#were they allies? or just lumped together as betrayers of the people? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

faebriel · 3 years ago

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ok ok I'm insane and couldn't pick one so have two (no need to answer both if you don't want to)

“You talk to him.” Not kindly, but he does.

“I’m used to him,” he shoots back. “I’m the only person who is.”

That makes Niki feel something, some uncomfortable tug in her chest. She mentally kicks herself. It’s not jealousy, she reminds herself, because despite the near-cliff jumping and the long nights without food and the nuclear fallout that has punctuated her last few months, being jealous of Tommy would be the least reasonable thing she’s allowed herself to be, maybe ever.

“You don’t believe me,” Tommy says flatly. “You never - eugh.” He cuts himself off with another ragged sigh, running a hand down his face. “Look, Niki, it’s - we were all together in Pogtopia, right? But I was there first. With him. And you didn’t see the start of it, it was horrible, and I’m glad no one else saw the beginning of it either but it was still just so shit and he kept saying all these terrible things about Tubbo and Fundy and you and,” he takes a shaky breath, “then, when I died, I saw him.”

Her breath catches in her throat.

Well, the voice in the back of her head whistles. If you were still wondering about all this afterlife bullshit, if you want to know where you’re going after your third life, here you go.

and

“You didn’t even - this isn’t about L’Manberg, Wilbur!” Niki shouts.

And then he stops, breathing hard, and he looks at Niki the same way he does whenever her voice is being drowned out in a crowd - the way he does when he wants to hear her, when he wants to know what she has to say.

“What else is there?” he asks.

Niki freezes. Stock still, unable to move, unable to breathe, ice threading its way through her gut, her chest, her shoulders, chilled down to the bone. With slow-dawning horror, she can feel hot tears welling up behind her eyes, sitting in her throat, threatening to spill over into a sob. She swallows - to keep her cool, to stay calm, to keep it together -

And then, something in her chest just snaps.

“You said you’d come back for me!” she cries, and her voice hitches on the lump of tears at the back of her throat and god, she sounds absolutely pathetic. Wilbur’s face softens immediately, which somehow just makes her feel even worse. “In Manberg. When Schlatt put me in prison, and you and Tommy were in Pogtopia, you said you’d break me out when it was safe. I waited for weeks , Wilbur. It was… it was horrible.”

“Niki…” a kaleidoscope of emotions flicker across his face, and he seems unsure which to settle on. “We got you out though, right? After the festival.”

“You looked for the button first,” she says quietly, and he stills.

Her sniffling sounds embarrassingly loud against the quiet background of night.

thank you sm!!! i’m gonna put these under the cut because they got a little long sorry (tw for discussion of suicidal ideation)

to preface: tommy is kind of the accidental but incredibly necessary invisible support beam for niki and wilbur’s making amends in bitter. niki cannot accept wilbur’s actions and apology without first acknowledging her own actions and making steps towards an apology, because otherwise it kind of falls flat? in that ending scene niki finally gets what wilbur is feeling and wilbur finally gets that someone else knows how he feels (it’s not perfect 100% yet, but…. that’ll get explored later)

onto the actual snippet! “tommy talks to wilbur - not kindly, but he does” was very important to me! tommy has stuck by wilbur ever since pogtopia, but the tragedy is that he is not equipped to deal with wilbur’s issues, and it shows. wilbur’s first stream after revival depicts this really clearly, where tommy tails wilbur around the whole time but insults him, is still stuck on calling him the villain, physically fights him at some point, etc. on one hand this isn’t healthy but on the other hand tommy is actually around, which is more than can be said for basically any other ally wilbur has had on the dsmp, maybe excluding his dad, who literally killed him lmfao.

this whole issue is exacerbated by the fact that tommy believes that he is the only person who properly understands wilbur, the only person who gets what happened to him, and feels like wilbur is generally his burden to bear. he failed to stop wilbur from both 1. hurting other people and 2. killing himself after the pogtopia-manberg war - and he doesn’t trust wilbur not to do either of those things again, so he’s stuck hovering around wilbur while wilbur is inadvertently setting off his own trauma and feeling responsible for any way he might fuck up and hating that but not wanting to leave. tommy’s memory isn’t perfect and he isn’t a perfect narrator, what he remembers from pogtopia the most were the scariest parts and that’s understandable but it means he’s holding wilbur to the worst expectations of behaviour (and he does so very vocally). the others showed up later, sure, but in tommy’s eyes he’s the only one who saw wilbur’s descent, and by the time they showed up wilbur had already changed irreversably. tommy tries to rationalise this by splitting the ‘different wilburs’ apart from each other in his head (he does this in canon too - there’s one quote from like late 2020 where he says he and tubbo need to keep on going for who wilbur used to be, not who he became, even though they’re,, the same person), and no one challenges that perspective, so he just keeps doing it even though it’s not healthy for him or wilbur.

and then limbo happened and, oh geez, THAT didn’t help jhfaskjjfsa

tommy is on a bit of a knife edge with niki in this fic. niki’s in this state of “ok, he’s annoying whatever, i’m moving on”, but all tommy knows is that she tried to kill him that one time, disappeared off the face of the map, joined a book club with two people who definitely do not like him, and now is just acting weirdly mellow and polite. she is not someone he wants near wilbur bc what the fuck is she gonna do? what is he gonna do? who knows. he’s frustrated that niki doesn’t seem to acknowledge how he’s feeling (especially bc once upon a time she would have been someone he trusted to acknowledge them - they were friends, they fought together) and he’s taking a big step by telling someone about his concerns here, especially bc tommy doesn’t really like talking about them at all. he wouldn’t be saying absolutely anything to niki if he didn’t truly believe she should stay away from wilbur, even if he’s wrong about him. (sometimes i think i write tommy as a little too emotionally mature here but it all goes out the window when wilbur’s brought up. idk if that balances it out)

ok onto niki: this is the first she has actually heard of limbo! she’s only just come around to the fact that resurrection is possible at all. death is kind of a touchy subject for niki both in general and re: wilbur in the fic - she’s coming off of a period in her life where suicidal ideation was, uh, a big thing (whether you want to read that into canon or not is subjective, that’s just the angle i went with in this fic). the sudden existence of a life after death, miserable as it is - and whether she really believes in such a place, when it only exists in tommy and wilbur’s words - that is a lot of information for her to absorb all at once. death is a weird connection point for tommy and niki here, coming right off of the fact that they’ve just acknowledged each other having those problems - tommy, out of, yknow, altruism, would very much like to keep niki out of that place, and niki is quietly reckoning with the fact that that is where she would have sent him. the concept of limbo from the perspective of a character with no experience of it, even secondhand, is so interesting to me like what kind of eldritch location would you feel like you’re living in asghjkl

(also - i gotta be honest the jealousy angle here but mostly when she’s talking later about dream not deserving wilbur’s companionship kinda came out after this post came across my dash while writing. whoops /j)

fun fact, this is the very first snippet of bitter that i ever wrote! all the way back in may!! this is like the moment of the fic - it's where the miscommunication that niki and wilbur have been having is shattered entirely - and so sticking the landing was uhhh kinda important to me lol.

wilbur's entire being in this fic is basically consumed by L'Manberg - he equates his self worth to it entirely. in his eyes, everyone (rightfully) hates him because of what he did to L'Manberg, because L'Manberg was corrupted and he himself with it, etc. niki tries to tell herself this, and while it definitely does form part of her issues with him, it was the betrayal that causes her this much pain - that he seemingly brushed her and their friendship off entirely when he supposedly left her for dead in manberg. because here is what we as the audience know: wilbur couldn’t leave niki in trouble when he heard her life was in danger, even when he was trying to find the button (pretty much the only thing he sees himself as having left at this point) and so he returned. here is what it looks like from niki’s perspective: wilbur told her to wait in manberg until it was safe to come to pogtopia, laid the place with TNT, went to blow up the place, and only returned when he couldn’t find the detonator (and then the first thing she saw him do in pogtopia was encourage the pit behaviour but that’s not what we’re talking about asdfgh). that is massive miscommunication and it’s been brewing between them for months - to make a quirky little reference to the title, niki has been carrying that anger with her so long it's gone bitter. it was never just about l’manberg with niki - not that anger, not her and wilbur’s friendship (hence the little flashback earlier in the fic, bc niki’s relationship to anarchism and statehood or statelessness juxtaposed with her friendships with wilbur and eret - she loves l’manberg bc she loves wilbur, but she loves eret too and those national ties don’t undermine that - is Real Interesting to me) - so when wilbur asks what else there could possibly be (because in his mind, what else could she have bothered staying around for?), she just fucking breaks.

“Niki freezes. Stock still, unable to move, unable to breathe, ice threading its way through her gut...with slow-dawning horror, she can feel hot tears welling up behind her eyes” - prose discussion time! heat and cold are two big throughlines in this fic - particularly for niki, cold is what she is. admittedly when i started with it i mostly wanted to subvert hot = angry and cold = dead but i kinda ended up enjoying this take on it for what it is instead of just as a subversion (also i like the idea of revived people running hot, their bodies r working hard to keep em going). she’s holding onto her feelings and refusing to deal with them, she’s frozen over. descriptions of cold are key to niki’s mental state throughout the fic - cold weight on her chest, feelings of frostbite when she and wilbur hug the first time, ice cold water during the dinner scene, waking up in the cold flat, etc. this was an attempt at describing a more visceral feeling of like, when you’re really mad and you can just feel the adrenaline running through your veins. always felt more cold than hot to me. when she starts to cry, the facade she’s been putting on is finally thawing out and cracking the ice she’s buried her feelings under. (also gives an excuse to write warm comforting hugs towards the end /hj). it’s a loss, it’s catharsis, it’s a whole mess.

and ofc this is all news to wilbur and he feels terrible, because as unintentional as it was, he really really hurt her - because the destruction of l’manberg fucking sucked but above all else wilbur hurt the people he loved because they loved him so much and not in spite of it, because they cared about him so deeply and his death was a massive blow to them. this hasn’t even dawned on him, because how could it? he respects deeply niki (lowkey respects her opinion more than his own at this point) so he has to listen, because it’s niki (“and he looks at Niki the same way he does whenever her voice is being drowned out in a crowd - the way he does when he wants to hear her, when he wants to know what she has to say” - because he does), and what she says fucking floors him. in his eyes, he failed her by putting her in danger and then by destroying her home - the idea that she valued him and their friendship so much flies entirely over his head until this moment, and he is forced to re-evaluate the mindset that has motivated him since… basically since pogtopia! the way i write wilbur is like… yes, he’s one of niki’s closest friends and he’s more aware of her insecurities and issues than most (which is why he does always take the time to listen to her, etc) but he does over-idealise her a bit. tbf, i think he does to some extent with everyone (calling tubbo strong on the anniversary stream, for example). also the fact that he really wasn’t around for niki’s lowest moments as a character! he still thinks of her the way she was in l’manberg - confident, steadfast, respected - and this moment shatters that for him as he realises exactly what effect he and his death had on her and everyone else, not just by his actions, but because they loved him and cared for him so deeply.

sorry that this got horrifically long!! and thank you so much for sending snippets in <3333

#ALSO SORRY THIS TOOK TWO WEEKS. LMFAO #asks #thespoonisvictory #dvd commentary #< i have successfully coerced a discord server into doing the dvd commentary on a regular basis and it is the BEST thing

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bnhayyy · 4 years ago

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The Call (9)

Chapter Title: Betrayal

Wordcount: 5.4k

Fic Tag: Click

Ao3 Link: Click

Chapter Summary: Mikasa receives an alarming phone call.

Notes: My final upload for @mikannieweek ! Day eight was a free prompt, and I went with... well. You'll be able to see what I went with.Thanks Celadon for the beta!

Mikasa woke up with a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. It spread out through her body and into her limbs. It did not make the world seem softer or kinder - she had seen too much for such a thing to be possible. But it did make her feel that much more capable of facing the day ahead. It made her exhaustion a little weaker and her will to fight a little stronger. Maybe, just maybe, that was because it was suddenly so much easier to remember that she had a reason to fight.

What she was feeling wasn't love. Mikasa had never experienced romantic love, but she knew enough to know that this wasn't it. It was too new. Too fresh. There was too much that she didn't know about Annie, too many feelings that came up when she thought about her that she hadn't yet identified. This was something vague and tentative and mysterious. Yet it was also undeniably nice. Refreshing. It was the knowledge that she wasn't alone anymore. That there was someone who understood her, and an attraction that drew them closer together. It was...

...If she allowed herself to hope, she would go as far as to say that it was something with potential.

Mikasa hadn't allowed herself to hope in a long time. She wasn't entirely sure if she was ready to do so now. So instead, beyond a moment of consideration early in the morning, she didn't allow herself to think too heavily on the feelings. She would simply settle for being happy that they were there.

Her day panned out to be a simple one. Annie was busy, but Mikasa didn't have any plans other than trigonometry class in the evening and patrolling after it. That was fine with her. She used the opportunity to get caught up on her admittedly daunting pile of late trigonometry work. Assignments from that class piled up quickly, and even with Annie taking some of the weight off her shoulders, she hadn't managed to get fully caught up.

It took several hours to work through her to-do pile, but she didn't mind. There was something nice about being able to block the problems of the rest of the world out and focus on numbers and equations.

Then, an hour before she had to get going to trigonometry class, her phone rang.

Mikasa ignored it at first. However, not even a minute after it stopped, it began to ring again. With a frown, Mikasa pulled it out of her pocket and checked the ID.

Unknown number.

She let the caller go to the answering machine without picking up.

They called again.

And again.

She broke down and answered on the fourth call. As a rule, she tended not to answer her phone for unknown answers. However, if something was urgent enough for someone to call her four times in a row, then she supposed she could give them the time of day, however irritating it may be.

"Hello?" Mikasa answered.

"Ackerman," replied a familiar, unwelcome voice. "It's Ymir."

Mikasa's good mood died instantaneously. She reflexively tightened her grip on her phone, the device straining beneath the pressure. "How did you get this number?" she hissed.

"Doesn't matter," Ymir said.

"Was it Krista?" Mikasa pressed.

Ymir scoffed. "You really think Krista is going around sharing her classmate's numbers?" She barreled on without giving Mikasa a chance to respond. "It really doesn't matter. I have something important to tell you."

Mikasa grit her teeth. "There's nothing I want to hear from-"

"Bertolt and Reiner are vampires."

The air around Mikasa seemed to freeze. "Excuse me?" she breathed, unable to believe what she was hearing.

"Bertolt and Reiner," Ymir repeated. "Annie's friends? They're vampires."

"No," Mikasa said, not a hint of hesitation in her tone. "That's impossible."

"Why?" Ymir questioned. "Because you've seen Reiner in the sunlight?"

Mikasa pursed her lips. "For a start."

It was impossible because Bertolt and Reiner were Annie's friends. Reiner was warm and kind. She may not have seen soft-spoken Bertolt as often, but he was supportive and treated the people around him nicely. They were her allies. At this point, she might even go as far as to say that they were her friends as well.

They weren't soulless monsters.

However, Ymir seemed set on a different story. "Ever noticed that ring Reiner wears?" she asked. "Gold with a big green stone?"

There was no reason for Mikasa to hesitate. There was absolutely no point in her entertaining a single word that this vampire had to say. Yet something in Ymir's voice, the confidence and condemnation, sent a shiver running up her skin. That made her pause for a moment.

Ymir seemed to take that pause as an invitation to continue. "It's called the Gem of Amara. You can ask your watcher about it. When a vampire wears it, it grants them complete invulnerability. Can't be staked, can't be beheaded, and holy water, crosses, and sunlight all have no effect; but they're still a vampire."

Mikasa stayed silent for another moment, trying to wrap her mind around the ridiculous story that Ymir was trying to spin. It was a mistake. Ymir paused for just a second, and when Mikasa failed to cut her off, she added in a forceful, demanding tone, "you've been all buddy-buddy with Reiner. Tell me, have you ever touched him? He's awfully cold, isn't he."

"Reiner isn't a vampire," Mikasa snapped. "He's a good person, not a murderer."

"Then how come Krista and I found him tossing a body in the river last night?" Ymir snapped right back. "He was going to kill her for walking in on him. Want proof that he isn't human? We can meet up; I have a broken leg from our little fight."

A faint, cold feeling began to sink in Mikasa's stomach. She ignored it.

"You're lying," she said.

"I'm not," Ymir replied. "But okay, you won't believe me about Reiner. What about Bertolt? Tell me, Ackerman, have you ever seen him out in the sunlight?"

This was a dangerous game. She didn't want to give Ymir any information that she could use. At the same time, she couldn't just stand there and let those accusations slide. So slowly, cautiously, but as cold as the winter's frost, she said, "it's his schedule. He works all day and takes classes online."

"Have you checked?" Ymir asked.

Mikasa faltered. "What?"

"Have you checked," Ymir repeated. "Because if you look for a roster of the college's online students, I guarantee that he won't be on it. Hell, do you have any proof that he actually has a job? Ackerman. Is there even one shred of evidence to support those claims?"

Mikasa didn't allow herself to be moved. "Annie's a slayer. That's evidence enough."

"Yes," Ymir said, her voice deepening with enough gravity to make a lump form in Mikasa's throat. "She is. And that's why you need to understand that you are in serious danger."

The coldness in Mikasa's chest began to spread. She ignored it. "Why would you care if I was in danger?" she asked.

"I don't," was Ymir's immediate response. "But I care about Krista, and Reiner was going to kill her last night."

"You're a vampire," Mikasa said, not even acknowledging the other lie.

"And that means I can't have anyone I care about?" Ymir retorted.

Mikasa took in a long breath and slowly let it out. "I don't have time for this," she said.

Ymir snorted."Good, because I didn't call you to talk about philosophy. Bertolt and Reiner are vampires, and Reiner's going to be damn hard to kill, but they're also just pawns working for something much longer. Ask your watcher about the Tybur Group."

A moment of silence. Mikasa wanted to protest, defend Annie. Find the flaws in Ymir's argument and point them out, because there had to be so, so, so many. What Ymir was saying couldn't be the truth. She shouldn't even be entertaining the thought. Yet the faintest whispers of doubt had begun to sprout on her mind, and they were enough to freeze her solid.

The moment was shattered by Ymir's low but urgent hiss. "Think about it, Ackerman. What could pose a bigger threat to a slayer than another slayer? Leonhardt and hers didn't come here to help you, they came here to get you out of the way. "

It was a lie. It had to be. Annie was all about teamwork (it got her close to her) and had found her because she didn't want to be the only slayer anymore (she'd said so little about herself). Bertolt and Reiner were kind, friendly people (element of surprise). Meeting Annie in the graveyard that night might have been the best thing that had happened to her in years (good things didn't just happen).

Mikasa should have said something.

She didn't, and so Ymir pressed on. "You care about the well-being of the world, right? Well, if they kill you, Tybur will have the one and only slayer in their pocket. And once that happens, the world will start looking a lot different."

Her words shocked Mikasa out of her stupor. "That's ridiculous," she said, because it was. It had to be. The big, devastating picture Ymir was hinting at was a betrayal of Annie's very nature as a slayer. Mikasa's stomach twisted with guilt at even entertaining the thought. (Yet the coldness of suspicion continued to spread through her veins.) Besides... "Annie saved my life when we met."

"And Reiner's been doing a good job of worming his way in with your friends, by the sound of it." Ymir paused for a heartbeat. When she resumed speaking, her voice had grown fractionally softer. Sympathetic. "It's a cruel game, Ackerman. That doesn't mean they aren't playing."

Mikasa felt sick. She reminded herself that that was probably Ymir's aim. The vampire had probably called her to knock her off balance and make her doubt her allies. Mikasa opened her mouth to say as much, but before she could get a word out, Ymir was talking again.

"Don't trust me. Then talk to Leonhardt. But not right away. Take your time, think it through, and get ready to fight for your life first, because she is not the person you want her to be." Ymir paused and Mikasa heard a faint huff and the sound of shuffling papers. "I have other idiots to warn, but. Good luck. Try not to die."

The line went dead.

Mikasa pulled the phone away from her ear, and for a moment, all she could do was stare.

Then she started to plan.

***

Erwin would want to know about the phone call. However, Mikasa dismissed the thought of going to him as soon as it had occurred to her. This was between her and Annie, and she could handle it without his interference.

So she blocked all thoughts of her watcher from her mind and focused on the facts.

Mikasa liked Annie, more than she had expected to, maybe even more than she should. She trusted her. Over the past handful of weeks, she had even come to depend on her to a degree.

She did not know her well. She did not know Reiner well. She was only somewhat familiar with Bertolt. As much as it hurt to acknowledge those facts, to let that whisper of suspicion in, she would be a fool to not acknowledge it at all.

Ymir was right about one thing. This whole thing could be settled by a conversation. Odds were, the vampire was hoping that Annie would be hurt and offended that she even considered Ymir's accusations. She wanted the weight of the accusation to tear them apart. However, Mikasa trusted that Annie was more logical than that. She had to be aware of how little she had told Mikasa about her own past. She would understand that Mikasa couldn't just brush Ymir's story off without looking into it at all. The distrust may sting a bit, but it would not tear them apart completely. They may even come out stronger for having had the conversation.

Once that was over with, Ymir would be well and truly dead. Neither of them would tolerate a vampire messing with them like that, especially one who already killed scores of innocent people. They would double down on their hunt and Ymir would be dead within the week.

It was a headache, but it was straightforward and simple.

Except it wasn't. Mikasa also had to consider the elephant in the room, the entire reason why she couldn't just ignore Ymir's call.

The possibility that she was telling the truth.

That possibility made Mikasa text Annie to tell her that she wouldn't be in trigonometry class today and request that they meet in the graveyard. It was the reason why she readied her crossbow, one of her knives, and a sword, but didn't bother with a stake.

A stake was far from the most efficient weapon when dealing with a slayer.

It probably wouldn't come to that. Mikasa knew (hoped) that it wouldn't come to that. However, there were parts of Ymir's warning that just wouldn't be shaken off. So, on the tiny, improbable, impossible chance that the vampire was telling the truth and her fellow slayer was the enemy...

She got ready to fight for her life.

***

The sun had long set by the time Annie appeared in the graveyard. It wasn't an accident. Mikasa had asked her to show up later than usual, just to be safe. If there was going to be a fight...

There wasn't going to be a fight. Ymir was messing with her, Annie and her friends were allies, and they would have all of this cleared up and sorted out before the night was over. Mikasa was taking precautions even though she knew there was no real reason for them. However, if, theoretically, two slayers were going to fight, she would want to minimize the odds of them being spotted.

Annie only had her sword with her. That was good. Mikasa glanced down at her own weapon, clasped tightly in her hand, before turning her attention back to the other slayer.

Annie wore a somewhat puzzled expression, but otherwise looked like she wasn't going to comment on her fellow slayer's odd behavior. That changed when she drew a little closer. A slight frown fell across her lips as she took in Mikasa's expression, followed by a furrowing of her brow. "Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Ymir got my phone number," Mikasa said.

"Ymir," Annie repeated, surprise flickering across her face.

"Yeah," Mikasa said. "She... told me a story, about you, Bertolt, and Reiner."

For a second, the surprise lingered on Annie's face. Then it began to fade away into an expression that wasn't quite stony. It should have been, but there was something under it, feverish, wild, and fighting to get out.

No.

"Oh?" Annie asked, lips quivering.

Prove her wrong, Mikasa thought.

"She said that Bertolt and Reiner are vampires, and that you're here to kill me."

Please. Prove her wrong.

Annie stared.

Then she began to laugh.

No.

Mikasa took a step back, but the laughter continued. Annie's face began to flush bright red as she tilted her head back and placed a hand over her stomach.

Moving thoughtlessly, like nothing more than a puppet powered by the knowledge of what she was supposed to do when faced with an enemy, Mikasa extended her sword.

"I told- I told Reiner this was a bad idea," Annie wheezed.

"Is that a confession?" Mikasa asked, voice colder than she'd heard in months.

Annie straightened her head to give Mikasa a wild, joyless grin. It was nothing like she had seen on her before. Or more it was more true to her than anything she'd seen yet. Looking at it, Mikasa suddenly realized that she wouldn't know the difference.

"Mikasa," Annie said. "It's been fun."

And then the other slayer drew her sword and lunged for her throat.

Mikasa ducked and raised her sword. The clash of steel against steel was as much of an anchor as it was a shock, a reminder that this really was happening, that she couldn't allow herself to think or feel yet. She pushed back against the force bearing down on her. When she felt Annie's sword begin to slip, she lunged to the side and sprang upright.

Annie swept her leg out to try to knock Mikasa's feet out from under her. Mikasa jumped and swept her sword out at Annie's still-moving leg. The side of it grazed her thigh, drawing a line of blood to the surface but earning no outward reaction from the other slayer.

A flash of Annie's free hand told Mikasa that she was going for her dagger. Mikasa lashed at her with her sword, but Annie ducked down and somersaulted forward, springing up only inches away from her face.

Annie thrust her dagger forward.

Mikasa dropped her sword and grabbed her wrist before the blade could plunge more than a centimeter into her stomach.

Mikasa wanted to gasp. She wanted to gasp from the pain of the knife in her gut. She wanted to gasp because this was actually happening. She wanted to gasp because she had been foolish enough to end up in this situation in the first place.

Instead, she looked Annie in the face. Time seemed to freeze as their eyes met, Annie trying to force her dagger further into Mikasa’s stomach while the other slayer’s grip on her wrist held firm.

Annie’s eyes darted down, and time resumed. Mikasa brought her leg up and kicked Annie in the stomach. The force of it made her drop her dagger and sent her flying several feet.

Mikasa turned her mind away from the pain and forced herself to move quickly. She pulled the dagger out of her stomach - painful and risky, but necessary to keep fighting - and opened her bag to drop it in. Instead of picking her sword back up, she kept the bag open long enough to grab her crossbow, already primed and ready to shoot.

When Annie got to her feet, it was to find the crossbow aimed at her face. She glanced down at the sword in her hand, then at the weapon, then at Mikasa's face.

Their eyes met, and Mikasa did the worst possible thing.

She hesitated.

And Annie turned and ran. Mikasa adjusted her aim and pulled the trigger. A bolt flew forward and embedded itself in Annie's shoulder. The rogue slayer let out a sharp cry and stumbled, but did not stop running. Mikasa took off after her, but couldn't run as fast as she needed to with the sharp, persistent pain in her stomach.

The chase couldn't have lasted for longer than a few minutes. Soon Annie was gone, and Mikasa was left alone in the graveyard. The graveyard, where she absolutely could not afford to stay right now. Because if Ymir had been right about Annie...

A massive weight came crashing down upon Mikasa's shoulders. Everything that she had been naive enough to shuck since she met Annie, plus the reality of this new situation. More than the stab wound, it made every step feel like a marathon as she limped her way back to where she had dropped her sword.

The sword that Reiner had given her.

Mikasa stared blankly at the weapon as she picked it up. It wouldn't do to leave a weapon sitting around in the graveyard, but she was suddenly very certain that she wouldn't be using it much in the future.

***

Walking back to her apartment was grueling. The pain radiating from her stomach made her want to walk slowly, but she couldn't afford to. If someone caught her walking around with a stab wound, she'd have to make up a cover story and waste precious time with a hospital visit. If an enemy happened upon her in this state, she would be at a stark disadvantage.

And it seemed that she had more enemies than she had realized.

No. Not seemed. The blood smearing across her stomach was proof of how foolish she had been.

Mikasa closed her apartment door, then leaned heavily against it. The keys shook and slipped in her fingers as she locked it. When she finally heard that click, it didn't come with its usual sense of security. Instead, Mikasa just felt... numb. Empty. Foolish.

Alone.

She looked down at the sword still grasped in her hand - Reiner's sword - and let it go. It fell to the ground with a clatter. Next, she let her shoulders go slack and felt her weapon's bag slip off and onto the floor beside it. Her keys were pocketed, but for a moment, it felt like those would slip from her fingers as well. It was tempting to allow herself to drop to the ground as well, to slide down against the door and give in to the emptiness and despair inside her.

She didn't. Couldn't. She was the slayer, and that meant she had a duty to do. That duty wouldn't be aided by tears or emotions.

Mikasa had to take care of her wounds, get back into fighting condition, and then she would do her duty.

Blood dripped onto the carpeting as she walked into the apartment. She noticed it, distantly acknowledged that she would have to clean it up later, but it quickly disappeared into the depths of her mind. Everything did. The only thing she allowed herself to focus on was taking one step after the other.

She walked through the kitchen on her way to the bathroom. As she passed the kitchen table, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and set it down. Her fingertips left little smears of blood on the back of the casing.

Upon reaching the bathroom, she headed straight for the tub. She squatted down beside it in order to avoid jostling her stomach too much, put the stopper in, and turned the hot water on. Then she stood up and turned to the first aid kit sitting beside her sink.

A consequence of being the slayer was that a normal first aid kit wouldn't cut it. Mikasa's was larger than most people and contained, among other things, advil, rubbing alcohol, a suture needle, and sterilized suture thread. Those were the items that she fished out and carefully set on the toilet.

First, she swallowed a couple of advil dry. Then she began the painstaking process of taking off her blood-stained clothes. It was difficult to do without jostling her stomach too much, especially her shirt, but she managed.

She didn't know if doing this in the bathtub was a good idea, but at the moment, she didn't care. It was going to be painful, unpleasant, and difficult no matter how she went about it. The warm water might make it a little more tolerable, so she was going to take advantage of that.

Mikasa got in the water before getting started. She allowed her torso to sink beneath the water and winced at the fresh sting when water seeped into the wound. Her blood rose into the water in a cloud of pinkish-red. For a moment, she stayed still. Then she began to tenderly rub at the edges of the wound, washing off the bits of blood that had dried against her skin.

Her eyes began to water. She didn't allow herself to think about the reason why.

Once her skin was clean, she used her foot to turn the tub's faucet off, then pulled herself up so that the wound was out of the water. The movement sent a fresh burst of pain through her torso, to which she grit her teeth and reminded herself that the worst was yet to come.

Mikasa reached over the edge of the tub, toward the toilet, to grab the rubbing alcohol. She opened it and dropped a splash onto her wound, then gasped at the sting it elicited. Still not the worst part.

The needle and suture thread were in individual packages. She opened both and threaded the needle, then dipped the needle in the alcohol just to be safe.

Then came the miserable part.

Mikasa had to focus on what she was doing to make sure she handled the stitching correctly, but it was also easy enough that she didn't have to put much conscious thought into it. That was how she powered through. Although a good portion of her willpower was spent on staying still, she focused the rest of her mind on everything that was worse than having to suture her own stab wound.

Mikasa had tricked herself into believing that a second slayer meant that she wasn't alone while getting cozy with an enemy. Because that was what Annie was. A threat. A rogue slayer. An evil slayer, if she was cooperating with vampires. Because that was what Bertolt and Reiner were. Vampires.

None of them had truly wanted to work with her or be her friend. They had espoused the merits of teamwork to her because she would be easier to kill if she trusted them. She could see it now, how the manipulation worked, where she had been too quick to trust.

She had decided to trust someone for the first time in years, and this was where it had gotten her.

Annie wanted to kill her. It was her mission to kill her, from what Ymir had said.

Mikasa may not have known Annie half as well as she had let herself think she did, but she knew that she would not give up on a mission easily. Not a real one, one that she had truly dedicated herself to.

If Annie wanted to kill her, then Mikasa would have to kill her first.

Just like she would have to kill Bertolt, who was rarely seen not because he was shy and had a busy schedule, but because he couldn't step into the sunlight without bursting into flames.

Just like she would have to kill Reiner, who was a soulless murderer with a ring that granted him invulnerability.

None of them were her friends. And Mikasa had been foolish and weak to let herself think that they were.

The thoughts created a miasma of anger and guilt that didn't quite dull the pain, but redirected it enough for her to power through the operation. She clung to it until she had sewn the final suture, at which point she, blinked the tears out of her eyes, tied off the sutures, and broke off the needle and remaining thread with a sharp gasp.

Mikasa allowed her muscles to go law and slumped back against the bathtub. She didn't sink low enough to submerge her stitches, but it was a close thing. The edges of her vision flickered black as pain coursed through her. It was a sharp stabbing in her stomach, as if Annie were still digging the knife in, that faded into a throbbing ache as it radiated out into her limbs. She knew that the pain would begin to fade if she just gave it time.

She didn't have time to wait for the pain to fade. The most she could justify was waiting until it had dissipated enough for her to be able to move. Regardless of her personal feelings for Erwin, she could see where it would be foolish not to inform him of all that had happened. Plus she would have to warn everyone else about Annie, Reiner, and Bertolt.

They wouldn't take it well. Annie and Bertolt had kept some distance, but most of the group had grown attached to Reiner, blissfully unaware of the false pretenses their relationship was built upon. Perhaps it was a good thing that Annie had stabbed her. Physical proof would make it easier for her to get them to believe her. After that, she would only have their actual reactions to worry about.

Mikasa was overcome by a wave of exhaustion that had nothing to do with her injury. She leaned her head back and allowed her eyes to slide shut.

When she opened them a few seconds later, Eren was standing over the bathtub and staring down at her.

His eyes were glistening.

"Mikasa," he said. "I'm so sorry."

Mikasa glanced down at her stomach. Flecks of blood welled up around the crisscrossed black of the sutures. If she squinted, it almost looked like a mouth snarling up at her.

"It's fine," she murmured, voice dull and lifeless. "It'll heal."

"That's not what I meant," Eren said. There was no denying the pain in his voice, something caught between desperation and loss. Mikasa may have tried to analyze it at another time. Right now, with all her earlier feelings flowing out of her as exhaustion and pain took over, she just couldn't bring herself to make the effort. Instead, she watched as he knelt down beside her. He started to reach out a hand, but faltered and withdrew it when his fingertips were a few inches away from her arm. Or the illusion of them, at least.

"I'm sorry that I let this happen," Eren clarified. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about them."

Oh. So this was what was happening.

Mikasa tilted her head back and closed her eyes. "I should have figured it out," she said. "I let them trick me, and I only have myself to blame. I don't need you to remind me."

"That's not what I meant," Eren insisted, the strain in his voice building until it sounded like it might break. "I hoped that you could reach them, and maybe we wouldn't-"

"-Eren," Mikasa cut in before he could get any further, or the stinging in her eyes could get much worse. She'd already cried too much today. She didn't need to add any more tears to her mess. "I can't do this right now."

A moment of silence. Then, just before Mikasa was going to open her eyes, Eren whispered, "alright. Just remember that I'm sorry. I didn't... This wasn't my intention."

"I know," Mikasa said. "But when I open my eyes, I need you to be gone."

No response. She kept her eyes shut for several more moments, just to be safe. Then, slowly, she opened her eyes.

She was alone once again.

Mikasa allowed herself to linger in the bathtub for several more minutes. It could have been more, but the water was beginning to grow cold. The whisper of a chill dancing over her skin reminded her that the world wouldn't stop and wait for her to have a breakdown.

With gritted teeth, she began the painstaking process of extracting herself from the bathtub. Standing up made flashes of black cling to the edges of her vision once again. She braced a hand against the tub's wall and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the pain hadn't faded, but her vision had refocused, which was enough for her to work with. She grabbed the fluffy white towel hanging from the shower rod and carefully wrapped it around herself. Pinkish droplets of blood-soaked water sank into the fabric, telling her that she would need to include it in her next load of laundry.

She made her way into her bedroom and pulled on a pair of pajamas. It felt like a defeat - the admittance that she wouldn't be doing anything else that night. She dealt with it by reminding herself that she shouldn't risk anything more. Tomorrow she would be healed enough to put actual clothes on. However, if she tried for too much tonight and tore her stitches, then her healing would be set that much further behind.

Once she was dressed, a deep, guilty part of her wanted nothing more than to lay down in bed and go to sleep.

Mikasa pushed it down and forced herself to walk into the kitchen. There, she sat down at the table and picked up her phone, which was now flecked with dried blood.

Three calls were waiting on her voice mail.

As she stared at the notification, her phone started ringing once more. She answered it immediately.

"Mikasa," came Erwin's voice, rushed and urgent. "You need to get to my house immediately."

Mikasa swallowed down the lump rising in her throat and asked, "why?"

"Marco Bodt has been murdered."

#mikannie #yumihisu #mikannie fic #snk fic #snk #attack on titan #my fic #my writing #the call

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siennahrobek · 4 years ago

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Obi-Wan could smell it before he even thought of lowering his shields enough to feel it. It is the tangy and coppery smell of blood. The Temple is drenched in it and even though it no longer flows, he can nearly see it flowing down the columns and steps, once beautiful and magnificent. Once home. There is fire and blood, smoke that fills his lungs until he feels he can no longer breathe.

There are corpses everywhere he turns, he cannot escape the sight. The clones had not done anything with the bodies, they had just shot elderly, sick, teachers, children and younglings, in the back and moved on to shoot another and another and another. His stomach was rolling in continuous waves and his feelings are nothing but nauseous.

He has seen many battles, many fields strewn with bodies of both the enemy and the innocent. Has seen his own men across these fields, fighting to protect those who cared very little for them. Fighting and dying in defense of the innocence on the planet they happened to be on, shielding them from mortars and blaster fire. Countless shot, blasted, crushed, ripped apart, fallen. There are few horrors he has not seen and witnessed.

But it has been many years since he last witnessed a place so soaked with the demise of so many children. But this time, this time, there is no one left to keep on.

Obi-Wan is drifting. Drifting through the halls, an aimless and futile search for survivors. The clones are good at what they do, battle and war. They carry their orders well. They do not leave survivors. They never left a single droid unbroken and operational on the countless battles he has fought alongside them with. He does not understand. He thinks he never will.

It does not escape his eye, however, that some bodies did not sport the death wounds of blaster shots. Many had been beheaded or relieved of any number of limbs. The cauterized wounds a lightsaber makes.

Someone led the troopers into the Temple, someone they trust and someone the younglings thought they could trust.

A jedi.

There was yet, another traitor.

Obi-Wan travels deeper and deeper, letting his feelings guide him. There is nothing left, he finds, only the feelings of horror and betrayal lingering. The oppressing cold of the dark side. It screamed at him, a mournful wail. Perhaps it is suitable, he thinks, if he died here, if he wandered so deep, became so lost, he could not return. The thought it almost appealing, he thinks, because this must be what his destiny is. Something so lonely and terrible that only he would survive it, because, in the end, for some reason he cannot fathom, he is the one who continues to stand, continues to survive. He is nearly to his knees, leaning against a cold stone wall when he hears it and in the beginning, he is not entirely sure that it is not his brain playing tricks upon him. Because if the sound is true and real, nothing would be the same. A hushed sound brings him back to his senses and he reaches out, hesitantly, carefully. Something reaches back. That sound changes his life.

There are survivors. A gaggle of children huddling behind a clone with askew armor and a lightning scar over his head. A tiny horned head pops over the top of it, little hands gripping the armor and eyes wide with curiosity. The clone went to cover it but upon the younglings cry of joy at the sight of the jedi master, his shoulders roll and with the motion, so does the tension. He somehow expects a battle, an enemy. Obi-Wan can relate.

Firework, the trooper supplies. Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize him and the clone barely knows who Obi-Wan is either. As the younglings cry and try to grab hold of the jedi they know, Firework spill out. He does not understand what is happening. He knows about as much as Obi-Wan does. He does not understand why his brother have done something so awful, so cruel, so out of character.

He thinks something must be wrong. Obi-Wan isn’t sure he can think about it right now, so he does not. He just stares at what is left, down at the bodies that are wriggling to get close to his presence, as if he can offer them some amount of safety. He is uncertain what he is able to offer. Out of ten thousand, it is not much, but it is something. It is everything.

It is hope.

He leads them to the communications and information hub for answers, for something else. He contacts Bail Organa on the way, his only known ally, and requests for a bigger ship. They have more cargo to smuggle now. The senator seemed relieved at the prospect. Firewok glances at him, cautiously. He doesn’t know who to trust, especially when it comes to the government, to the senate. Obi-Wan can relate.

He relays a message to any surviving jedi to not return to the Temple.

The darkness and tyranny has risen, the Republic, fallen.

That time is gone and passed. A future that is uncertain, no longer safe.

There will be challenges, trust, faith, friendships.

There will be a new hope, he assures.

He really does not know who he is trying to convince. The children listen, quiet and attentive but once he is done, all of the questions bombard him. What is happening Master Kenobi? Where will we go? Why are our loved ones dead? Why are our loved ones killing us?

He does not have the answers for them.

Instead, he directs Firework to lead the children out of the Temple, sneakily and quietly and away, as Bail’s awaiting ship approaches to take them far from this place. He tells him there is something, one other thing, he must do, and he will catch up for certain. There are security tapes near everywhere and he has accessed them. He must know.

“It will only bring you pain,” a voice, a little Tholothian youngling, declares, her voice mournful and sympathetic, but it is too late. The recording plays and his heart twists, his chest lumps together and he can no longer breathe. Because, of course, he knows that face. He knows that face, but he does not recognize those eyes. Those yellow eyes.

Anakin.

He doesn’t refute it. Not with a youngling around. Not when she witnessed the horror. Who is he to question her trauma, just because he does not want to believe it? Perhaps, if she had not been there, he would have muttered denials. Because it seemed impossible. Anakin was capable of a great many things, but he never would have thought that he would slaughter children. Not this.

He doesn’t say anything else on the matter. He just stares as his beloved apprentice, his beloved brother, kneels at the feet of a Sith Lord, declaring himself and pledging himself to the Master. Anakin was always so concerned about becoming a slave to anything, Obi-Wan supposed the young one hadn’t realized he had just walked into it willingly. “You must go with the others,” he says instead, his voice cracking and somehow, it has become hoarse. Unusual, considering he has not been screaming or crying or even talking that much as of late.

“You must come with me,” she replies instead.

“There is someone I must warn,” he counters, the words coming out of his mouth before his brain can catch up. Somehow, he knows who he must warn but he wants nothing to do with it, not really. She will not believe him.

“You can call her,” she adds, patiently. He wonders if she knows who he is thinking of. She almost acts as though she does and perhaps it is true. They had never been one for subtly. Anyone could know rather easily. “There is no one else we can trust. Please.”

He nods but his mind is full. How can he not? “I apologize for my inadequate behavior,” he says in express regret, tone quiet and subdued. She takes his hand, curling her fingers around his larger one, and starts to lead him away from the recording, playing on a loop. It will stop automatically in a few minutes; he realizes but he cannot summon the strength to turn it off. He can hear a few sounds, but little else from it. “I do not know what I am thinking.”

“It is okay,” she assures, squeezing his hand, gently. The touch grounds him, brings him back to the present. He is tired, he knows, but not enough to cease action, not enough to stop moving forward. “But you survived. You are everyone’s best hope to survive too,” she points out, shuffling closer to his side. “Our only hope. Help us.”

“I have survived,” he agrees, although his voice is rather bland. He isn’t sure exactly what she is saying he has survived. It could be any number of things. Conflict, war, pain, death. He still wonders why him, out of all people, all beings, that keeps surviving these things. But then again, he does know, doesn’t he?

Infinite sadness, a nonexistent wind whispers.

Right, he thinks. He hadn’t lost everything yet. He has not yet become a near powerless, lonely old man in the desert.

Life had more to take.

Firework had been on the verge of absolute panic upon discovering the youngling’s absence when they got to the docked ship. All of them were aboard and he appeared ready to dive back into the horror scene that was once their home. Obi-Wan nearly could swear the clone nearly fainted in his relieved sigh when he saw the two of them, hand in hand, approach the ship. Bail had a rather large air craft waiting for them to rendezvous with. No one knew what would happen know and they looked to Obi-Wan for answers.

How could he tell them that he didn’t have any? Not one?

Obi-Wan, after getting the children to sleep, called Padme. It isn’t a pleasant conversation, and it drags out, no matter how many times he tries to excuse himself. She has questions. And once again, he does not have answers. He warns her of Anakin, of what he has done and what he could do. She does not believe him. But there is something there that she does know, he just can’t read it through the call. He lacks surprise at her disbelief, she is even more blind to Anakin’s faults than he is, apparently.

But Obi-Wan knows the truth. He just cannot convince her of it. He suggests she get help, a lot and fast, if she wants to survive her pregnancy – the jedi cannot help her now. This she is surprised by although Obi-Wan doesn’t know which part. Is she surprised that he knows about her pregnancy, or did she not believe the jedi would have helped her? It does very little to matter.

They are gone.

He musters all his sympathy.

But everything falls away when a little mirialan youngling comes to him for comfort. The child is scared and unsure and does not want to frighten anyone else with his own fear. He wants to be strong for them, to help Obi-Wan and Firework in what way he can. He tells Obi-Wan this, staring up at him with dark eyes, green skin flush but determined and steadfast. Obi-Wan just stares, his eyes and gaze softening; everything about him tempering. Because at this point, he has no lost everything, not as of yet. He still has something to hold onto, something to live for, to love and cherish and protect. And he will, the jedi vows.

Obi-Wan’s resolve strengthens to near nothing he has felt before. It is invigorating somehow. His arms lose the ache of use to hold the child to his chest with warmth coursing through the surface of his skin. His heart intensifies, beating in time with the youngling’s own. He feels it, so does the child. They stare. The soreness in his legs cease significantly, as the will to lift him up continues to rise. He no longer feels the need to collapse, his legs no longer feel like they will collapse underneath him, unable to support his weight. Because now, he can support the weight of them all. He will continue

He will continue until he has nothing left. Until his bones crack and shatter, until he can physically no longer stand or sit or go gone. Until his heart gives out and his mind can take no more. Until he can no longer see with his eyes, see with his senses, see at all. Until he can no longer smell or taste or touch. Until he can no longer sense, danger, the force, the love and care that they have for him, and he has for them. Until his memory is long gone, and he cannot remember even how to breathe. Until he can no longer teach and protect and love. And then he will continue, beyond, still.

None of it mattered because he will continue, always, consistently, never with falter. There will be no giving up. If only for them. His love is not finite, and they will know it, he vows.

Somehow, someway, they end up in the medical facilities on Polis Massa as if they are meant to be there. Perhaps it was the senator’s droids that contact them, maybe it was the will of the force guiding them, perhaps it was even just plain coincidence. He does not know. But standing over her, surrounded by jedi survivors, jedi children, trying to keep her from dying, while holding her two bundles of light, he does not remember how they got here. And of course, as it all comes to be, he does not care much either.

They are beautiful.

And his jedi children, his strong and incredible jedi survivors, were trying so hard to keep Padme alive. They pull and pull, no matter how much she tries to withdraw. Obi-Wan does not know what she saw or what happened when she went after Anakin and confronted him, in any capacity. He cannot imagine that it had been good or productive, especially considering the state she is in and her lover’s absence. But she could not be so selfish to give up her life because of him, because of one man that gave up everything else in hatred and power, not when she had two innocent babies that needed her. He would not let her. She may not have cared for the genocide and murder of his people and his children, but Luke and Leia are two that are hers.

In the end, they do keep her alive but do not know when she will awaken. The doctors say she is exhausted and weak and needs a lot of time to regain her strength, if she is even capable of it at all. Obi-Wan nearly wonders why, a little, because how can she be so exhausted and weak, so ready to give up when she knows, when she knows that she has children depending on her. But, in the end, he supposes, it does not matter. What is done is done.

He gathers up his gaggle of younglings in his arms and praises them for their good work. He tells them how good jedi they are, and he is infinitely proud. He will always be infinitely proud. They beam and love and he just wants to bask in their light forever. After everything they had been through, the intense horror of their people’s genocide, they are still so light, so strong and so remarkable.

They are amazing.

Bail himself eventually makes his way to them soon after. From then on, it is just them who does most of the planning. Bail seems to be the Jedi’s nearly only ally as of currently, at this point. The war had done a number on them, the propaganda, even more so. But it is the new emperor’s statements and rise that really seals the jedi’s fate once and for all, at least, for now. They believe him, somehow. They all believe that the jedi are traitors, that they are evil, power hungry monsters. That their children deserved to be slaughtered in their beds. Never before has Obi-Wan wanted to truly commit to a move of sai tok on a person.

Ideas are bounced off between the two of them, as they search, as they plan. One thing is for sure – the Empire cannot continue to stand. They talk about what is next for them, for Obi-Wan and the younglings. Bail offers to take Padme, to their healers and doctors so she can rest and heal. For now, he can hide her away until she awakens and can make a choice on what she would like to do next. He offers to take Luke and Leia to raise as their own until Padme can do it herself and Obi-Wan hesitates.

It is not that he does not trust Bail, he thinks, especially after this, Bail is one of the few that he continues to trust, continues to in a galaxy where everything and everyone is against him and his people. He has no doubt that Bail and his beautiful wife would do a magnificent job raising children, even ones such as them. He knows Bail well and he has come to know Breha as well. They are quite wonderful people that he will continue to care for. But Luke and Leia are highly force sensitive. One could be hidden perhaps, quite easily even, but the two of them were bound to feed off one another’s emotions as they grew, eventually. They are twin suns.

In the end, somehow, he relents. They negotiate and compromise and once more, perhaps it helps that Bail can and is willing to hide all of them away. It helps that he is willing to hide them in the mysterious and remote mountains of his home planet, a place to treacherous to travel, it would be likely that only a jedi could really find passage. It may be right under the emperor’s nose but Obi-Wan has a feeling that this can work.

He is right.

It helps that Bail makes it clear that he will continue to help them.

They leave the medical facility quickly, in fear of who may chase after them, but their talks continue. He plans to start work in the senate, in the government, in the galaxy, immediately. He, Padme, and several others had already started a movement before this had happened, that could be turned into something of a rebellion. It would be slow coming, but it will come.

Bail nearly has a heart attack at the sight of Firework when he and Obi-Wan go into the ship with the younglings. He was nearly killed by clones when he had stopped at the Temple the first time, in the midst of the genocide. He was saved by a padawan. But after a conversation, it is agreed – there is something horribly wrong with the clones. No one is certain that what has happened to them is their fault. Bail promises them, he promises Firework, holding his hand to secure his words and his vow, to look into the issue. Perhaps kidnap a few to test and understand what can compel them to turn on the jedi. A few out of millions would hardly be amiss, Bail says. Little does Obi-Wan know at that point, Bail is already scheming to steal the 212th Attack Battalion back for him.

Breha is as kind and beautiful and strong and amazing as always. She is more determined and steadfast as ever in her support of Obi-Wan and his people and somehow, someway, has already started searches out for any surviving Jedi, to find them and bring them to their new home. He presents her the twins of Luke and Leia, and she tries not to fall in love with them immediately. She probably does not succeed, as Obi-Wan had not succeeded either.

She promises to do all the things Obi-Wan recommends when it comes to rearing the children so sensitive to the Force and tells him he can visit whenever he wants or needs. She even tells him she will bring him to their new home and place when he would request. She is willing to do virtually anything for the betterment of these children, Obi-Wan realizes and even questions about keeping them together and not with others of their kind. He offers her a few reading materials and some tips. She gives him the most secure comm link that is around for the two of them.

The trip to their mountain hideout is as treacherous and dangerous as Bail had warned him, but in the end, being a jedi was nearly the only way to get there without getting themselves killed. And Obi-Wan was right, it was the perfect place to hide away from the Empire. Alderaan itself might be close and suspicious in the Empire’s purview but not only was this place, carved deep into a mountain so remote and difficult to find, it hid them away, physically and spiritually.

It would need some cleaning up, but it was mostly untouched for however long it had been since the ancients had left it or died out. It was beautiful and although everyone is a little hesitant, he thinks and they think, they can somehow, someway, eventually call it home.

They stand in the grand fall after the third entrance, where the walls swallow and the ceiling reach high up, held together by study columns. They are all holding one another. The littlest ones in the adult’s arms and tucked against their chests, the others holding hands tightly, as if they release one another, they will disappear forever.

And then, it is just a lone jedi master, a single clone, and a gaggle of children.

And until the Empire was dead and gone, until the people in power no longer thought of his people as traitors, monsters, and evil ones, they are forced to run and hide.

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heyitsmejona · 4 years ago

Text

Jona’s Story

background reference

Story under the break!

TABLE OF EVENTS:

Backstory

Zhaitan

Mordremoth [HoT]

Break [LW3]

Balthazar/Joko [PoF]

Kralkatorrik [LW4]

Jormag [IS]

Warning: Some big spoilers for every single story part in GW2 ahead!

1. Backstory

She was born and raised in Divinity’s Reach and had a more or less protected childhood. It was always her dream to become a member of the Seraphs. But her parents died really early into her teenage years because of a bandit attack on their bakery. Then it was only her older sister and her, who had to make due by themselves. Her dream was slowly moving away from her, they had to sell the bakery and she started to work as a barmaid in one of the taverns. As she reached adulthood her sister met her future spouse and moved to Queensdale a few years later. Jona remained in Divinity’s Reach, until she spit up a bar fight between a group of Seraphs and citizens. That is when she first met Logan, her life made a full turn afterwards and she soon carried the armor of the seraphs proudly. Her name grew after she saved the Village of Shaemoor, helped her Quaggan friends and became a member of the Vigil. Still unaware of future events, her life began to enter a downward spiral as her sister got captured by the Harathi. She managed to save her just in time but after she brought her to safety she had to depart, to save Lion’s Arch from an unknown threat.

2. Zhaitan

After joining the vigil, she fell in love for the first time. It was truly magnificent for her. She wasn't on to make friends easily, so this pretty much surprised her. After she saved Lion’s Arch from the first Undead attack. The massacre of Claw Island was a blink away. Her love died on that island, she would never return to. Her anger and rage was short, but her grieving began. She went to Orr, fought the Undead and their master Zhaitan. But her heart grew empty. So many good people died there, her groll was mostly aimed at Trahearne. She could not even look him into the eyes anymore. She always wondered how he could lead so many people into their wet graves with the look of excitement on his face. But she also gave herself a load of guild too, she didn’t stop it. She knew you weren’t able to save everyone but she could have at least tried a bit harder. That was when she entered another turning point in her life. She left her friends behind and disappeared. She wanted to help people but this was not the way.

3. Mordremoth

The expedition into the Heart of Maguuma and its failure happened. She couldn't just close her eyes about the whole event, so she went to help. But not as the commander, just as a mere soldier with a new face and name. Maguuma was hard and unforgiving, she did not stay until the very end. She could not, the thought that her friends were captured and might die just because she didn't offer her help, broke her. During all this she only met Aurene only briefly one time. She made a beeline for the Shiverpeak Mountains.

4. Break

One of her sister’s friends, an old norn woman owned an abandoned homestead not far from their own. She offered it to Jona in exchange for a little help with the Dolyaks and the Sons of Svanir. Almost no one from her former life knew where she was, or if she was still alive. Until she began to exchange letters with Zojja. Who wrote her about all the things that happened in Maguuma and Trahearne’s and Eir’s death, that Logan and her were still recovering and what all her other friends were up to. They build a strong friendship over the many letters exchanged. It helped them both, to tend to old wounds and give each other a helping hand as they built themselves anew again out of their broken parts. After a while Jona made the decision to travel again, see where she could help folks out. And maybe she slowly got her mind ready to finally stop running.

5. Balthazar/Joko

With the “discovery” of The Crystal Desert and Elona her travels were bound to end up there eventually. She met her friends in a fight against the Forged and helped them out. Both sides were not really ready for the sudden meeting, but when is one ever ready for something. The climate was tense and the remaining trust only a thin strand. But Jona stayed and the old nature of their friendship started to shine through. But she was a different person now, not entirely, her essence was still the same but some parts changed. She was wiser now and more collected and ready to die for everyone. Which eventually happened by the hand of Balthazar. She didn't really mind, it was peaceful? She had to return of course, there were still things to do but it brought to her a certain comfort. She didn't have to fear death anymore. Joko, the master of the Awakened was only a mere wood lump in her way, which she stepped over easily. He was a bit funny, I think they could have been friends in another world. But her next problem wasn’t far ahead.

6. Kralkatorrik

The third elder dragon she met ate Balthazar? And she was off to fight a new threat to the world. She didn’t go by commander anymore though. She was just Lady Jona to her colleagues and subordinates. Many still called her commander of course, and just blatantly ignored her request. The title was a form of respect to them. She wondered if her suffering would ever find an end. During all of this she got finally introduced to Aurene. Aurene knew that Jona was her champion, it was supposed to be this way. But Aurene also saw that Jona would not easily be swayed into this position. It took a lot of trust and many personal talks to accept that this was her destiny. She liked Aurene, and saw her more like her little sister over time. She planned to introduce her to her older sister, once this was over. Because let’s be real, Aurene’s original family totally sucks. They deliver Kralkatorrik from his pain together. But another war was as always about to start soon.

7. Jormag

After Kralkatorrik’s defeat, the relationship between the Charr legions began to boil slowly but surely, and soon the blood legion attacked and Bengar's betrayal would let the galaxy fall into disarray. (I’m sorry) Jormag whispers weren’t far away and grew louder and louder. They wanted Jona to become their champion. Jona was prone to listen, these times would expose themself to be another straining experience on her mental wellbeing. She almost gave in a few times, would not have others been there to help her find a way through the snowstorm. Almorra’s body was discovered, another friend and lost love gone.But she was stronger this time and Aurene and Taimi got her back. Braham and her still didn't talk about Eir much but Rox grew to be a new friend and ally in dangerous situations. Gorrik turned out to be funny and she almost adopted him, she loved that little guy and would always listen when he told her about Blish. She isn't really one to hold grudges, so when she found out that Rytlock released Balthazar and Ryland was his son or that Gorrik was a former member of the Inquest she almost toppled over from laughing so hard. She even forgave Braham for blaming her for Eir’s death, even though he didn’t talk to her about it. He wasn’t so wrong after all but not justified either. But damn, did she hate Ryland.

To be continued?

#gw2 art #GW2 characters #GW2 OC #gw2 #gw2 spoilers #spoilers #spoilers for everything #gw2 character story #gw2 writing #i did it you guys #damn #i finally wrote it sdown #my art #my commander #jonas story #added a break if ppl dont want to rb a too long post

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reliciron · 5 years ago

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Rattataki Headcanons

Rattataki, the rowdy bastards of the galaxy.

There isn’t very much on them, canon or otherwise, but a lot of my own personal headcanon aligns with what @spookthespy laid out in this post.

Rattataki evolved on their own, they are not descendant from humans, but as a near-human species, they CAN inter-breed with them, so an ancient lost Republic expedition would have either died or been assimilated into the gene pool. However, while human DNA is very widespread among the Rattataki population, the amount is very small and rarely causes much structural differences to their body.

Their blood is a grey-ish blue, and their skin is a combination of chalk white and translucent depending on how much time they spend in the sun.

Their rock hewn villages makes me think that originally they were cave dwellers, thus the pale complexion and eyes. The chalky white is their version of melanin, so the more translucent their skin is, the less sun they’re getting. The sun on Rattatak is very dim and diffuse, so the day there looks more like twilight to us, and their sun lights the sky up in a deep red from sunrise to sunset. Still, it is common to wear protective shawls and scarves over your head to protect it from the harsh UV rays. During battle, these head coverings are taken off or replaced by helmets, but it is preferable to leave the face uncovered at all times so their clan tattoos can be recognized.

I agree with spook in that their ink is basically gang tattoos, meant to help them recognize allies and enemies. And I also agree that piercings are a mixture of decoration and status. You get them because you want them and the more you have the more well off you seem because you can afford them.

They tend to have a low body mass, often short and stocky or average height and lanky, large individuals are fairly rare. While they are not any physically tougher than other species, their pain response is generally duller than other races, and in the midst of a rage, it’s nearly nonexistent. A berserk Rattataki will. not. stop. until you’re dead, they’re dead, or they pass out, whichever happens first.

They are an extremely healthy people, thanks to their ugly habit of culling the weaker members. They rarely get sick, but when they do, it is cause for immediate panic and isolation. To be caught in a weakened state could mean death, so even when out in the greater galaxy, illness produces almost paralyzing anxiety. This goes for just about anything that might hinder their ability to defend themselves: injury, illness, pregnancy, all of them lead to a constant state of anxiety until it is resolved. Miscarriage is a common problem on Rattatak. However, once healed, scars are a major source of pride to Rattataki, very much a ‘hey, look at me, I was tough enough to live through the injury AND the healing process without dying/ being murdered so you should think twice about messing with me’.

I totally agree with spook about their diet and iron stomach, and I’d add that this goes for drinks too. It takes A LOT to get a Rattataki drunk, and they are capable of drinking water that is far too brackish for other species to tolerate. Beggars can’t be choosers is a major mindset on Rattatak.

And I love their idea of Rattataki being very grabby about their food, especially the stuff they like, and being very uncomfortable with eating in public.

They’re generally kind of selfish, and very slow to trust, but once you DO get there, they’re pretty loyal. But if you stab them in the back after they trust you, there will be absolutely NO SECOND CHANCES, they may even go out of their way to be aggressive if not kill you outright, depending on the nature of your betrayal.

Very very opportunistic. If they see something they can get away with grabbing, they will grab it, even if they don’t really need it. Stuff is useful, someone will always want something, and the more stuff you have, the more you can trade for. A random thing you took a week ago could save your life because you traded it for medicine or food.

They’re particularly head strong and willful. They want to do things the way they want to do them. Their way or the highway. They CAN listen to other people, but it needs to happen before they make up their minds, after that they’ll probably just get mad at you because it will infer that they’re doing it wrong or they’re stupid for doing it that way. If you try to impose your will on them too often, you will be lumped into the ‘that asshole’ category, and you will never climb out. That’s why they tend to be so resistant to authority. Someone telling them what to do, even if it’s in a kind way, when they’ve already decided how they’re going to do it, pisses them off. Backtalk helps them establish just how strong the authority figure is, and weak leaders/bosses don’t last long.

Adaptability is definitely the name of the game on Rattatak. Being able to roll with the punches is a matter of life and death. Backup plans are a must, but if everything goes to hell you need to be able to think on your feet. Yet another reason to have a lot of stuff. You never know if the thing you grabbed the other day might come in handy, or could be made into a different thing that would save the day. Creativity is a prized trait, especially in regards to jury-rigging stuff. If you know how to cobble together a generator from 3 paper clips and a roll of tape, you are very valuable.

Notes on Appearance:

[Yet another example of me being grumpy that so many swtor aliens look like reskinned humans, so dammit, I’m going to tweak their appearance to fix that.]

I’ve drawn my consulars before, and while they have an atypical body shape, their general facial features are pretty standard for my version of Rattataki.

Their eyes are wider set than most near-human species and slightly turned outward, sort of a sweet spot between front facing and side facing eyes. This gives them a very wide field of vision while still having binocular vision in front, so it’s very difficult to sneak up on them. The down side is that the binocular field is narrower and the blind spot directly in front of them is larger. But if an enemy has already managed to get into your blind spot, you’re dead meat anyways. It also means that it’s common for a Rattataki to look at you a little more side on instead of directly facing you.

Their ears are small, pointed, and mobile. They have very good hearing, and a decent sense of smell.

Since they’ve had to adapt to eating just about anything, they tend to have small fangs for gripping food, the equivalent of carnasal teeth instead of premolars for shearing, and heavy molars for crushing. Their jaw muscles are very strong, so if they bite you, you better plan on losing whatever they’ve gotten a hold of.

And like spook said, there is generally little difference visually and culturally, between genders.

#swtor #star wars #rattataki #alien biology #rattataki biology #this is the fourth swtor alien bio i've done apparently this is a habit now #go read spookthespy's post it's very good

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dramaqueeenamby · 6 years ago

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4AM:16.1

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TAGGED IN THIS STORY, CLICK HERE.

A/N: I am EXHAUSTED. I will proofread tomorrow. :(

Words: 4K

MASTERLIST ---- BEFORE you read this chapter, read PRETTY WOMAN.

4AM

“Brother!” T’Challa looked up from his seat to find his little sister staring down at him with frustration. “Glory to Bast, what is wrong with you today?”

“Nothing,” he cleared his throat and sat up in his seat. “What is it, Shuri? Have you found anything?”

She shook her head with a look of semi-defeat plastered over her face. “Not yet. Still working on it, though.”

“I would hope so,” he glared lightly, Shuri paying him no mind as she plopped down on the sofa in his office. “What?”

“What are you going to do when you find out who leaked them?”

His shoulders tensed. “Do you really want to know?”

“Do you even know?” She rebuffed as he chuckled. His sister was smart, sometimes too smart for her own good.

“It depends on who it was. If it was a woman, she will be jailed-”

“And if it was a man?” Shuri pressed.

T’Challa leaned back in his chair and squinted his eyes. “The less you know, sister….the better.”

Shuri shook her head. “Brother, you cannot go around murdering people.”

“Did I say that I would kill him?” He challenged.

“Aha, so you do think that it was Amari.” She pointed out with accusation in her eyes and voice. “I knew it.” He averted his gaze. “I can’t believe he would go so far as to hack her though.”

Even though T’Challa said nothing, he quietly thought about how he absolutely believed his wife’s ex-lover to be capable of such a thing. He was bitter and upset that she’d ended things between them and had now stooped so low as to send him a myriad of explicit videos and pictures that she’d sent him over the past few months.

He was just happy that she was unaware of the potential scandal that was brewing while she was in the midst of getting the help that she needed.

“You miss her?” He looked up to see Shuri giving him a crooked smile. “Don’t you?”

He stood up and brushed off his clothes. “Finish tracking the source, please.”

The scientist pouted as her brother kissed her on her forehead and headed for the door. “You never answered the question.”

T’Challa turned around with a smirk before walking out the door. “To quote a very wise sibling of mine: I do not answer stupid questions.”

----

“You’re late.” T’Challa frowned as he was met with an older woman who shared a striking resemblance to Falala. “Where were you?”

He frowned. “Excuse m-”

She eyed him from head to toe. “Very nice outfit. How unfortunate that it will be filthy by the time you leave today.” She suddenly grabbed him by his arm and dragged him inside, slamming the door shut behind him. “Don’t just stand there! Letting all of my cool air out.”

He was thoroughly perplexed….did this not woman know who he was? “Ma’am, I-”

“Well, let me have a look at you,” she adjusted the glasses that were sitting on the bridge of her nose. “Spitting image of your father, you are. But I also see her too. You have her eyes.”

He froze. “What-”

She glared. “But your father’s lack of patience-”

T’Challa reached out to touch the woman’s shoulder. “Do you speak of Ramonda or…..”

“Is she the one who gave life to you?” She placed her hands on her hip. “Bast, and they said that you were bri-”

“Did you know her?” He cut her off, staring deep into her eyes. “M-my mother?”

The woman scoffed. “Of course. I was her tutor and closest advisor.”

T’Challa’s eyes widened. Did this strange elderly woman really know his mother? Who was she?” Falala had “ordered” him to go see her as part of his own therapeutic process, but she hadn’t explained why or for what purpose.

He was starting to see why.

“Can you…” He closed his eyes. “Can you tell me about her?”

The woman smiled warmly. “Of course.” A beat. “While you help me fix my roof.”

His eyes widened slightly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Come, young king.” She turned around, T’Challa noticing that she walked with a slight limp. “It appears I have much to tell you.”

-----

Bashira walked alongside the river located a few hundred feet away from the house that had been her home for almost a week and a half. Not too far behind her, Ayo kept watching for any potential threats while Luna walked so close to the queen that her soft fur rubbed against the equally soft material of her dress.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Falala questioned, trying hard to ignore the Dora. She wasn’t too happy that the king insisted on at least Bashira’s personal guard accompanying them. She thought Luna was protection enough; however, she understood his reservations.

The queen’s life and that of her unborn child seemed to constantly be in danger.

“Okay,” Bashira smiled softly, holding onto her stomach as she walked. “I have yet to cry, so I think that a positive.”

Falala matched her smile. “Tears are therapeutic, Bashira. A sign of release.”

“Well, releasing I have been.” She chuckled sadly. It was true. Since her arrival to her “retreat,” Bashira had shed many tears throughout each day, mostly attributed to the hard truths that Falala was slowly helping her accept.

She felt inadequate compared to her sister. She felt as though Nakia was better than her, hence why T’Challa consistently chose the War Dog over herself.

She somewhat always knew that Amari’s feelings for her were deeper than what he let on; however, she liked feeling needed, feeling wanted, feeling loved.

She hadn’t spoken to T’Challa following her father’s death because she blamed him. If he hadn’t taken her away from Wakanda, perhaps she could have been with him, she could have somehow saved him. Saying it aloud made her realize the fault in her logic, but at that time, logic wasn’t her ally. No, it was her enemy, an enemy that blinded her from seeing that if anyone could have comforted her during her time of bereavement….it would have been T’Challa.

He too had lost his father, something that never even crossed her mind until Falala mentioned it.

So yes…..many tears had been shed, but one thing Bashira could not deny was the freedom she was starting to experience. Freedom from the bondage of being held down by lifelong burdens, freedom from feelings of inadequacy, freedom from the chains of mistrust.

A part of her wanted to stay there forever, to be hidden away from the world. Just her, Luna, and her baby boy.

Yet…..a large part of her longed for him. T’Challa. She missed him.

A part of her “purging” was absolutely zero communication with those on the outside….that also included T’Challa.

However, it didn’t deter the king from calling damn near three times a day checking in with Falala to ensure that his wife and unborn child were still okay. Bashira was also pretty confident that Ayo was reporting back to the king the everyday happenings with the queen.

“You are quiet this evening,” Falala noted. “Is there anything you wish to talk about?”

Bashira paused, looking at the water, smiling as Luna rubbed her head against her. “I think so.” Falala nodded to indicate that she was ready. “My wedding night, well, after that…..as you know, is when I caught T’Challa and my sister….together.”

“Yes, I am aware.” She spoke solemnly. “You’ve said before that you were very upset by that reveal and understandably so.”

“I felt…” she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I felt so many emotions. I was...I was so angry but….not for the obvious reasons.” Bashira wiped at her face. Bast, she was starting to get frustrated with all of her crying, but she knew that it was needed. “I was furious, yes. I felt betrayed, yes. But I was….I was especially hurt because….because I hadn’t just given him my virginity, Falala.” She looked at her therapist. “I gave him my heart.”

Unbeknownst to T’Challa and Bashira, until that retreat......she’d fallen in love with the then-prince.

“You were in love with him,” the older woman continued as Bashira sniffled. “And seeing him with your sister….that pain….it wasn’t just for the betrayal.”

“It was the first time I’d ever been in love, my first heartbreak, and I was….crushed.” She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “I wanted to hurt him for deceiving me but kill him for breaking my heart.”

“Do you think that is also why you are having such a hard time learning to trust him again? Because you do not want to experience such pain again?” Falala already the answer but as the specialist, it was her job to never put information and project her own inclinations on her clients. She needed them to have their “aha moment.”

Bashira smiled sadly. “Yes, it is why I was having a hard time trusting him again.”

Falala’s eyes crinkled. “Was?”

The queen lifted her head and stared at the waters before rubbing her belly. “I’ve fallen for him again, Falala.” She looked at her. “I am in love with T’Challa.”

-----

“Okay,” T’Challa walked down the steps, his shirt discarded as he held buckets of paint on both arms. “Give it an hour or so, and you should be fine to enter the room.”

“And the roof?” The woman named Mahala questioned, watching some television program while sitting on her sofa.

“All repaired.”

“The bookshelf?”

He sighed. “Fully assembled.”

“The gate out back?”

He fixed his jaw. “Also fixed.”

“Hmmm, you do work fast.” It was taking everything in him to not disrespect the woman by cursing from his frustration. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come! Sit!” T’Challa rolled his shoulders and placed the buckets down on the ground, slowly walking over to sit on the chair opposite the eccentric woman. “You do have her eyes.”

“I did not just spend three hours fixing things for you to tell me that I have the same eyes as my mother.” He hissed before realizing the acrid facet of his tone of voice.

“Well, let no one ever call you passive.” She chuckled as a certain sadness overtook her face. “She was kind, quiet and gentle in nature but strong nevertheless. Extremely bright, one of the most intelligent students I ever had the grace of encountering. Her only vice….she was very naive.”

“How?” T’Challa’s voice was breathy, quiet, and desperate, the king clinging onto every word that she spoke.

“She…” Mahala made sure to find the right words. “She always saw the good in people….even when there was none.” She shook her head. “I was never fond of your father, but your mother….oh, she was head over heels in love with him. Thought the world of that man….and you.”

T’Challa’s chest tightened. “Me?”

“Oh yes, you do not remember because you were too young, but I would come to the palace and mentor her, encourage her, try to lift her spirits…..”

“After she became ill,” he surmised and averted his gaze. “Was she….was she happy?”

She smiled sadly. “Wait right here.” T’Challa watched her stand up and disappear into another room, his foot nervously tapping against the ground. He had no idea why he was so apprehensive. He didn’t do apprehension….yet he could not find it in him to quell his nerves.

“Your mother….” He looked up to see her holding a small box, again, that sadness on her face. “She asked me to give this to you but only when you were older, when you were ready, that readiness, as she wished, to be determined by me, and well, I believe it time.” She handed it to him. He stared down at the box and readied to open it but was stopped by her. “Not here….in your time, and in your own solitude.”

He fixed his jaw, running his thumb over the box. He had so many questions. Why hadn’t this woman come to him years ago? If she was so close to his mother, surely, he would have remembered her? Why had his father not told him of her? The thought of her playing games with him never crossed his mind. He was a good judge of character and while this woman had her quirks….he could see that she was genuine.

He also remembered the picture of she and his mother up in one of the rooms she had him working on.

And he could also tell that she had many more stories to tell, stories that he wished to hear.

“Thank you,” he spoke quietly, holding the box firmly. He wouldn’t let go of it even if his life depended on it. “May I….may I come back tomorrow?”

Mahala smirked. “Who else is going to resurface my pool?”

-----

It was late, the exact time she knew not, only that she could not sleep, twisting from one side to the other as Luna watched her.

Her dutiful panther absolutely refused to slumber until she was sure that the queen was fast asleep and, unfortunately, sleep would not find the queen.

Eventually, she sat up, reached over, and turned on the light before running her hands over her face. She was tired, yet….she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted something else.

Someone else.

Bashira nervously licked her lips. She absolutely could not. Falala would have her head if she even knew what the expecting mother was contemplating. She’d done so well the past week and a half. She hadn’t even thought about doing such a thing not once. Yet, her fingers played with her kimoyo beads.

She took a deep breath, thinking about Ayo who stood outside her door. Falala was fast asleep, and Ayo….she trusted the woman with her life. Not to mention, the Dora’s loyalties lied with her king….not the king and queen’s therapist.

She, for sure, would say nothing.

Bashira quickly turned on some music to sound out the conversation before going for it.

She wasn’t even sure if the call received two good rings before he answered.

“Are you alright?”

She instantly smiled not just at the sight of him but the panic in his voice and face. He was visibly concerned.

“Y-yes.” Bashira nodded softly. “I just….” She shifted in the bed and nervously twiddled her fingers. “I wanted to talk to you.” Her voice was quiet as she looked to see Luna was leaning on the bed, the queen tapping the empty spot on the mattress for her companion to join her. “Were you sleep? I’m sorry. I did not even check to see the time.”

“Bashira,” she looked to see that he too was sitting in bed, their bed, his torso exposed to her as he wore no shirt. “Even if I was sleep, it matters not.” His eyes softened. “How are you feeling?”

She grinned and reached one hand to pet Luna. “Good,” she confirmed before a thought crossed her mind. “Look,” she sat up a bit more and pushed the blankets down, revealing her stomach that was covered by a thin shirt, moving the camera so that he could see. “By Bast, I swear he gets bigger by the day.” She commented, even going as far as to kick the covers off, standing up, and turning to the side so he could really get a good picture of her bump. “He also loves sitting on my bladder now, speaking of which, wait here.” She took off her bracelet, T’Challa frowning as she disappeared from his vision.

Unbeknownst to her, he was taking pictures of her as she showed off her stomach, her womb which carried their son, his firstborn. It was a bittersweet, truly.

“Sorry,” she apologized a few minutes later, her bashful smile returning to his line of vision as he watched her waddle back into bed.

“You look good, Bashira.” He commented. “You look….happy.” It was true. There was a sense of lighthearted energy surrounding her. She seemed far from the unsure and fragile woman he’d left almost two weeks ago.

She nodded quietly, her eyes darting down. “This….this time apart...it has been good for us.” He couldn't argue with that. Well, perhaps, he could have argued that there was no need for them to have zero conversations while she was away, but he kept that to himself. “But I have missed you...I do miss you.”

Hearing that sent warm sensations through the king. “Is that why you called?”

Bashira smiled up at him and shook her head. “It is...I wanted to see you.”

He returned her smile. “I have missed you too, sithandwa sam.”

She leaned back against the headboard and, again, her smile faltered. “We need to talk though….about…..”

“We do,” he agreed. “But not now….in person.” He wanted to talk with her about certain things, namely, her abortion. It was a conversation that needed to take place but not in that venue. He wanted to be close to her, to be able to comfort her because, no doubt, the conversation would become emotional. “I just wish to talk with you.”

“About….”

“I’ve never known you to not have anything to discuss….”

She rolled her eyes at his playful tone and sunk down into the bed, laying on her side. “Okay, well, tell me what you have been doing while I’ve been away.”

Bashira was actually quite surprised as he started to inform her of what seemed like everything that occupied his time in her absence, most of it, of course, kingly duties. However, he also informed her of the video sessions Falala would have with him, something she hadn’t even been aware of, the queen wondering just when these sessions would take place. Were they while she was sleeping?

Nevertheless, conversation flowed easily between the husband and wife, teasing and suggestive comments also included but none of it being uncomfortable. They both felt relaxed with one another, slipping into an ease that they hadn’t experienced since before the wedding.

“I think we should go somewhere,” Bashira announced with a frown. They’d been talking for hours and while she was starting to get sleepy….she didn’t want to hang up. “Together.”

He raised a brow. “Where?”

She shrugged as best she could given that she was on her side. “It doesn’t matter. I just….I think it would be good for us, and I feel as though we never get enough alone time.”

“Yet you are pregnant….”

“T’Challa!”

He chuckled. “Where do you wish to go, sithandwa sam?” A beat. “I will take you anywhere.”

“You pick,” she responded quietly. “As long as you are there with me,” her eyes started to flutter as T’Challa gave her a small grin.

“You need to go to sleep,” he commented.

“I’m,” she yawned again. “-f-fine.”

He saw that her eyes were fully closed now as opposed to the previous fluttering only minutes ago. “Go to sleep, Bashira.” He glanced at the clock. It was two minutes to 4AM. “I will call you tomorrow.”

At that, she moaned quietly and opened her eyes. “N-no. I’ll call you. I don’t want Falala to find out.”

“Understood,” he agreed, mentally making plans for the upcoming trip and ensuring that he made sure his schedule for tomorrow would be clear and free for when she called. “Good night, Bashira.”

“T’Challa?” He looked up before he could end the call, his eyes taking in how she nervously licked her lips before she uttered three words he never knew that he wanted so badly to hear her say before hanging up.

“I love you.” And with that, as the clock hit 4AM, T’Challa felt a surge in his chest, a filling in his heart that he hadn’t realized was vacant.

Reciprocated love.

-----

Nakia beat on the door for a good minute before he swung it open, his chest bare. The princess was momentarily taken back.

Nevertheless, she caught herself and scowled. “What took you so long to answer?”

Erik chuckled as she marched in and closed the door. “Good to see you too, princess.”

“Listen, I did what you asked. I’ve done everything that you asked.” She narrowed her eyes. “I slept with that imbecile and extracted the data from his beads-”

“And I killed my best friend to keep him from talking,” Erik shot back harshly. “Priorities, princess.”

Nakia shrugged, completely unphased. “Collateral damage.”

“He was my friend, Nakia.”

“And now he’s dead,” Nakia pouted and feigned sympathy. “How aw-” She was cut off by Erik grabbing her throat and pinning her against the wall.

“Finish that sentence and bet you’ll join him and your pops,” Nakia clawed at his grip, the prince chuckling and letting go, watching her dub over as she gasped for breath.

“You promised me a crown, you bastard.” She hissed.

“And you’ll get it, but in due time.” He answered, rolling his shoulders and sauntering in the kitchen.

“Due time?” Nakia repeated with wide eyes. “How much longer do you expect me to let that bitch sit on what should have been my throne?”

“How interesting I find it that all of a sudden you strongly desire to be queen.” He noted with a raised brow. “Yet you were quite complacent being T’Challa’s side piece.”

“Fuck you, Erik.” She growled.

He sucked his teeth. “No thank you. I don’t do….” He raked his eyes over her. “-leftovers.”

“You bast-”

“The plan to have the child killed, obviously, failed, so we’ve taken another route-”

“Obviously, it failed because it was doomed from the beginning.” She rolled her eyes and sat on the arm of the sofa. “T’Challa would never let even a fly harm a hair on her pretty little head. He won’t let anyone hurt her. Period.”

“And that right there is the key.” Eriks smiled wickedly. “She’s his virtue…..and his vice. His greatest strength-”

“And his weakness.” Nakia finished with a small evil smile. “But I don’t-”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain it all to you in due time. Right now….” As he trailed off, three knocks sounded on his door, Nakia immediately standing up. “Relax, princess.” He also stood. “I figured it was time for you to meet our man on the….inside, if you will.”

Still, Nakia’s naturally standoffish nature caused her to eye the prince with reluctance, trying hard to ignore the way the muscles in his back flexed as he reached to unlock the door. However, Nakia’s shoulders and stomach dropped when she saw who was on the other side.

“Zuri?”

—

TAGLIST: @texasbama@profilia@90sinspiredgirl@msincognito67@janellemonaenae@onyour-right@beautifulbashfulblackqueen@skysynclair19@ilcb7@theresnomoregoodones@siriuslycollins@kumkaniudaku@inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove@theunsweetenedtruth@chi-chi97@aieyr@sarcastic-sunshines @chaneajoyyy @airis-paris14@karensraisns@cockyboysandsugarism@siriuslycollins@sisterwifeudaku@issa-melanin@babygirlofwakanda@niecey4cocaine@gibunpa@ashanti-notthesinger@idilly@wakandawinning@autumn242@chaneajoyyy@SUNFLOWER-HOE@palmsofgranate@lavitabella87@purple-apricots@missumuch1918 @simplyjaydaa @-harmonytbh@simplyyamberr@melanisticroyalty@forbeautyandlife@fentybabyy@amethyst09@ilcb7@maliadestiny@blackpantherimagines@heyauntieeee@youcantkillamutant@tadjoa@mejustme06@bugngiz@aieyr@bamakakechick@blackbypurpose@yourwonderbelle@multipersonalitygirl@chefjessypooh@hamato-rue159@blublubleu@elaindeereads@girlie94 @nubian-queen18@autumn242@romanticcandle@msblkshot710 @nubian-queen18 @romanticcandle @girl-with-the-pen@headhunchess@afraiddreamingandloving@thatbish27@almostpurelysmut @halfrican-heat@blkintrovert@xxthotii@marvelislifemarvelisbae@muhhhkrysta@dreamlloudly @k-o-jass@yoyolovesbucky@kileynoelle852@mademoiselleoya@supersizemeplz@violet-ines@silentlikethe-g-inlasagna@brianabreeze@bezzywazhere@beautifulbashfulblackqueen@halfrican-heat@marvelislifemarvelisbae@xxthotii@blkintrovert@indieee-vibeees@bluesaladexpertpsychic@queennanayaa@thegirlwithoutaname87@dreamlloudly@supersizemeplz@violet-ines@SHAELYN102@redbutterfly330@who-wants-toknow@abena-aa@bossyboyd03@phambili-myking@esther-adri@bluesaladexpertpsychic @vibranium-soul@yoyolovesbucky@nycoledon@syreanne@disneysdarlingdiva@dameshaemonique @girl-with-the-pen@klaine15689@jessyalmighty@im5ftbutmythroat66 @amore-fiore@thekinglai@ellebosemanduke@ovohanna24@takanoriwatasdeliciousstreetkidcroissant @esther-adri@chereedrop619@vibranium-soul@bossyboyd03@brianabreeze@jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @ugngiz@wakandankings@stringgeek13@chaddaddybose@mdoll97@derangedcupcake @mufasathatniggatho

#t'challa x reader #t'challa udaku #t'challa x black reader #black panther imagine #black panther #black panther fanfiction #black panther x OC #T'Challa x OC #T'Challa x Bashira #fic: 4am

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beezebubfics · 6 years ago

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Nowhere Left To Run - Pt.26

Hey hey hey, look who’s here with another update ~o~

uuuuuugggghhhhh this week has been a bitch. So much to do for a project to present next week and soooooooooo much stress...

Anyway, have a good day/night wherever you are!

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

Beca stood outside the guestroom, looking at the door in front of her. She wasn't really sure why she'd come here, why she felt like she needed to be here just because Chloe asked her. Taking a deep breath in, she finally knocked on the door, hearing a muffled 'Come in!' from inside before opening the door.

The room was dark, with a low light coming from the side of the bed, which Beca realized it was a little lamp. “Uhm... hi.”

“Hi“ Came Chloe’s soft response, the girl tucked into the bed covers. “Are you just gonna stand there?” The redhead motioned to the empty space at the foot of her but Beca didn’t move. "C'mon... Are you afraid?"

Beca could see a little smirk on Chloe's face and rolled her eyes, approaching the bed. "Of you? Yeah, right..." she scoffed and sat there, looking at the little lamp "You seem like you wouldn't harm a single fly."

"Well, you're not wrong... but I'm not defenseless"

"Right. Let's not forget that I brought you here a few days ago and you didn't do much to get away"

"You kidnapped me!"

"Eh, potato, potahto" Beca shrugged

"You caught me by surprise!"

"Dude, if you can only defend yourself when you know it's coming then you're screwed!" Beca watched as Chloe fell silent, fidgeting with the Witchlight on her hands "If we're gonna keep this mission going you're gonna have to get self defense lessons. Things might get dangerous"

"Yeah, I know. Aubrey's gonna teach me"

"Uh.. I was gonna offer to do that, but whatever.."

Both became silent, Beca feeling a little awkward for thinking that maybe the redhead would want to train with her.

"Oh, here" Chloe reached out her hand with the Witchlight on it "Before I forget to give it back"

Beca reluctantly took it, the stone almost instantly lighting up the room at the Shadowhunter's touch. Beca took that moment to look at Chloe, now in a brighter light. The redhead's eyes were bloodshot, tear stains on her cheeks. Chloe had been crying.

She caught bright blue eyes staring right into hers and Beca felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment, but couldn't find the will to turn her gaze away.

Chloe did instead and cleared her throat as Beca snapped out of and it put the Witchlight in her pocket, turning the room dark again.

“So, what am I doing here exactly?” Beca asked, sitting more comfortably on the bed.

“I thought that maybe we could talk. Y’know, since we’re working together and all... It’s better to get to now each other a little better, don’t you think?“

“Not necessarily“ Beca answered in a slightly cold tone that made Chloe’s heart ache a bit, but then the brunette softened, letting out a heavy sigh. “But okay, I guess we could talk...“

“Okay! Sooo, do you have any siblings?“ Chloe asked with a big smile and Beca raised an eyebrow.

“Why is that important?“

“Uh, I don’t know. Just wanna know if there’s more of the Mitchell family around... could be interesting“

“I don’t see why. I mean, I know I’m good looking and all,” The brunette was showing a bit more of her playful side, Chloe noticed. And she kinda liked it, “but I’m not that interestig. And neither is my family”

“I highly doubt that. And you still haven’t answered me!”

“Yeah, I have a little brother... but he doesn’t live here with us.”

"And there’s other people who live here with you guys?" Chloe asked in a light, happy tone, but the image of the woman's teary face wouldn't left Beca's mind.

"Uh... aside from Amy, Stacie and Jesse there's my father. He's the Head of the Institute. Or he should be, at least."

"What do you mean?"

"He's not... in a great state of mind, lately."

"Why? What happened?" It was weird, Beca thought, talking about her father. And to someone who actually seemed interested or even... preoccupied. And this person was a Faerie, on top of that.

"Depression. Since my-" Beca paused, a lump on her throat as she tried not to picture the exact day her family got torn apart. "Since my mom and older brother died."

"Oh..." Chloe's heart ached for the brunette in front of her. She knew how losing someone felt like. "I'm so sorry, Beca"

"You don't have to say that." Beca was trying so hard not to cry. It's been years since their death but Beca still felt her whole body ache at the mere thought.

"What happened to them? Of course... you don't need to tell m-"

"Faeries." Beca looked at her and, even though it was dark, Chloe could picture the woman's face just by her angry tone and it made the redhead flinch. "Faeries happened and killed them. Along with many others, leaving children without their families after the Dark War."

Chloe gulped loudly, her heart shattered for all the things her kind have done to other people. She knew it wasn't her fault, but couldn't help but feel guilty. Before she knew, tears ran down her face again, crying quietly.

Beca sniffed after a few minutes of complete silence, making the redhead jump out of her thoughts and she felt Beca get up to her feet.

"I better go."

"I'm not like them, you know?" Chloe also got out of the bed.

"I didn't say you were"

"But you think I am"

"I don't know if I can trust you"

"Why? Because I'm a Faerie?? Do you have any idea how much destruction you Shadowhunters brought to the Kingdoms?? How many of us you murdered just for fun??" Beca opened the door, ready to leave but Chloe went on "Yes, the Dark War was bad for both sides, a betrayal from the Faeries, but can't you see the harm your kind caused us before all that?”

Both women stood still, looking at one another. Beca knew Shadowhunters weren’t always right, she knew there were bad ones in he past, she knew it wasn’t the Faeries who began the Dark War, but a Shadowhunter. But the Faeries were his allies and this would not be forgotten by the Clave, the Shadowhunter government.

She remembered her encounter with Flo the other day and the woman was right, she was starting to sound like the Shadowhunter who started this situation, Valentine Morgenstern. She didn’t wanna be like him.

“Look... I know we’re not always right, no matter how the Clave wants us to believe in this.“ Beca closed the door back and ran a hand through her hair, feeling strange. “And I’m not responsible for all that harm you mentio-“

“And neither am I responsible for your family’s death. So don’t go taking it all on me.“ Chloe looked extremely serious, which made Beca’s stomach churn when the redhead took a few steps towards her. “Can’t we just leave this hatred in the past and be friends? Or at least be able to have a proper conversation that doesn’t end up on an argument?”

Beca sighed but agreed with a nod of her head “But it’ll take some time..“

“Go out with me and the girls tomorrow...” then, looking at her phone she realized it was 6am and corrected herself “tonight, actually. We’ll go to a karaoke bar, it could be good to get some of this tension away...”

“Uh... I’m not really into singing...“

“I didn’t say you have to. Just, please, think about it.“

#bechloe #nowhere left to run #pitch perfect #the mortal instruments #i'm so tired

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brialavellan · 7 years ago

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Summary: It has been 20 years since Inquisitor ‘Manehn Lavellan defeated Corypheus, and 18 years since the Exalted Council. Solas is furthering his plans and so far, all efforts to stop him seem to be in vain….until the Well of Sorrows begins to speak to ‘Manehn once more. Led by ancient magics and beset by enemies from Ferelden and Orlais to Antiva and Tevinter, ‘Manehn must gather allies old and new in a race against time to defeat Solas - at any cost.

(NOW ON AO3)

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4

CH 5: Old Ghosts

She had not been expecting this.

Briala fiddled with the summons in her hand, expectantly and anxiously peeking outside the windows. The small carriage space still made her stomach turn even years after, since the burning of Halamshiral, when she was bound, heading for a cell.

The sight of the palace was familiar, and she took little interest in the gilded gold gates and the statues of lions, mouths open in a snarl. Orchestral music streamed through the carriage windows and the courtyards as the Palace Gates gave away, allowing Briala’s carriage to enter.

It had been years since Briala had seen Celene last, with sad eyes and a gaunt face, looking frail, almost wizened, a skeletal shadow of the Celene she remembered. Those memories of their time together, as confidantes, as lovers, were slipping like loose sand between her fingers. It was almost a small mercy, as the pain of their breakup was nothing in comparison to the pain of betrayal - as she stared out at Halamshiral in flames so long ago, acrid smoke choking her lungs as she was dragged to a jailer’s carriage in handcuffs. As she learned Celene had killed her parents all those years ago, their blood pooling at her feet as she hid behind a curtain in the reading room. The pain of her betrayal was sharper than the pain of their breakup, and though she should always expect it in a place like Orlais, it hurt even more that, at the end of the day, this was all just politics.

Nothing personal.

Perhaps this is why she loved ‘Manehn’s sentimentality. Everything was personal to her. Briala had no other word for this willingness to help her at their first meeting, her eagerness to give Briala the leverage she needed to wrangle a concession out of Celene, accomplishing in one night what over a decade of Briala’s soft whispers paired with sweet kisses could not - recognition and rights.

At first, they developed a working relationship, Celene being, if not supportive, at least hands-off as Briala administered the Dales with a deft hand. The humans groused and schemed and plotted against her because of course they would. They either threw down their tools, packed their wagons, and left or they begrudgingly accepted their new elven Marquise. Those that did not were swiftly dealt with. “Eyes in every corner and a dagger at every throat” was the whispered truth to every human who later dared to challenge her reign. Jests about big ears were told with a tinge of fear behind racist overtones.

And as long as Celene accepted it, so did they.

But Celene’s support was conditional on ‘Manehn having a political mandate, and in the intervening years after the scandal of the Exalted Council, her favor had fallen fast. Whatever political pull she did have came from reverence of deeds long past, or towards the Chantry and her role as Right Hand, the visible arm and instrument of the Divine’s Will.

And Celene wanted nothing more than meddlesome elves to finally fall out of favor.

The carriage pulled over and Briala quickly stepped out, not even waiting for the carriage driver to rush to her door. She ascended the marble stairs quickly, her stomach fluttering with every step. The chevaliers stood at attention, still incredulous at the sight of the Elven Marquise despite her years in power.

Elves with titles still shock.

She entered the vestibule and heard the hurried whispers of very familiar faces as she approached the throne room: the one who summoned her, and one she hoped to avoid encountering. The guards announced her arrival as they pushed aside more gilded golden doors and as she strode across the marble floors, the clicking of her heels silencing the conspiratorial whispers.

Her heart sank at what she saw. Any hopes that this uneasy peace would remain shattered at the sight of Grand Cleric Natalie at Celene’s side.

“My lady Briala,” Natalie said, her rs rolling with a hint of contempt and malice that seeped into the stone and gold gilding of the overly ornate throne room, “it’s a surprise to see - .”

“Leave us,” Celene interrupted with a small flick of her wrist and a harsh glare, “I wish to speak with the Marquise privately.”

“Of course, your Radiance,” Natalie said with a curt bow and a slightly sour look, the clicking of her heels echoing through the cavernous space as she skittered away.

“Bria…” Celene said softly, greeting her with the pet name she bestowed so long ago. Briala would have winced, but she maintained a perfect stony facade behind an emerald mask. She knew now why she was summoned, and her heart sank at the implications.

“I heard what happened during the celebrations - an attack on the Divine in my palace. It’s fortunate I was elsewhere, and that the culprits were thwarted.”

“Due to the quick action of the Divine’s Right Hand and Arcane Advisor,” Briala said quickly, “but their leader still lives. And we are doing -”

“Everything in your power, I am sure.” Celene interrupted her. Whether it was because of their history or her age, she didn’t know, but Celene saved no flowery words and meandering metaphors for Briala.

Her words, and intentions, were clear.

“But I have to ask if I can trust that this unrest would truly be resolved by a woman with a history of…poor judgment in affairs relating to this ‘Dread Wolf’. And whether this may lead to complications in Halamshiral.”

“You would not find another person in all of Thedas who has more reason and more dedication to ending this threat. Have you found another in twenty years?”

“I am not concerned about her dedication.” Celene said with a slight sigh, “I am concerned about infiltration.”

She rose from her throne, meeting Briala’s gaze with steely and stern grey eyes. “I cannot risk another uprising. I cannot risk my empire, and my people, falling to this threat because I failed to act. Not again. I will be forced to act if you and the Right Hand cannot.”

This was a threat. A hard lump rose in Briala’s throat and she forced it back, stomach violently churning as flashes of flickering orange flames and the snapping of wood and steel burned briefly in her mind’s eye, as the memory of ash and smoke choked her lungs. She could see Celene’s fingers twitching at her sides. She was ready to light the torch.

One misstep, and Halamshiral would burn again.

“We will not fail.” Briala said, followed with a deep curtsy. Her practiced perfect mask hid the fear, the anguish, that curled within, a tight knot that pooled deeper and deeper in her chest. Old and new fear mixed and muddled in the pit of her stomach, curling and churning tighter and tighter until she wanted to vomit. She held her head high as she left. Now, with Celene’s leave, she walked out, with new resolve and growing anger.

As she departed, she noted the Grand Cleric clamoring into a small carriage, her face still soured and her hands shaking as she climbed aboard. Briala paused for a moment, out of sight, but not out of earshot.

“Where to, your Reverence?”

“Back to the Cathedral,” Natalie declared with a heavy sigh. “And quickly.”

Briala waited until her carriage departed then rushed towards her own. She climbed inside and tapped her driver on the shoulder.

“I need to get to the Grand Cathedral now.”

‘Manehn hated alienages.

Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the rotted wooden gates, smeared with grit and grime, rusted locks barring entrance and exit, a cage not even fit for animals. Recovery had come for all except the elves, it seemed. As it always was. She noted Halamshiral still smoldered from the fires that had consumed it over twenty years ago, despite Briala’s adept administration.

Mirwen, however, was obviously disgusted, and scrunched her nose at the sight of the gates. She was not unaware of the privilege she enjoyed, but she could not stand the visceral sights and smells, the reminders of quite how well she lived in comparison to her brethren.

A full complement of city guards followed them, led by Varric and Guard Captain Aveline, who obviously hesitated at the sight of the gates, gripping the hilt of her sword. The templars that followed ‘Manehn and Mirwen took note and gripped their hilts, eyes scanning for any sign of a threat.

“Are you sure about this?,” asked Aveline, eager to avoid any sort of confrontation with any of the viscerally angered elves inside.

“Absolutely,” Mirwen said, “this is the only way we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

Aveline motioned to two guards and they rushed forward, undoing the locks and heaving the gates open. The sight of the entering entourage sent most of the elves scurrying, eyes all watching from windows and shadows, some curious, most angry, bloodlust in their narrowed eyes.

“The alienage has seen the most unrest,” Aveline commented as they entered, “I don’t dare send anything less than a full complement here if I want my guards to come back alive. We’ve been able to maintain order, for now. Checkpoints, curfews, and the like.”

“Gently, of course,” Varric said, at the sight of ‘Manehn’s suspicious glare, “the nobles have been begging for a purge. I’m not giving it to them.”

“Because elves had no reason to rebel beforehand, of course.” ‘Manehn said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “how else could Solas amass followers when all elves live such lives of privilege and contentment?”

“That doesn’t excuse murder.” Aveline snapped. “Order must remain.”

“And hopefully,” Varric interrupted, “we’ll find answers in Merrill’s home.”

As they arrived, Varric rapped on the door. Once, twice, but no response.

“Remind me to buy her a new door,” he said as Aveline and another guard bashed the lock. They went first, swords drawn, sweeping the small space for any sign of intrusion.

The house was as sparsely decorated as it was small, but it had obviously been ransacked. A fine coating of dust had settled over a small fireplace and overturned table. Scrolls littered the floor, and scorch marks lined the walls. Amidst the mess stood a broken eluvian, shards still poking out from the frame.

Varric frowned at the mess. “This isn’t good…” he said, almost to himself, “Daisy, what did you get yourself into?”

“Why does she keep a broken eluvian in her house?” Mirwen asked as she went to examine it.

“Beats me,” Varric said, eyeing the shattered remains, “Hawke finally convinced her to stop working on the cursed thing, but…”

“That was foolish,” Mirwen said, wrenching a shard of mirror from the base of the broken eluvian, “we could have used something like this.”

“It cost her her Keeper, Mirwen,” Varric said, turning away from the mirror. “When lives are at stake, some prices are too high. Especially when you’re playing with blood magic.”

Mirwen said nothing, turning over the piece of shattered eluvian in her hands, careful not to rub against the raw edges. The shard hummed with a dull magic, shimmering even in the dark space.

“The spirit said I can use this to scry for unbroken eluvians. It will tell us whether there is one nearby. ”

“And then we destroy it?” Aveline asked.

“Or we use it.” ‘Manehn said. “If it’s active or if we can unlock it, we can trace the paths to a base of operations. That’ll get you a quieter city than breaking one measly eluvian,” she added as Aveline shot her a slightly incredulous glance. “Turns out, smashing all the eluvians in Thedas isn’t much of a plan.”

A tense unease permeated the space as Mirwen worked the magic the spirit had taught her, using the eluvian as a focus. The shard began to audibly hum with magic, bands of light pulsing from the shard, filling the small space with the tingle of mana, setting hairs on end and giving everyone goosebumps.

Mirwen closed her eyes and focused, letting the thrumming of the magic touch her mind's eye.

She opened her eyes, a satisfied smile in her face.

"There is an active one near the base of a mountain. Past a small forest, near a clearing of some sort." she closed her eyes, focusing on the scene laid bare before her. "There's flattened grass there, as if many people camped there recently."

Varric’s eyes widened. "I know exactly where that is," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He turned towards 'Manehn. "Davhalla's clan was recently camped there. If there's an active eluvian nearby...."

"Then they're in big trouble," 'Manehn interrupted. "We have to go there. Now.” She paused for a moment and looked at Mirwen. “But if we encounter any trouble when we’re there, I want Varric to take you right back to the Keep.”

Briala frowned as her carriage approached the Grand Cathedral and saw Natalie enter, her mind working to piece together old details and new, to figure out Natalie’s machinations and motivations.

Natalie was ill suited for the Game, Briala noted, but both were all too familiar with the Chantry's ability to sway hearts and minds from the pulpit. Surely, she had planned a sermon of some sort for this day, an attempt to succeed at pinning the attempted assassination on the Right Hand - what she had failed to do the first night after ‘Manehn had deftly thwarted her in front of the nobles. If she should not agitate from the top, she would start from the bottom, and the whispers would trickle up.

Unless Briala could find some way to take her down.

The interior of the Grand Cathedral sweltered in the summer heat. Streams of sunlight pierced through the stained glass windows, the multicolored lights dancing on the smooth marbled floors. Parishioners sat dutifully on mahogany benches with velvet cushions, gazing up at the stern face of a golden, glittering Andraste, arms outstretched, holding two braziers that burned with incense. Vivid painted frescos lined the entire bottom half of vaulted archways, telling the story of the life of Andraste. Marble statues, their bases lined with gold, stood in between pillars, depicting Andraste’s disciples, Hessarian, Havard, and even Mafarath the Betrayer. And among the austere beauty stood four Revered Mothers, singing the Chant of Light in soprano, their soft angelic voices filling the vaulted ceilings and sifting between the pillars and pews, as worshipers bowed their heads and mouthed the words along, some rapturously, some by rote, but all still entranced by the beauty in their song. It was during this song that Briala was able to slip in the Cathedral without notice, carefully closing the door and shrinking behind one of the stone pillars that graced the entrance.

The Chant came to a close and the Cathedral fell silent, interrupted only by Grand Cleric Natalie’s footsteps against the marble floors as she walked towards a small pulpit. She cleared her throat and regarded the crowd before her.

“All shall know the peace of the Andraste’s love,” she began, raising her arms in reverence to the glittering gold Andraste that stood above her. “And all shall know the Truth of the Maker. For you are the fire at the heart of the world.”

The crowd chanted in response.

“And comfort is only Yours to give.”

Natalie smiled at the crowd, a wicked, hungry smile like predator baring her fangs. “All should know the Truth of the Maker. We know what this means. We will see His return, my children, when his name is spoken in all four corners of the World. Twenty years ago, the sky split apart with magic, our beloved Divine was lost…all seemed hopeless….and in our confusion, in our moment of grief, we strayed from the path of Righteousness.”

The crowd began to murmur, heads shaking, with some confusion. Briala read the crowd and took some comfort in their reactions. Surely they remembered the Herald’s deeds. Surely they wouldn’t turn so quickly? Had she squandered all good will so easily?

“We turned to desperation to the only one who could heal the sky, but ask yourselves: are we safer now with this Herald as the Instrument of the Divine’s Will? Are we better off when we turned Halamshiral over to the elves? One of their heathen gods almost murdered the Divine not a month ago, and we do not question why, at her side, sits a woman who worships them?”

Natalie stood at the pulpit, fists clenched and shaking with her righteous fury as she spoke her sermon to the eager masses that bowed before her.

“They have strayed from the true Chantry, the one that served Thedas for a thousand years! Have we forgotten that she led a movement designed to destroy us? Have we forgotten that this enemy of Orlais, of the Divine, was one of hers? ”

She slammed her hands down on the pulpit, the thud echoing across the Cathedral and forcing the congregation to rapt attention.

“We now bow to elven heathens in Halamshiral instead! We gave them land they did not deserve, land we took and made pure by Andraste’s light. Have we truly strayed so far from what we were? Are we better for it? What next, shall we ask a Qunari to be our next Divine now?”

She laughed at the thought, a rueful, rage-filled laugh. Her quaking voice echoed throughout the Cathedral as the congregants whispered murmurs of assent.

“We brought light to the Dales. We brought the truth of the Maker to the elves, who abandoned the god who gave them life and the Prophet who gave them freedom. By our hand, this corner of the world was touched by the Maker’s grace! And by giving it back to the elves, we let that light grow cold. Worse, we snuffed it out!”

She paused now, gathering her composure. Her last words hung hauntingly in the feverish air, a cold power behind every syllable, a different kind of echo that reverberated among the throngs of rapturous eyes turned towards her pulpit.

“The Maker turned a little further from us when we placed Halamshiral in elven hands.”

Briala watched with wide worried eyes as the crowd frothed with fury at her words. Not towards Natalie, but towards the so-called audacity of it all. She whispered silent curses under her breath, small beratings saved for herself. Of course she had overstretched herself. She had been careless - so overfocused on the Dales, she was, that she had let resentment fester in the capital. Resentment bubbling barely underneath, ready to resurface, all within the earshot of an Empress who had no qualms sacrificing elven lives to save her throne.

Even hers.

Even the Herald’s.

She had to warn them all, and soon.

“We’re close.”

Mirwen led the nervous group up the summit of Sundermount, her hands still holding the eluvian shard, which began to pulse and glow brighter as they approached their destination. ‘Manehn followed directly behind her, dagger drawn and uneasy with letting her daughter take the lead. She eyed the shard in her hands warily, the thrumming of magic agitating the Well’s voices and stealing her concentration. The five templars sent by the Divine to guard them grumbled as they followed, gripping their hilts. Aveline and Varric marched behind them, stony-faced and silent. All knew their duty, and they would not falter, but all were uneasy at following this mage’s instructions all concerned about where it might lead.

Tears began streaming down Mirwen’s face as they ascended. She quickly wiped them away. Sorrow and Despair pressed heavily against the Veil here, pushing and pulling, warping the Veil around them that threatened to tear at any second. She could feel the hidden pockets of pain deep within her chest, her heart wrenching tighter and tighter with every footstep towards the summit.

“Are you sure this is where we need to go?” ‘Manehn asked

“The Fade is very thin here,” Mirwen said between small sobs, “can you feel it?”

‘Manehn heard her whimpers and rushed to her daughter’s side. “We can turn back now, you can stay at the Keep, just tell us where…”

“No,” Mirwen said, brushing away still-streaming tears, “I’m fine. I’m safer at your side.”

“I don’t think anywhere is safe anymore, Sugar Plum,” Varric said grimly, “not as long as Chuckles has the advantage.”

“There must have been a lot of death here,” Mirwen said, “for the Fade to respond so…forcefully.”

“It’s always had a reputation for being haunted,” Varric said. “Why Dalish elves seem almost insistent on camping here, I will never understand.”

“Should the Dalish camp in your city then?” ‘Manehn said, voice steeped in sarcasm, “I’m sure the nobles would be more than amenable to it.”

“Fine, you got me,” Varric said, wincing slightly at her pithy remark. “It’s not like the Dalish have a lot of options.”

“Wait….” ‘Manehn stopped and took the lead, eyes narrowed as she scanned the small clearing they approached. “This is a good spot for…”

A dark skinned Dalish elf burst forth from the trees, dressed in Keeper’s regalia, flinging spectral bolts behind her at unknown assailants. She spotted the party before her and rushed towards them.

“MOVE!” she screamed, as a volley of arrows followed at her heels.

‘Manehn and the rest darted backwards, weapons drawn as the elf joined them, locs sticking to her sweating and fearful face. “You need to leave, now!”, she said through bursts of heavy breathing, “before -”

Another volley of arrows burst forth from the trees, blocked quickly by the elf summoning a barrier. The arrows bounced off the edges of her spectral shield, clattering like rain on a tin roof.

‘Manehn turned towards Varric and pointed at the templars in her entourage. “Get Mirwen out of here!” she yelled at the templars as she and Aveline rushed towards the tree line, taking cover within the forest. Two templars followed. The other elf hesitated for a moment but rushed to their side.

Varric nodded and grabbed Mirwen’s wrist, falling back behind three remaining templars. Mirwen glared at her mother but did not resist, and all five disappeared from the line of sight.

They made it to the tree line and Varric made it out of sight just before another volley landed in the clearing, arrows blotting out the sky before splintering and seeping into the ground.

‘Manehn turned towards the elf that warned them and shook her head in disbelief. “Davhalla? What are you doing here?”

She threw up her hands in frustration in response as they moved through the trees. Talk would be saved for later. Stealth would not be an option, seeing as Aveline’s and the templars’ plate armor jangled with every step. They would have to face them head-on. Unless...

An elf rushed them, sword drawn, eyes screaming. ‘Manehn sidestepped the man and parried the blade before sinking her dagger into his back. He fell with a loud thud, twitching and screaming in agony, blood pooling on his back and belly. She searched his pockets as he bled out, looking for any clue as to the identity of their assailants. She found a couple scraps of parchment and a shimmering red gem, warm to the touch, glowing like a red ember in the palm of her hand.

“It’s a keystone.” ‘Manehn said in a low whisper. “We’re close.”

Yelling and rustling from the trees signaled a change in strategy from their mysterious attackers. Several advanced from hidden cover into their position, blades drawn. One fired an arrow directly in the helm of one of her templars, sending him stumbling back and falling. ‘Manehn took him down with a flung dagger to the chest. Another lunged forth from stealth, taking down another with a blade to the belly. She turned to attack Aveline, but Aveline parried the blade and cut her down with a firm slash. Davhalla stood behind, hands glowing with mana, firing bolts at the shifting shadows with varying degrees of success. Shadows circled them from the trees, watching and waiting to pounce.

“We can’t just stand here waiting!” Aveline finally said, eyes darting back and forth at the dead templars and gripping her sword and shield. “We have to move forward or we die here.”

“Then we head for the summit,” ‘Manehn said, bolting forward through the trees. Aveline and Davhalla shrugged and raced behind her, ignoring the sounds of twigs snapping and elven curses as they fled towards the summit. Arrows whizzed by as they raced forwards, hearts pounding and legs aching.

They raced through the trees until they arrived into another small clearing, and, noticed too late, directly into a trap.

A group of several elves popped into a small clearing, surrounding them. Aveline, Davhalla and ‘Manehn fell back into a small huddle, eyeing them anxiously, weapons drawn.

A leader soon emerged from the small pack, eyes glinting with smug arrogance as she surveyed the three before her.

“We’ve been waiting for you to arrive, and I see you’ve brought friends,” she said, her tone as cool as it was cocky, pointing at Davhalla and Aveline.

“That’s me, going above and beyond,” ‘Manehn said with a wicked smirk and a glare.

“Of course you would court oppressors and sympathizers in your misguided attempts to stop my master,” the elf replied, her voice rising with a cold anger as she regarded the women before her. “You call yourselves Elvhen, but you are a traitor! You serve the shemlen! You serve the Chantry, the very people responsible for the destruction of our homeland!”

“And you serve a madman who would destroy you all to revive a past long dead.” ‘Manehn snapped.

She scoffed at ‘Manehn’s retort.

“Capture the Herald. Kill the other two.”

#briala #dragon age fic #da fic #da:i #dragon age inquisition #fic by brialavellan #i hate this chapter i hate this chapter i hate it sooooooo much///

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buttercupbi · 7 years ago

Text

Nygmobblepot Oneshot

for @umbrella-riddles @woss-y and @blot-s

au, set in late s4: sofia has taken over gotham and is hosting a masquerade ball for its criminal elite. however, some powerful people in the city want her dead, and, at least for now, they are all allies. along with some others, ed and oswald have reluctantly teamed up to help take her down, and have managed to sneak inside the ballroom.

Fingers struck the piano keys, and the waltz began. Couples rose from their tables, twirling in time with the music, and soon the room was a whirl of brightly coloured dresses and suits. Everyone’s eyes were on their partners; only two men were looking elsewhere. Unnoticed, Oswald Cobblepot and Edward Nygma danced among the crowd. They only stood out because they blended in, something that was usually impossible for either of them. They were both wearing plain black tuxedos, and shoes polished to a mirror shine. Oswald had given up his hair dye and let his hair go back to it’s natural blond, and Ed had forgone his glasses in favour of contacts. Oswald’s upper face was covered by a grey and white bird’s mask, and Ed had donned a brilliant orange one that looked like a fox. They were simple disguises, but they worked. They hadn’t gotten a single suspicious look all evening, apart from the ones they gave each other.

Edward was leading the waltz, almost dragging Oswald around the dance floor. His eyes were constantly on the crowd, whether to keep himself focused on the plan or to avoid having to meet Oswald’s gaze, neither man knew. Oswald was staring down hard at his shoes, as if he was trying to pin his feet to the ground with his eyes. For once, both men were thinking the same thing:

“Why the hell did I agree to this?”

It had been Lee’s idea, and it was quite ingenious really. Sofia would never suspect all who opposed her to work together, so that is exactly what they must do. At first, it seemed next to impossible. There were too many years of hatred and mistrust between them all, too many wounds that would never quite heal. But quickly everyone realised that the phrase, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend”, really applied. They all wanted to rule the city, but none of them would get anywhere close if Sofia was around. So, in the face of rule under Sofia Falcone, or a few weeks of working with people that might kill you given the opportunity… most people choose the latter. It was Gotham, after all. Lee had brought them all together and felt more than a little smug about it, so she quickly declared herself leader. A few eyebrows were raised, but nothing was said. The plan she came up with was simple but effective. Sneak into the ball and make it explode; nothing deadly, just enough to make an impact. She decided to send in just two from their group, as most of the work could be accomplished outside the ballroom. After some deliberation, she sent in the most unlikely pair. The two men she knew that Sofia would never suspect to work together.

Through her reasearch into Oswald, Sofia came across the name Edward Nygma, and the pair’s brief period of bliss. However, brief is the key word. From her perspective, things just went downhill for them, and went downhill quickly. The bigger half of their relationship seemed to consist of betrayal and murder and pain, so she quickly assumed that’s all there was left.

But love is a strange thing, that doesn’t really care how you want to feel, or what you should be feeling. It just stays there, a constant in your life. It always is, until one day, it is not. Neither man had reached that day yet, although both thought the day has come and gone.

There should be nothing left to say between them. And yet, there was. There was still a lump in Oswald’s throat that formed whenever he looked into Ed’s eyes, and Ed still had an instinct to reach out and comfort Oswald when he looked distressed. Oswald still knew that Ed took his tea lukewarm with just a drop of milk and three sugars, and Ed could tell if Oswald was about to snap before anyone else even noticed he was angry. Sofia didn’t know this, of course. She assumed that she was safe. Her security could easily take down Oswald if he arrived at the ball uninvited, and he would die here, alone, as she thought no one would be insane enough to help him. Pity she had never met Edward Nygma.

The plan was simple: sneak into the ball, blend in, mingle a little, dance. Drink champagne without a drop ever making it to your throat, and eat canapés only from plates that they’d seen other people eat from. Drop tiny nanite explosives in every potted plant, expensive vase and crack in the wall. Mingle some more. Actually drink some champagne, just for the nerves, Lee. Dance again. Avoid each other’s eyes.

And so far, the plan was working. Lucius Fox, with a little pleading from Bruce and a little threatening from Barbara, had hacked into the mansion’s security cameras. He had complete control over where they were looking, and was manoeuvring them away from Ed and Oswald every time they decided to plant an explosive. Jim and Harvey, having finally made up, assembled a team of trustworthy cops in order to get all of the innocents away from the bombs. Tabitha and Barbara tackled the security. A smile, a wink and bedroom eyes from one of them would distract a guard long enough to let the other subdue them and cart them away. Then they were replaced with one of Jim and Harvey’s team. Bruce and Selina were there, looking every bit the cute teen couple. Their job was to distract Sofia when she turned up, and to generally keep an eye on Edward and Oswald, to make sure they didn’t cause a scene. Lee, along with Alfred and Lucius, ran the control room. She had sent one of her patients from the Narrows to Sofia’s orphanage weeks before, and they had managed to get in contact with Martine. They gave him a note from Oswald, and that was all it took to convince him to find and steal Sofia’s schedule for the ball. Everything was running smoothly. The only variables were Ed and Oswald.

“You stood on my foot.”

Those were the first words Oswald had spoken to him all night. Ed sighed and muttered where Oswald could shove his foot, prompting a swift kick to his left ankle, and a muffled snicker from Lee in his earpiece. Ed scowled and muted himself from Lee, continuing to drag Oswald around the dance floor. His footwork didn’t improve, and they narrowly avoided another couple, and bumped into several waiters. At this, Oswald spoke up again.

“Do you even know how to dance?”

Despite himself, Ed blushed scarlet.

“It’s not my fault that I’m not a world champion at the waltz, Oswald” he replied, sounding far less annoyed than he wanted to, “Not all of us were taught bloody ballroom dancing as a child, you know.”

Oswald pursed his lips tight, remembering the time he had shown Ed his old family photo albums.

“Maybe not, but most civilised people can move their feet in a square pattern, Ed”, he whispered, aware of the prying eyes and ears.

Ed’s grip suddenly tightened around his waist, and he pulled him close, so that his lips were resting just at Oswald’s ear. He deftly reached up, and muted Oswald on Lee’s side too.

“Well, Oswald,” he began, “I thought you’d know better than anyone just how uncivilised I can get.”

No sooner than Ed had finished his sentence that Oswald felt the sharp pinch of a knife against his stomach. He kept the panic out of his movements and voice, but his laboured breathing gave him away.

“Oh, I know Ed. But I also know that you’d have to keep me this close to stab me without anyone noticing; the blood would definetly leak onto your new suit. And you so hate washing.”

Ed grinned and spun Oswald around, glad to finally be getting a reaction out of him. He hated being ignored.

“You’re right. The dance floor is perhaps not the best place for this. Maybe later,” he relented, closing the knife and slipping it into his pocket. Then he winked at Oswald.

Your move.

Oswald hid a smile at this offer of a cat and mouse game. It reminded him of breakfasts in the mansion, where he and Ed would sometimes act out interrogations that Oswald would be having later that day. Stolen money, an attack on his staff, GCPD drama, betrayal. The last one was Oswald’s favourite to act out, as the person who betrayed him was always some underling that was nothing but a name on the payroll to him. He could do whatever he wanted to them with not even the slightest hint of remorse. Oswald never would have dreamed that the man who pretended to betray him every breakfast, the man he trusted so completely, would one day betray in real life, just by not showing up for dinner.

Oswald immediately shoved these thoughts to the back of his mind and tried to get back to the task at hand. They had to be adults about this. And Oswald was trying, he really was trying, but it was so hard to keep a level head when Ed was pressed this close to him. He hadn’t loosed his grip since issuing that threat and Oswald couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he didn’t want to. He tried to calm his breathing, but every inhalation just pressed his chest even closer against Ed’s, and he could feel his heart in his throat. Every time Ed exhaled, his breath tickled at Oswald’s ear, and it took everything Oswald had not to react to it. He knew that if he looked into Edward’s eyes he would surely explode. With every stumbling movement it seemed that the gap between them grew smaller, and it soon it would become so small that he would have to rest his head against Ed’s shoulder. He shivered at the thought. Oswald needed a distraction, and fast. Thankfully, Ed lead him to bump against the buffet table again, and an idea jolted him back to his senses.

“Let me teach you how to dance”, he muttered, finally meeting Ed’s eyes. They were round with surprise, and he could see the question in them before it came out of his mouth.

“What’s in it for me?”, he whispered back, lightly running his fingers along Oswald’s neck. The discomfort he was causing his former friend clearly amused him.

Oswald pursed his lips and tried to stay calm as the pinkness in his cheeks threatened to give him away. He took a deep breath and replied in an even voice,

“Learning a valuable skill, for a start.”

The corner of Ed’s mouth twitched upward despite himself. It was such a tempting offer. But what would saying yes mean for them?

“For a start, huh?”, he mused, spinning Oswald around again, grinning at the frustration in his eyes. “What’s the finish?”

Oswald couldn’t help rolling his eyes at Ed’s latest attempt to confuse him. It was annoying at first, and now it was just amusing. He thought that he had him right in the palm of his hand. Oswald tried to keep the fondness out of his gaze and just shook his head at the other man.

Two can play at that game.

“Wait and see, Eddie”, he smiled.

Oswald took control of the dance, leading Ed around the floor in the proper movement, much to the relief of the waiters and nearby couples. Ed was too shocked to react, and so, allowed it to happen, simply trying to keep up with Oswald’s pace. He seemed to be in his element, almost gliding around the floor like a swan on the water. His bad leg offered up no hinderence, and he waltzed around the dance floor with a true smile on his face that threatened to split Ed in two. Ed tried to focus on something, anything else, but the ballroom just melted away, leaving him and Oswald alone.

It was terrifying. He felt like a fish out of water, finally failing at something that Oswald excelled at, and god it made him feel small. Anxiety started crushing him, choking him, as he stumbled over his own feet yet again. Oswald immediately picked up on this; and squeezed Ed’s arm tight.

“Focus on me”, he murmured, slowing down their pace, “Breathe in, and out, and know that everything is ok. I’m here, I’ll always be here.”

Despite himself, Ed followed Oswald’s instructions, and took a deep breath. He instantly felt better, but turned red at this reminder of how just well Oswald knew him.

“Thank you, Oswald”, he replied, letting his friend’s name leave his lips without malice for the first time in a long time.

“You’re welcome, Edward”, he said, and just like that, his name was no longer an insult.

The pair both breathed out a sigh of relief. A river had been crossed, now all they could do was move onto the next one.

“Follow my lead”, Oswald commanded, and took off once more, leading Ed, this time with more care, behind him.

“Make a box with your feet, in a pattern of eights. You’re good with patterns, you know them. You can do this.”

Ed swallowed loudly, and tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice as he spoke.

“My father would have killed me on the spot for this.”

Before Oswald could respond, Ed took charge of the dance again, repeating the pattern in his head until his feet got the picture and danced along. Oswald had many questions clogging up his mind, but rightfully decided that this was not the time or place to ask them. He simply sank into the dance, his feet barely touching the floor as he fell into step with Ed. The other man had picked it up pretty quickly, and Oswald couldn’t stop himself from smiling as it quickly became clear that they were dancing better than anyone else there. That was when he decided to let go. Let his worries, his pain, and sorrow go. Right here, right now he was living. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore; Oswald allowed Ed take him anywhere he pleased on this dance floor. He went right, Oswald went right. He sped up, Oswald sped up with him. They became one with the song, with the dance, and with each other. They continued like that until they had to separate, though Oswald was sad to be away from Ed’s warmth. When the song ended the chatter of the other couples filled their ears, and the ballroom rematerialised. He couldn’t help but smile at Ed, and Ed smiled back at him, filled with joy. They stood like that for a few moments, simply being together, until the crackle of Lee’s voice in their earpieces broke the spell. Oswald unmuted himself and sighed quietly, motioning for Ed to do the same. Lee’s voice filled his ear, panicking and broken. Ed’s face drained, and he stared at Oswald with a flicker of fear in his eyes.

Bruce and Selina were gone.

And Sofia was coming.

#gotham #edward nygma #oswald cobblepot #nygmobblepot #gotham fanfiction #ed and oswald #nygmobblepot art #nygmobblepot fanfiction #the penguin #the riddler

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ganymedesclock · 8 years ago

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I'm definitely in agreement with you about the whole "Galra are evil and Alteans are good" bullshit. Because the show has not even pitched that idea at all? I'm so confused by it, because the showrunners have given us a rather large handful of good guys who are Galra and an Altean who is definitely one of the bad guys. Not to mention the fact that it's maybe a little hinted that Alfor did some questionable things that led to Zarkon becoming what he is now.

I mean, that all said, I do hesitate to lump suspicions on Alfor, mostly because almost everything we see of the Paladins of Old suggests that Zarkon and Alfor were incredibly close.

Consider that Alfor was the original architect of the Lions. Now, consider the Black Lion- her terrifying capabilities, her integral position to Voltron. All of the Lions are formidable but the Black Lion- she’s the leader of the pack in every conceivable way.

And Zarkon was who Alfor had in mind as paladin the entire time. This was the Lion he built out of the meteorite that struck Zarkon’s planet, working with the galra.

In comparison, the Yellow Lion does not really stand out from his peers. Like any of the Lions, he’s unique, and has great aptitude, but his role- that of the nurturing pillar of support, the ‘steadying’ leg of Voltron- suggests that even though Voltron was Alfor’s creation, Alfor put himself and his own Lion very firmly subordinate to Zarkon. He chose to be a leg to stand on to support Zarkon, the head.

We don’t know how much of this was specifically Alfor’s choice, and how much of the Lions and how they operate was already hardcoded into the meteor, but, that Alfor was on board with it at all would suggest that Alfor put no small amount of trust in Zarkon.

Let’s consider that Allura, Alfor’s beloved daughter, was very familiar with Zarkon and took his betrayal intensely personally.

Consider it was very likely Allura knew Zarkon as practically a surrogate uncle her entire life. The royal lines of Altea and the Galra were very close.

That hardly tells me Alfor turned on Zarkon just for the hell of it or vice versa.

We know that Zarkon seems to hold Alfor uniquely responsible for what happened. After all, Zarkon leveled Altea, wiped out its people, and then went on to annihilate every planet in Altea’s solar system, and we don’t know if those planets were occupied or if Zarkon’s rage was just that bad. Conversely, it’s very likely Pidge’s predecessor as Green Paladin was an Olkari- but Olkarion and its people still exist, and had only relatively recently come under the attention of the empire.

We know, however, that the other paladins of old stood with Alfor, against Zarkon, their leader. That the Red, Green, and Blue paladins abandoned their armor and weapons and sent the Lions away, seemingly to die far from their homes.

We know that Alfor didn’t seek shelter with his daughter or Coran but went out to face Zarkon, without his paladin armor or bayard, and the presence of his AI and Coran’s comments on it tell us that Alfor basically went knowingly to his death.

We know that Zarkon didn’t have a scar on his face in the past, with the paladins together, and he didn’t have those glowing eyes that showed he was prolonging his life with quintessence, either.

But he had both during the fall of Altea. And Zarkon happens to be the obvious narrative parallel of Shiro, who, in Shiro’s arc, the appearance of his facial scar correlated with an intense and lengthy traumatic experience that’s still messing him up rather substantially- when much of Zarkon’s behavior heavily suggests old, unmanaged trauma.

And we know that something is out there causing an “unnatural death” of entire planets, and that this:

was not a physical location they visited, so Black was showing Shiro that devastation from her memory- possibly, from Zarkon’s memory.

There’s a lot of pieces we don’t have yet. We don’t know what happened to Zarkon. We don’t know what role the other paladins played. We don’t know what Allura refers to as the “Dark history of the paladins” and it’s likely Allura herself doesn’t know all of it given she was utterly blindsided by Haggar. We don’t know what enemies the paladins of old were fighting, and we don’t know where the meteorites the Lions were created out of came from.

But the implications appear that this is partially a love story:

and partially, a story of some kind of betrayal, real or perceived.

That Alfor’s Lion is the archetypal protector and supporter of Voltron, that both Zarkon and his home planet appear to have been so decimated, and that Zarkon held Alfor uniquely responsible for whatever perceived transgression occurred, is suspicious to me. That Alfor, a cautious person, would go under-armed into a fight with someone he knows the capabilities of, not expecting to survive, and passing up a perfectly good opportunity to flee onboard either Yellow or his own castle, is suspicious to me.

That Haggar would hold her own kind in such contempt, and attempt to kill Allura to the point that she will completely ignore Voltron to do so, and yet, for all her callousness and cruelty, is genuinely loyal to Zarkon and unafraid to endanger her own life in his service, and deeply troubled by his injuries, is suspicious.

These things seem related.

To me, I think the implication is that Alfor didn’t hurt Zarkon- as much as something may have happened to force Alfor, the protector of the team, to pick who to save- and may have turned his back on Zarkon and his planet without fully realizing what would happen if he did. That he was so willing to face Zarkon not expecting to survive hardly suggests, to me, he had a clean conscience or didn’t care about the fate of one of his longstanding allies, especially one he clearly thought so highly of.

Something, something went horribly wrong with these people and none of them walked away all right.

#voltron legendary defender #vld #Alfor #Zarkon #Haggar #readmore #Anonymous

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blazichu · 8 years ago

Photo

Inquisitor as a Companion Meme Variation from Oatscarwilde

Inquisitor’s Name: Ashkost Adaar/Ashkost Meraad Race / Class / Specialisation: Kossith, mage, shapeshifter Gender Identity: Female

Varric’s Nickname for them: Cinders

Short bio: A Kossith apostate from the Free Marches. She grew up on the border between the Marches and Antiva in a little house in the Green Dales, with her three parents, sister and godfather/honorary uncle. One of her mothers, her father and uncle were Tal-Vashoth, and her other mother was a Vashoth. She and her sister learned magic from one of their mothers and uncle, and enjoyed occasional visits to Ansburg or Seleny. During one such visit, Ashkost met and, subsequently, covered for the head of the Katoh Antaam Mercenary Company, Parshaara. With a few years, she would join the company.

Though they operated in the Free Marches for years, they eventually migrated south in The First Battle of Kirkwall’s wake, as tensions against Kossith were on the rise. They were hired by a Chantry official to help keep the Conclave from becoming violent, but were held up and only arrived after the Breach had opened, at which point the only thing they could do was aid the relief effort.

What would their companion card look like? Has her right arm raised, but bent at the elbow to cover her left eye, palm outward. Where her arm/hand overlaps her face, it’s blacked out, possibly with a smoke effect. Her other hand is held in front of her, palm extended toward the viewer. Though the backdrop is dark, the aforementioned overlap is darker. There are silhouettes of horned figures in the background.

Recruitment mission: Fierce Horns and Strange Eyes: Speak to one of the two Kossith standing near the Singing Maiden (in Haven) or Herald’s Rest (at Skyhold) to unlock a war table operation, recruiting the Katoh Antaam mercenary company as allies without official ties to the Inquisition, so as to employ them where the Inquisition forces would be seen as a threat. Leave for any main area with a rogue/mage or be a rogue/mage to trigger Ashkost’s formal introduction.

A rogue will recognize that someone is following the party, and a mage will sense the same. When the Inquisitor demands that the stalker reveal themselves, Ashkost reassumes Kossith form and initiates a conversation. If Bull has been recruited, she wants to know why the Inquisition has hired another mercenary company when they already have one on their payroll. If Bull hasn’t been recruited, she questions whether the Inquisitor understands what mercenary companies are and how it might look to have hired one.

The Inquisitor can give her a reason, or realize that the real issue is that she doesn’t trust the Inquisition’s intentions with the Katoh Antaam. If called on it, she’ll admit that she believes they’ve only been hired to be sent on a suicide mission. The Inquisitor can recruit her one of two ways: assure her that they have no intention of sending the company to their deaths and invite her to see for herself, or cite a ‘hold your enemies closer’ line of thought with the same invitation. The latter will recruit her with lower approval than the first.

If told that she’ll just have to trust the Inquisitor, it opens up the option to dismiss her.

Where they would be in Skyhold / Haven: At Skyhold, outside the kitchen, on the balcony near the stables. In Haven, between the training ground and frozen lake.

Personal quests:

· Quest 1: The Ignorant Look on Them: Companion quest. Ashkost admits to having used her specialization as a shapeshifter to become someone else, because she’s not someone she wants to be. In a way, isn’t that a betrayal of the self? If she can’t even trust herself, how can anyone else trust her?

Option 1: Take her to Redcliffe, reassure her that she’s fine—she’s flawed, but that’s not damnation. Regardless of what she has or hasn’t experienced, her feelings are valid.

Option 2: Take her to Lake Calenhad, across from Kinloch Hold. Tell her that she should be grateful for what she’s been given in life, because most mages have it far worse than she does.

· Quest 2: Of Certainty, of Equality: Romance quest. Ashkost asks the Inquisitor if they can talk somewhere private, and they move to the Inquisitor’s room. She tells them that she was born intersex, and asks if they’re comfortable with that. The Inquisitor can treat it as a betrayal, and potentially cut off the relationship, or reassure her that it doesn’t change their feelings and lock the relationship in.

· Quest 3: Ashes to Ataashi: Ashkost is goofing off/showing off some of her abilities—specifically an in-between form she’s been working on as a step towards teaching herself to maintain a dragon form. Unlocks a war table operation to consult Professor Frederic, whose input helps her get a handle on what she needs to do to attain the form. Requires completion of Frederic’s Livelihood.

How to get their approval: Being pro-mage/anti-Circle; being curious about magic/willing to see it used casually or for fun; sympathizing with people from other situations (races/nations/ability); be willing to help her understand things that may seem obvious, but that she wasn’t raised with an understanding of; make an attempt to learn/show interest in learning and understanding the differences between Kossith, Qunari, Tal-Vashoth and Vashoth. Prove to her that they’re worthy of her trust.

How to get their disapproval: Express that mages should be locked up, made tranquil or killed; assume that they know better than anyone else; belittle her for cultural differences/not knowing something; lump all ‘Qunari’ concepts together; be extremely pro-Chantry. Betray others for material gain/”without having a reason”.

Are they romanceable? Yes. Any gender or race, mages get approval bonuses. Can you have sex with them? No. Are they open to polyamoury? Yes, with the exception of Cullen or Cassandra. If they can be romanced and are not, will they begin a relationship / relationships with other character(s)? If so, who? If neither is romanced, she will awkwardly pursue Josephine. If the Katoh Antaam were recruited via Connections, they will begin a relationship by the end of the main game. If not, they will by Trespasser.

Who are they friendly with? Josephine, Dorian, Varric, Sera, Cole. Sometimes Iron Bull.

Who do they dislike? Cullen, Vivienne, Cassandra. Sometimes Iron Bull.

Companion card changes: (use a text descrip. if you have no images)

· Loyalty: For Quest Option 1, dragon motif—horns are emphasized, may have a second, smaller pair. Hands are being held in front of her, just under the bust, crossed at the wrists with storm and inferno effects forming the suggestion of wings. Where her arms overlap her body may be blacked out, but her hands definitely aren’t. For Quest Option 2, tower motif—horns are downplayed. Her left arm is held up, overlapping both of her eyes. Overlapped skin is blacked out, but her eyes aren’t. Her opposite hand is resting on a grey pillar patterned like brickwork. A lake and distant tower can be seen in the background.

· Romance: In profile with her horns curling down. She’s resting her forehead against a crook-ended staff. Her hair is down and her eyes are closed. Has a yellow-tinted backdrop with open gates in the distance.

Side Missions: (eg: fetch / gather / kill quests) Pick Your Poison: Collection mission. Help gather several specific herbs to help Ashkost create a custom vitaar. Each herb awards approval, finishing the quest gives a vitaar.

Opinions on mages / templars / how the world is going to shit? Pro-mage, horrified when she learns exactly how they’re treated in Circles, as she’d always assumed they were more of a school than anything. Bordering on violently protective of mages she’s befriended (read: Dorian). Anti-Templar/Chantry once educated, and begins to involve herself with efforts to remove mages from under them. Thinks Orlesian politics are ridiculous.

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party: Side with the Templars and then sacrifice the Chargers. After disregarding two of the things she identifies with the most intensely, she’ll say that the Inquisitor has proven how trustworthy they are and will leave regardless of how the rest of the encounter progresses.

Special Events: Choose the option to ask her about the Qun. She’ll flatly tell the Inquisitor that she’s Kossith, not Qunari, and her parents risked their lives to leave the Qun behind them. (If Iron Bull has been recruited, she’ll preface the statement by saying they’re better off asking him.) From there, the Inquisitor can choose to ask her to elaborate (which earns approval) and she’ll give a brief rundown on the differences between the terms ‘Kossith’, ‘Qunari’, ‘Tal-Vashoth’ and ‘Vashoth’. The Inquisitor can respond positively or insist that they’re all basically the same thing.

After the above, ask “Do you consider yourself Andrastian, then?”. She laughs it off and says that, beyond a slightly fanatical following and the fact that one of the Marches’ chantries got blown up, she really doesn’t understand what that entails. She’ll pause, admit that the Katoh Antaam left shortly after the First Battle of Kirkwall, and ask if the Inquisitor knows “Why, exactly, did they see fit to blow up their own building?”. Regardless of the tone of their answer, the Inquisitor always references the Mage-Templar war. “Oh, right. Templars. They’re Chantry too, aren’t they? Interesting skillset, there… scarier than Parshaara after a poetry slam, but there’s certainly potential.”

After the above, ask what she thinks Templars are. “Well, it’s like paper, rock, scissors (exact words subject to change), right? …you know, having to explain strategy to you like this isn’t very encouraging.” (Human mage Inquisitors have the option to respond along the lines of “…in a sense.”) The encounter ends.

After the above, speaking with her will trigger a cutscene instead of just a dialogue. Between Cullen and Cassandra (and, potentially, Vivienne if she’s been recruited) she’s come to the conclusion that she was wrong about what Templars are. “You’d—you’d set me straight if I didn’t get it, yeah?” Over the course of the conversation, she gets the gist of why the Mage-Templar war is a thing in the first place, and ends the encounter in mild disbelief, vowing that she’s going to verify this as best she can. In any following conversations, she’ll be considerably less complacent where the Chantry is concerned.

If the Inquisitor has spoken with her regarding the Chantry prior to selecting a specialization, she’ll confront a warrior who chooses to specialize as a Templar. If a mage chooses to become a Knight-Enchanter, she asks for clarification as to how it factors into the Chantry workings.

If the Inquisitor chooses to recruit the Templars without pursuing the mages, she’ll question their intentions. If they choose to recruit the Templars after discovering the situation with the mages, she’ll accuse them of having an agenda in regards to the Mage-Templar war.

Takes a major approval hit if Bull’s Chargers are sacrificed, acerbically asks if the Inquisitor plans to do the same to the Katoh Antaam. Any further banter with Iron Bull will begin to sour.

Imprisoned at Redcliffe: How is your Inquisitor holding up in Redcliffe, being slowly infected with red lyrium over the course of a year? Has red lyrium growths—one covering her left eye and beginning to encrust the horn on the same side of her head, one emerging from her throat. Unable to speak at a normal volume and can only manage a whisper. Will complain of a phantom taste, and ramble on trying to figure out what it is. Doesn’t seem to process who the Inquisitor is or what they’re trying to do—only acknowledges changes of scenery as it might pertain to what she tastes. Will sometimes whisper in Qunlat instead.

As the party leaves person by person, she’ll say, “You lied. We’ve been sent to our deaths,” before exiting. If she was flirted with up to this point, she’ll instead approach the Inquisitor, give them a kiss on the cheek, and say, “It was you. I tasted your arrival in the lyrium,” give the same strange little laugh she’s been making the entire time as she rambled, and whisper “Good luck.”

At the Winter Palace: Does your Inquisitor enjoy the party, any special events with them at the Palace? She idles in the garden, near the fountain and trellis. Though she’s aware of all the eyes on her—made worse by the fact that she’s, essentially, helping to represent the Inquisition—she tries to find enjoyment in Orlesian cuisine. She’ll comment on being stared at, and joke that if the Inquisitor needs a distraction, she’s the Kossith to ask. The Inquisitor can take her up on the offer when it comes time to climb the trellis.

If her approval is high enough, the Inquisitor can tell her not to worry and that “I’ll handle all the politicians. Trust me.” It’ll get a laugh out of her.

If romanced and asked to dance, she questions whether or not that’s a good idea—that she doesn’t know how to dance, and (unless the Inquisitor is Adaar) wouldn’t they be happier dancing with someone closer to their own height? Dwarven Inquisitors can earn a little extra approval with a humorous answer. If pressed, she will relent. If left, she’ll offer a dance at Skyhold instead, where there are no onlookers.

In the Fade: Your Inquisitor’s reaction upon entering the Fade? Archdemon’s taunt, and Inquisitor’s response? Epitaph on their grave?

Reaction: “Pardon my King’s Tongue, but… Andraste’s tits.”

Taunt/response: “Why do you continue this futile effort, Meraad? You know full well that none can be trusted. To repeatedly make the same mistakes… are you that naïve, or have you simply lost your mind?”// [long pause] “Okay, but why would I trust what you have to say, of all people? Do you even qualify as a person?”

Grave: Unable to trust, unable to be trusted.

Trespasser: What is your Inquisitor up to two years after Corypheus’ defeat? Any special events with them over the events of Trespasser? While she hasn’t cut ties with the Katoh Antaam, she didn’t return to them after the end of the main game. She’s been working with Fiona and the College of Enchanters, and, through her, they’ve been making use of the Katoh Antaam much the same way the Inquisition did. Since the College is affiliated with the Inquisition, she’s been in contact with the Inquisitor from time to time—but mostly hears about what’s going on through Josephine.

If she was romanced, the Inquisitor can propose to her. She’ll ask them if they really think that’s a good idea, given their status and her background/affiliations. If they insist, she’ll resist the idea, referencing her parents, who never married, and potentially accusing the Inquisitor of using her as a set piece. If they back down and leave the decision to her, she’ll bring it up the next time she’s spoken to and accept.

If neither she nor Josephine were romanced, they are in a relationship. If the Katoh Antaam were recruited via Connections, they’ve been in said relationship since the end of Inquisition, and Ashkost references the Orlesian opera they recently attended. If the relationship has just begun, she’ll be nervous about it and ask the Inquisitor their opinion on a poem she’s been working on.

Other Major Events: Any other major events that happen with them over the course of the main game? Will mistakenly use various malapropisms in banter and conversation over the course of the game—notable examples include “Andraste’s tits”, and one utterance of “Dread Wolf’s balls” if she’s in the same party as Solas.

After hearing one of the above malapropisms, the Inquisitor can select a flirt option which basically goes, “’Andraste’s tits’?”/”No, these belong to me.”/[Flirt] “That’s quite the burden for one Kossith. I can help you carry it.”

#inquisitor as a companion #Ashkost Adaar #i think this companion quest is a little more relevant to her character arc

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interkomitet · 5 years ago

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75th Anniversary of the Great Victory: Shared Responsibility to History and our Future – Article by President Vladimir Putin

75 years have passed since the end of the Great Patriotic War. Several generations have grown up over the years. The political map of the planet has changed. The Soviet Union that claimed an epic, crushing victory over Nazism and saved the entire world is gone. Besides, the events of that war have long become a distant memory, even for its participants. So why does Russia celebrate the 9th of May as the biggest holiday? Why does life almost come to a halt on June 22? And why does one feel a lump rise in their throat?

They usually say that the war has left a deep imprint on every family’s history. Behind these words, there are fates of millions of people, their sufferings and the pain of loss. Behind these words, there is also the pride, the truth and the memory.

For my parents, the war meant the terrible ordeals of the Siege of Leningrad where my two-year old brother Vitya died. It was the place where my mother miraculously managed to survive. My father, despite being exempt from active duty, volunteered to defend his hometown. He made the same decision as millions of Soviet citizens. He fought at the Nevsky Pyatachok bridgehead and was severely wounded. And the more years pass, the more I feel the need to talk to my parents and learn more about the war period of their lives. But I no longer have the opportunity to do so. This is the reason why I treasure in my heart the conversations I had with my father and mother on this subject, as well as the little emotion they showed.

People of my age and I believe it is important that our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren understand the torment and hardships their ancestors had to endure. They need to understand how their ancestors managed to persevere and win. Where did their sheer, unbending willpower that amazed and fascinated the whole world come from? Sure, they were defending their homes, children, loved ones and families. However, what they shared was the love for their homeland, their Motherland. That deep-seated, intimate feeling is fully reflected in the very essence of our nation and became one of the decisive factors in its heroic, sacrificial fight against the Nazis.

People often wonder: What would today’s generation do? How will it act when faced with a crisis situation? I see young doctors, nurses, sometimes fresh graduates that go to the ”red zone“ to save lives. I see our servicemen fighting international terrorism in the North Caucasus, fighting to the bitter end in Syria. They are so young. Many servicemen who were part of the legendary, immortal 6th Paratroop Company were 19–20 years old. But all of them proved that they deserved to inherit the feat of the warriors of our Motherland that defended it during the Great Patriotic War.

This is why I am confident that one of the characteristic features of the peoples of Russia is to fulfil their duty without feeling sorry for themselves when the circumstances so demand. Such values as selflessness, patriotism, love for their home, their family and Fatherland remain fundamental and integral to the Russian society to this day. These values are, to a large extent, the backbone of our country’s sovereignty.

Nowadays, we have new traditions created by the people, such as the Immortal Regiment. This is the memory march that symbolises our gratitude, as well as the living connection and the blood ties between generations. Millions of people come out to the streets carrying the photographs of their relatives who defended their Fatherland and defeated the Nazis. This means that their lives, the ordeals and sacrifices they endured, as well as the Victory that they passed to us will never be forgotten.

We have a responsibility to our past and our future to do our utmost to prevent those horrible tragedies from happening ever again. Hence, I was compelled to come out with an article about World War II and the Great Patriotic War. I have discussed this idea on several occasions with world leaders, and they have showed their support. At the summit of CIS leaders held at the end of last year, we all agreed on one thing: it is essential to pass on to future generations the memory of the fact that the Nazis were defeated first and foremost by the entire Soviet people and that representatives of all republics of the Soviet Union fought side by side together in that heroic battle, both on the frontlines and in the rear. During that summit, I also talked with my counterparts about the challenging pre-war period.

That conversation caused a stir in Europe and the world. It means that it is indeed high time that we revisited the lessons of the past. At the same time, there were many emotional outbursts, poorly disguised insecurities and loud accusations that followed. Acting out of habit, certain politicians rushed to claim that Russia was trying to rewrite history. However, they failed to rebut a single fact or refute a single argument. It is indeed difficult, if not impossible, to argue with the original documents that, by the way, can be found not only in Russian, but also in foreign archives.

Thus, there is a need to further examine the reasons that caused the world war and reflect on its complicated events, tragedies and victories, as well as its lessons, both for our country and the entire world. And like I said, it is crucial to rely exclusively on archive documents and contemporary evidence while avoiding any ideological or politicised speculations.

I would like to once again recall the obvious fact. The root causes of World War II mainly stem from the decisions made after World War I. The Treaty of Versailles became a symbol of grave injustice for Germany. It basically implied that the country was to be robbed, being forced to pay enormous reparations to the Western allies that drained its economy. French Marshal Ferdinand Foch who served as the Supreme Allied Commander gave a prophetic description of that Treaty: “This is not peace. It is an armistice for twenty years.”

It was the national humiliation that became a fertile ground for radical and revenge-seeking sentiments in Germany. The Nazis skilfully played on people’s emotions and built their propaganda promising to deliver Germany from the “legacy of Versailles” and restore the country to its former power while essentially pushing German people into war. Paradoxically, the Western states, particularly the United Kingdom and the United States, directly or indirectly contributed to this. Their financial and industrial enterprises actively invested in German factories and plants manufacturing military products. Besides, many people in the aristocracy and political establishment supported radical, far-right and nationalist movements that were on the rise both in Germany and in Europe.

“Versailles world order” caused numerous implicit controversies and apparent conflicts. They revolved around the borders of new European states randomly set by the victors in World War I. That boundary delimitation was almost immediately followed by territorial disputes and mutual claims that turned into “time bombs”.

One of the major outcomes of World War I was the establishment of the League of Nations. There were high expectations for that international organisation to ensure lasting peace and collective security. It was a progressive idea that, if followed through consistently, could actually prevent the horrors of a global war from happening again.

However, the League of Nations dominated by the victorious powers of France and the United Kingdom proved ineffective and just got swamped by pointless discussions. The League of Nations and the European continent in general turned a deaf ear to the repeated calls of the Soviet Union to establish an equitable collective security system, and sign an Eastern European pact and a Pacific pact to prevent aggression. These proposals were disregarded.

The League of Nations also failed to prevent conflicts in various parts of the world, such as the attack of Italy on Ethiopia, a civil war in Spain, the Japanese aggression against China and the Anschluss of Austria. Furthermore, in case of the Munich Betrayal that, in addition to Hitler and Mussolini, involved British and French leaders, Czechoslovakia was taken apart with the full approval of the League of Nations. I would like to point out in this regard that, unlike many other European leaders of that time, Stalin did not disgrace himself by meeting with Hitler who was known among the Western nations as quite a reputable politician and was a welcome guest in the European capitals.

Poland was also engaged in the partition of Czechoslovakia along with Germany. They decided together in advance who would get what Czechoslovak territories. On September 20, 1938, Polish Ambassador to Germany Józef Lipski reported to Minister of Foreign Affairs of Poland Józef Beck on the following assurances made by Hitler: “…in case of a conflict between Poland and Czechoslovakia over our interests in Teschen, the Reich would stand by Poland.” The Nazi leader even prompted and advised that Poland started to act “only after the Germans occupy the Sudetes.”

Poland was aware that without Hitler’s support, its annexationist plans were doomed to fail. I would like to quote in this regard a record of the conversation between German Ambassador to Warsaw Hans-Adolf von Moltke and Józef Beck that took place on October 1, 1938, and was focused on the Polish-Czech relations and the position of the Soviet Union in this matter. It says: “Mr Beck expressed real gratitude for the loyal treatment accorded to Polish interests at the Munich conference, as well as the sincerity of relations during the Czech conflict. The Government and the public [of Poland] fully appreciated the attitude of the Fuehrer and Chancellor.”

The partition of Czechoslovakia was brutal and cynical. Munich destroyed even the formal, fragile guarantees that remained on the continent. It showed that mutual agreements were worthless. It was the Munich Betrayal that served as the “trigger” and made the great war in Europe inevitable.

Today, European politicians, and Polish leaders in particular, wish to sweep the Munich Betrayal under the carpet. Why? The fact that their countries once broke their commitments and supported the Munich Betrayal, with some of them even participating in divvying up the take, is not the only reason. Another is that it is kind of embarrassing to recall that during those dramatic days of 1938, the Soviet Union was the only one to stand up for Czechoslovakia.

The Soviet Union, in accordance with its international obligations, including agreements with France and Czechoslovakia, tried to prevent the tragedy from happening. Meanwhile, Poland, in pursuit of its interests, was doing its utmost to hamper the establishment of a collective security system in Europe. Polish Minister of Foreign Affairs Józef Beck wrote about it directly in his letter of September 19, 1938 to the aforementioned Ambassador Józef Lipski before his meeting with Hitler: “…in the past year, the Polish government rejected four times the proposal to join the international interfering in defence of Czechoslovakia.”

Britain, as well as France, which was at the time the main ally of the Czechs and Slovaks, chose to withdraw their guarantees and abandon this Eastern European country to its fate. In so doing, they sought to direct the attention of the Nazis eastward so that Germany and the Soviet Union would inevitably clash and bleed each other white.

That was the essence of the western policy of ‘appeasement,’ which was pursued not only towards the Third Reich but also towards other participants of the so-called Anti-Comintern Pact – the fascist Italy and militarist Japan. In the Far East, this policy culminated in the conclusion of the Anglo-Japanese agreement in the summer of 1939, which gave Tokyo a free hand in China. The leading European powers were unwilling to recognise the mortal danger posed by Germany and its allies to the whole world. They were hoping that they themselves would be left untouched by the war.

The Munich Betrayal showed to the Soviet Union that the Western countries would deal with security issues without taking its interests into account. In fact, they could even create an anti-Soviet front, if needed.

Nevertheless, the Soviet Union did its utmost to use every chance to create an Anti-Hitler coalition. Despite – I will say it again – the double‑dealing on the part of the Western countries. For instance, the intelligence services reported to the Soviet leadership detailed information on the behind-the-scenes contacts between Britain and Germany in the summer of 1939. The important thing is that those contacts were quite active and practically coincided with the tripartite negotiations between France, Great Britain and the USSR, which were, on the contrary, deliberately protracted by the Western partners. In this connection, I will cite a document from the British archives. It contains instructions to the British military mission that came to Moscow in August 1939. It directly states that the delegation was to proceed with negotiations very slowly, and that the Government of the United Kingdom was not ready to assume any obligations spelled out in detail and limiting their freedom of action under any circumstances. I will also note that, unlike the British and French delegations, the Soviet delegation was headed by top commanders of the Red Army, who had the necessary authority to “sign a military convention on the organisation of military defence of England, France and the USSR against aggression in Europe.”

Poland played its role in the failure of those negotiations as it did not want to have any obligations to the Soviet side. Even under pressure from their Western allies, the Polish leadership rejected the idea of joint action with the Red Army to fight against the Wehrmacht. It was only when they learned of the arrival of J. Ribbentrop to Moscow that J. Beck reluctantly and not directly, but through French diplomats, notified the Soviet side: “… in the event of joint action against the German aggression, cooperation between Poland and the Soviet Union, subject to technical conditions which have to be agreed, is not out of the question.” At the same time, he explained to his colleagues: “… I agreed to this wording only for the sake of the tactics, and our core position in relation to the Soviet Union is final and remains unchanged.”

In these circumstances, the Soviet Union signed the Non-Aggression Pact with Germany. It was practically the last among the European countries to do so. Besides, it was done in the face of a real threat of war on two fronts – with Germany in the west and with Japan in the east, where intense fighting on the Khalkhin Gol River was already underway.

Stalin and his entourage, indeed, deserve many legitimate accusations. We remember the crimes committed by the regime against its own people and the horror of mass repressions. In other words, there are many things the Soviet leaders can be reproached for, but poor understanding of the nature of external threats is not one of them. They saw how attempts were made to leave the Soviet Union alone to deal with Germany and its allies. Bearing in mind this real threat, they sought to buy precious time needed to strengthen the country’s defences.

Nowadays, we hear lots of speculations and accusations against modern Russia in connection with the Non-Aggression Pact signed back then. Yes, Russia is the legal successor state to the USSR, and the Soviet period – with all its triumphs and tragedies – is an inalienable part of our thousand-year-long history. However, let me also remind you that the Soviet Union gave a legal and moral assessment of the so-called Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact. The Supreme Soviet in its resolution of December 24, 1989 officially denounced the secret protocols as “an act of personal power” which in no way reﬂected “the will of the Soviet people who bear no responsibility for this collusion.”

Yet other states prefer to forget the agreements carrying signatures of the Nazis and Western politicians, not to mention giving legal or political assessments of such cooperation, including the silent acquiescence – or even direct abetment – of some European politicians in the barbarous plans of the Nazis. It will suffice to remember the cynical phrase said by Polish Ambassador to Germany J. Lipski during his conversation with Hitler on September 20, 1938: “…for solving the Jewish problem, we [the Poles] will build in his honour … a splendid monument in Warsaw.”

Besides, we do not know if there were any secret “protocols” or annexes to agreements of a number of countries with the Nazis. The only thing that is left to do is to take their word for it. In particular, materials pertaining to the secret Anglo-German talks still have not been declassified. Therefore, we urge all states to step up the process of making their archives public and publishing previously unknown documents of the war and pre-war periods – the way Russia has been doing it in recent years. In this context, we are ready for broad cooperation and joint research projects engaging historians.

But let us go back to the events immediately preceding the Second World War. It was naïve to believe that Hitler, once done with Czechoslovakia, would not make new territorial claims. This time the claims involved its recent accomplice in the partition of Czechoslovakia – Poland. Here, the legacy of Versailles, particularly the fate of the so-called Danzig Corridor, was yet again used as the pretext. The blame for the tragedy that Poland then suffered lies entirely with the Polish leadership, which had impeded the formation of a military alliance between Britain, France and the Soviet Union and relied on the help from its Western partners, throwing its own people under the steamroller of Hitler’s machine of destruction.

The German offensive was mounted in full accordance with the blitzkrieg doctrine. Despite the fierce, heroic resistance of the Polish army, on September 8, 1939 – only a week after the war broke out – the German troops were on the approaches to Warsaw. By September 17, the military and political leaders of Poland had fled to Romania, betraying its people, who continued to fight against the invaders.

Poland’s hope for help from its Western allies was vain. After the war against Germany was declared, the French troops advanced only a few tens of kilometres deep into the German territory. All of it looked like a mere demonstration of vigorous action. Moreover, the Anglo-French Supreme War Council, holding its first meeting on September 12, 1939 in the French city of Abbeville, decided to call off the offensive altogether in view of the rapid developments in Poland. That was when the infamous Phony War started. What Britain and France did was a blatant betrayal of their obligations to Poland.

Later, during the Nuremberg Trials, German generals explained their quick success in the East. Former Chief of the Operations Staff of the German Armed Forces High Command General Alfred Jodl admitted: “… we did not suffer defeat as early as 1939 only because about 110 French and British divisions stationed in the west against 23 German divisions during our war with Poland remained absolutely idle.”

I asked for retrieval from the archives of the whole body of materials pertaining to the contacts between the USSR and Germany in the dramatic days of August and September 1939. According to the documents, paragraph 2 of the Secret Protocol to the German-Soviet Non-Aggression Pact of August 23, 1939 stated that, in the event of territorial-political reorganisation of the districts making up the Polish state, the border between the spheres of interest of the two countries would run “approximately along the Narew, Vistula and San rivers.” In other words, the Soviet sphere of influence included not only the territories that were mostly home to Ukrainian and Belorussian population but also the historically Polish lands in the Vistula and Bug interfluve. This fact is known to very few these days.

Similarly, very few know that, immediately after the attack on Poland, in the early days of September 1939, Berlin strongly and repeatedly called on Moscow to join the military action. However, the Soviet leadership ignored those calls and planned to avoid engaging in the dramatic developments as long as possible.

It was only when it became absolutely clear that Great Britain and France were not going to help their ally and the Wehrmacht could swiftly occupy entire Poland and thus appear on the approaches to Minsk that the Soviet Union decided to send in, on the morning of September 17, Red Army units into the so-called Eastern Borderlines (Kresy), which nowadays form part of the territories of Belorussia, Ukraine and Lithuania.

Obviously, there was no alternative. Otherwise, the USSR would face seriously increased risks because – I will say this again – the old Soviet-Polish border ran only within a few tens of kilometres from Minsk. The country would have to enter the inevitable war with the Nazis from very disadvantageous strategic positions, while millions of people of different nationalities, including the Jews living near Brest and Grodno, Przemyśl, Lvov and Wilno, would be left to die at the hands of the Nazis and their local accomplices – anti-Semites and radical nationalists.

The fact that the Soviet Union sought to avoid engaging in the growing conflict for as long as possible and was unwilling to fight side by side with Germany was the reason why the real contact between the Soviet and the German troops occurred much farther east than the borders agreed in the secret protocol. It was not on the Vistula River but closer to the so-called Curzon Line, which back in 1919 was recommended by the Triple Entente as the eastern border of Poland.

As is known, the subjunctive mood can hardly be used when we speak of the past events. I will only say that, in September 1939, the Soviet leadership had an opportunity to move the western borders of the USSR even farther west, all the way to Warsaw, but decided against it.

The Germans suggested formalising the new status quo. On September 28, 1939 J. Ribbentrop and V. Molotov signed in Moscow the Boundary and Friendship Treaty between Germany and the Soviet Union, as well as the secret protocol on changing the state border, according to which the border was recognised at the demarcation line where the two armies de-facto stood.

In autumn 1939, the Soviet Union, pursuing its strategic military and defensive goals, started the process of incorporation of Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia. Their accession to the USSR was implemented on a contractual basis, with the consent of the elected authorities. This was in line with international and state law of that time. Besides, in October 1939, the city of Wilno and the surrounding area, which had previously been part of Poland, were returned to Lithuania. The Baltic republics within the USSR preserved their government bodies, language, and had representation in the higher government entities of the Soviet Union.

During all these months there was an ongoing invisible diplomatic and politico-military struggle and intelligence work. Moscow understood that it was facing a fierce and cruel enemy, and that a covert war against Nazism was already going on. And there was no reason to take official statements and formal protocol notes of that time as a proof of ‘friendship’ between the USSR and Germany. The Soviet Union had active trade and technical contacts not only with Germany, but with other countries as well. Whereas Hitler tried again and again to draw the Soviet Union into Germany’s confrontation with the UK. But the Soviet government stood firm.

The last attempt to persuade the USSR to act together was made by Hitler during Molotov’s visit to Berlin in November 1940. But Molotov accurately followed Stalin’s instructions and limited himself to a general discussion of the German idea of the Soviet Union joining the Tripartite Pact signed by Germany, Italy and Japan in September 1940 and directed against the UK and the USA. No wonder that already on November 17 Molotov gave the following instructions to Soviet plenipotentiary representative in London Ivan Maisky: “For your information…No agreement was signed or was intended to be signed in Berlin. We just exchanged our views in Berlin…and that was all…Apparently, the Germans and the Japanese seem anxious to push us towards the Gulf and India. We declined the discussion of this matter as we consider such advice on the part of Germany to be inappropriate.” And on November 25, the Soviet leadership called it a day altogether by officially putting forward to Berlin the conditions that were unacceptable to the Nazis, including the withdrawal of German troops from Finland, mutual assistance treaty between Bulgaria and the USSR, and a number of others. Thus it deliberately excluded any possibility of joining the Pact. Such position definitely shaped the Fuehrer’s intention to unleash a war against the USSR. And already in December, putting aside the warnings of his strategists about the disastrous danger of having a two-front war, Hitler approved Operation Barbarossa. He did this with the knowledge that the Soviet Union was the major force that opposed him in Europe and that the upcoming battle in the East would decide the outcome of the world war. And he had no doubts as to the swiftness and success of the Moscow campaign.

And here I would like to highlight the following: Western countries, as a matter of fact, agreed at that time with the Soviet actions and recognised the Soviet Union’s intention to ensure its national security. Indeed, back on October 1, 1939 Winston Churchill, the First Lord of the Admiralty back then, in his speech on the radio said, “Russia has pursued a cold policy of self-interest… But that the Russian Armies should stand on this line [meaning the new Western border] was clearly necessary for the safety of Russia against the Nazi menace.” On October 4, 1939, speaking in the House of Lords, Britain’s Foreign Secretary Lord Halifax said, “…it should be recalled that the Soviet government’s actions were to move the border essentially to the line recommended at the Versailles Conference by Lord Curzon… I only cite historical facts and believe they are indisputable.” Prominent British politician and statesman David Lloyd George emphasised, “The Russian Armies occupied the territories that are not Polish and that were forcibly seized by Poland after World War I … It would be an act of criminal insanity to put the Russian advancement on a par with the German one.“

In informal communications with Soviet plenipotentiary representative Ivan Maisky, British high-ranking politicians and diplomats spoke even more openly. On October 17, 1939, Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs R. A. Butler confided to him that the British government circles believed there could be no question of returning Western Ukraine and Belorussia to Poland. According to him, if it had been possible to create an ethnographic Poland of a modest size with a guarantee not only of the USSR and Germany, but also of Britain and France, the British government would have considered itself quite satisfied. On October 27, 1939, Neville Chamberlain’s senior advisor Horace Wilson said that Poland had to be restored as an independent state on its ethnographic basis, but without Western Ukraine and Belorussia.

It is worth noting that in the course of these conversations the possibilities for improving British-Soviet relations were also explored. These contacts to a large extent laid the foundation for future alliance and Anti-Hitler coalition. Winston Churchill stood out among responsible and far-sighted politicians and, despite his infamous dislike for the USSR, had been in favour of cooperating with the Soviets even before. Back in May 1939, he said in the House of Commons, “We shall be in mortal danger if we fail to create a Grand Alliance against aggression. The worst folly… would be to… drive away any natural cooperation with Soviet Russia…” And after the start of hostilities in Europe, at his meeting with Ivan Maisky on October 6, 1939 he confided that there were no serious contradictions between the UK and the USSR and, therefore, there was no reason for strained or unsatisfactory relations. He also mentioned that the British government was eager to develop trade relations and willing to discuss any other measures that might improve the relationships.

World War II did not happen overnight, nor did it start unexpectedly or all of a sudden. And German aggression against Poland was not out of nowhere. It was the result of a number of tendencies and factors in the world politics of that time. All pre-war events fell into place to form one fatal chain. But, undoubtedly, the main factors that predetermined the greatest tragedy in the history of mankind were state egoism, cowardice, appeasement of the aggressor who was gaining strength, and unwillingness of political elites to search for compromise.

Therefore, it is unfair to claim that the two-day visit to Moscow of Nazi Foreign Minister J. Ribbentrop was the main reason for the start of World War II. All the leading countries are to a certain extent responsible for its outbreak. Each of them made fatal mistakes, arrogantly believing that they could outsmart others, secure unilateral advantages for themselves or stay away from the impending global catastrophe. And this short-sightedness, the refusal to create a collective security system cost millions of lives and tremendous losses.

Saying this, I by no means intend to take on the role of a judge, to accuse or acquit anyone, let alone initiate a new round of international information confrontation in the historical field that could set countries and peoples at loggerheads. I believe that it is academics with a wide representation of respected scholars from different countries of the world who should search for a balanced assessment of what happened. We all need the truth and objectivity. On my part, I have always encouraged my colleagues to build a calm, open and trust-based dialogue, to look at the common past in a self-critical and unbiased manner. Such an approach will make it possible not to repeat the mistakes committed back then and to ensure peaceful and successful development for years to come.

However, many of our partners are not yet ready for joint work. On the contrary, pursuing their goals, they increase the number and the scope of information attacks against our country, trying to make us provide excuses and feel guilty. They adopt thoroughly hypocritical and politically motivated declarations. Thus, for example, the resolution on the Importance of European Remembrance for the Future of Europe approved by the European Parliament on September 19, 2019 directly accused the USSR – along with the Nazi Germany – of unleashing the Second World War. Needless to say, there is no mention of Munich in it whatsoever.

I believe that such ‘paperwork’ – for I cannot call this resolution a document – which is clearly intended to provoke a scandal, is fraught with real and dangerous threats. Indeed, it was adopted by a highly respectable institution. And what did it show? Regrettably, it revealed a deliberate policy aimed at destroying the post-war world order whose creation was a matter of honour and responsibility for the countries a number of representatives of which voted today in favour of this deceitful resolution. Thus, they challenged the conclusions of the Nuremberg Tribunal and the efforts of the international community to create after the victorious 1945 universal international institutions. Let me remind you in this regard that the process of European integration itself leading to the establishment of relevant structures, including the European Parliament, became possible only due to the lessons learnt form the past and its accurate legal and political assessment. And those who deliberately put this consensus into question undermine the foundations of the entire post-war Europe.

Apart from posing a threat to the fundamental principles of the world order, this also raises certain moral and ethical issues. Desecrating and insulting the memory is mean. Meanness can be deliberate, hypocritical and pretty much intentional as in the situation when declarations commemorating the 75th anniversary of the end of World War II mention all participants in the Anti-Hitler coalition except for the Soviet Union. Meanness can be cowardly as in the situation when monuments erected in honour of those who fought against Nazism are demolished and these shameful acts are justified by the false slogans of the fight against an unwelcome ideology and alleged occupation. Meanness can also be bloody as in the situation when those who come out against neo-Nazis and Bandera’s successors are killed and burned. Once again, meanness can have different manifestations, but this does not make it less disgusting.

Neglecting the lessons of history inevitably leads to a harsh payback. We will firmly uphold the truth based on documented historical facts. We will continue to be honest and impartial about the events of World War II. This includes a large-scale project to establish Russia’s largest collection of archival records, film and photo materials about the history of World War II and the pre‑war period.

Such work is already underway. Many new, recently discovered or declassified materials were also used in the preparation of this article. In this connection, I can state with all responsibility that there are no archive documents that would confirm the assumption that the USSR intended to start a preventive war against Germany. The Soviet military leadership indeed followed a doctrine according to which, in the event of aggression, the Red Army would promptly confront the enemy, go on the offensive and wage war on enemy territory. However, such strategic plans did not imply any intention to attack Germany first.

Of course, military planning documents, letters of instruction of Soviet and German headquarters are now available to historians. Finally, we know the true course of events. From the perspective of this knowledge, many argue about the actions, mistakes and misjudgement of the country’s military and political leadership. In this regard, I will say one thing: along with a huge flow of misinformation of various kinds, Soviet leaders also received true information about the upcoming Nazi aggression. And in the pre-war months, they took steps to improve the combat readiness of the country, including the secret recruitment of a part of those liable for military duty for military training and the redeployment of units and reserves from internal military districts to western borders.

The war did not come as a surprise, people were expecting it, preparing for it. But the Nazi attack was truly unprecedented in terms of its destructive power. On June 22, 1941, the Soviet Union faced the strongest, most mobilised and skilled army in the world with the industrial, economic and military potential of almost all Europe working for it. Not only the Wehrmacht, but also Germany’s satellites, military contingents of many other states of the European continent, took part in this deadly invasion.

The most serious military defeats in 1941 brought the country to the brink of catastrophe. Combat power and control had to be restored by extreme means, nation-wide mobilisation and intensification of all efforts of the state and the people. In summer 1941, millions of citizens, hundreds of factories and industries began to be evacuated under enemy fire to the east of the country. The manufacture of weapons and munition, that had started to be supplied to the front already in the first military winter, was launched behind the lines in the shortest possible time, and by 1943, the rates of military production of Germany and its allies were exceeded. Within eighteen months, the Soviet people did something that seemed impossible. Both on the front lines and the home front. It is still hard to realise, understand and imagine what incredible efforts, courage, dedication these greatest achievements were worth.

The tremendous power of Soviet society, united by the desire to protect their native land, rose against the powerful, armed to the teeth, cold-blooded Nazi invading machine. It stood up to take revenge on the enemy, who had broken, trampled peaceful life, people’s plans and hopes.

Of course, fear, confusion and desperation were taking over some people during this terrible and bloody war. There were betrayal and desertion. The harsh splits caused by the revolution and the Civil War, nihilism, mockery of national history, traditions and faith that the Bolsheviks tried to impose, especially in the first years after coming to power – all of this had its impact. But the general attitude of the of Soviet citizens and our compatriots who found themselves abroad was different – to save and protect the Motherland. It was a real and irrepressible impulse. People were looking for support in true patriotic values.

The Nazi ‘strategists’ were convinced that a huge multinational state could easily be brought to heel. They thought that the sudden outbreak of the war, its mercilessness and unbearable hardships would inevitably exacerbate inter-ethnic relations. And that the country could be split into pieces. Hitler clearly stated: “Our policy towards the peoples living in the vastness of Russia should be to promote any form of disagreement and split.”

But from the very first days, it was clear that the Nazi plan had failed. The Brest Fortress was protected to the last drop of blood by its defenders representing more than 30 ethnicities. Throughout the war – both in large-scale decisive battles and in the protection of every foothold, every metre of native land – we see examples of such unity.

The Volga region and the Urals, Siberia and the Far East, the republics of Central Asia and Transcaucasia became home to millions of evacuees. Their residents shared everything they had and provided all the support they could. Friendship of peoples and mutual help became a real indestructible fortress for the enemy.

The Soviet Union and the Red Army, no matter what anyone is trying to prove today, made the main and crucial contribution to the defeat of Nazism. These were heroes who fought to the end surrounded by the enemy at Bialystok and Mogilev, Uman and Kiev, Vyazma and Kharkov. They launched attacks near Moscow and Stalingrad, Sevastopol and Odessa, Kursk and Smolensk. They liberated Warsaw, Belgrade, Vienna and Prague. They stormed Koenigsberg and Berlin.

We contend for genuine, unvarnished or whitewashed truth about war. This national, human truth, which is hard, bitter and merciless, has been handed down to us by writers and poets who walked through fire and hell of front trials. For my generation, as well as for many others, their honest and deep stories, novels, piercing trench prose and poems have left their mark on the soul forever. Honouring veterans who did everything they could for the Victory and remembering those who died on the battlefield has become our moral duty.

And today, the simple and great in their essence lines of Alexander Tvardovsky’s poem “I was killed near Rzhev …” dedicated to the participants of the bloody and brutal battle of the Great Patriotic War in the centre of the Soviet-German front line are astonishing. In the battles for Rzhev and the Rzhev Salient alone from October 1941 to March 1943, the Red Army lost 1,342,888 people, including wounded and missing in action. For the first time, I call out these terrible, tragic and far from complete figures collected from archive sources. I do it to honour the memory of the feat of known and nameless heroes, who for various reasons were undeservingly, and unfairly little talked about or not mentioned at all in the post-war years.

Let me cite another document. This is a report of February 1945 on reparation from Germany by the Allied Commission on Reparations headed by Ivan Maisky. The Commission’s task was to define a formula according to which defeated Germany would have to pay for the damages sustained by the victor powers. The Commission concluded that “the number of soldier-days spent by Germany on the Soviet front is at least 10 times higher than on all other allied fronts. The Soviet front also had to handle four-fifths of German tanks and about two-thirds of German aircraft.” On the whole, the USSR accounted for about 75 percent of all military efforts undertaken by the Anti-Hitler Coalition. During the war period, the Red Army “ground up” 626 divisions of the Axis states, of which 508 were German.

On April 28, 1942, Franklin D. Roosevelt said in his address to the American nation: “These Russian forces have destroyed and are destroying more armed power of our enemies – troops, planes, tanks, and guns – than all the other United Nations put together.” Winston Churchill in his message to Joseph Stalin of September 27, 1944, wrote that “it is the Russian army that tore the guts out of the German military machine…”

Such an assessment has resonated throughout the world. Because these words are the great truth, which no one doubted then. Almost 27 million Soviet citizens lost their lives on the fronts, in German prisons, starved to death and were bombed, died in ghettos and furnaces of the Nazi death camps. The USSR lost one in seven of its citizens, the UK lost one in 127, and the USA lost one in 320. Unfortunately, this figure of the Soviet Union’s hardest and grievous losses is not exhaustive. The painstaking work should be continued to restore the names and fates of all who have perished – Red Army soldiers, partisans, underground fighters, prisoners of war and concentration camps, and civilians killed by the death squads. It is our duty. And special role here belongs to members of the search movement, military‑patriotic and volunteer associations, projects like the electronic database ”Pamyat Naroda“ (Memory of the People), which contains archival documents. And, surely, close international cooperation is needed in such a common humanitarian task.

The efforts of all countries and peoples who fought against a common enemy resulted in victory. The British army protected its homeland from invasion, fought the Nazis and their satellites in the Mediterranean and North Africa. American and British troops liberated Italy and opened the Second Front. The US dealt powerful and crushing strikes against the aggressor in the Pacific Ocean. We remember the tremendous sacrifices made by the Chinese people and their great role in defeating Japanese militarists. Let us not forget the fighters of Fighting France, who did not fall for the shameful capitulation and continued to fight against the Nazis.

We will also always be grateful for the assistance rendered by the Allies in providing the Red Army with munition, raw materials, food and equipment. And that help was significant – about 7 percent of the total military production of the Soviet Union.

The core of the Anti-Hitler Coalition began to take shape immediately after the attack on the Soviet Union where the United States and Britain unconditionally supported it in the fight against Hitler’s Germany. At the Tehran Conference in 1943, Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill formed an alliance of great powers, agreed to elaborate coalition diplomacy and a joint strategy in the fight against a common deadly threat. The leaders of the Big Three had a clear understanding that the unification of industrial, resource and military capabilities of the USSR, the United States and the UK will give unchallenged supremacy over the enemy.

The Soviet Union fully fulfilled its obligations to its allies and always offered a helping hand. Thus, the Red Army supported the landing of the Anglo-American troops in Normandy by carrying out a large-scale Operation Bagration in Belorussia. In January 1945, having broken through to the Oder River, our soldiers put an end to the last powerful offensive of the Wehrmacht on the Western Front in the Ardennes. Three months after the victory over Germany, the USSR, in full accordance with the Yalta agreements, declared war on Japan and defeated the million-strong Kwantung Army.

Back in July 1941, the Soviet leadership declared that “the purpose of the war against fascist oppressors was not only the elimination of the threat looming over our country, but also help for all the peoples of Europe suffering under the yoke of German fascism.” By mid-1944, the enemy was expelled from virtually all of the Soviet territory. However, the enemy had to be finished off in its lair. And so the Red Army started its liberation mission in Europe. It saved entire nations from destruction and enslavement, and from the horror of the Holocaust. They were saved at the cost of hundreds of thousands of lives of Soviet soldiers.

It is also important not to forget about the enormous material assistance that the USSR provided to the liberated countries in eliminating the threat of hunger and in rebuilding their economies and infrastructure. That was being done at the time when ashes stretched for thousands of miles all the way from Brest to Moscow and the Volga. For instance, in May 1945, the Austrian government asked the USSR to provide assistance with food, as it “had no idea how to feed its population in the next seven weeks before the new harvest.” State Chancellor of the Provisional Government of the Austrian Republic Karl Renner described the consent of the Soviet leadership to send food as a saving act that the Austrians would never forget.

The Allies jointly established the International Military Tribunal to punish Nazi political and war criminals. Its decisions contained a clear legal qualification of crimes against humanity, such as genocide, ethnic and religious cleansing, anti-Semitism and xenophobia. Directly and unambiguously, the Nuremberg Tribunal also condemned the accomplices of the Nazis, collaborators of various kinds.

This shameful phenomenon manifested itself in all European countries. Such figures as Pétain, Quisling, Vlasov, Bandera, their henchmen and followers – though they were disguised as fighters for national independence or freedom from communism – are traitors and butchers. In terms of inhumanity, they often exceeded their masters. In their desire to serve, as part of special punitive groups they willingly executed the most inhuman orders. They were responsible for such bloody events as the shootings of Babi Yar, the Volhynia massacre, burnt Khatyn, acts of destruction of Jews in Lithuania and Latvia.

Today as well, our position remains unchanged – there can be no excuse for the criminal acts of Nazi collaborators, there is no period of limitations for them. It is therefore bewildering that in certain countries those who are smirched with cooperation with the Nazis are suddenly equated with World War II veterans. I believe that it is unacceptable to equate liberators with occupants. And I can only regard the glorification of Nazi collaborators as a betrayal of the memory of our fathers and grandfathers. A betrayal of the ideals that united peoples in the fight against Nazism.

At that time, the leaders of the USSR, the United States, and the UK faced, without exaggeration, a historic task. Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill represented the countries with different ideologies, state aspirations, interests, cultures, but they demonstrated great political will, rose above the contradictions and preferences and put the true interests of peace at the forefront. As a result, they were able to come to an agreement and achieve a solution from which all of humanity has benefited.

The victor powers left us a system that has become the quintessence of the intellectual and political quest of several centuries. A series of conferences – Tehran, Yalta, San Francisco and Potsdam – laid the foundation of a world that for 75 years had no global war, despite the sharpest contradictions.

Historical revisionism, the manifestations of which we now observe in the West, primarily with regard to the subject of the Second World War and its outcome, is dangerous because it grossly and cynically distorts the understanding of the principles of peaceful development, laid down at the Yalta and San Francisco conferences in 1945. The major historic achievement of Yalta and other decisions of that time is the agreement to create a mechanism that would allow the leading powers to remain within the framework of diplomacy in resolving their differences.

The twentieth century brought large-scale and comprehensive global conflicts, and in 1945, nuclear weapons capable of physically destroying the Earth also entered the scene. In other words, the settlement of disputes by force has become prohibitively dangerous. And the victors in the Second World War understood that. They understood and were aware of their own responsibility towards humanity.

The cautionary tale of the League of Nations was taken into account in 1945. The structure of the UN Security Council was developed in a way to make peace guarantees as concrete and effective as possible. That is how the institution of the permanent members of the Security Council and the right of the veto as their privilege and responsibility came into being.

What is the power of veto in the UN Security Council? To put it bluntly, it is the only reasonable alternative to a direct confrontation between major countries. It is a statement by one of the five powers that a decision is unacceptable to it and is contrary to its interests and its ideas about the right approach. And other countries, even if they do not agree, take this position as a given, abandoning any attempts to realise their unilateral efforts. It means that in one way or another it is necessary to seek compromises.

A new global confrontation started almost immediately after the end of the Second World War and was at times very fierce. And the fact that the Cold War did not grow into the Third World War has become a clear testimony of the effectiveness of the agreements concluded by the Big Three. The rules of conduct agreed upon during the creation of the United Nations made it possible to further minimise risks and keep confrontation under control.

Of course, we can see that the UN system currently experiences certain tension in its work and is not as effective as it could be. But the UN still performs its primary function. The principles of the UN Security Council are a unique mechanism for preventing a major war or a global conflict.

The calls that have been made quite often in recent years to abolish the power of veto, to deny special opportunities to permanent members of the Security Council are actually irresponsible. After all, if that happens, the United Nations would in essence become the League of Nations – a meeting for empty talk without any leverage on the world processes. How it ended is well known. That is why the victor powers approached the formation of the new system of the world order with utmost seriousness seeking to avoid repetition of mistakes made by their predecessors.

The creation of the modern system of international relations is one of the major outcomes of World War II. Even the most insurmountable contradictions – geopolitical, ideological, economic – do not prevent us from finding forms of peaceful coexistence and interaction, if there is the desire and will to do so. Today the world is going through quite a turbulent time. Everything is changing, from the global balance of power and influence to the social, economic and technological foundations of societies, nations and even continents. In the past epochs, shifts of such magnitude have almost never happened without major military conflicts. Without a power struggle to build a new global hierarchy. Thanks to the wisdom and farsightedness of the political figures of the Allied Powers, it was possible to create a system that has restrained from extreme manifestations of such objective competition, historically inherent in the world development.

It is a duty of ours – all those who take political responsibility and primarily representatives of the victor powers in the Second World War – to guarantee that this system is maintained and improved. Today, as in 1945, it is important to demonstrate political will and discuss the future together. Our colleagues – Mr Xi Jinping, Mr Macron, Mr Trump and Mr Johnson – supported the Russian initiative to hold a meeting of the leaders of the five nuclear-weapon states, permanent members of the Security Council. We thank them for this and hope that such face-to-face meeting could take place as soon as possible.

What is our vision of the agenda for the upcoming summit? First of all, in our opinion, it would be useful to discuss steps to develop collective principles in world affairs. To speak frankly about the issues of preserving peace, strengthening global and regional security, strategic arms control, about joint efforts in countering terrorism, extremism and other major challenges and threats.

A special item on the agenda of the meeting is the situation in the global economy. And above all, overcoming the economic crisis caused by the coronavirus pandemic. Our countries are taking unprecedented measures to protect the health and lives of people and to support citizens who have found themselves in difficult living situations. Our ability to work together and in concert, as real partners, will show how severe the impact of the pandemic will be, and how quickly the global economy will emerge from the recession. Moreover, it is unacceptable to turn the economy into an instrument of pressure and confrontation. Popular issues include environmental protection and combating climate change, as well as ensuring the security of the global information space.

The agenda proposed by Russia for the upcoming summit of the Five is extremely important and relevant both for our countries and for the entire world. And we have specific ideas and initiatives on all the items.

There can be no doubt that the summit of Russia, China, France, the United States, and the UK will play an important role in finding common answers to modern challenges and threats, and will demonstrate a common commitment to the spirit of alliance, to those high humanist ideals and values for which our fathers and grandfathers fought shoulder to shoulder.

Drawing on a shared historical memory, we can trust each other and must do so. That will serve as a solid basis for successful negotiations and concerted action for the sake of enhancing the stability and security on the planet, for the sake of prosperity and well-being of all states. Without exaggeration, it is our common duty and responsibility towards the entire world, towards the present and future generations.

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