#just the lack of knowing any language like arabic is killing me i know i should just pray in english to get in the habit

[holyhakunon]

reverted to islam. haven't done a single prayer yet. 😭

[rapha-reads]

IWTV rewatch

Season 1 episode 2 [... After the Phantoms of Your Former Self] - part 2/3

- [Daniel] "White master, Black student, but equal in the quiet dark" - *spits out the water I just drunk* DANIEL MOLLOY THE QUEEN THAT YOU ARE. And Louis immediately answering the provocation with a slam down of his own. I am so here for the Louis/Daniel bromance, the way they can just spend hours snarking at each other. Saltmates, if you will.

Louis is such a Bitch, the way he decides to eat that fox in front of Daniel to remind him that "vampires are killers", and the way he lets the blood drip, when canonically vampires never waste any blood (at least in the book, that's one of the thing Lestat repeats often, a vampire's feeding is clean, no trace of blood left anywhere, but in a visual media about vampires, of course it looks better to have the blood dripping on the chin after, sometimes you gotta privilege aesthetic over function).

[Louis] "Vampires are killers, apex predators whose all-seeing eyes were meant to give them detachment, the ability to see a human life in its entirety, not with any mawkish sorrow, but with the thrilling satisfaction of being the end of that life and having a hand in the divine plan."

Yeaaah, like Daniel says, "don't expect every reader to swallow that one". Because for one thing, you don't even fully believe it, Louis, you who's about to spend several years starving yourself feeding only on rats and cats, you who just had a fox for supper instead of going hunting, you who hates feeding on humans and doesn't let even your fellow vampires witness you feeding (book canon), you who also goes during the 20th century from crisis of faith to fully atheist and uncaring about religion... Pretty words. Empty words. I'm not buying it.

"Mawkish": lacking flavor or having an unpleasant taste / exaggeratedly or childishly emotional (Merriam-Webster). Well I didn't know that word. Collins Dictionary tells me that the best translation to French would be "mièvre", and now I am loving this even more. "Mièvre" is not a very used word in French, which is a shame because it's a very pretty and very evocative word, and "mawkish" definitely gives me the same impression. Yey, I learned something new today! New word to incorporate to my vocabulary.

- I swear I'm not trying to comment every single minute of this episode, but every single minute brings something interesting. I have to stop on Louis and Lestat's conversation about languages and killing being its own language, as a multilingual person myself (I could spend hours talking linguistics, sorry not sorry):

[Lestat] "'When I first started learning English, I abhorred it. Every word felt like a doorknob falling out of my mouth. Chapeau is a hat, étoile was a star...' [Louis] 'Killin' folks ain't a second language!' [Lestat] 'But when I started dreaming in English, that's when I embraced it. And now, I have English consonants to thank for this astonishing jawline.' [Louis] 'These are nightmares I'm having, Lestat, not dreams.'"

Firstly, yeah, Lestat's right, "hat" is weird. It's chapeau in French, cappello in Italian, kapela in Greek, even quba'a in Arabic, and Arabic is not even an Indo-European language... The heck does hat come from? *resists the urge to go linguistic deep dive* Secondly, yeah, he's right, he does have an amazing jawline - taking this opportunity to bring attention to the scar on the corner of his mouth, book readers know what's up. Where was I? Ah, yeah. No, Lestat's right about a foreign language sounding weird in your mouth until you start to understand its spirit instead of only its letter - words falling out of your mind versus dreaming in that language. Been talking English for long enough that I do dream in English, and been multilingual all my life so I adapt to languages fast enough, but it's still a struggle. I'm fluent in Spanish now, but I don't dream in Spanish yet, and I sometimes feel like the word sounds wrong when it actually sounds like it should.

What it means in regard to Louis is that he's a slow learner. Gotta sound the kill one by one, taking your time, before you get to be a consummate killer. Can't learn a language in a night. Can't learn a language if you don't practice. Can't get used to killing if you don't kill, and can't survive if you don't kill, and vicious circle, doesn't kill>doesn't survive>doesn't practice>doesn't learn>doesn't survive>doesn't kill... Extremely interesting to see that Lestat IS actually teaching Louis about vampire ways, but Louis is not ready to listen yet, or, to continue the metaphor, they're not speaking the same language and they haven't learned to understand each other's language (not talking about accents obviously, but once again taking the opportunity to praise both Sam and Jacob's vocal work, between Sam's French accented drawling English and Jacob's Creole slang in NOLA and flat "standard" English in Dubai, it's a feast for the ears).

Okay, while Lestat's teaching Louis how to read minds (the Mind Gift, that book!Louis actually doesn't get in the books until very, very late on, and isn't good at, and doesn't show), wanna just say: look how giddy they are! Look how soft they are with each other! Look how fondly Louis speaks to Lestat, how fondly Lestat looks at Louis! We forget, and Louis too, but in between the misunderstandings and the drama and the anguish, they DID love each other, they DID have good times, they DID build a life with each other. It wasn't complete (and no I'm not talking about darling Claudia, I'm talking about speaking the same language), but it was good enough for quite a few years.

Oh man, Louis reading his family's minds, I coulda told him that's a bad idea *points to every literature with a man reader*, but also that passage in Narnia (Dawn Trader) when Lucy spies on her school friends and hear things she didn't want to read and didn't have to know. Don't have time to go search for that passage now, but Aslan tells her something like "some things really do not need be done", or sum' like that.

- Oh, hey, look. More social commentary. That white guy's gonna get eaten if he keeps patronising Louis like that. "You truly are an exceptional Negro" - hey Lou baby, can I kill him please? Lemme kill him for you. "I had let them talk to me like that so long, I had stopped hearing it" - oh, and Louis' accent is slipping here, can you hear it. Really, REALLY love how that change from book canon adds so many layers to Louis' character. Hey, have I said lately that Louis' my favourite? 'Cause Louis is my favourite. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Subject, verb, agreement, sir. Smile, nod, yes sir." - AWARDS FOR JACOB, all the awards for Jacob please, and my gods how much do I adore Louis, that sassy, snarky, bitchy queen. I want to have a book club with him.

"But I wasn't a man anymore. I was something else. I had powers now, and decades of rage to process, and it was both random and unfortunate, the man picked that night to dabble in fuckery." - so first, Jacob keeps on flexing his vocal skills by letting Louis slip more and more back to his original accent, and then, YES KING, get his ass, DRAIN HIM. And in a more meta way, all hails liberation movements and the process of reclaiming one's identity. Maybe not through murder, we all ain't lucky enough to be vampires, but yeah, rage is a good tool actually. Rage can lead to enormous movements that change the fabric of society for the better. Never underestimate the power of repressed rage finally expressing itself when it's yielded by clever, resourceful, empathic beings. Sorry, that was the "segregated Southern States social commentary as a mirror for 21st century's current liberation movements social commentary" minute, back to the vampires.

[Lestat] "You are a library of confusion" - first of all, Sam's delivery, with the hand gestures and the head shake, MAGNIFICENT, but also, it's Lestat starting to realize that maaaaaaybe he bit more than he can chew. Maaaaaybe.

[Louis] "'There's some things you don't get about America, Lestat.' [Lestat] 'Yes, let's have this conversation again.' [Louis] 'Colored; white. Creole; French. Queer; half-queer, mostly queer, what is it?' [Lestat] 'Non-discriminating.' [Louis] 'Complicated situation we got here is what I'm saying.'"

ICONIC. And also, maaaaan do I love that that's the road RJ and Cie decided to go with, one of the only changes I've been having issues is the time skip (from 1797 to 1910, cf. episode 1 part 1 rewatch). But this little conversation here actually warms me to it! The layers, man, the layers. Also, love that Lestat self-identifies as non-discriminating, that's so totally him about basically everything: skin color and ethnicity, sexuality and gender, species, age... Drama Queen really said "everything goes, eeeeeeverything".

- "How can I say no to you?" - awwww, Lestat is so whipped for Louis.

[Louis] "From 1912 to 1917" - oooh thanks for the time stamps. So it's been two years since he's turned, and it's on for 5 years of stability. The famous "honeymoon era".

[Louis] "I made a mountain of money, enough to retire and be buried like a pharaoh" - uuuuuh *side-eyes cautiously Queen of the Damned* let's not talk about Egyptian monarchy yet, yeah, that'll come to burn us soon enough.

Oops, the baby scene. And Louis realising he can't hold on to his family, that they're about to slip between his fingers like sand... Ow. [Grace] "I'm sure Mama would love to see you" *rapid glance* *giggles* That's siblings for "yeaaaah no, lol, Mama would definitely NOT love to see me, you crazy".

[Louis] "I no longer kill. My last victim was in the year 2000." BUT DID YOU EAT THE BABY, LOUIS. "I sit here a master of my instincts." But did you eat the baby, Louis. Slight aside, but how is this dinner still on going?? WAIT, go back a second: [Daniel] "And you know this how, you guys have a thread on 8chan?" - BENJI MENTION? I sooo want to see Benji's radio. Though if we still follow book events but on show timeline, Armand hasn't met Benji and Sybelle yet, because they're turned a decade after Daniel. Repeating myself, but RJ did say he'd adapt Prince Lestat, and Benji's one of the main players of this book, so I'm sure we'll see him, but it's going to be a while, I think.

- Wait, I need to relisten to that conversation:

[Daniel] "'And what about the others out there? Have they mastered theirs?' [Louis] 'Just the opposite. Most of them are slaves to the blood, exhausted from decades, centuries of hiding, giddy to increase their numbers.' [...] [Daniel] 'Is the pandemic the opening they've been waiting for?' [Louis] 'Pandemic, the unravelling of geopolitical foundations. [...] One of them, a brute in Madagascar, called it 'the great conversion'.'"

Oh, lots to say here. Lots that will spoil the books too. Because hey, y'all know what happens in Queen of the Damned, after Lestat's concert? Yepppp. Pretty sure Rolin Jones just planted the seeds of seasons 3 and 4. And served on a silver platter with delicious 21st century social commentary. I'm having the time of my life.

[Daniel] "'Well most people I know like to play a little ball in the afternoon, or maybe go down to the beach, catching a few rays.' [Louis] 'Yes. What on earth would a meth-addicted son of a coal miner in West Virginia want with eternal life?' [Daniel] 'Did you eat the baby?' [Louis] 'Or the Arab youth whose whole family were wiped from existence...' [Daniel] 'Did you eat the baby?' [Louis] '... by a Western drone? No, I'm sure you're right.'"

SHOTS FIRED. And another Benji mention! And a personal attack. And Louis being his glorious catty self. And Daniel being his glorious one-minded self. We're heading for another "outburst", lmao.

The Damek scene is just so fucking weird, I'm wheezing. Nothing to say here, just: this show is a freaking comedy. Between Louis perfecting the Little Drink but his taste of the night just passing out, and Daniel going "you might have a drinking problem" and then going back to his idea of the night, "the goddamn baby, Louis, did you fucking eat the bloody baby", this is peak humor.

Aaaaaand we need a third part, still 15 minutes to go.

episode 1 | part 1 | part 3 | episode 3 | episode 4 | episode 5 | episode 6 | episode 7

[inamindfarfaraway]

So I saw your post here [https://www.tumblr.com/inamindfarfaraway/690058488775327745/batfamily-fanworks-that-purport-to-be-set-in-the] and oh my gosh YOU ARE SO RIGHT!

As much as I enjoy it, Hush is definitely to blame for this as it is held as THE end-all-be-all of all BatFam stories yet Cass (who an acclaimed ongoing series as Batgirl around the same time) was suspiciously missing from it along with Steph. Yet we only ever get flashbacks to Bab's time as Batgirl so that storyline also ended up cementing Bab's legacy as "the one and only Batgirl". Methinks a certain editor in charge at the time mandated for Cass and Steph to not appear in Hush because they-according to him-"were way too toxic" for said storyline. Because you see, as soon as he became a leading editor, his number one priority was getting rid of Steph and stripping Cass of her Batgirl role.

And so the age of darkness began...

First, there was War Games that solely existed to torture Steph in the most vile, most voyeuristic ways before killing her off. Then there was Robin: One Year Later, one of the worst, horrific character-assassination storylines since Spider-Man's One More Day, where Cass was suddenly turned into an over-the-top Saturday Morning cartoon villain obsessed with killing everyone, giving long-winded "together we can rule the world" speeches and being able to speak and write in fluent Navajo. ONE OF THE MOST DIFFICULT LANGUAGES IN THE WORLD. Then there was Redemption Road which, despite its good moments and happy ending, did even more damage to Cass's character. And finally, we have Battle For The Cowl which ended up pushing Cass and Steph so far into the background, they were basically erased from the BatFamily altogether.

Yet despite Steph's well-received run as Batgirl, DC's poor marketing and the lead up to the New 52 prevented the series from becoming a proper bestseller and it was cancelled without any fanfare whatsoever. Still, all those horrible decisions and storylines (like War Games and Robin: One Year Later) did such massive, long term damage to the characters that, even despite all the small good things (Steph's Batgirl series to the excellent Gates Of Gotham mini-series starring Cass), they were buried from public consciousness. As for Duke (another character, I'm a fan of), I think its just a case of him being a very recent character, a lack of marketing and higher-ups not knowing what to do with him.

As for the asshole editor who everything to burry the Batgirls, he was eventually fired for creating an "unsafe working environment". And yes, his name rhymes with "Ban Video".

As for the people who keep erasing Cass, Steph and Duke from fan works, I know it sounds depressing but hear me out: Fandom, be it comics, video games, films, cartoons, TV shows, ect, has an unconscious bias of white male favouritism. (Yes, I know Dick is Romani, Damien half-Arabic/Asian yet they're still quite white-passing)

YES! THANK YOU! ALL OF THIS!

It is so sad and frustrating that these bias persist even in communities that are meant to be about joy and love; but of course the Batfam fandom has issues with sexism and racism when the canon also has for so long. I'm sure most fans don't try to be prejudiced, but male and white-passing characters are so much more popular than others. The unfair treatment of Steph as Robin and both her and Barbara in making Babs Batgirl again for no reason is one of the things I wrote Robins: The Musical to vent about, and that's only the tip of the iceberg.

Thanks for the explanation! I was already familiar with most of the context you generously provided, but I still really appreciate it as a specific comics shame/recommendation guide and education for others. I wasn't aware of Gates of Gotham and will read it! Black Bat my beloved. Dan Didio when I catch you...

(My original post is here)

[shyestofhearts]

Hi Shy~

Sooo, I have this headcanon that Damian is like this wonderful child prodigy genius. Like, super smart. So smart, that when Bruce tries to enroll him in Gotham academy, they tell him that Damian has tests for college level. Which, Damian just rolls his eyes at, because duh. After discussing it with professionals and yada yada, Damian gets enrolled into college. He’s like, twelve-ish. He is STILL bored in class, and knows most of the information they are trying to teach. His advisor is so sweet and invested into Damian though. And observant. After noticing Damian lack of enthusiasm, he asks Damian what the problem. Nothing interests him, none of his classes.this advisor is an old timer, in my opinion, and has seen so many kids pushed to do things they never wanted to do, and decides he can’t let that happen with Damian. So the Advisor pulls out every department, every major, and goes through it with Damian. After a few hours, because it takes a while to convince Damian that it is alright to do anything he wants, Damian has his majors narrowed down to a few things. Art and pre-med. Damian’s advisor suggests he visit a few of the clubs on campus to really get a feel of what he wants. Thing is, even after going to the students’ art club gallery and one of the pre-med club meetings, neither really speak to him. It’s a Saturday night, and he’s alone on campus. Damian is about to call Alfred, when a student from Damian’s organic chemistry class spots him.

“Damian!” Jace, a slightly round student with soft curly hair smiles at Damian. “Are you here for the show?”

“Show?” Damian scowls?

“Yeah, the fashion show. This year’s theme is sustainability,” Jace smiles. They one of the few people who never ogled at Damian for being a Wayne or looked down on him for his age. They are just genuinely nice, and Damian knows that.

“I didn’t know we had a fashion show,”

“Really? I swear I thought I mentioned it,” Jace says, surprised. Jace may have mentioned that, but Damian probably was zoned out during the time.“Tickets are $15, if you wanna come”

“Oh,” Damian frowns, “I used all the money I brought with me for the art gallery and lunch earlier,” He says, cursing internally for not bringing more cash with him.

“If you want to go, I’ll cover you.” Jace smiles, “Think of it as payment for help on our last exam” Damian would usually say no, but Jace is just so nice,

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! Besides,” Jace smiles, turning towards the stadium, “I have a feeling you’re going to love it”

And Damian did love it. The designs were amazing, some more haute couture while others were casual, and each designer explained how their designs involved sustainability. Some were statement pieces, designed to address political issues, others were just to demonstrate that sustainability could still be cute, and while others highlighted affordability and sustainability.

Damian wanted to do this. Running through his head were endless possibilities. Perhaps he can enlist the help of Poison Ivy to create a vegan leather that was also bullet resistant, or…

The next Monday he is waiting for his advisor at 7 in the morning, because he spent the rest of the weekend coming up with ideas, sketches, creating a portfolio, and practicing hypothetical arguments as to why Damian should go into fashion. At 7:15 his advisor sees him, and can tell by the light in Damian’s eyes, determination on his face, and the way he’s clutching his sketchbook, Damian has found it.

“I want into the fashion program!” Damian all but bursts, unconsciously on his tippy toes in excitement.

“Okay,” His advisor smiles, ushering him into his office. “Let’s make it happen”

“Just like that?” Damian asks, eyes wide, voice surprisingly small. His advisor smiles at him kindly.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen.”

It takes a bit before Damian can actually get into the program, he has to work on some prerequisites, and also create a better portfolio with samples, but Damian is determined. By the end of the school year, he has been accepted.

Damian doesn’t tell his family, not in the beginning. He actually doesn’t want to tell his friends either, unsure of how they’d react. He is still insecure, and just entering his teen years. He worries about what any or everyone will say. Eventually, though he tells Jon and Colin, swearing them to secrecy. They both are excited for him, asking if he’d design their costumes for them. Damian blushes but says,

“Tt, like you can afford me”

He eventually tells Alfred as well, because he needs help learning how to use a sewing machine, and fast. Sure, he can stitch someone up flawlessly, but sewing machines weren’t part of the League’s lessons. Alfred is in charge of the one at the Manor, so it only makes sense to ask him. Even so, Damian is reluctant. When he does finally ask, he nearly gives himself an attack, worrying about being scolded for not using his “full potential”. Alfred simply squeezes Damian’s shoulder, and agrees with a kind smile. The young Master finally seemed passionate about something besides vigilante work and violence. Alfred would do everything in his power to foster that.

“Just,” Damian looks down, hands clenching into fists at his side, “Do not tell the others. I would prefer this between us,” He looks at Alfred, unsuccessfully trying to hide the vulnerability in his wide emerald eyes. Alfred agrees, for now. On the conditions that Damian would have to tell his father and siblings himself, and not to far in the future either.

Damian impresses everyone with his designs, and people learn he is actually quite adorable when he’s doing something he enjoys. His classmates and professors encourage him to join the fall fashion show, which is covering “multiculturalism and the media”. Damian hesitantly agrees, though he has been making designs since the theme was announced. His room is full of crumbled paper on his floor, designs he deigned not good enough. Many of his designs are heavily influenced by his Arab culture, but he also has some Chinese-influenced designs as well. His statement piece is the hardest to get right. It involves a hijab and beautiful colors, but he just can’t get the right patter. Ripping another page and crumpling it,Damian is too concentrated to realized Tim and Dick have been creeping into his room.

“What’s this Dames?” Dick asks, startling Damian, as he looks at some of the rejected designs. Panic makes Damian defensive as he yells at them to get out, frustration fueling the dread of his family seeing such unsatisfactory work. Tim flinches, shocked by the emotion coming off of Damian, rushing out with a few crumpled papers he snuck from the floor. Damian is literally trying to shove Dick out the door. Dick turns around, because he can hear the panic in his little brother’s voice. In his Robin’ voice. “Damian,” he says softly, easily deflecting Damian. “It’s okay,” he says, wrapping his arms around Damian, reversing the situation. “What’s wrong, why are you reacting like this?” After a few minutes of struggling, Damian gives up. Slowly,he explains the situation, how he’s in the fashion program and the fashion show coming up, all the pressure to do well, the frustration of not having his statement piece yet. Dick listens, his hold turning into a hug. “From what I’ve seen,” Dick says softly, “these are all wonderful designs,Dami. Whatever you end up making will look amazing, if they look anything like your sketches.”

“It’s not enough!” Damian complains, eyes burning, but he refuses to cry. “You don’t understand!” He says, frustrated.

“Then explain it to me, why is this so important?”

“Because it is about me!” Damian’s voice cracks ask he turns away rosiness his eyes harshly. “When I was introduced to the public, as “Bruce Wayne’s biological son”, do you not remember how the newspapers reacted? They didn’t know me, or my mother, but because—because of my skin, the country I was born, I was mistrusted. Scorned. Yeah, maybe I’ve killed people, but that isn’t because of my skin color or my culture or the language I speak. I have this opportunity to speak out against that!” Damian turns to look at Dick, “I’ve tried to become better, to do better. It’s hard and unfair that none of that matters, because guests are invited to galas hosted in the house that I live in, only to make snide racist comments about “nukes” or the desert or bombs whenever Father and you all aren’t around me. How can I be better, when I’m not given the chance because people can’t see past my skin?” Dick wraps Damian into a tight hug, as wetness drips down Damian’s cheeks. “I’ve been here nearly four years—and it still happens” Damian whispers.

“Why didn’t you say anything Dami?”

“What could I say?” Damian whispers back,

“Bruce—”

“Invites these people because they are important to Wayne Enterprise.” He scoffs. “What could you do, especially if I have no proof?”

“Believe me, Damian,” Dick says seriously, pulling back to look into Damian’s eyes. “Bruce won’t invite anyone who’s racist or derogatory towards his children, back to a gala, let alone do business with him again.” He smiles a hard somewhat vicious smile. “I know because when I was first adopted, he did that for me” Damian’s eyes widen. “And if Bruce can’t defend you, you can bet your brothers will,” Damian looks unsure, but nods. “But I get it now. You’ve always used art to vent and express yourself. This design is something that would allow you to address what the media has done to and said about you.”

“It’s been,” Damian shrugs, looking down, “therapeutic. In a way I never imagined it would be.”

“Well, I think, whatever you end up designing will be amazing,” Dick smiles, and Damian looks up at the sincerity, giving his own smile smile in response. “And I expect an invitation to the fashion show!” He chuckles, causing Damian to blush. “And I bet the whole family would want to come as well,” Damian blushes, looking away once more.

“Tickets are $15 each, and available online,” Damian replies, making Dick belly laugh. “You can invite the others, if you’d like” Damian mumbles.

“Hmm,how ‘bout I invite the siblings while you invite your dad,” Damian grumbles, but agrees. “Great! Now, take a break. One night not designing won’t hurt you.” Dick says, wrapping his arm around Damian’s shoulder. ‘Might do you some good, in fact.”

Things get better after that, because after his talk with Dick, Damian gets an idea for his design. Ziba, a Persian student Damian met in his Literature class, agreed to be his model for his statement piece. She wore her hijab proudly, a solid black color, which helped with the down-to-business look the rest of the outfit screamed. Ziba’s makeup was beautiful, as Damian was putting the last touches on her. They both were quiet, nervous excitement pulsing through them both. Ziba had on white trousers that flared out a bit, to give an almost flowy feel, with black basic vegan leather square pointed toe mule flat accented by a silver buckle. Damian had made the top a cross between a tunic, a blazer, and a cape. It is white, and goes over a plain solid black turtleneck. Printed on both the buttoned blazer tunic top and the trousers are past racist articles written about Damian. In red graffiti styled letters sprayed across the news paper articles are phrases like “Lies” “Warped Perception” “Western POV” “Racist” “I was only 10”. The red paint matches the red lipstick Ziba is wearing.

Damian was nervous with his family in the audience, everyone including Alfred was there. Apparently Superman and Superboy were in attendance too, as civilians of course. Colin was there too. Damian had told his father about the fashion show, and was surprised to see how supportive he was about it. Of course that may have been the shock, as Damian had told him that morning before leaving for school. Bruce blinked, stood up and hugged Damian, before saying he couldn’t wait for the show.

Damian’s set is the last, ask the show is in alphabetical order according to last names. When it’s his turn, all of his model’s line up, and Damian is running around making sure everything is perfect. He hears the speaker introduce his collection, inviting Damian to join him on stage. Damian rushes out, brown cheeks turn red. Together they introduce all seven outfits of the collection one by one, as Damian describes his designs, the material, and the inspiration behind each one. When it get’s to Ziba’s turn, Damian’s nearly choked up. He manages to discuss this piece and it’s significance to him. At the end, Damian received a standing ovation from nearly everyone. Looking over at his family, he has to duck from hiding his flamed cheeks. All his siblings were cheering for him, while Bruce and Dick dab their eyes. Alfred has a proud look on his face, and Damian couldn’t have been happier.

He ends up getting second place, but also his own work room at the Manor. Damian begins selling his work after getting it patented (Tim demanded it), and is surprised when a number of orders are for the galas around Gotham. Dick told Bruce and the others about all the things Damian has been hearing at Galas, and they are justifiably angry. Duke begins chants of “Eat the Rich” every time he hears someone says something problematic about Damian, and that because Tim’s signal on who to take down next.

Damian’s designs become more widely popular as his family starts wearing them, as they love talking about it and how he uses sustainable methods and materials. This earns him big named clients, who start wearing Damian’s designs on the Red Carpet and premiers . Damian also likes to do work for charity, often donating dresses to high schoolers who cannot afford prom dresses or making clothes out of extra material to donate to shelters so people have clothes for job interviews and such.

(He also makes his pets clothes when he’s bored, so it’s normal to see Titus wearing a doggy hoodie with slits in it for his ears)

ANYWAYS, this is my headcanon lol

What do think about it?

—🧵🪡

Headcanon?? Bestie this a whole ass au!

As for my thoughts-

💳 💥💥 💳 💥💥💥 💳 💥💥💥💥

[jinxedpanda4life]

Criminal Investigator AU HC

I would first like to start off by saying thank you to everyone. 

I honestly did not expect the response I got to my Damirae Hospital AU HC list. 

When I first woke up and checked tumblr ~13 hours after posting I had a holy shit moment. 

I felt powerful, should I? Probably not. 

But! Since I am noticing a lack of AUs in the fandom, whether on Tumblr, AO3 or FanFiction.net, whatever AU comes to my mind I shall jot down some hcs for! 

Thank you all once again!

(Also trying format changes for easy reading)

(Also Also, I am thinking the story is less fluid but more episodic)

Let’s get started:

- So I’m thinking this is some FBI, SVU, and FBI BAU mixture or whatever. Basically all the great shows we know in love shoved together. From Bones to Criminal Minds and everything in between.

- Special Agent (Dr.) Raven Roth is a lead interrogator and is the resident psych consult. 

She’s been educated in interrogation, behavioral science, psychology, forensic pathology, and criminology. 

She has combat training (hand to hand), she carries (for her job) a gun and at all times has a knife/dagger on her person (people have stopped trying to figure out where she keeps them). 

Her father was/is crime boss T. Trigon who is currently imprisoned. 

Was born in the states but fled with her mother to Romania when she was a newborn.

When Trigon found them he killed Arella and took Raven, she was abut 9 - 10 years old.

She took her mother’s last name when she turned 18. 

Knows two languages besides English; French, Romanian, Romani (various dialects but knows multiple), Greek and Latin

On more than one occasion some goon of her father’s tries to recruit her, every time she kicks their ass. (Damian was there for the most recent (he was still green though))

Lives by herself in a decent sized apartment, has a gun safe (gun safety is important!), a cat (Nevermore), and is a regular at a 24/7 bookstore &/ cafe

Can usually be found wearing some kind of jacket, sweater, cardigan

She once helped save some kids (Melvin, Tommy & Teether) and is now their surrogate aunt, she has photos of them at her desk @ work. (Damian assumes/ed that they were her kids)

She also, when she can, hangs out and babysits them on occasion.

Raven is part of a team consisting of Dick Grayson (unit leader), Kori Anders, Garfield Logan, Jaime Reyes, and very recently Damian Wayne 

- Special Agent Damian Wayne is a lead investigator (he is still a bit fresh to the unit), translator, sniper and combat coordinator

He’s been educated in martial arts, explosives, hand to hand combat, close range combat, and combat (basically he knows how to kill you 9 ways to Sunday), also, behavioral science, computer science, criminology, linguistics and language. 

He can easily translate (into English): Arabic, Mandarin Chinese, Russian, Hindi, Bengali, French, Polish, German, Spanish, Portuguese, he can also learn any language you put in front of him and know the basics within a day

(Having lived in many places around the world he needed to be able to speak and understand in order to survive) (wow dramatic much?)

His father is currently the director (or deputy director, whatever floats ya boat) of the FBI.

His mother was essentially a secret agent who worked for various agencies around the globe. (deceased)

His grandfather was the leader of a, um, well to be honest, terrorist agency. (deceased)

Was sent to live with his father when he was 15 (when his mother died) and has been in the states ever since

Lives alone, he has an upscale apartment that he truthfully spends little time in, has multiple locations in the home where various weapons are stored, his place has a very cold atmosphere

Is either in proper work attire or in work out clothing, there is no in between

Tries and fails not to take work home with him

He sees a therapist (who says he should probably try investing in relationships with the people at his job)

His only “friend” (he hates calling him that, more like close acquaintance) is Jonathan Kent who was in his class at the FBI Academy, Jon works in a white collar crime department in Metropolis

The only person he actually kind of sort of doesn’t dislike is in fact Raven Roth, she’s a no bull shit person, he likes that

He may know Grayson because of how he’s Bruce’s kind of son but it does not mean he likes him

He finds Logan annoying as all hell, even if he is somewhat useful

He picked a fight with Reyes first day and regretted it (he will never admit that), he respects him

Anders is overly friendly in his opinion, kind of acts like a secretary with all that positivity and grates his nerves, he tolerates her

(Unlike last time I am not going in detail about the rest of the team, this will be brief)

- Supervisory Special Agent Dick Grayson (Unit Chief) is basically Dick Grayson with a big fancy title but all the same skills

He is also obsessed with Slade Wilson and Red X (who is Jason in this)

- Supervisory Special Agent Kori Anders is a lead investigator and is also a go to for undercover work

- Special Agent Garfield Logan is a lead interrogator, is head of the unit’s K-9 unit and kind of has a thing for Roth (which she does not reciprocate) 

- Special Agent Jaime Reyes is a tactical analyst, tech analyst and is head of the unit’s SWAT team, he does not do well with talking with people, or change

The Scarab is a computing program that Jaime created himself

STORY START:

- When Damian first joins the team there is another member, Special Agent Terra Markov, she is revealed as a sleeper agent but she aligns herself with the team and sadly is shot and killed in a fire fight

- A couple weeks after Agent Markov’s death everyone is talking about what they are doing for an upcoming holiday, Damian says probably nothing, Raven invites him to spend it with her and her “niece” and “nephews,” he declines

- About a day after the holiday Damian is home looking through case files when someone knocks on his door

-- It is Raven. He asks how she knew where he lived, she says she asked Dick, she also says that she knows how it feels to be alone and that he may be insufferable but it doesn’t mean he can’t have a friend

-- His response is saying he isn’t the kind to make friends with co workers

-- “I’m not asking to be your friend Damian, I am asking you to be his,” She reveals a small black great dane puppy “I know that other people aren’t really your thing, but having someone in your corner and waiting for you is always nice, even if it isn’t human.”

-- Damian invites her in, names the dog Titus and thanks her

-- “Just make sure no one tries to kidnap and kill you, we don’t need you to go full blown John Wick.” Damian has no idea who that is. Raven tells him it is an action movie series that he should watch. She leaves. He does watch them that night with Titus on his lap. (after having gone to the local pet supply store to get everything he needs) The action is inaccurate but he enjoyed the movies none the less, and decides that he probably would go into John Wick mode if someone hurt Titus.

- SA Roth and SA Wayne are sent to a high security federal prison to interrogate a prisoner, who refuses to speak

-- When they get into the interview room the prisoner does start to speak, but not in English and not in a language Damian is fluent in

-- Raven on the other hand immediately responds to the prisoner (shocking the prisoner and Damian) “He is speaking Romani though not the dialect of those overseas, he learned it here.” 

-- Damian is fascinated by it and they are essentially switching roles the entire time

-- They leave having successfully interviewing the prisoner, and Raven leaves behind a written list of common words in Romani so that they can possibly communicate with the prisoner better

-- As soon as they are on the plane back Damian asks her a myriad of questions from “How many languages do you know?” to “When did you learn that?” and even “Are you a spy? Sleeper agent? Part of a terrorist cell?”

-- “Not as many as you, when I was a child, if I was part of any of that you wouldn’t be asking.” The rest of the trip is spent with her teaching him Romani and even some Romanian

- Dick & Kori eventually get together and after a while they break up. Kori takes some vacation time. At the same Dick has been temporarily reassigned to another unit.

-- Chaos ensues

-- Garfield thinks he should be the interim unit chief, Jaime thinks the same, as does, you guessed it, Damian (Raven doesn’t want to she is comfortable with her role on the team)

-- In the end they are assigned an interim unit chief, SSA Jason Todd, who usually works overseas on covert op missions (not gonna lie this could easily flow into a Jayrae thing)

-- Everyone kind of falls into line, except Damian, Damian doesn’t like him for two reasons

1) He doesn’t act serious about the job 24/7

2) He has been flirting and hitting on Raven the moment he stepped into their sector 

-- Damian hates the names he gives her; “Little Bird,” “Sunshine,” “Princess,” “Rae,” (no one calls her Rae, not even Garfield, at least not after the incident) etc.

-- (Little does Damian know, Jason and Raven have worked together before and are actually friends)

-- This all comes to a head when Damian and Jason are the only ones still in the office after a tiring case.

          “You shouldn’t do that you know.”

           “Do what? All I am doing right now is contemplating where Grayson                    keeps the liquor.”

           “Call Raven all those names, she doesn’t like it.”

           “Really? Because if you haven’t noticed she hasn’t exactly asked me to                stop.”

           “She gets uncomfortable, maybe not to the extent of asking you to stop,              but she tenses up and her body language becomes slightly more                        agitated.”

          “You seem to pay a lot of attention in how she reacts to thinks baby brat.             Seems to me that you like her.”

           “Of course I like her, she is a good friend and reliable teammate.”

           “No, you like like her.”

           “That presumption is juvenile.”

           “But you don’t deny it.”

           “Tch.”

-- If anything after that conversation Jason seems to doubled his advances. Which confuses both Damian and Raven. Damian because it is inappropriate and HR will be hearing about this. Raven because she was under the assumption that she and Jason were just friends. (Jason actually does have genuine intentions but is like 60% just egging Damian on)

-- Eventually (far too long for Damian’s tastes), both Dick and Kori return. At first it is sooooooo awkward. Like mom and dad divorced have shared custody but don’t hate each other but also cannot look each other in the eye. ((Was that a mouthful? Good)) No one can really look at each other the same? Though they do have a meeting to sort it out, get everything out in the open.

- Raven’s annual kidnapping/attempt to convert her/torture comes almost exactly one year after Damian joined the team (this is his 2nd time dealing with this)

-- This time Damian is prepared. By prepared I mean Raven doesn’t even leave her apartment before she is taken to safety. 

    “Damian what is going on?”

    “Christmas came early this year that’s what.”

    “Christmas? What in gods name are you talking about.”

    “God has no dealings in this matter.”

    “You do realize you are sounding like a bad action movie? It is not even 6 am and I am in your car going somewhere, I have had little to no sleep and I am barely dressed. What is going on?” Damian hadn’t payed attention to what clothing Raven was wearing. His mind was on one goal. Find Raven, keep Raven safe. His eyes glanced off the road enough to realize she was indeed not properly dressed. Her body was merely adorned with an oversized tee-shirt, tiny barely there shorts and a pair of fluffy socks.

    “I apologize, it appears in my haste I did not leave you time to properly clothe yourself. As to why you are here, it seems your father and his people have shortened their waiting time this year from one year to a little more than ten months.” Ravens hands fisted her shirt. “This time I was prepared,” last time he was still new to everything, last time he made mistakes, this time there will be no mistakes. “Since our last encounter with your demon, so to speak, I have been setting in place precautions and safety measures to ensure Nevermore and yours’ safety. I have also been tracking the movements of his big players. If any came close I would mark it down. Multiple are entering the city at this moment. Seeing as you we taken last time I have made plans to ensure that will not happen again.” The car made a snap turn down an unfamiliar street pulling Raven from her clouded gaze.

    “So I am going to be okay this time?” Her voice was faint and restraining against hope.

    “You’re going to be okay.” His hand lightly held hers. Only to stop the shaking, they told themselves, only to make everything better. “Nevermore is with Titus at my place being watched by a friend of mine. I have already walked Grayson through everything we will not be expected at work this week, but we can work remotely.”

     “We?”

     “I’m not going to leave you. Ever.”

-- ((Sorry for the blocks of text))

-- As Raven finds out they are at one of Damian’s safe houses. The one least likely to be tied to her. It is fully stocked with food, has security cameras and if needed weapons. The only problem is that the only clothes there are Damians.

    “Thought of everything huh?”

     “I was following their pattern, I expected to have more time to acquire clothing for you.” (he was looking away and blushing, you cannot tell me he wasn’t)

-- Raven just resigns herself to wearing Damian’s clothes, yes his brain does stop working for a hot second when he sees her in only his clothes.

-- All attempts to try and retrieve codename: Gem of Scath are foiled (like some good math)

-- So many bonding moments happen. Cuddling (pure accident *rolls eyes*), eating together, inside jokes, etc. At one point Damian answers her phone (he disabled and disconnected the tracer) to one of the mob guys after them.

    “Hello?”

     “You can hide the gem but we will find her.”

     “I’m sorry, is there a jewel you are looking for? I don’t think I have and any jewels that I am coveting.”

     “We know you are with her! It is but a matter of time until we collect her.”

     “I hope you do eventually find whatever you are looking for sir, but I haven’t the slightest idea the gem you speak of. If you could give me a physical description? Is it a ruby, diamond, onyx? Is it round or more of a pear shape?”

    “...”

    “Well, I will look for it here, but I do not believe I possess what you speak of. Will you give me your number so I can call you back?” (The line cuts dead, and Raven can be seen laughing in the background, the phone was on speaker)

-- Once the team tracks down, arrests and interrogates all of the parties working for Trigon; Raven and Nevermore can go home. Though both are reluctant in their own way. Nevermore has grown attached to Titus, and Raven well Raven has feelings. Sadly, as Raven knows, feelings are dangerous to have in their line of work. 

-- Look at Dick and Kori they were together and then they fell apart and the team almost imploded.

-- What about Trigon if he finds out about Damian and how she feels towards him? What kind of danger will he be in then?

-- Like all of her feelings Raven puts them in a box and locks the box away. Not just figuratively, in her safe there is a box with: post its, torn papers, journals, etc. That box has a lock on it. Whenever she has a new feeling that she cannot ignore, like her feelings towards Special Agent Wayne, she takes out the box and writes her feelings down. They can range from a single sentence to pages worth. (Her feelings towards Damian fill a small notebook she has on hand). Once she has written all of her feelings out she places them in the box, locks said box and then places the locked box in her safe, which she then locks.

-- Is this a healthy way to cope with her feelings? Maybe not. But, it is way better than how Damian deals with his. Violence. Also art but violence comes first.

- At this point both Damian and Raven have caught the feelings (highly contagious I hear), which makes this a little awkward and a little not awkward. For one everyone but Raven knows how Damian feels towards her. He does things for her and with her that no one else gets the privilege to.

-- To list a few:

--- He brings her tea whenever he gets himself coffee or tea

--- He talks to her about what he does outside of work, even about his kind of friend definitely not enemy, Jon.

--- They socialize outside of work. Watching bad movies (some of them are not that bad), going to the park with Titus (they once got Nevermore in a leash and walked her), meeting each other before and after work to get breakfast or dinner.

--- He doesn’t glare at her

--- He allows physical contact between the two

--- He worries about her (hello he created an entire plan so that she wouldn’t get kidnapped, with contingencies and everything, garfield would be lucky to get a plan)

--- His eyes light up when she talks, or enters a room, or you know exists in his vicinity

--- He actually smiles around her (Dick caught him smiling once at Raven and he though Damian was having a stroke)

-- Even though everyone knows Damian likes Raven, very few know that Raven likes Damian back. (this only includes; Kori, Dick, Jason, Titus, Nevermore, and Melvin) She does do certain things that give herself away just like Damian.

--The list:

--- When Damian gets frustrated or angry she puts a hand on his arm, or holds his hand

--- She laughs at things he does (light chuckles, or little giggles)

--- She will talk to him about his interests and actively tries to have conversations with him about things unrelated to work.

--- She blushes when he does something unexpected (like a compliment)((Mostly she tries to hide it until he isn’t looking at her))(((Kori has caught the blush before)))

-- Luckily for them it does not take some cliche ‘One suddenly becomes in danger and the other one saves them only to be close to death and then they admit their love for one another and promise to go on a date when the other is healed’ situation. 

-- Damian actually asks Raven out after being tipped of by Jason and Dick that she may like him back. Damian finds out when they have days off at the same time and asks her while leaving work.

   “Raven, you have this weekend off correct?”

   “Yeah I do. I wasn’t planning on doing anything though. Did you have something in mind?”

    “Um, yeah, heh, I was wondering if you would do me the pleasure of going to dinner with me tomorrow.” *Awkwardly rubs back of neck*

    “Like a date or two friends going to dinner?” *Thinks she sounds harsh* “I am honestly fine with either since we are friends.” *nervous smile*

     “Like a date if that is okay with you of course.”

     “Yeah, yeah totally that is totally okay with me.” *Starts sounding like a teenage girl who only knows about 10 words, because she’s nervous*

      “Good, I’ll be by your place around 1830, if that is okay?” *nerve central, the central nervous system could never*

       “Yup that is totally fine with me.”

       “Great.”

       “Good.” The elevator opens in the knick of time.

       “See you tomorrow evening Agent Roth. Have a good night.”

        “You too, Agent Wayne, you too.”

-- When Damian does pick her up he feels like his brain is going to explode. She looks absolutely breathtaking. This is just like all the other times they’ve gone to dinner, except this restaurant is slightly fancier and they are on a date.

-- Raven feels as though all her emotions are leaking out at once, she has no idea what she is doing.

-- In the end they have a good time and decide to do it again. Damian does bring up that all of the breakfasts and dinners they regularly do could now be considered dates. Raven does not oppose that switch at all.

- Fast forward a handful of years (like 3?), Damian and Raven are moved in together (Nevermore and Titus are happy about this, they even allow the humans to adopt another pet, a cat named Alfred). Damian is now Supervisory Special Agent Wayne and is in charge of their unit. Raven has retired from field work and now works at the FBI academy and at Virginia State University. In about 6 months Damian is going to propose and Raven will say yes. Their wedding will be small but happy and full of life.

Once again I would like to thank everyone and all the support the previous post got.

Like last time if anything is disjointed, out of place or seems wrong, please go ahead and tell me. I have been working on this since the last one, but have finally had the time to finish it.

I hope the new year will bring us all some good. Possibly more head canons to come.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 1)

(Gif credit to @kikuthestrange​)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: As usual, mentions and descriptions of blood, death, torture, injury and people being burnt alive. Mentions or allusions to rape. If there’s anything else I didn’t mention, please let me know. Fair warning that the Reader Character may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but please give her a chance.

A/N: Um, idk. Hope you like this, and again, really sorry if this is OOC. That is one hell of an insecurity I have when I start writing for new characters, but I really hope I’m not messing Ivar or any of the others up.

You are focused on the blending of some herbs to help the pain of some of the warriors, when a round metal shield is dropped at your feet. You raise your eyes from the snake engraved on the old metal to the Saxon, giving away nothing except a small twitch of your mouth.

But you know what that symbol is. It is a mark of the Attics.

“Most of the Greeks are dead,” He states, certainly, viciously. Your eyes fall closed, and you heave a sigh. “And I will personally see that the survivors are hunted down.”

You knew this was going to happen. The Varangians cornered Stithulf into the confine of these walls and yet last night he sent a hunting party, the best of the best within his Arab mercenaries.

You knew he wasn’t going to try and kill Ivar the Boneless or his brothers. No, he was going to take revenge on the people he deemed failed him, the people he deemed owed him a victory.

And it makes the whole ground cave under your feet, the realization that it is done. That the last of the Attics lie bloodied on the unforgiving earth. That their faith in you, their love for you, was their downfall.

Just like Narses’.

“I always knew you Christians were just as bloody and cruel as the worst of us,” You say instead, looking down at the shield again and picking it up with trembling hands, “You slaughtered hundreds of innocents.”

“If you had fought for us…” He starts, but you interrupt him with a glare. Some things don’t change even if you get far from home: all it takes to stop an army, to make a man like Stithulf hesitate, is a heathen witch.

If only their God hadn’t taught him to fear yours, the world would be so different.

“We’d all rather be dead than slaves to a Christian.” You hiss out, curling your fingers over the cold and bloodied metal. And you mean more than this battle, this war not your own that regardless you lost; no, you mean Byzantium, and the home you left behind.

“You could have avoided all of this, Greek.” He insists, the scar that runs from his neck to his uneven sideburn stretching around the smile he offers.

For a moment you imagine letting your hand run a knife deeply through that scar, open it again and see it pour red and victorious blood. Trace with a knife over every scar, so that he only remembers the torment you brought him.

No, that’s wrong. Trying to hide the grimace at your own thoughts, you shake off the shame and stand up. Holding on tightly to the shield, you feel you carry the weight of thousands of Greeks on your hand.

And because you were taught speaking things helped make them real, you promise, “Our Gods live on, and the worship of them is not something blades and blood can smother. Quieten, yes, but never silence.”

“You will die for your pagan ways, you know this, don’t you?” He asks, stopping you for a moment at the…honesty in his voice.

“I do not fear death,” You answer, and when you walk past an open window that looks over the foreign and cold horizon you add, quiet enough that only the Gods may hear you, “I welcome it. Let Hades summon me home.”

“I have reached an agreement with the Vikings,” Stithulf calls out, voice loud and echoing in the halls. You grip the shield tighter. “There will be…negotiations tomorrow.”

Your mouth smiles and your tongue runs with dangerous words before you can stop yourself, “You will sit and talk with the same men you scoured the world trying to kill?”

“I know when I am defeated, Greek. Something you lack.”

You say nothing else, the defeat finally setting over your shoulders and all you can do to keep appearances is to keep walking and pretend the tears are not clogging your view as you walk past unfamiliar halls, on unfamiliar grounds, with the weight of unfamiliar and familiar ghosts over your head.

Spending the rest of the day, almost till the sun sets, taking care of some wounds and fevers, you can almost pretend to yourself that the life you give here, the damage you heal here; can start to make up for all the death you and your mistakes have caused.

You raise your head from your work on the stitching when strange rhythmic sounds reach your ears.

Metal on wood. Dragging sounds. Metal on wood again. Something dragged again.

The door to the barren and almost empty home you are using as a makeshift infirmary opens, and the silhouette of Ivar the Boneless stands on the doorway.

Your heart pounds in your ears, and the warrior with his injured skin under your fingers hisses a breath when your needle pierces deeper than intended into his skin. You mumble an apology in Greek, but keep your eyes on the King.

“You don’t need healing.” You quip quietly in his language, rising to your feet and motioning for the Greek you were helping to remain in his seat.

To be honest, you don’t know why you stand up, why you straighten your back and raise your chin. You can pretend to be as tall as you wish, as strong as you wish, but everyone in this room knows if the Varangian wants you dead you will be so.

“I wanted to talk to you.” The Viking offers, forced nonchalance as he approaches. His legs don’t seem to work normally, and the contraptions around them are like you never saw before. The healer in you notes they look…painful.

He gets close enough you can see his handsome face clearly in the candlelight, but far enough you don’t feel threatened. The King remains standing, straight and proud, by one of the wooden pillars.

His pale eyes, you note in the now clear view the candles provide you, switch to the warrior sitting a few feet behind and then return to you. You resist the urge to play with your fingers.

“Why?” You ask, retrieving with trembling hands one of the linens you will use as bandages for the wound on the Greek warrior’s back.

“I’m…curious.”

“So am I,” You reply, rolling the needle you use for the stitches between your thumb and forefinger as you study the man. “It is not every day that I find myself meeting with a Viking King.”

“So you know who I am.” He states, and you cannot know if he is disappointed, proud, or a mix of the two.

“Of course I do,” You answer without hesitation, “And I also know it is not me who you are supposed to be meeting.”

“I wanted to talk with you, witch.” He insists again, reminding you of a spoiled child, but also showing you that, either for the foreignness or something entirely him, the Varangian is uncertain on how to talk to you.

It almost makes a smile curve at your lips, and your impulsive heart wants you to send the warrior off and talk with this strange man, this…Ivar the Boneless.

“I…am busy,” You answer instead, returning to your stitching. If your hand trembles a little and you cause a little more pain than you intended as you finish up the last of the stitches, no one can blame you. “I must tend to the wounded, Varangian.”

“A smart woman would know better than to deny me.”

“I never claimed to be smart.”

“Are you always this insufferable, woman?” He snaps, anger rises in his voice, making the warrior you are standing behind tense under your fingers as they wrap a bandage over his back and ribs to keep the wound from infection.

But you, past the fear, feel a small smile start to curve at your lips when you find the pale eyes of the Varangian King.

“I try.” You reply with a shrug, but a growl is the only answer you get.

You watch with wide eyes as the Viking unsheathes a small knife from somewhere in his chest and, instead of throwing it like you would expect, he flips it so that he grabs onto the blade instead of the handle.

His fist clenches around it, eliciting a sharp breath from the King and blood that drips between his fingers.

“There,” He grunts, opening his hand and letting the knife clatter unceremoniously to the wooden floor. He returns his piercing pale eyes to you and his mouth almost bares in a snarl, his nose furrows in cold anger, as he speaks, “Now you have to tend to me.”

So the rumors were true, he is actually crazy. Although you doubt a man that can topple Aelle, that can conquer York, is crazy.

No, he is clever. If maybe too angry and arrogant, he is still cunning. That thought alone reminds you to keep your guard up.

A part of your mind begs you to be sensible about this, not to do anything stupid, but you finish wrapping the wound on the warriors back with skilled fingers, and tap his shoulder so that he stands. Ivar the Boneless keeps his eyes on you, defiantly and terrifyingly, as he watches you move. You turn your attention to the Greek and nod as goodbye, “Go, I will be fine.”

The man looks between the Varangian and you, before putting his right fist to his heart, his left arm bent behind him in a goodbye and a sign of respect to you.

“Anassa.” He mutters in farewell, and you watch him go wondering how many days will it take for him to also die because of your mistakes.

And as the door closes behind the Greek, you notice truly how engulfing the darkness and the defenselessness are. The city moves on around you, but all that reaches the small cabin you are in is the faint sounds of a stray horse or farm animal. The Saxons wouldn’t want the heathen witch to be near their soldiers, after all, even in a city that was never theirs with barely any civilians on it.

All that means you are all alone and defenseless, with a Viking known for his cruel and vicious ways. Gritting your teeth and fighting to keep your heartbeat from drumming away in your ears, you turn back to the Varangian and motion for a chair near you.

He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t, because no one in this cursed land listens to a damn word you say.

His hand still drips red to the wooden floor, and you pointedly look at it where it rests on his side and back to his face. The King only cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed.

“You speak many tongues,” The Varangian states, not even a question, “Our language, the Saxons’, but I don’t recognize the other one.”

“Greek,” You reply, “I am not from here.”

“I noticed.”

With a shrug, you state, “Probably why you haven’t killed me yet, isn’t it?”

But the Viking doesn’t answer. Instead, he limps towards you, but where there should be -to a sane woman, maybe- a threat, a danger, you only find your heart beating with the same fast pace it did when you were about to cross a dangerous and wild stream by Eleusis’ forests. A hint of fear, a hint of curiosity, and much more than a hint of freedom.

The rage of the stream deafened you, uncertainty beat quickly on your chest…but your bare feet still continued running towards the water.

You keep your eyes on his.

“You are…outspoken, witch. Are all Greeks like you?”

“You should lower your eyes when men are speaking.” He advises with more than a little anger in his tone.

You hear faintly of Sieghild’s mocking scoff, and you stand up from your chair and stalk to Narses in a few strides, keeping your eyes on him. A sick part of you is trying to test him, to dare him into laying hands on you to shut you up.

The lies would come easier if he did.

“I cower before no man, my love.” The endearment drips with poison, and the twitch in his expression tells you he is aware of it.

There’s rustling of armor, and out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of Lysander straightening to his full height, the mantle of the soon-to-be Anax of Sparta set well over his shoulders as he walks calmly towards you.

For a moment of distrust and panic, you think he will take the side that wants to silence you, but your cousin stands next to you, although slightly behind, offering you his support. His hand is comforting on your shoulder.

“You may do things differently in Attica, but in Laconia our women are not slaves,” Lysander promises, voice dripping authority and more than a slight threat, “Descendant of Theseus, aren’t you?” He breathes out a chuckle, “You will have to venture into the Underworld like your ancestor to make a woman of Spartan blood cave.”

You breathe out a laugh, “No.”

“So you are not afraid of me.”

You look into his pale eyes and wonder for a moment. What is there to fear? It is true his fame precedes him, even if you choose to ignore his name, his truth. Rumors of madness, ruthlessness, unpredictability, rage, cruelty; they all are kept safely in your mind, to torment you faintly with exactly the kind of beast you try to dance with.

But you remember the time that mad man in the flimsy boat offered to take you to cross the Aegean, and how the threat of pain and death and cold all hung over you like shadows; and yet the curiosity of what lay in the realm of what if made you still get on that feeble boat. You have a feeling it is the same kind of stubborn and reckless curiosity that makes you offer the King a small smile.

“I learned long ago not to fear any man, Varangian.” You answer, motioning with your hand to his injured one, hoping for response this time.

The Viking’s eyes are defying as they challenge yours, but you refuse to lower your gaze. He sits by you on one of the chairs, movements graceful and confident as he discards the crutch he uses to walk by the table.

After a breath, he offers you his injured hand.

You don’t hesitate, even if a part of you tells you that you should, and take a seat at his side, working instinctively as you start wetting a clean cloth in some water infused with honeysuckle and goldenseal.

Taking his hand and opening the rough fingers to your sight and touch, you clean off the blood and hope silently that you are not the one responsible for Ivar the Boneless getting an infection for a stupid wound on his hand.

“Why are you and your people here, if you are from the Mediterranean?” He asks suddenly, but it doesn’t startle you like it should.

With a deep breath and keeping your eyes on your work, you offer, “The obvious answer would be attacking your city, my King.”

“And retreating.” He points out lowly, not biting into your taunt.

Lifting your eyes to his, you search his pale gaze for a few moments. You offer him sincerity in exchange for his calm, “The Christians were going to surrender, we knew this the moment your army arrived. We had no interest in this war of yours.”

“Then why fight in it?”

“Obvious answer, my King?” You ask around a smirk, and the man’s eyes darken as he leans closer. A finger underneath your chin threatens you as much as a sharp blade could, and you swallow past a dry throat.

“Careful.” He cautions, and his lips curve around a smile as dangerous and poisonous as it is enthralling and tempting.

“Our commander agreed we aided the Saxons in exchange for their army’s help in our homeland. With my-…with the commander dead the Greeks were called to retreat.”

“But not you,” He points out, still uncomfortably close. “You didn’t retreat.”

You wish you had an answer to his unspoken question. But you don’t. You could have run with Galla and the others, you could have forged your own path with Sieghild away from battle, the Gods know you have done so before.

You could have, but still you fell back to the Saxon city as if survival was to be achieved only by acceptance of defeat.

“A lady ought to have her secrets, I’m afraid.” You answer instead, lowering your eyes back to your work. Although you can sense the young Viking wants to demand more, because of course he does, he remains silent.

______

Hi, thank you for reading! I really hope you are liking this so far, and that it isn’t boring lol

Again, thank you so much, and I’d love to hear from you!

[youneedasoultraveller]

Is Nicky the only one headcanoned by people as bad with languages or are Nile and Booker seen the same way too (Andy is of course excluded from that due to her age and Joe is universally depicted as skilled with languages) ? I would expect Nile to be seen as bad with languages due to the American education system but it doesn’t seem to be the case.

Hello! Post-response me would like to apologise once again for the length of this post :(

I have personally not found a single fic where either Booker or Nile were depicted bad with languages; at most I found fics where Nile cannot speak languages other than English yet and you have the rest of the Guard routinely teaching her this and that idiom.

So, no, in my experience the only one that I saw people actively headcanon as bad at languages is Nicolò. Even though exactly as you point our if we want to go by stereotypes the one that should have been hc’d as such should have been Nile precisely because the large majority of Anglos are monolingual and the way languages are taught in their educational systems is horrendous to say the least (I will never forget my experiences studying Arabic in a Canadian university).

As it stands, Nile is shown using a couple of words of Pashtu, and if I remember correctly it is mentioned that she speaks Spanish in her presentation card, but if it’s the average American knowledge of Spanish ���mi casa es su casa” then I would not call that speaking it. But these are just suppositions :)

So canon doesn’t give us much, that we know. And this is where headcanons come in. Like I was saying, usually people would not write Nile as multilingual but as someone who is in the process of learning several languages.

No one is indicated that she is bad at it, although if you ask pratically anyone in the world they will tell you that Americans and Brits are the worst at both learning and speaking other languages, because in those cultures there is a deep imperialist bias engrained – whether they are aware or not – that everyone in the world speaks English, so they can spare the effort to try to pronounce properly another language, or, God forbid, learn it at all. Nothing indicates us that Nile butchers or not other languages, and no one ever takes it into account.

As for Booker, he is French so normally Anglos would have also made fun of his way of talking if it had not been for Matthias.

And now I reach my point. The main reason why Nicolò is consistently depicted as terrible at languages is because of Luca’s Italian accent, and the fact that you can see he is not as fluent in English as Marwan and Matthias are, who are like him not native speakers. This even though the man speaks five languages.

I am not going into the whole mess with interviews with native English speakers who treated him as if he were dumb just because he could not really understand their accent (I myself often have to slow down and ask for a repeat, because some accents are just not as immediately intelligible as Anglos think), given that it has been discussed at length.

The only thing I want to stress is how this headcanon is extremely imperialistic, condescending and plays once again into the harmful stereotype of the dumb, illiterate Southerner.

Linguistic discrimination is a thing, and it’s a thing everywhere. By linguistic discrimination I don’t just mean that against people who cannot speak a major language (or the “official” language of the country they are in), but it also affects accents.Accents have everything to do with geography and class: it is a marker of where you are from, and plays into prejudices linked to the social standing and the class usually associated to that accent. Now, languages are a natural process, in continuous evolution and adaptation, whereas standardised languages (including a standardised pronunciation) are artificial choices. Just think of British vs American English: they are both theoretically the same language, but they diverge in several instances in terms of both vocabulary and pronunciation.Whip this up to the max when it comes to speaking a language that is not your own. The sounds and grammar structures of your mother tongue have an impact on the way you process a different language. That’s why it’s difficult for Spanish-speakers to pronounce S + consonant at the beginning of a word, or why Slavic languages have a harder H sound (again at the beginning of a word). Even when you have the grammar and pronunciation down to a T and are virtually indistinguishable from a native speaker, it does not mean that people who lose their accents and speak like a BBC tv host are any better at languages than people whose accent is still noticeable, or whose speech flow may be slower.

Having an accent does not qualify the level of fluency in a set language. Not speaking like a dictionary does not qualify the level of your intelligence (and I cannot believe I have to even say that).

And yet having an accent is politicised for classist and racist purposes. If someone does not blend in 100% with the majority, it means that something is lacking in them: usually it means they do not have the same level of education, which means they probably come from a lower class, or that they also are foreigners. So they are less than, just because their speech is deemed as not up to par with that of the majority.

@lucyclairedelune meant this when she brought up the example of Gloria from Modern Family, saying “you don’t know how intelligent I am in Spanish”. I want to make an example that is closer to my heart. Elena Ferrante in her wondrous Neapolitan Quartet described the life of a girl who was trying to escape from the material and psychological misery of the slums of Naples in the 60s. To do so she migrates North to study at one of Italy’s most prestigious university: here, however, she is bullied for her accent that clearly marks her origins and (prejudicially, since people of the South were in general poorer) status, class, and, finally, categorises her as less intelligent. Just because of her accent when speaking standard Italian. As a Southern Italian woman, I have often felt like I had to mask my own accent, both in Italy and abroad, to be taken seriously. This regardless of my academic qualifications or how many languages I speak. 

When people describe Nicolò as bad at languages simply because Luca has an accent and speaks English slower and less fluently than his co-stars, this is the context that this treatment plays in. Subconsciously (or consciously) it adds to the image that a big chunk of the fandom is painting of him as dumb and ignorant. No one else. And the fact that (luckily) no one ever uses Nile’s monolingualism as a marker for being less intelligent is also because being American is still taken as the standard, as well as the fact that unfortunately Nile (like Yusuf) is going through positive discrimination by which she cannot have any complexity or flaws (starting from hardly ever acknowledging the fact that she herself was part of an invader/occupying foreign force which has bombed and killed civilians in Afghanistan, and was in the midst of a military operation exactly in this sense). 

According to that specific discourse, Nicolò is being given every single possible flaw, in order to be opposite to Yusuf. Again, because this fandom, with its Anglocentrism and Puritan incapacity of overcoming black-and-white oppositions, cannot seem to accept that we have a beautiful interracial, interreligious same-sex couple of complex individuals, who can both be smart at the same time. I myself think that Yusuf historically is better at languages than Nicolò, as he was a merchant (and an artist), and I love this difference about them, but conflating intelligence with proficiency in one single language (because it’s only proficiency English that we have been discussing, let’s be honest, if the show had been shot in German we would not be talking about Luca’s issues with the language probably) is an utterly imperialistic, condescending and ridiculous thing to do.

I probably lost the train of my thought (and I had two beers in the meantime, so I am too tired to reread), but what I mainly wanted to highlight is that this mocking attitude towards Nicolò is rooted in both a  wider downgrading trend of his character, and on a general approach towards non-English speakers that Anglos have virtually everywhere.

[pollyna]

Garak arrival at Tarak Nor doesn't go unnoticed but, even if he's in exile, he's still Tain's protege and everyone and their mothers are afraid of him. So he has more free time than ever, his new job is relatively easily once he learns how to do it and trying to kill Gul Dukat is fulfilling for just a couple of hours the first week he's on the station. The man is quiet boring and not important enough to really attempt to his life.

Garak's day is spent sewing, reading, eating food that doesn't taste of much and hoarding secrets, one after another. But, even if he speaks most of the Kardasi's dialect and a good number of other languages, bajoran is almost alien for him. It takes him weeks to really understood a full sentence, during a lunch between two workers, and his life would be a little less miserable if he had, like everybody else, a UT but it doesn't work well with Tain's implant and the implant is more important than is own life.

By the time Tarak Nor becomes Deep Space 9 and Bajor is free, Garak knows how to speak Bajoran and three of it's dialect, Standard, a decent amount of Trill, Japanese and Arabic. For them, for the Federation just as for his fellow cardassians, there's no reason to think he doesn't have the UT and that he actually speaks all that languages.

After all the mess with the implant, doctor Bashir little trip to find Tain and a solution to save him, some adjustment to his quarters, is captain Sisko who asks him about the lack of UT and Garak laughs in his face with the little grace he has left. They don't dispense them for plain, simple tailors captain. Nobody tried to talk about him about it or to talk to him in general.

It's routine goes back to the one he had with the Cardassian's around, sewing, eating food that doesn't taste like much, reading to many books and trying to exercise a little, in the middle of the night when sleep doesn't come and the pain makes him almost blind(*). Odo still checks on him and Quark tries to sell him replicated liquor, that he swears, come directly from the capital of Cardassia Prime. The first smirk is almost disappointed when he doesn't do much else than his work and the second persists until Garak doesn't spend almost an hour straying at him, directly in his eyes, without telling a word. Apparently he hasn't lost his touch when it come to intimidation practice.

Garak is in the middle of a discussion with a Bolian man about the cut of his pants when doctor Bashir enters his store. Garak smiles at him, always polite and compose because he's a client, before turning his attention to the other man. After forty five minutes of discussion they finally find an idea that please both of them, Garak takes a break before his next costumer and he can almost forget about doctor Bashir still being there.

The number of language you can speak is astonishing Garak and oh boy, he really wants to have a conversation, doesn't he? More than enough, doctor he smiles, now, what can I do for you today? New suit or do you need another extravagant costume for your holosuit games?

No, I'm here because I wanted to ask you if you want to have lunch with me? Maybe today? ha asks and he almost seems to stand taller while he speaks.

I have to much work to do, doctor. But thank you the same for the invitation. Why his clients are always late? He has another three and then a bride before closing for the night and doesn't want to take other work to his quarters.

I- Garak, please. I know the last month I've been cancelling our lunches but- believe me when I say it was for a good cause.

I'm sure of it, doctor. That doesn't change I have a half dozen of pants to adjust, two betazoid clients coming in for two new dresses each and a Vulcan bride who's particular picky about the shade of her dress. Maybe next week. And gods be blessed because one the betazoid woman decides to arrive just in that moment and cut off their conversation. He barley notice doctor Bashir leaving the establishment. Or, at least, it what he likes to think.

The Vulcan bride leaves the shop but she doesn't take with her the headache she caused him. Cardassians may speak in circle but Vulcans are no better with their "truth". At the end Garak has to take some work to do in his quarters anyway.

The next morning, waiting for him in front of his shop, is Odo and what it follows is the most strange and peculiar breakfast he has ever had. And he had sat at the same table with the heads of, almost, every secret agency in the Alpha Quadrant.

To that it follows a lunch with commander Dax and a reluctant major Kira, who spends the entire hour alternating between looking at him waiting for a mistake and asking him about a particular fabric for a dress she would like to order from him. And then a breakfast with Quark and Odo, a lunch with Keiko and Molly, filled with pretty drawings, long talks about plants and the promise to help her to create a space for Cardssian's flower and, maybe, to look after Molly a couple of times.

In the next two weeks Garak eats with everyone, even captain Sisko and his son, a boy too tall for his own age. But not with doctor Bashir. After the Vulcan bride problem is solved he decides to go to find the Doctor, maybe to say sorry, think about how much he missed him, and maybe the could grab a bite together if he isn't busy?

What he isn't expecting, when he chimes to Julian's door, is to find the man listening to a recorded lesson of Kardasi, while repeating some of the sentences.

Doctor Bashir? Are you going to leave Deep Space 9 to live on Cardassia?

Garak! Oh god, I was hoping to have a little more time... he answers, looking almost embarrassed.

For what exactly doctor?

When we took care of the implant I realized you didn't have an UT and I asked captain Sisko if we could procure one for you because it could have been simpler for you? Just after I realized you didn't need help because you were speaking everyone's language without problems, but no one was talking yours. And I, sorta?, decided to learn Kardasi but it took me more time that I would ever imagined and a month went by and the others decided to help? I didn't even have to ask, they did all themselves and gave me a little more time to study but I still don't grasp it enough to have a serious conversation...

Oh dear doctor, you didn't have to go and learn kardasi for me! I would have continued to talk your language without any problem!

But I wanted to. And I learned about a little about your culture and about the meaning behind all that arguing at lunch. And I would like to invite you to another one, maybe tomorrow? If you have resolved your Vulcan bridezilla problem, obviously.

Garak doesn't remember the last time his cheeks felt so hot all at once. I would be delighted, my dear. And, perhaps, I could tell you some about my Vulcan bridezilla problem.

I would be perfect, Garak. he answers before kissing him on his forehead.

—

Garak's routine doesn't change much after their first date, he still sewing, eating food that doesn't taste of much, read books but now they're from all over the galaxy and in every language he speaks. He's still learning new languages and existing without a UT. But now he rarely spends a lunch alone sometimes he gets invited to dinner by Keiko or Capitan Sisko. When he doesn't sleep and everything hurts to much there always are a couple of hands shooting his ache and talking him down most of his nightmares.

Deep Space 9 it still to damn cold and distant from what he defines has home but it's something he could learn to live, because now is not alone anymore.

(*) I don't honestly know if there's some equivalent of the Italian sentence "non vederci più dal dolore" but it seemed the most appropriate translation.

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms- One of My Turns

Part 13

Woah, so many violence warnings. My god, Mari went off at the beginning here. I support her in her decisions. Any guesses what comes after this?

CLOSED list of people I anxiously await for the reactions of: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Gasping into awareness, Marinette's eyes shot open, flying around her surroundings only to lock on to the masked men holding machine guns making their way through the space, a strangely dressed man she vaguely recognized cackling behind them to the sounds of screaming. 

A total of eight of them wandering the enclosed space. Green edged into her vision with the next gasp as fear and unadulterated anger pulsed through her. They were here for Damian, that had to be. How did they find them so quickly, dammit?! She left his belongings on a perfectly sized unrecognizable corpse, it should've taken twice this long to identify the body as not the heir and even longer to track them down to Gotham and fly out. They couldn't be here, they would not get him, he was hers now. Her family, her only family that knew she was alive and they couldn't have him. She wouldn't allow it.

Green overtook her vision for a moment and she decided they deserved whatever came to them in her insanity. She pulled the hood she felt on her back up and over her head while tugging up the scarf around her neck to hide the rest of her face before giving in and dropping back into the screaming cesspool of her mind. 

Marinette became an observer to her own actions, with no say in the matter beyond the absolute need to protect what was hers. At the scream that echoed out, she launched herself up and over the edge of the table, grabbing the first man by the wrist and yanking so his back turned towards her. Her toe pressed into the back of his ankle and presses forward to force him to stay standing on both feet to not fall forward, grabbing the hand holding the gun and yanking it back to brace the hilt of his own weapon against his shoulder to avoid the recoil ending on her. In reaction he immediately opened fire without thought and she took advantage, swinging in the direction of the next two approaching men, somehow hitting in only nonlethal spots as though something was redirecting her. The bloodthirsty screams raged louder at the lack of death and the man in her hold tilted back to pin her into the table behind. Her hand disarmed him without thought, slamming it into his head causing blood to pour from one side as he dropped to the ground.

Turning, she disassembled the weapon in fast practiced motions she didn't recognize, taking the clip and throwing it in an arch, catching the attention of the next attacker and making them focus on avoiding the projectile and she ran forward, sliding in at the last moment with a knife she grabbed off a passing table and slicing the woman's achilles tendons. 

The voices screamed in joy and the green grew brighter in victory as one particular idiot launched themselves at her. She used their own momentum to launch them face first into the wooden floor, taking the bloodied knife and shoving it deep into their lower side, avoiding major organs without meaning to as she twisted out from below, coming to a stand. Five down, three left, plus the familiar one.

One had disappeared from view while the others trained their guns on her. She didn't have her knives or staff on her. She wasn't sure how she knew this, but knew it all the same. Reaching towards the table closest to her, she gripped a hot mug and a small plate, breaking the latter on the table to create a jagged half moon shape. They would do. 

She watched as her body launched forward and into the first one before they could fire, the other two visible ones filling their ally with bullet wounds in their attempt to hit her. With the body launching back towards them, she threw the hot coffee from the mug into the face of the closest enemy, delighting in their agonizing screams as their face blistered. In the same instant, she launched the half moon behind her where the jagged edge embedded itself into the forehead of the one who disappeared before, attempting to sneak up behind her. It stuck where it landed, not deep enough to kill, but enough to pour blood down into their eyes and blind them as they stumbled back and yanked at it. 

Kicking the blister faced one over and out of the way, she focused in on the last one. The leader of the group. Their body language was nervous and the voices went into a frenzy of anger and fear and outright panic with the sight, ready to take out the last threat. From where she sat in the back of her mind, she thought perhaps she wasn't the type of pushback they were used to. She hated how much she wasn't in control of her actions at this point but felt secretly pleased that her madness held off enough to not kill any of them yet. So long as they received medical attention soon enough. Someone must've called this in by now, so she forced herself not to worry on it, watching as her body held still waiting for her opponent to strike, knowing the fear would fuel the man to lash out soon enough. Then the madness would take him out and she could go back to her new life with Dami, out of their reach.

The man chose this moment to shoot at her, though it seemed more a dart gun than anything. She caught it midair and threw it back, watching him jump in a panic, the dart puncturing his skin before he could dodge the unexpected rebuttal. She watched as he clawed at the mask on his face until it fell away and twisted on the ground, freaking out at her feet. Finally she knew why he seemed so familiar. Scarecrow. She faced the man once as Robin when they were younger, the darts always holding the newest batch of fear toxin. The toxin she breathed in. 

Threat diminished, she frantically glances about before launching herself out a back entrance and into a side alley, yanking the scarf off her face as she escaped from view, gasping for air unaffected by the toxic fear gas. She turned down two more alleyways before pressing into a wall and focusing on counted breaths, hearing Damian in the back of his mind counting with her in a soft lull. The green slowly faded out and she looked around.

How did she get here? Where was here? Why wasn't she back in the apartment with Damian? Nothing made sense right now and she desperately forced back the panic at knowing she ran out on him even if couldn't figure out how.

Voices sounded from around the corner and as they drew closer, she heard her name. Her real name. As the first one turned the corner, she fisted their collar and twisted, pinning them up against the brick wall where she had been leaning moments before.

"Who are you? How do you know me?" She demanded, not realizing she had switched to arabic.

Molten brown eyes widened in fear, stuttering out, "Mari? Marinette it's me! Snap out of it!" 

She heard footsteps stop behind her, giving a wide berth as though to not crowd her. Narrowing her eyes, she focused on the face in front of hers, taking note of the shape of their nose and sway of their black fluffy hair. They were older but she couldn't help but be reminded of 'Marc?' she thought to herself, "What are you doing here?" she kept up in arabic, still not fully aware enough to realize it.

"We brought you here, remember? For your seventeenth birthday," a voice called carefully to her right. Whipping her head to the side, she recognized Juleka, Chloe at her side. Twitching to the side a bit, she noticed Kagami on her other side, looking ready to jump in at a moment's notice. Marc spoke up then.

"The gas took hold too fast, we got caught up in the illusions. By the time we came to, masked men were bleeding all over the place and you were nowhere to be found. We came running after you as soon as we realized you were gone. You must still be under its effects."

Her eyes jumped from one face to another in confusion and panic before staring down at herself. This was. This wasn't. How was this possible? Was she back in her old body? She thought the connection was lost. Thought she'd never see her old life again. As shock overtook her, the others became weary in her still silence.

"You don't think," Chloe trailed off, meeting Kagami's eyes around her.

"A switch? Wouldn't we have realized if she still had a soulmate? I thought she lost them years ago?"

"It has to be though.They obviously don't understand what's going on and that definitely wasn't any of the languages she speaks."

Arabic. She spoke arabic, they just didn't know it. Spiraling further, she dropped her hands from Marc's shirt. If this was her old body then his body, Jason's body, was where she left it. With Jason inside of it. Jason was in his old body in her new apartment. With Damian. Who only learned the truth within the last week and had no idea what he was waking up to. With a boy (man?) who thought she was dead up until this point and would have who knew what reaction to finding himself in his supposedly dead body in a strange place with a strange boy.

Panic shot through her and she took off away from the group in what she thought was the approximate direction of her home, only to get yanked back by the wrist. As the momentum launched her back, she turned with hand raised to shove off whoever had stopped her only to feel a tug at the back of her mind telling her it was time to go. Letting herself fall forward against a startled Marc, she quickly gave in.

…

Coming back into Jason's body, she stopped facing a door only to feel small hands push at her back, urging her forward.

"Lets go! You promised we'd find her so move already," a small boyish voice sounded behind her. 

Turning around, she dropped to her knees in from of Damian, "Dami? Are you alright? Is everything okay? I'm so sorry, I didn't know the connection would wake up."

She watched as he looked her over, chewing on her bottom lip as relief swept over his face and he pushed forward to hug her close.

"I'm okay. Everything is fine, you couldn't have known. Are you okay? He mentioned you being attacked and hit with toxin?"

"I took care of that. Nothing to worry about. You know better than to doubt me," she teased, tucking his head under her chin and taking in his warmth and scent, comforted by his relaxed state. She heard a small triumphant noise and a soft "knew it" and gave a half laugh, half sob. 

He had feared for her as she feared for him. Within the span of the switch, he not only apparently argued with her soulmate, but convinced Jason to hunt her down out of worry. Sitting flat out on the floor, she tugged him down into her lap, surprised when he allowed it.

"He knows now."

"Knows what?"

"Where we live, how you came back, everything. It was stupid of me, I shouldn't have blindly trusted him like that. He'll probably come here now."

Processing this, she pulled back a touch and looked at him, using her thumb to smooth out the wrinkle between his eyebrows before slowly answering, mind still reeling from everything that happened.

"It's okay. If you found him trustworthy, I trust your opinion. I suppose all we can do now is wait." He ducked back down against her chest, a silence falling upon them as they thought on what was to come.

[fangirlinglikeabus]

every target novelisation....2!

planet of giants by terrance dicks ok so i think that the reason that this is...good, and an unearthly child was...not good, is because this was written 9 years later when like. other, non-terrance dicks people were also novelising stories and he wasn’t just grinding them out on an industrial level. planet of giants isn’t one of the greats of doctor who but this is a competent adaptation - it doesn’t add much but it does flesh out what’s already there, giving us some backstory elements and making the appearance of giant insects and bodies seem a bit more dramatic than they could manage in 1964. unfortunately it also alters my favourite line from the story (‘i don't know how you know, you're supposed to know!’) and the doctor is weirdly hostile at the beginning (he’s looking forward to ditching ian and barbara, he responds to barbara’s observation ‘drily’ like he’s being a bit sarcastic over her, um, *checks notes* noticing important details). also, dicks describes this in the opening as ‘the doctor’s most grotesque and terrifying adventure’ and i’m like...planet of giants? really??

doctor who and the dalek invasion of earth by terrance dicks ok this one legitimately doesn’t change much at all. it cuts down on some things (including the doctor’s end speech being shorter - i’m assuming that’s a space thing), fleshes out on pov bits as you can in prose, gets rid of the smacked bottom line. bizarrely there are a few times that susan calls her grandfather the doctor which...i’m pretty sure wasn’t there originally. aside from all those small details, yeah it’s basically the same, but it’s well adapted for prose (i genuinely think it stands as a novel in its own right), and depending on your reading speed it might actually be a nice, shorter alternative to the television version - it was around 45 minutes less time for me. some general things i wanted to comment on: the resistance is explicitly shown as kinda gender segregated (exclusively women are preparing food when we first see it) which irritated me; the description of parliament as a symbol of ‘human progress and tradition’ reminded me of blood harvest having the lords/commons system as the Ideal Form Of Government, in terms of how terrance dicks thinks (this may only interest me? idk i very probably spend too much time thinking about the political views of this particular dead dr who script editor); there’s a use of holocaust here that’s technically accurate to what the word literally means but it felt weird to me to use it.

the rescue by ian marter oh man i’ve been busy and this took me aages to read. it kinda...diverges increasingly from the original story as it goes on. we’ve got some scenes with the seeker crew (incidentally one of them says ‘ass’ and i was like???hello???you’re allowed to do that in a dr who book from 1987???), and then most of the expanded stuff is in the climax. dr who and bennett have a full on brawl! ian, barbara and vicki visit a destroyed didoi city on their way back to the tardis! mysterious silver figures! a giant worm encounter! incidentally, this does have way more of a downer ending than the original because it’s strongly implied that the last two of the didoi were killed by seeker crewmembers who fired in a panic, after which the report that forms the epilogue ends with “goodwill to all persons” to give us a taste of bitter irony. so that’s kinda grim. um...there’s actually a lot of little changes and minor expansions to this one as well so off the top of my head: we learn more about why vicki left earth (global warming :/), sandy is a lot more threatening-looking than on screen, the crashed ship gets its name changed to astra-nine, ian and barbara hold hands briefly, barbara’s fall really leaves her beaten up. i like the seeker crew comparing the tardis briefly passing them to various non-police box objects from the future (although the link to china is a bit eastern world=alien association for my tastes), dr who telling vicki ‘give that pretty face a wipe’ is clearly him attempting to cheer her up and it’s not meant to be weird but i found it weird. finally, i’ve gotta say i appreciate ian marter’s commitment to ‘mildly unsettling’ in his descriptions of tardis materialisations. this was the last novelisation he wrote before his death (the book’s dedicated to him) and mild criticisms aside, i do think he’s a good writer and he brings an interestingly different angle to the series. 

the romans by donald cotton oh my god. how do i even start this. i’m not even going to try cataloguing all the changes because this isn’t even close to a straight adaptation. it’s told in the form of various documents collected by tacitus - the doctor’s diary, ian’s journal that he keeps to prove to the headmaster at coal hill that he and barbara haven’t just eloped (i’m not joking, this is the textual reason for it), an assassin’s letters home to his mum, nero’s scribblings, and various other little details. vicki and barbara get less attention than on screen because we don’t see much from their perspective (vicki unfortunately doesn’t even get to chase the assassin out, she just screams in this), and the nero assassination plot is exclusively confined to being mentioned in the epilogue. it’s also a lot broader, or at least consistently broader, which means that ian’s side of things is treated a lot more lightly (which i was personally fine with) but also that we still get nero’s predatory behaviour being played for laughs. there’s also a few comments about women early on that i was unhappy with, and use of fat as an insult. generally, though, i thought this was great! there were a lot of things that i don’t have space or time to include here but i really liked. i guess i’d consider this as a companion piece to the tv version rather than a replacement, which some of these do basically serve as. they tell the same basic story, but they’re so different in a lot of ways that i think it’s worth looking at both. i just checked my notes and remembered this so content warning: poppea sabina’s first section references suicide.

doctor who and the zarbi by bill strutton ok so i think the web planet is boring. i don’t know completely why, i don’t think it’s any one thing, it has some interesting ideas, but it is! it’s fucking boring! anyway, we have a bit more casual sexism in the novel, we’re missing that fun convo about aspirin between vicki and barbara, but really i don’t think it adds or changes much - like even the chapters correspond pretty much exactly to the tv cliffhangers. i guess it’s competently written prose-wise, but i genuinely can’t get over my conviction that this story is boring. am i being unfair? maybe! i like some of the early atmosphere, though, and i appreciate a book which refers to ‘the ship tardis’ (lowercase) and ‘doctor who’ throughout the entire thing. oh yeah, and i encourage you all to look up the illustrations for this. i don’t know who that woman is but she’s definitely not vicki.

doctor who and the crusaders by david whitaker ah yes, the infamous ‘susan married david cameron’ novelisation. tbh i don’t like the crusades and this has the same problems - i don’t care about the english, el akir is every orientalist stereotype whitaker could possibly cram into one man, and That’s Not How A Harem Works. do i think it’s the most egregiously racist doctor who story of all time? probably not! it certainly has sympathetic arabic characters too. but i prefer most other historicals, at least. however, if that isn’t you, i’m sure you’ll get something out of this. there aren’t any particularly extreme changes to the plot structure, although it’s missing some later scenes at the english court, but it’s well written and probably if you like the original you’ll enjoy it more than i did. there’s some dated language surrounding black characters, though, i’m not a fan of the whole ‘we aren’t so different’ speech ian has (because it rests on ‘we all believe in a higher power’ which uh. i don’t. guess that means i’m not ‘civilised’. also generally i don’t like the argument that we should respect each other because of what we have in common - you should respect other people whatever!), and the prologue at the beginning where they muse on history and destiny assumes that the english invaders and the arabs are both equally right in their own ways (the doctor outright says this!)

the space museum by glyn jones so, i really like the space museum. mainly for vicki’s revolutionary fervour, but there are other reasons too. however, i don’t think that this really adds enough to be of interest - although we do get some information about the two alien species’ biology, and a bonus explanation of why everyone speaks english (the moroks briefly considered invading earth so programmed some earth languages into their translation system). there’s a bit more wandering around the museum, some minor tweaks and expansions in other areas, an underground tunnel scene where we learn a bit of the planet’s backstory...ian and the doctor are very snippy to each other in this, which i find funny. oh yeah, and there’s a bizarrely meta bit where ian comments on poor dialogue? basically, this is a book i enjoyed, but really it just makes me want to watch the space museum instead of reading it. just a heads up, there’s a character who briefly considers suicide to get out of his bosses being angry with him. 

the chase by john peel ok before i get started i need to establish that the cover for this one slaps. anyway, i don’t respect john peel at all but this was...alright? doesn’t expand much plotwise (although i suspect both the sand monsters at the beginning and the plants at the end have slightly more to do) but we get a fair bit of pov stuff. unfortunately lacking ian’s dad dancing and hi-fi the panda, the marie celeste bit is no longer played for comedy (barbara angsts over it) and even though the two paragraphs dragging morton dill are kinda funny i’m not sure how i feel about him being committed for claiming he saw daleks. ian and barbara’s departure plays out a little differently. steven is blond for some reason. we learn as well that daleks are charged by solar panels (at least they’re pro-green energy??)

the time meddler by nigel robinson pretty competent, straight down the middle novelisation, although that is tempered by inserting some weird sexist bits for steven and also lowkey being nostalgic for 11th century england at a few points? it’s also a bit more violent than we see on tv, and if anything the rape is more loudly implied, so heads up. other than that, there are a few minor embellishments (we’re explicitly told the dr and monk recognise each other, vicki tells steven that the tardis is important to her because it’s her home, a few differences between the monk’s tardis and the doctor’s are described, vicki views steven following her as a triumphant victory in their power struggle which i personally find funny), and there’s a prologue (recapping steven’s arrival in the tardis) and an epilogue (which delays the monk’s discovery of the broken tardis because he walks to hastings first to try and get involved there). i had fun, but it’s not a must read. 

[rileywrites]

If you’re still doing prompts, this is from your prompt list in the random section — nos. 4 or 14, or from the fluff section, no. 12, in yet another of my reluctantly shipped ships, the Book of Nile. *sigh* (I have fulfilled the requirement of the manifesto) 😆

I wanted to give you options just in case someone already asked for any one of these!

Or, if you want, you could go for my original prompt, which would be: Nile has now learned Italian, Ancient Greek, Modern Greek, perfected her Arabic, etc. When Booker returns to the fold, Nile asks him to teach her French, (which Andy, Joe, and Nicky always said would be his job when he came back) but he basically gives her the “Ask your mother” “Ask your father” treatment, passing the responsibility like a hot potato between the other members of the Guard. After some time has passed, Nile catches him quietly singing songs in his old dialect of French, and oddly, only when the two of them are alone in a room. Since his old dialect has basically died out, she can’t exactly google translate. But she begins to suspect something’s up when Quynh stops dead in her tracks after she walks in on Booker singing something while making breakfast, as Nile sits at the table, enjoying everything, which leads to Quynh disappearing, and quiet laughter coming from the bedrooms. After a confrontation, he admits he didn’t want to teach her French, at least not for a while, because he wanted to have the ability to tell her how he feels about her through singing ancient French love songs, without her knowing, promising himself he’d teach her his language, when or if the day ever came that he could tell her in words.

I’m so sorry it’s a bit long, but this just popped in my head, and I know you’ll do wonders with this, if you decide to do it. No hard feelings at all if you don’t!

Thank you so much, you’re an amazing writer, you capture the voices of the TOG characters so well — I always smile when I see your name pop up with a new BoN story on AO3!

Thank you for this wonderful prompt, darling! I have absolutely run with it. I will write the snippet prompts eventually, but this one grabbed me by the throat.

Read on Ao3 Here.

...

After fifteen years with the Guard, Nile has a pretty good handle on just about any language you could think of.

Nile can give a eulogy in Spanish, ask for directions in Pashto, negotiate a weapons deal in Russian, woo a honeypot target in Italian, con a businessman in Greek, and navigate trade in Arabic. She can read, write, and speak Ancient Greek (circa Nicky and Joe's era) and is passable in several dead languages from the Steppe and Southern Asia. She's decent at Mandarin, getting pretty fucking good at Vietnamese, and doing her damnedest to learn Hindi. (It's  a struggle.)

The one language she hasn't picked up yet is French.

It isn't for lack of trying. Her grasp at French is enough to not get her killed, but most of her practice has been with Quebecois or the dialects spoken in Morocco. Basically, if she spoke French in France, they would laugh at her, and her comprehension isn't great

"When Booker comes back, he'll teach you," Andy promises. "He has the most modern French between the five of us. It will do you better to learn from him."

"That doesn't do me any good in the interim," Nile points out.

"He'll be back any day now," Andy says. "Trust me, he'll crack soon."

...

Nile gets to their most recent safehouse late after a long night of schmoozing. She hates long cons, hates that some of humanity's evil can only be taken down with espionage and not brute force.

Her feet are killing her. These sky high boots make her ass look amazing, but her leg muscles regret every life choice she's ever made.

The TV is on, even though Joe and Nicky are supposed to be on recon. With Andy and Quyhn in Istanbul following a lead (to keep a grouchy Andy off of desk duty for a weekend), Nile's senses are on high alert.

She enters carefully, gun drawn.

"Don't shoot," Booker says, hands up. He smiles slightly. "I would have messaged, but I don't have your latest code."

"I still have the Nokia you gave me," Nile points out. "Andy could have told you that."

"Maybe I wanted to surprise you."

"You definitely have too much of a death wish for someone who can't die."

Booker doesn't have a comeback for that. Nile holsters her gun.

"Hug me, you sneaky bastard. It's been literal years."

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He crosses the room in two strides and steps into her waiting arms.

When they collide, it knocks the wind out of Nile's lungs. Breathing is irrelevant anyway, when she's in Booker's arms.

"I missed you, asshole," Nile says into his shoulder, probably getting makeup on his dumb denim shirt.

"I missed you too. I'm sorry that I did not visit sooner." Booker rubs one massive hand over her back. "Your feet probably hurt. I should let you get changed."

"One more minute."

Later, when Nile has had time to change into an oversized t-shirt and Nike shorts, her wig back on its mannequin head, Nile sits down with her feet in Booker's lap and grills him for information.

"I got sober about five years ago." Booker rubs her feet without hesitation, well-trained from centuries with Andy. "I haven't had a drop since."

Nile nudges his chest with the foot he isn't massaging.

"I'm proud of you. It can't have been easy."

"It wasn't." Booker bats her foot away. "It was worth it, though. You deserve a better teammate - you all do. Besides, I don't need to spend the rest of my immortality intoxicated. Six thousand years is a long time to be drunk."

"So what have you been doing since?"

"I spent a lot of time Journaling, processing my emotions. I worked in several literacy programs across the world, staying long enough to help but not too long." Booker shrugs. "Safer that way, I guess."

"Did you bring me pictures?"

"Of course. I have no clue how you keep finding film for Polaroid knockoffs though. It's twenty-thirty-five."

"I have my ways." Nile makes grabby hands in his direction. "Pictures. Please tell me there's pictures of you holding cute children you're teaching to read."

"Of course there is." Booker finds the envelope in his bag, careful not to dislodge her.

The tiny gesture is so fucking heartwarming it hurts.

"I have training in literacy coaching in English and French, so I've worked just about everywhere."

The photos are fucking adorable. Nile flips through them with glee, enjoying the tiny humans and huge Booker sharing textbooks and screens. One little girl in particular pops up in several.

"That's Adelaide," Booker says when Nile holds one up. "I stayed in Port Au Prince for almost a solid year, because I couldn't bear being another to abandon them. When she was adopted by a family in the church, I decided it was time for me to come home myself."

"That reminds me. You're back, which means I finally get to learn proper French."

Booker hesitates.

"Come on, Book, I know you have the qualifications." Nile retrieves her feet so she can kneel by his side on the couch. "You promised. Andy promised. No one else will teach me."

"Nicky hates French," Booker points out.

"I know, and everyone else is too stubborn. They all want you to teach me." Nile fidgets with his rolled-up sleeve. "I want you to teach me."

One good bat of her eyelashes later, and Booker finally agrees.

"Fine, fine, I will teach you French."

"Yes!"

"Eventually. For now, you need rest. Andy will insist on a stupidly early call tomorrow."

...

Six months later, and Booker hasn't said three words to Nile in French. He uses it on jobs, with Joe and Andy, when he talks to himself, but not with her.

They end up in Calais for three days, longer than expected, and Nile bugs him to go out with her.

"Come on, you can teach me in the field. I can practice." Nile pokes him in the arm. "You can laugh at my shitty attempts to use your language, and then you can correct me. Fun and educational!"

"I have too much to do, Nile. I have to make sure this program runs properly, or else we can't get on that plane." Booker waves her off. "Go read something. We have more books than sense here."

"That's not hard, when you're dumb." It's petty, infantile, but it gets Booker to smile and that's enough. "Fine. Don't think it's the end of this, though. You promised to teach me."

"I know, ma cherie, and I will. But for now, entertain yourself."

Nile grumbles. "I am forty-one years old. Don't act like I'm a child."

"I know you aren't a child. However, you are being a brat, so shoo."

"Asshole."

Nile pokes through the books in Booker's latest pile and fishes out something newer and trashy. Brainless. It'll do.

(And if she gets him to throw couch pillows at her by doing dramatic readings of the worst bits, all the better.)

...

Booker has been back in the fold for almost a year.

"Booker, you promised."

A year, and Nile is still just as shit with French - except for the curse words. She knows a whole stable of curse words now.

"Ask Andy."

Nile huffs. "I've been asking Andy for almost sixteen years, Booker. She says you'd be the best one to teach me."

"I don't know about that," Booker says, frowning.

"You're the French one."

"They've spoken French since it was invented."

Nile sighs. "Forget it. I'm going for a run."

She slides her ancient Nokia into her armband and pulls on her sneakers. A run will clear her head.

He doesn't say anything when she leaves. Nile tries not to take it personally.

They're in Istanbul, following up on the lead Andy and Quyhn have been chasing down. They're going to the Hippodrome in the morning, but for now, Nile has the evening to herself.

Why does this whole French thing piss her off so much?

(Nile isn't an idiot. She knows why.)

Maybe she'd be less irritated if he hadn't started singing recently.

It's nothing too obvious, just little snippets of old-sounding songs in a version of French that is either impossible for her to spell, too old for Google Translate, or both.

Nile turns a corner, mentally marking her distance as her feet hit the pavement.

Maybe she wouldn't care as much if Booker sang when the others were around, but he doesn't. It's just when it's the two of them.

Booker is asleep in the armchair by the time Nile gets back. She pokes and prods at him until he's awake enough to shuffle back to the bedroom.

"We've got a long day tomorrow." Nile shakes him gently. "Don't fall asleep in your boots."

"M'good," Booker says, then mumbles something incomprehensible in French.

"Goodnight, Booker."

"Bonne nuit, ma cherie," Booker says.

Nile can figure that much out.

...

The next morning, Nile wakes to singing and the smell of breakfast. She pulls on a hoodie and shuffles out of her room, scarf still on because fuck it.

"G'morning," she says, muffled by a yawn. "Coffee?"

Booker pours her a cup as she sits at the table. Before she's done with the coffee, an omelet appears before her.

"You are the fucking best." Nile digs in, content to enjoy the moment.

Good food, good company, and surprisingly good singing.

Nile is halfway through her omelet, Booker still be-bopping around the kitchen singing, when Quyhn and Andy get in from their morning run.

Both freeze in the doorway before Booker can notice, but Nile watches their minds race.

"Good morning," Nile says.

Quyhn whispers something in Andy's ear, and they walk quickly back to their bedroom.

Booker seems to realize they're there about the moment quiet giggling comes down the halls.

Nile didn't realize Andy could do anything other than chuckle gruffly these days.

Booker blushes bright red and his eyes go wide.

"Booker, your breakfast," Nile points out before it can burn.

"Fuck." Booker rescues his omelet. "I should go talk to them."

Nile stands, hemming him into the kitchen.

"Why are they giggling, Book?"

Booker refuses to make eye contact, but Nile doesn't back down.

She's been a mercenary for a decade and a half. She's faced down gangsters and serial killers and oligarchs. She can handle pinning Booker down with a glare.

"They, ah..." Booker rubs the back of his neck. "They speak French?"

"I know they speak French. Why were they giggling?"

Booker finally makes eye contact.

"They're love songs, Nile. I've been... I've been singing sappy shit from my youth, because I knew you wouldn't understand."

"That's why you wouldn't teach me."

It isn't a question, but Booker nods anyway.

"I was scared," he finally admits. "Scared for you to know."

Nile wants to say something meaningful. Wants to sweep him off his feet, wants to kiss him stupid, wants everything in the world.

Instead, she steps back.

"We have a job to do. Tonight, if you want to, if you're ready, I want you to translate your songs for me. Then we can talk, yeah?"

"I-" Booker nods. "Yeah. Yeah, that works for me."

She turns on her heel to go get ready for the day, leaving Booker in the kitchen staring after her, baffled.

...

Later, blood and mud spattered and healing from a sizeable fall from a horse, Nile limps into her bedroom. She manages to get most of her layers off and into a basket to see if they can be salvaged, but her ribs are still healing so bending too much is out of the question.

Getting her bra off is an Olympic event.

Booker doesn't knock until after she's showered.

"Come in."

"I brought you... well, the translations." Booker holds out a new-feeling leather journal. "I wrote down all the ones I could think of. You can read them, and I'll just-"

"Sit," Nile says before he can escape. "Please, stay."

Nile reads, connecting words to tunes he's been singing for weeks.

They're sappy, fond, romantic, saucy. Nile enjoys peeking up at Booker to see him blush almost as much as the love confession she's holding in her hands.

When she reaches the end of the lyrics, Nile crosses the tiny bedroom and looks Booker in the eyes.

"Booker?"

"Yes?"

"Are you ready to teach me French?"

Booker nods, blushing. "If you would like, ma cherie."

Nile finally kisses him. "I would like that very much."

[kireihan]

[fic] anosaa

ship: mammon x reese

words: 1,332

summary: while the others sang of loving words, or laughed over silly phrases, he could only look down at the markings that simply mocked him.

a/n: no plot only word vomit but i love them anyways, also wow?? actual written content from me that isn’t a spicy mtl? hell yee

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

“Soulmates. They say it’s a wonderful thing, to meet another being, handcrafted by the universe to perfectly complement you. To make an incomplete being whole. Theorists say that during the big bang, two atoms-”

“Catch a load of that bullshit.” He turned off the TV. Falling back into his chair, Reese covered his eyes with the back of his wrist, the remote falling to the group with a sharp clatter. Whatever, he could pick it up later. Swinging his legs over the armrest, Reese hung his head back and stared at the poster covered wall as the blood rushed to his head. “Maybe I’ll just sleep like this tonight, my bed is cold anyways.” he said to nobody. Reese lived alone after all. Feeling bitter, Reese sat up properly again, feeling lightheaded as the blood rushed out. Why was he even in this sort of mood again?

Oh that’s right. Soulmates. Everyone seemed to have one. He had been reminded of this unwittingly by his online friend that he had been gaming with earlier. “Look at this! Matching armor! We could be like soulmates in this game.” Reese had simply laughed it off, although his mood was now spoiled. Apologizing, Reese had saved and logged off. 

The plan had been to make some dinner, more specifically another pot of instant ramen. While waiting for water to boil, Reese had pulled out his phone and scrolled through his feeds on Instagram and Twitter. Opening the stories, he was met with images of happy people holding and showing off their colorful soulmate marks on their wrists. The phone was immediately put away, he didn’t want to go there. Putting the boiled water aside, Reese opted for some icecream. He couldn’t be assed to cook anymore. If his stomach hurt in the morning it hurt in the morning.

Lazily lounging on his bed, Reese rolled onto his side and blinked as his phone lit up with a new notification. It was his coworker friend.

reese! guess what! i found my soulmate!

A bitter taste formed in his mouth.

aaaaa that’s great! 

This wasn’t fair.

I know right~ and he’s wonderful! lemme spill the tea hold on hgfjkdghsl

He should be happy for his friend. Deciding to just read whatever she sent in the morning, Reese put his phone down. His light blue eyes glanced over the words on his wrist.

Or the lack thereof. 

The bold, gothic-font looking wisps stared back at him. They were still black, dull, and nonsensical. “Seriously.” Reese grumbled, seeing how the tattoo he got over it was fading once again. Everyone was born with their soulmate’s first words to them on their inner wrist, whether it was French, Chinese, English, Arabic, German- but no. Not him. He was delightfully blessed with these weird symbols. They didn’t match any language. He had researched on Quora, posted on Reddit and joined a few communities that helped you find your soulmate. Yet no lead, nothing. Reese had given up a years or two ago. He couldn’t remember. 

Rolling over, he hugged a pillow, burying his face into the soft material. “Maybe this is the universe telling I’ll just die alone or something,” he laughed out loud. It wasn’t funny, and before he knew it, memories were flooding into his mind and out onto his pillow. 

“Ew that is that?! Teacher he’s creepy! He doesn’t even have words!”

Stop it.

“Don’t worry, you don’t need someone to make you whole. You can live by yourself.”

I know, but I’m lonely

“Why can’t you just be normal? You’re so weird with your cringe hair and strange symbols.”

I want to be normal too.

This sucked. Reese snuggled under the blankets, closing his eyes and curling up, his arms still holding tightly around the pillow. Hearing a rustling noise, Reese decided that was too much thinking. If it was the stalker breaking into his home from that joke letter he replied to about 2 weeks ago then so be it. Maybe they would be his soulmate. 

Never in his wildest dreams would be imagine being in Hell. Or whatever they called it. Devildom? RAD? Was this an illusion? Did he get killed by a stalker that broke into his house? “I’m sure you’re all feeling very shocked-”

“I- phhfsh yeAh-” Reese stuttered, looking at the self-called demon in front of him. He turned to the other humans in the room and tried to figure out what was even happening anymore. They simply looked back at him and shook their heads. After a long explanation that Reese had a hard time following, they were suddenly. being paired up. A black haired girl went with “Satan” and the demon called Asmodeus led a cheerful freckled girl out of the hall. One by one they were paired up, leaving Reese alone. Again. 

“Ah, there seems to be a mix up, give us a few minutes.” Diavolo smiled apologetically, checking a list and talking to the demon next to him. The black haired one, Lucifer frowned and sighed, pulling out a phone and calling someone. Reese stood there a little dumbfounded. After some angry yelling and quiet threats, Lucifer hung up the phone. 

“Mammon will be here in just a few moments-”

“I’M HERE-” a loud voice echoed in the room, following a loud slamming open of the door. Reese wasn’t able to properly see who entered before the white haired man was up in Lucifer’s face complaining. Ah, he must be Mammon. “Now why do I have to do this? You know I’ve got things to do! The Great Mammon-” yep, definitely Mammon. “-is too busy to look after some human! Oi! Stop looking at me like that, wait fine I’ll do it....”

“Anosa, I’m not just doing this because I’m scared of lucifer or anything-” Mammon turned around to address Reese, and indignant pout on his face. Reese could feel his breath hitch slightly. As confusing as the whole thing was, the men in the room were certainly fine as fuck, but this one. This one took the bill. Even so, the words stung slightly. “So just listen to what I say and don’t give me trouble, ya hear me??”

“I’d throw my wallet at you-” Reese muttered under his breath, before clearing his throat. Mammon tilted his head a little bit, not clearly hearing what Reese said. Reese’s face flushed a bright red, and he held up his hands. “Wait no no no I’m sorry, but I’m sure I can figure out my way around so you really don’t have to or anything, I’ll just find a directory or something.” Reese ran his fingers through his purple hair nervously, suddenly feeling self conscious. Mammon grabbed Reese’s wrist suddenly, disbelief etched on his face. “Wha-what is it.”

“This is Devilspeak.” Mammon muttered in disbelief, and Reese blinked. Nani the fuck did Mammon say? Looking down at the gothic font, it had bloomed into a brilliant mix of rainbow colors. It had activated. Mammon immediately dropped Reese’s wrist and pulled up his sleeve, looking giddy. On his inner wrists was some english words, also blooming the rainbow colors. 

“I think we match!” Match? It was activated? Reese furrowed his eyebrows, eaning in to see what was written on Mammon’s wrist. Sure enough, there it was. I’d throw my wallet at you. Mammon looked back up at Reese and smiled widely, his white teeth flashing. He looked as if he was a puppy offered 50 treats. Reese felt his stomach sink. So this was his legacy. “So will you actually do it- Ow! Hey!” Mammon was cut off by Lucifer smacking him across the back of the head quite hard.

“How strange, we were wondering why that appeared on him a while ago.” Lucifer leaned over Mammon’s shoulder and looked over the colorful markings. “It’s been a while since demon’s have gotten these.”

“This is Mammon, second born brother and the Avatar of Greed. He seems to be your soulmate.”

[wheelygoodteddys]

I don't want to do this!:

I absolutely hate writing about religious discrimination!

Frankly, I wish that I wasn't putting fingers to keyboard about any discrimination.

I also desperately don't want the focus to be on discrimination against everything Islamic and Muslim.

However, sadly, it's the most venomous hated that I have ever encountered, second only to racism against the black human beings of our world.

All my life I must have lived under a rock, maybe I live under a rock now, yet the vileness and outright lies that come out of those obsessed with hating all Islam and Muslims, plus anyone who stands up and says this is wrong, is obscene.

I am disgusted in the way these people respond.

I have had differing opinions with both Muslim men are women yet been addressed with respect and politeness. They are peaceful and not intimidating in any way.

Speak to a person who is anti Muslim, they refuse to listen to anything that may contradict what they want to believe, they will call you a liar and slander you. They intimidate and bully, call you names, question your mental stability, stalk your FB and target your children. The insults and illogical reasoning is unbelievable.

I am horrified that there are people like this in the world!

More horrifying still is for once I can see the appeal in hating the West.

Imagine a young Muslim man, born here, and rather then allowing him to explain what his religion means to him, to try and teach people, that hate everything about him, that he deserves to be not discriminated against, he gets told what his religion is, he is called a murder, a terrorist, a paedophile, a Mysoginist, etc. His sister is spoken to about her husband beating her, being oppressed, asked if she still has her clitorus, threatened with physical abuse, has her hijab torn off, threatened with rape, told she is a bad mother because she sells her baby girls to be raped by old men.

And no matter what they say to try and explain their actual beliefs the abuse flows. And this is from their own countrymen.

Mate, I would want them all gone too! Be honest, who wouldn't!?

Yet if they report abuse or complain about their treatment they are accused of wanting to change things. "They come here and try to change everything", is the cry from the haters!

1) There is NO law that insists that ALL women wear a Burqa in Saudi Arabia: Hijab is only compulsory for Muslim women. Anything else is a choice for those in a practicing Muslim family.

2) Women are not allowed to get an education in Saudi Arabia: I urge you to look up any TV broadcast from local Saudi Arabia telecasts. Women, in hijab, reading the news. This suggests an education. However, both men and women are encouraged to gain knowledge in Islam.

3) WTF does Saudi Arabia have to do with every other Muslim world wide, especially in Australia?

4) FGM (female genital mutilation) is an Islamic practice: Far from it! The Islamic religion urges that both men and women enjoy sex and that a man sexually pleases his wife. FGM is a tribal practice. However, MGM (male genital mutilation) has and still is widely practiced in Australia.

5) There is NO "no go" zones in Australia!: This urban myth was started by a female, Canadian Islamphobe. It was said to be proved when the police removed her from Lakemba for disturbing the peace. The police weren't working for the Muslims to enforce their "no go" zones! How ridiculous. Others tell totally unbelievable stories about women walking there and being spat on for not wearing hijab. Firstly, not all Muslimah wear hijab, even in Lakemba. Also there are numerous non-Muslims that go to these fabled areas to eat, visit, shop, do business, etc. This rumor is absolutely ludicrous!

6) Muslim women are oppressed, even here in Australia!: It is naive that there is no abusive people in any religion or walk of life, however, Muslimah are not oppressed as perf the usual course. Quiet the opposite! Historically, and as it is today, Muslimah have the freedom to do and be whatever they want, just like Muslim men. There is no distinction between what male and females can do. In fact, men are encouraged to wash their own clothes, cook and do housework. Also the Qur'an makes it very clear that the mother is the head of the household.

7) It is always claimed that Muslims want to change things: Yet, the question, "what have they actually changed?", goes unanswered. Muslims are required to live by the laws of the land, and as such, really don't want to change anything but the way they are treated. Especially how the women are treated. Our hero Islamphobes always target women and children because Muslimah are more recognizable.

8) Why are these people so threatened by the hijab or niqab?: For fuck sake it's a piece of material! It's not what's on a woman's head that oppresses her. However, who are those that want to oppress Muslimah? Muslim men or the Islamphobe? I say without hesitation, the Islamphobe! They don't ask a Muslim women how she feels, they don't ask what she may want to wear. They rarely comprehend the meaning of the hijab to a woman but rather try to twist it into some sexually perverse. They proclaim that Muslim women shouldn't wear a head covering. As Australia is a free country, with a freedom of religion and freedom of lawful individually, the real oppression and discrimination, is telling Muslim women what to wear.

9) Telling Muslim women what they are: The idea that, to Islamphobes, Muslim women are stupid and therefore, don't know that they are oppressed, would have to be the most Mysoginist slap in the face ever! All I can say is, "at least Muslim men know a woman's worth is awesome".

10) Muslim men marry girl babies of 5 to 6 years old and Muslim mothers allow it: Firstly, American is the place booming in child brides at the moment. With some states having no minimum age for marriage and also no divorce for women. Compared to Malaysian Clerics, years ago, raising the age of concent to 18. Also contrary to European/western/Christian culture, women have been granted divorce since the 700s in Islam.

11) Women wear the Burqa in Australia: This is actually one of those urban myths, started by Pauline Hanson. To see a Burqa in Australia would be very unusual. Most Australian Muslimah are from cultures that don't don the Burqa. The Burqa is an Afghan tradition and is very rare in Australia. Then why fight "ban the Burqa"? In one word, principle! It is against a woman's basic rights to tell her how much she can or can't wear, within the laws of public decency. There is also a security argument, as a Burqa is rarely worn that argument is rather moot.

12) Muslim men have lots of wives and children and just live on welfare: This is so silly that it's laughable. Once again, it is rare for Muslim men to have more than one wife these days as it is financially impractical. Also most Muslim men prefer one wife. In Australia, on average, the Muslim family consists of 2 children. With all this being said, usually Muslim men and women are educated and professional people. If not they strive to own businesses. The stupid welfare claims are unfounded and actually go against most Muslim traditions and cultures that have a hard work ethic.

13) They come here are get more welfare than Australians with no waiting period: This information can be researched on government websites. There is a waiting time for new Australians, Muslim or otherwise, which often means charitable families that sponsor them and take them in during this time. When they do receive any benefit, before getting on their feet, it is no more or less than anyone else.

14) They receive a thousand dollar iPhone and designer clothes as soon as they arrive: Is this one even worth answering? I just shake my head in disbelief!

15) Muslims have been Australians for generations: It amazes me how many people actually believe that no Muslim is Australian born. The history of the Islamic people in Australia predates white colonization. Islamic men from Indonesia travelled down and through Australia. There was intermarriage with the Indigenous peoples and even revertion to Islam by some. A more constant move to Australia, by those of the Islamic faith, started in the 1800's.

16) All Muslims are the same because they read from the same book: this is like saying that all Christian denominations are the same because they read from the same book. Most know that this is not the case.

There are many different varieties of Muslim. Yes they have the Qur'an yet addition books vary between the sects.

There are 72 different sects, numerous sects within the main sects, different traditions, different cultures, different regions, different regions, different countries and different families.

As for the Qur'an: there is the subject context, further context, overall context, historical context and spiritual context. Then all the different ways it is interpreted. Also interpretation can be manipulated and cherry picked to suit an agenda or bias. This can be said of the Bible also.

Where interpretation is important is in the understanding of Arabic. To translate a language as complex as Arabic into simple English leaves the meaning truly lacking.

For example: Islam is a very sexually moral religion. Men and women are not meant to sexulise each other, There is no unsupervised dating and dressing is modest. However, it is commonly thought the men will receive a bus load of virgins to have an orgy with in paradise. However, "virgin" more correctly translates to "pure". This is a "spiritual" context and "heavenly beings/angels is probably a better translation into English.

17) Muslims want to kill all Jews and Muslims. The Qur'an tells them to kill all Christians: Unfortunately people are so off the mark on this one. Islam actually says that Muslims cannot destroy a place of worship nor hurt religious "ministers". The Qur'an refers to Christians and Jews as the "people of the book". In fact, the only other women a Muslim man is permitted to marry is either a Christian or a Jew. The wives of these two religions are also not expect to revert as they are seen as sisters to Islam. Christian and Jewish men and women are thought of as brothers and sisters to Muslims.

There is a long list of urban myth, propaganda, rumors and out right lies that are used as ammunition against Islam and Muslims.

The arrogance of the Islamphobe is to tell a Muslim what their faith is! With no other religion would a person, outside that faith, verse another in their religion.

[korra4321]

Gifts (Alternative ending) (unedited)

It's had been exactly a year since she had him thrown in Azcaban , the prison that was build escpacially to keep wizards and witches like him under a lock and key, but in his case it was totally different , they made for him a very special cell with maximum security,it had a glass like texture instead of the usual stony one or the metal bar like , he has the furniture to be white or gray just like his room on her house , meal times was exactly like when they had it together, he even request the same scented candles that she had, the same painting on the walls , every single tiny trivia detail was the same as the one of the house .

It funny how she captured him , you see during his time as Lord Voldemort , another masked figured appeared it was a female one , it started so small at first she stunned few of his deatheaters that was guarding a shop leaving messages that a rebellion had began signed up as {Lady hope } , later she took down more and more until she became the face of the rebellion , as if she was Harry replacement , and in no time she was facing off the dark lord .

He shouted more cursed at her , wanting to just unmask her and killing her , he was curious to see the face of the woman defying him , that had the courage of the dead house Gryffindor, the brains of Ravenclaw, she was judging him and returning his cursed with lighter ones , aiming to just unmask and capture him, so when fate has it twisted way in fullfiiling thiere first part of the wish , both of them were left stunned with shock of who the other was.

Tom reached out his hand not believing his eyes, Korra had tears in her eyes , and he tough she was scared of him , he reached to wipe it out whill he opened his mouth to give a lecture , only for her to recover from the shock and whisper "Stupefy" knocking him unconscious.

He signed , returning to read the book on his hand ,just for him to hear the footsteps of two persons and a hiss that belonged to Nagini " I can feel my master " he smiled at the sense of her aura ,the door of his cell dorm opened reveling her , his soulmate.

Korra didn't change a lot just that her hair that she cut down to fit her rebellion mask , has gotten back to it original length, her eyes got that rest she deserve , her skin more healthy then when she was paranoid that Voldemort will show up at her door making her another victim for his limitless body count.

When she saw him for the very first time in a year she gasped, his hair has gotten longer not the length of a female , the length that was blocking his eyesight if he let his hair uncombed , he have gotten more thin if that was possible, not the thin the 'I can see your bones ' thin , the thin that those who strive to be more then model like , the Slytherin heir will not let himself starve , his skin got more pale due to the lack of sun light exposion , his eyes were still that lovely green .

They where staring at her, eyes longing at every single detail of her face once he was don't taking the examination look he smiled naturally , "hello love, I am glad that you put the long distance relationship state to end, I passed the taste didn't I?, Of course you were testing my ability for it " he didn't pose at the greeting part at all.

"Hello Tom ,I think that I stated before we are not lovers" Korra firmly said as she sighed heavily , she didn't fool herself in thinking that he will be acceptable toward that she didn't return his (obsessive) romantic feeling toward her , her feeling toward him were pure platonic one , nothing less nothing more .

He chortled lightly , "my bad , silly me how could I forget ,Korra , we are not lovers "

She smiled and realised a breath of comfort

"We are soulmates" he continued, saying that as if it's was a solid fact that no two can argue over it .

Korra took fee steps until she was close to him but not so close to see what was his book about , "Tell me Tom, did you really have to do that ?, You could use the easy approach"

Voldemort teeth dangerously closed on them self as he breathed " I doubt that those delusional freaks will kindly kill themselves if I asked for it , the only way to clean there sins is with their blood "

Korra who had regretted opening the wound inturraped him "TOM ,... What I meant was them not respecting muggle born and muggles themselves , I didn't ask for my bestie to go down full mass murder on everyone who was not pure"

He appeared to be taken back " Love ? I was not planning on killing you or myself  , I know that you are my soulmate , you see fate keep in adding more evidence to it nearly every day "

She tough that she will get used to his mood swings and his unhealthy obsession with the idea that they were soulmates, but clearly he could covert a conversation from 'how was your cup of coffee' to 'you see ?, The waitress brought for us smilliar mug colors ,is that evedence of we are soulmate?' in matter of minutes .

She rolled her eyes "surprise me Tom z what are they"

He was euphoriant to be asked that by her , "we are half bloods , you love winter and I was born in it , you don't mind snakes and exotic animals , I speak parseltounge"

'and I can speak sarcasm fluently' Korra though

"Your favorite color is black that is the same as mine, you hate the toxic people like I do , your Lady hope persona match my Lord Voldemort one , hope can be wordplay to hobie which means my love in Arabic...."

He bubbled that Korra zoned out of his chatting only to be zoned back in by...

" And your hair match mine now , you see you returned it to it original length , when mine is long for , we match even when I can't see you "

Korra lover that she didn't eat anything that day , just in case his lecture that she was so positive will leave her wanting to throw up , "you see love , you even feel sick from staying away from me "

Korra serach for a topic to talk about that can shift his attention on her "Nagini misses you"

His eyes widened " you can speak parseltounge?"

"No but I can understand body language"

"Hello master " Nagini hissed

"Hello Nagini , have she been waiting for my outbreak today ?"

"She doesn't know "

Korra still searched for a new thing to distract him before she ask him what the question she come for " Tom , what book are you reading?"

He returned his attention to her " oh , I am not reading more like writing "

He showed her the book, Korra felt more disguste by what he wrote it was just one word all ever the pages as she flipped them .

Her name

Tom having the habit of looking at her and drinking in every detail of her , when took his book to see , be took the opportunity to look at her hand , he eager from the inside , she had the promise ring on her finger , that was meant to have their engagement ring,

"Nagini ....kill whoever give her the piece of metal"

"Yes master "

Korra , reached the last page , she didn't know what negative emotion left for her to feel from it.

The page had a list of their weeding plan , honeymoon, no child name since he know she doesn't want any, the places that he will love to take her to, everything that he planed on doing for them, and all the (creepy ) romantic ways he planned on purposing to her then obliviate her , move to a new location for a different purpose way until he checked out all the ways , the last eat was bone chilling , he planned on purpose to her on surrounded by the corpses of their enemies , all whill they were on the body of the dying minister of magic .

Korra decided to leave it was the time to ask , she give him back his book , or diary to be more specific , when that time for their hand to hold to same object he took his sweet time , crassing her hand , "I love that your skin still smoth, I know mate you kept it just for me , the same way your body is left not touch by anyone but m...."

She took fee steps back , not shocked from his word , but when she saw the wall behind him .

It was filled with her name .

The tears fall down her checks , Tom got angry " come here love , let me wipe them by myself, I don't want anyone but me to do that, not even yourself " he extended his hands for as far as he can from the cell , eyes red like the blood of his fallen enemies .

"Tom , before I leave I want to ask you, why do I feel like something is always missing"

His mood swings strikes again " oh dear soulmate , we are soulmate so naturally you will that when we are not around each other , ... But I know that you mean physical, it because I made a hoxrac for you ...,a mate is equal after all "

"Goodbye Tom"

She began walking , only to hear him reply

"See you later love "

A chill run down her spine but she never looked back.

She was at home now , looking at her promise ring that she bought to herself from the jewelry store, she bought it as a promise to never ever visit him , but since she broke the promise she no longer felt obligated to wear it ,so she gently removed it and put aside on the coffee table.

She decided she need to take a nap , that last thing she saw was Nagini moving outside, before the sandman come for her.

When she woke up there was blood on her , but that was not what frightened her the most,

No it was the note on the same coffee table that she putted the ring on it ,

{Hello love , I am here , but let's play hide and seek ,I am hiding and you seek me

With best regards

Your soulmate

P.s you can't escape all the doors and windows are locked , the house have silence spell on it , oh and there is nothing you can use as weapon too, just your pretty hands  }

Korra never felt the need to scream in terror before like she felt it right there.

Her hands were shaking from rage , that he Tom from his hiding place could see , and being delusional he tough that was a sign of excitement.

He smirked , oh it was gonna be so much fun.

Korra stood up and give her back to the wall gluing on it to never give him the chance to jump on her like his twisted fantasies he have.

She didn't know what to do if she found him , didn't want to know what he will do to her if she did.now she was at the stairs she wished of she could looked two places at the same time , one up and one down .just in case he was to ambush on her .

With each step she took her heart beats louder , untill she reached the top and and had smelled the smell of salt and rust she opened the guest room to find the corpse of the jewelry ship keeper , and to make it worse Nagini was eating it.

Korra didn't fight the tears , she just let them fall , the snake was too busy to notice her , she closed the door and her eyesight was blurry ,she wiped them , just in time to her it " you know love, that keeper had it coming " the voice come inside her head , he was using legllemancy on her , when she tried to use ocullemency to keep him out she couldn't use magic and she was not surprised by that , of course he give her a potion that made her temperory as as she hoped to not use magic.

" Oh I just can't wait for you "

She ignored him , continuing her task she made the wall her support friend , his room was empty , she made sure to search the entire house before coming upstairs, so that leave one room not touched ,hers .

When she opened the door she found her room having a romantic one , straight out of romantic movies , with the sound of running water , "welcome love " his voice didn't come from her head , not it was from right behind her , Korra didn't have the time to turn around,

His arms sneaked around her middle holding her hands captive and his chain rested on her shoulder , his hot breath on her ears tickled her when he whispered " ohh how much I missed your"

"Fuck you...Tom Marvalo Riddle"

He laughed

"If that what you...."

"I didn't mean it that way you...."

"Love , you are dirty by his filthy blood , let's get you cleaned up "

His stupid mood swings.

He led her awkwardly to the bathroom that has the bathtub filled with hot water , rose pitals and the scent of coffee candle , her changing clothes were folded nicely waiting for her , she didn't dare to look at them , she didn't want to know what he chose for her , stupid choices she give him to make , now it come biting down on her , biting like the mess up fact the pet snake was eating dinner, the fact she was led to the bath by her (soulmate) bestie , that his hair was still long.

"Before we bath ...."

" Tom please I don't want to take a bath with you " he shock his head , "love , I understand that you are body shy , but that not a problem I will leave and let you take it by yourself , then once you don't I will bath in the same water you bathed in , that a soulmate right "

His eyes pupils were dialed as he continued not stopping

" Also my hair is long , so we you can cut it and wash it for me , just like you did when I was still homeschooled once, also the scissors are magically enchanted so don't even think about it ".

He wiped away the tears that felt down ,

"I told you only I can wipe them "

There was no escaping from him she knew it , she didn't have to look outside to see the dead bodies of all the enemies on the street , to see the Halloween night take a twisted turn.

To know that he let deatheaters customes be the Trojan horse to began and end successful his plan on taking over the magical world.

To see the two masks on her bed , Lord Voldemort mask and Lady Hope.

He sealed her fate with a kiss on her eyes .

[ofregiums]

silence ! raise the royal standard, for the king of hungary, DOMINYKAS VANCURA, has arrived. being thirty-one years old, he is currently on the throne. many around the court call him the insurgent by virtue of him being perspicacious and captivating, while also being ruthless and aggressive.  —played by max irons

— THE BASICS

full name: dominykas leandro vancura date of birth: july 26th age: thirty-one star sign: leo profession: king of hungary ( canon ), hedge fun manager mi6 operative ( modern ) loyalty: hungary, house vancura, entente alignment: chaotic neutral mbti: estp spoken languages: hungarian ( first ), english ( fluent ), spanish ( fluent ), french ( fluent ), mandarin ( fluent ), russian ( advanced ), italian ( advanced ), lithuanian ( intermediate ), polish ( intermediate ), hindustani ( intermediate ), arabic ( beginner ) mother’s name: gabriella vancura father’s name: richárd vancura ( deceased ) siblings, if any: pál vancura ( older, deceased in canon ), aurélia vancura ( younger ), adelaida & angéla vancura ( younger, identical twins ), dániel vancura ( younger ) children: laima vaisvila ( aged five ) height: 6′2″ hair colour: dark brown. eye colour: blue-grey.

— CANON VERSE

first off, let me start off by saying that dom can be the wOOOoooooOoooRST. what’s his damage, heather ? well, it’s not his family. his family was super loving and supportive and he grew up loving all of his siblings and such. never rly had the responsibilities of being king so he fucked around a lot as a teenager, partaking in hedonistic behavior bc why not ?

fell like fucking head over heels madly in love at the age of seventeen to a lithuanian duke’s daughter and shit, nothing else mattered. she was his polar opposite like a goddamn ray of sunshine but she made him want to clean up his act in a way that he never though possible. he !!! fucking !!! loved !!! her !!!

yep, loved. bc he can’t be happy, duh. they got married at the age of eighteen, things were fucking great. she tempered him down and reminded him that there was good that no one else saw. about two years into their marriage, the two discovered that tiesa was pregnant. but the war was brewing and he felt like he needed to fight and that all sorta stressed his wife out a lot. she has a miscarriage due to it.

that was the first knife to the heart. dom grew resentful and numb to his emotions. he detached from his family and was a far harsher and colder man. lacking a purpose, he went off to fight in the war. witnessing those horrors really fucked him up and added another knife to the heart.

he had a partner in crime in the war, a total ride or die. this was probably the only guy that could coax a smile out of dom lately. so obviously that meant he couldn’t live. he was killed saving dom. that traumatized the hell out of him.

coming back from the war, dom was no longer the boy he’d once been. he’d become a man, and that man was more akin to something horrible. he delved headfirst in hedonism to drown the pain and clutched to anything that could make him feel – if there was anything at all.

then, his father who he LOVED was murdered by prussia. ( clearly, i’m saying fuck dom rights ) 

the final straw for him ? losing tiesa. after the glorious news of hearing that she was pregnant again, the two thought this would be the new fresh chapter in their book together. she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl that they named laima. but as quickly as happiness returned to dom, it was taken away -- tiesa lost too much blood during the birth and didn’t even survive to see her beautiful creation. in absolute anguish, dom plucked all the knives of trauma that had once pierced his heart and declared that he no longer had one -- save for his affection for his sister and child.

coveted the throne from his older brother, but really it’s just something to fixate on so he didn’t delve too much into his own fucked up head. he was angry that his brother refused to attack prussia for their sins against their father. considered his brother a weak leader and fully convinced himself that he would be better. (spoiler alert: he wouldn’t.)

he got the chance to make that selfish, horrendous dream into a reality when the vancura family traveled to bern for the peace talks. one night, pirates stormed the castle taking lives and innocence left to right. dom seized his opportunity and stabbed his brother in the midst of the attacks. as he died, dom promised to exact revenge on prussia for their father. when guards came around, he pretended that it was the pirates that had done the deed. oh no ! long live king dominykas, i guess.

dom is hurting and in return, he wishes for everyone else to hurt. and if that meant lighting himself on fire and burning all the bridges on the way, so fucking be it. he’s vindictive and charming like a fucking snake, and he’s just as venomous.

anyways that’s my trash son. if you’re hot, he’ll flirt. if you piss him off, he becomes a scary mass of rage. terrible temper smh.

prussia, he’s coming for you hoes.

— MODERN VERSE

born the second oldest of the vancura children, dominykas didn’t have as heavy of a responsibility on his shoulders as his older brother did. honestly, he liked it that way. he had no desire in being controlled or even having a hand in his family’s business – banking. his great grandfather created the company and soon, the ambition turned it into an empire.

while his parents had met as children in hungary, they migrated to london once they eloped for a better chance in life. dom has only been back a handful of times in his life to visit family. he hasn’t been gone by his own will since the age of sixteen and doesn’t plan on doing so. 

instead of worrying about the family name, dom enjoyed being the pretty hedonistic rich boy that got everything he wanted and did everything he pleased. was the peak definition of a fuckboi growing up and was very proud of it.

didn’t really want to further his education. while he was naturally intelligent, he never had the desire to just learn for learning’s sake. but not attending university was a non-starter when it came to his strict father. he was handed pamphlets of high-end schools and was forced to make a choice. he decided on oxford university, since he had zero desire to leave england.

that ended up being the right choice because: a.) he met his best friend florian & b.) he met tiesa. she was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life and the moment dom tried to use his usual disingenuous charm on her, she shut him the fuck down. holy shit, he needed it. and the reason that she called him out on his bullshit was exactly the reason he fell in love with her. after much back and forth throughout their studies, she agreed to go out with him and they started dating very soon after.

near the end of his university experience, dom was approached by a “hedge fund firm” for an internship. upon the interview process, he learned that it was in fact a cover for the secret intelligence service. they wanted to hire him as an operational officer. dom, a known thrill seeker, thought it would be fun.

keeping his lives separate proved to be difficult, especially with how things were going with tiesa. they fought a lot about him being secretive and it placed a strain on their relationship. things grew doubly complicated when tiesa announced that she was pregnant. dom asked her to marry him instantly, not wanting this to be a decision that severed their ties. they had an elopement, much to his family’s dismay, and a few months later – laima was born.

if he thought he understand love before, fuck it only grew tenfold. all he knew was that he loved his wife and his daughter and he would do all he could to protect them. ironic, considering the nature of his job.

upon graduation, the secret intelligence service offered him a lucrative new position – in the field as an operative. it sort of felt like something out a movie but this was a cold reality that would change dominykas’ life for the worst.

collecting information, by means or torture or even worse methods, wore on the man. but he couldn’t just back out of his agreement. he was in for life and that was a decision he would have to learn to accept. except, dom was a stubborn man. so, he tried to get away. packed up tiesa and laima and booked a trip to the states. he was willing to trade secrets to the cia for protection.

the day they were supposed to leave, he found tiesa shot through the head in their kitchen. laima was wailing in her nursery. the official news was that it was a botched bulgary. but dominykas knew, he fucking knew. it was them. and he had no choice but to continue to work for them. for laima’s safety.

his mind spiraled into darkness and paranoia after his wife’s death. he didn’t know who he could or couldn’t trust. could it have been one of his siblings who betrayed him ? a friend from his dining club ? truth be told, the only person that he trusted throughout this all was florian but even his best friend could not salvage the shell of the person he’d become after losing tiesa.

now, dom bitterly continues to work for the service, no longer batting an eye at the the violence and schemes of it all. 

drinks a lot more than he used to. too much, actually. 

no longer attempted to be there for laima as he should be. truthfully, he sees too much of tiesa in her and the reminder threatens to take him off the deep end.

[sahihmuslim]

Sahih Muslim, The Book of Paradise, Book 53, Hadith 76

'Iyad b. Him-ar reported that Allah's Messenger (ﷺ), while delivering a sermon one day, said:

Behold, my Lord commanded me that I should teach you which you do not know and which He has taught me today. (He has instructed thus): The property which I have conferred upon them is lawful for them. I have created My servants as one having a natural inclination to the worship of Allah but it is Satan who turns them away from the right religion and he makes unlawful what has been declared lawful for them and he commands them to ascribe partnership with Re, although he has no justification for that. And verily, Allah looked towards the people of the world and He showed hatred for the Arabs and the non-Arabs, but with the exception of some remnants from the People of the Book. And He (further) said: I have sent thee (the Holy Prophet) in order to put you to test and put (those to test) through you. And I sent the Book to you which cannot be washed away by water, so that you may recite it while in the state of wakefulness or sleep. Verily, Allah commanded me to burn (kill) the Quraish. I said: My Lord, they would break my head (like the tearing) of bread, and Allah said: You turn them out as they turned you out, you fight against them and We shall help you in this, you should spend and you would be conferred upon. You send an army and I would send an army five times greater than that. Fight against those who disobey you along with those who obey you. The inmates of Paradise are three: One who wields authority and is just and fair, one who Is truthful and has been endowed with a power to do good deeds. And the person who is merciful and kind-hearted towards his relatives and to every pious Muslim, and one who does not stretch his hand in spite of having a large family to support. And He said: The inmates of Hell are five: the weak who lack the power to (avoid evil), the (carefree) who pursue (everything irrespective of the fact that it is good or evil) and who do not have any care for their family or for their wealth. And those dishonest whose greed cannot be concealed even in the case of minor things. And the third. who betray you. morning and evening, in regard to your family and your property. He also made a mention of the miser and the liar and those who are in the habit of abusing people and using obscene and foul language. Abu Ghassan in his narration did not make mention of" Spend and there would be spent for you."

Sahih Muslim, The Book of Paradise, Book 53, Hadith 76