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iturbide · 4 years ago

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OK FOR A CHARACTER ASK hit me with those claude ones

Oho we get a Claude double-header

How do I feel about this character?

Now I know I’ve already talked about how much I love Robin (which is a lot). I think we’re all pretty well aware of how much I love my resident tactician, and the fell dragon associated with them.

I personally feel Claude von Riegan is the best thing that has ever happened to Fire Emblem as a franchise. There are very few characters who inspire as much joy and respect and affection as he does. From his personality to his history to his dreams to his way of achieving them, Claude is hands-down my absolute favorite character in the entirety of Three Houses and I cannot say enough good things about him. It is entirely possible I might devolve into gibberish trying.

Who do I ship this character with romantically?

TRICK QUESTION Claude is someone I find unshippable, because he gives off intense aroace vibes to me. This is not to say I don’t enjoy the ship art I see of him around, but it’s not something that I think about of my own volition because I love Claude as this charming, outgoing, utterly kind person who has absolutely no interest in romance, instead making droves of friends that he cares for with all his heart.

Who is my brOTP for this character?

Claude is the kind of person who could be friends with just about everyone and I love that about him. He and Dimitri are pretty obvious by now, I think, given that I have a whole fic for them with Spite Project (and they’re also a key feature in both Kintsugi and Pre-Timeskip). Claude and Hilda is also a no-brainer: she becomes his right hand throughout the school year and I love the idea of them being super close, to the point that Hilda is Claude’s agent even if she does join another class (a la this great comic).

I also love the idea of Claude and Annette hanging out and making music together like they do in their Supports; he writes a verse for her song, after all, and I think the two of them sharing music would be really sweet. I feel the same way about Dorothea, actually, and really wish they could have had Supports: given that they’re both something of an odd duck in their respective classes, they could have had a lot of interesting conversations, and I’d love it if they could have made music together (which is the subject of a one-shot I have sitting in my drafts).

What’s my Unpopular Opinion™ about this character?

Quite a while back now fandom at large collectively seemed to shift in their discussions of Claude and say that he’s actually very selfish with his ambitions, and his Academy-phase combat lines (the stuff like ‘don’t hold a grudge’) were shows of his own insecurity and how he wanted people to like him.

That, to me, is a load of bullshit.

Claude is well aware that people are going to dislike him and distrust him if they know where he came from. He grew up being looked down on because he was half-Fodlani in Almyra, and things were no easier in Fodlan with those aware of his Almyran heritage. That’s what inspired his dream of breaking down the borders and ushering in understanding in the first place. He doesn’t need people to like him -- if he did, he wouldn’t be actively embracing the image people like Edelgard concoct of him as an underhanded schemer. His Academy-phase lines are flippant, even light-hearted, because they’re calculated that way: the less people think he’s a real threat, the better his odds are of winning, because he never slacks off. The stakes are significantly higher in the War Phase, though, so he drops the act entirely: “hold a grudge if you must” is a show of his true resolve, rather than some change in mentality.

And as for him being selfish: I can’t see anything further from the truth. Let’s not forget that his dream is one he admits is far in the future: even if he succeeds at pushing the Empire back during the war, he has a lot of work ahead of him paving the way in Almyra for his dream to be made real. And nothing he does is going to change the fact that his history was still one where he suffered. Nothing he does is going to undo that pain. His goal is to break down borders so that no one else has to go through what he did growing up -- and there is nothing more selfless than that.

What’s one thing I wish would have happened with this character in canon?

I desperately wish that Claude could have been recruited post-Derdriu in Azure Moon. Instead of leaving Failnaught with Dimitri and returning to Almyra, it would have been so powerful if he’d instead stuck around and seen the war through to the end, establishing yet more powerful relations between the Alliance and Faerghus before departing for Almyra to pave the way for his dream. It’s really a shame to me that we missed out on a chance for not only a true alliance between these two anti-Imperial nations, but more Supports between Claude and the Blue Lions cast. We could have had Claude and Dedue supports if Claude could be recruited after Derdriu. We were cheated.

And who could forget Dima

How do I feel about this character?

I have a major soft spot for Dimitri. He’s such a good character, and the way his character arc develops throughout Azure Moon is just shy of perfection (the only thing that could make it better is a slower turn-around rather than the abrupt 180 after Rodrigue -- and even that is somewhat forgivable since it’s made fairly clear he deals with a lot of his issues for life, rather than it being a “miraculous recovery”). The fact that he has both lingering trauma and unaddressed mental issues, which are so often taboo topics in media or outright maligned, coupled with the fact that his issues and his recovery both are arguably handled pretty well, makes him an absolute standout example of what can be done with character growth arcs and narratives.

Also he’s just a very good guy. He’s outrageously strong and works so hard to avoid hurting people. He’s gentle and compassionate and cares for the people around him, often at his own expense. I love him and I want to see him heal from his trauma and lead a happy life with lots of friends because he deserves it after everything he’s been through.

Who do I ship this character with romantically?

I actually have an answer this time. Because of my extremely limited ships for Three Houses, Dimitri and Marianne is one. I’m not a hard-core shipper for them, but the idea of these two broken people finding in one another someone who understands what they’re going through, who isn’t going to tell them “it’ll be okay,” who will provide them with support rooted in a deep understanding of how hard it really is...that’s absolutely beautiful to me. I love the idea of them starting out as friends, becoming partners and supporting each other in their gradual recovery, and eventually developing feelings for each other that they’re able to act on once they’re both in a mentally stable place where they can do so. It’s just...beautiful to me (and it’s why I’m angling for their endcard in my AM run).

Who is my brOTP for this character?

If you guessed Claude you would be right. Spite Project exists for a reason, after all. Dedue is another big one, and I love the two of them supporting one another, with Dedue trying to keep Dimitri safe and healthy when he won’t take care of himself and Dimitri doing everything he can to counter anti-Duscur sentiment for Dedue’s sake (and also I love the idea of Dimitri learning all he can about Duscur culture and language and working hard to help the Duscur survivors during his reign). Dimitri and Ashe’s friendship is also severely underrated, as is his friendship with Annette, who I think would be able to cheer him up even when he’s trying to cling to grumpiness -- she’s just that much of a joy.

What’s my Unpopular Opinion™ about this character?

My unpopular opinion is that fandom really needs to let the man heal. Dimitri’s popularity seems in large part predicated on how attractive he is and his mental issues, and a not insignificant part of fandom seems to think that a relationship is exactly what he needs to “fix” him.

Fun Fact: you can’t magically undo trauma or alleviate mental problems by putting someone in a relationship, romantic or otherwise.

What Dimitri needs, more than anything else, is help. He needs therapy. He needs to be able to address his traumatic history, likely in small steps, and he needs to find ways to manage his mental issues. What he needs, above all, is a stable situation without the stress of responsibilities exacerbating those problems -- and a relationship does not fit that bill. I desperately wish that people would just let him get to a stable mental place rather than forcing romance on him while he’s still traumatized or even feral, because romance is not going to heal what ails him.

What’s one thing I wish would have happened with this character in canon?

Rather similar to Claude, I desperately wish they hadn’t killed Dimitri at Gronder in VW. He’d already been through so much by that point, and killing him -- offscreen no less -- just adds insult to injury. I would have loved to have seen Hilda save him, or Claude manage to stop him before he left the field, bringing him back into the fold and eventually gaining a new ally in the fight as he works through his issues in the company of old friends (and unlocking more Supports because we were robbed okay). It’s an absolute shame that they decided to kill him rather than give him a chance at a better life -- I shouldn’t need to write this much fanfic in order to see Dimitri have a chance at happiness.

Give Me a Character

#answered #banyanas #anonymous #meme #fire emblem: three houses #claude #dimitri #i love claude so much you guys #i am a constant well of overflowing affection for him #i want to write him all the time and i hope i do him justice #and also dimitri is just excellent #i want to do right by him too #and do better for him than intsys ever did

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eugene114 · 3 years ago

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1 Holy Ghost, with light divine Shine upon this heart of mine; Chase the shades of night away, Turn my darkness into day.

2 Holy Ghost with power divine Cleanse this guilty heart of mine; Long hath sin, without control Held dominion o'er my soul.

3 Holy Ghost, with joy divine Cheer this saddened heart of mine; Bid my many woes depart, Heal my wounded, bleeding heart.

4 Holy Spirit, all divine, Dwell within this heart of mine; Cast down every idol-throne, Reign supreme, and reign alone.

Amen.

stumble

[ˈstəmbəl]

VERB

trip or momentarily lose one's balance; almost fall. "her foot caught a shoe and she stumbled" synonyms: trip · trip over · trip up · lose one's balance · lose/miss one's footing · [more] NOUN

an act of stumbling. "he broke a bone in his foot in a stumble down an Alpine pass" synonyms: fall · trip · spill · nosedive · header · cropper vouchsafe [vouCHˈsāf, ˈvouCHˌsāf] VERB vouchsafes (third person present) · vouchsafed (past tense) · vouchsafed (past participle) · vouchsafing (present participle)

give or grant (something) to (someone) in a gracious manner. "it is a blessing vouchsafed him by heaven" synonyms: grant · give · accord · award · offer · hand · confer on · bestow on · yield to · cede to · favor with · deign

Barth, Carl Wilhelm (1847-1919)

Seilskuter og glitrende sjø 1893

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 6 years ago

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A love that never leaves (9)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Mentions of torture.

A/N: Finally, we learn more about the Reader. Hydra sucks so hard and love has so many different forms. This chapter also features a cameo from the greatest woman in the MCU and this is my first time writing her.

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

“When I was 12-years-old, a group of men came to my home. The - blond man. He was looking for me. They arrested my Father and I ran. As far from Berlin as I could get.” Closing her eyes, the memory of that black night burns fresh. “I made it to the coast and bought the first ticket out of Germany I found. In March of 1929, I got to London.”

Bucky imagines her as a little girl, alone, penniless, mourning her father and hiding from an unknown horror. It makes him want to raze the world for her.

“That was brave. You were really brave,” he tells her, still rubbing her skin, but she shakes her head.

“That’s where I met him.”

*****

Late June - December, 1942 London, England

Night time in the hospital is peaceful.

Every bed is taken, housing occupants with injuries ranging from broken bones to missing limbs. During the day, a steady stream of chatter and cries of pain will fill every nook and cranny of the sterile hospital, but at night, silence reigns.

Beside a small metal table, she dumps out a basket full of clean clothes. Picking each individual strip, she stretches out the wrinkles, smooths them down, folds it in half, and rolls it into a tight ball. Each bundle goes carefully into the empty basket. Her fingers find a rhythm and the basket begins to fill.

Stretch. Smooth. Fold. Roll.

Out in the rows of sleeping soldiers, the occasional squeak of a bed spring pings as a patient shifts, trying to get comfortable. There’s a disgruntled sigh of failure and the place grows quiet again.

On and on she works, until she hears it.

From the rows of broken men, comes a whimper. The sound of a child holding back tears. It is so lost, it cuts to the bone.

She knows that sound.

Slipping back into the ward, she walks silently through the rows of beds, passing men with shattered limbs, men drowning in plaster casts, men who’s faces have been scorched away. There in the corner, she finds him. Locked in sleep, his head thrashes back and forth, terrified whimpers pushing past his lips. Bending over him, she sees tear tracks streaking down his cheeks, a sheen of sweat glistening across his forehead.

Tugging a clean cloth from the starched pocket of her pale blue dress, she runs it down his face, wiping away sweat and tears. Still, he makes those hurt noises, and she hears the words “no, please, no, sorry, sorry, sorry,” in a panicked whisper.

Out of habit, she glances over her shoulder, but no matter. She is alone with nothing but the soldiers and their nightmares for company.

As she’s done so many times before, she can help.

So, she does.

Placing perpetually cold hands on his face, she hums softly, hushing him. The broken whispers stop, but fat tears still leak from his closed eyes. Closing her eyes, she concentrates on what she finds, feeling the strangeness of warmth tickling her palms, no more than a mere second -

Instantly, the tears stop. Still fast asleep, the man sniffles and those hard lines carved into his face relax. In sleep, he looks so young, and really - isn’t he? No more than eighteen. Cursed to live in a time when men his age are dying in bunkers and battlefields.

Navigating around the clean white beds, she goes back to work.

The tragedy, is that those dark memories will haunt him all his life, but at least tonight, thanks to her, he finds solace in a dreamless sleep.

Sometimes these small acts of mercy, they are enough.

*****

Late one night, she sits at the front desk filing patient reports. Absorbed in the task, she doesn’t hear the man approach until he clears his throat.

“Excuse me, miss.”

Looking up, she sees a tall, lanky soldier. Curly black hair frames a broad forehead and deep brown eyes. Dressed in a crisp military uniform, she sees the Lieutenant insignia on his shoulder. Clutched in his right hand, is a knobby cane, and with his left, he doffs his hat and tucks it under his arm.

“I’m sorry to startle you.” His accent holds a hint of east London. “I’m here to retrieve yesterday’s patient files. Would you know where I might find them?”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” she says. Rising to her feet, she smooths the front of her dress and steps to the file cabinet.

At her words, she sees him touch the gold pin at his shoulder nervously. Leaning the polished wooden cane against the table, he tries to stand up straighter.

“Not much of a Lieutenant these days,” he says wryly.

“An injury doesn’t change that,” she states. Locating the file, she hands it over.

“Perhaps,” he agrees. “Pardon my poor manners. My name’s Henry Lewis.”

When he offers his hand, he gives her a shy smile and she accepts it. It feels warm, but then again doesn’t everything feel warm to her?

*****

The next night, she recognizes the sound. Hears the click-tap of a cane, and the gentle shuffle of a slow gait. The door opens, and Henry steps through. He sweeps his hat from his head and tucks it neatly under his arm.

“Good evening,” he says.

“Hello Lieutenant,” she replies.

A routine is born.

Each night he stops by the hospital, collecting files to return back to his office. Each night they exchange a few words before he tips his hat and ambles slowly away. She finds herself looking forward to his visits, discovering she likes having someone know her, as friends are a luxury she often foregoes.

It is much easier to hide the past when there is no one to ask.

*****

After a month of conversation, brimming with awkward stops and starts, Henry asks her to dinner.

They find a cafe with a table by the front window. Over watery lagers and small bowls of salted potatoes, they talk. She learns he grew up poor on the east side of London; when war was declared, he signed up the same day. Rising quickly through the ranks, he was a clever soldier in the field, until an unexpected bomb drove a chunk of rusty shrapnel through his knee in Belgium. Several surgeries later, the doctors declared it the best they could do.

Now, he walks with a heavy limp. Working in one of the Westminster war departments, he’s resigned himself to a stationary life.

Sitting across from her, his fingers draw patterns in the condensation of his pint glass. He speaks wistfully of war. Of being part of a team. Doing good in the world, fighting for what’s right. It kills him, sitting here while his friends are still out there.

“After all,” he says sadly. “Who needs another broken soldier?”

Shaking her head, she reaches for his hand and squeezes tight. His dark eyes light up at her touch.

“The world always needs good men,” she says.

“Tell me about you,” he answers instead.

She speaks of her life in London, of her work in the hospital. But those details of her past, her father, Berlin, her ability - she reveals nothing, offering only the black and white sketch of her life. There is no color she wants to provide.

Because, well. Being different is hard.

*****

The months are filled with a low simmering courtship. A drink in the pub after work, the occasional picnic in the park, dinner at the few restaurants still open in the midst of war.

Henry is an easy man to like. Gentle and unassuming, he has dimples in both cheeks that follow his shy smiles. When he gets excited, he talks with his hands and he stutters just a bit, and she finds herself charmed.

One night, he walks her home and quietly asks if he can kiss her goodnight. She hesitates for only a moment before saying yes, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses warm lips to hers.

It feels nice, this closeness. She basks in it.

Time drifts along, and there, surrounded by the frantic pace of war-torn London, they fall in love.

There is no earth-shattering event, no wild racing of the heart; it’s not that kind of love. Sometimes love comes barreling in, fierce and wild and full of fire, but other times it arrives slowly and without fanfare. It may not be what she expected, but love is love and she accepts it.

Having someone feels so nice.

*****

December 1942 London, England

Rain has been falling steadily for the past three days.

Inside the cafe, the radiator works over-time and the hot air coats the windows in a thick fog. At their customary table, she waits for him, cold fingers curled around a cup of tea. Milk is hard to find these days, so she drinks it black, stirring absently to cool the scalding liquid.

When they were walking home last night, Henry asked her a question.

“I’d like to marry you. If you would have me.”

Perhaps she’s been naive, but it took her by surprise.

Growing up, she remembers her father spinning a world of fairy tales, about a beautiful princess and a handsome prince, so in love they could overcome all odds. That was the love he knew, the love he had for her mother. It was what she hoped to find when she grew up, that wild, soul consuming love. The kind that could move mountains and bring you to your knees. The kind that always gives more than it takes.

The kind of love that never leaves, no matter what happens.

That was then. In this world, she long ago abandoned those sweet dreams; the nightmares of the present and the horrors of her past make everything so bleak.

But with his question, Henry’s given her hope. She knows that while she may never have the powerful love her parents shared, she can still have this. A gentle life filled with contentment.

So, she said yes.

Maybe it’s not true love, but it’s a deep affection all the same.

Maybe that’s enough.

After two hours of waiting in the bustling cafe, she decides to go home. Henry’s been buried at work and likely lost track of time. Shrugging into her coat, she drops a few coins on the table and waves to the woman behind the counter. Stepping into the crisp December night, she glances down the empty street, fiddling with the clasp on her purse.

A black car turns the corner and she squints at the dim headlights.

“Waiting for someone miss? May I keep you company?”

The voice at her shoulder is polite, but something makes her flinch. Goosebumps prickle up the back of her neck, biting into her skin and she forces a tight smile as she looks up, intending to brush the man away.

“No thank you, I’m - ”

Recognition comes like a fist to the face.

His brown hat is pulled low, but a tuft of white blond hair peaks beneath the brim. Time has carved tiny lines beside his pale eyes, but the cruel curve of his mouth is shockingly familiar.

Tonight, she sees it all up close, instead of from a hidden spot inside the wall of her living room.

A vicious smile curls his lips. Darting his hand out, he catches her wrist in an iron grip and she sucks in a breath as he leans close, his breath hot and sour, smelling faintly of whiskey.

“Hello little girl. I said I’d find you.”

The black car rumbles to a stop. Panicked, she opens her mouth to scream, but her deep breath does nothing more than inhale the fumes wafting from the damp cloth he suddenly shoves against her face. Speckles of black dance across her vision and she feels herself thrown into the backseat.

The door slams shut with a sickening finality.

The world tilts and goes black.

*****

December 1942 Location Unknown

The bare cement walls are slick beneath her palm. She presses her hand against it, feeling the rough grit of crumbling mortar; it has a vaguely tomb-like smell and she can’t stop shivering.

Rolling over, she pulls the flimsy wool blanket tighter, keeping her eyes locked on the door.

Where is she?

Her head aches and her mouth feels cottony dry, a lingering taste of the drug they used. Dammit. All those years of being cautious, of keeping her eyes open, and this is how it happens.

With a harsh, whining screech, the door bangs open.

Sitting up quickly, she recoils from the throbbing ache behind her eyes. Yellow light spills into her cell, before a bulky silhouette fills the frame. Dressed head-to-toe in black, from the tips of his boots to the thick black gloves to the high-necked collar of his shirt, every bare inch of skin is covered.

“Stand up,” he orders brusquely, “back against the wall. Hands out front.”

Defiance fills her, but exhaustion follows just as swift. Climbing painfully to her feet, she leans back against the cold stone and extends her arms. There’s a clank of metal and heavy shackles clasp her wrists, binding her hands together. Lifting her hands above her head, he presses himself flush against her, pinning her to the wall. She turns away and his mouth is hot and wet against her ear.

“You’re nothing but a fucking freak,” he sneers. “If you try to touch me, I’ll shoot you in the face.”

With that threat, he jerks her from the wall and shoves her into the bright hallway. Leading her down a narrow corridor, they pass by an open room where there’s a brief glimpse of shiny metal, and then she’s climbing a winding staircase. Up and up she goes, circling until she’s dizzy.

Finally, a wood door with a brass knocker appears. Three hard knocks and he shoves it open.

The room is small, with one wall made entirely of glass. It looks down upon a bustling laboratory filled with doctors in white coats, and through the window, she sees in full the glimpse of metal she passed moments ago.

It looks like a chair. Attached to the back, is a rudimentary hook, holding the thick metal halo hanging above; wide leather straps are affixed to the arms and legs, their silver buckles gleaming, while two round spotlights shine down, illuminating the entire contraption.

Even from behind the thick glass, the device pulses with a sinister aura. The chair emanates torture, destruction.

Death.

Seated at the table, is the man who grabbed her. Sipping coffee from a delicate china cup, he looks up at her entrance and bestows a congenial smile.

“Hello. Thank you for joining me.”

Shoved unceremoniously into a chair, the guard who brought her departs without a word. Still smiling, the man leans back, folding his hands over his stomach.

“You have questions, I expect.”

Looking around the room, she waits a full minute before she responds with the only thing she can think, her voice still husky from the drugs.

“Who the hell are you?”

At the question, a spasm of anger flits over his face. “My name is Colonel Wilhelm Richter. Someone you should have met a long time ago.”

“I don’t associate with Nazis,” she spits out.

“Oh, come now,” he chuckles. “Nazis? No.” Fingering the pin on his lapel, he unhooks it and sets it on the table. She sees it clearly now, the silver skull with eight protruding tentacles. “Hitler and his thugs are welcome to whatever they want, but Hydra are interested in more.”

“Hydra,” she says slowly and the name tastes like acid on her tongue. “And what do Hydra want?”

“The best for everyone,” he breathes. “Order and control. In the future, these wars will be unnecessary. We simply need people to follow our path, it’s so easy. But to get there, we need soldiers. That’s why we’re here,” he gestures to lab below. “Creating a new breed of super soldier. Strong and obedient. A fist to destroy what we command.”

Considering his words, she bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood.

She knows what’s coming.

“Why am I here?”

Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on the table.

“Years ago, I knew a young woman. Beautiful. Indescribably talented. When I discovered what she could do, I wanted her. More than anything. Hydra was just starting, we could have had such a bright future together, but no,” he sneers, lip curling in disgust. “Instead, she ran off and married some worthless piece of trash, and a few years later, she went and had you. I knew you’d be just like her. Able to wipe a man’s brain clean with the touch of your fingers.”

Piece of trash. The words send her blind with rage.

She thinks of her handsome father, his dark eyes sparkling as he watched her mother shuffling a deck of cards. It was late at night and they sat across from each other at the kitchen table, trading warm smiles and sweet words. They never knew she was hiding behind the armchair in the living room, hugging her baby blanket, a sleepy smile on her face as she listened to the sounds of love. It was one of the last nights they had, before a fever stole her mother like a thief in the night.

If she could summon up the saliva, she’d spit in Richter’s face.

“Don’t you ever talk about my father that way,” she snarls. Her fingers flex rapidly in the shackles and he watches her fury with amusement.

“I’ll say any god damn thing I want. He took her and then hid you from me for years. He was a thorn in my side until the day I killed him,” he says, and a fervent gleam lights up his eyes. “That night I came, you did it to him, didn’t you? Wiped him?”

All these years, and the wound is still fresh.

A dark November night. The smell of snow in the air and a dark apartment. The touch of childish hands on a gray stubbled face. Removing every last memory from her father’s head. Knowing he would go to his grave without remembering he had a daughter he loved beyond anything in the world.

“Yes,” she says through clenched teeth.

“You know,” Richter says confidentially, “he was so confused at the end. Had no idea why we took him. Every time we sliced off a finger he just screamed. I finally figured it out though, knew you’d taken it all and we weren’t getting a fucking thing from him. Should’ve just killed him straight away, but I was angry.”

Testing the restraints, she glares at him. “He asked me to do it and I did. But I don’t do that now. Not anymore.”

“That’s where we disagree,” he replies. “Because you certainly will do it again. For as long as I require.”

Laughing hollowly, she slumps in her chair. “There’s no way I’ll ever help you.”

“I thought you might say that.” Rising elegantly, he walks over and pulls her to her feet. “I’ve brought motivation. Let’s have a look.”

Dragging her to the large glass window, they look down at the lab. Richter pushes a red button on the wall and speaks.

“Soldier Lewis, please.”

A door bangs open and two guards march forward, a tall, dark haired man between them. At the sight, her knees buckle.

“No,” she whispers. “Oh my god, no.”

“You will notice we fixed him,” Richter says clinically. “With just a few experiments, we solved what his previous doctors were unable to fix.”

She sees the truth in his words. Henry walks confidently, his limp disappeared. He seems taller now, broader even. Something about him is different.

“What did you do to him?” she chokes out.

“Nothing he did not request. He wanted to serve again, and we gave him the opportunity. We need a perfect soldier, and he is a prime test subject. Natural talent on the battlefield, eager to please. Exactly what we need. There’s just one small problem.”

When Henry sees the chair, he stops short.

“Jesus, no. Please, no. I can’t do it again, please!”

Even through the plate glass window, she hears the fear in his voice. The guards ignore his plea and motion toward the chair. Henry shakes his head vehemently, trying to back away.

“They all resist the chair,” Richter sighs.

Backpedaling now, Henry bumps into two more guards, who grip his arms and drag him forward. He struggles briefly, before sagging in their hands and letting himself be manhandled into the chair. Reluctantly opening his mouth, a gag is thrust between his teeth.

“What is this?” she demands. Her fingers are splayed on the glass, as though she can touch through the window.

“It’s called a memory suppression machine. Our first prototype. Electric currents are used to scrub their minds.” The whirring hum of electricity begins and the halo above the chair twitches to life. “Unfortunately, the effects don’t seem to last. The machine destroys the memories for a brief time, but they reappear.”

The halo rotates and lowers over Henry’s face, locking in place. It makes a loud, vibrating noise and then, with every bit of breath in his lungs, Henry begins to scream. On and on, the bloodcurdling screeches fill the room, heartbreaking sounds of unimaginable pain.

“Stop!” she screams, beating her fists against the window. “You’re going to kill him! Stop it! Please, please stop!”

“As you can see,” Richter says dispassionately, speaking over her screams, “it appears slightly painful.”

With a final lurch, the machine goes silent and Henry’s screams fade away. When the halo lifts, he remains in the chair, shivering uncontrollably. The guards unbuckle the straps and haul him to his feet. Blank and docile, he appears to wait for instruction. It takes nothing more than a sharp request from the guard, for him to spin on his heel and march through the door from where he came.

Panting in the observation room above, she feels sweat dripping down her temple.

“Why are you doing this?” her voice breaks on the last word and she swipes tears from her eyes.

Richter retreats to the table, shuffling a thick stack of paper and tapping the edges even.

“Our research began years ago, that’s why I wanted you then. Our newest trial is starting now.”

“And what the hell does this have to do with me?”

“You know what I want. We’ll continue using the chair on our soldiers until we get it right. Or - you can make it easier. Painless for them. It doesn’t have to be like this. Make the right choice to help them. It’s selfish to say no.”

Closing her eyes, she gives the glass a weak smack.

“You don’t understand. What I do - people don’t come back from it. Whatever I take, the memories are gone. Forever.”

Tilting his head, he observes her with a curious smile.

“I know.”

“No,” she says softly. “I won’t. I won’t do that to people against their will.”

“Haven’t you been doing that exact thing to those poor souls in the hospital?” he says. “Didn’t you take things from them?”

“That was different,” she argues, tears now spilling over. “I was helping them. I only took the bad things, I always left behind what made them who they were.”

“And now you’ll take more. It really is simple.”

“I won’t.” Finally finding that saliva, she spits at his feet. Raising a lazy eyebrow, he looks down at his shoes. When he speaks, his voice is bitterly cold.

“So then - our little game begins.”

*****

Every morning he comes for her. Drags her into the observation deck and forces her to watch while they put a parade of men through the memory suppressing machine.

It spins and sparks and fires bolts of electricity through screaming, writhing bodies. Sometimes they go into convulsions. Sometimes blood streams from their eyes. Sometimes they foam at the mouth.

Every evening, she tells him no.

Every night, she stuffs her fist in her mouth to muffle her sobs, the screams of the tortured soldiers running on a loop through her brain.

And the next morning, it begins again.

*****

On and on it goes.

Until finally, it happens.

Until finally, she says yes.

*****

One morning, he drags her into the room. They open the door and there’s Henry again, his dark eyes rolling in panic. The moment he sees the chair, he begins to cry.

“Please,” he sobs and his voice breaks. “Please stop.”

The crack in his voice reminds her of the soldiers in her hospital, whimpering as the darkness closed in and the nightmares descended. She helped those men, gave them a measure of peace, but taking away nightmares is not the same. This is more, this is so much more.

The guards are holding him in the chair, strapping his arms in place, cinching the buckles around his legs and she can see Henry’s tears dripping down his cheeks, soaking the ragged collar of his shirt and suddenly it’s too much.

“Wait.”

Richter turns to her, triumph in his face.

“Yes?”

Will she really do this? She looks again at Henry’s terrified face, and her stomach rolls when she sees that the constant bursts of electricity are turning his hair gray.

Will she really do this?

“Take me down.”

When the door to the lab opens, a low moan comes from the chair when Henry sees them dragging her closer. Even with his scrambled brain, through the murky fog of half-formed memories, he recognizes her.

“No! Oh my god, no. What is this? Why are you here?” he asks in anguish. He fights the straps, a fruitless endeavor.

Reaching for him, she wipes away his tears. Everything inside her is screaming, begging her to refuse. She can’t do this again, she can’t destroy a man’s life.

But if this is the only way to end the pain - then she must.

“It’s okay,” she soothes. “It’s okay. I’m okay, please don’t worry. They said they’ll let me help you.”

“Help me?” he repeats, tear-filled eyes searching her face.

“Yes, I can - help,” her voice hitches. Desperately holding back tears, needing to make this moment as painless for him as possible.

Cupping his wet cheeks, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. There’s a moment of nothingness, and then a soft glow appears. Heat flows through her fingers and he relaxes. The white light glows brighter and brighter and brighter, until - she lets go. His eyes roll back and his head droops.

Stepping back, she feels the wave of cold pulsing through her.

Everything, nearly all his memories, wiped away with a touch of her hands. All those pieces that made him who he was are gone. Obliterated from existence, never to be recovered.

Well. Nearly all.

Inside his head, she leaves a few sparse memories. Because as selfish as it sounds, she cannot fathom the pain of being forgotten again, by someone she loves.

*****

It never gets easier.

With the gentle press of her fingers, each man goes limp as she scrubs their brains fresh and clean, ready for whatever Hydra wants to put in place. Strangely, their individual abilities, those that put them on the Hydra selection block - how to obey commands, how to shoot a gun, how to speak a foreign language - those remain. She comes to realize that some things are so deeply ingrained in a person’s DNA, those strips of muscle memory cannot be taken.

Each time she wipes another man clean, she grows colder, the rush of their memories like ice in her veins.

Most of the Hydra guards are disgruntled with the new procedure. They enjoyed listening to the screams, laughed at the writhing bodies as they fought the electric currents shooting through their brains, burning their memories to ash. Torture was what they wanted, that was what they signed up for, not this quiet destruction.

How boring, they mutter glumly to each other. Where’s the fun in this?

*****

Early one morning, she lays on the flimsy mattress, hands folded over her chest, counting the bricks in her cell. She reaches 200 when the door bangs open.

“Get the fuck up,” Richter orders furiously. “Now.”

Rolling her head to look up at him, she sighs tiredly.

“No.”

She keeps counting.

“What did you do?” he snarls, stomping forward. Reaching down, he grabs the chain linking her metal bracelets together, hauling her to her feet. “He’s fucking asking about you. Has a fiancée, he says, needs to tell her where he is. What did you do? It’s supposed to be absolute!”

Swaying slightly, a heady rush of triumph sparkles through her and she shrugs. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

“No, you weren’t, now get the fuck out there and finish the job,” he orders.

Shaking her head slowly, she sinks back to the mattress.

“No. I’m done doing your dirty work.”

“This is your last god damn warning, I mean it.”

Exhausted laughter bubbles up. Her last warning? What else was he going to do?

“I said no.”

The struggle is clear, twisting his features into something ugly. She watches him, curiously detached.

Suddenly, his face goes eerily calm.

“Alright. Remember you said this.”

Turning sharply, he storms away. She resumes counting.

The faint red glow of sunset peaks through the small bars of her tiny window when he returns. Opening the door slowly, without his customary bang, he says nothing. Instead, he leans in the doorframe and crosses his arms. She pays him no attention, staring at the ceiling.

“I wanted to let you know, we increased the power on the chair. Had to find a way to get rid of those pesky memories you left in his head.” His words caress like the smooth slice of razor blades on her skin. “It’s a shame, but he didn’t make it. Voltage was too high, blood vessels in his head exploded. Brutal. Such a mess to clean up.”

She should have expected this. She should have known.

“Maybe next time you’ll listen,” he adds.

Next time, she thinks numbly. There won’t be a next time.

*****

January, 1943 Location Unknown

One morning they take her to a new room. Dark shelves line the walls, cluttered with silver tins and glass vials full of colorful liquid.

The guards hoist her onto the table in the middle of the room and chain her arms above her head, fasten her ankles to the edge of the table with smooth leather cuffs.

This is new.

She kicks and squirms, tries to reach for them. They trap her easily, laughing at her weak attempts and in retaliation, cinch the cuffs so tight they tear her skin.

A short, bespectacled man arrives. Leaning over her on the observation table, she sees her reflection in his thick glasses, before the light hits them and they turn an opaque, milky white.

“Hello, Fraulein,” he murmurs, stroking a finger down her cheek. “I am Dr. Arnim Zola and I am very glad to meet you. So much we have to learn together. Let’s see what we can find.”

Her mouth is forced open, a gag between her teeth so she can’t bite through her tongue. Pulling a tray closer, Zola rubs his hands excitedly and picks up a syringe full of a glowing yellow liquid.

The gag does little to muffle her screams.

*****

For three straight weeks, they experiment.

Strapped to the table, liquids of different colors and textures and variations are pumped into her veins. They burn and twist and rip apart her insides bringing incoherent screams that shred her voice, leave her throat so raw and swollen she can barely speak.

Not that it matters. They don’t care what she has to say.

“We will magnify you,” Zola whispers in her ear, while her body vibrates and flails against the restraints. “Such a simple power, we can take it further. You will help us wipe the slate clean for the masses, build an army for Hydra. So easy to restore order to the chaos.”

Every night, they release the straps and drag her back to her room. In the darkness, she huddles under her little blanket and thinks. She understands what they want.

But the weeks pass and the tests continue with no results.

There was no expansion of her ability. It was impossible, something that could not be touched, because it was born inside her, a power sourced directly from her soul. A part of her that was unalterable, no matter what they tried to do.

And so, with nothing else to be done, the experiments simply strung her in a new direction.

Age, the natural progression of life, fell to the wayside. It would come eventually, but for now, their sick experiments simply extended her life.

What a waste, she would think in later years. What’s the purpose of a long life, when you’re all alone?

*****

In the middle of the night, she hears the guards talking outside her door.

“They’re moving everyone next week, sending us to a new base. More of a work camp I guess.”

“Yeah? Hopefully warmer than this shit-hole. Where’s this fancy new place anyway?”

“Some place in Italy. Azzano, I think.”

Dread fills her. Somewhere new. Somewhere with more men she will be forced to destroy.

The night ticks along and that elusive goal, sleep, finally wraps drowsy fingers around her aching limbs. Floating toward that blessed unconsciousness, she’s on the precipice when it happens.

There’s the sound of a soft, cajoling female voice. It’s a stark contrast to the rough, guttural tones she normally hears and her ears perk.

There’s a pause and she hears the sickening crunch of bone on bone. Scrambling upright, she clutches the blanket, keeping her back to the cold wall. Keys jingle, scraping with a muffled curse and suddenly the door opens. Light floods in, illuminating a strange sight.

A woman steps inside, wiping blood from her knuckles and grimacing.

“Imbeciles. Dammit, that hurt quite a lot more than I expected,” she says to someone behind. She is strikingly beautiful, with thick brown hair falling in fat curls to her shoulders and a sunny, wide-lipped grin.

Pulling up short at the sight of a dirty, disheveled woman crouched on a mattress, she throws her arms out, stopping anyone else from entering.

“What is it?” a man’s voice inquires impatiently, and the woman shakes her head.

“Stay there. Give me a minute.” Raising her hands slowly, she opens them wide, showing she holds nothing dangerous. Her voice is kind when she speaks. “Hello love. My name’s Peggy Carter. Let me help you.”

*****

Flanked by a small, covert group of undercover agents led by SSR Agent Margaret Carter, she escapes. The agents were clearly not equipped to support a captive, they were simply there for intel, but it doesn’t matter.

When Peggy Carter insists, everyone listens.

As they make their way out, she asks the date and then does the math.

Between December 1942 and January 1943, she spends 44 days in Hydra’s grasp. She will remember every second until the day she dies.

*****

The trip home to London takes a week. In transit, she learns the base was deep in the countryside outside Krakow, Poland.

Peggy never leaves her side. She appreciates the warmth of a protective arm around her, lets herself be lulled into drowsy comfort by the rolling English accent. One evening, as she sits huddled under a thick blanket, Peggy takes her hands and rubs them encouragingly.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

There is such obvious gentleness there, but she refuses.

“Thank you, Peggy, but no. I just want to forget this ever happened.”

What an ironic comment from her. Forgetting.

“I understand. What will you do next?” Peggy asks carefully. “I can help you find a job at the SSR if you like. We always need good recruits.”

There are good intentions there, and frankly if she still had the capacity to trust anyone in this world, she would trust Peggy Carter. But she knows how the world works and in the end, they’re all the same.

Hydra. The SSR. Once they know her ability, she would become nothing more than a weapon. Something to be primed and aimed at whatever target suits their interest. She can never allow herself to be in that position again.

And above all, she knows he will come searching. Whatever happens, she cannot let him find her again.

Normalcy is all she wants, a quiet life away from everything. A small house, somewhere safe to lay her head. Somewhere hidden.

“Please, I just - I want to disappear. From everything and everyone. Please help me.”

Peggy wraps her in a fierce hug and she buries her face in those thick brown curls.

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

*****

In the SSR records, there is no mention of an enhanced woman discovered at a Hydra base in Poland.

*****

In the stuffy space of her tiny London flat, she quickly packs everything into a worn carpetbag.

Treasures she cannot live without, tangible memories she keeps close. While her memory will never allow her to forget, there’s something beautiful in feeling the shapes and textures of her past; she holds tight to those little objects, no matter the cost.

A soft baby blanket. Photos of her and her father. A silver hairbrush and a jewelry box that belonged to her mother. And once again, in the middle of a black night, she disappears.

Finds passage on a ship and sails down the coast of France, weaving through Royal Navy blockades and nests of Nazi gunners. Takes a train and walks miles to a small village in southern France. Buries herself in the rhythm of the town, creating a new life for herself.

She finds a comfortable house. A small kitchen with a bathroom off the back, a tiny bedroom with a little fireplace upstairs. She trades her sewing skills for two chickens and then barters the eggs for a chipped white vase. Every day, she fills it with something fresh.

And she lives a quiet life, alone again. Forgotten by everyone she’s ever known, except the one man she wishes with all her heart would cease to remember.

She mourns for Henry and the tragedy of his fate. Loving a soldier was one thing she never expected and the experience nearly killed her. The war trudges on, and sometimes soldiers pass through the village; while she always puts her nursing skills to good use, she keeps her distance.

Sometimes she sits by the creek, washing clothes in the cold water and thinking. She wishes she had the power to scrub her own brain clean, but no.

This is her penance, the one she will pay from now until the end of time.

To remember.

*****

Next Chapter

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #altnl

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frary-us · 4 years ago

Text

TAG GAME GTKM BLOG

I was tagged by @mizzswan Thank you.💖

Icon: Just the tumblr default icon I was assigned when I joined. Never bothered to figure out how to replace it. LOL

Content: “Reign” but mostly Frary/Francis Valois & Toby Regbo (His films including the Young Dumbledore role, Reign, TLK, Medici 3 & personal life). Some Reign cast’s projects/personal. The occasional cute animals or British royals.

Letter Color: Dark grey

Blog Header: Frary in 1x07 when in his room Francis blurts out he loves Mary for the first time & they need to be together after they survived the castle takeover

URL: The name I was given when I created this Tumblr account. It fits so I kept it.

Blog Title: A quote from Francis in 2x07 said to Mary during the blackmail ordeal. They both said similar things during their relationship. It seemed to sum up Frary & all the obstacles they had to overcome in their love story --”No matter what happens, I love you.”

Tagging @flapperdame16 @longforyesterday and anyone who wants to do it.

#Tag Game #Tumblr Blog #Descriptions #Icons #Information #Headers #Name #Titles #Reign #Frary #Francis Valois #Toby Regbo #Frary4Ever #Team Francis #Regboner4Life #mizzswan #Thank You #GTKM

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hanscom · 5 years ago

Note

Hey☺️, I wanted ask what you thought about the new it trailer?

hey! first of all, ily and it’s super flattering that you want my opinion bc i know i am a relic in this fandom

but anyway, my Opinions:

1. i hate that billverly is being shoved so forcefully down my throat, but i am very hopeful that it’s a red herring and benverly will reign supreme

2. the music still gives me CHILLS after all this time wtf

3. that shot of all the kids turning into their adult counterparts is poetic cinema

4. i was already thrilled about the casting for mike, richie, and eddie and they continue to prove me right. i’m coming around to jessica as bev and james as bill. still can’t get behind ben’s casting but the full movie could very well change that for me.

5. that scene in the funhouse with all the mirrors is PEAK bill denbrough dumbass energy and i’m HERE FOR IT

6. i really wish they had left out the “i craved you. i missed you.” pennywise lines because i’m just not strong enough to watch all the pennyfuckers use it in their headers and as the title of their self-insert fics i just cannot do it

7. i think it’s gonna be fucking sick. i am so very very excited. i’m going to los angeles for the first time to see it with a bunch of people i met through this fandom, and that shit is just so crazy and incredible. like damn. this fandom really gave me my life huh???

but anyway, more importantly, what is YOUR opinion?? come and let’s discuss that almost 3 minute trailer in excruciating detail bc god knows my obsessive personality is about to latch onto this shit again

(ps: i’m not strong enough to talk about reddie yet, pls respect my privacy during this trying time and do NOT MENTION richie fucking sobbing in the trailer u will be blocked)

#it chapter two

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packsreign · 8 years ago

Photo

• icons: stuffkane | addybuglixo | screenedits

• headers: cabareticons | iconsexy

like if you save or © @bestaddypics

#adelaide kane #teen wolf #adelaide kane icons #icons adelaide kane #adelaide kane packs #packs adelaide kane #teen wolf headers #headers teen wolf #teen wolf packs #packs teen wolf #teen wolf cast headers #packs reign #reign packs

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snidgetsafan · 6 years ago

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The Curse of the Black Roger: Chapter 4

Rating: T

Summary:

“You should start believing in ghost stories, Miss Swan – because you’re in one.”

When young Princess Emma found a pirate necklace on the baby rescued from the sea, she never expected years later to be swept into an adventure worthy of her favorite novels.

And she certainly never expected someone like the legendary Captain Hook.A

“Pirates of the Carribean” AU

Notes: Here is my offering for the CSSNS! Thanks to @amorecolorfulmoniker, whose pic set inspired this fic. Thanks to my betas, @gingerchangeling and @shireness-says who acted as a sounding board, a crying shoulder and grammar enforcers where needed. Thanks also to @slow-smiles, who created amazing art for this fic! (Go and see it after you finish reading, as numbers 7 and 8 are taken from this chapter) And thank you to @wingedlioness for making the amazing header!

On AO3.

Previous chapters: Prologue, Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3

The trek towards the dungeons had gone disappointingly effortlessly, the two pirates taking advantage of the reigning chaos to sneak their captive out without anyone noticing. They had exited through the very same hole that had seen blown in the outer wall from her balcony what felt like ages ago, but must have been an hour at most. As the smaller pirate had clambered down to the water’s level, weirdly muttering into his coat collar, she had surreptitiously looked up in the direction of her balcony, trying to see if Henry was looking down.

However, the night had been too dark for the princess to see anything, the moon hidden behind a thick cover of clouds and the only light coming from the blazing harbor. From across the water, the towering flames had cast dismal shadows onto the walls, looking like skeletal hands trying to reach for the castle’s inhabitants. Emma frowned. She could barely discern the shape of her balcony in the flickering light; how had the big pirate – McCullough, was it? – managed to see her with no light at all? He must have quite the sharp vision, as well as the strength of an ox, as evidenced by his iron grip on her upper arm.

A dull thud on the rocks just below her interrupted the princess’ musings. Emma looked down sharply. A dinghy, which had definitely not been here before, was floating quietly in the water, waiting patiently for its passengers. Where had it come from? Where was the person who had rowed it there? Had it been towed while she had been distracted?

A little push from McCullough, who had stayed silently at her side up until then, propelled her forward, though it was with reluctance and a lot of caution that Emma started climbing down the wet rocks. She wished she had been wearing more practical footwear, her slippers not affording her much grip on the slick surface. Just before reaching the boat, her foot slipped from underneath her, making her fall forward. Before she hit the ground, a strong arm caught her by the waist, lifting her back on her feet before instantly releasing her. Turning her head, expecting McCullough, Emma saw the pirate whose name she did not know staring at her, his eyes glinting in the feeble light.

“Careful, lovely, wouldn’t want you to take a dip again before you see the captain, eh?”

Emma huffed, turning her head away, before freezing in dismay. What did he mean, “again”? How did he know –

“In we go, then.”

The princess startled, not having heard McCullough come behind her. Taking a hold of her elbow, he helped her step into the rowboat and sit on the middle bench. He then sat behind her, while the other pirate settled in front of her, kicking the floor of the boat twice. Before she could react, the boat jerked as it began to advance, apparently of its own volition. Emma startled, looking around her. What kind of sorcery was this?

The pirate facing her was apparently amused by her surprise, judging by his low rumbling laugh. A chuckle from behind her told her his companion shared his amusement, and Emma shifted uncomfortably, turning her head away to hide the embarrassed flush on her cheeks.

Looking everywhere but at her captors as the boat slowly advanced, her eyes were naturally attracted by the only source of light around her, the burning harbor. She saw with horror that most of the docked ships were on fire, and that some of the jetties were starting to burn as well. Men, women, and children were running everywhere, trying to quench the fires and, in some cases, throwing barrels in the water. Emma stared in bafflement, until she understood. The powder kegs. They were throwing the powder kegs in the water to avoid an explosion. Misthaven was effectively disarming itself, right in front of her eyes.

Looking to the left end of the harbor, she watched as a large group of people swarmed around a cluster of three ships. While the two ships on the sides were burning, fire licking up their masts, the one in the middle seemed intact, its deck crowded by a dozen men. The fire was so bright the scene was illuminated as if it were day. Emma saw some men releasing ( unfurling , her brain provided) the sails, others throwing kegs in the water, while yet another was bent over the helm, trying to turn it with no apparent success. He let go, kicking it in anger, before hurrying to the stern, looking overboard at the rudder.

As he straightened, his eyes fell on the little dinghy, zeroing in on Emma. Even from this distance, she could see his head cocking curiously as he narrowed his eyes. Hope flared within her chest. Would he give the alert? She was not that far from the harbor, and, despite what this morning’s mishap could let people think, Misthaven’s princess was a good swimmer. Henry was safe in the castle, and surely the two pirates would not try to swim after her and risk detection. If she managed to take them by surprise, she had a chance to escape.

However, before she could signal anything to the sailor, screams tore his attention – and hers – away, as they both saw with horror that the mast of the ship on the left was slowly tilting, its base eaten by the fire, and falling right onto the immobilized ship. The men on deck scrambled towards safety, either running down the gangplank if they were close enough or heading towards the stern or the bow and diving overboard, preferring the frigid embrace of the harbor’s water to a fiery death.

Emma turned away, looking at her feet as she felt tears pricking her eyes while the rowboat inexorably continued on. She couldn’t stand to see her father’s navy, his pride and joy, being burnt to ashes and her subjects harmed. Thinking about her father, she couldn’t help but worry about her family’s safety. Was her Papa okay? Was David fighting for his life at that exact moment? Was Henry still hidden safely on her balcony?

Emma raised her head when she heard the pirate in front of her shifting. Meeting his gaze, she saw that they had turned, as his face was illuminated by the fires that were now behind her. She had expected to see some kind of derision or contempt on his face, but to her surprise all she saw was a neutral expression. Considering his previous behavior, Emma was surprised he didn’t take the opportunity to mock her. He must still be angry at her for the bed warmer, and he must still be in severe pain. However, as she looked at his face, she saw that the burns were not that severe, his skin red only as if he had been sunburnt with no blisters in sight. The princess could have sworn his injuries were more serious in her bedroom. Must have been a trick of the light.

Her gaze shifted behind her captor as she saw a huge black shape starting to loom over them, getting larger and higher as the rowboat headed straight for it. Gasping, Emma realized it was a ship. How had she not seen it before? It was in full view of her windows, as well as of the harbor, floating near the center of the bay. Studying it more closely, Emma saw that it was completely black from top to bottom. Rather than reflect the feeble light coming from the harbor’s fire, it seemed to absorb it. Strangely, it made her think of her medallion.

Emma stiffened. She was wearing a pirate medallion. Under the pretense of fiddling with her dressing gown, she glanced down, and saw that the pendant had again slipped from underneath her nightgown, and that it was now resting in plain sight over her cleavage. Emma’s heart sped up. When had it slipped out? Had the pirates seen it? With the way the smaller one had been looking at her chest earlier, there was no way he hadn't spotted it. Was that what he had been looking at?

Emma’s mind swirled, fear taking a hold of her. She was going on a pirate ship with a pirate medallion. What had she gotten herself into?

Not for the first time in the last hour, Emma felt as if she had gotten in over her head. She was walking – well, floating – right into the lion’s den, and no one except Henry knew where she had gone. The princess knew there were rules, that the pirates had a code they respected. Emma had read all about it when she was little, even memorizing by heart the version of the Code she had found in a tome entitled The Habits and Customes of Pyrates : people asking for parley were under the protection of the captain whose ship they were on or traveling to. If harm befell those who had invoked parley, the captain and his crew became pariahs, and were hunted by the whole pirate community.

But what if this particular captain did not respect the Code? He had small incentive to do so as she was not a pirate, and, as far as he knew, no one knew where she was. In her panic to protect Henry, she had not thought the consequences of her actions through. She could hear her preceptor’s voice in her mind, telling her to weigh her actions before doing anything, that a princess’ deeds had more consequences than she could wrap her teenage head around. What would he think of her now? Here she was, in a rowboat, in the middle of the night, and in the company of pirates. She could hear his exasperated sigh as if he were sitting next to her, and see the way he would pinch the bridge of his nose before looking to the skies, as if asking for some celestial help. Yes, it was definitely better for Emma’s self-esteem that the preceptor had had to leave the kingdom in a hurry a couple of years before, and as such was not a witness to this debacle.

As she had been wondering over her own rashness, the rowboat had smoothly come to rest against the hull of the black ship, softly knocking against it. McCullough – who had been so quiet Emma had almost forgotten about him – stood up and grabbed a rope ladder that was hanging down to the water. With a jerk of his head, he indicated Emma should stand up and start climbing. Apprehension filled her heart as she looked up at the towering ship. How was she supposed to go up this ladder in the dark, and in her nightgown and slippers? She was going to fall to her death in the water below for the second time that day, and this time she doubted someone would come save her.

“Take off your slippers, you’ll be less likely to fall that way,” the smaller pirate spoke up gruffly, getting up as well and making the boat rock slightly. “Don’t look down, and I’ll be right behind you. Nothing to be afraid of,” he concluded with a smirk.

Emma looked at him skeptically, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Yes, I’m sure you have my best interests at heart,” she told him in a curt tone.

The princess nevertheless followed his advice and took off her slippers. McCullough took them from her, his large hand dwarfing the footwear, and put her delicate leather and satin shoes in one of his coat pockets. Emma wobbled towards the ladder before latching onto it with both hands when the boat lurched unexpectedly. Steadying herself, she took advantage of the fact she was turned away from the two pirates to put the medallion back in her nightgown, making sure to shove it down so it wouldn’t come out again. Once she was satisfied with her work, Emma looked up again and steeled herself.

Grabbing the first rung, the princess started to climb carefully. She made sure to keep her eyes on the next rung, wincing occasionally as the rough rope bit into her feet or hands. When Emma had gotten up a dozen feet, she felt the ladder shudder. Looking down, she saw the pirate she had burned starting to climb, his eyes on her. Turning away quickly, she started to climb faster, not wanting him too close to her when she was so vulnerable, all too aware of the disadvantages of her current position.

Halfway up, she accidentally stepped on her nightgown in her hurry and lost her footing. With a small gasp, she fumbled to find a rung with her feet, meeting only empty air and the smooth, damp surface of the hull. Suddenly, she felt a rough hand grab her ankle and yank on it.

“Let me go!” she snapped reflexively.

“Then stop trying to kick me in the face, you foolish girl!” came the snapped reply, as the pirate forcibly guided her foot to a rung before releasing it. “Now, climb ,” he growled when she had found a better grip.

With a huff, Emma resumed her ascension, her heart still beating frantically. That boor was really getting on her nerves, even if it was the second time he had helped her. He was only doing it because of the parley law, anyway. She wouldn’t mind pouring another pan of embers on his smirking face, just to teach him some manners. Or a kettle of boiling water, Emma thought vindictively. It was with these violent but cathartic thoughts that Emma finished her climb. Not used to this kind of exercise, they distracted her from her burning arm muscles, as well as the pain on the bottom of her bare feet, where the friction of the rope was rubbing them nearly raw.

Once she reached the deck, she was unexpectedly grabbed under her armpits, lifted unceremoniously over the railing and plopped down roughly on her feet, making her stumble back and lean against the wooden handrail. Looking up (and up) at the man who had grabbed her, all she could see in the darkness was a tall silhouette whose shiny bald head reflected the light from a lantern coming from right behind him. The two stood at a standstill, observing each other, before a couple of seconds later, the small pirate jumped over the railing and landed next to her, distracting both of them.

“What the hell, Gill? You were sent to retrieve the coin, not to make friends!” the bald pirate barked before his crewmate had even finished straightening.

“And I did,” Gill told him, his tone surly. “Girlie here wanted to come talk to the captain.”

“Did she, now? Would she also like a tour of the ship while she’s here?”

“ She asked for parley,” Emma snapped, annoyed the two men were talking about her as if she were not there, as McCullough’s head appeared over the railing. “And she’d like to be taken to the captain, if you don’t mind.”

“She will speak when spoken to, unless she wants to meet Davy Jones,” the bald-headed pirate growled, leaning menacingly towards her.

Emma involuntarily took a step back at his words, getting closer to Gill and McCullough in the process. She did not trust them, but she preferred her chances with them rather than Tall, Bald and Growly. Rallying, she tried again, as she heard steps coming closer, “Now listen here, pirate law states that...”

“I said, quiet!” the new pirate bellowed, taking a step towards her, his hand flying up through the air as if to strike her. Emma flinched instinctively as Gill shouted “Fagan, no!” while McCullough’s large hand caught her by the back of her dressing gown, pulling her to his side, and out of Fagan’s reach.

The tall man’s hand never had a chance to descend, as a flash of silver stopped its descent. The air shifted as a smooth voice purred, “The lady said she was here to parley, Mr. Fagan. I believe that puts her under my protection, wouldn’t you agree?”

Fagan audibly gulped before answering, “Aye, Captain.”

“Then would you care to explain what you were doing with your hand in the air? It’s quite bad form to strike a lady, Mr. Fagan.”

At the captain’s words, Emma felt the three other pirates stiffen. Fagan, who until a few seconds ago had been an intimidating and commanding presence, seemed to shrink on himself.

Peering at the new arrival from McCullough’s side, she couldn’t see much. The light from the lantern showed he was smaller than Fagan, although not by much, and that he wore some kind of long leather coat that reached to his calves. But his voice told her plenty about his character. The clipped accent and smooth tone brought the image of elegance to mind, but the iron strength and dangerous purr made her think of a panther, ready to strike. It was obvious that the captain was not a man to be trifled with and Emma shivered, knowing she needed to be careful around him.

Raising her eyes slightly, the princess saw that Fagan’s arm was still aloft, restrained by whatever the captain was holding in his hand. It looked like some sort of hook, glinting coldly in the light.

It was then Emma’s turn to stiffen. A pirate crew, a black ship, a captain with a hook. No, it couldn’t be . It didn’t exist, it was a legend. The princess felt ice trickling down her spine as she saw both men lower their arms, shifting in such a manner that the light hit the captain’s left arm, and her suspicions were confirmed; the captain was not holding a hook in his hand, the hook was his hand.

She was on the Black Roger , a ghost ship rumored to have been haunting the seas, pillaging and plundering for at least three centuries. It was said to be crewed by evil spirits and a captain who was so vile hell had thrown him back out, keeping only his hand as a warning. He had replaced it with a hook, which he used to tear out the hearts of his victims before eating them. Well, that was the story she knew. Folklore of the Seas , one of Emma’s favorite books when she was a child, had filled her mind with a multitude of horrific images about the the ghost who now stood in the flesh before her. She knew most of these stories were only old wives’ tales to frighten young children, but those kind of stories usually held a kernel of truth - one she was now face-to-face with. This was Captain Hook.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” the leather-coated shadow said smugly, startling Emma. Had she spoken aloud? “Then it appears you have me at a disadvantage, lass. May I know who I am speaking to?”

Emma stiffened. Under no circumstance could they know who she was, or she and her whole kingdom would be in great danger. She thought fast. She needed to make herself as common, as unremarkable as possible. Did she invent a whole new identity, or did she stick close to the truth? Griffiths, one of her father’s counselors, had once told her that the more a lie stuck to the truth, the more believable it was. She decided to follow his advice, and to thank him if it worked and she went home safe.

“My name is Emma, I’m a maid at the castle,” she said, looking down demurely at her still bare feet.

“And does Emma have a last name?”

“Of course she – I do. It’s…” Emma hesitated, before warm brown eyes flashed in her mind. “It’s Swan. Emma Swan.”

The air became deathly quiet as the four men stilled. “Swan, you say?” said Gill, before being quietened down by a quick gesture from Hook.

“Well, Swan, Emma Swan, welcome aboard the Black Roger . Now, what could be so important that you asked for parley in the middle of a pirate raid?”

Drawing herself up, Emma told the captain, staring at where she thought his eyes were, “I’d feel more comfortable speaking to someone I can see, if you don’t mind, Captain.”

McCullough chuckled next to her, as did Hook as he took a few deliberate steps walking to the lantern and… hooking it. The captain brought it and himself closer to the princess, raising it so the light fell on his face when he was a few feet from her.

Emma had to draw on all her diplomatic training not to react. Where she had been expecting a scarred, weathered and ruthless-looking man to match the legends, she found herself looking instead into striking blue eyes set under black eyebrows. He was younger than she had expected, not more than a few years older than her, and apart from his missing hand and a little scar under his right eye, his skin was smooth and tanned, sprinkled liberally with chest hair where his shirt gaped open. The legends had gotten something right: he did look devilish, although more in a sinful manner than the monstrous way she had imagined.

If the way he was now grinning was any indication, she had not managed to keep a neutral face. Huffing again, Emma shifted, crossing her arms and surreptitiously putting a few more inches between them. This did not deter the pirate in any way, as he now took his time looking at her, trailing his eyes lazily over her face and her figure, his eyes coming to a stop on her chest, before his feral grin widened.

Really? thought Emma. Looking down, ready to pull her dressing gown over her cleavage to shield it from his gaze, the princess froze. The medallion was out. How ? How was it possible? She had put it inside her gown not ten minutes earlier, and there was no way it could have slipped out! It was almost as if it wanted to be seen. But that was stupid; it was just a piece of jewelry, an inanimate object. Right? Emma thought, as the light flickering over the medallion made it look like it was winking at her.

When she raised her eyes, she again met the gaze of the captain, who was looking at her calculatingly.

“So, Miss Swan? While it is certainly a pleasure to see such a lovely face grace the deck of my humble ship, what is it you want?”

“I’m here to negotiate your retreat from Misthaven.”

The captain laughed, looking back at his men, who were also laughing. “Now, why would I do that when it’s going so well for me, hm? What could you possibly have that would convince me to call my men back?”

Emma stilled. Well, when he put it like that… Princess Emma had access to lots of incentive, but Emma the maid did not. Then, inspiration struck. Emma remembered all the glances towards her medallion, Fagan’s remark when she had come aboard and something Gill had said in her room suddenly came back to her. We can feel it. Not you, it . They wanted the medallion. Emma just hoped they wanted it enough to do what she said.

“I have this,” she said, taking the necklace off and showing it to the pirates. “This is what you’re looking for, right? Leave the castle, and I’ll give it to you.”

The captain raised an eyebrow, his eyes not leaving her face. “Why would I want such a little trinket when I can have all the riches this castle and town possess?”

“Because you don’t care about those, this is what you want! That’s what he said,” Emma said, her tone more forceful, as she pointed at Fagan.

“Did he, now?” Hook said, looking almost nonchalantly at the bald pirate, who shifted uncomfortably, before turning back towards Emma as a cannon shot sounded across the bay. “Well even if it was – and I’m not saying it is – I’d like to point out that, since you are on my ship, I do have your necklace.”

Ah . “But pirate law – “

“Applies to pirates. Are you perchance a pirate, lass? Because one might wonder how a lowly maid such as yourself came in possession of such a lovely bauble.”

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re implying,” Emma snapped, on the defensive. Even if technically…

“Oh, a gift from your sweetheart, maybe? A family heirloom?” Hook asked, a sarcastic smirk pulling at his lips.

“That is none of your business, just know I’ve had it with me for a long time. Now, are you interested or not?”

“Oh, I’m definitely interested love, but not in your little deal. As I said, your little necklace is worth nothing to me, not when the crown jewels are probably making their way back to me right as we speak.”

Emma stiffened, remembering that her castle, and the people she knew and loved were currently under attack. How could she have forgotten, when more and more cannon shots were sounding over the water? Tired of this discussion, and of the whole situation, she decided to try bluffing.

“Well, if you don’t want it, then I guess you’re right, it is worthless. Might as well get rid of it,” she finished, thrusting the hand holding the necklace over the railing, pretending to throw it in the sea.

The pirates’ reaction was immediate. Their shouts of “No!” resonated on deck as they all took a step forward, the captain holding his hand towards her, his eyes wide in alarm.

Still keeping her hand over the water, Emma smiled sweetly, opening her hand and letting the pendant dangle from its chain. She saw with dark satisfaction the four pirates sigh in relief, their earlier bravado forgotten.

“Not so worthless after all, hm?”

“Congratulations, love, you’ve bested us. Now, why don’t you come here so we can talk?” Hook coaxed, taking a small step towards her. Despite his calm tone, Emma could see trepidation in his eyes, telling her his bravado was just a front, and that she had touched a nerve.

“Do you think I’m an idiot? Take one more step and you’ll have to take a dive to get the necklace. I said, don’t move!” she snapped at Gill without taking her eyes off Hook, merely turning her head in his direction.

At that moment, another cannon shot sounded, followed very closely by a splash. It took Emma a moment to comprehend the alarm of his tone. Someone must have mustered the cannoneers at the fort. Hook’s eyes briefly looked behind her before fixating on her face again, all traces of a smile erased from his face.

“What are you terms?” he demanded.

“I told you, I want your men to leave the castle and the town immediately, and for you to never come back here.”

Hook’s eyes seemed to glint, but Emma thought it might have been a reflection from the lantern.

“Is that all? If I promise to hold these terms, you’ll give us the medallion?”

Emma straightened, feeling the importance of the moment. Her answer could secure her family and her kingdom’s safety. However, before the princess could take a decision, she had to be completely sure that he would hold his end of the bargain.

“Do you? Do you promise to respect our deal?” Emma asked Hook, staring at him intently, ready to catch the slightest hint of dishonesty. If she had even the smallest doubt, she would throw the medallion as far in the sea as she could in one direction, and dive in the water in the other. She’d rather try to swim to shore than stay on the ship with no leverage.

“I give you my word that I will do exactly as we agreed,” the pirate told her. Narrowing her eyes in concentration, Emma didn’t detect any lies in what he had told her. “And will you hold your part of the bargain, lass?”

With a nod, she answered, “Yes, I will.”

“Then we have a deal. Gill,” he barked over his shoulder, “call the men back, tell them not to dally.”

As Gill hurried to comply, muttering under his breath, the pirate captain turned back towards Emma, and held his hand out expectantly. Still distrustful, the princess looked at him indecisively, wondering if this was a trap. “How do I know this isn’t just a ruse? How can he contact your crew without leaving the ship?”

The captain pursed his lips in aggravation, before reaching inside his shirt, removing a necklace on the end of which hung a little shell. “Mermaid magic. Allows us to contact whoever holds one of those. We all do. Now, the necklace, if you please.” As Emma continued to hesitate, he sighed irritably, eyes flicking back toward the harbor as another splash sounded, much closer than the last. “Why don’t you try something new, lass, it’s called trust.”

Even as she brought her arm back over the railing, the princess looked at him defiantly. “I’ll never trust a pirate - especially one that destroyed my home,” she spat, dropping the medallion in his outstretched hand.

As soon as the medallion left her hand, she felt a small weight lift from her shoulders. Was it because this ordeal was finally coming to an end, and she was going to go home, or because of the necklace itself? If you’d asked her a few minutes earlier, she’d have said the former, but she still didn’t understand how the necklace had come out of her nightgown. She was honestly quite glad to be rid of it. Ever since she had taken it out this morning, her day had been getting worse and worse.

“It’ll be a hard pill to swallow, but somehow I’ll survive,” Hook drawled, rolling his eyes. “Gill, are you finished?”

When the older pirate nodded, the captain turned his back on Emma, shouting to his men, “Start preparing the ship for departure! Gill, McCullough, go secure the ammunition. Fagan, start charting our course. I want us out of here in fifteen minutes at most. Now, go!”

Wasn’t he forgetting something? “Wait! Hook, wait!” Emma said as she ran after the captain, grabbing his sleeve above his hook and ignoring his look of warning. “What about me? You have to take me back ashore!”

Shaking his arm from her grasp, the captain drew himself to his full height, raising his eyebrows haughtily. “I have to do no such thing. What gave you that idea?”

“I’m here under the protection of parley, it’s pirate law that you have to ensure my safe passage to your ship and my safe return, you illiterate idiot!” the princess said, getting frantic in her panic.

The pirate’s expression turned stormy, his patience finally at an end. “First, Swan, while I do have to ensure your safe passage , I am under no obligation to take you back.”

“Second,” he took a step towards her, forcing her to step back to keep her distance, “you are not a pirate, and thus not subject to pirate law. I was merely humoring you out of courtesy.”

“Third,” he took another step, his tone dropping in pitch, and it was almost as if he was dragging the shadows down from the night sky with his voice. “If you wanted me to take you back, you should have specified it in your terms, which you did not.

“Fourth,” he took one last step forward and Emma felt her back hit the railing. He paused, leaning towards her, casting a looming shadow that she could feel to her very bones, “that’s Captain Hook to you, lass.”

He whispered the last words to her, soft as a lover’s sigh. She could feel his warm breath brush across her cheek, and she told herself afterward that the vicious shiver that crept up her spine was from the contrast in temperature, and had nothing to do with the proximity of the man before her. But his spell was broken as he straightened, putting a tiny bit of breathing room between them, leaving Emma able to think clearly again.

“You can’t keep me here! You have to take me back!” Emma cried, feeling tears spring to her eyes as she realized the gravity of her situation. She had tried to keep from being kidnapped by hiding her identity, and yet here she was, unable to leave the ship as it prepared to sail away.

“ I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request,” Hook said, leaning towards her, making her hold her breath in trepidation. “It means no,” he whispered in her ear, before suddenly leaning back and striding towards the helm, taking the steps two at a time. “Welcome to the Black Roger, Miss Swan!”

Emma could only stare at him, paralyzed in horror as he turned his full attention to the helm and Fagan. Even as she felt McCullough’s large hands close once again on her arms, dragging her somewhere, her eyes never left the man.

Maybe the legends were right after all; Captain Hook really was a monster.

Chapter 5

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added!): @hollyethecurious, @shireness-says, @gingerchangeling, @slow-smiles, @wingedlioness, @branlovesouat, @snowbellewells, @kmomof4

#cssns #captain swan #cs fic #cs ff #snidget writes #tcotbr

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cyrelia-j · 6 years ago

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[fic] Undertow 1 (Jack/Parmak)

So what have I been working on? Another stupid WIP :D Couldn't get DOM!Kelas out of my head after drawing the new blog header (and also after talking with @borg-apologist ) so thought I'd mess around with a little AU with Parmak visiting the Institute in Season 7 and meeting our boy Jack. In this Jack is more gray ace and I was excited to explore more kink with him so here goes.

Warnings: None for this part except Jack's usual disjointed thought, Jack/Parmak overall and a bit of praise kink

“In one week, you’ll kneel for me.”

Jack plays the words back in his head, a small counter having already started in his head from the time that he met the Cardassian doctor known as Kelas Parmak. The counter was a conscious counter, but it appeared when he asked his innermost thoughts how much time had passed. It’s been one hour, thirty three minutes, and four seconds. It keeps counting as he pulls the old doctor back to mind, pulls every piece of him perfectly and Precisely as he stands on the table rocking back and forth on his heels, staring out into the distance while he… Considers.

Kelas Parmak age one hundred and five (mind converting the number to approximately fifty two in human years though possibly as old as sixty one as Imprecise as the conversations are) stands as tall as Jack but possibly taller if it weren’t for the congenital spine curvature, the stoop, the odd tilt of the head perpetually, servilely looking upwards. It was… Nice because Jack didn’t need to make himself higher when he met him, he didn’t try and make himself More, didn’t try to tower over Jack and that set his mind at ease.

People were afraid of him so they always tried to make themselves Big and that made him… uneasy.

Kelas Parmak is slight, he’s an albino manifested by a violet tint to his gray skin, a slight pink to his sclera, an indigo hue to his eyes, and a pair of large silver spectacles that control the shaking of his pupils. He is sensitive to light but not cold (a different Breed of Cardassian from the Northern Continent thus spoke Zarathustra) and walks with a deliberate and measured step. He’s slight of build but there’s something Off, something stronger than it looks from the soft spoken voice that everyone strains to hear but Jack, from the mouth that barely moves when it speaks. Kelas Parmak leaves a tang of cinnamon spice on his tongue that Jack tasted when he was near him.

Jack wasn’t supposed to be near him.

Jack was never supposed to meet him.

Doctor Parmak wasn’t supposed to be in the inpatient wing directly. His work, he said involved the research of genetic augments but Nurse Ratched didn’t think it was a Good Idea for Jack or the Others to have any contact with Outsiders after the Incidents. Jack didn’t understand why they still expected him to listen to any of them. He still constantly Questioned from whence their Authority over him originated. They never answered him with anything Satisfactory and they… they had no right to keep him there when Sarina was allowed to leave and Bashir said there wasn’t anything he could do for them so why… why they kept this charade up, why they persisted in him changing or why they thought like the Foolish Virgin that they would awaken and his magic power would have changed all laws and morals and-

“They must be getting desperate,” Lauren says interrupting his Thoughts. Jack’s head snaps up the counter still counting violet eyes peering up over the frames of the spectacles. In one week, you’ll kneel for me…“If they’re letting one of the Cardassian Resistance doctors even think about looking at their records.”

“They’re afraid,” Patrick adds with a sigh, watching the feed that he and Jack had tapped into. Their security will recode soon enough but for now it’s enough for Jack to stare intently at the screen and continue considering the puzzle of Doctor Parmak.

“They should be afraid, they should have listened but it’s too late now too late for Martha to pull her dress back down.”

“It’s never too late to pull your dress back down, Jack,” Lauren retorts as she stares blankly a moment at the picture book. Jack sighs, studying the figure as the meeting continues. It’s a meeting about Jack and it Irritates him that he’s not there but… but Doctor Parmak wants him as an assistant which wasn’t the intent when Jack dropped from the ceiling in front of him but that’s what it’s become and he’s riveted to the back and forth volley of words. He stands nearly perfectly still biting his finger, Lauren murmuring that the Doctor is attractive but clearly not the Right Type and that’s code for a man who hasn’t triggered Lauren’s hallucinations.

But he triggered something for Jack.

The intent at first was a simple one. Jack needed to see the stranger, know the stranger who was in his Space hearing the pokpok of the cane tip echoing like a siren’s song to bring him to drown. He needed to know the creature behind the sound of their dark and warm little corner of the universe so he hung back searching, following the sound but seemingly too slow to catch it, the shadow vanishing around a corner until every light blared and all suns rose with the dawn. Doctor Parmak had slipped in like Mercury beneath the door, wavering, flickering quicksilver and it had stopped Jack a moment when he finally laid eyes on him.

Doctor Parmak said he wanted to talk.

So they talked...

---

“Hmm… they can’t contain you and yet here you are at the mercy of… what did you call them… basics?”

“Basics, simple, down the ladder of the chain, slower, weaker, duller, but you you take enough insects in a swarm and they can bring down a mighty creature! Fell worlds, galaxies, collapse stars mmhm.”

“And you would… rule over them?”

“Rule? Ha! That’s what they say too- rule, who’d want to rule hm hm? Milton would- better to reign in hell than serve in heaven but but Paradise is long lost and Hell is everyone here and I… I just want Quiet! Is that too much to ask?! Freedom?Quiet?! But all men hate the wretched and there’s… there’s nothing more wretched than a seraphim cast with six broken wings… why are you laughing?”

It started with a little smile. Jack introduced himself. Doctor Parmak kept smiling non threatening, assessing good Good but holding firm, eyes following Jack’s movements, leaning on the cane, a tilt of the head as he gave his name back, lips barely moving, a flit of the tongue that was like a small lizard’s, delicate, a push of glasses, no offer of hand, as they discussed and lips still barely moved keeping Jack from reading them, still Smiling as eyes tracked, no draw back, no posturing just Watching, laughing softly, then louder, disarming because Jack didn’t… raise his voice as he would when he Needed to know something but just asked level and Curious...

“Ah, my apologies it’s just that… what you said reminded me of things I’ve heard so many times in so many academic circles. Mmm… how to explain I suppose you would say that for many Cardassians, the mightiest human is still a blind and snivelling vole next to even the weakest of us... Oh but that sounds like slight, doesn’t it? My apologies, I suppose I’m not well versed in your customs.”

“You’re not better than me. Quantifiably even… even accounting for genetic differences in bones density, the averages that make us different it… it doesn’t matter and I don’t know why you’d stand there saying things you know aren’t true I don’t know why you wouldn’t know any of this or why you’d argue it with me because you had to had to have read my file.”

Jack’s hand on his shoulder and Doctor Parmak drew in a breath but not scared, increased respirations, another push of glasses, another speculative tilt, another flick of that tongue which Jack mimicked and Parmak smiled hand over Jack’s thumb circling scales, warm hand, trapping, holding him there, looking in his eyes steadily brilliantly Jack’s thumb in his mouth biting hard before that hand released soft, stepping in challenging sweetly smiling smelling cinnamon and Jack tasting spice in the air a study, more study of him Jack uncertain unsure, a tap of the cane, another step towards him voice soft hands soft, mouth soft, warm, everything about Doctor Parmak radiating warm.

“No, I hadn’t actually. It wasn’t necessary to know about any of you individually. And I suspect were I to read your file I’d find it hardly conveys everything that I need to know about you.”

“What do you need to know about me? They said… that that you weren’t going to study us, that you weren’t going to scan, you weren’t going to cut because I don’t agree to that. You’re not cutting me open! No!”

“Mmm no, there’s no need for that. In fact… the use I have for you is much different. With your… gifts you say, you might be the assistant that I need. They offered me some young man but I fear he isn’t going to be able to keep up academically. But I have a feeling that you’ll work out quite nicely.”

“I’m not taking orders from you? I know you heard me, I don’t take orders hm. I don’t-”

Nystagmatism met paroxysm and both battled to a standstill, Parmak with the saucy cinnamon tilt of head and fingers dancing over the exposed ridges of his neck mirrored on Jack’s, Jack followed absently, both of them stopped having danced circles in the empty common room around the couch, a chase around the sofa ashes ashes, all falling down, step left step right, Parmak holding up a single digit smile dark on his face but not Threatening just… commanding.

“One week. In one week, you’ll kneel for me…”

“Why… why would I kneel for you?”

“Because you want to be a good boy of course...”

Whispered sibilant susserated auditory smoke sending shivers as the Doctor slowly turned his back on Jack the ghost of that voice, that scent lingering in the air before the room started back up, stopped time resuming, People egress ingress, in out and Jack fled back when the lights came back on and he realized until then the room had been nearly pitch black with Doctor Parmak still seeing him clear as day.

“Good boy…”

---

“Well you certainly must have made an impression,” Lauren teases as Jack watches Doctor Parmak neatly parlay Jack’s temporary Extra Privileges to Assist him. He blinks a few times before jumping down. “You’ll have to tell me your secret.”

“See Jack, this is why Sarina said that you catch more flies with honey,” Patrick says and Jack is… pleased that Patrick has something to smile about because Patrick like the rest of them has been a lot quieter since Sarina’s departure, but unlike Jack the silence from the other two is an inward reflection, a rebirthed quiet hope for their own liberation and Jack… wonders what it might be like to have people on the Outside waiting for him. Sarina didn’t have anyone but Lauren and Patrick… they’re different.

Jack doesn’t hope. Jack doesn’t dream. Jack doesn’t particularly care who wins the war because the walls of his room, his cell look the same no matter who owns the galaxy. Bashir speaks loftily about freedom and subjugation but Jack’s lived most of his life in chains and still doesn’t understand if it’s good enough for His existence why they’re not willing to pledge the save to save billions of their fellow man. Jack will never Understand the anger at him for doing what he was told, never understand why they Hate that he refuses to call them equal. Equal men didn’t wear chains and that either made him Prometheus or Sicinnus using his gifts in the service of Themistocles… In one week, you’ll kneel for me… Never, he thinks, even as he watches The Federation barter him away like an Athenian slave.

Jack doesn’t belong to anybody.

But still feels the memory ghost of breath on his face, the counter counting higher, indigo eyes above the glimmering lenses blinking every second…

Good boy...

#star trek ds9 #ds9 fanfic #ds9 jack #kelas parmak #jack/parmak #light ds stuff #like squint and you'll miss it for this part #fanfic #cyrelia-j

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dascarecrow · 3 years ago

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After The Facts - The Game Awards 2021

As the final major video game venue of 2021 the Game Awards were as highly anticipated as ever. With a mix of game and game adjacent material the show was as successful as it’s ever been.

Here are what we see as the top ten announcements of the show.

10) A Licensed Library

Licensed games have been a part of gaming since its inception and the Game Awards well prove that their still going strong with a triple header of announcements about games for some of the most popular franchises ever. Both Star Wars and Star Trek were announced to receive new video games and the previously announced Gollum game got a spot for itself. Even more niche properties show that anyone can get in on the licensed game scene with the announcement of a game based on Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Each of these announcements had something for all of fans of the properties and it just shows how important the Game Awards are becoming as a venue for video games.

9) Another Indy Hit

Much as people worship at the altar of established titles and series there’s always room for something new and this newly announced indie title proves it. Have A Nice Death is an action roguelite that focuses on the overworked Grim Reaper who finds that a long overdue vacation is slipping further out of reach. To correct this he decides to go reign in his overzealous subordinates that are ratcheting up death tolls and giving him more work than he can handle. That insane concept alone and some well showcased action gameplay definitely show that just because a game doesn’t come from a major developer doesn’t mean it can’t be amazing.

8) Hello Halo

In a deviation from past shows the Game Awards had announced that there wouldn’t just be video game announcements but also news about “game adjacent” material, such as television and movie adaptations. And one such thing was the first trailer for the live action Halo show that is in the works for Paramount+. The trailer itself if quite sparse, having little action and being more about the setting of the show. We did get a truly epic look at how main character Master Chief will appear in the show and its definitely enough to silence naysayers.

7) A DC Delight

DC has become notable for quality gaming in recent years, with such hits as Injustice and the Batman Arkham series. That pedigree looks to be growing with the announcement of a Wonder Woman game by Monolith, who created the well regarded Shadow of Mordor. We haven’t seen any gameplay yet but we are promised an exciting open world action adventure game that will hopefully touch on the unique cast of supporting characters and devious enemies that the Spirit of Truth has dealt with throughout the years. At the very least what little we have seen does seem to capture the spirit of one of the world’s most famous superheroes.

6) Crazy Enough To Get Someone Killed - Hope Its Not You

One of the most anticipated games that we’ve learned almost nothing about, Suicide Squad Kill The Justice League has a lot going for it. A new entry in the world of the Arkham games, a focus on the team that James Gunn revitalized with the recent movie and a chance to fight some the World’s Finest are all just a taste of what this game could offer. The Game Awards debuted the first actual gameplay video and it definitely holds up. Each member of the Squad offers unique mechanics to learn and master so players won’t find themselves bored. We also saw more of the game’s plot, showing how the members of the Justice League have broken bad and how the Squad may have to take them out to save the world.

5) To Speak Of The Forspoken

Square-Enix is synonymous with quality RPGs and Forspoken is just further proof they may have mastered the genre. A new trailer was released at The Game Awards which further showcased the fluid and vivid means of using magic for both travel and combat in the setting. We also got more of a look at the story and characters we’ll be seeing once the game comes out, which is always fun. Forspoken has been a bit of a mystery that everyone wants to solve, so its appearance at The Game Awards was an unexpected treat.

4) Awake In The Dark

Video game fans have been baying for a sequel to Alan Wake for a decade now, wanting resolution or at least a return to the mysterious and unsettling world that the game offered. Needless to say there were cheers when one of the first announcements of the night was that the game was finally going to receive a sequel, set for 2023. The trailer definitely shows that the game will retain the same eerie and mysterious ambiance that the first game possessed and we may even see Hollywood’s golden boy, Keanu Reeves, lend his likeness and possibly his voice to title character. All in all a certain winner.

3) A Saga Continues

The 2019 Game Awards debuted a sequel to the surprise hit Hellblade, which was also one of the first announced Xbox Series X exclusives. News was practically nonexistent after that point however. Luckily the Game Awards this year gave us a look at the game and it was not disappointing. We got a chance to see how good rendering in Unreal Engine 5 looks and its implied that the game will also answer if the realm of myth is actually real or not. If nothing else then Senua’s Saga will be a visual delight for all gamers.

2) Let Me Tell You A Tale

It was a bitter blow to the gaming community when Telltale Studios shut its doors. The company was famous for creating compelling stories out of licensed works that were defined by choice based narratives. It was therefore a complete and utter surprise when it was revealed that not only had Telltale returned but already had another series in the works. Based on the Amazon Prime sci-fi show, The Expanse, the trailer we saw shows that the game will be much like the other games that the company has put out, with a focus on making the right choice to get the result that the players want.

1) Going Super Sonic

The hands down best announcements of the show centered on the fastest thing alive. We saw the first trailer for Sonic The Hedgehog 2, which told us that the sequel would do everything that the first film got right but only better. Not only that but we also got our first proper look at the next mainstream Sonic game. Revealed to be called Sonic Frontiers, the first look showed that we may be stepping into an open world Sonic game for the first time. Something that can only be a good thing given that high speed movement and combat defines the series and it would translate especially well into an open world setting.

#After The Facts #The Game Awards

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wesleybates · 4 years ago

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How to Choose a Blog Topic for Ranking AND Driving Traffic

Blogs have been around since the late ‘90’s and their purpose has shifted quite a bit ever since. Truncated from “web log,” blogs’ main purpose back then was to read like a diary. While some blogs still operate as such, most blogs nowadays are a best practice and seem almost like a necessity for any website, no matter the nature of the site’s content. While it might seem like you should have a blog because, well, every site seems to have one, your blog can be a huge traffic driver, no matter the industry.

You might wonder how a dumpster rental company, plumber, or even a roofer can have engaging enough content to not only get a blog ranked but drive traffic, engage readers AND drive leads. We’ll explore ways to generate topics and content that rank, drive traffic, and keep your readers engaged, all while keeping your brand top-of-mind.

Blog order of operations

You need to get a blog ranked at least a little to drive traffic that keeps users engaged (and sometimes taking an action on your site). It’s important to remember, a blog does not require a call to action. It’s OK to only educate your readers. You’re providing free insight that resonates well with readers and hopefully keeps you top-of-mind. But it’s always nice to drive some leads. Remarketing after they’ve hit the site and/or setting up some exit-intent lead capture can turn that traffic into leads. Putting the horse before the cart, first up in this order of operations: picking a blog topic.

Picking a blog topic/title

Some business-specific blogs update readers on company happenings like new employees or acquisitions. While this is great for keeping up with the current times, it doesn’t tend to generate a lot of organic traffic via the search engine results page (SERP). If you want to generate some organic traffic, it’s best to answer questions or mimic search patterns to capture attention in the SERP. It’s best to assume that your blog topic is something people are searching. For example, “A Day in the Life of a Plumber” might chronicle a typical plumber’s process and how it affects the customer, but the title of the blog doesn’t suggest this.

With that being said, titles of blogs don’t have to be exactly what we presume someone is searching, you can still be creative. But getting close to what they might search is helpful. Here’s an example: ‘How to Use Machine Learning for SEO.’ This title might be something people directly type in as if they’re asking Google. Others might type in ‘machine learning SEO.’ Either way, this title still caters to both.

Sometimes, you don’t know what you want to write about and need a jumping off point. Here are 4 great ways to generate blog topics:

Google Search Console – GSC shows all queries that your site shows up for (not just the ones that you’re optimizing for). This can be handy for understanding where you rank on some keywords and phrases whether you like it or not. Once you see your rank on frequently searched keywords/phrases, you can reach for that lower hanging fruit and create a blog around it.

It shows frequently asked questions of users (this was triggered from “rent a dumpster” SERP). To find some blog ideas, tinker around with the SERP and type in some relevant keywords and phrases to your business. The knowledge accordion will appear and show you what people are searching in relation to you/your query. Note: it’s important to see what business or site already owns that question.

For example, if you’re a dumpster rental company, you might not want to put the effort into trying to outrank Waste Management. It is important to remember, that when people are looking for answers to questions, they’ll dig a little deeper. So while you might not be able to outrank that big brand, at least you can live on the first page in case someone digs further for the answer they’re looking for

Your blog content doesn’t need to be 100% related to your industry or line of work. It’s OK and even encouraged to cast a wide net. At a certain point, you start to plateau on organic traffic growth for keywords you’ve ranked on the first page for.

Blogs allow you to reign in some of those longer-tailed keyword searches, even those that aren’t directly your line of business. For example, perhaps you rent dumpsters. You can write some blog content around at-home construction tips and tricks. Sure, those reading up on construction aren’t exactly thinking about the clean up right now, but they will be eventually. You’re keeping yourself top-of-mind and getting them on your site.

Ranking

How long should my blog be? How many times should I include my keywords?

Now that we have some ways to generate blog topics, we need to get to writing. There’s no golden rule to how long a blog should or should not be. Of course, you’ll want more than a few words, but Google doesn’t exactly notify the public of what it’s looking for when manipulating their system. A good rule of thumb, write naturally and work keywords in later. You’ll find your keywords naturally work themselves in. The most recent major Google algorithm really favors credibility, and what better way to show you’re credible than creating loads and loads of content?

The most important thing to remember: keywords should be going into your H2 and H3 headings. While headings are a great way to break up content, they’re an even better way to optimize for a particular keyword.

Don’t always rely on that SEO plugin

We all know and use some SEO plugins to help keep as close to tip-top on our SEO as possible. Plugins like Yoast take a look at blogs in addition to static pages of any site it’s installed on. It’s good to take nearly anything any SEO plugins say with a grain of salt, especially when it comes to blogs. Plugins can be rudimentary and often become outdated compared to Google’s most recent preferences. For example, it will simply check for some exact match keyword density and give you a poor score with what it assumes the keyword is based on the rest of your site content. Sometimes, blogs aren’t always about your site’s main keyword focus. Sometimes, the plugins might tell you your blog is too short. Don’t be offended if the plugin says you’re not doing well, you’re doing just fine.

Create Engaging Blog Content

We’ve already pointed out that the best way to attract and keep readers is to give them some valuable-to-them information. They’re probably not very interested in company happenings and more interested in some solutions to their problems. Listicles are a bit outdated and short-form content that isn’t great for SEO but people love them so much because they’re easy to read. Make sure to section out your content into sections with relevant headers (bonus SEO points for putting keywords in the headers). This way, the reader can jump around and find what they need so they don’t attempt to digest a wall of content only to give up two lines in.

Earlier we mentioned offering solutions to problems. Be sure to remind the reader of their problem and how to fix it, including how your business can help. Be sure to balance plugging your business and solutions other than “use our business.” If a blog reads too salesy, you risk losing readers before an action has been performed.

When in doubt, remember Google tries to provide the best user experience by presenting relevant, topical information to their query. Keeping this in mind can really help rank, drive traffic, and keep readers engaged to the very end.

Linking

Internal and external linking is very important when writing your blogs, especially if you want them to rank. Internal linking means to link to other parts of your website while external linking means to link to another site. Google doesn’t recommend linking more than a hundred times in a blog, but a few will create an informational hierarchy that not only helps your SEO but your readers too. We’ve all experienced a writing block. But when trying to reach a word count, those blocks seem to get in our way more and more. Linking is a great way to generate more content in your blog too!

Images

Every blog should contain an image or a graphic. It keeps readers engaged and helps them jump around for short explanations they may be looking for. It’s important to not saturate your blog with so much imagery that load times are affected. Slow load times = high bounce rates = poor traffic = bad rankings = poor traffic = bad rankings, so on and so forth.

You can alleviate this problem pretty easily by saving your images as .jpgs to condense as much as possible.

Retroactive Blog Editing

Don’t feel discouraged if you have an arsenal of blog content that has accumulated over the years that don’t practice these principles. It’s encouraged to return to previous blog posts and optimize from time to time.. Make a simple change or two in your blog and republish. It won’t edit the publish date on your site but it will change the publish date on Google, and Google loves fresh content.

Create traffic reports for blogs and monitor their traffic regularly –– sometimes a small spike in traffic can signal a need for optimization for a larger spike later. Titles can be edited after the fact and blogs can be submitted to Google for crawling and indexing.

Blogging doesn’t have to be difficult. A few small principles applied to a new blog or some simple changes to existing blogs can really help rank, drive traffic, and keep readers engaged.

As always, SEO Company in Broomfield, CO is happy to provide feedback on blogs or any of your current marketing structures.Drop experts a line!

#Blogging #SEO

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