tried to contact each day. The thought of hearing his voice on the other end had been the only thing that staved off the nightmares, the image of him suddenly appearing enough to quell the despair she had gathered in her heart. Reaching back in her memories, it had always been Bellamy that she reached for when the situation turned sour, whenever they needed to face some great threat, it was always his hand that she grasped tightly like a lifeline. Through all the trials and heartaches, he had remained a constant in her life since their arrival on the ground. Now that he was gone, Clarke was desperately trying to keep him alive in whatever was she could.

She loved him. Damn it, she thought. Love was a weakness. In the distance, Madi was cursing in Trig as the fish she was holding slipped from her grasp and landed on the ground. A small smile spread across Clarke’s face as she beheld the tiny warrior, who was angrily dusting off the fish with a rag. Warmth filled her heart and with it, the knowledge that she would fight to the death to defend Madi from whatever danger the future might hold. The strength her feelings caused Clarke to think again of Bellamy and the love she now realized coursed through her veins. Perhaps love was not weakness after all, she thought distantly.

Clarke’s memories shifted to the months following the fall of the Primes. With Bellamy and Echo no longer together, the former had begun spending most of his free time around Clarke. It wasn’t until Madi and Octavia separately pointed it out that she realized that he may feel the same way about her that she did for him. That revelation, Clarke remembered, had nearly knocked her off her feet. After all the things she had done, after everything that had happened to both of them, she still found it hard to accept when good things happened. The thought of Bellamy actually loving her back was reminiscent of the daydreams she used to have during her time with Madi.

Despite her knowledge of his supposed feelings and their near constant proximity, the two of them had been dancing around each other for the past several weeks. It was that sweet, sweet tension before one of them decided to take the final leap and openly state their feelings. Though they had already waited so long, Clarke could not deny the appeal of the buildup. Her thoughts constantly strayed towards him, her heart pounded furiously inside her chest whenever he was in the room, and he filled her every dream. She nearly kissed him yesterday when they had been sitting outside the compound watching the sunrise, seeing how the light caught his eyes and the way he seemed to instinctively lean into its warmth. It was maddening. Beautifully maddening.

Clarke was ripped out of her memory by a question fielded to her by one of the elected leaders, causing a flash of irritation. As she gave her answer, a sudden drop in her stomach preceded a loud alarm blaring across Sanctum. After years of constant fighting and danger, Clarke and the others had developed almost a sixth sense for when trouble was around the corner. While she ushered the leaders out of the room and rushed to see what the problem was, her heart began to clench in a way that told her everything was not right. Something was wrong.

She saw him before they managed to tell her.

A motionless figure was being carried by the remaining scouting party, covered in what appeared to be Bellamy’s coat. Looking around, Clarke could not see the coat’s owner, scouring the small crowd that had gathered around the returning group. Worry turned to panic as her breaths began coming out in short rasps, eyes still scanning the crowd. Octavia was there, so was Echo and Miller. Jordan was being carted away by two of the scouting party, looking slightly bloody and bound for some reason. Where was Bellamy?

Octavia walked slowly over to her, looking like someone had hollowed out her body and taken away her spirit. Tear-streaked cheeks lifted and bloodshot eyes found Clarke’s. A dull feeling appeared in the back of her head, her neck soon stiffening in panic to appear frozen as Octavia took a breath.

“Clarke,” She rasped, her voice sounding hoarse. Like she had been yelling. “Clarke, something happened.” The look on her face and the flat tone in her voice sent chills down Clarke’s spine.

Realization it her. No. “Octavia?” Her voice trembled, as her vision became blurry.

It had happened so fast.

Unknown to them, the influence of the Primes still ran deep in Sanctum. As part of the Adjustment Protocol, several members of the Sanctum populace had been indoctrinated to be loyal to the Primes. Quietly, over the past several weeks, they conspired to assassinate the new leadership and seek out the exiled Russell Lightbourne. The scouting mission had been suggested by one of the agents as a ruse to kill Bellamy, Octavia, Echo, and Miller. Jordan, it seemed, had been forcibly converted to their philosophy during his time recovering from his stab wound. Without warning, the loyalists turned on them once they had gone far enough from Sanctum, intending to kill them quickly and quietly.

Only the honed instincts of the group saved them, having sensed the movements of their would-be assassins only milliseconds beforehand. While Miller fought a crazed Jordan, trying to calm him down, Bellamy, Echo, and Octavia engaged the remaining party. In the chaos, one of the loyalists had thrown a knife at Miller. Without hesitating, Bellamy had jumped in front of the knife, hitting him squarely in the chest. This enraged the others, who quickly finished off their attackers and subdued a stunned Jordan, who seemed despondent after Bellamy’s actions. Octavia numbly told Clarke how she was with him as he died, having only a few precious seconds before the light left his eyes forever. The last words on his lips had been her name. That was too much for Clarke, who blinked back tears and shook her head furiously, refusing to believe this was all real.

He couldn’t be gone. Not now. Not when they were finally seeing what peace looked like.

Her throat constricted and she couldn’t speak. Her heart felt like it was being forced apart by hand, each half held by icy cold fingers. Wordlessly stepping away from Octavia, who still appeared to be numb, Clarke desperately made her way through the crowd towards where she guessed the body had been taken. Before long, she found herself standing in the hastily constructed medical wing, with both Jackson and Niylah looking at her worriedly. In front of her laid the long covered body of Bellamy Blake.

With shaking hands, Clarke removed the coat that covered his face and fell to her knees at the sight of his lifeless face. A strangled sob escaped her lips as she beheld him, the expression on his face strangely blank without the worries and burdens that she normally saw on it. One of her hands found the front of his shirt while the other came to rest on his cheek. Tears streamed down her face as she let out a wail, the sound of her heart breaking into a million pieces. She never got to tell him. Never got to tell him how much she loved him or live the life that she had finally dared to imagine with him. As Jackson and Niylah slowly left her alone with what remained of Bellamy, Clarke felt the despair that she had kept at bay all these years start to creep back into her heart. All was lost, and now she was alone. Alone against the growing darkness.

Madi found her hours later, still clinging to Bellamy with white-knuckled hands. Her bloodshot eyes staring blankly at his face, as if the sheer power of her gaze could somehow bring him back. A small hand carefully covered the one she had gripping Bellamy’s shirt. Clarke did not look at her, never taking her eyes off the face that would never smile again for her. Another one found Clarke’s shoulder, bigger and with more weight. Octavia had walked in and sat down beside her. Despite herself, Clarke found her gaze pulled toward the younger Blake sibling. A stab of pain flashed in her chest. The only Blake left.

While Octavia’s eyes were no longer red with grief, the expression behind them was reminiscent of how she appeared after Lincoln’s death. But she had grown, had faced her demons and defeated them, and now she looked at Clarke who seemed to be empty inside.

“I know that look.” She said carefully. “You can’t give up, Clarke. Not now.” Madi’s hand squeezed tighter as if to punctuate her Octavia’s words.

Clarke looked back at Bellamy, fresh tears streaming down the familiar paths on her face. “He’s g-gone.” She choked, her voice shaking. “Gone, Octavia. And I n-never…“ She couldn’t finish her sentence, but both Madi and Octavia understood.

“He knew, Clarke.” It was Madi that spoke this time, her voice cutting across the air like a bell. “He knew. We all did.” This statement did not comfort her, it only reminded her of all the wasted years.

“Look at me.” Madi’s voice rang again, its tone causing Clarke to meet her eyes. “It’s important to have hope,” She reminded her. Those words stomped on whatever remained of her heart, echoing in the chamber it used to reside in.

“He wouldn’t want you to give up.” Octavia added, forcefully this time. Almost enough that Clarke believed her.

In the end, all stars eventually die. Even the brightest, most extraordinary light in the sky must one day fade away. And all that will remain is the dark promise of an empty night, forever stretching beyond the world towards the infinite horizon.

#the 100 #bellarke #bellarke prompt #anon prompt #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #why do i do this to myself #im crying alone in my apartment #shipping-n-handling

7 notes · View notes

lucky13-452 · 7 years ago

Photo

Of course I want to be like them. They’re beautiful as blades forged in some divine fire. They will live forever. And Cardan is even more beautiful than the rest. I hate him more than all the others. I hate him so much that sometimes when I look at him, I can hardly breathe. Jude was seven years old when her parents were murdered and she and her two sisters were stolen away to live in the treacherous High Court of Faerie. Ten years later, Jude wants nothing more than to belong there, despite her mortality. But many of the fey despise humans. Especially Prince Cardan, the youngest and wickedest son of the High King. To win a place at the Court, she must defy him–and face the consequences. In doing so, she becomes embroiled in palace intrigues and deceptions, discovering her own capacity for bloodshed. But as civil war threatens to drown the Courts of Faerie in violence, Jude will need to risk her life in a dangerous alliance to save her sisters, and Faerie itself.

This book ... OMG! I loved this book so much, it's now one of my favorite books ever and I already know that my review won't do it justice but I hope my love for this book come through.

I first found about Holly Black years ago; I was a reader when I was a kid then life got in the way and I stopped then the Harry Potter series came out and I became a reader again. I was looking for something interesting and different to read when I came across Tithe. Tithe is the first book in the (Tithe) series, it was about faeries and I hadn't read anything about faeries before and I though of Tinker Bell but when I read the book synopsis I realized that these faeries where not like Tinker Bell and it got my interest. I am so glad that it did, the Tithe series was amazing and gave me a whole new look on not only the fae but the type of books that I now love so much.

Holly Black from then out became the High Queen of the fae. Tithe is a modern fairy-tale with an excellent writing that is whimsical and macabre, the world building is immaculate and the story so unique that I couldn't help but be sucked into that world. Wishing that I could live in that world while also fearing it with every fiber of my being. It was everything I could have wished for in a book and Holly has done it again with the Cruel Prince.

This book just about killed me, it was just as good as Tithe with the danger, macabre, magical and whimsical but then Holly attempted it up with the anticipation. Jude is wild, reckless, a liar, a thief, determined, bold, brave and so much more. Jude is such a complex character with so many different sides, I couldn't help but connect to her in some sort of way. She was a human stolen away to faerie at such a young age and she grew up as the faerie gentry children did but was always in danger because she was human.

Jude just wants to belong so she became something more. Growing up that way has turned Jude into something not quite faerie and not quite human. Her interactions with the faeries is sometimes quite hard to take, I see how much she just wants to belong and then to see the weird reality of her world.

I am quite use to Holly's fae world and her building of it is exquisite. It's something that is near human but not quite and something from fantasy but not quite, it is a perfect hybrid of both. The descriptions are so decadent and vivid I couldn't help but see the awful wonderfulness that is faerie. My favorite part was that Holly brought in characters from her other faerie books, I loved see my old friends pop-up in this story. Each faerie court is different so seeing the other characters in this world brought another wonderful aspect to the story.

When the Cruel Prince was announced I hyped it up all on my own way before bookmedia did. It's a Holly Black faerie book, that means it was going to be excellent and I couldn't wait. Then bookmedia went wild for it, they loved it but then I started to think what it I hyped it up to much .... no such thing. The Cruel Prince was more than I thought it would be with its unsavory characters (both human and faerie), danger, action, riddles, plots, swordplay, betrayal, murder and so many plot twist I can't even see straight. I cannot express my love for this book enough and best of all it's only the first in the series and after that ending I cannot wait to get the Wicked King.

Overall 5 stars

#the cruel prince #holly black #the folk of air #ya books #ya book series #ya book review #ya book recommendation #young adult books #young adult book series #young adult book review #young adult book recommendation #fae #faeries #pretty books #book covers #jude duarte #prince cardan #book love #fav books

1 note · View note

johannstutt413 · 5 years ago

Text

“Friendships bound in iron

Romances ties with gold

Families in blood entangled

And embroiled in conflicts of old

As time slips through our fingers,

Let us remember these bonds well,

For the moment is fast approaching

When we shall be thrown into Hell.”

I glanced at the paper of the girl sitting next to me, where this was written. “You expecting to go to war soon?”

“Life itself is a war, I think,” she shrugged, not looking up from her desk. “Constantly battling our demons, striving for every yard of ground gained, taking our injuries and hobbling from cover to cover from the stress of the everyday...Seems like war to me.”

“I guess so.” The halo above her head cast a shadow over her angelic face, as clear and pale as fresh snow, but her hair seemed to glean shimmering gold in spite of that.

When she realized I hadn’t quite stopped looking at her, the angel turned to address me. “Do you need...something…” I supposed my appearance would give her reason to pause - crimson skin, yellow eyes that pierced whatever they looked at to its core, a pair of lightning-shaped horns stabbing through my close-cropped black hair. A devil if she’d ever seen one.

“No, not really,” I shook my head. “Just wanted you to know I thought it was a good poem.”

“Oh. Um, thanks...What are you writing?”

I showed her my piece - a sketch of the scenery out the window past her. “I’m more of a landscape artist than a poet. Easier for me to work with images than sounds.”

“Is it for an assignment?” She smiled. “It’s really good. I didn’t even think you might be looking past me earlier, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Which it was - after all, I had been multitasking.

The angel extended a hand. “Serai, orator.”

“Barach, visionary.” The titles were our training classifications - different Mystic Artists worked with different mediums. “How is this the first day we’re meeting? I haven’t been ignoring you, have I?”

“Oh, no, I started today. One of my sisters suggested I sit back here, for some reason.”

A connection formed in my head. “You’re Jubilee’s younger sister?”

“You know Jubilee?” She grimaced. “I should have guessed.”

“Same class, yeah. She never mentioned you were an orator, though.”

Serai rubbed her shoulder, rustling the short sleeve of her white dress. “We’re two Artists in a family of Clerics and Paladins, after all. It can be a sore subject.”

“I get that. Both my dads are warlocks, my mom’s a mortal sorceress, her friends are all witches and wizards...just never could get the incantations, you know?”

“I could recite the prayers just fine,” she sighed, “but I could never put any feeling into them. It was like talking to a wall.”

I nodded. “Exactly - why am I talking if no one’s going to understand what I’m saying? If I want a fire, it’d be much easier to just turn one on paper into the real thing; it’s mine, after all. I can do whatever I want with it.”

“That’s it, that’s so true. I wish I’d met you earlier.”

“Really?” We realized what she’d said at the same time, and both of us were blushing. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Serai pushes her hair behind her ear. “You were?”

“I still am, honestly. Maybe we can make up for lost time?”

“That sounds...I’d like that.” She leaned towards me. “Maybe tonight, after class ends?”

I swallowed before nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah, sure. Sounds like a plan.”

“Great.” Her smile mirrored mine, except it was far more enchanting. Is this charisma why there were so many half-angels in the world? I wouldn’t ignore the possibility.

We went about our work after agreeing to meet by the fountain outside the building...which gave me enough time after class to fix myself up. Never a good idea to show up to a date underdressed, if my dads’ were any example. I spent a whole hour drawing up a costume when I could have been taking notes on medium distortion - a dark grey suit with sapphire-blue tie and a bronze buckle, all of which I could make a bit more casual if I had in fact overdressed. This was my only chance at a second impression...it needed to be my best.

As I walked to the front of the building, I passed Jubilee in all her beauty and grace...and I realized that she’d never had this effect on me. Her personality was too in-the-clouds, whereas Serai seemed more down-to-earth, and when home has a direct connection to the Nine Hells, that’s invaluable in a romantic attachment.

Serai, as promised, was standing at the fountain, her clothes unchanged. She did a double take as I walked the most direct route I could to her. “You clean up very well.”

“Thanks,” I blushed. Admittedly, it was a substantial change when compared to the studded leather jacket and hide-patched jeans I usually wore, but it’s not like I spent an hour on my hair or anything...just ten minutes…

“Well, I feel a little underprepared now,” she sighed. “I was thinking we could just head back to your place, but you seem like you’re in the mood for something a little more involved.”

I looked her over, making a couple guestimate measurements, and pulled out my sketch pad. “What would you like?”

“Barach, you’re kidding, right?”

“I drew mine on,” I shrugged. “Besides, I’ve worked with models before.”

Serai shook her head. “So do we need to go somewhere I can strip or-”

“It’s a glamour, so no need for that. What do you like to wear?”

“...Black?” It sounded more like a question. “Some leggings, a pair of boots with heels, a black bracelet - can you do makeup?”

As she spoke, I jotted down her frame and started sketching her out. “No problem. Lipstick, eye shadow, temp tattoos?”

“Purple lips and real dark eyeshadow ought to be enough.”

“Alright, aaaaaand...here.” I sketched a mirror off to the side of her new look and handed it to her as it materializes in my hand. “How do you like it?”

Serai gasped. “It’s perfect.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch...”

“How so?” She spun around, attempting to catch more angles. “You drew exactly what I was hoping for, and I look how I feel for once. It’s perfect!”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I mean, if it’s what you wanted, then.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I get a lot of black and goth at home,” I admitted, “so it doesn’t have an impact on me anymore. Not that you don’t look good in it, just...I think it drags you down.”

She glanced in the mirror again before looking back at me. “Alright, then what would strike your fancy more?”

“Huh?”

“I thought it might make me more approachable for you if I darkened my clothes, but if you’re not a fan, it kind of defeats the point.” Serai turned back to the mirror. “Just draw up something else for me, and then we’ll go.”

I dismissed the glamour I’d drawn for her...and then my own. “Alright, let’s go.”

“But you- Barach...” I couldn’t tell if she was touched or disappointed.

“Just be you,” I smiled. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

She smirked. “You’re sure you want that?”

“Positive.”

“Alright, then.” As I walked up to her side, Serai slid her arm around mine. “It’s your funeral.”

My grin grew. “If that’s what it takes.”

#story #i dunno why this happened #but these are words i wrote

0 notes

clobov · 5 years ago

Link

LONG VALLEY, N.J. -- The gunshots rang out from the back porch of the farmhouse, a little ways off from the stables and Olympic-level dressage arena, the improbable sound rising over the 53-acre estate. A woman had been shot twice in the chest by a man well known not merely to her but also to just about everyone in the rarefied dressage community: Michael Barisone, an Olympic rider, the owner of the farm and the woman's trainer. The shooting was the shocking culmination of a landlord-tenant dispute that the woman, Lauren Kanarek, had documented all summer on social media, openly fearful of what might happen. "I'm afraid," she wrote, five days before the attack. "I'm being bullied." Barisone, who was charged with two counts of attempted murder, said that he shot Kanarek in self-defense. In the week before the shooting, Barisone had called 911 several times, claiming that she and her fiance were squatters on his farm and were harassing him; in one call, Barisone described the conflict as "a war. And it's going to be dealt with." Kanarek survived the attack but was placed in a medically induced coma. Finally, after an extensive surgery to repair damage from a bullet to her left lung and more than a week of hospitalization, she had recovered enough to start reconnecting with the world. The first thing she saw, she recalled, were comments that "wished I was dead." "They know there is a person suffering multiple gunshot wounds, bullet wounds," she said in an interview, her voice raspy where the ventilator had damaged her vocal cords. "To say those things, is something no one could ever imagine." Seldom do attempted murder cases elicit sympathy for the suspect; rarer still are cases where the victim is blamed. And yet Kanarek somehow found herself the target of an online lynch mob. "Yes, you were shot by an obviously provoked man … but you accept zero accountability," reads one direct reply to Kanarek on an online forum hosted by The Chronicle of the Horse, an equestrian publication. "What a narcissist. It's always someone else's fault." The blind sympathy for Barisone lies partly in his standing in the dressage world; he served as a reserve rider on the U.S. dressage team in the 2008 Olympics and coached Allison Brock, one of the riders for the U.S. squad that won a team bronze in the 2016 Olympics. Few fans could fathom his involvement, and many who tried to find reason behind the shooting ended up focusing on his claims that Kanarek had serially harassed him. Just before the shooting, Kanarek had asked the Division of Child Protection and Permanency to investigate Barisone for potential abuse of a child of his fiancee, according to Jeffery Simms, the lawyer who represented him at the arraignment. "The alleged victim is not a victim," Simms told reporters then. "She's a villain." Kanarek said she did not recall placing the call to child services. Barisone's supporters also point to Kanarek's inflammatory social media presence. She has at least one pending charge against her for cyberstalking in North Carolina, where she used to live."Lauren Kanarek took her bullying too far. Everyone has limits," Susan Wachowich, who runs a popular site covering the sport, wrote on Twitter the day of the shooting. She wrote that the site "100% supports Michael Barisone in his actions." The post has since been deleted by Twitter as a violation of its standards. Wachowich did not respond to a request for comment. As is her way, Kanarek is fighting back. In flurries of posts since her attack, Kanarek has replied to strangers, friends and foes, unspooling her version of events and reminding the people who pile up on her that she was nearly killed. "No matter what -- I was shot twice. It was not in self-defense. While plenty more story exists, what else matters?" she wrote in one response. "Do you condone trainers shooting their students trying to kill them? Sure looks that way." Kanarek met Barisone at a horse competition in Wellington, Florida, in 2018. She decided to move her horses from North Carolina to his Hawthorne Hill farm in Long Valley, in the heart of New Jersey's horse country, for the chance to train with an Olympic great, she said. As part of the arrangement, she and her fiance, Robert Goodwin, would live on the property, in an apartment in a farmhouse where Barisone lived. Tensions grew after a flood in the farmhouse forced Barisone and his fiancee to move into a barn on the property, Kanarek said. Barisone tried to kick Kanarek and Goodwin out of the apartment, according to Kanarek, so he could live there; they refused. A month before the shooting, Barisone began contacting people who had online disputes with Kanarek. He told them that he was trying to build a legal case against Kanarek and Goodwin, and eject them from his property. Joey Ann Stagaard, a hair restoration specialist from New Jersey, received one such call about a week before the shooting. "'I know that you are a victim of this girl Lauren's torture, and she is on our farm,' " Stagaard recalled Barisone telling her over the phone. "He said, 'She is causing nothing but havoc here; we are losing our minds.' " Stagaard has been embroiled in a long online spat with Kanarek, whom she has never met, over a former shared love interest, she said. Her public animus toward Kanarek has continued even after the shooting. Stagaard was one of several women, including a North Carolina-based horsewomen named Kathryn Parkinson, who filed a complaint last spring to the U.S. Equestrian Federation and SafeSport, a nonprofit organization that investigates various forms of misconduct in Olympic sports. They accused Kanarek of bullying. The federation said the complaint was investigated and found not to merit any action. "It seemed to us more like a personal matter," said Vicki Lowell, a spokeswoman for the federation. Separately, Kanarek said she had complained to SafeSport about Barisone this summer. Dan Hill, a spokesman for SafeSport, said he could not confirm whether a report was filed.In the meantime, the situation at Hawthorne Hill worsened in the weeks before the shooting: Police were summoned to the farm at least six times, according to recordings of 911 calls placed by Kanarek, her family and Barisone. "These people have been living here, and they're causing us hell," Barisone told the operator July 31, according to recordings obtained by news site Patch. Three days before the attack, on Aug. 4, Barisone called 911 a final time. "I'm taking my life back," he told the operator. When police responded the day of the shooting, they found Barisone pinned beneath Goodwin, a black and pink 9-millimeter Ruger pistol under both of them. The police report indicated that he also shot at Goodwin but missed. As medical personnel and police officers circled through, Barisone was overheard repeating the same sentence: "I had a good life." Barisone is being held in a Morris County jail, after being refused bail by a judge. His current lawyer, Edward J. Bilinkas, did not respond to multiple emails and calls requesting comment. To Kanarek and her lawyer, the details of the spiraling conflict between trainer and student, whether bandied about in the courtroom or on Facebook, are beside the point. "She is the victim here, and she was fighting for her life and trying to recover, while at the same time being attacked," her lawyer, Andrew O'Connor, said. "A disconnect that a lot of these trolls can't get over, is that, 'I've seen this guy from afar, and I see his bronze medal, and so it must be her.' "Kanarek concurred, saying that it was difficult to "go online and see every single person talking about you." She pulled up her blouse to reveal two entry wounds in her rib cage. "Every part of my body and soul and mind is just thinking, I should be on my horses, riding," she said. "Instead, I was shot." This article originally appeared in The New York Times.(C) 2019 The New York Times Company

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8870618 https://yhoo.it/2P40HK3

#Blogger

0 notes

radioleary-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Nixon’s Apprentice

For news junkies like me, this past week was the best week of news in a long, long time. Ever since Bernie Sanders “lost” the Democratic primary race to Hillary Clinton, the Queen of the Illuminati. or is it Hilluminati? Since then, the news has all been pretty bad. I don’t need to recite a litany of all the affronts to sanity and society to which we have all borne witness these past hundred-odd days, and it’s been a hundred very odd days indeed. Things have gone rapidly downhill since the election, down a slope as steep as a double-black diamond ski trail. Down a mountain where Trump is the tree, and the whole country is Sonny Bono.

If you are too young to know who Sonny Bono is, he wasn’t related to U2’s Bono, you could tell because Sonny Bono found what he was looking for. He was a hippie-ish singer and musician who racked up a string of hits with his wife Cher in the 1960’s, then in the 1970’s they had a long-running TV variety show (with David Letterman as a writer), then he served three terms in Congress in the 1990’s representing California, until he was killed in a tragic skiing accident when he hit a tree. They say the bark is worse than the bite, and to Sonny Bono, the bark was definitely worse. Some people say Sonny probably should have spent more time in Congress and less time at a ski resort, but who knows, maybe he had a time-Cher. Sonny Bono was another TV celebrity turned incompetent Republican elected to high office, so he wasn’t all that different than Donald Trump. Except The Sonny and Cher Show on CBS was the highest rated television show in America, and The Apprentice didn’t even crack the top 50 in its last four seasons. People viewed Sonny Bono as a bit of a joke and a lightweight, but compared to our current President he looked like Teddy Roosevelt, if Teddy could carry a tune instead of a big stick. He even had the moustache.

The big difference between Trump and Sonny Bono is that Sonny had a wonderfully self-deprecating sense of humor, he was charming and humble, and he was honest about how unqualified he was for high office. “The last thing in the world I thought I would be is a U.S. Congressman, given all the bobcat vests and Eskimo boots I used to wear.” Sonny said. “What is qualified? What have I been qualified for in my life? I haven't been qualified to be a mayor. I'm not qualified to be a songwriter. I'm not qualified to be a TV producer. I'm not qualified to be a successful businessman. And so, I don't know what qualified means.” Wow, that’s a refreshing change from the self-proclaimed super-genius President we have now. The one who was surprised that being President was harder than having a reality game show. That genius. You know, Wile E. Coyote thought he was a Super-Genius too, but in the span of five-minutes he gets crushed by a giant boulder, takes an anvil to the head, and is turned into an accordion after falling from a fatal height.

But I digress.

So the news has been bad and getting worse, until right now. It’s been exhausting. Used to be, before we entered what I affectionately call the ‘end of days’, a President would get embroiled in a scandal, it would unfold slowly over months or years, and it would either bring him down or it wouldn’t. But this time around the scandals have moved faster than Anthony Weiner’s texting hand. Or maybe his other hand, if you know what I mean. Even hardcore political junkies like myself are starting to O.D. like a frontman in a grunge band.

With the firing of FBI director Comey to stop an investigation against him, and subsequent veiled threats about secret “tapes”, Donald Trump has raised the specter of Richard Nixon. By the way, somebody should tell Trump that when you put quotation marks around a word like that, it’s usually meant to indicate sarcasm. It’s called ‘Irony punctuation’. In the 1580’s, a printer in England introduced the percontation point, and French poet Alcanter de Brahm called it the irony mark. Both are the form of a question mark reversed, like this, "⸮". Irony punctuation is used to convey that a sentence should be understood at a second, deeper level.

Initially the reverse question mark was used at the end of a rhetorical question, like “Why is it your feet smell and your nose runs "⸮" or “How can you ever get off the airplane if it’s a non-stop flight "⸮" (that one actually has an answer, you fly United and they drag you out before take-off). Eventually, the reverse question mark disappeared, but the quotation marks around it are now put around the word or phrase you mean sarcastically or ironically. Like, if you see a sign in a restaurant window that says: OUR BURGERS ARE 100% “BEEF”, you’d better make sure those are grill marks on the burger and not whip marks from when it lost the Kentucky Derby. So listen up, Donald Trump, stop putting quotation marks around words that are not intended sarcastically! Okay, Mr. “President”?

But I do digress.

I remember Nixon. Man-o-man, do I remember Nixon. My dad was a lifelong Democrat, and he was draft age as the Vietnam war raged across the evening news, so Nixon’s name came up a lot. Not really in a positive way. I grew up thinking Richard Nixon’s middle name was F***ing. That’s the way it sounded in my house, anyway. My dad would be watching Cronkite, and since like most Americans we were a one-TV household, that meant I was watching Cronkite too. It was either that or actually do my homework, so hello, Walter. And ol’ Tricky Dick was always up to something. My dad would seethe at every new scandal, from “He’s sabotaged Johnson’s peace talks! That Richard F***ing Nixon!” to “He attacked Cambodia? On Christmas? That Richard F***ing Nixon!” to “Can you believe he fired special prosecutor Archibald Cox? That Richard F***ing Nixon!”

That was all well and good, until one day in school my teacher asked us what President Nixon’s full name was. My hand shot up, with about the same positive result as when Janis Joplin shot up. “I know! I know! It’s Richard F***ing Nixon!” I got the feeling I may have been incorrect when twenty-five third-graders gasped in unison, sucking all the air out of the room like the Allied air raids over Dresden. After Mrs. Whatever-her-name-was regained consciousness, her teacher training took over as she tried to regain control of the classroom with all the nervous calm of a woman about to lose tenure. “No, Chris, President Nixon’s middle initial is ‘M’.” I raised my hand again. “I got it now, is it Richard Motherf***ing Nixon? Because I’ve heard that one a lot too.” And that’s right about the moment my name started going on lists. I was sent home with a note for my mother. I read it, but I had to ask mom what “political dissident commie pinko” meant. Mom said it meant I was smarter than my teacher.

Did you know that Richard Nixon happened to be in Dallas on November 22, 1963, the very day President Kennedy was killed there? It’s true. After Kennedy beat Nixon in 1960, Nixon went to work as a lawyer for Pepsi, and he gave a speech that day before a group of Dallas businessmen. But for some reason, Nixon later told three separate lies saying he left Dallas before the trouble started. Nobody thought he had anything to do with the shooting, it’s not a conspiracy, just a weird coincidence, but Nixon lied about it anyway. It was completely unnecessary too, because thanks to Trump, we now know that JFK was actually killed by Ted Cruz’s dad. And probably Hillary. And maybe Pocahontas.

And did you know that besides the astronauts, the only other name on the Moon is Richard Nixon? Well, that’s true, too. There are plaques left behind by the Apollo astronauts, with their signatures and Nixon’s signature, because he was President for all the Moon landings, so he’s the guy that signed the checks. I think they left the plaque right beside that cool flag they planted for MTV. It reads, "Here men from the planet Earth first set foot upon the Moon July 1969, A.D. We came in peace for all mankind." Wow. That’s pretty noble. I guess they decided not to add the part that says “But mainly, we did it to show up the Russians.”

And I’m sure that plaque is still there, untouched, on that secret Nevada movie set where they really filmed the Moon landing. I think history will eventually give the director’s credit for the Moon landing to Stanley Kubrick He probably filmed it between 2001: A Space Odyssey and A Clockwork Orange, we could ask Kubrick, but he died mysteriously less than one week after finishing Eyes Wide Shut. Some say he was killed for revealing a long-hidden truth in that film. Not the hidden truth that the world is run by a secret society of elites that control the levers of power, commit murder with impunity, and engage in ancient satyric orgiastic rituals. But rather he revealed the long-hidden truth that there was absolutely no sexual chemistry at all between Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman. Faked the Moon landing? I think Tom Cruise faked the Poon landing! I understand that before filming started, Tom Cruise asked Kubrick if he could keep his beard in the movie. Kubrick said yes, so Tom Cruise brought Nicole. Get it? She was a beard? No? Ah, forget it. I should have closed with Poon landing.

Now I, for one, truly appreciate the irony of Nixon’s name reaching the lofty height of being on a heavenly body, because he was infamous primarily for his gutter politics. Dick Nixon was a dick alright, right from the beginning. He worked with “Tailgunner Joe” McCarthy and the HUAC, the House Unamerican Activities Committee. They basically just went around ruining the careers of anyone who opposed them, usually by accusing them of being secret Communist agents. Most of ‘em were completely innocent of any wrongdoing, but the committee black-balled them out of their professions if they were any more liberal than Rorschach from The Watchmen. “Hurm.” The HUAC black-balled thousands and thousands of decent, patriotic Americans with all the credibility of the Salem Witch trials. The HUAC were responsible for more black-balling than the Kardashian family.

Too bad the HUAC isn’t around today, they wouldn’t have to look any further than a few blocks down the street to the White House to find a whole mess of Communist agents and Moscow Moles, and this time they wouldn’t have to make it up. Hell, between Trump puppet Devin Nunes and the newly-elected Montana body-slam man, they’d have plenty of careers that need ruining right there in the House itself without bothering the rest of us. It’s mind-boggling to me that the Republican party was once so obsessed with preventing Russian agents from infiltrating the government, and today they are the Russian agents infiltrating government. And the ones that aren’t actually Russian influenced are spending all their energies and political capital defending and making excuses for the ones that are. I’ve said it before, we are living in a land without irony.

Nixon was a low-down red-baiter from his very first campaign in 1946, when he was recruited into politics by Republicans in California's 12th district to oust incumbent Democrat Jerry Voorhis, who supported the New Deal and had a liberal voting record. Nixon came out bullshit blazing, saying that because Voorhis was endorsed by a group linked to communists, it must mean that he’s a left-wing radical commie himself. In reality, Voorhis was staunchly anti-communist, and he was voted by the press corps to be the "most honest congressman.” But Nixon was able to paint him red all over, even though Voorhis refused to accept any endorsement that didn’t renounce communism. Nixon won by over 15,000 votes, and the rest is history, and it’s even written on the Moon. It’s too bad Jerry Voorhis wasn’t Jason Vorhees, now there’s a dude that would know how to effectively respond to a hatchet-job. Probably with a machete.

Nixon was a creep, and it’s no coincidence that the group behind the break-in at the Watergate hotel was called the Committee to RE-Elect the President, or CREEP. You can’t make that shit up. Next thing you know, Nixon fires the special prosecutor who is investigating him, Archibald Cox. Heh heh...Dick fired Cox...heh heh. Just like Trump fired Comey. And then Trump hints that there are secret tapes. Or “tapes”, if you don’t get sarcasm. Just like the tapes that Nixon was forced to turn over in which he implicates himself in a million-dollar payoff of hush-money to cover up the break-in. Nixon was the master of recording, Trump is like a Nixon cover band.

Donald Trump knows nothing of history, or he’d know that it wasn’t the initial act that drove Nixon from office, it was the endless cover-up that did him in. And there were no “tapes” of Nixon getting golden showers. But in the end, I believe all these comparisons between Richard Nixon and Donald Trump are a little unfair.

After all, Nixon never went to prison.

0 notes