#this is what happens when you hinge an entire war on child soldiers

[chaifighter]

Ok but what if I really want to hear your Orson Scott Card rant?

...You asked for this.

This is definitely harder to deliver in text format than verbally, but I'll do my best.

Ender's Game is a seminal science fiction novel from the mid 80's about a space war between Earth and an insectoid alien species referred to as "buggers" (they have an actual name I think but I don't remember it). The war has been raging for years, Earth has effectively united to fight it, and particularly intelligent children are taken by the military to train at an orbital boot camp to be the next generation of soldiers. Our protagonist Ender Wiggin, a genius to end all geniuses, is taken to this space station to begin this training. (Ender is a usually-illegal third child who the government gave his parents special permission to produce, since their first two children were both unaccountably brilliant but too violent (Peter) or too gentle (Valentine) to be good child soldiers, which is uhhhh pretty eugenicist BUT THAT'S NOT THE SUBJECT OF THIS PARTICULAR TED TALK-)

The main body of the book covers Ender's time at battle school and is pretty solidly entertaining, with some genuinely interesting thought experiments on zero-g battles and psychological management and manipulation of a young fighting force (though it's, yanno, undercut by the full-page out of nowhere antisemitic raving. I'm not fucking kidding, there's slurs and everything, it's. Fucking wild.) but the really important stuff comes at the end of the book, when Ender and his trusted group of friends are put through a grueling series of simulations designed as a graduation test. Through this series of simulations, Ender, gifted and cursed with an incredible depth of empathy, begins to understand the buggers in a way that no one has before, and by understanding them, knows how to end them. To quote directly:

"In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him. I think it's impossible to really understand somebody, what they want, what they believe, and not love them the way they love themselves."

Through this understanding, he realizes that the buggers are a hive mind, and that by destroying the center of that hive mind, he can win. So he does, and the simulation ends. And then they tell him he just won the war. He has given real orders to real soldiers, and he has exterminated the buggers. He has loved his enemy, and he has destroyed them.

Compassion is the key theme of Ender's Game. It is what makes Ender and what breaks him when it is exploited. Empathy and understanding for someone deeply, incomprehensibly different from you.

So then we come to Orson Scott Card, great-great-grandson of Brigham Young, a virulent homophobe, a racist (called Obama "a black man who talks like a white man" as an explanation of his success in politics) and antisemite (looking at that FUCKING page again). He wrote this entire book that hinges on empathy, but either refuses or abjectly fails to apply that notion to his own life. It is genuinely remarkable to me that someone can craft a narrative so explicitly about the one trait they seem to lack entirely and not allow it to open some window of understanding into their own shortcomings.

But we're not quite done yet. Let's talk about Xenocide.

Xenocide is the first of 3 sequels to Ender's Game, set some hundreds/thousands (can't remember, it's a long fuckin time) of years after the events of the first book. Humanity has spread across the universe and settled other planets. The book tells the story of a small human community on a planet predominantly inhabited by the pequeninos, a race of piglike sentients with whom human contact is limited to two specific researchers. The researchers' interactions with the pequeninos are going well -- until one day the body of one of the humans is found vivisected by the pequeninos. Later in the book, it happens to the other researcher as well. All this, very understandably, threatens to spark a war.

Then the discovery is made -- the late life cycle stage of a pequenino is to transition from one of the piglike creatures into a tree, which is the form that is actually capable of reproduction. This transition, bestowed upon members of the species who have done something significant or remarkable, is done by vivisection, after which the body sprouts. The pequeninos believed they were bestowing an honor upon the researchers they killed, and were confused when they did not proceed into the next stage of life. When they learn that they in fact killed them, they mourn.

I am so genuinely fascinated by this story as a work of science fiction. I read this book pretty young, but this is all from memory, it stuck with me that vividly. When two species so utterly alien to each other begin to interact, a simple assumption of similarity can end in tragedy, even during acts of respect or good will. It's juicy! It's thought-provoking! The pequeninos are convincingly alien and the scenario makes sense. And the key thing is that they are people, they cared, they wanted to show their respect for the humans they admired. Empathy, speaking with them and understanding their view of the situation, was the only way to move forward in a constructive way, to avoid war and prevent further tragedy.

Another fascinating thing in this book: the concept of a Speaker for the Dead. Through the time-distorting effects of intergalactic travel, Ender is in his mid-30's in Xenocide, having spent the intervening centuries as a Speaker for the Dead, a position named after the role he assumed in writing his own book about the buggers as a species, laying out their story postmortem. The job of a Speaker is to tell the story of a life as the person viewed themselves -- returning once again to empathy, this time as an almost ritualized practice, as a Speaker arrives to a place where they have been requested and has to piece together the life of the deceased in order to tell the tale. (A friend of mine once promised to be my Speaker if I died first, if I'd promise the same. I think that promise still holds, though I somehow doubt both our capabilities toward the task as writ.)

Orson Scott Card loves empathy. It's one of his main themes. He keeps coming back to it, keeps emphasizing it in new and varied ways. And then he turns around and is a fucking asshole in real life. And you can't help but wonder - does he think he's succeeded? Does he think that he's managed to interact with the world in a kind and empathetic way? Does he somehow believe that he truly understands all these groups he seems to actively disdain, to campaign against, to view as alien? Does he think he loves them the way they love themselves?

After 71 spiteful little years on this planet, I somehow don't think change is in the cards for this man before he shuffles off the mortal coil. And yet I can't help thinking... he could stand to read his own books sometime. He might learn something.

[lesetoilesfous]

Sending you a prompt from the Bad Things Happen Bingo! I'd be interested to see what you do with "Defeated and Trophified", for either a negative Handers OR an Evil M!Hawke. Thank you! <3

Oooh thank you so much, I hope you enjoy!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Pairing: dark, abusive Handers

Characters: Garrett Hawke, Anders, Alistair Theirin

Tags: post da2, evil Hawke, implied abusive relationship

Rating: Mature

The new viscount of Kirkwall has made changes at the Keep, and indeed in the city in general. No longer are there any mages to be found anywhere, not even in the city-state’s infamous Gallows. Alistair had been struck by how few staves he’d seen anywhere as a result. He realises that he’d just sort of got used to apostates and presumably-legal Circle mages wandering throughout Fereldan. The absence of them here in Kirkwall is, well, stark. But Alistair is a king, and visiting his new trading partner is not the most burdensome of his many, many responsibilities, so he takes a deep breath and tries not to think about Kelton Amell, and climbs the stairs towards the viscount’s personal offices.

A servant who looks pale and frightened and flinches far too easily for Alistair’s comfort dips him a low, low bow and swings the door open on perfectly oiled hinges. Everywhere, the Amell family crest bleeds in red lines beside the emblem of the city of chains. Everything is spotless and silent, and even the air tastes clean, somehow - perfumed with what tastes to Alistair like elfroot and spindleweed. He’s led, with his retainers, into a large room with a long, beautiful dark wooden table. Behind it the Viscount of Kirkwall: muscular, broad, handsome Garrett Hawke, sits in state wearing an iron crown. Behind him, standing demurely with his hands folded and his head lowered, is the apostate who blew up the Chantry.

The first thing Alistair can find to think is that he recognises this man. He remembers gently encouraging Kelton to recruit him, almost a decade ago in Amaranthine. A young, frightened man whose brave face warred with his real horror at what the Templar order wished to do with him.

The second thing Alistair notices is the collar. It’s not ostentatious - of course not, if there’s one thing Alistair has learned from the immaculate Keep and the deathly silent streets, it’s that the man sitting in front of him does not go in for the obvious. But it’s a collar all the same: a thin, beautiful bar of rolled gold which hangs like a necklace around the apostate’s neck, darkened with dozens and dozens of finely engraved runes that makes it look stained black like an antique. Thin gold chains dip below the apostate’s neckline, under the loose, beautiful deep green silk tunic he’s wearing. There are matching, thick gold cuffs wrapped around each of his wrists. Alistair can’t see his feet from where he’s standing, but he doesn’t doubt there are cuffs there too. He swallows his bile, and refocuses his attention.

Hawke doesn’t bother to stand, which is technically a formal insult, but Alistair suspects it won’t be the last thing he tolerates today in the name of preventing open war. Instead he inclines his head, and waves at the frightened servant to pull out a chair. The servant does so, and Alistair thanks them softly, not missing the way Hawke’s mouth turns down in a sneer. The apostate behind the viscount, (the grey warden), says nothing. Alistair can barely believe he’s breathing, for how silent he’s being.

Hawke leans forward. “King Theirin. Such a pleasure to have your company so soon after our...troubles.” Behind Hawke, the apostate flinches, so subtly Alistair can hardly believe he noticed it. But Hawke’s jaw clenches, and the apostate’s already pale skin pales further.

Alistair thinks about facing down a broodmother and sits a little straighter in his chair. “Of course, Viscount. I was sorry to hear the news of your predecessor, and,” Alistair pauses, picking his words as carefully as stepping between landmines, “...confused by Knight-Commander Meredith’s interim occupation.”

Hawke laughs, and again, the apostate flinches. “Yes, well, Stannard always did have delusions of grandeur. But she wasn’t wrong about the mage problem. Worse than a nest of plague-ridden rats in this city and just as rotten. It was poisoning us from the inside out.”

Alistair lets the comment past him, and keeps his features neutral. He’d gotten good at this, as a child, under Isolde’s harassment. He asks, neutrally, as politely as he can, “Is it true, then? That you took part in the annulment personally?”

Again, Hawke laughs. Alistair feels a thorny kind of heat coiling in his chest. Hawke says, “Damned right I did. I was the only one left in the Blighted city with the fucking guts. Got every apostate too - all the criminals and infected children. I lanced the boil that this city had become and I burned out every bit of rot. Except this one,” Hawke gestures to the apostate behind him, then looks back at Alistair with a wide smile of perfect teeth, “But he’s pretty.”

Alistair fantasises about breaking his nose. Instead, he follows Hawke’s gesture to look up at the tall, broad man beside him. He’s older than he was, when Alistair had met him, lines printed across his face in deep crevasses. But he’s clean shaven, and his hair is brushed and soft around his head. Alistair listens to his own racing heartbeat for a moment before he speaks. “I heard he was a Grey Warden.”

Hawke’s eyes narrow, and there’s a flash of something there in the brown and gold of his irises that reminds Alistair terribly of the bird after which his family took its name. Something bloodthirsty, and cruel. “Like you? I told Vael, and the blighted Divine, Anders stays here. He’s mine.”

Alistair raises his hands in surrender and wonders whether Hawke can see that his palms are sweating. “Of course! Wouldn’t dream of separating you. It was only innocent curiosity. Now, I believe you have a Fereldan apostate to deliver to me?”

The blatant threat on Hawke’s face melts into a smirk, and he leans back in his chair. Behind him, Anders, the apostate’s shoulders lower, fractionally. Hawke clicks his fingers at the servant, and a few minutes later there’s the clatter of armour as a pair of templars bring in a wounded, starved looking elvhen girl.

Alistair thinks hard about exactly how much worse war would be for all his people and truly, deeply hates being king. Hawke gets up, circling the table to lift the girl’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. She glares at him, and Alistair hates that he’s heartened by this remaining spirit.

But then Hawke looks at the apostate in the corner and lifts his hand. The gold ring on his wedding finger, similarly blackened with runes, burns red, and Anders flinches as the jewellery on his wrists and neck glow, too. All Hawke says is, “Anders.”

The apostate moves faster than Alistair thinks he could have followed even if he were prepared for it. His hand flicks, and a silent bolt of lightning crosses the space of Hawke’s private quarters and connects with the girl’s skull. Her body slumps almost immediately, shuddering in a death rattle that is all too familiar to Alistair. He makes an effort to close his open mouth, and for the first time gives up the poker face.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Hawke smiles at him, close lipped and shrewd. “A lesson, your majesty. We won’t tolerate apostates in Kirkwall. Try to keep them on your side of the ocean.”

Alistair looks up at the apostate, Anders, but his hands are already folded in front of him again, his head bowed. Alistair swallows past the dryness of his mouth and the thick lump in his throat, and gets to his feet with an agonisingly loud screech of the wooden chair legs on stone.”Well, Viscount. It’s certainly been...educational.”

Alistair turns and tries not to imagine the entire darkspawn horde at his heels. Hawke doesn’t stand, and his pet apostate doesn’t move. But when Alistair gets to the door, Hawke speaks again. “Come back any time, your majesty. Anders can do wonderful things with his hands.”

Alistair doesn’t turn around. The doors swing shut behind them, and both the Keep’s guards and two servants usher them forward. But Alistair hesitates, listening for a moment.

Through the wooden doors, there’s a crack of skin on skin, and a soft cry of pain. Softly, deadly, Alistair hears the Viscount whisper, “Killed her quickly, didn’t you? Any suffering you spared her I’ll deal you, later.”

Alistair doesn’t realised he’s curled his fingers into a fist until one of his guard’s touches his forearm, her eyes wide with either fear or concern. Slowly, Alistair uncurls his hand, listening to the crunch of metal, and follows the soldiers and servants out of the Keep. He makes a mental note to write Zevran, later.

There’s a warden in need, and a state leader in desperate want of assassination.

[sleepymarmot]

Softening Leliana: a look at the mechanics

At the end of Leliana’s personal quest, The Left Hand of the Divine, the player is faced with a choice that plays a major role in deciding which path Leliana takes:

Here’s how it looks in the Frosty Editor:

The first node is paraphrased as “Let her go” and sets the plot flag 3a3201ce-8717-4e0c-9528-3d747263019a. It has two children — two voice lines this paraphrase might lead to. The first one has two conditions and convinces Leliana to let Sister Natalie go, which means Leliana can now be softened. If the player hasn’t done the two necessary steps prior to the quest, the second line plays instead, and Leliana disobeys the Inquisitor and kills Natalie against their wishes, which prevents her from being softened.

The second node has no conditions and leads to Natalie’s death, with Leliana remaining hardened.

In both cases, Natalie’s death sets the plot flag ed05810e-b9bb-4d69-bc4a-913ade0301c5.

Now let’s take a look at the conditions for convincing Leliana to stay her hand:

4f5bdfda-aace-49a7-ac72-4875afd601d6 true (stop her from killing the traitor in Haven)

e36c28db-4ee1-442d-964c-573e2eb0010c false (don’t pick the option “They’re soldiers” in Skyhold)

That’s it. According to this data, the player’s ability to direct Leliana’s personal quest hinges on these two dialogue options.

Let’s take a look at the conversations they originated from.

Haven (DA3/designcontent/Conversations/InquisitionBase/FirstBase/Leliana/in1_leliana_secondtalk_d)

As you might remember, this is a conversation about killing a traitor agent called Butler. The player has three options:

Interfere and stop Leliana. Sets the flag 4f5bdfda-aace-49a7-ac72-4875afd601d6 (which is necessary for softening);

Encourage Leliana to kill: Sets the flag dd1efbaa-30a0-4dd8-9744-dab293210147 (comes up in a conversation with unsoftened Leliana);

Stay silent — no flags.

Skyhold (DA3/DesignContent/Conversations/InquisitionBase/SecondBase/Leliana/LelianaMainDialog/in2_leliana_postsetback_d)

Happens right after the destruction of Haven and arrival at Skyhold. Leliana wonders if being less concerned with her scouts’ safety would have allowed her to see the attack coming: “When the first of my lookouts went missing, I pulled the rest back, awaiting more information. If they’d stayed in the field, they could’ve bought us more time. I was afraid to lose my agents, and instead we lost Haven.” 

The player has two options:

[Our men are not disposable.] Our people aren't tools to be used and discarded. Your instincts were right. Their lives matter. — No flags.

[They're soldiers.] True. They're our soldiers. They'll do what we need them to. — Sets the flag e36c28db-4ee1-442d-964c-573e2eb0010c. (Which is why this flag must be false for the softening to be possible.)

Back to Leliana’s own quest.

After the choice of killing Natalie or not, the player still has one last step.

To soften Leliana, you need to pick “Stop torturing yourself”. 

If you’ve done everything right, the first node completes the softening process. It has three conditions:

3a3201ce-8717-4e0c-9528-3d747263019a true (ask not to kill Natalie)

4f5bdfda-aace-49a7-ac72-4875afd601d6 true (stop from killing the traitor)

ed05810e-b9bb-4d69-bc4a-913ade0301c5 false (Natalie doesn’t die)

If all of these conditions are met, congratulations! The line that finalizes the process is “Thank you for showing me what was right”, plot flag 88c25c91-766a-4bfd-92ef-6518ba53010a.

If you missed one of the two specific lines in an early part of this very long game, Leliana acts like you’ve been consistently ruthless throughout the entire story. She remains hardened.

Child nodes: 

“I hesitated with Butler...” Condition: dd1efbaa-30a0-4dd8-9744-dab293210147 true (plays if you actively encouraged to kill him)

“After Haven, we agreed that war requires sacrifices. “Whatever it takes,” you said.” Condition: e36c28db-4ee1-442d-964c-573e2eb0010c true (plays if you picked the dualogue option “They're soldiers”)

“And my poor, dear Natalie.” Condition: ed05810e-b9bb-4d69-bc4a-913ade0301c5 true (Natalie dies. I think this condition is always true, and therefore line always plays in this particular sequence of events)

Then it segues into the Hardened Leliana Monologue. The line “Justinia tried to save me, but all it's done is made me realize I don't need saving” is the one that sets a new flag, 14eb4903-783a-49eb-bdbb-3b66d06b010f.

If you pick “It was necessary”, Leliana stays hardened even if she let Natalie go. Depending on your previous choices, she might react in two different ways:

The first node has three conditions:

3a3201ce-8717-4e0c-9528-3d747263019a true (ask not to kill Natalie)

4f5bdfda-aace-49a7-ac72-4875afd601d6 true (stop from killing the traitor)

e36c28db-4ee1-442d-964c-573e2eb0010c false (don’t say “they’re soldiers”)

These are the three necessary conditions for softening. If they are all met, and the softening process is aborted at the last turn, Leliana is surprised at your uncharacteristic behavior.

The second node has no conditions. If you didn’t pick even one of the dialogue options leading to softening, Leliana is sure you’re on the same page.

Both nodes eventually lead to “Justinia tried to save me...” and the corresponding flag.

I didn’t specify at the beginning of the post to spare people’s dashboards, but the path to this scene is DA3/designcontent/Conversations/InquisitionBase/SecondBase/Leliana/LelianaMainDialog/lel_mainplot_chapel_3_confrontation_d. 

-----

End of objective information. Now for some of my personal thoughts.

The condition are set in the most simple and unforgiving way. Adding more conditions in this way would only make it easier for failing one of them to undo all of your work.

The game has a more sophisticated method of creating conditions, used for companion approval and the Divine election. It seems to consist of a separate quest for every type of score change, and then a quest that either checks whether that score meets a threshold and serves as a condition by itself (approval) or sets a flag to be used as a condition based on the results (election). 

Just look how many approval “blueprints” are per character (left), and how much data is there within just one of them (right)!

Here’s the list of “blueprints” that add Divine election points on the left, and the one that counts them on the right.

I think this kind of approach would have been perfect for calculating the factors leading to Leliana’s softening or the lack thereof. Unfortunately, these assets look very complex, and I can’t tell if there even is a technical possibility of recreating them. If you have any idea, please let me know.

[thehollowprince]

I'm on a rewatch of teen wolf, and I'm confused about one thing - Scott had told Gerard about Matt controlling the kanima, but when would he have had the chance? He's literally only figured it out himself. Did he immediately message Gerard?

Also, I've seen many people say that he "sold out Derek and his pack", but the show doesn't exactly specify what information Scott has given (it just makes him say "I've done everything you've asked of me"). Oh, and also whem did he start planning the whole mountain ash thing with Deaton, and should he have told Derek?

I'm really sorry for all the questions! Can you please help me out?

First of all, never apologize. Provided you ask them respectfully and not like the Anon I usually get "asking" about Teen Wolf, I am more than happy to answer any questions.

While it's never shown on screen that Scott told Gerard about Matt being the Kanima's master, we can guess that he might have told him after Party-Guessed, though I don't think this is something Scott would do, even under Gerard's "control", unless Matt was proven to be a danger to others. And even then, even after the events of Fury, I'm sure Scott would have tried to save Matt anyway, because that's just who he was.

My impression was that Gerard just put two and two together, because he was at the Sheriff's station as well. He was part of the hunters that moved in to take the Kanima down, and he might have seen Matt there and worked it all out for himself.

There's also the extremely unlikely option that Allison told him, because she was at that party, too. Though this one is extremely unlikely, given that I don't remember her seeing Matt and Jackson together after the former was rescued from the pool.

Moving on...

Scott never "sold out" Derek's pack. That's a lie that a part of the fandom likes to tell in order to paint Scott as a villain so they can justify prioritizing other characters over him. Scott could have, at any time, given up the location of Derek's hideout in the abandoned train station/warehouse, but he didn't. If Scott gave Gerard any information about Derek and his pack, it was the bare minimum and probably information that Gerard knew already, such as who Derek's pack members were and that their goal was to stop the Kanima and it's master.

In my opinion, after what happened during Raving and Party-Guessed, Scott was working under the assumption that Derek would look out for his pack more. The whole scenario where Erica and Boyd decided to bounce on Derek because they realized he wasn't entirely forthcoming about what being a werewolf would entail, sits entirely on Derek's impressive shoulders. Not only did he turn them into child soldiers and not even tell them the full story of this hunter-werewolf war, but he didn't try to stop them when they left, especially knowing the hunters were very prominent in the area at the time. Erica and Boyd being captured and tortured by the hunters is entirely on the hunters, with some situational guilt belonging to Derek.

Scott had nothing to do with that.

As for when Scott started his plan with Deaton to make sure that Gerard didn't become a werewolf, my guess would be immediately after Abomination. At the end of that episode, when Gerard reveals his true colors and stabs Scott outside of the hospital, Scott could smell the cancer (something referenced later) and probably told Deaton the first chance he got. That contingency plan had to be in the works for a while because Scott had that medicine case with the mountain ash ready by the time he managed to switch them out.

Should Scott have told Derek of his plan? I say no. Not only had Derek only recently done anything to regain even some of Scott's trust (saving him during Victoria's attack in Raving - though this us up for debate because Scott was unconscious at the time), but the entire plan was a contingency plan, hinging on Gerard not suspecting anything. Derek's fear in that moment was genuine and what allowed Gerard to think he had the upper hand, which is why he went through with it. Had he suspected he was being played, he could have very easily killed everyone there.

It is important to remember that the whole thing was a contingency plan. Scott giving Gerard Mountain ash would only have hurt him the way it did if he had gone through with his plan to become a werewolf. If Gerard had changed his mind, or not forced Derek to bite him, he never would have ended up in the situation he had (oozing black goo in a retirement village). He would have simply continued onward with his cancer.

[champion-of-thedas]

The Negative Arc of Ennio Salieri

After this past chapter of Eating Alone, I’ve thought a lot about Don Salieri and how I’m interpreting and writing him. Just a warning but this is going to be a loooong post. I actually rewrote it because I thought it was too long, and it still is lol.

I’ll start with a quick explanation of the negative arc for those not into lit analysis. Feel free to ignore this paragraph if you’re already familiar. The negative arc tells the story of a character that ends the story in a worse place than where they started. I would argue that many Mafia stories have these (Vito Scaletta being the foremost one that comes to mind). There are three kinds of basic negative character arcs: the Disillusionment arc (I’d argue this one for Vito), the Fall arc, and the Corruption arc. I feel the Salieri goes through the fall arc, which goes as follows: character believes lie, character clings to lie, rejects new truth, believes stronger or worse lie.

Let’s talk about the truth and the lie of this tale. The lie that Salieri believes is that he is better than Morello, which he has three reasons for. Those qualifiers that he sets up for being ‘better than Morello’ are being a competent business man, a father to his men, and a pillar of the community. We, of course, know he is exactly like Morello when the chips come down to it, but this is the lie Ennio convinces himself with (and does so for others as well). There is a slow decline over the chapters where his humanity hinges on two touchstones: Frank Coletti and Marcu Morello. These events are what challenge the lie.

Let’s look at how the lie is established and how he is presented in the first part (referring to the five groups of four chapters between the diner book ends). He wants to help out Tommy by giving him a loan and tell Morello that he can’t hurt the regular people in Little Italy, projecting a certain ideology to Tommy and the rest of the trio gathered. After Tommy and Paulie burn down the parking lot, Salieri talks about how Morello’s anger will burn out his brain (words implying that he’s like a child). Then, Salieri gives his rules for the neighborhood: no swearing (a very parent like guideline), no drugs (pillar of the community), and be careful with the police (trying to show caution instead of aggression; also gives the impression of ‘local, mom and pop’ compared to big shot Morello).  Next chapter he has Paulie and Sam show Tommy the ropes and gives explicit instructions not to be rough with anybody, although he probably was well aware that would happen anyway. Plausible deniability and showing how he “cares” for his community. Because we, the player, have very little evidence to contradict this notion, we are not aware of the lie that Salieri believes, but we do get to see the conviction with which he believes it.

The lie gets fleshed out with fair play. He is still concerned with his lie considering his conundrum with how to treat the other driver (Morello didn’t have the same concern and faced no consequences so either he has friends at the track too or that was never actually a problem), and he mentions how a lot of people in the neighborhood come to him for financial advice. The fact that he does this is meant to illustrate both his competency as a business man and the fact that the community trusts him. We skip ahead at to Better Get Used To It, and he is full of apparently righteous fury at the treatment of Sarah. He talks about how she is a daughter to him (father) and how people won’t protected by them and they’ll lose business, but if you stick around a minute you hear his rant about the hotel and how he feels like certain things are falling apart. Here and when they find out about Ghilotti in the next chapter, Salieri is furious, but it comes from his business sense. He is still concerned about the health of his organization, but it does foreshadow Salieri’s temper and ruthlessness when things don’t go his way. His behavior, especially when it comes to the hotel, indicates that he can be vengeful when the chips are down. Ultimately, this is still reinforcing the lie, but it allows us to see the cracks in it.

Here is when things start to get juicy and where Salieri chooses to cling to the truth. At the very beginning of part three, we get a long conversation with Frank. This is a meaty conversation, especially for the insight it gives into Salieri. Up until now, this kind of behavior has only been hinted at, never confirmed. We start off the next chapter with Frank mentioning that Salieri has been going over the books with him AGAIN. It’s a throwaway but becomes important later as it hints that Frank isn’t the person that botched that chapter’s job. His calm demeanor during the conversation is him still staying calm and business like but reflective. It is the opposite of the way someone would be expected to behave when they find out they’ve been betrayed. His contemplative nature and reflection on the dog, then calling his child self stupid, is him clinging to the truth. He’s saying, “I’m not that person anymore. I’ve grown.” Considering how Salieri (and even Tommy during the conversation with Norman) portray Morello as childish during conversations, establishing his maturity is important to Salieri. Tommy’s conversation with Frank has him talking about he is tired of waiting for Salieri to kill him, telling the player that if Salieri’s most trusted feels this way. The rest of part 3 is largely him continuing businesslike behavior (introducing Tommy to the safe cracker and the whole thing with Paulie and the whiskey deal), which is him trying to return to normal, like the whole thing with Frank never happened.

Then, the third intermezzo happens. So, a huge aspect of negative arcs is the fact that the character will have the opportunity to see the truth on multiple occasions and cling to their lie until the turning point occurs (which is different depending on the type of arc). Intermezzo 3 actually shows hints of it when we hear a very important line from Tommy: “And Salieri, he finally start talkin’ about gettin’ outta Morello’s shadow. Maybe buyin’ our own cops, our own politicians.” Salieri at this point, is continuing to act on the idea that he is better than Morello, but he’s moving himself to the point where he’ll be forced to see the truth. I won’t go further with this too much, but part four is just riddled with Salieri clinging to this idea that he’s better than Morello as time and time again things go wrong or they go right. His opportunities to see the truth come in the form of the violence he or his men inflict (in particular the occasion with Carlo) and the sheer amount of destruction that he orders. Note that the sheer violence of the war is staggering, and it starts because Salieri makes arguably a reckless move by putting a judge on the take without checking (at least checking well) if this person is on Morello’s take. Whether or not this would have happened with Frank, we wouldn’t know, but Salieri’s ambition starts one thing. Salieri might still not see the truth, but, if they couldn’t before, the player can. The biggest piece of foreshadowing in this part is the last line. “See you on the other side Marcu.”

The seeing the truth and rejecting it happens off screen. I’ve talked about what I think the turning point for Salieri and Tommy’s relationship is, and I feel like the rejection of the truth comes when Salieri finds out about Frank. In great contrast to all conceived previous behavior, Salieri has Frank and his entire family killed. During the first conversation with Frank, Salieri only specifies something should happen to Frank (and this is in contrast to the original game where he wanted to provide for the Collettis after Frank’s death). He has a moment where he could show mercy, leave Frank alone or just leave his family alone, and this is a direct hit to his lie, that he is better than Morello. At this point... Who does he have to be better than with Morello gone? He doesn’t have a person to compare himself to that makes him question his anger and he directs his wrath from there. Frank is a traitor, Morello is dead, Tommy is a traitor, Paulie is useless, and Sam is a soldier. He has no equal and no protégé. His lie is no longer that he is better than Morello. His new, worse like is that he is better than everyone, and this time it is not morally. He is in charge. Tommy talks about how Salieri acted like they “owned the whole damn town”, but it was really that he owned it. He didn’t have to bother with putting on airs after this. This is why the three stipulations dissolve. After election campaign, he loses some of the father to his men by deliberately leaving out information about the job and not worrying about the health of “his boys”. He’s bringing dope into the community, not worrying about his position as a pillar of it. The business sense stays only because it is his business that makes him better than other people. Even then, that goes a little bit out of the window when vengeance (because Sam never got information that Tommy and Paulie weren’t planning on cutting them in after the fact, either Sam or Salieri assumed) became more important and he decided to get rid of some of his most successful soldiers. We still see the truth in the end, that Ennio Salieri is exactly like Morello, but he was ultimately blind to it.

[fuzzyporcupine]

lead me with your hands tied | chapter 6

chapters:

FULL - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

rating: explicit

word count: 13,130

summary:

In the midst of a crumbling kingdom at war, Levi Ackerman is commissioned by King Jaeger to paint a portrait of his overzealous son.

chapter 6:

The knock at the door had woken him with a start, loud and forceful as it echoed through the tiny room. The light shining in from the singular window blinded his sight, straining the already sleep-addled eyes. It couldn’t have been soon after dawn, and he had no idea who could possibly need to disturb him this early. Levi grumbled lowly as he sat up in the bed, throwing the furs to the side. Bare feet slid onto the stone floor, pale toes flexing on the ground. Dressed in only a thin white shift to cover his nakedness, Levi stepped to the large door. He unlocked it with quick, deft fingers, sliding the thick iron rod out of the latch.

The hinges squeaked painfully as he tugged the entrance open. Levi expected to be greeted by an annoyed Petra, maybe even the frightened servant girl, though the latter seemed highly unlikely given the fright he had caused her. However, neither was standing beyond the entryway. The only people meeting his gaze were the goddamned Royal Guard.

A cold sweat began to form on the back of his neck as a twitchy thumb tucked into a sweaty palm. The men were decorated with fine golden armor and a green silken cloak that wrapped around their wide shoulders. The uniform was customary of the Royal Guard and signified their importance to the court. His eyes flicked down to the long silver swords and black slender rifles strapped menacingly to the soldiers’ sides and backs. Swallowing hard, Levi lifted his gaze back to brave the stone-faced men. He didn’t know what could have possibly warranted the Royal Guard to arrive at his doorstep. Perhaps Eren did tell his father of Levi’s disrespect inside the studio. Perhaps this was a reckoning.

The thought had Levi’s throat tightening.

Regardless, Levi refused to be afraid. Fear was a terrible emotion. One that never seemed to do anything but scramble the brain and cause unneeded anxiety. He’d boarded that feeling up long ago and would be damned if he let it boil back up again.

One of the guards shuffled. “His Majesty requests your presence.” That sounded ominous.

He steeled himself, a pointed chin turned upwards, almost mocking. “May I be dressed or does His Majesty wish to see me prance about in my bedclothes?” If they were going to make an example of him, he’d rather it not be with his cock out.

The man’s gaze narrowed then drifted down to Levi’s bare legs. “Make haste. His Majesty does not like to wait.”

Levi grunted, quietly closing the door behind him as the guards moved to stand against the wall.

Well, wasn’t this just a right old mess?

A thought of jumping out the window and making a run for it briefly fluttered through his mind before he disregarded the idea entirely. He had no notion if the king intended something sinister or just wanted to chat. Levi decided it was not worth snapping his ankles over.

Pulling the shift over his head, Levi made quick work of getting dressed. If the king was truly impatient as the Royal Guard stated, then it was in his best interest to not dawdle.

The men were still standing outside when he exited the room. However, now he appeared to them much more decent - a linen shirt tucked nicely beneath the waist of his darkened breeches.

Without so much as a verbal cue, the Royal Guard began to march towards where Levi assumed the king was residing. He found it a good sign that the men were not dragging him along by the backs of his arms. At least they weren’t yet, anyway.

The grounds were ghostly as he was led through. Empty except for a few soldiers and a murder of crows squawking a venomous tune atop the ramparts. Leather boots sunk deep into the mud, the morning dew softening up the already well-trodden soil. It was impossible to tell which direction the guards were taking him based on the prints left in the dirt. There were so many of them, abandoned from weary horses being led to the stables and drunken soldiers stumbling in late from the tavern. Reminded him of a certain soaked fool whispering vulgar obscenities into his ear.

“I would teach you. If you begged.”

Just the memory of the words had Levi’s jaw clenching. He’d never begged for anything in his life. Not when there had been a knife pressed flush against his throat. Not when a stingy noble threatened to dock his pay. Not even when he watched the colors of Shiganshina toss flames onto everything he loved. Shit would sooner rain from the sky before Levi Ackerman begged of anything from that bastard.

“Through the door and up the stairs.” They’d stopped in front of one of the vast spherical towers attached to the curtain wall. Like a dark cloud on a stormy day, the structure cast a leaden shadow over Levi and the surrounding mud. He was close enough to the stone that if he looked up only brick and mortar would catch his gaze. Attached to the tower was a wooden door. Though not near as strong as the immense iron gate separating the village from the castle grounds, the entrance felt just as menacing. With a jaw still tightened, Levi strode forward and threw open the flimsy door with a hard tug.

The spiral staircase greeted him immediately, grey stone steps coated with a layer of dust and debris. Soft footsteps echoed as he advanced upward, almost loud enough to drown out the obnoxious beating in his chest. By the time he reached the top of the tower, his thighs were burning fiercely and an unattractive sweat had formed above his brow. The men below did not tell Levi where he should head once reaching the top, but it was not hard to decipher. A trio of Royal Guard stood behind the king as the slouching man observed the dwindling village from atop the wall. Levi approached carefully, still unsure if the encounter would end with him thrown from the battlements.

“I see the men have escorted you well.” The king continued to stare off into the distance as he spoke, voice mimicking the tiredness that dragged on the man’s expression. In the morning light, Levi saw the streaks of grey reflecting brightly against the dull brown on top of the king’s head. The war had aged the man, as most wars tended to do.

“They have, Your Majesty,” Levi confirmed.

The king hummed, thin hands gripping tightly around the stone. “I understand my son has proven to be quite difficult to work with.” Levi remained stone-faced and silent. He had no inkling of how to respond to such a loaded question. Should he remain quiet or let the king know how much of a complete idiot the prince was? Either choice seemed likely to offend. “Shall I find someone else more competent?” So, this was why the king sent for him. Not to toss him off the side of the wall or to swing a sword through his neck. But to humiliate him.

Rage rose in him like a tide receding from the shore, thumbnail digging an angry crescent into his palm. Levi’s skill had proven him to be more than competent as an artist. His portfolio saw proof of that. What he wasn’t, however, was a goddamned babysitter, especially to an overgrown child such as the prince.

“No,” he bit out dangerously. The king turned to face him then. “I’m the best damned painter in this entire bloody kingdom. By three months’ end, you’ll be able to see that for yourself.”

Are you fucking delirious?  

That timeframe was impossible. Even with the best of clients, Levi typically wouldn’t have the piece delivered in under six months. And to cut that time in half? He had to be absolutely insane. That had to be it. Or maybe he just longed for death and wanted to feel the cool slice of a blade against his skin. Which might actually happen sooner rather than later. In his anger, Levi had taken several steps closer, prompting the Royal Guard to grab hold of the weapon hilts. The sight doused his anger like water over a fire. “Your Majesty,” he added quietly in the hopes that the soldiers would release their swords with the two words.

The king looked him up and down, an unimpressed stare settled within the wrinkles on the worn face. A hand was lifted and the sound of sheathed steel cut sharply through the air.

“By three months’ end,” the king said firmly. Goddammit, Ackerman. Levi nodded once, fist unclenching by his side. “You may leave.” He bowed his head, turning quickly on a booted heel. Before Levi could reach the archway, the king regarded him again. “And painter?” Levi cast a wary glance over his shoulder to find the man gazing back out again over the village. “Disrespect me again and I’ll have you flayed and dragged through the streets.”

Levi let out a nervous breath.

Of that, he had no doubt.

_______________________

Levi had not been waiting in the studio long before Petra arrived. She brought with her a remorseful expression and news that the young prince was suffering an unfortunate bout of nausea and would not be attending the session.

Like hell he wouldn’t, Levi thought as his feet marched him closer to Petra.

“Take me to his room,” he insisted, voice unyielding as the stone walls surrounding him.

“But, sir, the prince is-”

“Sleeping?” Levi interrupted. “It’s nearly midday, Ms. Ral.”

“Yes, I understand, but-”

“If the prince is well and truly ill I shall send for a doctor. Now, please.” He looked at her expectantly, watching the way a plump bottom lip wiggled in between her teeth. The woman could easily refuse him. He had not been hired to snoop into the prince’s room. Levi was there to paint, and Petra surely realized this. However, he had only a limited amount of time to complete what was seemingly an impossible portrait. One that he was certain would get him killed if it was not finished on time. He couldn’t allow Eren’s wankered morning after to place any undue setbacks on the schedule.

A tight sigh broke across her lips as she murmured, “Right this way, sir.” Levi’s shoulders relaxed as he followed the woman down the winding staircase. Her pace was brisk, hardly allowing him the opportunity to analyze the route they were taking. She said nothing as they ascended the great set of stairs in the foyer. Just continued marching until they had finally made it to a fine wooden door. “The prince is inside.”

His eyes fell to the small iron handle of the entrance and then to the golden keyhole. “Is it locked?”

Petra shook her head. “No, sir. His young Majesty only locks the door when…” She trailed off, cheeks flaring pink. Ah, Levi understood.

“Of course,” he muttered. Levi silently wondered why Eren would even bother with locks considering the scene he witnessed the night prior. “Thank you for the escort.” He raised a fist to the door, giving it two sharp knocks before closing his hand around the handle. Hopefully, the warning would be able to warn the prince of his arrival. If not, well, Levi wouldn’t necessarily be surprised.

“I shall let the guards know to ignore any screaming.”

Levi thanked her with a slight upturn of the lips as he pulled the door open and entered the bedroom.

The chambers were coated in a shadowy grey, the light from the window being held back by a thick curtain. A small table stood off to the side, a basket of uneaten fruit and a bronze pitcher sitting on top of the surface. A writing desk with a battered leg took up residence against the same wall. Miscellaneous papers were scattered everywhere atop the desk, leaving nary space vacant. Across the room, a large bed, about twice the size of his own, was fixed upon a risen platform of solid stone. Green silk cascaded around the poles holding up the canopy. Bundled in the middle amidst a pile of blankets and furs nestled the prince, a mess of brown hair sticking out from the depths of the sheets.

“Gods be kind, Petra. I said leave me be.” The voice didn’t hold quite the bite that he’s sure Eren was hoping, overly raspy from the man’s rambunctious night. Levi stepped closer to the talking lump, boots echoing off the stone floor as he went. He took in the figure moving slightly beneath the sheets, the gentle breathing causing the blankets to rise and fall in a steady motion. With swift hands, Levi gripped the coverings and ripped them from the bed, exposing the body beneath.

“Are you completely mad, you daft wench?!” Eren screamed, hands reaching out to recover the lost warmth. They paused, though, when the prince noticed who exactly had pulled the silken linens from the bed. “What are you doing here?” Eren asked, wincing as he pushed himself up into a sitting position against the plush pillows. “Come to ravage me in my bed chambers?”

“Get up,” he stated plainly, not in the mood for the prince’s teasing.

“Oh, I am up, artist.” Levi resisted the urge to strangle the bastard, biting the inside of his cheek as he marched over to the curtained window. The fabric was pulled back, and Eren threw up a quick hand against the light. “Gods, you’re fucking cruel.”

“Get up,” Levi reiterated, voice almost a growl as it snuck between clenched teeth. He felt like punching something, preferably the prince’s stupid, smug face.

“My, you are feisty today.” Eren grinned up wolfishly at Levi. “Did my father order you to speak so openly to me?”

“Your father ordered me to paint your portrait, Your Highness.” In only three months, he reminded himself. Though that fault fell on Levi’s own shoulders.

Eren yawned loudly, arms stretching high up into the air. The movement caused the man’s nightclothes to shift up, exposing thick, tan thighs. Levi tore his eyes away, a red heat tickling his neck. He silently cursed his embarrassment. Levi had seen a man naked before. Many men in fact. The communal baths were not exactly the place one would go expecting modesty. So, to have such a reaction to this complete pig of a man was humiliating. “I told you,” the prince said in between yawns, “that I would be bedridden today.”

Levi scoffed, mortification long forgotten as he stomped over to the edge of the bed. “I have promised your father a complete portrait in three fucking months. I do not intend to disappoint him.” His tone was dangerously deadly, causing Eren to nervously drop outstretched arms in a covered lap. “I expect you in the studio within the hour, Your Highness.” He turned away, leaving the prince momentarily speechless. Upon reaching the doorway, Levi paused, looking back over his shoulder to find Eren staring back in his direction with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“You’re the Prince of Shiganshina. Act like it.”

[nev3rfound]

the swan : chp.1 - the past (b.b)

nurse, friend, lover, assassin. these are the titles you were known under in his head, something he never wished to share until rumours spread of the swan being out of retirement. 

overview / chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four / chapter five / chapter six / chapter seven / chapter eight / chapter nine / chapter ten / chapter eleven / chapter twelve (final chapter)

You followed the two guards down the long corridor as cries echoed through the doors. It was hard not to ignore the screams and the sight of hands pleading against the metal bars, wishing for the pain to be brought to an end. All you could do was keep your eyes set dead ahead, awaiting your first role within the company. 

It wasn’t the job you intended to become a career. Growing up you helped your Father in the great war as a child, you were a natural healer, someone to be relied on in a time of a crisis. Some say this entire place is a crisis, hence why you were instructed to be brought with no choice. 

They came to your house, bursting through the door as your Mother fell limply to the ground. You saw a flash of fear in your Fathers eyes as he told you to run before a knife impaled him. And that was when they walked towards you with a sharp needle, causing everything to disappear until you awoke in an empty room and listened to the instructions. 

“We need you to look after our soldat, Ms Y/L/N.” A voice boomed into the room as you sat with your legs close to your chest, the images slowly replaying like a nightmare, one that unfortunately wasn’t a figure of imagination. 

The instructions were strict, ones you had to abide if you ever wished to see your family again. Hearing the word again gave you hope that possibly they might still be alive, they’re somewhere unknown, much like your current location. 

“This is your new home, you will look after our Soldat, keep him alive.” The voice repeated this fact, whoever the soldat was, he had to make it out of your door in better shape than when he is brought in. 

The guards in front of you come to a halt, moving either side of the large door whilst you hesitated. You lift your hand to your necklace, fiddling with the pendant belonging to your mother, a gift given days before you were taken. 

“Vash ofis.” One guard speaks up, and you simply nod as you lift your shaky hand as you push the door open, hearing the hinges creak loudly like the screams that line the walls. 

Before you is a large desk, filled with equipment you could not begin to comprehend. There is a small bed in the corner of the room, a bathroom to the side of that. But your eyes fall to the large metal slab that has been recently wiped down. 

As you walk in slowly you look around, seeing a guard quickly step in as your eyes spot the blood stain on the tiles. He moves to stand over it, his cold gaze meeting yours before you turn away, knowing best not to ask questions if you wanted to stand a chance. 

Wiping your hands on your dress you let out a shaky breath. “Is this my room?” You nervously ask, turning to face the guards as you pull on your sleeves, covering your hands. 

The guards share a look and you let out a silent sigh, Russian would be something you’d have to master eventually. “Eto miss tvoya komnata.” 

This is your room, Miss.

Nodding you walk around, your delicate fingertips lining the trays of equipment laid out neatly for your use only. You knew a few details from the voice in that room, they told you as little as they could in order to prepare you for the worst. What the worse may be feels irrelevant having experienced these past few hours, or days. The current time and date remain unknown to you as you’re hidden away with no sign of a clock or calendar. 

As you turn the two guards walk out of the room, slamming the door behind them. Instead of running towards the large door, banging incessantly you move towards the small bed and curl up into it. “Maybe it’s all a dream.” You mutter under your breath as you shiver, closing your eyes in hope when they open you’ll be back home in the comfort of hearing your family laughing downstairs. But the painful reality is this, the place you’re now a Nurse, someone who has to look after a broken solider, one you have yet to meet.

*

It had been several days since you arrived, but you still hadn’t met him. 

Every day, twice a day someone appears with a tray of food and pills. No one explained what they were, but waited until you swallowed them before leaving. You were simply instructed to wake up, eat and then sleep. Not once did a single person mention their solider and when he would be due in, it was almost a taboo subject for them. 

And then it happened. 

You were sat behind your desk, fiddling with one of the scalpels when the door burst open. Immediately you rose to your feet in a blind panic, reaching for the knife you kept in your back pocket, but then multiple figures appeared in the room. 

“Privesit yego v.” Bring him in. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat you listened to the sounds of chains being dragged across the floor. Two guards held the lifeless figure, forcing him into the room as his feet barely left the floor. 

His head remained hidden as it was slumped forward, dark brown hair covering his face from my view as I kept my eyes trained on my equipment, wondering what I would have to do first. 

“Miss Y/L/N. He is here.” The one soldier who spoke fluent English speaks up as they place the man on the cold table, his body slamming but he doesn’t moan in pain, he remains silent. 

“Thank you.” You mutter as you slowly move from behind the desk, standing in front of the trays that he’ll quickly notice. 

One by one the guards exit the room until you’re stood alone with the man sitting before you. Unsure what to do you wait for him to reveal himself, but he remains perfectly still. “Can you tell me where it hurts, Sir?” Your voice is weak, frightened of the figure you’ve been instructed to keep alive. This man is the reason you’re here, the only means of your survival for the future. 

The man slowly lifts his head as your heart rises to your throat, suffocating you as his hair parts, revealing dark blue eyes lifelessly staring back at you. 

His lips part against the thick stubble lining his jaw, but he merely tilts his head at the sight of you. “Everywhere.” His Russian accent is thick, and he slowly hides himself away, the chains rattling along the metal slab. 

Sighing you push yourself off of the desk, standing slightly closer. “I’m going to need a bit more information than that, Sir. Such as where the source of your pain is.” 

The soldier tilts his head up before turning to his arm, pulling his sleeve down to reveal something completely alien to you. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat you compose yourself for the strangers' sake, unsure how he expects you to react to the sight before you. 

His entire arm is metal, sharp pieces sticking out as opposed to gliding smoothly where skin should be. Where the metal joined the skin it looks infected, it was recent by the looks of it. The skin is inflamed, red raw as it is flaked with dry blood buried beneath the metal. You could see exactly where it was joined, the awful operations that must’ve taken place to create such a thing. 

Nodding you turn around, telling yourself step by step what ought to be the best means of this and how to help ease his pain. “This may sting.” Your voice softens as he remains emotionless, no voice behind the large figure. 

As you placed the cotton pad on the joint he didn’t even flinch. It was the sort of thing soldiers you had dealt with screamed at, cried out in agony. But not him, he was numb to all of it. 

Removing the pad you smiled to yourself, already seeing the wound clearly without the dried blood and severe inflammation distracting you. 

“How would you like to be addressed, Sir? I’ve only heard you discussed as a Soldier, but every soldier I’ve met has at least a name.” You somehow find confidence in your voice as you work on the silent man, easing the discomfort with every movement he’ll take with his arm. 

Glancing up you watch as his eyes remain on you, void of emotion he just stares like a robot. “I’m the Soldat, Miss.” He mutters under his breath and you force a heavy sigh. 

“That’s it?” You question, but he turns away refusing to give you anything else.

You continue to work in silence, knowing an attempt at conversation is pointless. The man before you is a complete stranger, a machine to these people that they need alive. Whatever or whoever he may be, he is important. 

Pulling on the last bit of thread you cut the ties off before turning around and hearing the door open. Three men stand before you, all with guns to their chests. 

Holding back the uneasy breath you clear your throat. “I think that should help with the pain he’s experiencing in his shoulder. But he should rest, he needs it.” You inform the guards, not knowing if they understand a single word you’re saying. 

Instead, two guards pick the Solider up before slumping him out of the room without another word whilst the third guard nods before slamming your door shut. You stand still, hands gripping your desk harder than you realised as you finally breathe for the first time since the man entered your office.  

*

Every other day he is brought in by the same three guards. He sits in silence as you find a new injury to heal, ease the pulsing of blood that soaks his clothing. 

Humming to yourself as you stand behind him, wiping the gash on his shoulder blade you watch as he tenses. “That song.” He mutters, his accent somehow thicker, but for a split second, you almost sense emotion burning through. 

“It’s a lullaby my Mother once sang to me.” You inform him, singing it ever so lightly and he relaxes under your touch. 

What you can’t see is the confusion on the Soldiers face, why such a thing would convey anything from him. But there was something familiar about that song, the soft tones in your voice as your lips remained closed. He eased into it, closing his eyes willingly, every fear vanishing for a split second. 

But it was short lived.

The door swung open and rather than beeline for their Soldier, you were their victim. You were thrown against your desk, yelling harshly as the Soldier watched. The men began yelling in Russian, not understanding a single word you just covered your head, cowering until you felt a strong kick in your side. 

You only opened your eyes at the sound of the door locking, and you were alone once again, singing to yourself like your Mother would after a nightmare. But she’s not here to ease you out of this one, you’d have to survive alone. 

*

After that, you reframed from talking to him. You worked in silence, ignoring the questions burning you inside as they itched in your mouth, desperate to crawl out of your lips. 

“You’re English?” Snapping out of your deep thoughts he speaks up. 

Hesitantly you lift your head up, facing the cold eyes as you simply nod in response. He notices as you wince at the sudden movement, one that clearly caught you off guard. “Sorry.” You mumble as you place your hand on your ribs ever so lightly, the slightest of pressure increasing the pain.  

“They hurt you, didn’t they?” You wish you had the willpower to laugh, but you keep your lips sealed, nodding instead. “Are you a mute?” 

You stare at him dead in the eyes, “No.” Stating the fact you wait for him to speak up, but instead he allows you to continue working in the comfortable silence. 

Silence was safer. You’d learnt your role is to simply heal him physically, the scars within go much deeper than those on the surface.

“Bucky.” He whispers, barely making it audible. “My, my name.” You lean closer into him as he mutters it once again, careful of the ears in the walls. 

He can almost see the smile ghosting your lips as you rub them together, his heart pangs lightly before it freezes over too quickly. “Well,” You clear your throat as you turn around, placing your equipment back on the tray knowing you’ll soon be interrupted. “it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.” 

taglist (thank you for the endless support on this series)

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[the--sad--hatter]

Name Calling (8)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST. Non graphic hint at past child abuse in this chapter. 

DESCRIPTION -  In which the ongoing and bloody war of words between you and Bucky turns in your favor when a disgruntled one night stand of his lets slip a secret when you run into her in the elevator… Now you have all the ammunition you need to destroy your enemy but you don’t plan on killing him quickly. Oh no, Bucky Barnes was going to suffer and you were going to enjoy every second. You just didn’t count on how much you would enjoy it.

Chapter Eight - Introduction To Fatherhood

EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO

It was an indisputable fact that Tony Stark did not play by the rules. He wasn’t part of this mission with the X-Men really, he was here a favour. It was supposed to be a simple in and out, disable the security and let the mutants infiltrate the facility and get on with their rescue mission. Curiosity got the better of him though. He’d easily taken down the tech that was protecting the facility but while in the computer system his attention had been caught by something. An interestingly high amount of the power was being diverted to one particular room and he wanted to know why.

The X-Men were inadvertently providing a good distraction with their attack and Tony made it to the mysterious room with relative ease, only encountering two small groups of soldiers that had been taken down quickly. Tony pushed the door open and stepped though, gauntlets poised and at the ready. What he saw was not what he expected.

There was a metal 6×4 cage in the centre of the room, inside it a rubber mattress and a figure curled up on it. Tony approached apprehensively.

“Boss, scans show 15,000 volts of electricity running through those bars at a current of 0.2 amp. I highly recommend you don’t touch them.” Friday warned.

Tony whistled lowly, impressed.

“Whoever you are, they’re going to a lot of effort to keep you in that cage.” Tony addressed the figure.

It stirred, raising it’s head to look at him and Tony’s heart skipped a beat. It was a girl, barely a woman. Her face was gaunt and sunken, her expression was cold and empty. But her eyes, they were burning.

“You think because I won’t fight your prisoners I’ll fight a robot?” She asked and pulled herself to her feet, and he could tell that it took a lot of effort.

“I will never give you what you want.” She vowed.

Despite her obvious trouble standing up she stood tall. She’d called him a robot and he realised she didn’t know who he was, which made him wonder just how long she had been here.

“Friday we still in the system.” He asked

“Yes Boss.”

“Shut the cell down.”

“Done”

Tony fired his repulsor at the cell door lock and yanked the door off the hinges. The girl was shaking but didn’t back away as Tony approached her, in fact she raised her chin defiantly. Her eyes widened and she gasped as the Iron Man suit folded away.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He promised.

Now that he was closer he could see the bruised layered over fading bruises covering her skin.

“How long have you been here?” He asked her.

Her head cocked to the side and she looked him over curiously.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“You should know who I am, everybody in the world knows who I am. And for once that’s not my ego talking, I just really am that famous.”

She looked at him, her brow furrowed.

“Alright lets start again. Tony Stark, Iron Man. And you are?”

“Is this a trick?”

“No, it’s a rescue mission.”

She laughed, it wasn’t a happy laugh, there was no joy in it. It was a bitter, painful laugh.

“So it is a trick. There is no escape from this place, no rescue. There is no saving me, I know that. I learned that lesson a long time ago.”

“It’s time to get re-educated sweetcheeks, we are shutting this place down. Every mutant being held here is currently being led out by a team of literal superheroes. The people who did this to you are going to pay, and they’re paying today.”

Her shoulders dropped and he saw her visibly deflate, the fire that had been in her eyes dimming.

“Stop it. I won’t fall for this, you’re wasting your time.”

She dismissed him and resumed her previous position, curled up on the mattress.

“Jesus Christ. What have they done to you?”

She ignored him. Tony crouched down next to her.

“Listen to me kid, I know I’m asking a lot. I’m asking you to have hope and that can’t be easy. Maybe this is a trick, maybe I am lying. But if there’s even the slightest chance I’m telling the truth, that I am going to take you out of here, don’t you HAVE to take that chance?”

He could see the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. He held out his hand to her.

“I will get you out of here, I will keep you safe. I promise. All you have to do is take my hand and I’ll do the rest.”

She stared at his outstretched hand and he saw her internal struggle. For a long moment she did nothing and he started to worry. He didn’t want to pick her up and drag her out, he doubted that would endear him to her but he would do whatever it took to get her out of this wretched place. Then slowly, hesitantly she reached out and tentatively placed her hand in his.

“Atta girl. What’s your name?”

“I don’t have one, they never gave me one.”

“What was your name before?” He prodded.

“Before?”

“Before you were here.”

She frowned and he felt a cold sense of dread in his gut. He knew what she was about to say but still prayed he was wrong.

“There is no before. I was born here.”

If all the people who’d ever said that Tony Stark didn’t have a heart had seen him right then, they’d have known just how wrong they were because that was the moment Tony’s heart broke.

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

The first few days were the hardest and Tony was out of his depth. When he’d taken her out of that place and refused to hand her over to Xaviers people he’d had the best of intentions. He’d arrogantly thought he could look after you better than a school filled with teachers with experience at this sort of thing.

It had been three days and you hadn’t slept, every time he left the room you followed after him like a faithful little shadow. If he gave you food you would eat it but you wouldn’t tell him if you were hungry. If he moved too quickly you would flinch. He had Pepper researching therapists, she’d found a woman who specialised in children who’d been raised by religious cults but he knew it was too soon to suggest it to you. He hadn’t let Pepper or anyone near this floor of the tower.

Then there was the fact that you were enhanced. Your bruises had healed up before they’d even made it back to the tower. He’d read over the files he’d extracted from the facility, though a large chunk of them were missing or corrupted.

You were for all intents and purposes a Super Soldier. Not quite as strong as Steve, though quicker. Tony thought that was probably because you were physically smaller but there was no way of knowing for sure without further testing and scientific curiosity be damned, he would die before ever testing you that way. It wasn’t the super soldier serum that had made you Vernichtung though. He had faced the tablet screen away from you and watched the footage of that on silent. What he had seen still haunted him.

What didn’t haunt him was the dozens of videos of you refusing to do that bastard doctors bidding. From childhood to now, Tony watched you grow up on the small glass screen. In the worst conditions, through unimaginable pain and loneliness you stood there year after year and said no you would not kill, you would not destroy. No matter what they did, you held your ground. Docherty had tried to create a monster and ended up with someone so very human.

“You need a name. People have names and you’re a person.” He told you.

And so he read out names from a list on a baby naming website until he saw your head lift up just a fraction and your eyes lit up. Now you had a name. It was a turning point for the two of you. Having a name made you feel safer, like maybe this was real, maybe you were actually free.

It didn’t happen overnight and some days were harder than others. You met Pepper and while it had been nerve wracking for Tony she had taken to you straight away. Some days you wouldn’t leave Tony’s side but some days you would run through the tower excitedly to ask how to use a microwave. Some nights you would scream in your sleep and Tony would hold you as you sobbed. The therapist you had agreed to see said that was a good sign, it meant you felt safe enough to process your trauma. It didn’t stop it hurting when you cried into his chest. You put in a herculean effort to catching up on a lifetimes worth of movies and TV shows as soon as you worked out how to work a TV.

One day there had been a very minor explosion in the lab while he was in there with you and Pepper and you had pushed Pepper behind you and assumed a protective stance without hesitating. Whenever he fell asleep in the lab he woke up with a pillow under his head and a blanket over his shoulders. You had insisted on learning to cook and were constantly shoving plates of food at him. They got more edible over time thankfully.

The hardest day for Tony was the first day you left the tower, but you had been fine. Terrified yes, you hadn’t let go of his hand the entire time but you did it.

The best day had been when you had casually and jokingly called him dad when he was fussing over you. He had froze as he realized that what he was, a dad.

That was the day he had decided to give you the Stark name.

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

MODERN DAY

Tony glanced over to you in the passenger seat as he drove you to the compound. After you had rushed out of the lab you had come back and hour later and apologised. He told you your apology was accepted and to get your ass in the car. You hadn’t argued. In fact you hadn’t said a word since. He sighed. Perhaps he had been harsh. You had been right when you said he was mollycoddling you. He had been so concerned with keeping his promises to keep you safe he had given you a false sense of security.

As furious as he was with the journalists who had swamped you he was also glad they had stopped you from leaving the tower. He just wish he knew what to say to right now. He needed to know you were ok.

His internal struggle was rudely interrupted by Cap calling. Tony answered and put him on loud speaker.

“We just got a call from Fury. His people just identified a Hydra operation in South Mexico. Fully operational facility, over 200 agents on site, enhanced allies suspected.” Steve said without preamble.

“We’ve know they were operating out of somewhere in South Mexico for a while, glad we finally have a location.”

“The informant escaped Tony. Hydra know we know.”

“So we either go in without any recon, knowing they’re ready for us or let them scatter.” Tony summarised.

“Those are the only two options, yeah.” Steve agreed.

“Well then oh fearless leader. What’s our play?” Tony asked.

“We hit them and hit them hard, we need everyone on this.”

“Everyone?” You asked.

“Yes. We need you on this.” Steve confirmed.

You didn’t have to look to know Tony wasn’t happy. You had only been on a handful of missions so far, usually you hung back unless you were needed. It had only happened three times so far, on two of those occasions you had been able to handle the situation as yourself. Only once had Vernichtung had to do the job. From the sounds of this mission… Well you were fairly certain Steve wasn’t asking you to be yourself.

“You have me, all of me.” You said.

“Hey now, slow down. You’ve only been on one date.” Tony joked, but it was weak and lacked his usual sass.

“We’re en route, we don’t have time to stop. You have to come to us.” Steve told you both.

“Aye Aye Captain.” Tony said.

He swerved off the road and pulled up, cutting the engine. He watched as you squared your shoulders and mentally prepared yourself. You turned to him with a determined look.

“Come on dad, time to suit up.” You said and got out of the car.

Yeah, you were going to be fine.

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

@dugan365 @fluffeh-kitty@memanda17@krystallynx@theonelittleone@piscesbarnes@free-as-fishes@tarastudiesalot@captainamericasbeard@buckybearbabe98@nerdandproud-86  @clarkesardothien @harrison-shot-first @chook007@thejourneyneverendsx @thelostallycat @inquisitor-selvala

@the-corruptor @iover

[semperintrepida]

A Day Like No Other

On an autumn morning in Athens, Kassandra sat at the edge of the Adrestia’s deck and fought with her restlessness. She wished to be elsewhere, in Argolis, but she was stuck here in port until the ship was finished being outfitted. She’d go nowhere until their stores of food and water were restocked, or until the worn-out lines in the rigging were replaced with new. Barnabas had said it would take most of the day.

Ikaros chirped at her from his perch on the rail. “I know, I want to be moving too,” she said. Whenever she stilled, she thought of all the things she didn’t want to. Deimos saying Athens would be his next target. The dark eyes of the Cult roaming over land and sea, searching for her mother.

Ikaros chirped again, then Phoibe’s voice called out to her from the dock below. “Kassandra!”

Her heart lifted as Phoibe scampered up the gangplank. “Hey you. How’d you get all the way out here?” she asked, patting the deck beside her. The port was a long way from the city. Phoibe flopped down, all knees and elbows and gangly limbs, and Kassandra realized with a start how much she’d grown in nearly a year.

“I sneaked a ride.”

“Of course you did.”

Phoibe thumped her heels against the hull. “Everyone’s still talking about you after the symposium.”

“They are?”

“Yeah. Most of them think you’re going to the Olympics as Aspasia’s secret champion.”

Kassandra snorted.

“And I overheard Alkibiades say something about your magical two-hand technique—”

She cut Phoibe off. “And, there’s my new rigging,” she said, pointing down to the dock, where two of the crew were carrying heavy coils of rope, stoop-shouldered under the weight. She didn’t need Phoibe seeing her ears burning.

They sat in the sunshine, watching the crew at work, until Phoibe asked, “Are you bored?”

“Why?”

“You always look like that when you’re bored.”

Kassandra didn’t know what like that looked like. “You’re not going to be in trouble for being here, are you?”

“Aspasia said I could have a free day. And then she told me your ship was in the Port of Piraeus.”

This Aspasia seemed to know everything that went on in Athens. It took many eyes and ears to know that much in a city this big. “That was… kind of her.”

“She’s really nice.”

She better be.

They sat in silence for a while longer before Phoibe spoke up again. “I have drachmae,” she said.

“Me too.”

“We have money now.”

“We do.” Kassandra wondered what Phoibe was angling for.

“Want to see the city? I mean, I can show you around.”

Kassandra smiled. “I would love to.” She understood then what Phoibe had been hinting at: they could wander Athens like people with means, taking in the sights, buying fruits and sweets, enjoying themselves in leisure.

Phoibe bounced with excitement all the way down to the dock. Kassandra followed behind, smoothing her grey chiton beneath her old shoulder harness and adjusting her spear in its sheath on her back. No need for armor when she wasn’t on the job.

“Let’s take Phobos,” she called out to Phoibe before the girl ran off too far ahead.

Phobos was picketed outside the stables next to the docks. Kassandra snagged an apple from the stableboy and flipped him a coin, then sliced the apple into quarters with her spear. Leonidas would have to forgive her such a mundane use of his blade.

Phoibe was already perched on the fence next to Phobos, happily chatting away.

“Here,” Kassandra said, handing Phoibe the apple before she began untying his lead. He chuffed at her chest, then turned his head to accept the apple slices Phoibe offered. Once Kassandra had him untied, she helped Phoibe climb on his broad back before she swung herself up behind.

Their path skirted the Temple of Asklepios and the market, and then they passed through the fortified gate at the entrance to the Long Walls, which stretched from the port all the way to Athens. The thick, stone walls protected the road and kept the Spartans from cutting Athens off from its port.

Phoibe settled back for the ride against Kassandra’s chest, and then, unbidden and unwelcome, a vision of what could have been ghosted through Kassandra’s mind. She and Alexios, riding together on a horse between fields of wheat that stretched out like a golden blanket in every direction. She blinked hard and dispelled the image from her thoughts. She had stopped daydreaming about such things long ago, but here one was, like a weed that had escaped pulling.

“Are there really Spartans outside the walls?” Phoibe asked.

“Yes, entire camps of them.” Kassandra had seen them, had slipped through their lines on her way to the city. They hoped to starve Athens into submission, and they’d already taken the fields outside the walls for their own. Only the mighty Athenian navy kept the city fed and supplied.

“It doesn’t feel like we’re in a war.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.” With all of Greece taking up arms there were precious few places of safety remaining. Even with an army camped outside, there were worse places Phoibe could be.

Soon they passed the gate at the other end of the Long Walls and entered the city proper. They left Phobos at a stable on the edge of the warehouse district, and after that, Phoibe led the way, skipping around Kassandra as she pointed out the sights: Here’s where I punched some kid in the mouth and That villa’s where I borrowed enough food to feast for a week and There’s the jail — but I’ve never been inside it. Phoibe already knew every path and alleyway around the agora, and for good reason — it was the city’s heart, a sea of market stalls where anything could be bought or sold or stolen.

As Phoibe spun a story about a smuggling scheme she’d stumbled upon while working for Aspasia, they entered the outer edges of the market, and Kassandra watched her instinctively retie her coin pouch tighter on her belt without pausing her tale. Kassandra’s own awareness prickled higher with the growing crowds, and she rested a hand on Phoibe’s shoulder as they walked. The air warmed with the heat of bodies, smelling of sweat, and perfumed oils, and spices.

Up ahead, a merchant hawked cups of wine. “In summer they mix it with snow,” Phoibe said. Snow from the high mountains of wild Thrakia, brought by fast horses and faster ships to cool a drink on a hot day. Such were the wonders that could be found in Athens.

Kassandra stopped and bought skewers of roasted meat and a nutcake for them to share, and they took their bounty to a fountain bubbling nearby. Its waters were cold and clear, and servants from nearby villas filled jug after jug from it. Kassandra couldn’t tell if the fountain was situated on a spring, or if it was fed from the pipes that brought clean water to the people in another of the city’s wonders.

Bellies full, they basked in the sunshine and watched people go about their business, making a game of coming up with backstories for strangers.

“Now, that guy’s a merchant,” Phoibe said, pointing a man out of the crowd.

“Oh?”

“See how he’s all hunched over, with his hand on his purse? He keeps looking around like he’s up to something shady.”

“By his clothes, he’s bad at it.” His purple shawl was faded, and his jewelry was copper instead of silver or gold.

“I bet he got swindled and he’s running a scheme to get his drachmae back.” Phoibe pointed out another man. “What about him?”

A glance was all Kassandra needed. “He’s a wrestler. His ears give him away.” As did his stocky build, and the unblemished skin on his arms and hands. A fighter, but for sport instead of stakes far higher.

“They’re messed up!”

“It happens if they get hit hard enough,” Kassandra said. She watched the man disappear into the crowd, knowing Phoibe’s eyes were upon her.

“Your ears are fine.”

“I don’t wrestle all the time. And I try not to get punched.”

“Except in the nose.”

It felt like forever ago that she’d tangled with that pair of thugs sent by the Cyclops. One delivered her a message with the end of his fist. “That guy got lucky. And anyway, I was distracted.” By studying her spear, dreaming of a life away from Kephallonia. She’d gotten her wish in the end, but the Fates had spun her a thread far more complicated than she expected.

A young woman strolled by carrying a lyre, and she set up shop next to the road. She plucked a few notes on her instrument, and for a moment, Kassandra thought she might play the Song of Leonidas, a strange choice for an Athenian market square with the city under siege by Spartan troops.

Instead, she began to play the melody to an old drinking song, light and playful within the upper reaches of the lyre’s register. Then, she sang:

Dionysos, bring me your gifts. Send my worries to the land of sleep. In green grass I’ll lay, my head crowned in flowers. Oh, bring me a cup, make me king for a day.

Phoibe rested her head against Kassandra’s shoulder, as Kassandra hummed along, enjoying the feeling of the song thrumming in her chest.

The musician braided one melody into another, slower, but no less delicate than the first. Her voice shaded with longing, and she sang:

Weave for me, the threads of your love, so I may wear them next to my skin.

Phoibe scrunched up her face. “Yuck.”

Kassandra laughed. “No love songs for you, huh?”

“I have you and Ikaros. I don’t need anyone else.”

Oh, to have a child’s certainty.

Phoibe climbed to her feet. “Let’s walk up the Akropolis.”

Kassandra followed her lead, and their path wound through the stalls to where the market’s edge joined the main promenade that circled the Akropolis. Then Phoibe stopped, suddenly, next to a blacksmith’s stall, not a weaponsmith, but a smith of home goods, and Kassandra eyed his wares, doubting that Phoibe had any need for a new door hinge, or a pot stand.

Then she knew what had caught Phoibe’s interest: a small dagger, tucked in with the skewers and spoons. It was no mere kitchen utensil, but a blade meant to pair with a sword, equally suitable for carving a roast or stabbing a thug.

“That’s a soldier’s belt dagger,” she said quietly.

The smith drew closer, his eyes on the spear hilt peeking out from her shoulder. “Aye… misthios. Got it in trade for an oven and a couple of lamp holders of all things. Not my work, but a fine blade just the same.”

“How much?”

“For you, a good price. Twenty-five drachmae.”

Phoibe slumped as he said the number, but her eyes remained locked on the dagger. Kassandra reached down and gently squeezed her shoulder. “Walk with me,” she said.

As soon as they left the smith’s earshot, Phoibe was ready to make her case. “You said your mother gave you your spear when you were my age.”

Children remembered what suited them most. “That’s true.”

“I know you think I’m too young, but I’ll be careful. And I won't—”

“Phoibe, I didn’t say no.”

Phoibe closed her mouth and stared at her.

“It’s your drachmae to spend. But if you buy that dagger, there are some things you should know.”

“Things like…?”

“Wearing a blade is a statement.”

“Like saying something?”

“Yes. And what do you think it says to others when you carry a blade?”

“Don’t fu— I mean, don’t mess with me.”

“Sounds like a threat, doesn’t it? If you say that to someone, you better be able to back it up.”

“Hurt them, you mean.”

“Or kill them.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“That’s a good thing.” She looked Phoibe up and down. “Think you’re gonna need to stab someone soon?” If so, she’d have to have a little chat with Aspasia about the kinds of errands she was sending Phoibe on.

“No, but I want to be ready for anything. Just in case.”

“‘Just in case.’ What does Aspasia have you do, again?”

“It’s not that. I deliver messages for her and look out for things. It’s easy. It’s just… I don’t know anyone here, not like I know you. And you said you were my age when you came to Kephallonia…”

With nothing but her broken spear. In those early, chaotic days, the spear had been the center of everything. It had warded off bullies and other lowlifes, and shielded her from monsters in the dark. It was her statement to the world: whatever happened, she’d go down fighting with its wooden handle in her too-small hands.

So. She reached into her pouch where she kept her drachmae, and fished out a handful of coins. Not enough to pay for the dagger, but to cover the inevitable shortfall when Phoibe ran out of haggling tricks. She held it out to Phoibe. “It’s your choice.”

It took Phoibe longer than Kassandra expected to think about it. Her eyes searched Kassandra’s face, looking for hints, and when she didn’t find any, she took a deep breath, reached out, and took the coins.

“I’ll be at that shrine over there,” Kassandra called out after her.

Had she done the right thing, giving Phoibe that drachmae? She chewed at her lip as she sat down on a stone bench within the shrine’s small grove of olive trees. A shrine to Athena, then. She could use some of the goddess’s wisdom.

The leaves overhead rustled, casting dappled shadows upon her, shadows shaped like daggers, and she smiled grimly at her own preoccupation. Blades and daggers, and the first time her mother made her spar with her spear, the discussion of reach and balance that had turned into a discussion of intent, and of the messages that could be sent in something as subtle as a knife in its sheath, or the set of one’s shoulders. The way we carry ourselves tells something to the world, lamb.

Kassandra heard her mother’s voice in her thoughts. She had not forgotten it, and her chest ached deep inside as if she’d been kicked. Like daydreams of what might have been, she’d buried those memories years ago, but now they kept surfacing and she couldn’t seem to make them stop.

She stared at the shadow daggers waving across her knees for a long time, and then she heard running footsteps and looked up to see Phoibe returning with her prize.

“I got it!” Phoibe said breathlessly. Her face glowed with excitement.

“Let me see,” Kassandra said, holding out her hand.

She pulled the dagger from its plain leather sheath. It was short, just the span of her hand from its point to the end of its handle, its blade sharpened on both edges. It was small for a hoplite’s dagger. Perhaps it had been made for someone else, someone who hadn’t needed to use it, for its guard and pommel were pristine, and the blade was too polished to have seen any action. She tested its edge against her thumbnail. Sharp as a physician’s razor.

Phoibe was about to cross a threshold where she’d leave the fantasy of a child’s toys behind, where the sharp and shiny playthings of heroes became real weapons that needed to be respected. A hard lesson, but necessary. Kassandra had learned it as a young girl in the training grounds of the agoge: the first blood she’d drawn with her spear had been her own.

“Blades are sacred to Ares,” she said, “and a new one needs a blood offering.” She set the point of the dagger against her left forearm, midway between her elbow and wrist. “A reminder of what they can do.”

“No! Wait!” Phoibe clawed at her arm, trying to pull it away from the dagger. “I’ve seen you injured.” Already-bandaged aftermaths and occasional fistfights, never a serious bloodletting. Despite Markos’s foolishness and her tendency to run headlong into danger, they’d somehow managed to shield Phoibe from witnessing anything too bloody.

“Have you?” She pressed the point down, slicing into her own flesh. The blade was so sharp she hardly felt it. She closed her fist and bright red blood welled up in a line, pooling for a moment before running in rivulets down her arm.

Phoibe’s eyes went wide and she stared at the blood as it dripped off Kassandra’s arm and splattered in the dirt. “Does it hurt?”

“Not now, but it will later.” An offering to Ares in the shrine of the goddess of war. Kassandra dug into a pouch on her belt and found a strip of clean cotton. She wiped the blade, then sheathed it and held it out to Phoibe hilt first. “Remember what this can do. And only draw it on someone if you intend to use it.”

Phoibe took the dagger and stuck its sheath in her belt as Kassandra wrapped her arm with the cotton. The cut was clean; it wouldn’t leave much of a scar. She fumbled with the ends of the cloth, and then Phoibe’s quick hands were there, helping her tie off the knot.

“I won’t forget,” Phoibe said.

“Good.” She patted Phoibe’s shoulder. “Are you regretting your choice?”

“No.” A clear-eyed answer.

“Keep the blade clean. Even your skin has oils that will stain the metal. I’ll teach you to sharpen it later.”

Phoibe stared silently at the bandage on Kassandra’s arm.

“Hey, it’s all right.”

“I didn’t expect that to happen.”

“Such things always happen when you don’t expect them.” Kassandra stood up and held out her hand. “Now, let’s see this Akropolis.”

.oOo.

Much later, after they’d hiked up the hill, and craned their necks to look at the statue of Athena, and roamed the columns of the Parthenon; after they’d walked back down and ridden Phobos around the city; after they’d returned to the Adrestia and Helios had begun his final descent to the horizon, they stood at the railing at the edge of the deck, watching the gulls chase after scraps thrown by the crew.

“Can I see Ikaros?” Phoibe asked.

Kassandra almost called him out of habit, but her forearm was throbbing something fierce. “Call him.”

“He’ll come to me?”

Kassandra nodded. “He trusts you.”

Phoibe closed her eyes and held out her arm.

“Open your eyes. Trust him.”

The whistle Phoibe made was so uncannily close to her own that Kassandra blinked in surprise. She heard Ikaros flapping his wings somewhere behind her, then a faint brush of feathered wingtips as he swooped in to land on Phoibe’s arm.

Phoibe’s smile was huge. “I missed you, Ikaros,” she said, stroking the top of his head as he chirped his pleasure at the attention.

“He’s been so lazy since we’ve been in port.” Kassandra reached out and scritched the feathers on his chest playfully. “Hasn’t even brought me one fish.”

That earned her an indignant squawk.

“I’ll never make you work,” Phoibe whispered to him, and he tilted his head into her hand, playing favorites.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Kassandra said, crossing her arms. “She’s yours now.” Her attempt to keep up a serious face crumbled under Phoibe’s delighted giggles and Ikaros’s happy chittering, and she joined them in laughter. She could get used to a life like this. The realization was shocking — like drinking vinegar from a cup when she’d expected wine.

She always thought she’d die with her spear in her hand, trapped in a never-ending pursuit of more drachmae. Once a mercenary, always a mercenary…

This was a fork in the road: away from the well-trod, circular path she already knew, another tenuous path lay shrouded in fog, but at the end of it… oh, she didn’t dare to dwell on those hopes for the family she had yet to find, and, in Phoibe, the family she had made.

A tug, then, on her chiton. Phoibe saying, “Kassandra? Are you all right?”

“Ah, yes.”

“You have a weird look on your face.”

“Just thinking, is all.”

Phoibe studied her with an unsettled gaze, one Kassandra knew well, for it belonged to the rootless, living in their need to verify, and verify again, the things people said against what they actually did. And that need would not leave Phoibe until she’d found a home she could anchor her trust to. Maybe that home would be in Athens, or maybe one day, when it was safer, with Kassandra.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Phoibe asked suddenly.

“Of course,” Kassandra said, and the fog around that tenuous path lightened a small amount.

Both of them clinging to a day neither wanted to end.

Part of the Elegiad. Go back to the previous story, or on to the next...

[spyder-m]

Cloti Fall Festival, Day Three: Liquid Confidence

Summary: College AU. Zack wants Cloud to loosen up and forget studying for just one night. He coerces him into a night of drinking, hoping it'll give him the courage to talk to his long-time crush, Tifa. Things go about as well as you might expect. 

A/N:  I struggled to finish this, even with the extra time I took. It isn't beta'd, so I'm sorry if there are any glaring errors. Still, I hope you enjoy it! I have a couple more stories in the works for the Cloti Fall Festival. Hopefully, I'll be able to get those done without as many issues.

Ao3 / FF.net

.

The Avalanche bar at Midgar University wasn’t typically the place students went when they were planning to study.

Most tended to favour the library, or one of the many cafes on Campus; somewhere quiet, where they wouldn’t have trouble concentrating.

Cloud, however, liked the atmosphere of the bar on weeknights. It was a small, hole-in-the-wall place often overlooked for the fancier clubs in the city. The few patrons there were looking for nothing more than to unwind after a full day of classes.

Their murmured conversation, the steady, trickle of liquid into pint glasses, the low static of the television all built a comforting white noise, easy enough for him to drown out, but not all-consuming and uncomfortable like the deathly silence of the library.

Cloud wasn't fond of the silence. It made him feel alone, reminded him of the harsh isolation he had endured in his childhood.

The fact that the bar wasn't used by many others for studying, was also a plus. As it was free from the palpable stress radiating off of over students, frantically cramming over their notes as they prepped for exams, trying to savour the last-minute knowledge.

Cloud found a relaxed atmosphere much more conducive to learning.

At least, that was the reason Cloud would give anyone who asked.

In truth, there was something else that swayed heavily in the bar's favour.

Nursing a beer, Cloud scrolled through the Gallery on his laptop. Having recently travelled to Midgar’s coastline over the weekend, he was hoping to build up his portfolio some more with some of the photographs he'd taken of the sea, the Western Continent lingering over the horizon.

His gaze flickered from the screen momentarily at the sound of a light, familiar voice, waking pleasant tingles up his spine.

His childhood crush, Tifa Lockhart.

She was laughing behind the bar with her co-workers and friends, Jessie, Biggs and Wedge, the lull in customers affording her a moment's break. The bright smile crossing her features shone, carrying over the room's dim lighting like a beacon.

Cloud couldn't help but want to be a part of that conversation, to be the one drawing laughter from her, to have that intimate place in her life. Yet, much like the child who had admired from afar; he was frozen, rooted in place by hesitation.

It was strange how little things between them had changed, even after the years that had passed.

Cloud had joined Soldier at a young age, leaving school in order to pursue a dream, a better life as part of their elite First Class. Overlooking the town blanketed by starlight, his parting words to Tifa; at her insistence; had been a vow to rescue her should she ever find herself in a bind.

Much to his dismay, Cloud had fallen far from the mark of 1st Class, instead having to settle for grinding among their lower ranks, hoping that something would come of his hard work, not wanting to return home a failure. Yet, he found himself discharged shortly after the Wutai War had ended, worried about the direction his life would take now.

His entire plan had been hinged upon him making First Class, his young, optimistic mind had never devised a plan B, never considering the possibility that he might fail.

Cloud couldn’t return to Nibelheim, he knew that much. As much as he cherished his mother and Tifa, he had always been isolated in that village. It had never been a home.

Besides, he didn’t want to be a burden to his mother, who had struggled to raise him alone. He wanted to provide for her now. To work and eventually earn enough money to find a home for her outside of Nibelheim, somewhere she would be appreciated.

Yet, being thrust abruptly back into society, after having only after known life as a Soldier infantryman, made that difficult.

Cloud suddenly couldn’t help but feel underqualified compared to others his age. Those that had left for Midgar in pursuit of jobs or apprenticeships.

The prospect of finding stable work seemed dim to Cloud. The skills he had gained working for Shinra didn’t exactly translate to many other industries. What business would want to hire someone inexperienced like him, when they could likely pay less to someone younger and equally as qualified?

Cloud supposed he could always collect bounties fighting monsters, but it lacked the security of a regular job. Much of his earnings would likely end up going towards potions and weapon maintenance, anyway.

Fortunately, it was around this time, that Cloud discovered that, in recognition of their services, ex-Solider members could apply for a scholarship through Midgar U.

Cloud had leapt at the opportunity, an idea already in mind for what his major could be.

Throughout his time working under Shinra, Cloud had developed an interest in photography. As a young man travelling the world for the first time, Cloud had excitedly taken pictures of the different places he saw.

Knowing that they might not be stationed for long and weren't there as tourists; he wanted to at least commemorate the moment, taking photographs to send home to his mother.

Over time, Cloud came to develop a fondness for the hobby. He found tinkering with the camera kept him sane through the hours spent travelling or patrolling. After years of blind trial and error, the idea of taking classes and receiving the proper guidance from experts in the field excited him.

He had never considered the hobby something a career could branch from.

When he signed up for Midgar U, the last he expected was to find Tifa working at the University's bar, Avalanche.

Yet when he had stopped by one day, in the hope of getting directions around the Campus, he had been met by familiar, amber eyes of the bartender.

Tifa, the one who had been a significant motivation behind his joining Soldier.

The revelation had struck him in a mess of emotion. His heart warmed to see her again, yet dread churned in his stomach as he remembered his promise to her, and how, because of his shortcomings, it would remain unfulfilled.

He couldn't tell if their chance reunion had been the best, or worst, thing to happen.

The thought of avoiding the bar, and her, altogether flashed briefly through his mind, lingering long enough to elicit a stabbing sensation through his chest.

He knew he didn't have the strength to actively push away someone he cared about. His heart was drawn back to the building, a pleasant flutter coming over him each time he entered and she called his name.

There was no way he would be able to stomach lying to her. His resolve would shatter beneath those warm, ruby eyes.

Instead, he endeavoured to steer clear of the subject, keeping their conversations as brief as possible.

She would wave to him with a warm smile as he took out his laptop and camera. He sat in the corner booth, just out of her line of sight as she would busy herself with preparing drinks. That way, he could look up from his work every so often, and quickly steal a glance without her noticing.

For Cloud, it was a perfect arrangement.

He could be in her company, without having to stomach any of the awkward conversations he knew would inevitably come up. Where had he been all those years? Why hadn’t he ever come back to Nibelheim? Had he made Soldier?

She couldn’t know that he had failed to make 1st Class. That, in spite of his training and the lengths he went to, his only success had been as a lowly infantryman. She couldn’t know that everything her father had said about him had been right.

Even when he had been stationed in Nibelheim alongside Zack and Sephiroth, Cloud had kept his helmet on and spent most of his time hidden inside the Inn. It wouldn't have helped his ego to stand alongside two, for all their famed accomplishments.

In the rare instances that he and Tifa shared any kind of lasting conversation, Cloud was always careful to keep the discussion around her; reasoning that as a bartender, she spent enough time listening to others.

To his surprise, Tifa had seemed touched by the gesture.

He learned that outside of bartending, she was making extra cash babysitting her boss’ daughter and teaching self-defence classes at the nearby gym. Cloud had recalled her mentioning in passing wanting to study under Zangan, a martial arts master who had lived in their village.

From the way he’d seen her arms flex carrying trays laden with drinks, it shouldn’t have surprised him.

She was studying a combined degree of business and health science and expressed ambitions of one day opening a place of her own. Perhaps a bar, or maybe a dojo where she could pass Zangan’s teachings onto a new generation. She hadn’t decided yet.

The details Cloud revealed about himself were curt. He was a photography major. He picked up freelance mechanical and courier work to cover his expenses and was hoping to one day save enough money to buy himself a motorcycle.

No mention of Soldier.

No reference to the promise they had once made.

To his surprise, Tifa seemed to respect the distance he placed between them, only delving as deep as he would comfortably allow.

Things were probably for the best that way.

From what he could gather, Tifa didn't need a hero anymore. She was more than capable of handling herself.

Cloud stretched his arms over his head, sighing amidst the satisfying crack of his joints. Leaning back over his keyboard, Cloud suddenly felt his body slump forward under an unexpected pressure against his neck and shoulders. Reflexively, his hands rose to brace against the table, almost knocking over his drink.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

"Argh!" Cloud grunted. "Damnit, Zack! Get off me."

Having a good six inches of height over Cloud, he often served a makeshift armrest for his friend; much to his frustration. His considerably bulk didn't make fighting him off any easier. Eventually, Cloud managed to find purchase against the man's solid chest, pushing him aside. He levelled Zack with a cold glare as they separated.

"Aw, I'm happy to see you too, Cloud."

Cloud had been assigned to Zack’s battalion in Soldier, and Zack had taken him under his wing, seeing much of himself in the young, fresh-faced recruit.

On the surface, the comparison might have seemed puzzling. Zack was proud and confident, easy-going, and got along with most people he met, while Cloud kept to himself, tending to focus his efforts more on training and studying.

Still, having grown up as only children in backwater towns, they had long sought the companionship they found in one another; becoming something more akin to brothers than a mentor and protege.

"What are you doing here?"

“What?" Zack feigned innocence. "I was just in the neighbourhood, so I figured I’d see what my best bud was up to.”

“Aerith’s busy, huh?”

“Study night.” Zack groaned, collapsing in the booth besides Cloud. “Her mid-terms are coming up soon and she said I was too much of a distraction.”

“Really?” Cloud scoffed, hands gesturing over the pages of notes strewn about his table. “I can’t possibly imagine.”

“I know, right?”

Expression blank, Cloud held Zack's gaze in silence.

“You’re too serious, Cloud,” Zack whined. “Come on man, when’s the last time you hung out with someone?”

“I hang out with Vincent all the time.”

“Vincent doesn’t count! You guys barely say two words to each other.”

“Hmm, you’re right. No wonder I prefer his company.”

“Ouch, Cloud. That’s cold.” Zack held a hand over in chest in mock hurt. Yet, his lips quickly twisted into a smirk, one that sparked dread in Cloud.

Zack's voice lowered as he nudged his elbow against his friend's ribs.

“Though, speaking of company you prefer.”

Brow pinching together, Cloud glanced to his right at the sound of approaching footsteps. Heat flared in his cheeks as he noticed Tifa approaching their table.

“Here you are Cloud!” Tifa announced, setting a brightly coloured cocktail before him.

“Oh, I uh- I didn’t-”

“It’s on the house." She beamed. "Barrett’s letting me come up with new drinks for the menu. I wanted to get a second opinion I could trust.”

Her head dipped towards his beer, lukewarm and untouched.

“You’ve been sitting on that one for a while, so I get the feeling you aren’t a fan of bitter stuff.”

Cloud flushed. In all honesty, he hadn't intended on drinking anything, yet felt it would have been rude if used their space and didn’t order anything. So, he always opted to ask for the first thing he saw on the menu.

Tifa; in a gesture so selfless and innately her; mistook this for him lacking a taste for, or knowledge of alcohol, and had freely made him a drink she thought he would prefer.

It was no wonder he’d been in love with her since he was fourteen.

She pushed the glass toward him.

“Here. This has pomegranate juice in it. I hear that’s good for brain power.”

“O- oh, right." Cloud said, opening his hand to take the drink. "Thanks, Tifa.”

Their fingers touched briefly as she passed the drink over, the fleeting contact sparking through his body.

Zack smiled knowingly as the two held each other in silence.

“You know, Tifa,” Zack’s voice broke Cloud from his reverie. From the gleam in his eyes and distinct lilt in his voice, Cloud knew that he was turning up the charm. “I’m quite thirsty myself. Are there any other drinks that you would like to test out?”

Tifa folded the tray under her arms, hand stroking against her chin. Zack's suave wiles having seemingly little effect on her.

"Y'know, I probably shouldn't. I can't imagine Aerith would be happy to hear you were charming other women into getting free drinks, Zack."

Zack swallowed, the smile that crossed his features a little forced, nervous.

"Well, I should be heading back. Don't work too hard, okay Cloud?" Tifa said, voice and air morphing with genuine concern, as she lightly touched his shoulder.

Cloud nodded, fingers tracing the pattern of the coaster before him with sudden, avid interest.

Once Tifa had begun tending to another table, a safe distance away, Zack chuckled, watching his friend practically shrink back into the booth. The fleeting, affection gesture having left him tongue-tied and visibly flustered.

“You know, if it’s so hard for you to talk to her, a little liquid courage goes a long way,” Zack said, tapping the glass still resting between Cloud's fingers.

“I’m trying to keep a clear head,” Cloud answered, turning his attention back to the screen in front of him.

“Then why order anything? It’s a bar!”

“I can’t just… Not order anything.” Cloud flushed, his voice gradually trailing off. “That’d be weird.”

“But coming here under the flimsy pretence of studying just so you can look at the girl you like; yeah, totally normal.”

Cloud winced. “Don’t… phrase it like that.”

"Hey, Jessie!" Zack's voice abruptly rose, calling one of the other bartenders with a snap of his fingers. "Bring us something hard, yeah?"

"Z- Zack! What are you doing?!"

“Trust me Cloud, I’m just looking out for you.”

"I somehow doubt that."

"C'mon man, live a little!" Zack's exclaimed. "You were with Soldier for six years! You've already lost your teenage years to drills and missions. Now you gonna spend your twenties studying? You’re wasting your youth!”

“I'm on a scholarship, I need to keep my grades up. You know this Zack.”

“Aren’t you in the top percent for most of your classes? Come on, Cloud! Your grades aren’t going to suffer because you took one night off. Don't be such a Chocobo."

Cloud glared, his hand subconsciously running through messy, blond spikes; hoping they would for once rest in a way that didn't invite such comparisons.

“I’m not scared of anything, Zack. I just don’t want to, I-”

"Kweh."

Cloud trailed off, his mouth hanging open, indignant. Zack watched him, stare mischievous and challenging as he continued to wark. Like a Chocobo.

“Real mature, Zack.” Cloud sighed, reaching to clasp one of the shot glasses. “How old are you again?”

“23,” Zack winked, clinking his glass against Cloud’s own. “Now drink up.”

.

Closing time was soon approaching.

The night had been slow and Tifa had retreated momentarily to the break room, wanting a chance to catch up on some of the readings for her next class.

Though Jessie, Biggs and Wedge were still learning the ropes of the job, she was confident they could run the bar smoothly in her absence. Beyond their usual regulars, the only one there was Zack, and he had been ordering shots; easy enough to handle.

On nights like this, when it wasn't particularly busy, Barrett would sometimes let them do coursework; reasoning it was better than just standing around to nothing.

It was one of the perks of working here.

Though, admittedly, Tifa had been having difficulty concentrating; her focus drifting away from the pages before her book to thoughts of Cloud.

It made sense, she supposed. Seeing him working so hard each night had motivated her not to slack off on her own studies, in the first place. His determination was something she admired and had always driven her to improve herself.

It had helped give her the confidence to start training under Zangan, to travel to Midgar and go to University, to aspire to start her own business.

She’d found it odd, initially, that he chose a bar, of all places, to study, but... it did suit him in a way.

Even as a child, Cloud had always done things his own way. Much of his time had been spent alone, not playing with the other boys. Even when they all left for Midgar to take on jobs and apprenticeships, Cloud had aimed to join Soldier.

Tifa paused, the memory stirring something within her; the root of what was troubling her.

Soldier.

Whenever they spoke, Cloud seemed to avoid speaking about what he'd between now and his leaving for Midgar. Namely, of whether or not he'd managed to join Soldier.

It was strange that he would gloss over such an important detail. Cloud had never really bee one for gloating, but Soldier had been a goal he was determined to achieve, a dream he'd invested so much in. If he'd been accepted by Shinra, he surely would have been proud to share the news.

Yet, he'd never even written. Leading her to wonder if perhaps he hadn't made it, after all.

Still, Tifa wasn't quite so sure.

For one, Cloud was friends with Zack Fair, the 1st Class who had patrolled their hometown years ago. Good friends, it seemed. That was reason enough for her to think he must have some connection to Soldier.

Unless she was overthinking things? He'd mention working courier jobs before. Was it possible he just had a regular delivery route above the plate?

At times, Tifa couldn't help but succumb to that small, insidious part of herself, taunting that Cloud never cared to share the news with her, because he had moved on. No longer concerned with her or the promise they had made.

Tifa sighed, lounging back in her seat, silently conceding that her attempts to study weren't going anywhere.

She'd just have to be patient.

She didn’t want to pry, after all.

Stretching her arms above her head and closing up her textbook, Tifa fished through her pockets for the bar's keys, ready to start closing up.

She was interrupted by the door swinging wildly open as Biggs slipped through, not quite managing to mask the frantic look in his eyes.

His expression alone told Tifa all she needed, even before Biggs could settle on the right words with which to explain himself. There was a problem, and he had been the one to draw the short straw, to have to break the news to her.

Tifa folded her arms, weighing Biggs down with a sharp glance. Swallowing, Biggs' hand flicked through his hair.

“Yo, Tifa," he stumbled. "You, uh... you might want to check on your friends.”

“Huh?"

Dipping his head towards the bar, Tifa followed him out, curious. Immediately her eyes were drawn to the slumped heaps of Cloud and Zack, surrounded by empty shot glasses.

Cloud must have passed out; his eyes closed and steady breaths rising from his chest; while Zack struggled to his feet, grasping onto the table for support.

"I thought I told you guys to cut them off.”

“Yeah, that’s what we did. But... Well, apparently Jessie is quite fond of Blondie. His friend’s a real charmer too. He's been talking her into giving them extra drinks all night."

Tifa frowned. She had only been teasing, but apparently, Zack had taken exception to her words. She sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose.

"We're going to have to get them out of here. Barrett won't be happy if he finds out about this."

"Yeah, you're right." Tifa nodded, approaching the booth.

"Alright, buddy," Biggs said, grabbing Zack's arm and throwing it over his shoulder. "Time for you to get going."

"S'alright. I-" Zack hiccupped, holding up his PHS. "I knew you were closin' soon."

Aerith slipped through the entrance to the bar not long after, her head bowed apologetically as she met Tifa's gaze. Smirking, Tifa's head dipped towards Zack's crumpled form, and Aerith rolled her eyes, fondly.

Noticing her approach, Zack's face lit up, ecstatic finally managed to pry his girlfriend away from her study session.

"Aer!" He exclaimed. "You came!"

Aerith stumbled as Zack collapsed against her waist, dragging Biggs with him as his arms surrounded her. Straining beneath her boyfriend’s body weight, Aerith offered a sheepish smile.

"I hope these two weren't giving you too much trouble."

"I’ll help you get them home." Biggs said, standing back upright and helping to support Zack, leaving Tifa to deal with Cloud.

Compared to some of the other patrons Tifa had to help escort out, in his drunken state, Cloud actually looked rather endearing. The soft flush colouring his pale cheeks, his hair looking even more tousled than normal, falling into his eyes.

Shaking her head, Tifa slipped partway into the booth, her arms wrapping around Cloud’s waist as she slowly extracted him.

Years of training under Zangan and regularly lugging around crates filled with alcohol had helped Tifa build her strength, and she was able to support his weight with less difficulty than Aerith and Biggs were having with Zack.

Though, Cloud's slighter build and height made it easier, his chin resting comfortably against the top of her head.

“Alright, Cloud. Let’s get you home.”

“Teef. ‘M sorry,” Cloud slurred, her voice apparently stirring him.

“It’s alright, Cloud. I have a feeling this wasn’t your fault.”

"No, not that." Cloud's head lulled to the side. Intrigued, Tifa's eyes scanned to the side, wordlessly, pressing him to continue.

"I always end up on relying on you... Couldn't keep my promise."

Though his words were vague, Tifa couldn't suppress the flash of hope they sparked in her; the want to know that he still remembered, that he still cared about that pledge they had made together.

"W- what do you mean?" Tifa asked, trying to contain the urgency in her voice.

She flinched through the tense, passing seconds that followed, her question hanging unanswered.

The alcohol had loosened Cloud up, to the extent that he was revealing more than he would normally be comfortable with. Something she could only hope to uncover through gentle coaxing.

Tifa realised, with a pang of guilt, that she may have been pushing too far. It wasn't fair for her to take advantage of Cloud's inebriated state like that.

In a flash of clarity, Cloud must have realised his mistake, as he had fallen into embarrassed silence.

Glancing through her periphery, she tried to catch of glimpse of Cloud's face; trying to discern something, anything from his expression.

His head slumped against her shoulder, dead weight.

“Cloud? Cloud?!”

.

Cloud was relieved to find himself in his bedroom when he woke the following morning. Woozy, and head weighing down the rest of his body like an anchor, but otherwise fine.

Pushing the shirts aside, he realised he was still wearing his clothes from last night, though his boots were resting at the edge of the bed. He cringed noticing the dark, sticky patches staining his shirt. Hopefully, those were just beer.

Sitting up, Cloud rummaged through his jean pockets, relieved to find his keys, wallet and PHS. His laptop and notes were piled neatly on his desk.

Glancing at the clock on his bedside table, it was shortly before noon, though Cloud's schedule was, fortunately, empty for the day. He wasn't sure how eager he would have been to turn up to class today, looking like he'd fallen out of a tree.

Still, for as much as he had dreaded what may have come of him given in to Zack's pressure, Cloud supposed things could have turned out worse.

Nothing particularly egregious, from the night before, stuck out to him. He just hoped they hadn't made things difficult for Tifa.

Rolling from his bed and, unsteadily, onto his feet. Cloud shuffled out of his bedroom in search of Zack.

Despite begrudging him for putting them in the situation to begin with, he wanted to make sure his friend had returned home safely.

“Zack?” Cloud called as he padded blindly into the kitchen.

“Oh, good morning, Cloud!” An all too cheery, feminine voice answered.

The blinds were closed, only the thinnest stream of light breaking through the gaps in the shutters. Aerith stood over their kitchen table, a vision of immaculately tied hair and bright pastel colours, as she tended to a bleary-eyed, dishevelled Zack.

His hands were clasped firmly around a glass filled with a questionable looking green substance; a herbal concoction of Aerith's, perhaps?

“Aerith, please.” Zack moaned pitifully; voice muffled against the tabletop. “Not so loud.”

“Don’t mind him, Cloud.” Aerith said as she massaged her boyfriend's shoulders. “Someone’s just cranky because they have a headache.”

"Oh, I don't mind. At all." Cloud replied, making sure to scrap his chair legs as loudly as possible against the floor as he sat down. "It's not often Zack's the one asking for quiet. I like it."

Zack's gaze lifted, his face twisting angrily at Cloud.

It was rare for Zack to be in a sour mood, so much so that Cloud sometimes forgot he even was capable of it.

“How come you aren’t in as bad shape as I am?” Zack accused.

“Because I actually took precautions. Drinking water, eating. If I had to suffer through this, the least I could do was make sure you ended up worse than I did.”

“That’s it. None of Aerith’s Miracle Hangover Cure for you." Zack pouted, cradling the glass protectively against his chest. "Not until you show some sympathy."

"Why don't I get us started on some breakfast, hm? Fried food's good for a hangover, right?"

Aerith moved into the kitchen, rummaging through their cabinets for a pan; a racket of clatters that left Zack wincing. Her search was halted by a knock at the door, so light and tentative it was almost drowned out by the ensuing noise.

"Huh. I wonder who that could be?" Aerith asked, eyes meeting Cloud's.

With a shrug, Cloud rose to his feet. Despite not feeling in the slightest bit presentable for visitors, his hand clenched around the doorknob. The lash of cool air from the open door was refreshing, but the relief it brought was short-lived, as Cloud noticed who was standing on the other side.

"Tifa?"

"Cloud."

Cloud's hand brushed over his mess of hair, suddenly conscious of how haggard he, likely, looked.

It was startling how Tifa awoke these insecurities in him.

Still, he supposed anyone would have felt self-conscious, watching her standing radiantly before in the sunlight.

Behind them, Aerith clasped her hands together, watching on with apparent rapt fascination. Even Zack had found the strength to lift his head. Cloud turned with a glare.

"Oh, uh... Don't mind us."

Rolling his eyes, Cloud stepped out through the front door, closing it behind the prying eyes of his friends. With his head swimming and a swirl of nerves tickling in his belly, it was already difficult enough for him to form a coherent sentence; he didn't need an audience.

"Sorry about... them."

"It's fine," Tifa chuckled, the soft peals plucking delicately at Cloud's heart. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess. Zack got off way worse, but Aerith's taking of him."

"Really? That's a relief. You both looked like you were in a bad way last night. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

Sheepish, Cloud hand wrung at his neck, his eyes tracing over the doorframe. Tifa dealt with drunk patrons on a regular basis. For her to be concerned, they must have been in especially rough shape.

Still, he couldn't help but relish in the hearing that she had worried about him. Perhaps it was that flash of familiar comfort that kept him speaking.

"I guess in the end you were the one to help me out a bind, huh?" Cloud answered, the words slipping easily from his tongue.

"W- what did you say?"

Tensing, Cloud realised he'd caught himself a moment too late. As Tifa looked to him, those same captivating eyes seemed younger; wide and hopeful.

"I thought you had forgotten."

Honestly, nothing could have been further from the truth. The memory was something that hung over Cloud, a constant reminder of how he had failed, how he would never be good enough for her.

Yet at the same time, it was something he cherished; a connection between them that had not been severed by even time or distance. A thread that had pulled them back together.

Unsure of exactly how to express those thoughts spiralling through his head; of what she meant to him; Cloud simply shook his head.

"You don't need anyone to rescue you, Tifa. You don’t need me anymore."

Frowning, Tifa folded her arms.

"That doesn’t mean I don't want you to be part of my life."

Cloud glanced up, disbelief flashing across his features.

"Really?"

Tifa’s expression softened, offering a silent, reassuring nod.

Cloud exhaled, his hand sliding over his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot."

"So, I'll see you at the bar then?"

Cloud grimaced, hands wiping unconsciously over the stains in his jeans.

“Tifa, don’t take this wrong way, but I’m not sure I can stomach going back to Avalanche for a while.”

“Oh,” Tifa answered, her voice faint as her gaze lowered. Cloud's eyes widened, conscious suddenly of his word choice.

“No!" His hands rose, waving back and forth desperately. "S- sorry. What I mean is, why don’t we meet somewhere else? Without Zack. Just you and I.”

"Oh." Tifa replied, her own cheeks tinging pink. "I- I think I'd like that."

"Really? I mean, that’s great!"

Tifa's head dipped slightly at the enthusiasm taking over his voice. The thick, dark locks of her hair, obscuring the flush that spread across her face. They watched one another, her smile bashful, apprehensive, as if weighing over something in her mind.

"W- well, I guess I'll see you around." She said, eventually, her arms opening as she stepped towards him.

Any worries Cloud may have still held dissipated at the soft pressure of Tifa’s body leaning into him, warm and solid and strong. The fragrant scent carrying from her was homely, clearing the haze that still clouded his consciousness. His hand cradled her head, tentatively, his fingers tracing through her hair. He exhaled, content.

Though Cloud wasn’t exactly pleased with how he’d gone about it, he couldn’t deny that Zack had really helped him out.

Somehow, he had managed to bridge the gap between him and Tifa. Something that Cloud, with his apprehension, would have likely never achieved on his own.

As much as he hated to admit it, Zack had been right. Perhaps he should go out more often.

[pcrfide]

                                                 SOLDIER  76

Name: John “Jack” Morrison Nickname: Miles / Jack / Jackie / Morrison / You Fuck Age: 55 Height: 6’1” Weight: 275 lbs (125 Kg) Hair: [Formerly Blond ] - Currently Grey/White Race: Caucasian

Identifying Marks:

One bisecting scar across the upper plain of the face from left temple over bridge of nose to right zygomatic arch to end nearly at hollow of cheek. Second scar begins just underneath left zygomatic arch and bisects philtrum, upper lip and lower lip. Ends just above the lateral surgical scar for mandible prosthesis. Further notable scarring can be seen in the notes below. 

[cut for length]

History

Jack Morrison was born on the outskirts of Bloomington Indiana in a rural farming township that had no real name. The first child and son of Melissa and John Sr, his early life wasn’t much to write home about. He worked on the farm, went to school and was considered by all counts an unremarkable- if cheerfully natured child. It wasn’t until the birth of Abigail and the subsequent diagnosis of Melissa’s cancer that his home life deteriorated. 

At the age of 12, Jack took on the care of his sister after his mother’s death from aggressive cancer that metastasized into various organs before it could be removed. At the age of fourteen he dropped out of school entirely to help his father on the farm and take over the house duties. An at-home school program allowed him to continue his education at night while his sister slept. At seventeen he graduated a year early with his GED.

At seventeen he also managed to convince a recruiter at the Army / National Guard service center that he was a year older than he really was in order to join up. He had just spent two nights at a local hospital recovering from a beating brought on from calling CPS on his father for his sister. Abigail wound up being placed with his uncle and his husband, and once the court had finalized the proceeding- Jack was officially free to join.

Jack spent his 21st birthday meeting Vincent, and the two would begin a whirlwind romance that would last up until the formation of the Overwatch Peacekeeping Directive. The break-up was amicable, with Jack serving as Vincent’s best man at his former partner’s wedding. He’s not ashamed to admit he cried, wishing both of them the happiness he couldn’t give the other man. 

Jack’s time in SEP is full of half-remembered details due to the amount of stress put on his body from both training, drugs and the missions they were sent to test out in the field.There are mental tripwires set in place that he simply does not remember that can be found at any point in time with the most random triggers. Even he doesn’t know what they all are- and they happen at the oddest times.

Jack turned down the promotion for Strike Commander three times, but only took it because Gabriel expressed interest in taking up another position in the directive due to the nature of the work. It put him out in the field more often, where his war-time command structure made sense as opposed to Jack’s peace-time administrative style. He didn’t want to be stuck behind a desk. It also allowed him more time off to visit his family, and let Jack finagle his schedule so that he could do so. It separated him from his best friend, but the blonde considered it a fair trade off. It’s not like he had a family to worry about, after all.

Jack’s twenty year odd tenure was fraught with both perils from the press as well as odd assassination attempts.  He survived no less than twelve per year- at least one a month. The most common was attempted shooting, but the most creative included attempting to poison him through his food. His metabolism let him digest most anything that would kill normal soldiers, and it wasn’t uncommon to merely get indigestion when finding out he’d eaten something laced with rat poison. The worst attempt, however- is the .50 caliber bullet that put a hole through his chest, and out into his back during a speech in Tasmania. He survived, but he lost a good amount of blood.

The last ten years of Overwatch were the worst. Between the Uprising with Null Sector, the fiasco of Blackwatch at Rialto, the loss of Gerard and Amelie, and the knowledge that moles had corrupted the interior of both Overwatch and Black Watch- Jack’s once sun and wheat hair had slowly gone to winter. What was leaked to the press is that a fissure had slowly opened between the division heads of the covert operations team and the Strike Commander. That one agent had suddenly disappeared under mysterious circumstances. And that not a week later, the entire Switzerland HQ went up in flames, smoke and death.

Jack Morrison was buried with full military honors. This was not his final wish. His final wish was to be buried simply, and in Arlington with a plaque stating his name, his crisis rank and the date. That was it.

 Recall

Soldier 76 arrived on the scene not two years after the fall of Zurich.  A vigilante and troublemaker by rote [sic.[1]] Soldier had been seen making waves in a few cities before his debut in Dorado.

His nickname stems from the rather large callsign on his back, as well as the trained, military fighting style that helps him bring down the individuals that try to take him down despite their overwhelming numbers. Some are calling him a hero, and others yet- a new trouble on their already overloaded system.

Soldier, AKA Jack- sports a heavily modified Helix Heavy Duty Pulse Rifle with helix rocket modifications and a lessened kickback with dampeners in the stock. It has a 20 round clip with a rechargeable base that allows the pulse packs to recharge with the energy released by the gun for the next clip. It allows him to keep firing pulse rounds into the fray nearly constantly.

A bandoleer of biotic canisters can be seen around his right arm, his hips and across his chest for ease of reach. They’re easy to manufacture- considering they’re of his own design- but it’s the containment process that’s a son of a bitch. They’re solar-powered, allowing him to recharge them in the sun after a fight.

The lower half of his jaw is a prosthetic, allowing the jaw-piece of his mask to adhere to the ports set on the lower half of the hinge. One port on each temple allows the visor to patch in without analog, and an entire relay down his spine allows a healer to monitor his biometrics remotely as well as help assess nerve relays. Extensive nerve damage from Zurich means sometimes they do not fire right and may need help with reflexive action.

Extensive scarring can be found from underneath his right armpit- over his chest to mid-point on his thorax, down his torso, over his groin and down to just above his right knee from where a burning piece of the building fell over him. His right hand has fine motor control issue and his hip causes him to limp if he has to run for an extended period.

His mask contains a rebreather for oxygenation. Sometimes his lungs don’t want to work right and he has to get more oxygen into his lungs faster. It helps.

Despite all of this, he’s still one lethal son of a bitch. His processing speed hasn’t stopped at all, and he can still metabolize poisons. This goes for sedatives and medicines. It makes for issues when he’s under the knife or recovering. 

                     Weapons

Heavy Helix modified  duty pulse rifle w/rocket launcher modifications & aim assistance to tactical visor. 

Tactical knife [ black carbon steel]

Sig Saur handgun .9mil

Neo-Remington handgun .45mil

Biotic canister bandoleer | arms/chest [ 10-15 ea]

 Armor

Kevlar-modified high density ballistics chest armor with integrated flex-weave. 

Flex weave compression shirt to wick away excess moisture against skin to reduce sweat

High density ballistics dual polymer leather jacket with ballistics armor able to withstand up to a .45 caliber round @ 15 ft. 

Steel shin/knee and calf guard attachments to reinforced steel toe combat boots. 

Heavy duty reinforced leather motorcycle gloves with dual-layer padding on palms and knuckles. 

Four bandoleers (two used, two replacements) for biotic canisters (one set shoulder, one set waist) - a fifth prototype in works for thigh. High density flex leather for wear-and-tear.

[grimgrimory]

Crosshares Kingdom AU Chapter 7

Stomachs growled in the dining hall, and Coco took a bite out of the food in front of her.

It was a plate full of green and red vegetables with variety of sauces and ornaments; decorating it like some sort of culture festival. Eyes were on Coco, including knights, chefs, and guests. But Velvets eyes were particularly alarming as they watched every movement and express Coco made while eating.

In Valiric, temperatures were much below the freezing point of any fruits or vegetables to grow. With the exception of tree bark, green bacon they liked to call it, she was used to an all meat diet. That said, she had to force herself not to gag out of reflex.

Coco had steeled herself before hand and was still hesitant to eat each bite. She wasn’t going to act like a child who refuses to eat their food because she didn’t like it, even if Ruby and Nora were the first two to complain about the menu. She was going to eat it, and she was going to enjoy Velvet’s company. That was that.

“Hmm. You don’t have to force yourself.” Velvet looked worried as her knight in shining armor was having trouble eating the food that she had offered. But with much persistence and patience, Coco managed to swallow her next bite of food to ease Velvet’s worries.

“I spent and entire week with nothing but water. I’m not that picky enough of an eater to decline a meal.” Coco was right in the sense that she usually isn’t the pickiest of eaters, and spending two weeks, not one, really threw her regard of bad tasting food out the window. However, she had declined a meal from someone of equal standing or maybe higher than that of Velvet during her time in Lonther. She offered the excuse that she couldn’t because it was her nature not to expect anything in return of favors. Her stomach was empty, but really didn’t want to stay too long for people to start remembering her.

In this case, she had taken a partial residence with the inn owner just outside the main gate. It was the furthest away from the castle, but it was the first one to be alarmed of an outside attack. So not wanting to stay long wasn’t an option and the little show from before definitely had her face memorized. Rumors were already starting to accumulate where Cardin was dragging Velvet by the ears and Coco was the only one to take action. They all shared their differences, but the one thing they all agreed upon was the fact that Cardin wounded up with a broken rib cage.

Today was her second day in Jili, and Coco already stood out far more than she had planned. It almost was a joke to her how things ended up. She still got a free meal out of it, and a job that she still didn’t know how much she got paid. And during those two days, she was hired as a knight, protected the princess from being a political piece, stopped a couple of thieves from doing who knows what, and might get offered up a position to train soldiers in maneuvering.

It felt rushed the way she was doing things, but it was much too slow than she would have hoped for. By this time, Coco had wanted to at least know what happened to her people; or at least make contact with Fox or Yatsu. With nowhere else to turn, she was heavily debating to ask if the people if Jili would want to help her find more information regarding the West Rampage.

Unlike her to hold things off, Coco felt it was too inappropriate now considering they were going to have a war against Giramwen. It was best to hold off for a little while, letting things die down.

But I don’t know if waiting a little while is going to help.

Coco was thinking that if she waited too long, it would lead to the death of her people if they weren’t killed already. It was hard for her to stay calm as she was, even if it was just for the show.

She was tired, weak, and hungry. But the plate of food in front of her was going to help with two of those three things.

Coco made up her mind to enjoy the rowdy laughter of cheers and the food that would be flung at each other when Velvet wasn’t looking. These were a strange group of people she was going to be staying with; but with enough time, she might even consider them family.

***

Ren was alone in the cover of the night as he stood prowling at the forces of Giramwen. He was expecting in the least that they would take this battle of there’s a little seriously; but like his expectations he had with Nora, shattered the longer he was around.

They were drinking, laughing, and made no signs of being weary of spies. He would have thought it easy to just walk in and they would hand it over if he just asked. They were a sad excuse of soldiers, even if he they had the best toys to back it up.

He wasn’t worried about the forces of Giramwen at all. No, he was worried and scared about a different outcome.

Off to the side, far from the crowd of drinks and cheers, were hundreds of wooden cages dimly lit by a faint light. In there, were the men you would expect to find at war. They were strong and hearty, seemingly that the wooden cage was made of twigs and would crumble if they stared too long at it. There were faunus mixed in with the cages who were frightened of the upcoming battle.

He knew at a glance that they were slaves going to fight in this battle, and would love nothing more to flee from battle. He was surprised that they were as calm as they were, that might have been due to the fact that they had them far away from Cardin’s forces and they found comfort in each other.

This raised a lot of problems for Ren knowing that Velvet wanted to stay peaceful throughout this entire battle and didn’t want anyone to get hurt badly.

The problem didn’t rise because they were under prepared. It came from not wanting to kill anyone.

Observing further, he noticed that one cage door was just open. This cage was apart from the wooden one’s he had seen, as this one seemed specialty crafted with heavy steel and metal. And yet, the two people who were in the cage remained seated on the ground with their back leaning against the bars. One was much more hulking than the others that were similar to him. Everyone else felt like children compared to him, even if he was sitting in an open cage.

The other one in particular had caught Ren’s attention because he seemed to have caught his.

He had burnt orange hair and was leaning on the exit of the cage hinges. And without even looking at Ren, he pointed towards him and told Ren to come to him.

No normal person would have been able to notice Ren, who felt was an adept when it came to stealth, but nothing about these two felt normal.

Not wanting them to alert others, he slowly made his way to them.

The faunus in the cages seemed surprised as some of them stood up and ringed their hands against the bars. It was the soldiers who kept them from making any noise and sat them back down on the dirt. How weird was it that these people got along with the faunus so easily? He guessed that was to be expected since they were all prisoners of war and made no further thought of it.

“You here to kill us or here to help us.” The man sitting down asked still meditating in place.

This took Ren a second to think that if they were to go to battle, they might eventually having to kill each other. But he didn’t come here to kill them, he came here to observe. “Here to help. Anything you need.”

“I think we’re fine.” The orange haired man said giving Ren a quick glimpse. His eyes were clouded and felt dead as it hadn’t bothered looking directly at the dim lit fire that illuminated their small cage. His eyes were that of a dead fish, losing all life and purpose.

Ren felt that he hadn’t lost his meaning to live, and wanted to confirm. “Are- are you blind?” He wasn’t too sure his he should be walking in such a  dangerous territory.

“Born with it.” He said almost as a set response obviously getting asked that a lot. “Names Fox. The beast of a man you see sitting down is Yatsuhashi.” He brought his arm out to shake Ren’s hand. Ren obliged with the gesture, even if the handshake was a bit different than he was used to. Instead of grasping the palm and giving it a heavy shake, Fox went further than the palm and grasped his wrist. After being satisfied, Fox let go with a smile and began talking.

“You from that desert city just up ahead?”

Ren felt that a day of running in the sand didn’t count as just up ahead, but not other villages were close enough for him to be familiar with. “From Jili, yes.”

“Hey Yatsu, do you know if she got kicked out Jili?” Fox asked with Ren knowing that there must be context to that sentence to understand it.

“As far as I’m aware, she only got banned from Zenith and Giramwen. But maybe Lonther now since they went to have an alliance with them.” Yatsu easing his meditative posture into a formal sitting.

What Yatsu said had bothered Ren just a bit. Not that whoever they were talking about got banned from two kingdoms, but the last part of what he said.

“Wait, Lonther allied with Giramwen?” They both nodded at Ren’s question as he stood in awe.

Great, was he the one who was going to tell Pyrrha? He felt that he could tell someone to relay the message, she;s going to be heartbroken that her family had allied with tyrants.

“You think that what was happening with Jili then?” Ren asked as Fox turned away to peer on the lit camp of drinkers.

“Look around. You tell me why they wanted to be ‘allies’ with the Kingdom of Faunus.”

Ren peered into the cages to see heavily wounded faunus. Some were better off than others, seeing how some could stand and others were curled in a fetal position. These people hadn’t seen the faunus like people the way Jili did, and instead used them as fodder for their own troops to stay unharmed. The soldiers who followed these two seemed to be unharmed and were caring for the faunes’ wounds.

“You might want to get going.” Fox said pushing Ren away from his door to close the cage. “And tell your troops not to lay a hand on the faunus. You figure something out so we don’t end this battle in a genocide.” With that, Fox pushed Ren away for him to run back to Jili.

He had obtained some valuable information about the state of their soldiers. Even if they had 10,000 troops, those who were fighting were not.

“The battle will be in about two days during the early hours. Be ready to fight, not to kill.”

***

Coco had once again failed to get any sleep for this day. She had spent all of the morning talking with her goddess before the time passed enough for the raising of the sun. Her eyes strained much more than she had with the sand, but the combination of the two was almost unbearable.

She would have gone straight to sleep right away at the inn if they hadn’t called her to the training grounds. She was going to train the troops how to understand maunvering and adapting to sudden changes in behavior. She wasn’t feeling for any mock battle today, so if she does get the opportunity to teach, she knew it was going to be a slow day that involve a lot of self studying.

When training her own troops, she first taught them how to whistle like a bird. It was odd considering they were going in the heat of battle, but it helped when it came to giving commands. Plus, she loved it when people couldn’t whistle and it was a symphony of incoherent rambling. And soon, she will drill all the battle toons in their heads where they can’t forget it even if they tried.

Coco chuckled hysterically fumbling over like a drunkard towards the castle. Between hunting for rations and trying not to die in the cold, she would have to guess that whistling was the only thing in Valiric that nobody had anything against. For the older ones who hadn’t quite freeze to death, it still gave them something to do with their lives.

“Coco, glad you could make it.” Sun was waiting for her by the training ground entrance. He too was one of the people who spent all of last night dining and failed to get any sleep. HIs yawn was loud and exaggerated and Coco thought that going into this training was going to be the only way for her to stay awake.

“Happy to help. So, anything in particular you would like me to teach them?” Coco had brought a book with her she had carried throughout her journey. It recorded anything she had found useful and effective during her time hunting. She wasn’t one who likes writing things down in a book because it allowed her to forget. This was another reason she didn’t like paintings of people or places. WIth a written recording of it, it allowed people to forget because they can afford it. Since they have it written down, they don’t need to remember it because it will do it for them. A book is more useful as a fire starter than it is to write in Valiric.

Though, it does come with so useful notes that she could just have people read as she slept. She was sure that these people weren't completely useless in that...sense.

Coco drifted off into sleep for a second to walk it off like it was a stretch. She was going too days without sleep. She had done longer before, but she wasn’t moving and hunting around as much requiring more energy. But if she made it through today, she was planning on sleep throughout the entirety of the next few days.

“Sorry to ask a new comer for help. The job would usually go to Pyrrha, but she retired from the battlefield to look after her husband.” Sun scratched his head with subtle hints of embarrassment. They both looked at the soldiers that Coco was going to be training for the day when that name clicked to her.

“Nikos, right?” Coco was positive that was her name, and was at least a little familiar with her situation.

“Oh, you’re friends with Pyrrha?” That got Sun’s attention.

“Little less than friends than to say that she’s a little famous in the west.”

“Really, I should tell Pyrrha this.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Coco quickly said before he made any rash decisions. “She’s known as the bastard child of Lonther last I heard.”

“Really?” He had mixed emotions of stunned, shocked, and disappointment.

“You said she retired after she got married. I’m assuming that her husband was…” Coco began snapping her fingers trying to remember the name. It occurred to her that she might have never heard the name because her family was trying to keep it a secret.

Coco chose the word commoner and Sun nodded rapidly at this. She didn’t want to offend the ex-princess of Lonther by saying peasant, but that is what her husband was. The only people who have 8 children are kings trying to get a male successor and the poor who can’t afford a job. Lonther itself was a fine kingdom, having what you’d expect from a normal one that is. Isn’t made out of sand or snow, and doesn’t have a tyrant ruler. The classical kingdom of pruned knights and armor with no quirks of their own. But their ideology was much more different than that of Valiric’s even though it shared common themes with the world. It was said to admit, but Valiric may be the only kingdom that elects their leaders the way they do.

“It doesn’t madder.” Coco cut herself off before she disrespected Pyrrha more than she already needed. She was sure that she already heard everything the world had to offer, and was living a happy life in Jili. “Let’s see what these troops of yours have to offer.” They both smiled choosing to ignore their gossip.

***

“Whistle. It’s just a whistle!” Coco was beginning to grow more and more frustrated at these people. Not only could like four people here whistle, more than half of them couldn’t even make a sound. The worse one of them was Ruby.

“I’m trying to!” She cried knowing she was going to be the next person singled out. “I just don’t know where to put my tongue.”

“There are several things you can do with your voice that doesn't even involve your tongue. In this case, make an ‘S’ sound and play with your lips till even the smallest bit of sound comes out!”

Ruby began to spit out hums as the blood vessel on Coco’s forehead might just pop open out of her head.

“It’s no use teaching her. I've been trying to get her to snap her fingers.” Weiss was one of the people who already knew how to whistle along with Penny, Yang, and Sun. She had given them the book she brought while she played catch-up on the two most incompetent people here.

“And Nora, I don’t even know what you are doing. Am I going to have to show you lot how to do it again.” Sun began to panic a little not wanting her to demonstrate again. It was a whistle she practicly made for the faunus. A drawback is that they panic at the sound and start saying things like ‘awp’ as they try to gain conscious again.

“I can show Ruby.” Both Weiss and Penny said at the same time. They glared at each other and were just about ready to go into a cat fight if Yang hadn’t calmed them.

Coco felt it must be tiring for Ruby having to deal with those two, or that just might be Coco’s lack of sleep catching up to her.

It was looking pretty bad.

“Like Coco said,” Sun shouted at the troops. “This will help you communicate longer distances than shouting. If you don’t know how, you can just blow on the tip of a pine cone.” A thud came behind him but he chose to ignore it. The screams that came after, not so much. “What happened?!” Sun might have been more scared than the screaming women pointing at Coco who was face deep in sand.

“Coco just passed out. Is she sick, is she dying!” Ruby began to run around in panic forcing Yang to stop her.

“That would make sense.” Penny said calmly as a yellow bird landed on her shoulder. “She hasn’t slept for two days.” Penny was looking at the bird as if they were communicating with each other. She followed it with an “ah, I see” and “must be rough”

“What are we going to do now?!” Sun was more depressed than anyone else here seeing as their day of training face planted into the sand. He probably shouldn't leave her here, but couldn’t either.

“I can take her.” A volunteer behind him sounded like she was more telling him than asking. He didn’t even want to look at this mess that fell before him and tried not to look at Coco being dragged away. This was just perfect.

***

Velvet was in the market square before the events of her day occurred. She was making some runs to specialty shops where she met Blake finishing up her shift. She looked a little tired, but was happy to help Velvet search for a gift for Coco.

“What kind of gift are you looking for?” Blake asked masking her yawn with a stretch.”

“I don’t know yet. Something she likes hopefully.” Velvet wanted to have a second opinion on this, but it seemed that Blake was as clueless at gift giving as Velvet was. “Your dating Yang. What does Yang usually give you.”

“Well, Yang gives me more personal gifts so to say.” Blake stopped walking after she said this. She was worried that she said to much towards the innocence of Velvet, but she just smiled with her hands behind her back. “You’ll get it when your older.” Blake sighed in relief happy that Velvet didn’t catch that.

“What’s that supposed to mean.” Velvet pointed puffing her cheeks and mumbling quietly to let only Blake here. “I’m at least a year older than you.”

So the morning went on in a variety of shops, some having fancy jewelry while others were more hand crafted. Blake had to stop some owners from saying too much on what to do if she gives her this alone at night, but most dared not to be too chummy with the princess. They browsed and shopped. Made a little small talk to pass the time.

“So, what do you think of Coco?” Velvet asked looking at her feet. She must have been worried about it much more than anyone else was.

“If I would have to say one thing about the Cardin ordeal, that was expected of her.” Blake looked content with that answer as Velvet looked more and more confused. “Did you know that Coco and Cardin met before?” Blake began to clarify.

“I knew something along the lines after what she said, but I don’t know the whole story.”

“Did you know I was there the first time Coco met Cardin?”

“Really now. Is that when you were living in…” Velvet wasn’t so sure if she should bring up such a touchy subject about living in Giramwen. It was nice for people, but hell for faunus.

“She’s actually the reason Ruby, Yang and I are here.”

“Wait, she helped you get out?!” Velvet squealed with a bit of jealousy in her voice. She calmed down and asked her what happened.

“Well, you know that the three of us grew up in Giramwen, right?” Velvet nodded as Blake continued. “I don’t know why she came, but Coco visited Girawmen on a whim of some sort. This was the time of Cardin’s coronation where he was going to be named the next heir to the throne after he got married.”

“You think that’s why-”

“Definitely.” Blake said without hesitation getting a little serious. “Pyrrha married Juane and was no longer a princess at this time. And Lonther already had their next heir take the throne so that wouldn’t have worked. Nuwara would have gone to war if they receive such an insult and would use them as an example for the rest of the kingdoms. The problem with Zenith is that they don’t have a princess and you’d probably be in debt before you made it in. Valiric would freeze anyone who made it up there, and I heard they were an isolated country. Karvel is, well…”

“Karvel.” Velvet finished Blake’s train of thought.

“A pain yes. And Baca is more of a island resort than a kingdom. So Jili, like it or not, is the only place ready for a political arrangement.”

“Well, I get why he wanted to marry, but how does Coco get involved?”

“I’m getting to that. So, pretty much all faunus knows what it’s like to be in Giramwen.” Velvet nodded profusely in agreement. “Well, I met Yang who promised to get me out of there. So, we were planning on leaving at the time when Cardin’s was going to become the heir. Distracted and the sorts. What we didn’t know, that he wanted to make an example of all the faunus on that day by killing half off us.”

“That’s horrible. Why would anyone think to do such a thing?” It seemed that Velvet was about to cry knowing that she was going to marry such a man.

Blake calmed her down saying it didn’t end like that and she didn’t get taken away by Cardin. “Needless to say, they were looking for us.” Blake continued. “So after Yang and Ruby put up much of a fight, about a hundred faunus were were on their knees prepared to be made an example for a political campaign.

“Just… I need to know. How many people died?”

“None.” Blake said proudly letting Velvet calm down. “When everyone was trapped, pinned and cornered, Coco cared not of what was going to happen towards her, walked up, and punched Cardin in the nose.”

“She actually did that?” Velvet pressing Blake to see if she was exaggerating.

“Without a moment's hesitation. And when he tried to fight back, she did it again.”

“What about the guards? What did they do?”

“I didn’t get a good look, but Yang swears that she caught them laughing at Cardin having his nose broken.” Blake smiled at Velvet knowing they were a perfect match together.

“That does it!” Velvet stood proudly with her ears standing high. “I’m going to give Coco the perfect give to thank her on the behalf of Jili and all faunus.”

Blake did like the idea of that. She had tried to thank Coco in the past but she left too quickly for anyone to give her thanks. Yang let her become a knight immediately after coming here saying that Coco wouldn’t accept a gift for doing the right thing. But if it came from Velvet, she might actually take it.

“I see Yang give you gifts all the time Blake. I’ll get something from the same store that Yang shops at for you. She said when I found someone I like, I can’t go wrong with that store.”

“Wait!” Blake said almost in a daze realizing what Velvet was going to do.

“What’s wrong? I want Coco to smile at me the same way that you smile at Yang when you get a gift from her.”

“D-do I really smile?” Blake asked defeated as fire began to fill in Velvet’s eyes.

“Very much so. It’s kind of hard not to notice when you get silent and start acting all fidgety.”

Blake Belladonna got to her knees Velvet looked around in excitement trying to spot the tent. They knew. Everyone knew. She had spent months trying not to be one of those girls, but if Velvet could figure it out, everyone knew. And the nights. WHAT ABOUT THE NIGHTS! She said so much, so loudly. She was always trying to remain a mute about these things, but Yang always made sure she enjoyed her company. This was bad. Really really bad.

“Look, there it is!” Velvet skipped along to an unmarked black tent that stood hidden, but proudly amongst the other shops.

Blake couldn’t even find the words to shout at Velvet from going in there. Her life was over. No, its been over. She just didn’t realized she was poisoned for so long.

Velvet stuck her head in like a school girl in love, then she stood still, in shock. All color drained from her skin as she ran out crying.

She went on her knees and tried to begin to wipe her eyes from tears. “Why would someone sell things so disgusting?!” She stopped crying and sniffled, looking into Blake's eyes. If she wasn’t crying, Blake would have been. But what Velvet said next made Blake do just that. “PERVERT!” Velvet began to cry with no ending in sight as a small tear began to form in Blake’s.

“It’s too late now! We’re in this together!” Blake picked Velvet up, both girls fully in blush.

“Don’t make me go back in there!” Velvet began to panic as more and more eyes were watching. Velvet was acting like Blake the first time Yang introduced her to this store. And as such, she knew where to grab Velvet to prevent her from running. It was the point of no return, and she wasn’t going back empty handed.

Blake marched into the erotic tent: scared, tired, and ashamed with a blistering bunny furrowing over her shoulder.

“Oh, hi Blake.” The storekeeper smiled, delighted to see a familiar face. “I just got a new book called “The Secrets of Love”. I’m telling you, those people from Basa come up with the most interesting positions.”

Blake began to cry.

***

The walk back to the castle remained without incident. Both of them were too embarrassed to talk to each other, and Velvet had her ears dropping down like a dog with her tail between her legs.

Velvet was carrying a quadruple sealed black bag that the store keeper had suggested and gave them for free. He said it was to promote business and have them come back.

“Dirty old man. I’m not ever coming back.” Blake looked in her bag to read the title of the book again. At least she had something to read.

“Hi there darling!” Yang came whistling up from the direction of the training ground. “Ooh. I see you went to that store. And my surprise, I never imagined Velvet getting anything from that store.” Yang peered at the black bags that they both carried. It was doubled stitched to avoid being torn, and she recognised them after all the times that Yang had to hide it after shopping with Blake.

Velvet began to panic having Blake speak up. “One’s for you, one’s for me. I didn’t want to touch it considering where it’s going to be.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Yang called her bluff. “ I can see that you’re carrying a book Blake by the way the corners on the bag look. And there is no way you’d let our innocent Velvet go in there without wanting something for her own. Or Coco.”

“Yang!” Blake yelled.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But I do have to say Velvet, bold choice for your first time.”

“I’m only ever going there once!” Velvet cried through the tears. Yang and Blake patted her on the back.

“Don’t worry Velvet, everyone goes in that store at least one time.” She chose to leave out the part that she could count the amount of people bold enough to walk out of there with a bag on two hands.

“Yeah. And I’ve talked to April sometimes when I see her in there.” Yang said.

“Mom?” Velvet’s voice cracked after saying this.

“Oh that’s right. You weren’t supposed to know.”

At this point, Velvet’s tears ran dry and could only stand dumbfounded. It was the sad truth she needed to grow accepting of. And even more so if she wanted to be with Coco.

“Enough of that.” Blake changing the subject. “I thought that you were training with Coco today?”

“We were, but Coco hasn’t slept in todays and passed out on the spot. Check it out.” Yang began to whistle in a  pattern similar to that of a bird. “That means forward right position. Still don’t know what that means, but it seemed useful.”

“Wait, Coco hasn’t been sleeping?” Velvet overheard coming back to reality.

Blake thought back on the previous two nights where Coco went to wander the desert and the night she spent to eat at the castle. “I guess she hasn’t.”

“Good, now’s your chance. Take Coco to your bed and practice on her.”

Velvet flat out refused to do anything to Coco in her sleep, something Blake wished from Yang, but she did agree to have Coco sleep in her bed considering that was the closest one here.

“So.” Yang said as the two of them watched Velvet run off towards the train grounds. “What kind of book did you get there?”

[teroknope]

Corrupt (Armitage Hux X Reader)

A/N: Wow, this literally just came into my mind. I love it when this happens! Also, my song for Hux atm is Corrupt by Depeche Mode. TY @yourdeadgirl-walking for the recommendation, it really fits him!

I wrote a part two to this, you can find it here!

WC: 1.3K

Summary: The First Order have recently obliterated a village in hopes of finding new intel regarding The Resistance. The reader hears the loud cries of a newborn and decides to investigate. Hux decides it is necessary to follow her.

The small newborn cooed in your comforting arms, no doubt the soft wool of your greatcoat adding another layer of comfort to the infant’s fragile body. It was against protocol, to intervene, but the infant’s howling was loud and disruptive.

The small village was obliterated in minutes, they did not have the firepower to defend against such an attack. The village was now being searched for information about The Resistance, any children orphaned will become soldiers for The First Order. You arrived after the troopers had cleared through the village, your leather boots cracking against the glass, stone and god knows what that scattered the bloodstained ground.

The only sound other than the marching of troopers, alongside the cracking of the fire troopers flamethrower, was the high pitched cries of a baby. You convinced yourself that the wailing was disturbing the troopers. You followed the sound to what remained of a small stone house, the door hanging off its metal hinges. As you pushed past the broken frame you attempted to justify the logic of your actions; if the infant was quiet then the troopers could perform their duties without disturbance.

Although, by the time you reached her crib you were assured that maybe it was some motherly instinct that made you follow her cries. Her crib was located in a small room, hidden away in the corner. For a moment you imagined the fear their parents felt when they saw the incoming ships; you diverted this thought to the back of your mind. This was the consequence of war and the sacrifices needed for peace The First Order would bring.

The moment you gently lifted the baby into your arms the howling turned into soft whimpers, her scrunched eyes softening, eventually opening to peer up at you. You let her cradle in your left arm while her small hands tightly held your index finger of your right hand. Bouncing her softly as you did this, whispering and cooing soft nothings to her. You understood the cruel irony of the situation; you worked for the organisation which just killed her family and she would never know this.

Your mind was so afield in thoughts of consequence and wonder that you did not hear the footsteps of General Hux following behind you. Hux had watched you from a short distance away. The moment you pushed past the broken door into the stone house he considered that you would have stumble across some useful intel, and questioned why you did not bring this to his attention. He ordered two troopers to follow behind him as he rambled to the house.

Once inside, he inspected the surroundings of what appeared to be the main area of the house, all that remained was a broken table, cracked pottery and a crackling fire in a neatly made fireplace. Although, his attention was more drawn to the small room in which he could hear you whispering and murmuring.

“Commander L/N,” His voice confident, shouting out before he entered the room. His boots cracking against the fallen debris on the floor. Trudging into the small room you were occupying. “I can assume you have only found-”

He went to say more until his speech stopped in his throat as he saw you holding a small bundle in your arms. He watched your lips make small quiet movements to the infant; your gaze one of softness and affection that you usually only reserved for him. He felt a slight pang of jealousy at the infant, although this feeling passed instantly as he deemed it irrelevant.

Armitage’s voice pulled your attention away from the infant in your arms; you turned to face him. He looked immaculate as ever, this was only amplified against the shattered space you both occupied. 

Your voice was soft and low as you spoke"General Hux".  

Hux turned his head slightly to the troopers that were scouting the room, “Leave us,”. They did not bother to utter a reply, instantly leaving the house. 

It was just you two, in the small box room. Once he was sure they were gone he took a few steps to be closer to you.

Your emotions got the better of you, whispering your actual feelings rather than First Order procedures “She can’t be any more than two weeks old Armitage,” You traced your thumb over her small hand “She has no idea what’s happened to her today.”

“That’s the consequence of war, darling.” Armitage lowly sighed, “It is why The First Order takes infants such as her, they will become powerful assets one day”.

The word assets stung, but he was telling the truth. You were all assets in the eyes of The Supreme Leader. You forced out a small smile, but the sadness that was building up inside you was becoming hard to hide. You attempted to change the conversation to something more emotional and personal, there was no one around after all.

“Do you, ever want children?” The question was bold, out of the blue and you feared the repercussions. You looked at his face for an answer, although it was just filled with confusion. It was a question he thought he would never be asked.

“I've…” he awkwardly coughed, shifting closer to you. His frame now leaning over yours. “It’s something I have never considered.”

Although you had been together for a while, it had taken a long time for Armitage to come out of his shell emotionally. But you appreciated every little step he took, the little honest confessions he made to you. The gradual acceptance of his emotional side of his personality.

You decided to reply with logic first “I suppose that we are in a war means having a child is the least logical thing to do. But at the same time The Resistance has families, why can’t we?” You commented then critiqued yourself, no one knows the fate of the future or of the galaxy. This entire situation was too emotional. 

Armitage decided to be unusually honest "I don’t think having a child would be…the best cause of action” He chose his words very carefully, he did not want to upset you. He could see how you wanted his, just by how softly you was holding the infant.  “After all, every trooper In the system knows what my father was like.” His voice hesitant to speak anymore.

You thought his name was not worth uttering. From the perspective of a  commander, Brendol Hux was a respectable benevolent commandant. But as the father of the man you loved, he was not worth a single breath. The scars that littered Armitage’s slim body and ravaged his mind during the dark nights was enough to tell you that.

Your voice became stern “You are not your father, Armitage” You turned to face him, looking up at the eyes that were also meeting yours; brushing your hand over his gloved one, the material rough. You gave his hand a reaffirming squeeze, a small display of affection. “You are much more than he was.”

Armitage crept his fingers over yours, they still lingered over his hand. He meshed his hand with yours for a short moment “Thank you, Darling.”

The infant had closed her eyes. Her tears all dried up and snoring softly. You decided she had settled enough, and it was best to put her back in the crib. Troopers would find her soon, no doubt to be taken to the Stormtrooper training programme. 

Although she was very young, it was theorised that the younger the infants were taken the better. She would become a prime asset for The First Order. It almost felt cruel to you that Armitage and yourself were projecting your fantasies of having a family onto this orphan.

You laid her on the white blanket that rested in her soft crib, as you softly placed her into it you swaddled her in the fabric. She would be warm and safe, for now. She continued to snooze away, unaware of the events that had transpired around her today and no doubt will be always unaware.

Armitage watched how unusually gentle you were with the infant, it made his mind imagine scenarios where you would have a child, instead of this desolate location it would be in his Suite on The Finalizer. He imagined you cradling a small newborn, sitting on his ice sofa. The child had his bright hair and your soft eyes. You were both sitting there peacefully while he was continuing on with his work at his desk. A picturesque moment, in his mind.

[radiationgroove]

Vivian and the Squires

This is my submission for @wastelandwandererszine! I’m so excited for you all to see the amazing work by amazing artists and writers!

Just a reminder, if you liked this, consider buying me a coffee?

It was supposed to be a training exercise. No one was supposed to get hurt.

The vertibird dropped Knight Thomas, Scribe Getty, and her three charges among the twisted metal that was once Boston. They traveled in formation; the scribe and an older squire, Baxter, at the head, the two younger, Scribes Douglas and Avery, in the middle, and Vivian bringing up the rear.

Squires aboard the Prydwen rarely left the airship. On occasion, they might go with a knight or scribe on a simple mission, only to observe. Back home at the Citadel they rarely left at all. The Capitol was too dense with mutants and mercenaries for these excursions to safe teaching opportunities. It was a situation that Vivian was glad to support. She considered them all her younger brothers and sisters. Viv held a certain responsibility toward them; regardless of whether they were aboard the Prydwen or if they followed her on the ground. She was them once, bright eyed and eager to learn.

They remained within sight of the Prydwen; a decaying blue tower reaching for the sky. Weatherby Investment Trust. Recon gave some, if Vivian was being honest, useless information about the area. Pre-war this was the Financial District: a bustling hub of greed and power peppered with relics of America’s beginning. Threats were minimal. The greenskins stayed close to Faneuil Hall, raider activity was nonexistent, ghouls were easy enough to dispatch. Vivian saw a safe, secure opportunity for the squires to learn something. The first floor of the skyscraper was once a Slocum’s Joe; a public bus crashed through the front door.

“We’re clearing corners, moving as a unit. No one on their own, understand? No one’s rushing ahead or trying to be a hero,” Vivian nodded, making eye contact with each of the children in a single sweep to be sure of their understanding. “Always in my sight.”

The lobby, the rotting coffee shop, was easy enough. There were few corners, few nooks and crannies for danger to hide. With each little cap in sight, Vivian followed behind; better she prepared for  dealing with anything nasty than the squires. Laser pistols, weapons as big as the children wielding them, peeked wherever something may be hiding. A chorus of “clear” reached her and echoed in the small space.

“Good job, team. Elevator. We’ll start from the top and work our way back to the lobby while we look for anything useful.”

A hand shot up; tiny Douglas stood on tiptoe, buzzing to have his question asked and answered.

“Yes, squire?”

“What’s considered ‘useful,’ ma’am?”

The question, innocent and curious, was met with good natured laughter and a warm smile. “I think that’s a better question for your scribe, don’t you, Douglas?”

The boy blushed, sheepish. “Yes, Knight Thomas, ma’am.”

Thankfully the elevator still worked. Five crammed in and rode the rattling car up. Her charges had never been in an elevator. Their eyes grew wide while they were tugged upwards and wider still as the doors slid open of their own accord with a ding. The small wonders of the world laid out before them.

Once clear of the doors, Getty cleared her throat. “Alright, team. We’re looking for useful technical documentation. This can be anything from diagrams, shipping invoices, project overviews. In this case, we’re most likely to find money trails; this was a bank, after all.”

“Who can tell me why following the money is important?” Knight Thomas raised a brow, scanning her triad of children.

“So...so we can go backwards and maybe find the developers, ma’am?” Avery murmured, shifting on her feet.

Avery reminded Vivian much of herself; so impossibly bright and smart. “Or even follow it forward, follow the tech to the recipients. Good job.” Avery glowed in the compliment. “Right, pair up. Fan out.”

Viv remained central in the foyer of offices, able to oversee the pairs searching room after room. Scribe Getty chatted with Squire Avery, and Baxter and Douglas took pride in the importance of their jobs. Tiny voices spoke in hushed tones filled with incomparable awe. Metallic rattling of filing cabinets echoed through the space, the shuffling of papers and a silence while documents were read followed. The children moved from one room to another with the growing confidence and security of working as a team. Baxter moved from one room to another with the younger Douglas in tow.

Snap. Click.

There was no time to call for cover.

Boom.

Vivian's ears rang, a high-pitched whistle and the thrum of her own blood in her ears. The shockwave knocked her off her feet, slamming her back through a wall of windows. Pain shot through her spine, body battered by shards of glass. Licking her wounds fell to the bottom of her priority list; the concern was for the team.

When they returned from missions, some of her brothers and sisters said that during combat the world moved in slow motion. Knight Thomas would say that it moved all too fast. She scrambled to her feet despite the screaming in her muscles. Smoke billowed from the office.

Vivian didn’t realize she was screaming. “Sound off! I need voices!”

Scribe Getty came first. “Avery and I are fine.” Indeed, from behind a desk in another office peered the squire and the scribe, scratched up but none the worse for wear. The girl shook, eyes wide and face pale. She clung to Scribe Gettys’ arm.

“Stay put. Both of you.”

Glass crunched under her feet. In the corner of the office, behind the dented door ripped from its hinges, Douglas sat dazed. He seemed none the worse for wear apart from some scuffs across his face and arms. His possessions sat scattered around him. He blinked up at Vivian through foggy vision.

Vivian took his hand in hers and hefted him to his feet. “C’mon kiddo. Up ya go. Go check in with Getty.”

Across the room, a series of filing cabinets, full of centuries-old paperwork and folders, toppled one on top of the other like dominoes. The two-drawer smallest lay across Baxter’s legs, partially crushed by three-drawer cousins. Viv knelt in the debris, too afraid to move Baxter.

“Baxter? Baxter!”

“Ma’am…?”

The tremble was caught in her voice. She cleared her throat; there was no reason for the scribes to hear her nerves. Calm. Collected. In control. “Avery, front and center.”

The child did so, fingers curled around her pack.

“Avery, listen to me very carefully,” she spoke slowly and deliberately, “I need you and Douglas to go back downstairs and set off a grenade, get a vertibird here. Now. Wait in the bus until you see them. Do you understand me?”

Squire Avery nodded, faster than she’d ever seen. She took the signal grenade in shaking hands, and with the younger squire close on her heels, disappeared through the office door, then behind the ding of the elevator. Scribe Getty, sure that the squires were safely on their way, joined Vivian at Baxter’s side.

“Look at me, Baxter. Focus. Here,” Vivian touched the tip of her nose, a sign of where she wanted the girl’s gaze. “I need you to look at me, okay? We’re gonna take care of you, me and  Getty, but I need you to listen.”

Getty set to work, producing tourniquets and gauze from pockets and pouches Vivian didn’t even know existed. The more Baxter was jostled, the more aware she became, the more panic and pain settled in. It hit home, then; these were children first and soldiers-to-be second. There had to be some way to fix this.

“Hey, hey,” Viv hummed, pulling the child’s hat free and carded her fingers through her hair. “Didn’t I catch you with a comic and a flashlight the other night at bed check? What were you reading?”

She nodded, sleepy and embarrassed. “It was a magazine, Tesla Science...the one about the army goin’ to space.” She winced when Getty moved her leg, scrambled to take Vivian’s hand in hers and squeeze as hard as she could. “Do...D’you think we’ll ever go to space again?”

Vivian shrugged, squeezing the small light hand in return. “Don’t see why not? Maybe you’ll do it...put the Brotherhood on the moon? Wanna become a scribe and make that happen?”

Baxter shook her head. “I wanna be like you, Knight Thomas. You aren’t a scribe but not entirely a knight, either. You do everything. Could I do that?”

“I’m sure you could, kiddo. You could create a new rank for the Brotherhood, you know that?”

“We’re secure,” Getty nodded; indeed, a tourniquet was tied around the little leg above the knee, “let’s get her free.”

Together the adults hefted cabinet after cabinet, sending them teetering into one another with a deafening clang. With the smallest cabinet out of the way, it was easy to see the damage. It turned her stomach, the way the leg seemed to be a crushed, bloody mess. Vivian took Baxter in her arms and held the girl close during the shaking elevator ride stories down.

Aboard the Vertibird, her team sat in silence. Avery and Baxter each clung to one of her hands. Douglas sat glued to Getty’s side, the scribes’ arm around his little shoulders. The lancer pilot tried to make conversation, but worry and exhaustion trumped the need to be cordial and polite.

Vivian stood still on the flight deck, watching absently as the squires, her squires, were hurried inside to the Prydwen’s medbay. Blood (whose she had no clue) stuck to her face as it dried. Lancer-Captain Kells stared at her expectantly, waiting for an answer that clung to her teeth and tongue and the inside of her cheeks. Her heart sat at the bottom of her stomach like a stone.

“No one was supposed to get hurt.”

[captainofthekryptonspacemarines]

I would like you hear your thoughts on this

Hey guys! I would like your opinion about this part of a story I'm writting.

Background: Earth gets invaded by aliens called The Covenant, who need canon fodder for a war they're waging against these other aliens from a planet called Krypton. Krypton sends an expeditionary force to relief Earth and helps the armies of Earth fight off The Covenant. This scene takes place in a forest in the Rockies between a squad of human soldiers and an officer of the Kryptonian Army placed with them as an atachée and I would like your opinion in General as well as this questions answered: 1) Is it too much exposition? 2) Does this fall on that trope where an alien is an enciclopedia of their species? It's supposed to feel like this talk about an historical era of the likes of The Reconstruction or The Crimean War (far off in history and learned in history class as common knowledge) 3) Can you tell Frank likes Kar? 4) Is the genetics theme a sensible topic that needs a warning?

The batallion started settling down for the night and the Kryptonians went around the camp, installing their shield pylons in that incomprehensible pattern that reminded Frank that humans were really dumb animals (or perhaps it was just him but he hadn't heard any of the guys having theories about how the pylons worked or the pattern that dictated where to put them to protect the batallion during the night from those pesky bird-looking snipers the Covenant had)

All he knew and cared about was that the Kryptonians knew what they were doing and since they arrived the fighting started to look a lot less like a slaughter and more like the messy skirmishes he knew by heart from his tours in Afghanistan and Irak.

Colonel En-Payg came to tell Frank and his guys it was safe to start fires and preparations to get a good night's rest before the raid on the battery fortifications tomorrow and it was Curtis (it was always him really) who started to bother the woman with his questions that rang a siren in Frank's head that kept repeating over and over "To her we're something ressembling talking baboons"

"Ma'am, how come y'all are that pretty?"

Frank chuckled lightly as he wondered how much Kar was going to struggle with human slang tonight, but the woman had asked to be let in to the particular speech patterns of the US.

"Excuse me, Sgt Holye?" She raised one of those refined white blonde eyebrows she had that seemed like sea foam on milk white skin

Micro tapped him in the arm to remind him not to just drop random questions that needed careful wording "Sgt Holye would like to know how is it possible that all the Kryptonians we've met are able to meet our criteria for aethethical beauty"

"Well, I have been made aware we meet them just now-" Kar bit on her lips in that way that seemed to be Kryptonian body language for 'That's an interesting question, let me think about it' and said the most hilarious shit Frank had heard since his ex had told him she was sorry for cuckholding him "And in the trust of us, I am actually not that much of a looker by my people's standards"

The roar of a laugh that came out of Frank made Kar pale even more than she already was and it didn't help that Micro, Russo and Curtis chuckled with him.

"Have I made a form of faux pass?" Kar genuily seemed to think that and Frank just shook his head side to side.

"No, ma'am. It's just we find it hard to believe. You're all god damn gorgeous. Starting by you and Captain El and Lt. Ers" Russo added and Frank just thought 'Keep trying, dude. She ain't gonna do it'

"Well, thank you Capt. Russo"

"Seriosuly ma'am-" Curtis spoke up and Frank was starting to consider just beating him up later so he would stop bothering the woman that kept them alive on a daily basis "Anyone who says you ain't a looker is lying through their teeth. When they made you, they broke the mold and it was a damn shame"

"Not so much as broke it. It was encrypted" Kar made the off handed remark not understanding it was just figurative speech and Micro's buld lit up so brightly that it seemed to Frank the sun was already out.

"So you are made?" Micro asked and Frank could already feel himself being sung to sleep by the sciency talk that was coming up.

"In a way. Surrogate wombs and genetic engineering have been a standard amongst my people for longer than your people have had the knowledge of fire"

"So, you've outsourced pregnancy? My ex will beg you to share that secret if she hears that" Frank joked

"Not so much outsourced it as it was necessary if there was to be a future for my especies"

"Why?-" Hoyle asked, Frank could tell he was just wondering outloud "A massive spike in infertility?"

"Religious zealots created a virus and spread it across the planet, using themselves as the spreading vector-" Kar rolled her eyes to the back of her head as if to recall something "Our population went from about 8 billion to 500 million"

To say Frank was stunned was an understatement

"Fuck-" he muttered "So you used tech to bring the population back to full numbers?"

"No. At first we used it to prolong our lifes and the life span went from 150 to 5,000 years but then we realized that entire decades were going by without births and quite a bit of deaths"

Frank didn't knew what to be more stunned by in that last piece of conversation: The fact these people hacked life spans, the fact that they weren't having kids even though they had all the time in the world for them or the fact that they were still dying.

"Decades?" Russo asked and Kar nodded

"Kryptonian pregnancy is a difficult time. We women become pretty much bedridden and hormonal after a while-" Frank wanted to add he knew after two kids that human women were just the same but didn't want to interrupt "And with the new life spans it became less and less of a priority and men...Well I believe you and our males aren't that different from what I've been told when it comes to children"

Russo chuckled "Love the baby making process, hate raising them"

"So what happened? Why did the death rates spiked?" Micro made little of the comment, Frank could tell his wish to know more was consuming him.

"Suicides. Life started to seem too long and boring. Instead of helping the population resurge, it kept dwindling. It got so bad there were as few as 10,000 Kryptonians in existance"

"And then?" Frank asked

"A-" Kar stopped for a moment, most likely to consider the most appropiate word in English "World Summit was held and it was decided that emergency surrogacy meassures were needed. The few Kryptonians that remainded were drafted into clan-like associations for the purpouse of raising children in a communal manner"

"How did genetic engineering got into the mix?" Hoyle asked because so far that hadn't been mentioned.

"Clan raised children became parents and they wanted the best children and surrogacy didn't ensured genetic perfection"

"Genetic perfection?" Frank knew Micro wasn't going to like where this could go.

"The Kryptonian equivalents of Down Sindrome, Klinefelter Sindrome and such others still ocurred and in this new society in which every child was expected to raise more and thus return the population numbers to pre-plague levels, they were pariahs"

"So you started genetic engineering to avoid genetic diseases"

"We erradicated them-" Kar seemed to have noticed Micro had gotten uncomfortable discussing genetic perfection and Frank wondered if she had reached the Holocaust part of her history book "Genetic Engineering opened a way to eradicate all the genetic flaws we had in our genomes: Cancer, tendecies towards vice, genetic diseases caused by flaws during DNA reproduction. All gone in a generation"

"You left it at that?" Micro pushed on for some reason, smelling something else in the subject.

"For a time. Later on it became a matter of public debate if further engineering was needed and whether or not personality traits should have been established pre-birth as well as if our genomes should have been subjected to enhancements"

"Enhancements?" Russo asked this time

"We didn't had the muscular strenght I have that allows me to rip open doors from their hinges-" Kar said with a smile on her face as if thinking 'Silly monkey' "That was added after a lenghty, 7,000 year debate"

Hoyle whistled in astonishment "And we thought Congress was bad"

"How did you decided what went and what didn't?" Micro started to press on his worries "How didn't you started saying a gene that made you look like this or that made you less?"

"For starters we never had such a deep division over skin tones as humans have-" Kar said gently but Frank could tell that was Kar's way of saying 'We aren't racist pieces of shit like some of you monkeys' "And actually that was why the debate lasted 7,000 years: A breeding law was established that set what genes stayed and which genes were removed from our genome as well as what could and couldn't be edited to suit parental preferences"

"Parental preferences?" Hoyle said "Like 'I want my kid to be tall, tanned and handsome' kinda deal"

"In a 'I want my child to have genius levels of intelect and the tendency to rebel of a turtle' kind of deal" Kar responded dryly, and Frank could swear she could see her yelling inside her head 'Fucking stupid monkey'

"So what can you pick?" Frank asked, wondering what he would've picked had for his kids had he had a choice.

"Eye and Hair color-" Kar recited rolling her eyes to the back of her head once more "Body build and certain tendencies in a limited manner to make the child naturally agreeable with parents"

"Agreeable?" Holye asked

"Kryptonians do not have parental instincts. We naturally had high natal rates as it was quite normal for 3 or 4 babies to be born by pregnancy until counterception was discovered. We can easily leave a child to die if we're annoyed by them and it was actually common in the pre-industrial era to kill them if they gave too much trouble. Genetic tendencies to make a child likeable are allowed: An engineer can have their child be born with an inherent skill at puzzle solving, artists tend to have their children be born with better motor skill development so that their children can start their path in arts as early as one yearof age"

"What did they chose for you, ma'am?" Russo asked and Frank noticed how Kar clenched her fists and bit down hard on her teeth as if saying 'How dare you ask me that, you damn dirty ape'

"For your knowledge, Lt. Russo, that is a very sensible question you can't just ask a Kryptonian. It is very private information generaly only discussed when you're considering having chidlren with your chosen partner-" Kar said and then added between teeth as and after thought "But in the sake of furthering your knowledge of my people, my parents chose a better memory than average for me so that I could join them as what you'd understand as lawyers"

[thehollowprince]

Honestly, you are just proving my point over and over and over again.

You are demanding that Scott jump through hoops that you don't require of a single other character.

"Scott should have figured it out", but not Allison? Not Stiles? Not Boyd? No, just Scott. And, of course, he should have just told Gerard to pause on his evil plan and to not threaten his mother so that he can tell Allison (who was ignoring him, I should point out again) what he thinks really happened the night her mother got bitten. I'm sure there would have been no negative repercussions from that for Scott, but then again, if there were, I get the distinct impression that you wouldn't care.

"Scott is a creep and abusive and yadda yadda yadda" you (and my "friend" A cry), and cite either the most extreme cases (Anchors) or exaggerate heavily while ignoring that same behavior in other characters. You bring up his tattoo and use it as an admission that he didn't "stalk" Allison all summer (because a poor boy could obviously afford a flight to France) when, as stated in the episode, that he got it because he didn't message her at all, per her request. He still has feelings for her at this point, and pretty strong ones at that, and he chose to respect her wishes anyway. So, now he's creepy for being respectful?

"He's an opportunist because he used the powers he suddenly got! I mean, sure, he was bitten against his will in the middle of the woods by a middle aged man on a power trip who just left him there and letter assaulted him both physically and mentally, but he got better at lacrosse, so it all evens out!" What was he supposed to do, return the powers? That was literally the plot of the first season. You remember that, right? Where Derek gave him the false hope that he wouldn't have to be a werewolf anymore?

Oh, and the jury has deliberated, and I'm sorry to tell you that just because you say a man in his twenties doesn't constitute an "adult" doesn't make it so. Sorry (not sorry).

I do appreciate your attemps at reinventing what happened on this show, but it still doesn't fly. I will commend you for working in the "unreliable narrator" complaint that so many people use to smear Scott, but it doesn't make it so. You're trying to frame 100 episodes of a show through a lens brought in the series finale in an effort to justify your hatred of the main character for stuff he didn't do. Scott talking to Alec was literally him relating to this boy going through what he himself had gone through, being bitten and then dragged into a war between werewolves and hunters. That was why he was against Derek making child soldiers, because he had just gone through that very scenario, and now an even crazier hunter shows up who bisected a werewolf in front of him with a sword. They didn't make that decision of "their own volition", they were tricked by a grown man who didn't divulge the entirety of what their new life would entail. That's why his entire pack abandoned him.

There's also the matter of Derek biting Jackson and then tossing him aside (and into a river), not caring whether he lives or dies, but I'm sure that was just Scott being an "unreliable narrator".

"Scott made Derek trust him and then broke that trust"... oh, you mean like when an adult (anywhere from 22 to 26, because the narrative is fuzzy on Derek's actual age) convinced a sixteen-year-old boy that he could help him, only to use him to further his own power?

"Scott used Derek's body against him - forced him to bite Gerard...". I guess Scott could have just let everyone else die in order to spare Derek's feelings. Of course, we're just going to ignore that the entirety of what happened in Master Plan happened because of Gerard, right? Scott's entire plan hinged on Gerard aiming for the Bite. All of that could have been avoided if Gerard had just not acted like Gerard for five minutes. Who cares if Allison and Scott and Chris and Stiles and (ultimately) Derek would have died, as long as Derek felt better. But honestly, I would suggest you head over to @princeescaluswords and look up their posts on Master Plan, because they say it so much better than I do.

You mention Corey and Hayden, yet completely ignore that Scott faced actual repercussions for those very actions. You mentioned how Scott's "normal" was being invisible with Stiles, despite every indication that Scott made friends rather easily. "Oh, but Stiles said"... yeah, but Peter said he wasn't a bad uncle to Derek, and yet we saw otherwise. Gerard said he went to meet Deucalion under the guise of peace, and yet we saw otherwise.

It's like @liliaeth said in a post earlier this week. Shifting goal posts. A character that you like (Derek) does something bad (which he was an antagonist and could even be considered an outright villain in the first two seasons) and it's Scott being an "unreliable narrator", but when we talk about Derek's trauma, that aspect is dropped because... well, no reason. But if we drop the "unreliable narrator Scott" aspect, now we can fully feel bad for Derek and what he went through in his youth with no repercussions whatsoever.

Just for anyone following this, if Scott ever said anything negative about a character that you liked, or if he looks good during the story, it's because he's an "unreliable narrator" but if we saw something that made you feel bad for a character you like or something you thought was an amazing character development (like Derek giving up being an Alpha to save his sister) than that obviously happened with no narrative bias whatsoever.

"Stiles and Derek have one of the most meaningful relationships on the show"... where? Both characters had more of a connection to Scott than did to each other, unless you're counting them snarking at each other, or Derek hitting Stiles. I mean, to each their own, but that doesn't seem like the foundation to a relationship to me. Unless you're referring to that scene at the end of season four, the only major scene where they weren't at each other's throats when they were trying to help Liam from shifting while on their way to Mexico.

One of us has on rose-tinted glasses and it's not me.

For anyone else following along, I am genuinely just stating what happened on the show. It's on Amazon Prime if you wanted to go double-check me.

All of this is in response to this post.

I'm going to tag @always-mimits out of courtesy, because I don't have "discussions" in comment sections.

We'll start with their response regarding what I said about Steve Rogers, debunking him trying to kill Tony in Civil War.

While I'm happy that you recognize that some of your bias comes from fanfiction and not the actual text, it's your line at the end that bugged me. You can dislike Steve because of his Engame ending all you want. Everyone who followed me during that time knows how much I loathed that ending and how vocal I was about saying it. But that's not what you said in your original post.

You said specifically that you hated Steve Rogers because he's "so moral" [never stated by him or anyone in the movies] and that he tried to kill Tony.

It's an easily disproven statement by simply watching the movie, so you don't get to change your goal posts by saying you really meant something else.

Moving on...

Once again, what makes Scott's relationship and attitude toward Allison - his girlfriend! - different than any other example provided in this show? Why is it that Scott's a creep for looking over at Allison when she changed out of a wet shirt into a dry one but Stiles isn't a creep for knowing Lydia's measurements or when he walked in on Malia showering? Why is one character hated for what no one cares about in another character?

Why is Scott hanging around to protect her considered weird but not the same for Liam and Hayden?

Why is Scott obligated to tell Allison that her mother tried to kill him when Derek doesn't have to tell anyone what went down with him and Kate back in the day?

I know these aren't from your responses, but I see them enough that I have to add them. Why are the double-standards so stacked against Scott?

And as for Scott not telling Allison about what happened st the rave, that's hardly the first time someone in her family tried to kill him and failed. From the time Victoria killed herself to when Scott finally got to sit down and talk with Allison was episodes later. They saw each other in Party Guessed, when Victoria was still alive, and didn't see each other again until Master Plan (aside from the Argents attack on the Sheriff station in Fury where she demanded Scott hand over Derek) when the big showdown happened with Gerard and the Kanima. After that, they had a goodbye scene and then she left the country!

Moving on...

But once again, you weren't calling out Stiles being obsessive (though it is nice to see someone else say it), you were specifically talking about how Scott was "obsessed" with Allison and how that makes him "not a great character".

Why is it that Scott has to jump through ever changing hoops to be considered a good character but other characters get a pass for doing the exact same thing? What is the difference? Because the only one I can see is the fact that Scott is played by a Latino actor.

Which leads me to this...

If I had a dollar for every time someone used the "I thought Scott was white" excuse when they're called out on their double-standards, I could retire tomorrow.

I'm not saying you are doing this deliberately, but it's something I've seen across multiple fandoms with similar characters.