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redstainedsocks · 4 years ago

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The Vow

Pirate AU, part two! I don't have any more written than this, and I don't have a whole lot of plot planned for it, I'll just come back periodically and have fun in this fantasy version of the setting. Open to requests/suggestions if there's something you want to see let me know!

Notes: Decker's name changed to Ecker for the AU because I couldn't write about ship decks and have a main character called Decker... I just couldn't... xD

Content: aftermath of whump, death threats, angst, emotional whump, captive whumpee, failed rescue

[Part one] [Main Series]

Archer’s breath was thick in his lungs. Words stuck in his throat. The world spun and then stopped only to start spinning again as he tried to comprehend what was happening around him. The same way it had a week ago.

He never wanted to be one to put his crew in danger, but the contract to salvage certain things from a wreckage of one of the King’s vessels paid well, so he’d taken the job. It should have been easy and simple. The wreck was washed up on some rocks and mostly intact but incapable of getting back out to sea. They were to retrieve the goods and the captain's logs and some important scrolls and deliver them back to home shores. Tidy, straightforward. He knew the risk of pirating was high on a washed up vessel but he had a fast, manoeuvrable ship and good men, it was as likely to be them who braved the rocky seas first as anyone else.

But... Ecker. In a sleek schooner, with his evil, rank men. Ecker had got there first and hell had broken loose. Archer’s ship was better equipped for it, more cannons, more trained men, it wouldn’t have been long before they could subdue and overcome, and he had just hoped there wouldn’t be too great a loss of life.

In the midst of the firefight, between cannon shots and gunpowder smoke, and frantic sailing, a man had been dragged onto Ecker’s deck. A man blindfolded, in a loose shirt, hands bound, and too far away to see properly.

“Hold fire!” Ecker had shouted across the space. “Hold fire or I will spill his guts across the deck!”

Archer dismissed it, at first, because he couldn’t back down or lose ground just for some poor sod caught prisoner on Ecker’s vessel. Only then Jordan had handed across a looking glass, as drained of colour as the sun-bleached sail above their heads. It had taken one look through the glass to recognise the man. He would know that face--even half obscured--anywhere.

Zach—back from the dead. Zach, not lost at sea as they’d thought, but taken captive and held without word for two long years. All while Archer sailed on without him, without even knowing he left Zach behind.

So the world stopped and he called a ceasefire even as his head spun, and walked onto a sandbank with Ecker to negotiate the freedom of the friend who he’d lost two years previously.

“He was lost, lost at sea.”

“Seems like he was very much found, to me,” Ecker had said, gloating, drinking in Archer’s distress.

“Why wait this long, why not reveal your hand before now?”

“I knew a day would come where he would be a useful bargaining chip. Why present that on a platter when I held all the cards? Now I have leverage, and a way to get my ship out of your sights.”

“Fine, leave him behind, and I’ll let you sail away. Unscathed. You have my word,” Archer had tried to say it without sounding like he was pleading.

“Oh I don’t want your word, young Captain, I want your gold.”

“And then you give us Zach? Unharmed?”

“I can’t say unharmed, it has been a long two years for the poor lad. But yes, you pay, and he stays alive, and I’ll throw in the important bounty from that there wreck for good measure, if you like. You’ll meet us at my chosen location as soon as you have the ransom… but if any of ye so much as look at my ship wrong as I take my leave he’ll be dead before you can say ‘Davy Jones’. Locker”

He’d told his men to hold steady while Ecker sailed off into the distance, and did all he could to gather the damn ransom Ecker had demanded, and in return he was supposed to get Zach’s life as well as the logs and scrolls Ecker had pilfered from the wrecked ship. Ecker would go free, but he’d have his friend, he’d get Zach back.

So why was he now walking out of the Keep empty handed?

Zach had been—god, dragged away, without a care for his well being—and he’d rounded on Ecker with a snarl.

“What do you even want with him?”

“That’s my business, and if you want to keep your heads you’ll ask no more questions.”

“Tell me what can I do to persuade you? What will it cost? My life? You can take mine!”

“I want nothing you have to offer, and the look on your face is all the satisfaction I need. Now get out, before we throw you out… in pieces.”

Ecker’s threat had been real, he didn’t have to second guess that, so he took the chance to keep their heads. Their blades and guns and ammunition were dropped unceremoniously from the parapet above the gate after it slammed closed. Slammed and barred him from rescuing the one person he had sworn not to let down another time.

Turning his back on the Keep was the hardest thing he had ever done, it was surreal to place one foot in front of the other and walk away. And yet he was doing it. The sea was before him across the span of the small island, and his two most trusted crew were at his back.

So he walked, head swimming, just trying to keep them all alive. Treading the waters of his mind and trying to find some solution, a way out of this, even as it felt like drowning. His heart clenched as he cast one last look behind him at the Keep, half expecting to see a flash of dark hair at a window, a hand reaching for him. He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that he didn’t. He didn’t know if he imagined the scream ringing in his ears or if it was real.

“Archer, we can’t.”

Jordan’s voice was easy to tune out. He needed space to think. It was harrowing to consider leaving like this but he had nothing to hold over Ecker. “Nothing you have to offer.”

So maybe there was something, if he could just find it.

“Didn’t you see him, what they’re doing to him?”

Archer shuddered, pausing briefly before he kept walking through the scrubland. He’d seen. Zach’s bruised body, chafed and scarred wrists, how thin he was. More than that it was his eyes that told more than Archer could bear. They were haunted, hurting, desperate and then filled with hope that was snatched away so cruelly, so instantly.

“What if he doesn’t survive much longer?”

“Jordan,” Sasha snapped.

Archer held his head higher, it wouldn’t do to have Ecker’s men see him breakdown at the threshold of their own defences. He had to be stronger, prove he was better, not show how rattled he was. And Ecker had to have a weakness, something they could exploit. He wasn’t a god or a lord, he wasn’t even a good sailor, he just had enough people around him to make sure he couldn’t fail. If he could just get him alone, five minutes alone and he could best the man. But like this…

“Are you listening to me?” Jordan grabbed his arm and swung him around.

“No I'm not fucking listening to your petty whining! I'm thinking about how the hell we're going to get him out of there!” Archer said it in one breath and wrenched his arm loose. He buckled on his sword belt and stared above Jordan’s head, unwilling to meet his eyes..

“We can't do it here, not in this fortress, not so outnumbered,” Sasha said quietly from his right.

“No, we can’t,” he agreed.

“What’s the plan, Captain?” she replied.

“I don’t know yet, I have to think…”

“Archer, we can’t leave him here,” Jordan said and Archer finally made himself look at Jordan’s face, saw the pain there, and let that pain sink into him too. He’d carry all of their hurt, shoulder every burden.

“And if we get ourselves killed today, trying the impossible, who will come for him then?” he asked quietly.

Jordan paused, licked his lips, and dragged his eyes back to the Keep with a barely perceivable nod. “I understand, but to see him like that…. There are hurts there that even I may not be able to heal.”

“I know. It pains me too. And we will not leave him to rot with them, we only have to be smart about it. We wait, and we make a plan, and then we bring him home.”

He didn’t wait for a reply but turned and walked on, to the small beach where their row boat had been dragged high upon the sand. With practiced ease he hauled it back out into the water and tried to not to feel like a failure. It was only halfway back to the ship, with the spray stinging his eyes, did he finally let a few stray tears fall--when he could pretend it was just the splash of the waves on his face. He’d have to be strong again once they reached the ship, when he had to be Captain again and not just a man.

He wouldn’t look back. This was not the end of it. He vowed it with one hand on the pommel of his sword and the other on his heart.

I will save you, I will come back for you, this I swear.

[Taglist, let me know if you want to be added or removed from either the AU or the regular list! @haro-whumps @whumpthisway @hurting-fictional-people @lonesome--hunter @crowned-avery @extrabitterbrain @firewheeesky @outofangband @0idril0]

#pirate au #Zach and Archer #failed rescue #captive whumpee #held for ransom #death threats #death mention #angst #emotional whump #aftermath of whump #abandonment #caretaker and whumper #team whump #team dynamics

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selene-tempest · 4 years ago

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I just woke up from a dream and I'm not happy. You know as well as I do that you cannot mix my husband and a social situation, it's not a good thing , it's gonna end in disaster. It did here too.

In my dream I had to leave a social occasion (which I do believe was some kind of vlogger/ film festival) because I had an emergency, and promised to be right back as soon as I could.

Upon returning a few dream hours later darling husband was nowhere to be seen, one darling brother-in-law was trying to fix someone's broken tripod (yes I'm looking at you, Virgil) another was in the middle of an interview (seriously Gordon?) and another was standing off to the side, glaring.

I went over to see why said darling brother-in-law/best friend was glaring and to ask where the darling husband was.

Me: Why are you pissy? And Where's John?

Scott : Shit, you're back!

Me: That's a suspicious greeting right there. Why shouldn't I be back?

Scott : *shiftily * No reason

Me: *narrows eyes* Where's John?

Scott : Why don't we go and get a drink? Cat, shall we get a drink with Sel?

Me: I don't want a drink and I don't trust you. What's going on? Did something happen?

Scott : No…

Me: *hands on hips* Spill it!

Scott : One of his old college buddies is here, they are covering the event for a magazine.

Me: What's the problem with that? *shifty Scott is a thing again* Where is he?

Scott : You don't wanna go ov-

Me: *death stare*

Scott : *wilts and points*

Me: *stomps over to see some blonde hussy in a halter top straining over obviously enhanced jugs, snuggle so close to my man she's practically straddling him and she's taking pictures and selfies, he is doing absolutely nothing about it because this appears to be his college buddy.

Me: *glare goes nuclear as it targets this bleached interloper before I force a sweet smile on my face and turn to darling husband: Hi, can you possibly spare me a moment? *me, sarcastic and passive aggressive? Never!*

Her, the bleached one with the boobs: Do you mind? We're trying to have a private conversation here, neither of us have any time to deal with fans. Honestly, we can't enjoy ourselves anywhere these days.

John: No, it's OK this-

B+B(bleach and boobs) : No, you're off duty, don't let them pressure you into giving them time by making you feel guilty, you don't owe them anything.

Me: I think you're misunderstanding, I'm not looking for a-

B+B: No, you're misunderstanding, can't you see that we're busy and that you need to go away? *drops a possessive, red clawed hand on his shoulder and leans closer.*

John: *clearly stuck between not wanting to offend his friend but also waiting for me to explode and take her down. He gets the one eyebrow raise of impending doom warning* Maddie, its fine, this is-

B+B: *puts a finger to his lips to silence him then glares at me* You're interrupting, go away.

Me: *dream me is apparently a lot more chilled than awake me, because dream me just snaps out* Fine, I guess I'll leave you alone then.

Me: *stomps off* I need a freaking drink!

Cat: *hurries over * Did you kill her? Did you save him?

Me: *glances over at the clinging vine my not-so-darling husband seems to have acquired* Let him perish. I'm getting a drink, are you in or out?

Cat: In! *trots after me*

Me: *is searching out one, very specific drink* ha! Got it. *enters the bar and orders a blue and red mix vodka slushie (I don't even know if this is a thing in the real world but it soooo should be)*

Cat: *is not brave enough to order the same, gets a vodka and diet coke, the wimp*

Me: *gulps down three large slurps on my straw, immediately gets brain freeze, isn't sure if that's preferable really*

Cat: *leaving me to it to scroll on her phone*

Me: *brain slightly defrosted* So, who's the bitch?

Cat: Madeline Carmichael-Parks (dream me makes up the best names apparently) went to college with Penny and John.

Me: *huffs at her stupid name* I don't trust people with two names.

Cat: Creighton-ward?

Me: *scowls* she's on the list of people I'm keeping my eye on (I have no idea what I'm talking about here)

Cat: I won't tell her you said tha- oh…

Me: *instantly suspicious* Oh, what?

Cat: Nothing *tries to hide her phone*

Me: Spill it!

Cat: *sighs and turns her phone to show Instagram and the bleached with boobs trollop snuggled faaarrrr too closely to my never-going-to-be-darling-again husband. The caption reads "My gorgeous date and I are enjoying ourselves at the vloggies" Urge to kill, rising*

Me: Right.

Cat: I'm sure it's nothing, you know it's noth-

Ted flap further down the bar opens, a familiar redhead ducks in, I immediately grab my drink and leave. Not in the mood for this shit apparently. I stomp my way down the street, weaving between festival goers. I have no idea if I left Cat behind, if she's following, if she got caught by said redhead, it's every woman for herself right now.

Random Brunette: Hey, sweetie, you OK?

Me: Yep

Random redhead friend : You don't look it.

Me: I'm fine. I just came back to find my husband being groped by another woman.

Girls gasp: He's cheating on you?!

Me: *snorts and slurps rapidly melting drink* Nah, he'd never do that, and my best friend would never allow it even if he wanted to, which he wouldn't.

Girls: *stunned silence, clearly confused*

Me: *sucks madly on the straw* She was all over him, I was polite, she wasn't. Girl code.

Girls: *both nod, totally understanding*

Me: He didn't stop her, so now I'm pissed at him.

Girls: *nod again*

Me: Then she shared a selfie and called him her date.

Girls: *gasps all round*

Me: It was leave to get a drink or murder, those were my choices.

Girls: *sees empty drink in my hand*

Me: I did not choose death this day. *finds drink empty, knows it's probably not safe to go back for another, pouts mildly for a second before deciding a slice of pizza might be better* Yeah, I'm off, later ladies.

Girls wave goodbye. I continue my stomping towards a pizza stall ( there seems to be a lot of food in this dream, maybe I was hungry).

Arms grab me from behind. I scream. Three dudes turn around to see if I'm OK.

John: *patiently* Stop screaming, Sel.

Me: No. *screams again just to be petulant*

Dude 1: Is this guy bothering you?

Me: Yes, he's my husband and he's an idiot who is trying to be cute and adorable when I'm angry at him.

John: *snigger quietly, which was a bad move.*

Dude 2: Want me to kick his ass?

Me: No, I can do that myself.

John : *clearly rolling his eyes behind my back* Whatever you're thinking happened you know it didn't.

Dude Three: *cracks knuckles*

Me: So I didn't see some blown up Barbie hanging all over you, being rude to me and claiming you as her own?

Dudes: *all wince and suck air through their teeth in sympathy, for who I don't know.*

John: I tried to tell her I was married but she never listens and-

Dude Three: Not helping yourself here, my man.

Dude Two: You don't admit to cheating, that's just stupid.

Me: *suddenly defensive of dumbass husband * Hey! Who said anything about cheating? He'd never do that, I was pissed off that a socialite with the IQ of a bean sprout judged me and dismissed me away from my own husband and this idiot did sod all about it.

John : I was about to, but you always tell me you can fight your own battles and I didn't want to undermine you. *hugs me tighter because he totally knows he's getting away with this. Unfortunately I know it too.*

Me: *smacks at his hand* Go away, I'm mad at you and I'm staying mad.

John : No you're not *kisses my neck*

Me: Yes I am. *promptly forces myself to wake up because I I'm that damned stubborn and I will have the last word *

I woke up to dumbass husband snuggled up to my back, snoring lightly in my ear, all innocent and unaware of just what his dream self was putting me through. How dare he!

So I got out of bed and stole his dressing gown, went to the kitchen and bitched to Virgil about my dream. He was very unsympathetic quite honestly and undeserving of the coffee I made him.

John woke up an hour later but I'm still not talking to him. He has no idea what he's done.

Virgil told him he pissed me off in my dream and John just looked at me with a very judging look in his eyes like I was totally mad.

I'm still waiting for an apology…

#Stupid dream husband #How dare he #how dare he be so cute #Hes not going to get away with this #john tracy #selene tempest #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fandom

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scarfdyedshadow · 4 years ago

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On the Decline of Mage Characterization in Ancillary Type-Moon Works (or On Magi Getting Flanderized Into One-Dimensional Evil Arrogant Sods) Part 1: The Matter of Magi Themselves

Yes, I am dumb enough and obsessed enough to basically write an entire essay on this. Yes, the title is pretentious as all hell.

A disclaimer before we start though, this is not directed at or meant to condemn or call out or mock or invalidate the many a Tumblr shitpost on evil arrogant magi getting owned by Guda or various other characters. It may not be humor personally up my alley, but I understand the appeal, and it’s not like there isn’t some grain of truth to them. Likewise this isn’t meant to in any way condone anything Nasuverse magi. A fair amount of them are evil regardless of mitigating circumstances, a lot of the ones that aren’t outright evil have capacity to be evil because of ethos and mindset, and the acts they commit are certainly evil. I am not condoning them, or dismissing them as not evil. I simply urge a more nuanced rather than simplistic analysis of that evil. This also unfortunately omits Mahoyo, which probably has quite a bit of insight, because I haven’t gotten around to reading it yet, thus rendering me a fake fan you should not listen to. Thank you for your consideration. Also, spoilers.

This first part is primarily concerned with the inhumanity of magi and misconceptions about magi and their ethos as a whole, while the next part will actually go into the history of magus villains in Type-Moon works and what I feel is their decline, and build upon and further points of this part. There may be a potential third part on the Crypters, Gordolf, and Olga, the modern faces of Nasuverse magi and the greatest illustration that magi are far more nuanced, complex, pitiful and yet admirable, than they aren’t, and Nasu’s thesis statement on the power of love and life.

(Note: Okay my theme is actually pretty eyesearing to the point I recommend you read this on dash, I’ll go get it fixed)

"Do you know what it is that magi are aiming for?"

After a moment of blankness, Gray replied with a difficult expression.

"Umm...I heard about it in class. What was it...the Spiral of Origin?"

"Right. The Spiral of Origin, or more simply the Root. Sometimes it's referred to as「」, the thing for which there can be no reference. It is the source of everything, the 'zero' from which all matter and phenomena flow. Ah, but now that I'm trying to put it into words, I'm realizing that's not a good idea. After all, even the idea of 'zero' has baggage that makes it unsuitable as a comparison."

"Regardless, the goal of magi is to eventually reach that place. Of course, there are also those who simply derive pleasure from touching the supernatural, or from being superhuman. Because we are weak, we fall to that diversion. But in the end, that's not our ultimate goal."

For modern magi, most understood that reaching the root was something that just wasn't possible for them. After all, even though magecraft itself had been in a state of continuing decline since the Age of Gods, there were no reports of anyone facing that past and trying to return to it. Likely, the appearance in the Far East of the fifth - and often called the last - Magician was the same as the gate to the Root being all but closed to everyone else.

Even so, we didn't give up.

Anyone who would give up in a situation like this would never have become a magus to begin with.

Ironically enough, despite opening up with a quote from Lord El-Melloi II Case Files, which I’ll have some critique for, the crux of my thesis is this. As originally presented in Kara no Kyoukai, and generally only kept up to a meaningful degree in other Nasu written works like Stay Night, Clock Tower 2015, and Grand Order, magi were the piteous, tragic, inhuman not as in inhumane but as in a broken machine product of an impossible ideal and a broken system. They were the villains, yes, unambiguously so, but at the same time they were sympathetic and nuanced to an extent that would decline down the road.

You see, Araya. A mage always lives hurriedly. What for? If it was for themselves alone they wouldn't bother with the outside world. So why do they intrude upon the rest of the world? Why do they rely upon it? What will they achieve with that power? What will they save with the Ars Magna (Ars Magna: Meaning 'great secret technique', it stands not for a technique that is not learnt through study but for a mystery that is secretly passed down)? If that was the case it would have been better for them to become a king instead of a mage.

You think people live foully, but you yourself would not be able to live like that. You would not be able to live while accepting the fact that you know that everything is worthless and base. You would not be able to live without the pride of knowing that you alone are special, and that you alone can save this crumbling world. Of course, I was like that too. But that sort of thing has no meaning. --- Accept it, Araya. We chose the path of transcendence called magecraft because we are weaker than everybody else.

Magi were presented as absurd, as farcical, as maddeningly helpless and hopeless compared to those living normal lives. This will come up in Part 2, especially as pertains to Touko and Gordolf and the like, but normal everyday life, not superior thematic superpowers or an army of Servants, is what is truly far more powerful than any magi.

"... I'll just ask one thing. What do you mean when you say that secrets are kept even within that Association?"

Unexpectedly, I hear something from the sofa.

Over there is Shiki, who has been sitting there since before without a word. She's the type of person who doesn't get involved in a conversation that she's not interested in, so until now she had been staring at the scenery outside the window.

"--- There is that. A mage won't reveal the results of his experiments even within the Association. What the person next to them is researching, what their goals are, and what they have obtained are all a mystery. The only time a mage will reveal the results of their work is when they are passing it on to their descendants just before they die."

"Studying for their benefit alone, yet not using that power for their own sake? What purpose is there in a life like that, Touko? Is it that the goal is to learn, and the process is to learn too? If the only things you have are the beginning and the end, that's the same as having a zero."

Their pursuit for the truth is maddening. It is greedy yet at once devoid of greed. It is selfish yet at once devoid of selfishness. Their ethos and methodology are not fundamentally inhumane, but inhuman. Magi are an odd sort of creature indeed, and it isn’t the case that they’re all evil in their absurd quest. Indeed, virtually all early Nasuverse ancillary material, and this is still said today despite the opposite being true in practice, is that the vast majority of magi are shut ins who stay inside researching as opposed to eating babies.

The everyday life of a magus is mostly spent conducting research. Magi who use magic outside of a research capacity, such as those who use magi to work and profit for themselves, are few in number. People who treat magic as a tool, such as assassins, are called “spellcasters”, and are looked down upon with disdain by the magical establishment.

Furthermore, it is precisely because they are magi that few magi use magic in their daily lives.

Practically speaking, for every mage you see committing mass murder or fighting the mass murdering mage with superpowers, there are ten who we certainly can’t call conventionally moral, who we certainly can’t call normal humans, obsessively striving towards a seemingly impossible goal inhumanly but not inhumanely. Because Type-Moon does action series this has never been tenable to properly depict besides the minority, but it is the truth regardless. This is from a later work I actually have some measure of criticism for, but Strange Fake actually illustrates that point perfectly.

"A mage's mage," he muttered disgustedly to himself, eyes narrowed, "is no different from a hard-working corrupt politician." What about me? He wondered as soon as the words were out of his mouth. As long as corruption stayed hidden, it was difficult for the public to tell the difference between a corrupt politician and an honest one. In which case, mages, who never entered the public eye to begin with, probably ought to be lumped in with them. There were exceptions, but from the standpoint of the general public, mages were generally evil.

Other Nasu written works like Stay Night and Clock Tower 2015 also touch upon it.

Magic is just what it sounds like… magic. I don't care if you get ideas like abracadabra or whatever. You can just think of us as people who do strange things by casting spells. Oh, though it's not like we fly around on brooms or make stars appear with a wave of a wand. …Well, we could do that, but we don't bother as it's kind of meaningless. We're basically heretics who hide ourselves from the world. We're prohibited from standing out and even if we weren't, we would rather be at home studying magic.

Clock Tower 2015 especially hits it up by depicting what might be called the ideal magus, the point of being a magus that is often distorted by human concerns but that all of them are to some extent, not an inhumane monster but an inhuman man who has dedicated his life to magecraft.

"Ahhh, the life of a magus is so brief. It would have been great if I were born with just the brain and nothing else." Like what you just saw, Leiv was a pure academic magus. All his efforts were poured solely into his theory and magecraft. He cared naught of any other responsibilities, the application of his magecraft, his lineage, or building his faction. From Leiv's perspective, those magi were the same as the plebians that were "normal people". If one were to decipher the mystical, then he must sacrifice his humanity. A magus was a creature with nothing but magecraft on his mind. There was no room for burdens such as "life".

So to begin with, what we call magi are far from all arrogant murderous sods, and if anything arrogant murderous sods are the minority. They come in all manner of varieties, united simply by the pursuit of the impossible, by the desire to reach the truth, by the desire to transcend. Even more so than just that, they do have their values and ethics. They are often cruelly distorted, to the extent “magi parents” is a phrase that might as well be an oxymoron, but I would opine that as a product more of recent years than anything.

"Keep those for me. They are some awful cigarettes from Taiwan but I only have those now. Of course there isn't any company that made them, it's a famous item that some eccentric master made only one box of. Yeah, out of all my possessions that is the second most valuable thing I have." Leaving behind some strange words, she turned around and walked out. ... Perhaps her most valuable possession is herself, that kind of thought popped into my mind so I asked her, but she only turned back her head and answered. "That's rather rude. I know it's me but even I don't treat people like possessions." Like herself when she has her glasses on, she pouts as if she's sulking. And then, returning to her usual cool expression Touko-san continued talking. "Kokuto. Those people called mages, with an apprentice or other people they are close to they feel like parents. Since they are something like their offspring, they often fight desperately to protect them as well. ... Well, it's like that so relax and wait here. I'll bring Shiki back tonight." Thock thock, the sound of her walking away. Unable to say anything to her back, I let the brown-coated magician go.

That magi value their children, their apprentices, their legacies, even if only as a next step on the path to the Root, is also a truth echoed at the same time that it’s often contradicted. But then, magi are in of themselves contradictory creatures. After all, despite pursuing an inhuman ideal, despite throwing away their humanity, they themselves are still human. That contradiction between reality and ideals, best exemplified by Fate/Stay Night, is one of the themes at the heart of Nasu’s work.

So, to repeat it once more, magi as a whole, magi society as a whole, is not fundamentally inhumane but inhuman. That inhumanity often lends itself to the inhumane, but not necessarily, and indeed I opine that should be considered on a deeper level. That inhuman society is by no means a good thing, but to simply call it evil and magi evil and call it a day is to do a disservice to its nuance. There are arrogant murderous magi as well, sure, but they too are products of a tenacious ideal, they are the long shadow cast by lineages stretching for thousands of years.

In reality, what really forged the magus of the modern day was not a supernatural power or transcendent conscience, but a tenacity built and reinforced over generations. Clinging to a shadowed, intense ideology for hundreds, or in some cases even thousands of years, developed its own sort of extreme power. Even if science were to exceed magecraft in all other respects, as long as that ideal survived, magecraft itself would be ineradicable.

But what then of Souren Araya? What of that bastard Zouken and worst dad of the year Tokiomi and that arrogant asshole Kayneth? Rest well assured that I will cover them in exacting detail in the next part of whatever the hell this is, and everything I say about them will build upon this. That may seem contradictory, since this part is mostly devoted to showing that magi are far more than just evil sods, but believe it or not Kayneth is going to be mightily relevant to how pitifully weak magi in truth are, and Tokiomi is going to be relevant to how magi value their children in ways that don’t have to be inhumane, but can be inhuman. Until next time, all I can ask is to consider that while magi are indeed monsters, monsters really can be quite interesting creatures.

Things in this world were all like that.

It wasn’t limited to magecraft. It wasn’t limited to those beyond humans (monsters). In a world of common sense (the obvious), it was something everyone understood.

If you said that misunderstandings, miscommunications, disagreements, and false understandings are what connected them, then...

“We are misrecognition. Our world itself is misunderstanding. We can experience a multitude of truths, not just one single reality. No matter how wise you are, or how much time you are given, you will never reach something like a single truth. Magi may just be those who continually reject that fact.”

Speaking as if in self-deprecation, my master had pursed his lips at that.

He had finally realized that his words and the objective that all Magi pursued, known as the “Spiral of Origin,” were in contradiction.

Sources: Lord El-Melloi Case Files (TL by TwilightsCall), Kara no Kyoukai (TL on baka-tsuki), Fate/Stay Night (TL Mirror Moon), Clock Tower 2015 (TL by food), Fate/Strange Fake (TL by OtherSideOfSky)

#type-moon #fate series #fate grand order #fgo #fate stay night #kara no kyoukai #knk #fsn #fate meta #magecraft #lord el-melloi ii case files #case files #garden of sinners

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realityhelixcreates · 4 years ago

Text

The Mystic Garden: Sowing

Chapters: 1/5

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG

Warnings: death

Characters: Loki(Marvel)

Additional Tags: Infinity War Doesn’t Exist, Everybody Lives, Mutants Exist In The MCU, The Reparations Of Loki Of Asgard

Summary: Despite S.H.I.E.L.D. becoming a smaller and more selective organization, Loki still finds himself assigned to them upon Asgard's arrival on Earth. Required to perform a kind of specialized community service, Loki is paired up with another outcast, of a kind he is not familiar with: A mutant named Iris.

Loki of Asgard was a very beautiful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very powerful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very dangerous man.

And that was about all that anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. could agree on about Loki of Asgard.

To some, he was an asshole. To others, perfectly charming. To yet more, he was polite, but distant. Funny. Serious. Sarcastic. Aloof. Morbid. Morose. Intimidating. Shy. Threatening. Angry. Flirty. Each person Iris asked described him in a different way.

To Iris, he was a looming presence, staring her down with searing intensity. Her shiny, brand new partner. Joy.

“So you're the unfortunate one.” He grumbled. “Winner of the worst lottery this organization has ever thrown.”

“I'm Iris Devereaux.” She said, holding out her hand. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

He glanced at her hand with a sneer. “No you aren't.”

“Beg pardon?”

“No one is pleased to meet me.”

“Oh. Well. Here's the thing: you don't decide that for me.”

He raised one perfect eyebrow, tilting his head back.

“I don't tolerate men telling me what I do and don't think or feel. Only I can know that. Now, you gonna shake my hand or not, Mister 'of Asgard'?”

Loki harrumphed. “As you demand, Miss 'of the Riverbank'.”

“What?” Iris took his hand and gave it a firm shake. He allowed it, but drew his hand back the instant she released it.

“Your surname. It means 'riverbank'. Didn't you know? Named after a goddess, and yet you seem to have lived humbly.”

“I'm named after a flower.” Iris corrected.

“The flower was named after the goddess.” He re-corrected. “The personification of the rainbow, a messenger of the gods. She who waters the clouds with her ocean-filled pitcher, flying on glowing, golden wings to carry the pleas of mankind to the gods they prayed to. As she connected the sea and the sky, her rainbows connected mankind to the gods. Just as our Bifrost connected Asgard to Midgard with the beauty and magnificence of the rainbow.”

“Oh, please.” Another agent groaned from their nearby work station. Loki glared.

“Well, that's...informative.” Iris said. Was this what Loki was like? Standoffish, unless given something to talk about? He was certainly well-spoken. “I'm pretty sure my parents just had the flower in mind though.”

“A delicate goddess, an ephemeral rainbow, or a nodding blossom on the riverbank: it all paints a pretty picture, does it not?” He asked.

Iris narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

“I wonder.” Loki said.

“Will you two just go get some coffee or something?” the other agent snapped. “I've got to finish this by ten hundred.”

“Fine, jeez, keep your vest on.” Iris said. Loki glared once again. “C'mon, there's a thousand break rooms on this old boat. We can take one over for ourselves.”

*****

“Who was that cur?” Loki demanded as Iris programmed the coffee machine for two cups. “Who does he think he is talking to? I am still a prince of Asgard, and a god! No pencil-pushing desk monkey speaks to me that way!”

“Hey, cool your chops.” Iris said, getting the mugs. “The pencil-pushing desk monkeys keep this whole show running. Who do you think runs this boat? Where does our intel come from? Who finds out if it's any good or not? Who does the budgets, communication, tech, cleanup, triage, programming, and supplies? The heroes get the fame, sure, but we're ultimately expendable. These guys own this shindig. Do you like caramel?”

“I...might?” He said, and Iris added a squirt of syrup to each steaming mug, then handed him his. “And you might be expendable, but I most certainly am not.”

“Cheers, bro. I'll drink to that.” Iris raised her mug in his direction and took a long gulp of fresh, caramel coffee. Oh boy, this was gonna be fun.

Loki seemed perplexed, either by the flavor of the coffee, or her casual acceptance of his declaration.

“Not that it will come to that.” He backtracked. “As my partner, you will have the advantage of my protection.”

“Joy. So, your highness, what's landed you here? You aren't exactly known as a friend to mankind. Why join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

He harrumphed as Iris took another long pull from her mug. “You say 'join' as if I was given a choice. This is penance, nothing more. It was decided when Asgard had to relocate here, that I would work for a 'humanitarian' organization. Save lives equal to those whose deaths I was responsible for. Work towards paying off the cost it took to rebuild. And so I perform the Reparations of Loki of Asgard, defending this realm from itself. Once I have accomplished this, I will leave.”

“Mhm. And how far have you gotten?”

“It's only been a few months.” He huffed. “So not nearly as far as I'd like. How did they lure you in?”

Iris shrugged. “Job's a job. This one is steady, has good benefits, and it certainly keeps me engaged. It's no daily grind, that's for sure.”

“But with your power, could you not be a leader of some sort, rather than in a subservient 'expendable' position?”

“Ah. You've read my file.”

“Of course I did. As I assume you've read mine. Prying things. Why do they need so many personal details? But yes. It mentioned that you have an unusual power, beyond others of your type? Why are you not in charge?”

“Hoo boy.” Iris took a seat across from him. “You don't know much about human social structure, do you?”

Loki frowned. “It was never supposed to matter.”

“Well, it matters now. And it's mattered to me my whole life, because I can't just run off home to fairy tale land, so it looks like we both have no choice but to deal with it. You know what a mutant is?”

“I know what the word means, but I don't know how it applies to you.” Loki said, perplexed. “You look like any other human to me, so I assume it is something internal?”

Now it was Iris' turn to harrumph. “Well, you look like any other Asgardian to me, so I guess we've both got something going on under our skin, don't we? Tell you what: you explain to me what a 'frost giant' is, and I'll explain what a 'mutant' is in this context.”

“And if I refuse?” Loki sneered.

“Then I do too.” Iris said simply.

Loki stared at her across the table, the intensity of his gaze as hot as the coffee, and Iris tried her best to pretend to be unaffected by it. It wasn't that he wasn't intimidating, but an unfortunate lifetime of bigotry and constant background danger had given her a skin as thick as wood. Well, her mutation had done that as well.

“I can do this all day.” He warned.

“Alright.” Iris shrugged.

A few very awkward minutes passed, a silence spent sipping coffee, until her supervisor, Chris Timmitz, interrupted.

“Iris! Loki. There you are! I've been looking for you two. Lucky to find you in the same place, you've got a job coming up.”

“Oh yeah? Lay it on me boss.” Iris said. Loki grimaced.

“We think we've got another possible HYDRA shelter, kinda out in the open this time. We need more intel. That's where you come in.”

“It's located next to a forest, isn't it?”

“A meadow, actually.” He said a bit sheepishly. “We need you to, uh, plant some bugs on the property.”

“Ha ha.” Iris said flat-voiced.

“Aw c'mon, I didn't come up with the terminology.”

“Was that some kind of insult?” Loki asked darkly. “Do you degrade your employees?”

“Well, it wasn't meant to be.” Chris explained. “It's not my fault the language is what it is. And what about you? Iris may act tough, but she's really sweet and sensitive, so you'd better act right-”

“Or what?” Loki challenged.

“Chris. Cut it out. We don't have to be chummy, we just have to get the job done.” Iris said. “So give us the details.”

“Right, right. We're starting Tuesday. It seems to be when the fewest people are there...”

****

Iris crawled through the tall grass of the meadow, the plants moving naturally around her, so as to not alert her enemies that she was there. The shelter was an old schoolhouse apparently, that HYDRA agents had taken over, ostensibly to restore the historical building and turn it into a museum...all the while sheltering their agents from the law, and pushing revisionist history in an effort to spread their doctrine through yet another small town. They had done this so many times before, changing the narrative, changing the perceptions of the people.

HYDRA had many heads. It was the symbolism of the thing. Some of those heads infiltrated governments, and worked to influence world policy. Other heads overran small towns, influencing the vote, which served to make the jobs of the others easier.

Some people in S.H.I.E.L.D. likened them to a virus to be quarantined, cut out, and destroyed. Iris saw them as a sickness to be cured. Anyone could change their minds, given reason. The trick was to find the reason. That wasn't her job, and she didn't think she'd be good at it, but she knew that there were anti-radicalization support groups popping up here and there now, and no wonder, with the state of the current administration. Iris knew HYDRA must have gotten their voice very well entrenched into the government.

But Iris was more directly concerned with these little heads, with blocking their progress, slowing them down, and just generally inconveniencing them.

She'd gotten the usual stares and glares, upon entering the little town, but it was hard to tell if it was HYDRAs influence, or just typical American small town prejudice when faced with a dark-skinned stranger. Either way, she wouldn't want to live here.

She settled down in the grass, stretched out on her belly, and the sod began to part beneath her. Loki, who had simply made himself invisible with his alien magics, and crept along beside her, was clearly capable of sneaking with the best of them. He barely displaced a blade of grass. He crouched down beside her.

“We are stopping here?” He whispered. “How shall you place your devices? Will you throw them?”

“No, My aim isn't that good.” Iris said, ignoring his smug “Mine is.”, and beginning to sink into the newly exposed soil.

“Uh...Miss Devereaux...are you aware that the earth appears to be swallowing you?”

“Don't worry about it, it's fine.” She wriggled her feet out of her flimsy sandals and into the dirt. She was positioned to just be able to see the old schoolhouse over the edge of the trough that had been excavated beneath her. That was all she needed.

“Certainly. Nothing out of the ordinary here.”

“You're one to talk. Hand me the bugs.”

There were only three of them: tiny things, no larger than the creatures they were named after. Iris took them, then tore a packet of seeds open with her teeth, pouring the contents into her hands.

“This is going to take me a pretty long time. Couple of days, probably. What I'm going to need the most from you is tending. Every hour, give me something to drink. Every four hours, give me something to eat. Make sure no one sweeps through here with a lawn mower or a fire. I'm not going to be able to move, and will likely be in something of a trance. Sorry I won't be better company.”

“That's a lot of orders coming from one little human.” Loki grumbled.

“My life is in your hands.”

“That's...a bit better.”

She pressed her hand against the earth in front of her, and concentrated.

For some minutes it didn't appear to Loki that anything was happening at all. Then the first of the thin, white roots began squirming out from between her fingers, roping around her hand.

Loki stretched out in the tall grass next to her as the roots slowly formed a ragged, grasping ball of pale worms against her chestnut skin. He remained silent for hours alongside her, dutifully holding a small bottle of water to her lips every hour or so. As she had said earlier, Iris lay very still, and very trance-like, drinking without acknowledging that she even knew he was there.

“Hmmm.” He whispered. “I hate being ignored, you know. I wonder if you can even hear me? Could you explain what it is that you are doing, or are you so far away that you cannot even answer? What would happen if I touched you right now, Goddess-Flower of the Riverbank? Would I break your concentration? Would you even notice?”

He opened one of the little ration packs, half of which were specifically labeled with Iris' name. Within were little brown cubes that smelled deeply unappetizing to Loki, formed from a slurry of many mysterious ingredients.

“A special recipe, just for you? S.H.I.E.L.D. must value you more highly than you have previously stated. Here you go, Bright Blossom.” He held the little cube to Iris' lips, which parted automatically to accept the cube. “And so I have become no more than a nutrient dispensary. How far I have fallen.”

He fed her the cubes, one by one. Every brush of her petal-velvet lips against his fingers tempted him to push them into her mouth, a temptation that brought a chuckle to his own lips. There were only so many games he would be allowed to play, before S.H.I.E.L.D. kicked him out entirely. He wasn't attached to S.H.I.E.L.D., or anyone within the organization, but working for them kept him active, kept him relevant, kept him engaged, and most importantly, kept him out of prison. Community service was infuriating, but he had experienced the soul-crushing torment of solitary confinement, and this was much preferable.

A cold, uncomfortable cell? Or laying in the grass on a warm, sunny day, hand-feeding a pretty girl?

He was very tempted to lay his hand on the small of her back, where her uniform had ridden up just enough to show a strip of glistening skin, but it wouldn't have the proper punch with Iris in this deep trance. Without reaction, there was no fun.

The roots winding their way up her arms were somewhat unsettling. Was this what her file had meant when it noted that she was a 'mutant'? That she could cause plants to sprout? Could other humans do that?

Hours later, when the sun had set, and the roots had wriggled into the soil all around her, and crawled their way up to her shoulders, Iris stirred.

“Mph. Man, I'm sore.” She complained.

“Ah, welcome back. There is a powerful desire I need you to fulfill.”

“Not on company time. There's trees over there, go behind them and, uh, work it out? Also, for next time, I really don't need to know.”

“You flatter yourself, or you underestimate me. What I want, is for you to explain what you are doing. Are you making those plants grow?”

“Oh. Yeah, basically. You read my file; you know I'm a mutant.”

“Yes, but I do not know the significance of the term.” Loki admitted. “Is it this? This magic you wield?”

“It's not magic, it's just...it's genetic. I was born this way. At first it was just little things. Gardens grew better wherever I went, I didn't get hungry as much when there was sunlight, I didn't need to drink as much as long as there was water on the ground. I grew up in a way rural community tucked away in the Everglades. We were real poor, so being outside and having wet and muddy feet was just normal for all the kids.

As I got older, the signs got more obvious. I can do things that plants can do. I can direct their growth, and I sorta...change with the seasons, depending on where I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eh, stick around long enough and you'll see. Anyway, people aren't too fond of mutants, and it got...tough. To live at home, I mean. So I went out into the wild, and I did pretty well there, but S.H.I.E.L.D. found me and offered me something else. Not every mutant is like me. There's a lot of different ways to be a mutant, it's unpredictable. Some folks can fly, others can turn their bodies into metal, and some can heal wounds to their body in seconds. I manipulate plants, and am, in some ways, like them.”

“I see. And you are causing these plants to grow for what purpose?”

“Spying purposes. It's gonna take a few days, but these vines will tunnel through the ground, all the way up to the school house. When they break ground, I'll send one of them up that tree there, another one around the frame of that window there, and the third down the chimney. You saw those little devices? They're holding those in packets of leaves, and will position them so that they remain hidden, but they consist of audio, video, and heat signature recorders. Once I've gotten them in place, we'll leave. That's all this mission is; bugs on plants.”

“Then why am I here?” He wondered. “You seem to have this well in hand.”

“Someone's gotta feed me. And make sure I don't get found out. There's rumors you can make magic illusions. That's probably why. You can hide us both from any eyes or cameras.”

“And I have.” Loki said proudly. “And fed and...watered you, Little Blossom. What else do you need from me?”

“To do it all again tomorrow.” Iris said. Then she dropped her head into the nest of roots, and settled down to sleep.

*****

Iris was awake and in her trance just as the first light of dawn kissed the horizon. Loki had been awake even before that, every swish of grass or crackle of leaves grabbing his attention.

“Rest.” He commanded her. “I have not the need of it that you do. Never forget: I am no weak mortal. You require a large amount of sleep, but I am all the greater.”

Iris had snorted at the bravado, but accepted the cubes he fed her, and fell into her trance, the roots curling further and further around her body.

Loki idly wondered how far the roots would go. Would they cocoon Iris entirely, prompting her to 'hatch' into a new form? Would they drag her down into the earth, entombing her away from Loki forever? Or would they just die back?

He watched people come and go to the old schoolhouse, working on its restoration. They looked for all the world like normal workers; he didn't even believe any of them to be armed. Not all HYDRA agents were combatants, after all. Just as many of them were spies, thieves, politicians, PR specialists and spin doctors.

Ever since what the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents called 'The Big Reveal', both organizations had been frantically rebuilding. S.H.I.E.L.D. more slowly, taking only the best, only the most trustworthy. Loki supposed he should be proud, even though he knew he was only there as a glorified prisoner.

HYDRA's recruits seemed to be skyrocketing, as they took to the internet in search of easily radicalized young men-mostly men, and boys-to bolster their numbers. They found plenty of them, and quickly, but they were sloppy and unpredictable. All too often, one let their ego overcome their loyalty to the cause, an event that almost always led to public confrontation and violence. But the news media-already infiltrated, most likely-was always quick to exonerate or sympathize with a young white man.

HYDRA disgusted Loki, even back when he had 'convinced' a small cell to work with him. No one group knew what the others were doing. There was a severe lack of communication between cells. Yes, Loki supposed it kept them safe from discovery, but he found it inefficient. A waste of potential by people more invested in the pageantry of a secret society, than by the end goal they hoped to achieve.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was little better, in his opinion, but at least its people were more serious about their work. Communication was more open, their goals more achievable. It felt like they made a difference, whether they really did or not. And they didn't waste potential. HYDRA would simply kill someone like Iris, S.H.I.E.L.D. found her valuable enough to spend resources on her. Under Loki's regime, had he succeeded, Iris, and all people like her, would have been of personal interest to him. All of these so-called 'mutants' would have been given places of high honor. Loki did not waste potential.

But that wasn't worth spending more time dwelling on. It was never meant to happen in the first place. When and where he would rule was yet to be discovered, but it would not happen until he was finished with his penance.

He provided Iris with her water, barely able to see her under all the roots. It was no wonder that she could not go into the field without a partner; she could not be ready for combat, couldn't even eat on her own! If they had to run, was he just supposed to tear her from the root wrapping and toss her over his shoulder? Would disconnecting her like that cause her harm?

He would have to ask next time she woke.

A young man approached, wielding an unfamiliar device. Loki was immediately on high alert. Was that some kind of weapon? He wandered all the way up to the verge of the grasses, gazing placidly out over the meadow. This was a HYDRA agent? He was barely out of adolescence! But from what Loki remembered of his brothers youthful declarations of hatred towards the Jotunn, radicalization did indeed start young.

“Naw, I think it must have been a glitch.” He said into his lapel. “There's nothing out here, not even trails in the grass.” He paused, listening. “Naw. Maybe it was a coyote? There's plenty of wild animals that wander around out here. My bro swears he saw a puma last year. Anyway, I'm gonna trim the grass, since I'm here anyway. If you're really worried, come out and check your cameras. I ain't gonna do it for you.”

With that, the young man yanked a long string, attached to a pod on the device, causing the thing to roar to life. Its loud snarl effectively covered Loki's startled gasp, his invisible eyes wide at the noise and the fact that everything within a six inch radius of the device's head was shredded and flung in all directions.

He had to maintain the illusion. But Iris was right in the horrible things' path. It would rip right into her face.

Unacceptable.

Loki rolled over on top of her, covering her body, roots and all, with his own. He ducked his head just as the device passed by. The force was like a high speed whip, tearing at his hair. It would have lacerated his scalp, possibly to the bone, had he been human. It would have certainly injured Iris, whom he kept safely tucked under his body, protected by his armor and tough, godly flesh.

The young man made a few more passes, working his way down the edge of the meadow, leaving Loki with a stinging scalp from his impromptu haircut, eventually leaving after finishing a rough, sub-par job.

Loki kept still, concentrating on maintaining the illusion, now including fresh cut grass. He feared it had wavered under the assault he had suffered, but the young man hadn't seemed to notice. Hours passed with no movement from Loki, just watching as various people came and went, doing their jobs. Eventually they all trickled away.

The sun had grown low in the sky before Loki felt Iris stir.

“Um. Loki? What are you doing? Did something happen?” Iris asked, her voice muffled by his body.

“Pardon me.” He rolled back into the grass as Iris shook her face free of the grasping roots. “Some boy came through here with a horrible device that tore up the grasses. It was necessary to cover you.”

Iris sniffed the air. “Someone cut the grass. Geez, did he hit you? Your hair!”

“Is it bad?” He asked, then covered his vanity. “It doesn't matter. I made good on my word. Here, eat.” He held food to her mouth. It would be almost too bad when this was over. Feeding her was so easy, so satisfying, and his hair would grow back anyway. If only all missions could be this easy.

Iris ate, watching the sunset, Loki laying on his side in the grass next to her, just watching her. Roots and shredded grass decorated her body, cube after cube passing her lips.

“Miss Devereaux, how will you remove yourself from those roots? If I must tear them, will it hurt you?”

Iris shook her head. “No, the roots aren't attached to me. If we pull this off without a hitch, I'll direct them into the soil. But if we have to get out in a hurry, you can tear them; it won't hurt me.”

“That's good to know.” Loki rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. “There is much still to learn about this realm. What is this that you are eating?”

“You sure you wanna know?” She asked.

“I am suddenly less curious, now that you have said that.” He admitted. “They do smell incredibly unappealing.”

“It's fertilizer, essentially. Fish emulsion and seaweed, blood and bone meal, fermented vegetables, all mashed together. Sounds super gross, I know,” She said at his disgusted expression. “But it's really good for me. My body absorbs it so efficiently that there isn't even any waste. Like roots inside me that absorb everything.”

“Are there? Roots inside you, I mean.”

“Sometimes.” Iris said quietly. “Maybe.”

“It bothers you? I see. It removes you from humanity. Sets you apart. And yet, you think that makes you inferior, rather than the other way around?”

“I'm not better than anybody else.” Iris said.

“You think not? Is there anyone else in this world who can do what you can do? How many people have your S.H.I.E.L.D. actively recruited? They came to find you specifically, why would they do that? Because you were completely average? You are a valued agent of a semi-clandestine organization bent on world improvement. You have been partnered to a god. You are above-average, Iris. Why is that difficult to accept?”

“Are you 'above average' in Asgard, Loki? Have you always been celebrated for it?”

“Mostly.”

“I haven't. I've been despised. I've been misunderstood. I've been coddled and hidden away by my parents in an attempt to protect me. I've been discriminated against by strangers, and teachers, and employers, and neighbors whose kids I grew up with. By those same kids.

I walked out into the wild one day, and didn't come back. I never planned on coming back, never planned on seeing another person ever again. But S.H.I.E.L.D. weren't the first to find me. There were two others. There was a man, a strange old man who could fly. He floated down from the sky, and told me that as a mutant, I was naturally superior to all other humans. He wanted me to come with him, said he was building some grand future for mutantkind, as if we were a different species.”

“Who was this man?” Loki asked, intrigued.

“No idea. I told him to leave. It wasn't long after I had left home, and I really didn't want to go back to any kind of civilization. I was kinda fantasizing about becoming some kind of cryptid, you know? The Everglades Swamp Witch, or something like that.

Then the botanists came. A whole group of them, trying to catalog Ghost Orchids. They're endangered, and people keep stealing them, and wrecking up their habitat. But I knew where they were. All two thousand of them. And I convinced them that I was in contact with all the remaining plants, so if any went missing after their expedition, I'd know, and come hunting for them.”

She grinned. “Like I said, Swamp Witch vibes. They even believed me!”

“So you cannot actually do that?” Loki asked. The stars had come out, forming unfamiliar shapes in the night sky. His eyes could pick out fainter lights than a humans could, and he admired the active beauty of this part of the universe while eating from one of the non-specialty ration packs.

“Well, I can, but not automatically. And not that far away. I have to be closer to a plant to really sense it, and I have to be trying really hard. Like, if I wanted to figure out where the nearest maple tree was, I would have to concentrate on that, and block out all the grass. But a maple has a different...I guess you could call it a signature? A different signature than grass does. A Ghost Orchid grows on trees, and is basically just a ball of roots when it's not blooming. Kinda like this-” Iris nodded at the roots tangled around her. “But way smaller. It looks like nothing, almost. They're very hard to spot. But they have that different signature than the tree they grow on, and I can follow that to where they are.”

“So you found all their plants, as if by magic.”

“Yeah, and they paid me pretty well for it, and I sent the money home to my parents, and then the botanists went home and blabbed. Next thing I know. S.H.I.E.L.D. is on my tail.”

“Because you were friendly to botanists?”

“Well...I might have also...sabotaged a development project.” Iris said sheepishly. “But it was right on the edge of the National Park, and I didn't let anybody get hurt! And I'm pretty sure it was dubiously legal anyway.”

The edges of Loki's mouth curled, even as his eyebrows lifted.

“What's this? You're 'shy and sensitive' I was told. Was I sold a bill of goods? Are you, in fact, a naughty little mutant?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Ugh, don't joke. Naughty little mutants end up dead.”

The amusement drained from his face.

“You would be celebrated in Asgard.” He said.

“We aren't in Asgard.” She answered. “The only thing that matters is where we are now. Those guys in there? They'd kill us both just for being born. They'd make it so that no one like us could ever be born again. When S.H.I.E.L.D showed up, in their black uniforms and started introducing themselves as 'agents', I thought that's what they had come for. The government was there to kill me.

At that point, I'd been off the grid for over a year, and I didn't know anything about the S.H.I.E.L.D./HYDRA internet explosion. But when they started talking about rebuilding as a humanitarian organization, dedicated to the protection of people-marginalized people-from, like, terrorist groups and hostile aliens, I realized they weren't there to kill me or arrest me, they were just there for me.

So I didn't make them disappear, and went with them instead. I still send money home to my parents. They don't know where I am, or what I do. They don't know the true extent of my capabilities. I'm not sure I do either. The thing about being a mutant is that a lot of these powers don't get replicated exactly, so we each have to figure ourselves out. There's no training regimen or curriculum for this.”

“So all of this is self taught?” Loki asked, impressed. “I'm not even entirely self taught.”

“You were taught? This all didn't just come from being a god or whatever?”

“No, of course not. The power is there naturally, but it needs directing. Like you, I suppose. You're born with it, but need teaching to use it. I had the best teachers the universe could offer, and was exalted and encouraged. You had only yourself, and adversity. I've seen but little of you, but this seems a great feat so far.”

“A compliment?”

“An acknowledgment. It's good to know S.H.I.E.L.D. has become more discerning in its recruitment. I hear it was more than a little disastrous for them last time.”

“Like I said, I didn't find out about that until after. Though, I guess it's not all that surprising that it happened. There's a lot that can go wrong inside an organization that big, and with that much reach. There's just too much going on; there can never be enough oversight.”

“I know.” Loki said. “I used that against them when I attempted to bring down the planet. Somehow, they still didn't notice the traitors among them.”

“You worked with HYDRA?” Iris asked defensively.

“No.” Loki said. ��I used them. I didn't...make many distinctions then, in my interactions with mortals.”

“Kinda seems like you still don't.” Iris pointed out. Loki took a breath and hesitated.

“Moreso than I did then.” He said slowly. “Then, you were just tools. A means to an end. Disposable. Interchangeable. There are so many of you, so it wasn't like any of your could actually be important.”

“Right up until barely six of us beat the tar out of you and blew up your entire army?”

Loki scowled. “That is a misstatement. The plan was always to lose.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“No, I'm serious. Earth was the weakest link in the Nine Realms, and it needed to be awakened. And you were. Spectacularly. Look what it's lead to. S.H.I.E.L.D. was purged, HYDRA exposed, and your world made ready for the arrival of Asgard. You've been opened to higher interactions, as a progressing member of the Realms.”

“Uh huh. That was totally the end goal, right? Inter-species altruism? That was what filled your heart while you blew people up?”

“Norns, no!” Loki snorted. “I hated every last one of you. I took a special delight in destroying that which was weaker than myself, never think I didn't. It's just...It wasn't entirely up to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...I mean that losing was an act of defiance that sparked off the strengthening defense of Midgard, which I continue to participate in. Doing small jobs for S.H.I.E.L.D., rubbing out the likes of HYDRA and A.I.M., all of this contributes to this strengthening.”

Iris regarded him suspiciously through her framework of roots.

“You sound like you're running some sinister, behind-the-scenes shadow plan.” She accused. “You wanna explain?”

Loki smiled, a wan, false thing.

“Do you want some water?” He offered instead.

Iris rolled her eyes. “You're not gonna distract me.”

“And I am not going to elaborate further. Your curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied, or supplemented by your own imagination.”

“Hmph. Why'd you even bring it up then?”

“I? I think you'll find our conversation naturally meandered in this direction. That does not mean it must come to the conclusion you desire.”

“So this is what Abby meant when she said you were a pain in the ass to talk to.” Iris grumbled.

“I was not put here to satisfy Abby.” Loki said airily. “Who is Abby?”

“She asked you on a date.” Iris said. “You don't even remember her? Harsh.”

Loki shrugged. “She sounds frightfully dull. I may have to play nice for now, but I needn't entertain every persons sordid fantasies. Do you leap through every hoop set before you? Or do you also tell unimportant people that you aren't interested in entertaining them?”

“All right, that's fair.” Iris craned her head back to look up at the stars. “Which one is Asgard? Can you see it from here?”

“You can't.” Loki said. “The star is too far away, too small. And it doesn't matter now anyway. Home is gone, and we must rebuild from scratch. But that one, right there-do you see? Another realm orbits that one, the Frozen Realm of Jotunheim. They were our enemies once, and yours, but no more. Partly because they are under 'house arrest' as it were, trapped on their own planet. My father drove them off your planet over a thousand years ago. Your world actually warmed up without their influence, at least for a little while.”

“There were aliens here a thousand years ago?” Iris asked, incredulous.

“There have been 'aliens' here for ages.” Loki said. “Visitations and experiments, and failed colonies, and raids. Your ancestors were still getting the hang of fire, and there were 'aliens' visiting your lush and beautiful world. Making plans. Then your lot discovered agriculture and metal, and ruined a lot of those plans.”

“Seems like we're good at that.”

“Yes, yes, I was defeated by mortals. I am aware. I was the first to know.” Loki grumbled.

“Wait, does that mean the aliens really did build the pyramids?” Iris wondered.

Loki snickered. “The hubris of humanity is not universally shared. You are known for several things, and your inexplicable drive for monument building is one of them. Visitors did not build your great buildings; you did. They did come to see them though, like tourists. Some of them even took artifacts back home with them. Hopefully they weren't too historically important.”

“That's so rude.” Iris said.

“And you would never have known to take offense if I hadn't told you.”

God of Mischief indeed.

“What other realms are there? Just the nine?”

“Eight now, I suppose. But no. There are many peoples out there. The Nine Realms were just those places that were somehow related to Asgard. Allies, protectorates and...penal colonies, you might call them. But all interconnected, and all at least a little dependent on the others, at least some of the time. That has come to an end. There is a very powerful spot now empty. I fear there will be a great deal of turmoil before things even themselves back out. It would be interesting to see how that all plays out, but alas, I am trapped here for now.”

“Where would you go?” Iris asked.

“Alfheim first, I think.” Loki said. “They like me there. They are much less dour than the Dverguar, less serious than the Vanir, not so boastful and bombastic as Asgardins, not vicious as Jotunn, and nowhere near as hectic and anxious as Midgardians...humans, I mean. They like jokes and pranks, and value magic...perhaps I should have been Alfar? If only I could have chosen.”

“Yeah, I think we all feel that way sometimes. But I guess even gods don't get that choice. Hey, how do gods work, anyway? I mean, I stopped believing in any all-powerful force a long time ago. About when the only answer anyone could really give me as to why God would make someone like me was that I was put here to test faith. My own, or other people's maybe. It made me sick. What kind of 'father' puts a burden like that on a little kid?”

Loki scoffed. “The first mistake that humans make is in thinking that anything can be all-powerful, all-knowing, or infallible. It is a ridiculous fantasy notion, immature and irresponsible. That kind of thinking can only lead to two things: complete disillusionment, or harm to the self or others. I am a god, because I have a singular connection to a certain aspect of the universe, as does my brother, but neither of us are any of those things. How boring, to be all-knowing! How banal, to be all-powerful. And I have known people who seemed to think they were infallible, and the amount of misery and suffering they caused is unspeakable.

No, gods were never supposed to be all that. Greater than others, yes, but omnipotent...no, that's only for people who are overcompensating I think.”

“What's that about a special connection to the universe?” Iris asked.

“The universe is ridiculously unstable. Did you know that? I believe it was a human that posited that reality destroys and remakes itself fairly often in the scheme of things, but by the nature of it, it's impossible to ever know if that's true. Because if reality is destroyed, so are you, and so, you would never know. And if reality rebuilds itself, then that is the only reality that exists, so you would never know.”

“Oh hell, I don't like that.”

“Well just don't think about it. In any case, this instability seems to be occasionally expressed through individuals of particularly resilient and long-lived species, by connecting them to certain random forces. For my brother, it is the natural occurrence of thunder and lightning, those two things being directly connected. For me, it is an expression of sophisticated behaviors. Those forces are ours to deploy and manipulate to our will, and we affect them in the world around us, even as they effect us.”

“So you're just born with it too, huh?”

“So it seems.”

Iris settled back down into her swaddling roots to sleep, leaving Loki to stare up at the stars. The grass-cutting human had mentioned cameras. Loki had shielded them from that kind of surveillance on the way in, just in case. They must be hidden somewhere out in the trees. Could Iris detect such things? Would it be worthwhile to disable any, if suspicion was already on them? Or would that merely draw even more suspicion?

Perhaps while Iris remained incapacitated, actions that might bring more enemies out should be avoided. She did not have his durable skin, after all, nor his speed or strength. But with her unusual and largely unexplained powers, he hesitated in thinking of her as weak. More like...a specialist.

He felt her stir, just as the sun was lifted into the sky, and he fed her her morning cubes. She settled into her work trance almost immediately. Perhaps she was put off by the previous nights conversation, and didn't want more of the same. Perhaps she simply wanted to finish this mission quickly. Surely she too found it boring to lay in the same spot for days.

He watched the people come and go about their work restoring the schoolhouse. How many of them were just regular workers, and how many were enemy agents? Impossible to tell by looking, especially if even the youth were involved.

The sun had not risen particularly high when he noticed a difference. The roots that wrapped Iris' body were thinning; as he watched, more and more broke away from the tangle to bury themselves in the dirt at her sides. It was like watching worms escaping danger.

Finally, Iris pulled her hands from the soil, and pushed free of the roots.

“Alright.” She said. “Bugs are in. Now it's time for us to bug out.”

In retrospect, Loki could admit that he had been too eager to leave. He simply didn't do well with long periods of inactivity. So when he walked into the trees surrounding the meadow, and found himself face to face with a shotgun-wielding hunter, he wasn't too embarrassed. No, what really made him kick himself was when the one behind them held Iris at gunpoint. How could he have let one of these yokels get behind him?

“Who the hell are you freaks?” The one in front demanded. Loki recognized him as the youth with the loud grass cutting device who had ruined his hair.

“Gaw, this one stinks!” The other one exclaimed. “Well what do ya expect? She looks like mud, of course she smells like it.”

“We were just out looking for a...private place, if you catch my drift.” Loki said smoothly, getting ready. “Nothing to get worried about. It's just such a nice day, and we couldn't help ourselves.”

“Gross.” The one behind Iris said.

“We don't want you degenerate types around here.” The one in front of Loki said. “Now hands up, freak. You're way too close.”

“To what, pray tell?” Loki said. Almost ready.

“Don't talk about it, dumbass!” The other one hissed.

“Look, let's just kill them, to be sure.” The one in front of Loki said. “World ain't gonna miss a few freaks. And then nobody knows, and we don't get in trouble.”

Loki lifted his hand in a gesture he knew humans considered to be rude. Both men fired their guns.

Neither of them saw the illusions of Loki and Iris fade away, sprawled as they were one the forest floor, bleeding from the bullet wounds they'd inflicted upon one another.

Several yards away, Loki took his hands from over Iris' ears, and approached the HYDRA recruits. One of them was still alive. Loki carefully wrapped his hand in a cloth he manifested from seemingly nowhere, and casually suffocated him.

He then led the horrified Iris back to their rented car, and got back onto the highway as quickly as he could.

The silence stretched on for several hours, Loki watching the road, Iris gazing out the window at the scenery.

“Why didn't we sneak off as soon as you put up those illusions?” She finally asked. “We were invisible. We could have just left.”

“They had seen us.” Loki said. “They could not be allowed to go and inform their superiors. If there was suspicion that we had been snooping around the school, the entire point of the mission would be moot. Besides, they were extremely rude.”

“Don't joke.” Iris said sharply. “You killed that man in cold blood.”

“I killed him on cold practicality.” Loki corrected. “He could not be allowed to live, and let others know that he and the other one hadn't actually accidentally shot one another. Once anyone had seen us, that had to be the end for them. It is understandable that you might not like that, which is why I would not ask you to participate. But if I am sent on a mission as a protector, then that is what I will do. These were men who wanted to kill you just for being born, remember?”

“They were radicalized. They could have been deradicalized.”

“And how do you propose we were to do that?”

Iris huffed. “Damnit.”

“Sometimes we aren't afforded the choices we would prefer. But don't fret. I will take full responsibility in the report. I know the Director isn't keen on too many work-related killings.” It was part of why Loki took such delight in reporting work-related killings. Just to remind them of who he was, and what he was capable of.

Once they had reached their destination and returned the rental car, Iris called their contact agent for extraction. She wasn't exactly distant, but with other things to focus on, and other people demanding their times, the closeness of the last two days was fading fast.

Oh well, Loki thought. It had been nice while it lasted. But nothing was forever, and all affection was fleeting; he knew that well enough.

But it was a little odd to see her so preoccupied with her phone.

“Have you a Tweety account, or some such?” He asked, trying to strike up a conversation once again.

“Since that doesn't exist: no.” She answered, distracted. “No, there's just...I'm seeing someone, and he wants to meet up as soon as I get back.”

Loki frowned. For some reason, he didn't like that sound of that. “You need rest, don't you?” He suggested.

“Yeah, and it's a little last minute, I admit. But he's an agent too, and our schedules don't match up very often, so we've got to meet when we can, or not at all.”

“That sounds like a difficult arrangement.”

Iris shrugged. “I'll take what I can get. At least he doesn't seem to mind the whole mutant thing. That's kinda important when you're in my shoes.”

“You do not sound entirely enamored of this man.” Loki probed.

“Well...I'd like to get to know him better, but he's very private. Mostly, I just don't want to be alone. It's hard for people like me, you know? I can't just throw a relationship away because it's not some perfect storybook romance. Gotta be more realistic than that. But I sure hope I get a few days rest before I get sent out again.”

It sounded...practical. She had to take her opportunities where she found them. It wasn't as if Loki had never been there. It was perhaps a little sad, since it sounded like she really did want that storybook romance.

Perhaps it was none of his business. It was absolutely none of his business. He followed her anyway, curious about what kind of man made this little flower bloom.

The man in question was not impressive, in Loki's opinion. Not much more than average. Maybe that didn't matter to Iris.

“Bet you're glad to be done with all that, huh?” He asked. “Dealing with that creep couldn't be easy.”

“It wasn't really all that bad, honestly. He-”

“I don't really want to hear about him. C'mon, we have the whole evening! Let's not waste it!”

Loki decided then and there that he did not like this man. Not in small part because he wanted to know what Iris had to say about him.

She took him to what must have been her apartment, and there Loki left. There were a few things he didn't want to know after all.

#themysticgarden #loki (marvel)#loki x ofc

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rons-hermiones · 3 years ago

Text

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Thirty Five

Before he knows what’s happening, he collapses onto the chair next ti her bed, body overcome with sobs. Hell, he's wailing, blubbering like a sodding baby at the mere sight.

Never in all his life has he ever been overcome with so many emotions. Love, fear, relife, guilt, a fierce need to protect her, and so much heart break he can almost feel his chest ache.

Emotional range of a teaspoon my arse.

It isn’t until he’s calmed considerably Merlin knows how much later that he debates peeling his hands from his eyes. He’s afraid seeing her that she’ll vanish right before him or that he just can’t take it.

After settling from harsh cries into silent tears, Ron leans closer to the bed ridden girl. He’s careful not to touch her, but he’s close enough that he can make out every contour on her face under the cuts and bruises. He’s close enough that if she was awake his breath would surely tickle the edges of her hair, blowing it slightly into her face. And if he was lucky enough she’d scrunch her nose the way he loved whenever her hair got in the way.

Merlin I miss her.

He can feel the twisting of his gut curl further as he thinks of everything he wants, no needs, again. Before he can let it worsen, he wills himself to speak.

“I’m here now love, I’m here darling.” He whispers throatily.

Ron resists the urge to stroke her hair, he can’t. No matter how much he wants to…

So, he continues speaking, “I’m never leaving you again Mione, you hear me?” Of course she doesn’t. “I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you again love, never.”

He swears he sees her brow twitch the slightest bit. At this, he goes on.

“And that includes me.” he admits raspily, “I’m so sorry darling for all the times I’ve hurt you. I swear I’ll never do it again. I’m going to try so hard each and every day to make it up to you, to protect you. From Lavender, Cormac, from anyone who crosses you. I’m going to make sure you never see a dark wizard again, okay love? I’ll even-”

“Hermione.” A broken voice floats from behind.

Ron has half the mind to pull his wand, just in case, but soon settles as his eyes meet the looming figures.

“Merlin.” Harry says in the same tone as he saunters forward.

In his eyes is the same look Ron had only moments ago. Heartbroken. Guilty.

Weasley opens his mouth to comfort Harry, but the words die on his lips. He just can’t. No words fit. Nothing he could ever say would be enough to make the painstaking feeling diminish. Nothing but Hermione herself.

“What did I do?” The Boy-Who-Lived cried out.

Now that, Ron wouldn’t take, “No.”

His glassy green eyes snap to blue ones in surprise at how strong Ron’s voice sounded.

He shook his head, “don’t say that Harry, please. It happened and even though I’d give anything to take it back, we can’t. We just can’t. That’s not how things work, so please, don’t make this any harder than it is.” He pleads to his best mate.

The air is silent and tense for a moment. Harry’s gaze never waivers from Hermione’s form, and Ron’s stare never diverges from Potter.

And what Harry says next shocks him like no other, “okay.” He says simply, walking to the other side of the bed.

Harry understands too. He understands that Hermione is all that matters now.

As he plops onto the chair he gently places his finger tips atop the small strip of exposed skin between the cast on her arm and the part of the gown covering her shoulder.

Ron looks away quickly, unable to do what Harry is at this moment. It’s all too familiar. He can’t lose her again.

Needing a distraction, he soon remembers his trail of thoughts from whispering to Hermione. He gulps, preparing to share them with his best mate. “Harry, I need to be honest with you right here, right now. I promise on my last breath that I will kill them. Bellatrix, Greyback, Malfoy, Dolohov, all of them. I’ll do it, or I’ll die trying.” He said with so much conviction, eyes never leaving Hermione’s battered form.

“Ron-“

“Don’t give me that crap. Nothing you say will convince me otherwise. You may be the Chosen One mate, but no one, and I mean-“

“Ron,” Harry said harshly, “I was going to say I’m with you.” He finished a little softer, but still with an edge.

“You’re with- what?” He questioned a bit taken aback.

“I said I’m with you.” He repeated steadily.

“You are?” Ron doubted. Normally Harry would adamantly refuse a claim, fearing for Ron’s safety.

He nodded after a moment, “yeah I am. Too many people have suffered because of-“

“Don’t say because of you.” He cut off.

“I wasn’t.” Harry assured, “I was going to say because of all this- him, the war. Something needs to be done, for the future. For Sirius, Cedric, my parents, and especially for Hermione.”

Ron can’t do anything but nod slightly in agreement as he allows himself to rove over Hermione’s stil form again. Everytime feels like a small part of his heart cracking slowly and painfully.

His fingers twitch as he physically longs to reach out for her, but again, he can’t.

Needing a distraction from his own thoughts and from the questioning gaze Harry’s throwing him, he goes on, “They found a wand. Not hers.”

He nodded in response, “Bill said as much. Do you really think she apparated? We haven’t even had lesson yet, even if she did-”

“She’s bloody brilliant, Harry.” Ron insisted, “so much that she’s always five steps ahead. I mean, I wasn’t even quick enough to save her before she went off and did it herself. Useless.” He mumbles the last line.

“Hey,” Harry says sharply, “just like I’m not allowed to blame myself, neither are you, okay? We’ll have all the time in the world to feel sorry for ourselves later once we know she’s gonna be alright.” He finished softer.

And Ron doesn’t have the heart to argue. He’s so mentally drained and he’s so dead set on prioritizing Hermione, that all he can do is nod feebly.

They fall into silence. Both just watching the subtle rise and fall of Hermione’s chest. They’re almost transfixed by the sight, to have her back it’s almost like a dream.

But that’s exactly what Ron’s afraid of.

All while these fears run wild, Harry can see Ron’s hand unconsciously itching to lay atop hers.

“Go on Ron.” He whispers. He knows he doesn’t need his permission, but he can sense his friend needs a nude.

He snaps out of his state at his best mate's voice. The ginger seems to know what Harry means and looks like he’s about to break down all over again, “I-I can’t.”

“Yes you can. You won’t hurt her, we both know that.”

Ron pushed down the urge to fight with him on the topic and spoke, “It’s not that.” He croaked.

Well, not entirely anyway...

“Then what?” Potter questioned.

“I’m so scared Harry. I’m fucking terrifed that if I touch her this will all fade away. It won’t be real. Just another nightmare.” He shakes, tears streaming down his face.

Harry premivley wipes his eyes as he fgeels the moisture build, “It’s not Ron, I promise, please, trust me. It’s real. You found her.”

“No I didn’t-”

“Please.” Harry pleads from across the bed, making a show of taking Hermione’s other bandaged hand gently.

With a shaky breath Ron extends his lanky fingers as they slowly come in contact with the back of her other wrapped hand.

He nearly doubles over when he doesn't phase through.

Her hand is so small in his own. Smaller than it’s ever been before. And it feels almost fragile.

Though sometimes Ron may treat her like she is, never has he associated Hermione with being fragile. She’s tough as anything and the bravest Gryffindor of them all. But now, sitting here, all he can think is how that’s the very thing that they tried to strip away from her.

It makes him sick.

So much so, he feels a bile rise in his throat.

Not wanting to lose his shit anymore than he already has, he gently caresses the back of her hand, using the soft skin to anchor his thoughts.

It’s amazing that even though she was tortured, broken down, and beaten, she still was so soft, so insanely beautiful.

Her cheeks may not have the same flush. Her skin may be paler and dotted with horrible hues of purple and slashed red. Her shape may be disfigured by the protruding bones, but she’s still her. She’s still Hermione and that’s all that matters right now.

The thought alone makes him break down all over again.

This time he allows himself to rest his head on the edge of her bed, right next to her thigh. He cries at the feeling of her hand in his own. At the feeling of his head pressed against her. Because she’s real, she’s here, she’s finally here.

“Son.” A soft voice calls as a gentle hand finds itself atop his shoulder.

Ron looks up through misty eyes to find his father hovering over him. As he surveys the room he realizes Harry is gone.

Merlin, he must’ve been blubeering like a fuvcking baby longer than he thought.

“Dad.” He croaks, wiping at his runny nose with his sleeve, “did you find anything?”

“How is she?” He averts. Ron notices.

“Exactly how she looks, I reckon. I’m sure Mum already told you about what the healer had to say.” He shrugs.

“Yes.” Arthur nods, “yes she did. I just can’t help but wonder-”

“Dad,” Ron cuts off, “Did you find anything?” He repeats surprisingly calm.

Mr.Weasley sighs, his boy has grown more than he cares to admit. It’s almost frightening.

“Yes, I did.” he says sitting on the chair Harry once occupied.

“And?” The younger boy presses.

“And tonight the Department of Magical Transportation did in fact get a notice that an underage witch apparated to Diagon Alley the same time your brothers found Hermione.”

Ron huffefd, they all suspected it, but to hear that Hermione really did it. Well, let’s just say he would be more amazed if she was awake to hear his praise.

“However, while we know for certain it was Hermione, that information didn’t actually show up in the Ministry report.” He informed.

“What? Why?” Ron questioned with a furrowed brow.

“Well since the wand she used was registered to someone of age to perform apparition, it could only notify the service that someone did apparate. If it’s not on an underage or unlicensed WIzard’s wand, it's trickier.” Arthur elaborates.

Ron had no time to focus on the logistics. Only one thing stood out.

“So you know whose wand it is then? Whose?” He prones.

His father eyes him wearily before speaking, “The wand-” he stops, voice scratchy, and clears his throat, “the wand belongs to Narcissa Malfoy.”

Ron blinks a few times in disbelief, mouth falling in an ‘o’, “Wha-how?”

“Only Hermione could tell us that son.”

If she remembers. The words are unspoken, but Ron can see his father fighting the urge to say it. Like they still think they could protect him from everything.

“You have to understand Ron, wands, they’re very sacred things. Especially to old Pureblood families, especially to people like the Black’s and the Malfoy’s. Neither will like the idea that a Muggleborn was able to best them and use one.” Arthur spoke in a hushed voice.

The weight that lifted ever so slightly at the sight of Hermione soon falls back on him. This time ten times heavier than before.

“So what you’re saying, is that you think they’ll come for her?”

Arthur nods sadly.

Ron turns red with anger.

“We’ll do everything we can son. The Order will be around, the wards-”

“The wards?” Ron yells, “The Order? Please! Where did they get Hermione, where did they get her parents?” He boomed.

“Ronnie please-” Mr.Weasley tries as he notches Hermione squirm slightly from over his son's shoulder.

“Everyone needs to do better! Everyone! Do you even-”

A strangled sound makes him halt. “Mmm…”

His wide eyes flick to the bed as Hermione’s face tightens into a painful scowl.

From behind, his father leaves, feeling that he’s intruding. The door squeaks in his wake.

Ron falls to his knees and grasps her hand, “That’s it love, you can do it. Come Mione. Come back Darling.” He pleads through glassy eyes.

“C…” The noise sounds like a hiss.

“That’s it, come on love.” He encourages as he strokes her hand hoping that somewhere inside her brilliant mind she's registering all of this.

“Cissy.” She barely manages through the pain.

Ron’s eyes find his fathers in nothing but confusion. Was it just mummers of nonsense or could it mean something? But what?

Whatever it is, he just hopes she remembers when she wakes.

#Ron Weasley #ron x hermione #Ron and Hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #Hermione Granger #romione fanfic #romione #hp fanfic #hp #sixth year

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jeanandthedreamofhorses · 5 years ago

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Wouldn't it be disappointed ih Eren is doing all of this for Historia & the child? I love erehisu but it would be so silly if this is the case

I don’t think he’s just doing it for them. He’s doing it for all Eldia, so that they can all live peaceful, free lives once the enemy has been decimated.

He’s also doing it for all the friends he loves, and for all Eldians who have a right to exist by virtue of being born into this world.

But yes, the reason he has gone down this most extreme of routes rather than attempting something more moderate is because of Historia.

I’ve heard the argument before that it would be silly to do all this just for one person. But if someone you made such a strong connection with, someone who restored your will to live and right to exist against the will of the majority, against the will of the world, were put in an utterly hellish situation simply because of their birth, could you really stand by and let that happen? Wouldn’t it make you the most disgusting hypocrite?

Furthermore, can everyone reading this really say they put the interests of the majority above those of the minority all the time? The very fact that most of us live ordinary, day-to-day lives instead of spending our days and nights struggling under dangerous circumstances to tangibly enact widescale social, political, or ecological change according to our beliefs proves that we are putting the interests of a minority - ourselves - over that of the majority. We may be the most considerate of friends to our friends, but are we doing the same to every poor sod we bump into in the street?

We feel more of an obligation, and a desire, to help the people we have formed close connections with, and I think this is wholly right and just. When you enter into a close friendship you enter into a promise that you did not make with the stranger.

This is just my personal ethics, but to put a twist on the old trolley problem, I think it is worse to let one friend die than five strangers because in only one scenario do you betray a promise. This is the morality we instinctively feel and instinctively prefer, so why rail against it? Who wouldn’t rather save their friend? And were I one of the strangers in that scenario, I couldn’t blame my killer for making the choice they did. If there has never been anything or anyone in the world that you die for, or if misfortune came down to it kill for, then you have never truly loved, or ever truly lived.

Eren loves. Strongly, powerfully, he loves. And just as powerfully does he hate. His hatred is borne out of love. He hated the titans because they stomped over his beloved freedom and bit the head off the mother who reared him. Eren has lost, lost, and lost again.

Should he lie down and let himself lose more of the people he loves? Just as love is the twin of hatred, so is protection the twin of destruction. He destroys to protect. He is both saviour and villain.

Both god and devil.

Eren has seen the world in all its raw and gruesome colours, and everywhere he has searched for good and evil he has only found self-interest. His moral fundamentalism has been battered by the storm of experience after seeing the world through Marley’s eyes, where his own people are the titans who need to be massacred.

Even the man who ruined his life was driven by the same weakness he was.

Who truly acts in the interests of ‘good’? Who can even declare what that is?

Erwin did not sacrifice huge numbers of Survey Corps soldiers for the greater good, but to find out the answer to the question he asked his father all those years ago.

Levi did not make his choice at the Serumbowl according to the greater good, but out of love for his friend.

Zeke does not seek to commit euthanasia for the greater good, but to satisfy his self-loathing.

Marley does not want to take down Paradis for the greater good, but to maintain their status as the world’s greatest superpower.

Hizuru does not seek to help a struggling and misunderstood nation for the greater good, but for access to resources and riches of the highest calibre.

How, then, is Eren meant to do the ‘right’ thing? How is he to have any understanding of what it is anymore?

All he has ever seen it used for is as a smokescreen for self-interest. So perhaps that’s all it is. Why, then, shouldn’t he act to preserve the world that he loves, just as everyone else has been doing since the dawn of time?

Is that self-interest itself not what we call ‘freedom’?

By opposing the wills and value systems of others that are themselves rooted in self-interest, Eren preserves his own will and his own freedom. Can his self-interest rightly be condemned, then?

It is the Eldian government’s self-interest to sentence Historia to the titan-birthing cycle, because they are not Historia. Eren’s self-interest is to liberate her from that fate, even at the expense of the Eldian government - because he is not the Eldian government. Like all struggles in this series, it is simply a conflict of self-interest. Fighting is the consequence of freedom, and it is freedom - not righteousness or peace - that Eren has always sought.

His self-interest cannot even be properly called selfish, as for the sake of his loved ones he has put himself through an enormous amount of trial and tribulation.

What Eren is doing is not good, but nor is it evil. It is out of love that Eren acts, probably the only morality that truly exists, and whoever has known love surely knows that as Nietzsche said, “That which is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil.” Thence comes our most sympathetic villains and, likewise, our most human and relatable anti-heroes.

#shingeki no kyojin #snk meta #eren jaeger #erehisu #erekuri #just to clarify i'm not angry at u anon i just got passionate lmao #thanks for giving me the chance to give my opinion on this matter #bc eren's development affects me v deeply #snk spoilers #aot spoilers

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murdocsagaypirate · 6 years ago

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The Fall of 2D

A Character Essay

So.. this ended up being a nice long read.. but.. I think some of y’all might enjoy it. I just kind of got carried away. But I’m done~ Back to fanfiction~ I’ve done more thorough analyses of most of these songs that I touch on here in the past. If you go to my blog and type in the songs name in search you’ll find it ... unless I haven’t done it yet... and in that case go ahead and request it if you like.

Remember when you were a little kid and you would look at the clouds in the sky as the sunlight bounced off them? And something that simple would make you feel a part of everything, and all alone at the same time. And the feeling’s not something you can ever put into words, so you spend your whole life chasing it. Making music, taking pictures, painting, whatever. In the hope that other people will understand that sense or… feeling. As creative entities, we look for signs of life outside ourselves for a connection to alleviate the sense of solitude. That’s why we all do what we do. Whether we know it ourselves or not.

Phase 1: Someone Else’s Dream

2D never dreamed he’d be famous, or even successful, in any capacity. No one ever treated him like he possibly could be because he was disabled. He had chronic pain and hindered cognitive ability from childhood that shaped how others perceived him. His bright blue hair growing out of his damaged head made it so that everyone knew he was different- he was stupid. And that perception shaped him. It shaped him into someone with no big dreams, someone that tolerated being bullied, someone with poor self-efficacy and no sense of independence or developed sense of identity. He liked films and he liked music and it didn’t go much deeper than that. Not because he was stupid and shallow, as he’s clearly always been a very deep and creative thinker, but because no one ever gave him the options and opportunity to pursue something bigger. He says in the phase 5 football interview, “My mum and dad taught me not to aim too high.” No one ever believed in him....

Until Murdoc came along. 2D’s blue hair is directly associated to the event that handicapped him but to Murdoc it represented anything but a handicap- it gave 2D the unique looks that would make him a priceless asset in Murdoc’s pursuit of his personal dreams. For the first time in his life, Murdoc made 2D believe he was capable and valuable because he was talented and attractive. 2D didn’t need to be worshiped like Murdoc, he just needed to be worth something, and Murdoc gave him a way to do that. That’s what 2D means when he says that Murdoc “saved his life”, that’s a big reason WHY he idolized him in addition to the fact that 2D appreciates that Murdoc is genuinely talented and driven.

I can’t impress this enough: 2D was only 19 years old. Old enough to know you’re expected to be an adult, to make something of yourself, but for many still not old enough to be one - especially for someone that grew up disabled, whose independence wasn’t fostered ... Make no mistake: 2D was vulnerable and Murdoc, who was 31, took advantage of him. This is a 2D analysis so I’m not going to go into why Murdoc did this, but at the end of the day, Murdoc was a fucking shitty shitty person and there no good excuse.

Already by the time the first album came out, 2D had already figured out he’d been taken advantage of. That’s what New Genius (Brother) is about. It’s about Murdoc and the promises he made him about the path to success he was going to take him on, about the river they were going to ford together and how 2D felt betrayed.

Besides what we learn in RoTO, there are some songs that you can’t totally parse out what lyrics on Gorillaz debut album belong to 2D and which belong to Murdoc besides simply what makes sense. It’s interesting though you can easily argue that there are shared sentiments in songs like Slow Country about working hard to succeed and being lonely. In RoTO a lyric for this song is included, “City life, leave my soul in deep water.” which mirror’s “The river ain’t deep.” in New Genius (Brother). Sound Check (Gravity) is a song he sang straight from his heart on a rooftop in Jamaica with Noodle, that repeats themes of feeling pressured and betrayed and the theme of a confusing and broken love which will reoccur, over and over. At that time (in Jamaica, no less) that love is actively breaking, not broken yet, but he doesn't know what to do. Latin Simone characterizes his depression and the realization that he’s just not happy on this path he’s started on, but there’s no escaping it now. Then you have a song like 12D3, that very directly characterizes him as a simple person that takes simple pleasure in music. There are various songs and lines on Self-titled that characterize drug dependency both for 2D and for Murdoc. Phase One, overall, sets us up with a picture of a 2D who is still enthusiastic about his future as a musician for no other reason than his passion for music, yet disillusionment is quickly setting in, both toward the lifestyle of fame and his idol and best friend.

Phase 2: Feel Good?

This is where 2D starts talking about his never-ending quest to “find himself”. 2D never got to gain independence. He went straight from dependency on his parents to dependency on Murdoc, living at his mansion studio and literally letting him tie his shoes. His parents never fostered an ability to self-care or a sense of ambition, so Murdoc gifted him his ambition and without Murdoc, 2D doesn’t have his own sense of identity.

So, of course, leaving Murdoc after phase 1, he went back to his parents, to work for his dad. He returned to his hometown, to a bunch of people that treated him like a worthless idiot. But now he’s famous. So now he’s surrounded by people that want to validate him... Which he fucking eats up, because it fills the hole left by his upbringing... Not to mention all the very fucking irresponsible sex. There is much that goes unstated about this phase of 2D’s life, it seems he chooses to paint it as wholly positive, yet we know the lasting consequences of it (child support for for several kids for the next 18 years) as well as the fact that he ultimately chose to leave it behind and return to Gorillaz and back into the same lifestyle that he hated and is only getting worse as Gorilaz’s popularity hits it major peak in 2005:

The Feel Good Inc music video give shit tons of insight into the characters and the lyrics. Notably, the way that 2D is placed at the center, on a throne, and how utterly miserable he is on that throne. It’s not JUST the debauchery he struggles with, but the position of stardom and idol worship he’s been thrust into.

“Take it all in on your stride” run’s parallel to Latin Simone’s “Give up, if you want to survive.” He’s resigned to this path, never exhibited any desire to fight it really, because he’s never known another path. Without Gorillaz, he’s aimless. “Turn forever, hand in hand... It is ticking, falling down. Love forever, love has freely turned forever you and me. Windmill, windmill for the land. Is everybody in?” The windmill represents freedom, Noodle’s freedom contrasted with 2D’s imprisonment specifically, yet here he sings about it “falling”, foreshadowing El Manana. He talks about the utter destruction of hope happening to all of them. “Is everybody in?”

Remember the theme of a “breaking love” I’d say would be returning over and over? 2D is trapped in the tower with Murdoc who watches him like some kind of predator throughout the video. Russel is there too, which characterizes him as lacking the freedom that Noodle has but coping through staying focused on drumming, making music. This person that 2D is turning with forever, falling, hand in hand is mainly Murdoc.

While much of this album was written by Noodle, 2D has specifically talked about writing chorus of Feel Good Inc. And there are other songs on the album I’ll touch on that, although lore never specifically states, I can only assume are written by 2D by how well they fit into his character arc at this point in his life and make no sense in characterizing Noodle.

O Green World continues with the themes of Feel Good Inc with the line “Hope, sex and drugs will rust into myself holy. It feels holy,” further characterizing the disturbing dichotomy of pleasurable addiction as a destructive force. Placing “hope” on the list of things that 2D clings to for comfort that destroy him is heartbreaking and we’ll watch how this “hope” becomes more and more painful to hold onto throughout the years. The larger focus of O Green World is the narrative about a failing relationship: the current state of his relationship with Murdoc. A desperation and confusion over a crumbling relationship is also explored in Every Planet We Reach is Dead. Lines like “For all the sacred selfless days, only left with heartache. I want to see you again. I love you... But what are we going to do?” paints the same picture 2D will eventually paint for us again in The Now Now. He will look back on this era of their relationship where he clung to hope that they’d be close, happy and healthy again. And yet... we know how that turned out...

Phase 3: Alone Together

I only really joined the band to make music, and now, I'm being held captive by a bastard bass player in an underwater submarine, being attacked by sodding pirates who are trying to take over this rotten piece of broken plastic in the ocean that Gorillaz call 'home'. All this, just to make a video. It's making me want to die!

So... this is a major phase for 2D, but of course, that fact is often overshadowed but what a big deal it was Murdoc. We have hours of podcast and a whole album to witness Murdoc’s deterioration and precious little to witness 2D’s, though there is certainly enough to analyze especially later in the phase.

2D doesn’t seek attention like Murdoc does. He’s motivated by validation, sure, but not in the practically narcissistic way Murdoc is. 2D isn’t the one that is constantly engaging with fans, soaking up our attention and admiration. He wants to connect to people through music, not as a celebrity, just as a musician. He’s private, and that loss of privacy that comes with fame is probably yet another factor that caused him to hate it.

2D struggles with emotional isolation like Murdoc but in a completely different way. It’s not that he fears and avoids connection and vulnerability like Murdoc, in that quote I started this with he shows that he finds it to be something important and profound. It something he simply finds difficult for many reasons. One, his disability that clearly effects his communication skills. Then the inherent isolation that comes with stardom. And finally, an inability to connect with himself first and foremost, his undeveloped sense of personal identity comes back into play, that theme of struggling to “find himself”.

Little Pink Plastic Bag characterizes the isolating feeling of drifting through life without purpose. 2D has lost control of his life, knowing he was going to school before this phase might indicate he was beginning to find purpose but once again (and in a much more literal sense) he’s forced away from his own dreams to serve Murdoc’s. “What you want in life? Someone here'll gonna get past by” hearkens back to so many themes present in the first album. In New Genius (Brother) he sings, “People passing through me.” 2D still feels overlooked, underappreciated, so many years later.

2D talks about Revolving Doors: “As I was walking through the doors of the hotel - the revolving doors - and the dislocation of being away, you know, out of sorts, away from home. and the image of this door permanently revolving, the endless repetition and the pointless rhythm of it all I guess struck like, a melancholic image within me. It paints a similar aimless image to pointlessness of plastic bag floating on the highway. Revolving Doors also pretty explicitly references drug use, specifically about buying drugs and getting shorted by the dealer. It’s not news, just notable that substance abuse is still very much present. Another major theme is 2D lamenting how much fame has changed him and his fear of what more is to come which come up again in Amarillo.

Amarillo is such a fucking beautiful song. “I got lost on the highway. But don't ask me where I've been. Or what I've done.” The trials of the last few years have changed 2D, he recognizes this and fills him with regret. And again, he expresses that utter lonely we’re familiar with by now.

Finally, we have DoYaThing giving us incite at the very tail end of this phase of the state of 2D’s relationship with Murdoc, which has quite obviously suffered but enough time is past that they are ready to start healing again. The line “If you're thinking that I don't know what you're thinking, baby. You do more thinking and I'll go out and make it alright“ expresses a concept 2D explored a few times on Demon Days, “I know you now, I know you know me too.” in O Green World characterizes there relationship as legitimately intimate, they understand each other. This sort of relationship is suggested in interviews too, mostly Murdoc relying on 2D to help handle a crisis, while it doesn’t seem that Murdoc is emotionally equipped to return the favor, yet another way Murdoc contributes to 2D’s chronic loneliness. Despite how much 2D is struggling with at the end of phase 3 he still expends energy worrying about Murdoc. After their live recording of Detroit, 2D responds to Murdoc thanking him, presumably just for the fun of the moment, “I was just glad to help, really.”

DoYaThing expresses this dynamic of expending energy and getting little in return with frustration. Before, 2D was confused and hurt, now he’s angry and impatient. “Every time we try, we get nowhere“... “I've got no patience. Oh, it's all a part of the process. Nothing's new, it's true, cool, I admit. Shit, I guess you're right“ 2D is holding on but growing bitter...

Phase 4: Gone Gone Gone

It’s obvious in this phase that his drug abuse is at an all-time high. The entire phase, songs, pictures, interviews, portrayed the band as going all out partying, which, of course, involved drugs. Recreational is one thing, but we know it’s more than recreational for 2D. Sleeping Power was the big 2D song of this phase. All the way back to Tomorrow Comes Today’s music video we see 2D’s drug abuse almost being portrayed as a fun aesthetic as brightly colored pain pills fly at the screen and now with Sleeping Power 2D is having a hell of a good time singing about a day he spent “gone”, completely strung out. He starts the video with the old “This is your brain on drugs” ad, which is practically become a joke in modern culture. and it’s an interesting contrast with the extremely emotional way Murdoc writes about his alcoholism in Plastic Beach, or the dark and completely unflattering way it’s portrayed in White Light.

There’s no denying 2D is depressed, but when it comes to his coping methods it seems he copes even further by making it a part of his identity. It’s not difficult to understand why he’d be so inclined to see his addiction as a positive thing, not only does it help his mood but it manages crippling chronic pain. No matter what though, addiction and substance abuse are never sustainable for mental health and 2D has struggled with this issue or a long.. long.. time.

As for his relationship with Murdoc at this point, it remains in pieces. We see the bitterness 2D feels toward him throughout phase 4. We lose 2D’s voice on Humanz but find so much incite exploring his phase 4 room. Murdoc’s face is plastered on his wall vindictively covered in darts. And yet we find his poems promising, “Yes I am still with you.” and “I will stay. The storm abates. The levy holds.” He’s angry but still refuses to give up. Whether you want to interpret it romantically or not, he clearly still loves Murdoc and we see this even more in The Now Now...

Phase 5: Reflection

On Plastic Beach, if 2D is trapped on an island of isolation then it’s only because Murdoc is the ship that stranded him there. In Magic City, if 2D is on the moon - shining brightly for everyone to see - it’s because Murdoc was the rocket ship that crash landed him on it. The Now Now is chalk full of callbacks and beautifully shows where 2D has come from and where he is now, especially in his relationship to Murdoc. “You put me up here in the penthouse.” Murdoc is the force that made him successful, the reason he’s famous. "I filled the canyons with my ego” The canyon, the hole in himself. We get a call back all the way to New Genius (Brother) as he changes the effect on the vocal’s to sound like some distance voice from the past of someone promising 2D ease of passage only to betray him by leading him to danger, “Let me take you this far. This crossing isn't much to me. There's lightning in the storm clouds. And I'll send you there to stay” and of course, that voice is Murdoc’s.

Like he’s been for years, he’s trapped in this lifestyle. Looking all the way back to 5/4. He talks about the same debauchery and spoils of fame he feels trapped back in Feel Good Inc and calls them “magic”. It’s ironic but at the same time addresses the fact that he was promised they would be magic, promised they would feel good, only to feel betrayed when they weren’t. “Magic on me. Really got me down... Magic’s funny. Magic get me through.” The same magic that depressing him, he relies on to get through: drugs, sex, the validation of fame, you name it. It’s a common tale we see for celebrities time and time again. Trapped in this “Magic City”, he wants to make it “home”. He talks about making his journey home in Kansas as well... where exactly does 2D consider “home”? I wonder if even he knows. Our sense of home is so tied to our sense of security and identity, something 2D has always struggled with. On his quest “home”, by the end of the album the thing that he truly returns to.. is Murdoc. In Souk Eye he decides to come back for him... after all this... he’s still willing to give him yet another chance. Throughout the years he’s had one anchor and one anchor alone: Murdoc. So in the absence of this anchor, his sense-of-self changes dramatically as he tries to emulate the man that was once his idol. Of course, we see this play out in the lore... But... at this point (9/28/18) anything I say about 2D actions in this phase beyond the early characterization through the album is just speculation... So, back to the album...

There are few places where 2D talks about how much he’s sacrificed for Murdoc’s sake, how he’s stood by and suffered for him, even made music for him when he really just didn’t want to anymore. Idaho references this and the level of idolization he once felt for Murdoc so long ago, “Playing it all for gods Yesterday/Faraway” and the role of Murdoc in pressuring him, ““Ride on," said the king of cool. you've got nothing to lose“ and how his hope faded through the years, “Silver linings getting lost”. Fireflies again frames Murdoc’s role in driving him, “You were in the kind of game that put the force in me“ and overall speaks to his desperation to hold onto hope throughout the last 20 years.

The lore supports these songs are about Murdoc in far more obvious ways then has ever been done. Between the Souk Eye visualizer and 2D’s journal, the depths for which he feels for him becomes undeniable. The deterioration we’ve witnessed has caused him so much pain and yet his love remains. “If loving you’s a felony now, then I’m a renegade.”

2D’s story serves as a tragic retelling of the path that so many real-life famous musicians have taken. Being in the limelight is rarely something normal people are able to cope with, and clearly, 2D is no exception. It changed him, caused him to make decisions he hated. He never would have chosen this lifestyle without Murdoc pressuring him, and returns over and over even when he has the choice to stay away because it’s one of the few solid things he can grasp as part of his identity. Meanwhile, he’s bound to an individual that’s even more unhealthy then he is, enabling his isolation, denying him support, taking advantage of him from day one, manipulating his poor sense of self-worth. All of it crushed his once child-like spirit... only time will tell where he goes from here. Maybe one day he’ll finally see the end of his abuse, heal with the man he’s forgiven too many times, and find security in his own self-worth...

Now if all that made you too sad here’s a video of 2D being absolutely adorably happy because he has the opportunity to connect with fans through sharing his passion for music.

#character analysis #2d #i hope you cry

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philipronans · 6 years ago

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of our weary city

so tumblr’s linking bullshit is still happening, i see so here go w take two. i never know how to start these things bc i’m a mess but anyway there would be a link to ao3 here but last time it didn’t work even with the attempts at working around it i’m sorry for how dumb this website is

It takes two weeks for them to reach Kirkwall. By the time his feet touch stable, albeit a little rickety, ground Garrett is ready to collapse and sleep for a year. Carver doesn’t look to be faring much better – his knees give out from under him, Garrett’s hand shooting out to steady him when they almost crash into each other. What they offer each other can’t exactly be described as a smile, but it’s the closest they’ve gotten in days.

He sees Aveline appear at the top of the gangplank over Carver’s shoulder. She moves slowly as she helps their mother gain her footing against the gentle sway of the ship, the tell-tale thud of Barkspawn following them clear even with the distance between them. “We should’ve taken our chances in Ferelden.” Carver says quietly, as a particularly strong gust of wind ploughs through the docks. It pulls at the hair and clothes of the people still milling about, making his nose wrinkle. He very quickly lifts the collar of his tunic in an effort to block out the smell. His voice is husky; it’s the first thing he’s said in the past week, and he coughs into his hand to try and clear his throat. He steps further into Garrett’s space, making sure that their shoulders are brushing.

“Would have smelt better, at any rate.” Garrett mutters back. He keeps his voice quiet in the desperate hope that Leandra won’t hear. It clearly doesn’t work, given the unimpressed look she shoots at them, and the long sigh she lets out when her feet touch the dock. Aveline gives them a half-hearted smile in sympathy. “Honestly, if all you two are going to do is complain, then I’ll find Gamlen on my own.” “I’m just saying.” Garrett attempts a smile, although it quickly fades at the unimpressed look she’s giving him. “It’s a sad day when something manages to smell worse than darkspawn. What a charming place we’ve found ourselves in.” Carver steps in between them, cutting off the venomous glare Leandra had been aiming at him, and leans in close. “Do you really think now’s the best time to test her?” “I don’t really care.” Garrett says, and he means it. He’s spent the past… Maker knows how long putting up with snide comments and dirty looks, and he’s tired of it. His shoulders are screaming for something more comfortable than the damp wood of the ship to lean on, and the crick in his neck is starting to feel permanent. “I’m going to try and find out how we can get into the city.”

Carver looks, as he so often does, like he wants to argue. He doesn’t get a chance to, though, because the sounds of a disturbance come floating through the wall behind them. His shoulders slump a little bit, and he sighs. “Go on then. We’ll be right behind you.” Garrett gives them all one last look, and then darts off. He sees what the problem is almost immediately – a group of heavily armoured guards are standing watch over a crowd of thirty or so people as a man behind them tries to speak over the noise. Their arms are crossed over their chests, and their helmets mean Garrett can’t see their faces. But the other man conveys such disgust that he finds he doesn’t need to. “They’re Fereldans.” Carver says directly into his ear. He jumps and turns his head enough to see they’ve all caught up with him. He ignores the amused grin Carver is giving him because it will only make him more smug. “I heard a couple of them talking – the attack at Highever was true.” Aveline’s shield thumps to the ground as she rolls her shoulders. She lets it dangle from her fingertips, and if it weren’t for the fact that he can see how white her knuckles are, he’d almost believe it was casual. “They’re not letting anyone into the city.” Leandra gasps. “What? That can’t be.” The look Aveline gives her is kind, and her voice is gentle. “It’s true, look at them all.” “Everyone’s fleeing the Blight, just like we are.” Carver says. “They would throw us back to the wolves, I guarantee it.” “Let them try.” Garrett says, fingers inching towards the hilts of his daggers. He looks at Leandra. “We’re getting into this city one way or another.” “We need to find Gamlen.” She cuts him off, refusing to meet his eye. Instead she glances between Carver and Aveline, playing with the belt tied around her waist. “Our family was always highly regarded here, he should be able to help.” “Let’s hope so. I don’t much fancy being stuck out here for very long.” Carver says darkly. He’s got his eyes trained on the guards, who have started pushing people around when they get too close. “But they seem so pleasant.” Garrett claps a hand on Carver’s shoulder and winks. “Maybe you should try flirting with them? Woo them with your southern charms.” “After you.” Carver makes an exaggerated sweep of his arm with a grin. “They seem to be following that man’s orders.” Aveline interrupts. She’s pointing at the same miserable looking man Garrett had already noticed. “Maybe we should try talking to him?” As they approach, one of the guards shoves a man with such force that he goes sprawling to the ground. One of his elbows smacks against the stone with a concerning crunch, and two other men spring into action. They rush to his side and pull him out of the path of potentially being trampled. Aveline lifts her shield, using it as a gentle buffer to part the crowd. “Get back to the docks, you lot.” The nasty look remains on his face, lip curling even higher than before. “Trying to force your way through won’t get you in any faster. This is as far as you’re getting, so just relax.” “What a lovely welcome party.” Garrett mutters, too quiet for the guards to hear. But Carver does, and there isn’t enough room for him to avoid the elbow that’s driven into his ribs. He huffs around a laugh, and then raises his voice. “I heard someone call this place the Gallows – it’s not a prison, is it?” The guard looks at him, eyebrows drawn into a frown. “Used to be, back in the Imperial days. Kept slaves here until the rebellion, but now the Templars use it to lock up the mages.” “If it’s not a prison then why aren’t we allowed into the city?” Carver asks. It’s a fair question, in Garrett’s humble opinion, but the sneer they get suggests the guards don’t like it very much and he feels his fingers curl into fists. “If it were up to me, I’d bar the gates and let you find somewhere else to beg.” The desire to punch him in the mouth grows even stronger. “But it’s not. Some of you might have legitimate business to attend to. So Knight-Commander Meredith’s having us sort you all out.” His smile turns nasty. “Most of you are getting back on your ships, though.” Garrett breathes through his nose several times before attempting to speak. “‘Knight-Commander’s a Templar title. What’s the city guard doing taking orders from them?” “We don’t answer to her, but she’s the power in Kirkwall.” Garrett really wants to punch him. “Not sure what would happen if the Viscount refused her, but he’s sure never taken that chance.” “But you do intend to let some of us in?” Garrett is quickly learning to appreciate Aveline’s diplomacy – it saves him solving the problem in what would definitely be considered the worst way. She steps forward in order to look the guard in the eye, shoving her shield into Garrett’s outstretched hands. Unsure of what else to do with it, he slings it over the crook of his elbow and ignores his body’s protests. “We’ve got enough poor of our own in the Free Marches.” The man says, tongue darting out to swipe at his bottom lip. He keeps his eyes on the five of them. “We don’t need you… refugees taking up space on top of that.” “It’s clear you don’t want us here.” Garrett says, standing shoulder to shoulder with Aveline. Barkspawn presses against his thigh, and he places a reassuring hand on his head. “But is there anyone else we can actually talk to about this?” The man scoffs. “But of course – what could I possibly know? I’m just the poor sod trying to stop you lot from climbing the walls.” He sighs and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Captain Ewald’s the one you’ll want. But, be warned – he’s heard the same sob story a hundred times already.” Leandra looks like she’s ready to go charging off on her own, so Garrett puts a hand out in front of her. Carver whispers something to her that he doesn’t manage to catch, but it does stop her from looking like she’s about to start a war. “Let’s just be calm about this, and see if we can’t figure out what’s going on.” Garrett says. He slips the shield back into Aveline’s hands, nodding when she murmurs a soft thanks. On their approach, the guards part just enough for them to squeeze through. The stairs beyond are dark – the sconces in the walls lay empty and forgotten. Garrett takes the steps two at a time, and by the time he’s reached the top his thighs are burning. He has to wait for the others to catch up, which gives him time to try and ease out some of the tension in his legs. There are more refugees up here, lining the corridor they find themselves in. “The gates are shut.” Aveline points to what looks to be a lowered portcullis at the end of the pathway. “Not a good sign.” “Because everything up until this point has been a barrel of laughs.” Garrett says, lips twitching into a tired smile when he gets a small, soft laugh. His steps are slow and careful now; just because he can’t see any angry guards at the moment, doesn’t mean they’re not there. “I suppose you have a point.” Aveline says. She’s not speaking loudly by any means, but given how hushed things are around them, her voice still carries. She falls into step with him and lowers her voice. “Nothing has been recently.” “The end of the world isn’t fun for you?” He knows it’s a feeble attempt at a joke, even for him. Carver and their mother are still behind them, but he speaks softly. “I’m sorry about Wesley.” “As am I for Bethany. She seemed like a sweet girl.” She tilts her head and purses her mouth. “I must admit; I was shocked we ran into any of you at all, let alone a mage.” Garrett shrugs as carelessly as he can. “We got good at hiding – you learn early on which Templars can be bribed, and when to run if things go south.” “Were you in Lothering long?” It takes him a moment to process that she’s asking out of genuine curiosity. He’s so used to being interrogated about it he can’t always tell the difference. “Two, maybe three years? It was… alright. No one asked too many questions so long as we were willing to offer help when needed. There wasn’t much point in leaving before… well… you know.” “I’m beginning to forget what a stable home feels like.” Aveline says, smiling tightly. “I might even miss Ostagar.” “Bad idea, that.” Carver says from behind them. Leandra is clutching onto his arm tightly enough to leave marks, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “If all goes well with this Captain Ewald we won’t have to worry.” “Here’s hoping.” There’s a fork in the path, and a quick glance to the right has Garrett veering in that direction. Through the gaps in the lowered portcullis, he can see an angry looking group of people arguing with who he can only assume is Captain Ewald. He lets out a heavy sigh through his nose. “What a great first impression.” “We don’t have much of a choice.” Aveline points out. “Let’s go and find out what all the fuss is about.” They leave Leandra near the entrance of the courtyard, Barkspawn happily lolling at her feet, panting in the midday sun. It becomes apparent very quickly that these civilians are, unsurprisingly, refugees. Whilst they might be better dressed, their accents give them away almost immediately. “Let us through, you flamin’ blighter. We’re not staying in this pit.” The ‘leader’ of this ragtag group says, pointing his finger in a guard’s face. Garrett winces, hand slipping to the hilt of one of his daggers. “Then I suggest you get back on your ship and leave.” Ewald says. He looks down his nose at them and sniffs, the picture of serenity. Garrett can’t decide if he admires him or hates him. “Kirkwall has no more room for refugees.” “You know full well the boat’s already left, you bastard.” Another says. “We paid good money to get ‘ere.” “You and half of Ferelden.” His tone is dismissive, at best – and that’s Garrett being generous. “Look, there’s nothing I can do. The city is full.” “A guard said you were letting people in who have business in the city.” Garrett says as they get closer. The other group all begin to nod. “That’s right. We’ve seen you let lots of others through.” “Citizens and people with legitimate business, yes.” Ewald rolls his eyes. “I take it you don’t have more coin than these gentlemen here?” He huffs. “If we keep allowing people into the city it’ll be a lot worse for everyone else. We’ve been letting you Fereldans in for months now. You’re too late.” “Because there’s a time limit on running for your life?” Garrett demands. He doesn’t quite shrug off the hand Aveline places on his shoulder, because it’s not her he’s angry with, but it’s a close thing. “We’ve waited for months to even get here.” “That might well be, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re too late. I cannot help you. There’s no more room.” “Garrett.” Carver says warningly, nudging him out of the way. “We have family here.” He rolls his shoulders and widens his stance slightly. “You think I haven’t already heard that story a thousand times over? We’ll find ships to take you all back to Ferelden. Eventually. For now… well, you’re just going to have to put up with it.” “There must be someone else in charge – they can’t have just let it all fall onto you.” Garrett says, almost desperate. “No. There isn’t.” Ewald closes his eyes and rubs tiredly at the bridge of his nose. “The order came directly from the Viscount, and Knight-Commander Meredith. Not that it matters; as far as you’re all concerned, I’m the one in charge.” Garrett takes a deep breath and then releases it through clenched teeth. “Then is there any way we can get a message to someone in the city? My uncle knows we’re coming, he’ll confirm everything. His name’s Gamlen Amell.” “Gamlen? That name sounds familiar.” Ewald waves another guardsman over. “He’s a nobleman – our family has an estate.” Carver says, sounding very much like the words are lodged in his throat. The very notion of nobility is so farfetched it doesn’t seem like it could ever be real. Ewald scoffs and shares a cocky smirk with the other guard. “A nobleman? The only Gamlen I know is a weasel. Couldn’t rub two coppers together if he tried. But… if we hear from him, I’ll take you to him.” With that, the other guard scampers off as quickly as his heavy armour will allow. “But I don’t have time to-” “You what?” Garrett hadn’t forgotten the other Fereldans, exactly, but their sudden interruption makes his pulse spike. “You’re gonna let them through, but not us?” “Nobody said anything about that.” Ewald says, but it’s too late. They’ve latched on like a dog with a bone. The second in command swings his head around to stare at them. “We’ve been waiting here for four fucking days! They’ve only just got here!” “That’s it!” The ring leader shouts, hand shooting for the cheap looking sword he’s got strapped to his waist. “We’re carving our way through! C’mon men!” It comes as no real surprise that these men are barely trained – a quick look at the way they’re holding their swords is enough for Garrett to tell. Their hands are so far down the hilts, they’re almost holding the actual blades. Unfortunately, lack of training does not mean lack of speed, and it’s only because Aveline already has her shield up that Garrett isn’t immediately stabbed. “Pay attention.” She hisses. Feeling suitably chastised, he does. His daggers are light and short – it means he has to get in close range to use them effectively, which is fine. He’s used to it. What’s not fine is narrowly avoiding being clocked in the head by a guard as they come charging in with their sword raised above their head. He sees Carver block an incoming attack with the flat of his blade, the resounding clang echoing above the pre-existing noise. Aveline stands at his back, her body heat permeating his tunic and causing sweat to break out on the back of his neck. He ignores it, watching the way the loudmouth approaches him with an almost hungry look. Garrett’s never been a particularly patient man and waiting for the first attack is always the worst part. The swing that comes at him is sloppy – it would have gone too wide, even without Garrett’s intervention. With the quick jab he gives the other man’s wrist, though, the sword goes crashing across the paving slabs as he grasps his wrist to his chest. Garrett doesn’t let that stop him, stepping close enough to land a hit to the ribs, twisting the blade when the man grunts in pain. “I’m sorry.” He whispers as the man falls to his knees. “I’m so sorry.” He pulls the dagger out and doesn’t have much time to consider what to do next because Barkspawn barrels past. He barks loudly as he launches himself at the man attacking Carver. There’s a brief howl of pain, and then the courtyard falls eerily silent, save for the low growling of Barkspawn. “At ease, men.” Ewald says, kicking at the body of the ring leader. Garrett hadn’t even seen what happened to him, but he lies dead with several stab wounds in his chest. “Captain, are you alright?” A young man – who looks to be a recruit given the feeble attempt at facial hair on his chin – asks, jogging down the steps behind them. His face is flushed, and he’s panting slightly. “No thanks to you. Where is everyone? This needs to be taken care of.” When the recruit makes no sign of moving, Ewald grabs him by the shoulder and bodily spins him around. “Go and find them, I want this under control now.” He squeaks out a “Y-yes, Captain” before hurrying off.

Ewald turns back to Garrett and lets out a long sigh. “You have my thanks. Look, I can’t get you into the city. I wasn’t lying about that part, those are my orders. But I can make sure your uncle is found and have him brought here.” “That’s all I ask.” Garrett says. He sheathes his daggers after wiping them off as best he can.

Despite having seen the fight, Leandra lets Garrett know that she wasn’t happy about being kept waiting. He tunes her out, leaning against the wall and staring out over the docks. Seagulls caw in the distance and he keeps glancing up to make sure they’re not flying overhead. Aveline doesn’t seem to be faring quite so well, and at some point moved off to sit with Carver. “It’s been three days.” He hears her say. Carver hums in agreement. “This waiting has to end at some point, surely.” Leandra stalks over to them, hands on her hips as she stares down at them. “It shouldn’t be much longer. I’m sure Gamlen’s still looking for us!” She doesn’t seem to notice the way all three of them roll their eyes. She’s been saying the same thing for the past two and a half days, but none of them seem willing to point it out. Aveline has clearly had enough, however, because she clambers to her feet. “And what if he’s not? What if he doesn’t come to find us?” Either the Maker, or Andraste herself, are looking down on Garrett favourably for once, because he sees a small entourage of guards and a man he does not recognise approaching them from across the courtyard. He pushes off the wall and taps Aveline on the shoulder. “I think someone’s coming.” Carver gets to his feet too, adeptly getting between their mother and Aveline. They watch as one of the Templars – the armour giving them away now that they’re close enough – point to them. The man nods, mutters something they have no chance of hearing, and then begins striding over to them by himself. “Leandra?” The man asks, brow furrowed. His clothes are dirty, his hair is clearly in dire need of a wash and a comb, and Garrett can smell the alcohol already. “Damn, the years have not been kind to you, have they?” “So much for ‘nobility’.” Carver mutters, which makes Garret snort before he can stop himself. He covers his mouth and tries to play it off as a cough. “Gamlen!” Their mother crows, brushing past Carver with her arms outstretched. She throws herself at him and doesn’t seem to notice how reluctantly he hugs her back. Gamlen pulls back first, going so far as to physically step away. He rubs a hand over his face. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t exactly expecting any of this. The Blight; your husband – I thought you’d be in Ferelden for the rest of your life.” “We left it too late.” Leandra says, looking anywhere but at Gamlen. “My poor, poor Bethany didn’t make it. Andraste guide her.” Her eyes land on Garrett, and her brow furrows deeply. Gamlen looks to the sky, closes his eyes briefly, and takes a deep breath. “Leandra don’t do this to me here. I’m not even sure if I can get you in.” “Could you at least get Mother in?” Carver asks. “No! We stay together. I refuse to be separated now.” Leandra says firmly, shaking her head. “I was hoping to… grease some palms, so to speak. See if we couldn’t get you in that way. But the Knight-Commander’s been cracking down.” Gamlen coughs a few times to clear his throat before spitting on the ground. “We’re going to need more grease.” “What about the estate?” Leandra demands. The thing about his mother, Garrett has learnt over the years, is that the angrier she is, the quieter she gets. Her voice is barely above a whisper at this point. “Surely there was something left when Father died?” “About that…” Gamlen wrings his hands, looking to Carver and Garrett for assistance. Finding none, he visibly swallows. “I’ve been meaning to write to you, but, um… the estate’s… it’s gone. In order to settle a debt, you understand.” Leandra frowns. “But how? Never mind, I suppose that’s not important right now. This means there’s no hope of us getting in, is there?” “I wouldn’t say that, exactly.” Gamlen perks up, and it immediately sets alarm bells off. “I know some people who might be able to help – so long as you’re not too picky about the company you keep, of course.” Garrett can already see the rejection written on his mother’s face, and steps forward. “What kind of people?” “I’ve spoken to some of my contacts,” and doesn’t that fill Garrett with confidence, “who might be willing to pay your way into the city.” “There’s a catch, isn’t there?” Carver asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Gamlen looks mildly insulted. “I don’t think wanting you to work off the debt is too much to ask.” He… actually has a point there, Garrett realises. “Sounds reasonable enough, I suppose.” He says, eyeing Carver and hoping he’ll keep his mouth shut. “Would it help if I said you were my favourite uncle?” Gamlen laughs. It’s a rusty sound, as if it doesn’t get used much, and it makes Garrett smile a little bit. “Well, it would make me feel better, but that’s about it. From what I can gather, repayment would take about a year.” “A year?” Leandra cuts in. Her mouth gapes for a moment, before snapping shut. “What could you possibly be having them do?” “It’s the best I could do!” Gamlen snaps. “Trust me, no other refugees will be getting as decent an offer as this.” Garrett reaches out as if to touch Leandra’s arm, before his hand drops back down to his side. “What’s a year? If it gets us in, then surely it’s worth it? Besides, we’ll be free and clear in no time.” “That’s the spirit!” Gamlen claps his hands and then rubs them together. “I’ve managed to convince them both to meet you in the Gallows.” “You still haven’t told us what kind of work they’re after.” Aveline points out. “Meeran runs the Red Iron. I don’t know much other than that they’re a mercenary company looking for recruits. Meeran doesn’t tell anyone much of anything, contrary bastard that he is. Athenris, on the other hand, is… something of a smuggler, I suppose.” He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and then onto his trousers. “Sounds suspicious.” Garrett says with an approving nod. “They’re the only two?” “Yes. Either one should be able to help you, all you have to do is convince them you’re worth the trouble. Should be a piece of cake.” “What d’you think?” Garrett asks, glancing over at Carver. “Who do you want to talk to first?” Carver pauses for a moment, and then shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter to me, so long as they don’t try and ship us back to Ferelden.” “Alright, Uncle.” Garrett says, the word sitting strangely on his tongue. “Is there anything else I should know about this Meeran?” “He’s a mercenary, what do you expect? I wouldn’t bring him home for dinner, but he has a decent enough reputation. If I thought he’d cross you, I wouldn’t have asked him to help.” Garrett takes a second to consider this and then looks to Carver. “Let’s go and find him then, shall we?” His brother moves to his side and mutters into his ear. “You have any idea where to find him?” “Not a clue.” Garrett murmurs back as quietly as he can. “Can’t be very far, though.” “Oh, Gamlen.” Leandra sighs. “I don’t know about this.” He crosses his arms and taps his foot. “Look, don’t go expecting the family name to carry the kind of weight it used to. This is a lot of coin we’re talking about, you can’t just expect them to hand it to you for free.” “What about me?” Aveline asks. She’s been quietly watching them from a distance and Garrett has to look over his shoulder to see her. She’s tense, and frowning – never a good sign. “I won’t have people in debt on my account.” “Can’t see why it’ll be a problem – you look like a lady who can take care of herself.” “Then you’ll come with us.” Leandra says, voice firm as she offers Aveline a small smile. It’s the friendliest she’s been in days, and it almost takes Garrett by surprise. Aveline ducks her head, posture relaxing minutely. “Thank you.” “Guess that means you’re stuck with us now, Vallen.” Garrett teases, just to see her smile.

#fenhawke #fenris #hawke #fenris x hawke #da fic #long post for mobile sorry kids it won't let me fix that particular issue #vic writes #otp: i am yours #of our weary city

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drexodthegunslinger · 6 years ago

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Send “⇷” to view a memory from my muse’s past life.

The carpet was long strewn with debris, dust and leaves. Anything that once gave the shop any semblance of purpose was long gone and for the night made camp.

The fire was small, barely any use for heat or light but it would suffice for the four Rangers. With that nights rations being eaten the group got talking.

“Do ya think the world will ever heal? Or will it always be like this?” Yangus asked, laying back on his bedroll, “Like, them geezers under the Traveller are doing alright for themselves but what about the rest of the world?”

“I don’t know,” Drexod muttered, taking a sip of his drink. Swilling the booze he let it sit as the gentle numbness set in before swallowing, “Hopefully, yeah. I mean, humanity has a knack for surviving doesn’t it.”

“I’m more worried about them that we can’t save. We don’t have the ways of crossing oceans safely and we can’t cover all of the world at once.” Amy was quiet as she spoke, tracing her finger through the dust and grit on the floor. She was still new to being a Ranger but she was taking to it well, even with there being much to learn.

“We save who we can and help them as best we can, but you’re right. Resources are limited but we make do with what we’ve got. It’s why Yangus gives us his ammo rations, why we prioritise Deadeye for weapon parts. We know each others strengths and weaknesses and we work together to make what we’ve got work.” Drexod said as Yangus grunted in agreement.

“What if we fail? I don’t mean to be a debby downer, but we can’t always win can we?”

“Amy,” Deadeye’s voice was calm and crisp as they spoke, “Your concerns are valid, it’s not uncommon for squads to get into trouble. Fallen ambushes are rife in ruined cities like these, but we can’t let the fear of failure paralyse us. If we do we put people at risk of harm or death from our own inaction.”

“And even if we find ourselves in trouble we fight tooth an’ nail. When you got your back to the wall and the only way out is through the bugheads, you make yourself a path no matter how bloody it is,” Yangus said, sitting up, “Anyway, who’s taking first watch?”

“I’ll take the twilight hours,” Drexod nodded, “Unless you’d rather me do the hell shift?”

“So guv’s on hell duty, poor sod,” Yangus laughed, “I’ll take first unless there are any takers?”

As the three other Rangers discussed what shifts they would take for watching camp, Drexod lay back. Even though he looked in his early twenties he had been alive for much longer. But it was with these three that he felt at home, amongst the dying world that had been so cruel, the man had finally found those he considered family.

#fic #long post #this is when Drex was a Takanome Ranger #so pre-Guardian #my-hand-in-your-pocket

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easyfoodnetwork · 5 years ago

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MFK Fisher’s ‘How to Cook a Wolf’ Is Essential Reading Right Now

A food pantry during World War II | Smith Collection/Gado/Getty Images

This guide to maintaining courage through World War II restrictions is newly relevant

In her wartime publication How to Cook a Wolf, MFK Fisher spurned the typical cookbook categories in favor of chapters like “How to Greet the Spring.” Her suggestion? By cooking fish. In the midst of war, her audience could still revel in “the first succulent taste of bonito in the spring.”

How do we greet the spring now, in the midst of the fear and anxiety of a global crisis? Pandemic was declared in early March, but the season has continued to arrive with all the cliches of nature’s continuity. As our human-made systems are wrenched apart, Fisher’s advice on attitude, thrift, and how to nourish yourself and others in a crisis is newly relevant. Right now, the future is unknowable, the present uncertain. But the past is always available, and Fisher’s exquisite prose offers it up for both insight and escape.

Amazon

How to Cook a Wolf was first published in 1942.

How to Cook a Wolf was published in 1942 at the height of World War II shortages. It was a guide, Fisher wrote, “to existing as gracefully as possible without many of the things we have always accepted as our due: light, free air, fresh foods, prepared according to our tastes.” She acknowledges that in times of global restrictions, we seek recipes for living as well as cooking. We seek those things in normal times, too; but in crisis, the heightened awareness of what we have lost, are losing, and may lose, makes us cling to guidance even harder. I know I appreciate “the wolf” more now that I have felt its bite.

Fisher wrote for every level of need — from the basics of feeding yourself in poverty (“How to Keep Alive”) to the joys of nourishing spirit as well as body. As coronavirus continues to affect groups disproportionately, the importance of this spectrum of responses is clear: sometimes we can afford fantasy, but first we have to address the essentials of staying alive. Fisher’s chapters accordingly start with ration-conscious recipes and straightforward guidance (“How to Boil Water”), before shifting into the poetic “How Not to Be an Earthworm” and “How to Pray for Peace,” a chapter that sanctifies carbohydrates.

How to Cook a Wolf is not a guide to the particular needs of our era, nor is history ever intended as a manual for the present. What it can provide is comfort: to read a voice across the years and realize that some things, like spirit, rise up in any crisis. In “How to Rise Up Like New Bread,” Fisher described the “almost mystical pride and feeling of self-pleasure” of seeing fresh-made loaves; a feeling familiar to anyone who has dabbled in the surging sourdough trend during quarantine. “You will know, as you smell them and remember the strange cool solidity of the dough puffing up around your wrist when you hit it, what people have known for centuries about the sanctity of bread.” In circumstances beyond our control, creative and repetitive motion provides us with focus and comfort — as well as a tangible result.

Of cheese, Fisher writes, “in a time of peril and unspoken fear it is an anesthetic.” Another constant: alcohol. “How to Drink to the Wolf” includes a recipe for homemade vodka, as hard liquor was then hard to come by. Alcohol sales have spiked during quarantine as people stock up in lieu of hitting the bars, but, if Fisher is any guide, brewing may follow sourdough as the next stay-at-home trend. (I have already looked into distilling my own gin.)

In any crisis, we are inundated with advice on how to stay safe and how to keep calm. What at first seems alien becomes second nature, from social-distancing protocols to making and wearing masks. Fisher’s reaction 80 years ago was no different: the wartime suggestions, she found, “seem touched with a kind of sordid whimsy until you try them. Then they really work, and make you feel noble and brave at the same time.” Whether this is true of the recipe “to cure bruised withers” (saddle sores), which involves strapping damp sod to yourself overnight, I am neither brave nor whimsical enough to learn. I have, however, felt better for putting my creativity to work in thrifty and meaningful ways.

For Fisher, cooking or outfoxing the “wolf” is not about following a recipe, but spurring open-armed attitudes towards food and life. “How to Be Cheerful Through Starving” relates the story of a woman who managed to nourish others despite her poor circumstances. Though generosity is not a panacea, the story is a good reminder that we, too, can find ways to be cheerful through isolating. We can learn, through difficulty, “how better to exist.”

The difficulties we are learning from today are vastly different from those of Fisher’s era. Wartime production revved the American economy in the 1940s, but the pandemic has devastated the food service industry and revealed the intense fragility of our labor and social support systems. Fisher emphasized cooking at home, “practicing economy” in response to the needs of rationing. Our current practice of economy is much more complex. Now, we face the moral tango of trying to support local businesses by ordering delivery, while mindful of our own tightened belts and the fact that people in these essential yet tenuous roles bear much greater risk. The “front lines” look different when we’re combating a nebulous virus instead of fellow humans. But just as we adapt to better exist as individuals, we can also lobby for the systemic changes that are needed to keep people healthy, employed, nourished, and safe.

In Fisher’s day, people could huddle together in bomb shelters. Now, if we’re lucky, we are hunkered in our separate homes, communicating constantly as we wait out the crisis. This diet of words matters, too: we process stressful information in our bodies, feeding ourselves on news as well as nutrition. The choices we make now about ingesting all of this information are as important as those we make about consuming foods and services, something Fisher didn’t contend with on the same scale. A modern How to Cook a Wolf would require a chapter on “How to Ingest Media” — and how not to.

“I believe that one of the most dignified ways we are capable of, to assert and then reassert our dignity in the face of poverty and war’s fears and pains, is to nourish ourselves with all possible skill, delicacy, and ever-increasing enjoyment,” Fisher wrote. Though so much is beyond our control as individuals, we have the power to nourish ourselves during this upheaval through our diet of food and of communication. In the end, Fisher admitted, “No book on earth can help you, but only your inborn sense of caution and balance and protection.” Books and recipes cannot save us, but perhaps our shared wisdom can.

Anne Wallentine is an arts and culture writer based in Los Angeles.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/35OzvoL https://ift.tt/2YN7YCS

A food pantry during World War II | Smith Collection/Gado/Getty Images

This guide to maintaining courage through World War II restrictions is newly relevant

Amazon

How to Cook a Wolf was first published in 1942.

Anne Wallentine is an arts and culture writer based in Los Angeles.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/35OzvoL via Blogger https://ift.tt/3dmIK1Y

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

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