#'Edith was merely the first name I could think of; but if it's REALLY causing you such hardship don't worry we can name her something else' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

p1nkwitch · 3 years

Note

✓ and # with Edith and Jonah!

✓: waking up either adorably confused or painfully scared

#: shaky hands

I'm going to use the Edith from the world turned upside down fic mixed with a mother’s love, i hope you don't mind!

Edith loves her child, her little miracle is the one thing that she can safely say that she loves more than anything in this world.

A new life, a new shot of keeping her son safe, this time for real. When her husband… Well, when he can't deal with her precious Jonah due to remembering their first life, she leaves, she ends things, picks up her child and goes.

James and her talk, of course they do, she did love him, but this time she wanted to keep Jonah safe and happy. So breaking up was for the best. To give him a happy childhood, his ex husband was ok with not interacting with him, even if… her boy wondered why his dad did not come to see him for his birthdays or special occasions.

And it broke her heart, but they both knew he could not deal with him and she did not want him to hurt the boy in any way. So they kept their agreement.

And things are well, they are ok for a long, long time. Her boy is happy, has Barnabas and Jonathan as friends and the three seem inseparable. Edith is just glad that everything is finally well, that this time their lives can be better.

However…

It seems that the world likes to prove her wrong, likes to make her worry.

His son’s friends suddenly dislike him and she thinks about it, has an inkling as to why, that she does not want to consider. Because that means that maybe one day Jonah will recall too and she doesn't know what to do then.

He is unhappy and she knows, but she can't get him new friends, can't explain why they were mad at him without giving more about a life that was. So she keeps an eye on him and hopes for the best.

The best comes, with one Peter Fairchild whom her son suddenly starts to talk about a lot, how quiet and annoying he is, how he never seems to talk with anyone-

Jonah talks about him like a puzzle piece and slowly it turns into him speaking about him far more nicely, how he brings him cookies, how he makes funny comments under his breath-

It makes her unbelievably fond of this boy for bringing her son his joy back. That's why she makes such an effort when he invites him for a sleepover, her Jonah was nervous and she wanted to help.

The boy is a delight and she can see Jonah look at him with a smile and laugh at his antics, it warms her heart, but also… something sort of tries to click on her brain, something she was missing.

She recalled very little of her time after her “death” but… she thinks Jonah came to talk to her grave and he… brought someone along too. She just can't remember much of it. Too weak and hungry for her childs terror of the end.

Things go well, until-

Jonah becomes ill, so, so ill all of a sudden. It reminds her too much of when he fell to the lake and that awful winter, it brings her to tears. He is in bed shaking, pale and out of it. The doctors said that he will be fine, that is not deadly-

But she fears.

She fears and ponders about sacrifices, about keeping her child alive again. Makes the calculations about their neighbours and their kids and waits to see spiders, to see them lead her to the place she needs to go.

Edith will not lose him, never. She will do whatever is necessary to keep her son alive. Whatever sacrifice must be done to achieve it she will do it.

Her hands shake a lot, but she keeps him close and sings the lullaby she sang to him all those years ago, praying its enough, hoping that nothing bad will happen to him. She brushes his sweaty hair away and hears him mumble that he doesn't want to die, the pure ache at hearing him say that makes her shed her own tears.

“No, no you will be fine my little dragon, i swear, i will protect you this time”

He curls up around her and she weeps again for her child, wanting nothing more than to keep him safe and happy.

Jonah wakes up for moments, but he is very out of it, the confused face makes her want to wrap him up in blankets and never let anything bad happen to him.

“Mom, mom im sorry, please im so sorry-”

“Shhh, there is nothing to be sorry about dear” Yet he keeps saying it and she talks to him, tells him stories to keep him preoccupied. Those seem to calm him down enough, she knows he is not really listening, but his cute little face pokes out of the sheets and looks at her mesmerized and its enough.

Enough for now to keep him away from whatever terrible things haunt him in his sleepy hours. His hands reach out to her and hold her own while brushing his little fingers softly on her.

“I'm sorry, you are very pretty mom” She smiles albeit confusedly at him.

“Thank you?”

“Mm sorry i get mad when people say i look too much like you… you are pretty and nice” Her heart is being squeezed and she imagines another life, where she can see those words haunting the boy.

“Its ok my little prince, you are very handsome” He makes a few nonsensical sounds.

“Pretty and nice and you love me lots, I love you mom, I'm sorry I'm not good…” She kisses his forehead.

“Oh Jonah you are everything I have ever wanted, my little firebug I love you, you are so good. And even if you weren't… i'm not that good either, i would love you no matter what” Her boy squeezes her hand and she lays next to him while holding him close.

“Sleep ok? I will be here, always” He nods and she ignores any wet spots on her neck, she merely draws shapes on his back and hums along until his breathing slows down and he sleeps.

Edith is not a good person, not by a long shot. She is aware that she would hurt people for her child, is willing to do it. How silly of her boy to think that she was ever good.

It breaks, the illness that is, she was relieved, so so, relieved.

However the worst is yet to come.

Jonah starts to act more irrational, twitchy, closed off, quiet-

She doesn't know what to do, he also eats so little it makes her fearful of watching him waste away. Peter seems to be doing his best to keep him company, whenever she asks. He looks sort of sad, but says that the boy shares his food with him and sticks around all the time. That at the very least lets her know that someone is looking over him.

Then he comes back one day from his sleepover without saying a word and everything goes downhill.

He is at the hospital, refusing to speak, to explain himself-

He is a shadow of her bright curious child and it makes her mad, at whatever force there is out there that caused this, that caused him to be like this. Was it her? Did she do something? His teachers, classmates-

Peter doesn't know, she asks him once when he comes to wait and that-

That also makes her sad, because Jonah rejects him yet the boy comes back every day, sits and waits for the moment he will say yes.

The name Peter sounds more familiar and the niggling sensation of knowing him comes back.

Still his little face shows guilt and fear and she wants to shake him for answers, but she takes a breath and smiles at him. He is just as worried as her.

She thinks she will kill Mister Sims and his partner, she very much wants to. For now she has to conform with a punch in the face. Still she will get their downfall one way or another.

….

Jonah wakes up.

Confused and… he doesn't know, her son who remembered his life doesn't know anymore. She is between sad and happy that he can let it go, if that's what caused him all this pain.

Still she chooses to lay in the hospital bed next to him, while he looks confused, sad and scared. That makes her brush his hair out of his face and reassures him with whispered words about everything going to be better from now on, that she will be there always.

Jonah looks at her with bleary eyes, still more or less out of it, but its ok, her little gift will be ok now. His face scrunches up adorably and she pokes his nose. She missed this, missed him.

“Mom?” He is still sleepy and she won't begrudge him that.

“Yes firebug?”

“I love you” Her heart swells and she scoops him closer to her holding him while he cries against her again. She will protect his tiny life with her dying breath.

Edith Lenore Magnus loves her son with her whole heart.

He lets the tears fall, a last cleansing of a life that was and he cant recall anymore.

She hums and he sniffles before wiping his tears and letting her calm him down until he falls asleep between her arms.

Peter Lukas.

That was it.

Jonah had called him his husband while she was in her coffin, she remembers now.

She sees the two of them sleeping, while cuddling on the couch, and thinks that she would love to finally be able to be at his wedding this time around.

The boy has proven to love her son so much it's astounding. Even if Simon says that their relationship was rather torrid most of the time, he can see this time around they were far better with each other.

She agrees and hopes this is a better life for all of them.

She sees a spider on the wall and ponders, ultimately she picks up a piece of paper and the arachnid walks on it camly while she sets it free outside.

Perhaps the first time around it was a manipulation, maybe it still is, but the spiders had helped her along to keep her Jonah alive in both lives.

She will not begrudge them at all.

#flurby gets an ask #my writingf #edith my love #based on my fics #murder mom i love you #she loves him so much #I hope this satisfies you

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druigsfavwitch · 4 years

Text

It’s Ok- Natasha Romanoff x Daughter! Reader

warning- angst, endgame spoilers, mom! nat (my specialty) there no fluff, it’s only angst sorry :(

summary- after the snap, natasha had lost everything: her family, friends and others. the one thing she didn’t lose was you. scott comes back with a plan but everything has a price, even happiness

words- 1553

~~~~~~

Natasha could remember that day so clearly. She watched as everyone around her just disappeared into dust. He first reaction was her child: you.

You were also in wakanda, fighting thanos and his minions with your mother. She ran around, calling for you. She would walk past piles of dust, hoping it wasn’t you. She walked back out onto the field and saw half of everyone. She did a quick once over and saw you stand up from the ground. She sighed, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She ran across the field and engulfed you into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re ok.” She said, tears forming in her eyes. You looked around at the piles of dust, some being swept away by the gust of wind.

“What happened, mama?” You asked, your voice small and quivering. She looked around and let a tear slip. “I have no clue, моя любовь. We’ll make it right, though. I know we will.”

~~~~~

A few days passed and you all were no closer to bringing everyone back. Your birthday was the day after everyone got snapped. You didn’t even want to have a party. You refused to get any gifts but, of course, your mom got you something. You felt guilty. Why did you have to get gifts when your family was killed? You guys should be trying to save them. A day or two later, you lose count when you don’t sleep, a space alien lady came with tony and nebula who, surprisingly, stuck in space. It turns out steve had told her tony was in space.

She had brains. You guys managed to find out where thanos was because he had used the stones again. You guys set off to find him.

When you guys landed, carol, wrapped her in a headlock while you guys arrived. It turned out he had used them to destroy them. Thor wasn’t having any shit from him and he sliced his head off. “What, i went for the head.” Your eyes filled with tears, it’s all over.

~~~~~

Years passed this time. About 5, you lost count. By this time, you were 22. You had lost the happiness to do anything really, it was like you were numb. Every year, your mom would try to throw you a tiny party, something to lift your spirits, but you just laid in bed.

Until, one day, a crazy dude waved at the entrance to the compound. They let him in and explained it was scott or ant man. He explained that he didn’t get dusted because he was in the quantum realm. He said that we could do a back to the future type thing and get the stones, reverse the snap and return them.

When they were going over the stone, you took extensive notes. That night, when everyone fell asleep, you read about the most confusing stone to you: the soul stone. It’s found on vormir and the price for it is another soul. You knew you had to be the one to sacrifice their soul. Everyone else had a purpose. You snuck back to your room and started to sleep but couldn’t. If you were going to die, you might as well let your mother know. You grabbed a piece of paper from your dresser and a pencil and started writing. When you were finished, you smiled with tears in your eyes and folded it. You grabbed the pencil again and wrote her name on the top. You sighed and fell asleep.

~~~~~

When the day came, you laid the note on your pillow and ran out to get in the suits. “ok, you all know your goals. the stones.” Your mom turned to steve. “See you in a minute.” She said. She turned back to you and grabbed your hand. You smiled at her and everyone went their separate ways.

~~~~

You, Clint and Natasha landed in vormir and climbed the mountain. When you got to the top, you saw a man in a good. He spoke up. “Natasha, daughter of Ivan. Clint, son of Edith. Y/n, daughter of Natasha” Your mom spoke up next. “Who are you?” He responded. “Consider me a guide. To you, and to all who seek the Soul Stone.” “Oh, good. You tell us where it is. Then we'll be on our way.” Your mom said. You looked at them. He guided you all to the cliff. “The stone is down there.” Your mom said. Your heart rest quickened. “For one of you. For the other... In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soul, for a soul.” The three of you sat down on a log. “Whatever it takes.” They both sais. “Tell my family i love them.” Clint said. Your mom tackled him. “Tell them yourself. You saw this as an opportunity. You bolted only to be yanked back. “i don’t think so!” Clint said. You swept your leg out and knocked him down. You ran over and tried to jump off the edge but your mom caught you causing you both to fall. Clint jumped down and grabbed her hand and shooting an arrow. He was holding on to natasha who was holding on to you. Natasha had tears on her eyes. “You’re gonna love kid.” Clint said, choking on tears. Natasha wrapped her hand around as you gave her a smile. “I love you. I do, mama. So much, please, don’t forget me.” Natasha sobbed. “You’re gonna be next to me. You still have so much to live.” You smiled through your tears and your fear. “I lived my journey. Part of it is the end.” You kicked your leg off the rock, knocking your mom off balance and letting go of your hand. She screamed as she watched you fall and eventually land with a sicking crack. She hid her face in cried. Then, both of their visions went black.

~~~~

When they woke up, they were in a puddle. Natasha looked in her hand and saw the soul stone. She looked up the sky and screamed. She had lost the one thing she had been living for.

Her and clint made the journey back, none of them saying a word to the other. Natasha was to busy staring at her hands. The hands that held her baby, the ones that failed her.

~~~~

When they arrived back, everyone had their stones. Steve looked at Natasha and saw her bloodshot eyes. He looked to the spot next to her and saw you were missing. “Natasha, where’s y/n?” At the mere mention of your name, she broke down. She fell on the ground crying. Clint tried to comfort her but she just screamed and cried. She had lost her will to live.

~~~~

Bruce had been the one to make the snap. Just seconds after, the compound blew up. Natasha and clint were trapped together They fought their way out.

They had witnessed the portals and everyone come back. Natasha almost cried again. Her baby did this. “Avengers....assemble.” Captain America yelled and everyone started to fight.

When thanos grabbed the gauntlet, Natasha thought it was all over. Her baby’s death for nothing. But then, he snapped and nothing happened. Turns out tony had taken them. He said “i am iron man” and snapped.

~~~~

Natasha and the others watched as tony slowly died, his finally words being “hey pep.” They all took a kneel. Natasha cried. She had lost two people in a day.

~~~~

At his funeral, she sat in the back, on a bench, looking at the sky. Carol walked up and cleared her throat. “Um, i found this is the rubble of the compound. It’s for you.” She looked at her hand and saw a note folded up with her name on it. She could recognize your handwriting. She started to tear up as she unfolded the letter and started to read it.

‘Dear Mom,

Chances are, i’m not there with you. If i’m being completely honest, i knew one of us wouldn’t come back from vormir. It had to be me. Think of it as every animal or flower has their time. Then, they wilt or die. I wish i could hug you and stop your tears. Trust me, i really wish i could but this is how it was meant to be. You have chances. I finally got to be a hero. You don’t have to cry anymore. I’m ok, i’m happy. It’s ok. I love you and i’m safe. I’ll save a seat for you. I’m happy mommy. Don’t cry, i’m right here. Always and forever

Love, your baby- Y/n Romanoff

She sobbed and looked up to the sky, smiling. You weren’t there with her but you had tony. You both were happy. She would see you eventually. She would eventually get to hold her baby again. It would eventually be ok.

(ok, not gonna lie, i cried writing this)

tag list- @emmaloo21 @ssebstann @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

#natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #avengers x platonic reader #avengers #marvel x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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my-whumpy-little-heart · 4 years

Text

Persistence - 11

Oh man. I didn’t realize how much I missed writing this story. If anyone needs a refresher, the masterlist is here, and we’re jumping right into the aftermath of the last chapter with Ray and Mabel!

Tag list (It’s been a while, so absolutely no shame in asking to be removed or added. Also, so sorry if I forgot anyone!!): @whump-tr0pes, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doitforthewhump, @shameless-whumper, @endless-whump, @theycomeinthrees, @faewhump, @lonesome--hunter, @insanitywishes, @ohmywhump, @deluxewhump

Content warnings: Painful wound cleaning, discussions of misguided homicide and death, and mild dissoci@tion.

“...We’re gonna have to talk about this, but right now we need to keep everyone safe. That’s what you wanna do right? Keep these people from taking anyone else away from us?”

Slowly, languidly, Ray nodded.

“Right… you’re right.”

He wiped his brow with a shaking hand, then dragged it under his eyes and was surprised to find the skin there dry, the tears still swimming in them and refusing to spill. Ray blinked hard to clear his vision, not certain whether the blurriness of it was due to his tears or merely the darkness of the night.

His eyes felt a little more focused and much dryer after rubbing at them with his fingertips, and he stared across from their ship to the vessel floating alongside it. Mabel went first, descending the way the two sailors had climbed up, and Ray followed without a second thought, hands shaking and clutching the rope far too tightly, knuckles surely gone pale with the strain.

Everything felt wrong when they crept across the deck. He was tense, walking with heavy, uncoordinated steps and arms locked straight at his sides. Every slight noise, a creak in the deck or a splashing wave, sent a flinch rocketing up his spine. Mabel noticed, and he saw her concerned glances, but neither of them said a word until they were inside the ship’s quarters and encountered another person.

“Stay right where you are,” Mabel commanded, drawing her sword to make the threat clear. After a moment’s hesitation, Ray unsheathed his as well, making sure not to look at the drying, crimson blood glinting off its blade in the soft light. He had to grip it with both hands to keep the tip from shaking.

The sailor standing opposite of them froze, hand reaching towards his hip, but there wasn’t even a belt around his waist to draw a weapon from. When Mabel advanced a few steps forward, he raised his hands in quick, quiet surrender.

“Don’t bother hurting me,” he sighed, almost angrily resigned to this. Ray wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been cornered this way before after a failed mission, considering his late crew’s apparent incompetency. “What do you want?”

“Assemble what’s left of your people and tell them the crew of the Thief’s Halyard sent a message.” Mabel stuck out her chin the slightest bit, head held high with confidence and authority, while Ray felt smaller than ever beside her. “Don’t bother coming after us again. We know who sent you; let him know that we aren’t stopping for…” Her voice faded out even as she kept talking, overtaken by the white noise in Ray’s head.

He couldn’t handle this. He was looking at the young man with his hands raised but he saw a corpse bleeding, falling to the ground, life fading in mere merciless instants with no chance to even think before the darkness swallowed it whole. Did they really deserve what he’d done? Would they have ended up like that anyway? Was that… was it right?

“...then, and see yourself out,” the man grumbled, and Ray’s ears rang as he realized he was being tugged towards the exit, a gentle hand on his arm leading him along.

“What...?” he muttered, dazed and lost.

“Just follow me, come on, we’re getting out of here. Yes, I took care of it. No they’re not gonna bother us... You’re not in any state to be worrying about this, Ray. Come on,” Mabel urged, letting him go briefly and climbing up the rope back to their ship. He hadn’t even realized they were outside again. It took a few seconds to process her words, but he reached up, gripped as hard around the rope as he could, and used the knots along the length for leverage.

He reached up for the edge of the boat as soon as it was within reach, and Mabel crouched down to help him up before his grip could fail him. He clambered over the edge of the deck, face expressionless and drained. His legs nearly collapsed when he tried to stand up, buckling underneath his weight until Mabel wrapped a steadying arm around his torso.

“Hey, hey, hang on,” she grunted, reaching out with her other arm to dislodge the rope connecting their two ships together, and effectively removing the only pathway between them as well. “You need to get inside…”

Across from them, a few other crew members spilled out onto the deck, confusion and determination painted across their faces.

“What happened?!” one of them shouted, breathless. “We heard yelling, are you two alright? How can we help?”

“James, Clara, Edith,” she recognized them each in turn, and breathed their names in relief, “Just an ambush by some lowlifes. We shouldn’t be in danger anymore, but Ray and I need to get inside. Would you mind waking everyone else and gathering, um, there are- there’s two people here,” she gestured to the bodies of the people Ray had killed and he shuddered against her side, “one in the hallway, and two more in Ray’s quarters. Make sure that ship shoves off before they can cause us any more trouble, too.”

Each of them nodded at that, noting the tone with a degree of caution and worry.

“D’you need help Mabel? You’re still hurt too, y’know,” James asked, hand resting on his sword as he scanned the area the best he could in the darkness. The likelihood of an attacker still hiding on their ship was low, but certainly not impossible.

“I’ll be fine,” she sighed, offering a tight smile as she made her way toward the cabin. “Your help with this is enough.” He didn’t push the issue any further, trusting her to sort out what she needed to, and got to work with the others.

The pair walked in a slow, lumbering limp, most of Ray’s weight resting on Mabel’s injured side. She could feel the stitches tearing and giving way to a throbbing ache, but gritted her teeth against it and kept on down the hallway until they reached her quarters. She nearly continued to Ray’s out of habit, but remembered the gruesome scene they’d left there and figured her room would be far less disturbing. Mabel’s attacker was lying slumped just outside the doorway--whether unconscious or deceased she couldn’t be certain--when she stepped carefully over him and closed the door behind them, plunging the room into darkness.

Mumbling to herself, she led Ray to where she knew her bed was and sat him down, leaving for a moment to fumble through a side drawer. The matchbox’s rough texture was easy to pick out, and she dragged it out from between the rest of the drawer’s contents. She slid it open, grabbed a match, and struck it against the side twice before it lit. The weak flame sparked to life between her fingers, which she quickly reached up to light the candle sitting atop her dresser, then the one on her desk.

They bathed the bed in a shallow, pulsing light. The residual darkness would make it difficult to work, but she’d dealt with worse before. The roll of bandages as well as the bowl of water used to care for her own injury were still sitting conveniently beside the bed. She squinted at the water inside, though, all too aware that it had been tainted with her blood and left to sit out for a day.

“I’ll be right back; this isn’t gonna cut it,” she grimaced. Mabel was nearly out the door when she realized she hadn’t gotten a response. A quick glance over her shoulder showed blank eyes and hunched shoulders staring… not at her, but through her. She swallowed her worry for the time being, stepping out the door without a second glance and nearly running straight into another person.

“My bad!” Mabel retreated just as quickly as she’d advanced, holding one hand up in an apology and looked up to see Clara doing the same.

“No, no you’re fine, that’s- that’s alright,” Clara breathed, stammering as she tried to recompose herself. “I wasn’t looking either.”

“Not your fault,” she reassured. “Do you have a moment, though? I need some fresh water, but I’ve gotta stay in here with Ray.” She had to physically stop herself from looking back over her shoulder again. He could deal with more than two seconds alone while she sorted this out. He wasn’t helpless.

“Oh, yeah of course! I’ll clean up with this and grab some more when I’m done, but it might take a bit.” “Take as long as you need, Clara,” Mabel nodded her assurance, waiting until Clara was out of sight to close the door again. She took a deep breath, held it in, and turned around on the slow exhale.

“Ray?” her voice softened as she crouched down, sitting carefully beside him on the bed when he didn’t respond. His gaze followed her, then dipped down when her hand clasped around his with a gentle squeeze. Shakily, he returned it, but the hollowness in his face remained.

“Come back to me, Ray. Can you say something? Just, anything so I know you’re still with me?”

“...’m okay,” he mumbled so close to her, yet so far away.

“Okay,” she repeated a little louder, “you’re not, but we’ll figure it out. Can you roll up your- actually, no, might as well just get your shirt out of the way entirely.” Splattered blood stained all his clothes, but the dark pants didn’t show it quite as vividly as the off-white shirt that was more red and pink than anything else at that point. She couldn’t even differentiate between what blood was his and what his victims had spilled.

“Yeah,” Ray rasped, reaching for the hem and stripping off the wet fabric. Mabel went to grab it, but he merely dropped it at his feet and she decided it was best left alone for now.

Instead, she focused on the cuts littering his skin, the redness around his arms and abdomen where the chair’s ropes must have rubbed harshly against him, and the blood drying across his chest. She couldn’t do much else until Clara got back, though, so she cleared her throat and spoke up.

“So. What can I do to help? You want to talk through this now?”

“I…” He swallowed. “I didn’t want to.”

“Didn’t want to... what, exactly?” she led, squeezing his hand again.

“I didn’t want to- I just- I didn’t want them to die-” Ray swallowed the last word, eyes fixed on one point across the room but not focused on anything at all. “They didn’t do anything, I don’t know why I just... I-” He cut himself off again, pressing his face into his hands, and silence fell across the two of them for a moment.

“They didn’t do anything yet, you mean. Their other ones attacked you in your sleep. We took care of them, but you didn’t know what the others were gonna do. You protected yourself and you protected us,” she said, then sighed. “I’m not saying there’s nothing wrong with what happened. And I think you know that.” Ray nodded heavily, hanging his head.

The door opened again before either could speak further on the matter, and Clara leaned in.

“Will this be enough?” she asked, out of breath. Her cheeks were red, but the rest of her face was pale and washed out.

“Yes, thank you so much,” Mabel said, hardly even glancing at it as she took the water and the rag Clara had been kind enough to grab. The other woman turned to leave. “Oh, and Clara! Be careful. Take a break if you’re feeling ill,” she warned, voice a little harsher than intended. All she got was a hasty wave before Clara rushed out of sight and Mabel let out a sigh.

“Here,” she turned to Ray, “sit up against the pillow.” She reached back, propping it against the headboard for him to lean on.

“Need anything else?” Ray shook his head a little less absently. “Suit yourself then. Relax.”

Mabel balanced the water on the bed beside them, dipping a cloth in and wringing out the excess before turning over Ray’s arm and holding it in place. When the cloth pressed to one of the deepest slashes on his forearm, he tensed up and tried to jerk away, forcing Mabel to redouble her grip on his wrist.

“Hold still,” she hissed, dragging the rag up as Ray forced himself not to pull away. He keened softly, unable to hold the sound in when she pressed even harder, almost scrubbing at the wound. “I know, I know, I’m sorry… Gotta make sure it’s clean.”

Mabel passed over the cut one final time and lifted the cloth, watching as Ray went limp and took a deep, shuddering breath. She gave him a few seconds more, but he wasn’t going to handle this process well no matter how slowly she did it. Ray rolled his shoulders back and relaxed them as well as he could when she turned his arm to get a better look at a graze crossing the opposite way.

“So…” she trailed off, letting the cloth touch skin and giving Ray time to adjust to the new pain before speaking again. “Where we left off. You knew what you did was…”

“...was wrong.” he grunted, “It was wrong. It felt wrong.”

“Why did you do it?”

Ray was silent except for a shaking gasp as Mabel started on a different cut, uneven breathing eventually settling into breathy syllables.

“I don’t…” he sighed, “I knew they were- Percival sent them. He had to have done it, but I don’t kno-hhh!… so quickly…”

“You… don’t know?”

Ray pressed his lips in a thin line, averting his eyes.

Neither of them spoke again. The cloth worked its way up Ray’s arm and over his chest, accompanied by whimpers, groans, and stifled screams. The bowl of water was clouded with blood and grime by the time Mabel finally reached his other arm, but she didn’t want to bother anyone to change it out at that point.

Eventually, when the quiet was nearly unbearable for both of them, Mabel spoke up.

“Ray, listen. I have to say something. I know we’ve both been thinking it, and I don’t want to make you upset, but...”

He glanced over, a soft plea in his upturned brows, fear in his half-lidded eyes, dread resting in the downturned corners of his mouth, and nodded.

“You know you can’t protect Floyd, right?” He flinched, but she went on. “There’s nothing you can do for him right now. You’re scared out of your mind, you’re worried sick, and I get it, but this isn’t okay. You’re wound up so tight that you callously killed two people without a second thought and didn’t even understand why until after it was all over. That’s not you, Ray.”

He stared into her eyes, searching for the lie he knew he’d never find. The rag’s warm touch brushed over the edge of his last unclean cut and he flinched, scrunching up his shoulders and hanging his head.

“That’s… nnh-! I can try, at least.”

“No, you can’t. Not like this.” Mabel’s words were firm as she lifted the bloodied cloth, hesitating before reaching over to the roll of bandages. “All you can do to help right now is chase after them.”

“And for all I know, that’s hurting him too,” Ray argued, but there was no bite in his voice. The words came out flat and dejected. “It’s the only option we have.”

“I wish it wasn’t.”

There was nothing she could say to that.

Mabel finished applying the bandages in silence, and Ray drifted among the waves gently rocking the boat, feeling himself slip under their surface into somewhere cold and suffocating. His tears could have dissolved into the sea, but they refused to surface in his dry, burning eyes.

He drifted on the walk back to his room through the lingering scent of blood, past the candle still wearing itself down, and under the unkempt covers on his bed. The flickering light was swallowed by the night, but even the darkest of shadows couldn’t dull the images still etched into his mind, replaying over and over and over again all through the night.

Next part

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quentinblack · 3 years

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Smoke and Mirrors

Word Count: 2.5K words

Chapter 13 - Andromeda III: Pride and Prejudice (link to full story on FF.net)

Featuring: Andromeda Black & Druella Black

Gaius Lestrange had not been a regular fixture at the Black family’s opulent manor-house in the Bedfordshire countryside for very long, but Andromeda had already grown quite tired of his presence. His persistent brown-nosing of her father over the summer months had been nauseating at best – at worst, even somewhat concerning considering her eldest sister would, at some point in the next 12 months, wed his eldest son and officially join their families together in the process.

Bellatrix had been looking forward to her 17th birthday with baited breath for months, as she would finally be considered a fully-grown adult-witch, thus, not just capable, but also legally able to make her own life choices.

Or at least that was what she had thought.

In hindsight this train of thought had been nothing short of abject naivety on her part, as the mere idea that she would not still be behest to her Father’s will whilst she still lived in his house was nothing more than a pipe dream.

The subject of finding a suitable wizard to marry her off to was not something that had been readily discussed by their Mother and Father in recent times, in-fact - more or less any subject involving Bellatrix had been off limits following the abortion incident.

Andromeda guessed that Bellatrix had thought after that scandal that she would’ve avoided the long-held tradition of pure-blood arranged marriage. It was something that Andromeda and Cissy had pondered themselves, after all, whilst the Black family name was practically royalty, what self-respecting, rich, pure-blood wizard would wish to marry one of their sons off to Bellatrix after all of that?

That had probably been something that her Father had also been rather concerned about. He had always been bitterly disappointed that he had never been birthed a male heir, but he always had the consolation prize of being able to marry off his darling daughters to the cream of the crop in pure-blood bachelors.

He was very good friends with the obscenely wealthy Abraxas Malfoy and if the rumours were to be believed - they had once discussed the possibility of marrying off their first born children together, with that philanderer Lucius even briefly courting Bellatrix at one point in time.

Of course that was undoubtedly off of the cards completely now, with Abraxas loathe to marry off his prized asset to such a disgraced young witch. Lucius would no doubt end up marrying one of the other less discredited pure-blood girls he liked to pursue at school. It could be Danielle Avery, Amara Greengrass or maybe even that bitch Olivia Burke – but definitely not Bellatrix.

Bellatrix was damaged goods and not even the prospect of their family name, reputation and wealth could paper over the cracks she had created. As her father had discovered - there was not a single self-respecting, rich, pureblood wizard who would considering marrying off their son to such a witch.

However, luckily for him, whilst there were no self-respecting, rich, pureblood wizards who would consider it – there was at least one rich, pureblood wizard that would consider it.

This was where Gaius Lestrange had come into the picture.

He was not self-respecting in the slightest, instead, he was utterly shameless in his lust for power, respect and social climbing. Whilst many other noble men with names like Malfoy, Crouch, Yaxley and Nott had pride and reputation to lose by entering their sons into such a bargain with Bellatrix – Gaius Lestrange was from a family that had not yet managed to carve out such pride or reputation into their name.

From what Andromeda had gathered from her Mother the vast majority of the Lestrange family had still been based in France at the turn of the 20th century, but following Grindelwald’s rise to power in Europe, a lot of the men had moved their wives and children to the comparative safety of Britain.

The patriarchs of the family did not do this to avoid Grindelwald’s war, on the contrary, the vast majority were actively following him into battle - and thus, they feared possible reprisals from a French Ministry that was keen to crack down on the dark wizard’s most loyal supporters by any means necessary.

Gaius Lestrange was still a teenager bogged down in his studies at Hogwarts when Grindelwald fell, with his Father subsequently locked up for life in the same prison that housed the man he had followed until the bitter end.

The Lestrange family had quite a few prosperous business ventures scattered across France, but they were soon purged following their owner’s demise and Gaius and his Mother were left with nothing but the cramped little cottage that housed them in Nottingham. Andromeda’s Mother had not expanded on how exactly Gaius Lestrange had managed to acquire the comparative riches that he held today, but she did not have any reason to believe it had come about entirely from legitimate business practices. All that she knew was that at some point Gaius, after befriending many other like-minded pure-blood wizards at Hogwarts, had eventually married the misshapen looking Edith Bulstrode and popped out two sons – one of which was now lucky enough to have Bellatrix as his prospective bride.

Rodolphus Lestrange could indeed consider himself lucky to have Bellatrix as his bride, as the lanky, dark-haired boy was not someone that Bellatrix, or indeed any of the other Slytherin girls seemed to show any romantic interest in.

Bellatrix liked to flirt and fornicate with the most powerful, ambitious and talented boys, not quiet, timid lackeys like her prospective fiancé. Rodolphus was not particularly gifted in any of his classes, nor did he possess enough talent on a broom to warrant a place on the dominant Slytherin quidditch side. He was a follower, not a leader, with the only person he seemed to have any influence over being his younger brother, Rabastan, who was even shyer and stranger than his sibling.

Andromeda doubted that Rodolphus would be able to tame her sister, in-fact, she figured Bellatrix would probably chew him up and spit him straight back out. In many ways she thought that made Gaius Lestrange’s eldest son the ideal man for Bellatrix, but if her repeated tantrums were anything to go by, it did not seem likely that she saw it that way herself.

“Andromeda, my dear, you have not eaten much of your steak,” her Mother said suddenly, interrupting her day-dreaming at the dining room table.

“Did Rudy not cook it how you like it? I will summon him at once, he can cook you another one.”

“No, Mother, this one is fine,” she quickly replied before her Mother could have a go at their house elf.

She was not lying – the food that Rudy had prepared her was no less nice than it always was, but she just had too much on her mind to be hungry enough to eat it.

Even if he had over-cooked it she would not have complained about it. She hated to see him chastised by her Mother, or worse, when he would punish himself for the slightest of errors or mistakes in his cooking or cleaning.

Bellatrix had for many years taken a great sadistic pleasure in fabricating problems with the meals he prepared for her, not because she had any particular hatred of him, but purely because she enjoyed watching her Mother berate and punish him. There were even a few occasions that he had broken down in tears, which had brought great amusement to her triumphant sister, who seemed to enjoy watching others getting publicly humiliated, especially if they were people or creatures that she considered beneath her.

“This is not the first time you have not finished your dinner this week, Andromeda. I do hope you are not taking part in that silly dieting trend that seems to have become popular with young witches. The Prophet said it originates from the Mud-

“I am not dieting!” she snapped before her Mother could say the word.

Druella Black did not take too kindly to any of her children raising their voices at her, but ever since Bellatrix’s fall from grace she had been a lot more lenient with her two younger girls.

“Andromeda Black!” her mother muttered in a stern voice.

“I am sorry Mother,” Andromeda lied, which caused the angry expression on Druella’s face to fade away slightly. “I should not have raised my voice at you… it is just lately I… I am feeling so…

“Yes?” her Mother replied eagerly. “What is it, dear? I have sensed something has not been quite right with you lately, please, do tell me what it is and we can resolve it.”

Andromeda had to think of something fast.

She could not tell her Mother what it was that was really stressing her out. That her Father selling off her sister to the highest bidder like an antique ornament had hit her with the stark realisation that this could one day soon be her fate too.

It wasn’t so bad for Cissy.

Fabian Prewett might be a flamboyant, rebellious Gryffindor, but he was still a pure-blood from a wealthy wizarding family. Her little sister still liked to keep their budding romance a secret, but there was no reason to believe that their Father wouldn’t greenlight a marriage between them if it one day got that serious.

Andromeda would not be so lucky.

Ted was a muggle-born and she would probably be disowned by her Father if he even knew she was dating him, let alone if she asked for his blessing to one day marry him.

“I am absolutely dreading going back to school, Mother,” she mustered up. “We start studying for our N.E.W.T.S and I just… I do not think I can hack it!” Andromeda blurted out, as she unexpectedly burst into tears.

Her Mother did not reach out to comfort her instantly, as she had spent many years training herself and her daughters to avoid showing such extreme emotion, but after a few moments she came closer and began to run her fingers through Andromeda’s dark brown hair.

“Oh, my dearest daughter, you are such a silly girl sometimes,” she whispered softly in a slightly patronising tone.

The reason that Andromeda had burst into tears was indeed due to her dreading the return to Hogwarts, yet it was not her N.E.W.T.S that kept her up at night, but her relationship with Ted.

Her courtship of him had initially began as an exciting act of defiance and rebellion.

Their first date in Hogsmeade had been somewhat, if not entirely, influenced by her desire to rebound from Lucius Malfoy. She had thought that if the Slytherin seeker had found out she had been on a date with another boy, a muggle-born no less, that he would first get extremely jealous- and then come to his senses and realise what a mistake he had made by casting her aside for Olivia.

As luck would have it that Hogsmeade trip had seen an incredible torrent of rain, which had put off most students from even bothering to venture out of the castle. Andromeda had headed there primarily to get the books that she wanted, not imagining that the muggle-boy with the silly haircut and the nice cheek-bones would bother braving the rain to meet her – but to her surprise when she had entered Tomes and Scrolls there he had been, browsing a book-shelf on the other side of the room.

They had gone on that date to Madam Pudifoot’s and save for the waitress had not seen a single soul from school the entire afternoon. In hindsight it was damn good fortune that they hadn’t. If anyone from Slytherin had spotted them together then their fledging relationship would have been over before it had even begun.

For the next three months they had primarily communicated by owl-post, with Andromeda frantically studying for her O.W.L.S she at least had a feasible excuse not to want to be too distracted by becoming Ted’s girlfriend. Then in July when most of her exams were over, they had met up again by the Great Lake in “their” spot, when the very last of the year’s Quidditch matches were taking place.

Much like their first meeting they could talk by the trees with very little chance of anyone stumbling upon them. That was when Ted had first raised his suspicions of the real reason why Andromeda had been somewhat pushing him away – that she did not want to be seen in public with him, that she could not be with him because he was a muggle-born.

She had tried to explain to him that it wasn’t that simple – and that he didn’t understand how her parents would react if they learned she was dating a muggle-born. He had at first been crestfallen, then he had furiously issued her an ultimatum, stating that if she was never willing to openly be his girlfriend then they were both just wasting their time.

He had begun to walk away from her when she desperately called out for him to stop, then as he had turned back to look at her she had ran towards him and flung herself into his un-expecting arms, before surprising him even further by passionately pressing her lips against his. It had been their first kiss – and before the sun had set that evening, she was pretty sure they had also had their one hundred and first kiss too.

Over the summer they had met up at least twice a week – and Ted being a muggle-born meant he would always take her places that no witch or wizard would ever see them. It was perfect. It was lovely – and now it was going to be ruined by them going back to Hogwarts.

There were no secret rooms in the castle they could meet up away from the prying eyes of the pure-blood contingency.

Andromeda knew that Ted would not be willing to settle for months of letters and the occasional secret meet-up when there was a Quidditch match on – and he should not have to settle for that, he deserved to be with someone that loved him enough to publicly be his girlfriend.

But how could Andromeda do that?

She couldn’t.

And she knew sooner or later that Ted would break up with her and find someone else who would.

He would probably get with a pretty muggle-born or half-blood girl that didn’t act like a fish out of water whenever meeting up with his non-wizard friends and family. Andromeda would then have to watch Ted and this girl holding hands as they strolled around the castle grounds, or maybe when a Quidditch match was on she would stumble upon them kissing in “their” spot by the Great Lake.

Andromeda felt the hot tears continue to run down her face as her Mother carried on stroking her hair.

“Now, now, Andromeda… you are being so silly. There is nothing for you to worry about. Whatever happens your Father and I will be so very proud of you. Do you hear me?” she said, as Andromeda wiped her wet eye-lids and saw her Mother’s best attempt at a reassuring smile.

“But what if I… what if I-

She briefly considered confiding in her Mother.

It was only for a split-second.

She thought that maybe she would understand.

Maybe she would let her fall in love with whoever she wanted after all.

“Even if you do fail your exams… and Andromeda, dear, you will not, but even if you do… you are a beautiful young pure-blood woman. You will be sixteen in a few weeks. It will not be long before your Father begins to search for a suitable husband for you… and I mean a truly suitable husband, not the… not the riff-raff that your sister has had to make do with… and then Andromeda it will not truly matter how good or bad your grades are. After all, as your Father quite rightfully points out… the only real reason a pure-blood girl needs to go to school is to advertise.”

“To advertise… to advertise what?” Andromeda mumbled amid her post-cry sniffles.

“To advertise themselves to the best young pure-blood men of course. It seems your sister was a bit over-eager in that department – I blame myself partially, although I did do my utmost to prevent her from doing anything too stupid. Oh but I did fail her… I did… oh Andromeda it is all my fault!”

It was not long before her Mother too had begun to cry – and in what was a very un-Black like event, they held each other for a good long while whilst they both bawled their eyes out.

Her mother, crying because she thought that she had not done right by Bellatrix – and Andromeda, crying because she knew now that when the time came, she would not do right by her either.

#HP #hp fanfic #HPF #hpff #hpfanfiction #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #slytherin #andromeda tonks #Andromeda Black #ted x andromeda #andromeda x ted #Harry Potter #HarryPotter #harry potter fanfic rec

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imagine-loki · 5 years

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Wedded Bliss

TITLE: Wedded Bliss CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 39 AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Odin determined to find Loki a wife in a misguided, though somewhat well-intentioned attempt to ‘mellow him’. … RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: Still alive! Sorry about the delay; I’ve been very busy and stressed, then just tired af. It happens.

_______________________________

Loki seemed thoughtful as he escorted Edith to her chambers when they finally decided to call it a night, though instead of leaving her at the door, he followed her inside, earning a questioning look. “What did Munnin want, back there?”

“How should I know? I don’t speak bird,” Edith giggled.

Loki shook his head. “When you touched him, did you not feel anything?”

“Well, yeah, but doesn’t that just happen with them?”

“Not without reason; it is a byproduct of the manner in which they communicate,” he explained, “Munnin communicates in images; did you see anything?”

“Not really.”

Loki frowned a bit. “What happened earlier, with the wine? I know you were not drunk, nor are you clumsy enough to knock that cup down by accident.”

“Oh, that. I’m pretty sure someone was trying to poison me. Probably the same person I felt watching me most of the night.”

He blinked. “You… And when were you planning on telling me this??”

“I dunno; tomorrow?” she shrugged, “I could maybe use a hand narrowing down a suspect list.”

“‘Narrowing down a’… Edith, you should have told me immediately,” he scolded.

“I’m not helpless, Loki,” she replied sharply.

“I know you are not, but this is not Midgard. There are some things here you have no defence for; I do, and you are, ultimately, my responsibility.” He held up a hand to forestall the retort her expression showed was coming. “I am not trying to dismiss your abilities. You are a royal guest and, technically, my betrothed; if something happens to you, it would have far more consequences than hurting me and upsetting my entire immediate family. What does it say that Asgard cannot even protect her guests in her own palace? You need to tell me these things.”

Edith frowned, not having thought of it from that angle. “Fine. I’m sorry,” she said somewhat grudgingly, then thought for a moment before adding, “Calling for backup is a last resort.”

“Edith-”

She shook her head, silencing him. “Rule four: ‘Calling for backup is a last resort’,” she explained, “The more people involved, the harder things are to contain.”

He walked up to her and placed his hands on her waist. “I can respect that, but if you cannot trust me to work from the shadows without detection…”

She ran her hands up his arms and laced her fingers behind his neck. “That is an excellent point,” she said leaning up on her toes to peck his lips, “Won’t happen again.”

He smiled slightly before stepping back. “If Munnin was not showing you anything, he may have been taking something instead,” he reasoned.

Edith hummed. “Probably the face of the guy who served me the tainted wine.”

“You remember what he looked like?”

“Of course; I remember what most of the staff I’ve met look like,” she said as though it should be obvious. She arched an eyebrow at his slightly surprised expression and crossed her arms at her chest. “Mom taught me to never dismiss the staff anywhere. They’re people, just like anyone else, they deserve that much courtesy at least.”

Loki had the presence of mind to look a bit chastened; given what he knew of Edith and what she had told him of her mother, he shouldn’t have been too surprised. “Well, it is a good thing, then,” he said, clearing his throat a bit, “He’ll be easier to find that way.”

“Yeah, well, that’s tomorrow’s problem, maybe; right now I just want out of this dress and into my bed,” she said, trying to stifle a yawn, “Mind giving me a hand? I didn’t expect to be back so late, and I told Anna and Gunhilda not to wait up.”

He chuckled as he motioned for her to turn around. “Those two will likely miss you when we go back to the tower,” he said as he began unlacing and unclasping where needed, “About the rest of those rules…”

“Nope.”

“Worth a try.”

****

In the morning, after breakfast, Edith found herself scolded by Odin, Frigga, and even Thor for not telling anyone of her suspicions the night before, to which she half apologised and explained again how she’d been taught to try to deal with problems herself before involving anyone else. Odin confirmed that Munnin had indeed gotten Edith’s memory of the man who’d delivered the poisoned wine, to Thor and Frigga’s surprise, as they hadn’t even thought it possible for the ravens to have a connection like the Allfather’s with anyone else.

“So, who do you think could want you dead?” Thor asked.

Edith snorted. “You mean besides pretty much every Lady of this court?”

“Now that’s not entirely fair; some of them merely want to see you suffer,” Loki chimed in cheerily, causing Edith to choke on the sip she’d just taken.

“Loki,” Frigga scolded, though the smile on her face quite ruined the effect. He merely grinned and she shook her head with a slight laugh before returning to the matter at hand. “I would discount Lady Agneta; she is a spoiled brat and a dedicated gossip monger, but she does not have the spine for assassination. Same with Ladies Inge, Sigrunn and the rest.” She thought for a moment. “Well, perhaps excluding Erna, what with the carriage incident.”

“There’s also the chance it is someone else entirely,” Loki added, “Quite a few of the Counsel are not too happy with our betrothal.”

“Grumbling is as far as they go,” Odin dismissed, “They know better.”

Loki frowned but said nothing in reply. “In any case, our return to Midgard today will either delay or hasten the search for the guilty party.”

“But find them, we will,” Frigga said resolutely.

They discussed things a while longer, getting as much detail on the events as Edith could provide, then dispersed to their various duties. Thor followed after Edith and Loki to the former’s chambers, wanting as much time with them as he could get in before they left once more.

“You will return for mother’s Nameday, won’t you?”

Loki gave him a Look. “Of course we will; I rather like living.”

Thor raised his hands in surrender. “Only making sure.”

“Geez, Thor; keep this up and we’ll start to think you miss us,” Edith teased as she packed her things.

“I did not even notice you were gone,” Thor scoffed.

“Naturally,” Loki drawled.

The three exchanged looks then burst out laughing. Once Edith was done packing, and had bid farewell to Anna and Gunhilda – who, as Loki had predicted, were more than a little sad to see her go – the trio went in search of Sif and the Warriors Three, who tried to convince them to stay a bit longer until Edith explained the team’s tradition of spending New Year’s Eve together. They then rode to the Observatory, where Heimdall awaited them his usual stoic self.

“Well, I suppose this is farewell for now,” Thor said, clasping Loki’s shoulder, “It was nice to have you home again, brother.”

“Norns; you are not to start crying now, are you?” Loki asked with mock horror, causing Thor to shove him back, making him laugh. “We will be back soon enough.”

“And you know, visits work both ways…” Edith added pointedly, earning a slightly embarrassed laugh.

“True enough,” Thor admitted, “I will make the time.”

“Damn right, you will,” Edith retorted, standing on her toes to hug him, earning a chuckle from the god as he leaned down to make it easier for her and hugging her back. With a final wave to Heimdall, who nodded in return with a small smile, the pair were sent on their way back, Edith stumbling a bit as they landed. “Yep, still hate that.”

Loki chuckled, helping her find stable footing again. “It really does get easier with time.”

“Liar; you just want me to get careless.” That got a laugh. She looked around, noting the lack of a welcoming committee. “Well, either everyone’s out…”

“Or we are about to be ambushed,” Loki finished.

They walked inside, keeping their guard up, and asked JARVIS where everyone was, though the AI’s answer was vague at best which told them that Tony was up to something. They first stopped by Edith’s room to drop off her bag then made their way to the common floor and from there to the kitchen, which was were Loki sensed the others were. The moment they walked in a popping sort of sound was heard a split second before what appeared to be a craft store’s worth of green and gold glitter blasted Loki from every direction, with Edith getting quite a bit as well as she was right behind him.

“Surprise!” a highly amused Tony cheered as he and the others popped out from behind the counter, where a large cake with green and black frosting and decorated with fondant replicas of Loki’s helmet sat, “Happy – belated – Nameday! And that is a useful tradition, by the way; hard to end up giving your kid a dumb name if you have to think about it for ten extra days.”

“Tony; getting off track,” Steve interrupted with a roll of his eyes before turning to a bemused Loki, “The glitter was Clint’s idea, by the way.”

“Wow, Cap. Wow.”

“We couldn’t celebrate with you then, so we figured we’d do it now,” Natasha explained with a small smile.

Loki’s bemusement gave way to stunned silence as he looked between them all. He felt Edith lace her fingers with his and looked down at her; with a giggle, she brushed glitter off his face before leaning up to kiss him, earning a few wolf whistles he couldn’t help laughing at.

#Loki #Lover #God of Mischief #Submitted fic #submission #wedded bliss #chapter 39 #malicemanaged

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v-thinks-on · 5 years

Text

The Saga of Spock

Part 2 of Aging With Mistakes

First | Next

Admiral James T. Kirk’s second five year mission came to an end with almost as much fanfare as his first. There were promotions all around - aside from the admiral who had received his premature promotion the first time - including a hard won captaincy for First Officer Spock. With Admiral Kirk’s blessing, Captain Spock returned to the stars mere months later on a ship of his own, and after less than a year, the admiral and his Enterprise followed.

But the admiral had already been given one full reprise and the duties afforded to him by his rank would not be staved off again. His next mission was a short one and they only got shorter as the tether tying him to Earth grew tighter and tighter.

A small blessing: Captain Spock, despite the admiral’s protest, did not accept another exploratory mission when his first ended; instead he opted for a conveniently Earthbound station as an instructor at Starfleet Academy. But Spock still spent more time running training exercises in the solar system than teaching on Earth, and so their apartment in San Francisco remained primarily Admiral Kirk’s.

The admiral sat in his usual chair by the fireplace, the heat turned almost all the way down without Spock there to enjoy it. The book Spock had given him earlier that day sat on the table, unopened, beside the reading glasses from Dr. McCoy. Captain Spock was up on the Enterprise already, preparing it for the admiral’s inspection. Spock’s thoughts had turned to Kirk as he boarded the ship that had once been theirs, and then again as he briefly entered his - also once their - quarters, but otherwise he had been lost in a flurry of duty.

Kirk finally gave in to temptation, put down his largely untouched glass of the Romulan Ale that Dr. McCoy had brought, and closed his eyes so he could search the back of his mind for the part of Spock that was always there with him. It was distracted, dull and distant - had it really been that long since they last melded? Kirk tried to reach a little deeper. With the clumsiness of an untrained mind, he sought the warmth and affection that usually flowed through their bond, but had stemmed to a mere trickle, more easily lost than found.

Spock, Kirk attempted to call out.

At last, Spock’s mind acknowledged his amidst the usual torrent of thoughts that filled the half-Vulcan’s mind. For an instant, Kirk could see a nervous young cadet stammering out an explanation in front of some malfunctioning machinery, and then it was gone, shielded from sight.

Kirk let out a sigh and rubbed his tired eyes. Spock was busy enough without his bored bondmate bothering him.

A burst of bemused, quiet affection interrupted Kirk’s self-pity. He could picture Spock’s expression; an eyebrow quirked and a smile in his eyes. Spock had work to do, but they would see each other tomorrow. As Spock’s concentration turned back to his duties, he left the thought of his birthday present, “A Tale of Two Cities,” in the admiral’s mind.

Kirk probably needed the sleep, but he doubted he was going to get it. And there was something about the book that Spock was shielding from him, some message that Spock wanted him to read for himself. It was no intergalactic crisis, but it was more than enough to pique Kirk’s curiosity, especially when the only other thing he had to look forward to was another inspection.

So, the admiral picked up the book and opened it up to the first page. After a moment’s hesitation, he put on those damn reading glasses and began: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”

Spock died. When all seemed lost, he sacrificed himself to save the ship and the man he loved. James Kirk sacrificed everything - his career, his ship, even his son - to bring Spock back.

When the ancient ceremony reuniting Spock’s soul with his body was over, Spock faced him in long, white, hooded robes, so uncertain, but alive, and he said, “Jim. Your name is Jim.” Spock couldn’t even remember his own name, but in that moment Kirk knew everything would be all right.

For three months, Kirk waited and watched from a distance as Spock was re-educated in the Vulcan way. At last Kirk and his loyal crew all agreed to return to Earth to face trial and judgement for their actions. Spock joined them to testify as a witness, but he still was not himself.

“Admiral, may I ask you a question?” Spock asked, his voice flat, his eyes wide and empty.

Kirk and Spock were crammed on a bus in the late 20th century, searching for a long-extinct species of whales. If they succeeded and managed to prevent Earth from being destroyed, Kirk would be tried and stripped of his rank anyway, but still, Spock insisted on the formality.

Again, Kirk protested, “Spock, don't call me Admiral. You used to call me Jim. Don't you remember? Jim.” But he knew it was a moot point and let Spock ask his question.

Of course, Dr. Gillian Taylor, the friendly, attractive cetacean biologist who might just be able to get them a pair of whales, noticed. Later, when it was just the two of them at dinner, she remarked, “Besides, I want to know why you travel around with that ditzy guy who knows that Gracie is pregnant and calls you 'Admiral'.”

“Captain. Even when he doesn't say it, he does,” Edith had said, something like forty five years ago from where he was standing, though for him it was closer to fifteen.

Gillian wasn't too different from Edith; intelligent, perceptive, and ready to fight for those hopeless causes that anyone else would have given up on. That's what he and Spock were these days, a hopeless cause.

When Spock used to call him “Captain,” it had almost been a term of endearment. It expressed loyalty and respect; a reminder that Spock would follow him anywhere. Those days, Spock saved his name for when they were in private or to reach Jim when nothing else could - as a dear friend instead of an officer.

But “Admiral” was something like a curse. It was a title Jim had never wanted that had brought him nothing good, spoken by the empty shell of his beloved as a reminder that Spock was no longer himself. He wondered what his wise, steady husband would have him do now, but he could hardly think over the gaping hole in his mind.

Something must have shocked Spock back into his usual demeanor after they crash landed in the San Francisco Bay, back in their own time, but Kirk knew better than to be fooled by the superficial return to normalcy.

Where there had once been unshakable implicit trust, now even the simplest order could not go without questioning. An invitation to join Kirk and Dr. McCoy on shore leave in Yosemite while Scotty attempted to repair their nearly inoperable ship was met with a petulantly contrary “Why?” - Spock teased, but without understanding what he was saying or what it meant, and when they were supposed to be relaxing he was as distant and formal as ever. Even when they were on leave, he was still reluctant to call the newly demoted captain by his name.

And then there was Sybok.

“He reminds me of someone I knew in my youth,” Spock said, but Kirk knew Spock - even when he wasn’t quite himself - better than to fall for that. Spock remembered this Sybok when he still couldn’t remember to call Kirk by his name.

And Sybok was a Vulcan, an enlightened, emotional Vulcan who was probably everything Spock ever wanted to be, but couldn’t let himself. Of course he could control minds too; turn anyone to his side, probably using those “Vulcan mind tricks,” as Dr. McCoy would call them. He didn’t care much for Kirk - no, it was Spock that Sybok wanted. He wanted Kirk’s ship, his first officer, everything.

Kirk refused to go down without a fight, but when it came down to it, and his life was in Spock’s hands, Spock could barely pick up a weapon, let alone fire it. They were done for, all of them. Without Spock, Kirk didn’t have a chance, and in that moment Kirk hated this shadow of his beloved first officer.

“Spock?” Sybok called for his brother to follow him down to the bridge and leave the deposed captain alone once and for all. And why would Spock refuse? Sybok had already done what no one else could, relieved Spock of the pain of never being quite good enough - Vulcan enough - that he had carried all his life.

But Spock replied, calm and steady as ever, “I cannot go with you.”

“Why not?” Sybok demanded.

“I belong here,” Spock said, and Kirk almost could not believe his ears.

It did not sink in until Kirk had been transported aboard the Klingon ship that saved him from the thing that called itself God. The Klingon ambassador introduced him to their “new gunner,” and finally it all seemed to fall into place.

“I thought I was going to die,” Kirk said, still shaken.

“Not possible,” Spock replied evenly. “You were never alone.”

He grabbed Spock - his Spock - by the arms and would have been happy to never let go, but Spock was right, it wasn’t the place, and Kirk relinquished his hold on his first officer until they were safely back aboard the Enterprise.

As the door to Kirk’s quarters closed behind them, Spock remarked, “Jim, might I remind you that we are no longer in front of the Klingons.”

A smile stretched across Jim’s face. His cheeks ached with the then unfamiliar expression, but he ignored it. He strode over to Spock and took him by the arms again. Their eyes met and Spock raised his eyebrows in an invitation; a teasing, “If you must.”

Jim leaned in and kissed him. Their lips pressed together, warm, soft, and so familiar. It felt like a thousand years had passed between them, not mere months, and Jim was overcome yet again with a desperate longing for everything they had so suddenly lost.

They slowly pulled away, though Jim kept both his hands on Spock’s arms, unwilling to let go. He could feel tears collecting in the corners of his eyes and could not meet Spock’s warm, concerned gaze.

Once he had collected himself a little, he said ruefully, “A far better thing I turned out to be.”

“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done,” Spock replied, his voice even and calm. A trace of a smile teased at the corners of his lips.

Jim hazarded a glance up at Spock and shook his head. “I don’t deserve that, not after everything I said to you. I should have known better than to doubt you…” he trailed off.

“I have also not been myself for some time,” Spock acknowledged. “And I have caused you much pain, for which I sincerely apologize. I am aware you still suffer from the broken bond.”

Jim nodded. “It’s still there.”

“It is remarkable that it has not driven you to madness,” Spock said.

“I don’t know, sometimes it feels pretty close,” Jim said.

Spock held out a hand toward Jim’s face. “Please, allow me to ease the pain.”

Jim hesitated, but at last he gave in. “When have you ever needed permission?” he said with a wry smile.

“I do not intend to presume,” Spock answered, much too serious, but Jim would take what he could get.

Spock gently pressed his fingertips against the side of Jim’s face and Jim resisted the urge to lean into his soft palm. Spock did not say a word - they did not need the traditional litany - but they came together slowly. Jim felt the strange euphoria; his chest seemed to begin to rise toward the ceiling as though he was on the verge of falling asleep.

And then, instead of crashing back down into his body, he was drawn further, into a deep, warm embrace. A steady, calm affection began to soothe the open wound in the back of his mind, to fill the bottomless well of emptiness that threatened to drown him in the loss he had felt upon seeing Spock behind the glass all those months ago. The barrier between them seemed to melt away.

I am alive, Spock’s voice resonated in his mind with Vulcan certainty and human love and Jim wanted nothing more than to believe him.

Much too soon, Spock pulled away and the emptiness he had held at bay rushed back to fill the space he left behind. Jim wiped the tears from his eyes before meeting Spock's solid gaze.

“How did you get to be so wise?” Jim teased with a weak smile. “All I’ve managed to do is make a fool of myself.”

“You have done much more than that,” Spock replied. “For one, you successfully brought me back to life.”

Jim shook his head. “I was just a courier.”

Spock’s eyebrows rose in well-practiced skepticism. “Then you are the most dedicated courier in the galaxy.”

That drew a bit more of a smile out of Jim. “It was a very important delivery.”

“Still,” Spock said, his expression turned serious, “I would not have wished for you to sacrifice so much to make it.”

Jim frowned. He glanced away and then reluctantly met Spock’s gaze again. “I know. I didn’t really do it for you or for Bones. I just didn’t know what to do without you. I need you.”

“I am sorry I put you through all of that. It was the only solution that occurred to me at the time.” Spock reached out for Jim’s hand almost without thinking. Jim released one of Spock’s arms to meet him halfway and brushed his first two fingers against Spock’s. Spock could feel the yawning emptiness in Jim’s mind that he would not have been able to shield even had he been a Vulcan.

“We must return to Earth now, but at the nearest opportunity, we may go to Vulcan and renew our bond,” Spock offered without releasing Jim’s hand.

Jim gave him a raw emotion-laden smile. “Yes, I’d like that,” he replied, his voice uneven. “And then we can go back to running around the galaxy like old times.” Spock could feel his boundless enthusiasm, but it was now tempered by a lick of fear.

Spock nodded and passed reassurance through their fingers. “Yes, I would likewise appreciate a return to normalcy.” A smile shone in his eyes.

May I? Jim asked through the link between their fingers.

Spock nodded in reply and Jim leaned in again to kiss him on the lips in the human way.

Note: Every fic I’ve read about Spock getting his memories back conveniently ignores The Final Frontier, and with good reason - it’s a mess of a movie that takes Kirk to his lowest point of the entire series. But somewhere, buried deep in there, is a surprisingly reasonable plot about Kirk dealing with Spock not being himself, and eventually realizing that Spock is still there for him despite it all.

Instead of rewriting the entire movie, I just filled in some of the gaps, not only in The Final Frontier, but also in the movies leading up to it. Of all the movies, only The Search For Spock really showed what was going on with Kirk and Spock’s relationship - I was especially surprised how little Spock showed up in The Wrath of Khan before his very dramatic (in a good way) death.

#v writes #Star Trek: The Original Series #Spirk #A Crazy Little Thing Called Love #Aging With Mistakes #episode response #movie response #Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan #Star Trek: The Search For Spock #Star Trek: The Voyage Home #Star Trek: The Final Frontier

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dreamss-of-boston · 5 years

Text

Rise - ch8

link on AO3!

thank u for being patient with my updates! i forgot to post ch8 here when i uploaded it to AO3, so sorry about that! the plot is thickening hehe and chapter 9 should be coming out soon. thank u for reading love u bye!

- the flame -

Darkness-- and a stench of rot.

Sonya stumbled blindly, feeling out in front of her desperately for something to hold on to. Her heart was racing, and all she knew was that she was being chased by something as she ran to escape it. No matter how hard she pumped her legs, it felt as if she were swimming through molasses. Her muscles were so weak, and she didn’t feel safe or clear-headed in the slightest as she raced away from the monstrous being behind her.

There was a sharp scream which seemed to come from everywhere all at once, and slammed against her eardrums, causing Sonya to stop dead. Slowly, a dim light illuminated what was before her: Anna, laying upside-down, with her mouth gaping open as her hands were glued to either side of her head. She was staring at Sonya, her pupils shrunken and horrified. But Sonya couldn’t tell if Anna could see her-- she attempted to call out to her, but her voice was choked. She tried again, this time to scream at her, but no matter how hard she tried, her voice was raspy and quiet, as if she had lost it completely.

As Sonya reached up to her throat to see what was wrong, huge steaming fingers wrapped around her torso, lifting her off of the ground. She craned her head back to see what was behind her, and just as the gaping mouth of a titan came into view, Sonya was thrust back into the sunlight streaming into her room through the window.

“Sonya!” Mabel said, louder this time, and with a shove to Sonya’s shoulder. The curly-haired girl jumped with a gasp, gripping her bed linens with ferocity as she awoke from her nightmare.

Mabel sat back with a sigh, her worried eyes glued to the little soldier before her. “You were really scaring me… Did you have a nightmare again?”

It was the third day that Sonya had been back from her trip with the officers to the capitol. The night she had discovered the name and the man Dimitri Romanova was the night that her sleep terrors began. After she and Levi had deemed it safe enough to leave the roof without being detected, they had parted without another word. Sonya didn’t want to speak with him-- and at the moment, she couldn’t care less about what sort of plans the soldiers had been talking about, because all she could focus on was the prospect of having a family above ground.

Levi could believe she was a whore all he wanted-- and while Sonya had learned everything there was to learn about being one during her upbringing, she had never put those lessons to use with any man. She left before they could make her-- before her mother could make her a special on the menu.

“Sorry, I’m-- I’m okay.” Sonya said shakily, sitting up and wiping beads of sweat from her forehead. Now that she looked at herself, her whole body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, dampening her bed sheets and sleep clothes.

Sonya’s room had an extra bed due to Anna’s absence, and so to save on space and prevent soldiers having to sleep with three to a room, Mabel had become Sonya’s new roommate. The two girls hadn’t really been close during training, but they definitely didn’t hate each other. Luckily for Sonya, Mabel was a quiet and respectful roommate, even if she didn’t understand what Sonya was going through.

Mabel stayed by Sonya’s side, watching the girl cautiously as she slowed her breathing and came to terms with being in the waking world.

“I’m sorry you’re having all these nightmares,” Mabel said, probably because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“It’s okay.” Sonya said with the best smile she could manage. “Guess it happens to everyone eventually here, huh?”

Mabel looked at Sonya uneasily, who realized that what she said was awkward and stupid. Sonya cleared her throat, peeling herself from her bed as she changed into her uniform. Mabel did the same.

“Today’s when the real shit starts.” Mabel sighed, tying her long, dark brown hair up in a high ponytail. “Captain Shorty is training us today.”

Sonya groaned, wrestling her own thick curly hair into a bun with moderate success. “Why the hell is he training us? He’s skilled, sure, but I bet he’s gonna be a shitty teacher.”

Mabel shrugged. “Who knows?”

Actually, it was Erwin Smith’s idea. Since the Survey Corps were granted permission to go ahead with their mission of capturing a titan, he had asked Levi privately if he would give some extra training to the new recruits.

“Why the hell would I do that?” Levi had asked irritably. “Those brats passed training already. What can I teach them that they don’t already know?”

“New techniques.” Erwin had reasoned. “You handle your equipment very uniquely--”

“Did you forget the last time I tried to show people how I used my equipment?”

“No, I didn’t forget,” Erwin said patiently, and actually seemed amused at the memory. “But this mission requires the greatest amount of tact, and the least amount of casualties. You have the highest success rate out of any soldier in the Corps; you never know what might get through to them.” The blonde man smiled a little. “You’re a better teacher than you give yourself credit for.”

Levi huffed. “I’ll only do it if it’s an order.”

“Then it’s an order.”

And so there they were, the ten soldiers up to be trained by Captain Levi today, with Sonya, Mabel, Ada, and Peter among them. They stood at attention, lined up in front of the patch of forestry located about three miles outside of town, awaiting to probably be verbally abused.

“Sonya, your uniform--!” Ada hissed to the girl next to her, who was not at all thrilled to be there.

“What?” Sonya said irritably.

“Your shirt’s untucked.” Ada rolled her eyes. “Do you seriously wanna start the day by pissing him off over little stuff like that?”

Sonya just shrugged; she really couldn’t care less what Levi thought about her uniform. She wondered for a moment if all the nice interactions they had shared had been merely pretense, and that Levi didn’t respect her at all because of her past. That thought caused her heart to sink, strangely enough; perhaps it was because she thought that she had been getting somewhere with the Captain.

With a deep breath, Sonya attempted to dispel all those distracting thoughts from her mind; she didn’t perform well with a clouded conscience. Edith Gutherie and Levi were just exiting from the trees, presumably having just surveyed the training equipment for the upcoming session. As they landed on the ground with ease, she couldn’t help but notice how Levi looked a little more irritated than usual. Perhaps he didn’t want to do this just as much as they did.

And yet, Sonya felt no pity at all for the dark-haired captain.

Levi and Edith stood in front of the soldiers, surveying the group they had today.

“Let’s begin.” Levi said.

[-]

And with another thud, Sonya smacked into the trunk of a tree, her swords clanging to the grass below.

“Faster, Romanova!” Edith scolded from the trees. “And look out for the arms-- they move faster than you think!”

The Corps had whipped up some pretty fancy training equipment as of late, with pulley devices on the wooden models of titans which could be used to imitate the large, flailing arms of the beasts. Some officers were operating the limbs of each model titan, but the soldiers hadn’t made it very far in to the simulation. It even seemed like the veteran soldiers were having a blast smacking the new recruits around, as every time Sonya was hit, she heard muffled laughter coming from the branches where the soldiers resided.

“She isn’t completely at fault.” Levi spoke up, narrowing his eyes at the soldiers operating the titan. “I find it interesting that you brats find titans attacking your comrades to be funny.” Sonya ignored the leap of happiness within her at Levi coming to her defense.

“Ah, Captain, it is a little funny!” Peter quipped from a nearby branch. “Personally, I love seeing Sonya get smacked around a little-- it keeps her humble.”

The soldiers chuckled at that, but Sonya was not in the mood to find that amusing.

“Why don’t you try it out, then?” She called up to the red-haired boy.

“Oh, alright!” Peter sighed, unsheathing his blades. “I’ll slay this titan for my lady.” He said dutifully, and while Sonya descended to the ground to retrieve her blades, Peter swooped down to the mock titan to begin his attempt.

WHACK!

Sonya glanced up, and burst into laughter when she found that Peter had somehow tangled himself in his ODM gear, hanging precariously close to the ‘mouth’ of the titan.

“What a delicious snack you are, Peter!” Sonya called up to him.

“I get that all the time!” He called back, but couldn’t seem to untangle himself from the wiring, causing a laughing Mabel and Ernst to come to his rescue.

[-]

Slice, slice, slice!

Levi landed on a tree branch far in front of the soldiers, looking back expectantly through the path he had created. There were gaping chunks missing from the model titans-- ones he had created and ordered the soldiers to watch close as he showed them what he expected them to do.

“Go on.” He said, raising an eyebrow.

Oh, shit-- he wanted them to do what he had just done? The soldiers exchanged worried looks; first of all, he had moved with deadly speed, and the cuts he had cast were quite deep, so there was no point in them making new ones. Was this an exercise merely in agility?

Levi sighed, irritated that the soldiers couldn’t piece together why they were doing what they were doing.

“I have no doubts that you all are strong-- you made it past training, and one of you actually slayed a titan.” His gaze lingered on Sonya, who’s heart swelled a little at the acknowledgment. She promptly shut those feelings down. “But, Commander Erwin is putting you all through this training for you to see a new way to use your gear. If you’ll notice,” Levi gestured to his gas canisters. “I didn’t use any gas. Your goal is to follow my path, using the same technique.” Assuming he had sufficiently explained himself, he grew more irritated that still, the soldiers stood there dumbly. “Go.”

Sonya set her jaw-- no one else was going to jump in and look the fool, so she decided to take one for the team. No gas, huh? Using the gas as a propellent was her favorite part of the ODM gear; and while she was still seething at Levi’s comment a few days ago, she was still a soldier required to follow orders.

With a huff, she tapped off the branch, swinging down to mimic the strikes Levi had created-- with little success. While she did technically hit every mark, she was moving painfully slowly and awkwardly; without the extra boost, she had to rely on momentum she did not currently have. Clumsily, she landed on the same branch as Levi, who was looking at her with an unimpressed gaze.

“That was pathetic.” He sighed, and Sonya’s comrades on the other side faltered in disappointment.

Sonya furrowed her brows in intense anger, as her gut tightened from the effort of holding back a million insults. With a deep breath, she attempted to explain herself.

“Captain, I don’t think the execution of the technique was properly explained.” She said, carefully choosing each word. Levi raised an eyebrow.

“Are you saying you didn’t understand?” He clarified, crossing his arms.

‘No, I’m saying you’re a shitty teacher!’ Sonya thought, but attempted once again to be rational and calm. “I’m saying, you could have actually explained how you did what you did.” Well, that wasn’t very tactful. The entire training squad had fallen silent, all eyes glued to Levi and Sonya.

“So, your failure is my doing?” Levi prompted her dangerously. He was expecting Sonya to be reduced to a puddle of apologies like all of her other comrades when face-to-face with him, but instead, she held his gaze evenly, grinding her teeth in an effort to stay sane. She decided not to hold back-- she had had it with him and his stupid apathy and his rude remarks.

“A student’s performance reflects the teacher’s instruction.” She bit out; Levi raised his eyebrows, and all of the soldiers present held their breath. He took a dangerous step towards her.

“How wise,” he said lowly, “you come up with that yourself?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Sonya narrowed her eyes, refusing to break eye contact, tensing as he moved towards her. If he wanted to fight, she was more than willing. Her eyes dipped to his lips for just a moment, remembering how harshly the word ‘whore’ had fallen from them, how he had so casually assumed the worst of her.

“Do you need more instruction, cadet?” Levi tilted his head to the side; his dark eyes were glinting with some emotion that Sonya didn’t entirely recognize-- something passionate.

“Please.” She said through barred teeth.

“Very well.” He let out a huff. “After dinner you will come to my office. Plan on staying late.” He added the last part with a bit of venom, as if the threat of coming to his office wasn’t enough. Sonya felt a stone drop in her stomach, and her chest tightened in fear. Only the worst of the worst went to Levi’s office-- she had only heard horror stories.

With a glance to her comrades across from her, they only looked dismayed and mournful for her. Sonya decided that during dinner, she would plan her funeral.

[-]

“Sonya, you have to eat.” Mabel said gently, nudging the girl’s tray closer to her. Sonya just sat, staring dumbly in front of her.

“I’m done for. I’m gonna be beaten to a pulp.” She said, and Mabel and Ada exchanged a look.

“Don’t be so dramatic, curly-cue,” Peter said around a mouthful of bread. That new nickname earned a look from Sonya. “What? Your hair is curly as hell-- there isn’t a whole lotta material I can work with here.”

“Maybe he’ll let you off easy; maybe he’s just gonna tell you you have a month’s cleaning duty in the stables.” Ada said helpfully, smiling at Peter’s antics.

“He said to plan on staying late,” Sonya’s head fell into her hands. “He’s gonna kill me and make it look like an accident.” She sighed angrily. “Why can’t I just keep my dumb mouth shut?”

“Well, I for one, am supportive of you going to the guillotine for this.” Mabel interjected. “Everything you said was right-- he didn’t explain anything. We literally didn’t accomplish anything today.”

“That’s not true.” Peter countered, holding his spoon up as a pointing tool. “Today we determined that those new training titans are a piece of shit, waste of time.”

Ada giggled. “Seriously, what were they thinking, designing that?”

While Sonya’s friends laughed and continued living, the curly-haired girl stared at her plate with empty eyes, dreading her inevitable execution.

[-]

A timid knock-- maybe if she knocked quietly enough, he wouldn’t hear, and he would forget about his threat, and then Sonya could continue living.

“Come in,” came his bored voice from behind the door. With a resigned sigh, she pushed the door open, and stepped into the office, closing it behind her.

Levi’s office was nothing special-- dark wooden walls, cold stone floors, a burning fireplace near the desk he was sitting behind. Books and folders lined the walls, and everything was immaculately clean and organized. She stood a safe distance away from the desk, her hands clasped behind her back as she fought to control her racing heart.

“Sit.” He said, discarding the paper he had been focusing on to now look at Sonya. She bit the inside of her cheek, and did as she was told, sitting in the chair across from Levi. He sighed, leaning back in his chair with the same annoyed/bored expression he always had. “Your attitude has been pissing me off,” he began, “and it didn’t used to. Actually, you were sort of amusing. But now, it seems, your sole mission in life has been to be a pain in my ass.” He raised an eyebrow at the girl in front of him. “Care to explain?”

Sonya relaxed a little in her seat-- it seemed that the physical punishment would not come just yet. She wasn’t sure how to approach this situation, but she was nonetheless surprised that Levi was attempting to understand her before he doled out any punishment. It softened her, the thought that he seemed to be affected by her attitude.

“Well,” she started uncomfortably, “you… called me a whore, sir.”

Levi sighed. “That’s what’s been bothering you?”

“You say that like it isn’t a big deal.” Sonya deadpanned.

“Because it isn’t.” Levi retorted. Sonya felt all of the softness she previously had dissipate completely as she frowned at the captain. “You were a whore-- I was a thief. And here we are.”

“I wasn’t a whore!” Sonya spat. “I never--” with a blush, she cut herself off. Why did she even have to explain herself, anyway?

“Hm? Never what?” Levi pressed, and Sonya could swear she heard a warmth of amusement in his voice. She refused to look at him, and instead glared at her folded hands in her lap.

“Well, I…” She sighed, feeling her blush deepen. “I learned how to… do everything; I p-practiced with the others, but… I never… got paid, or did anything with a man. I got out before--”

“Before they made you fuck anyone.” Levi finished, unbothered by his crass wording. Sonya bit the inside of her cheek, bringing herself to look at the captain. She was surprised to find he was now sitting up, his elbows propped against the desk in interest. A smile almost played on his lips, but Sonya decided it was her turn to grill him. She was already being punished, so fuck it.

“Why were you half-assing training today?” She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows expectantly. Levi sat back and looked up with a sigh.

“Because, I’ve found that it’s best for people to find their own unique ways to best use their ODM. Attempting to learn how I use mine would be too complicated and time-consuming.”

Sonya hummed, glancing around the room. She wasn’t sure what to do-- she didn’t really have any more questions for him, and wasn’t that interested in staying around if all he was going to do was call her a whore and dig into her past.

“So, if you’re not a whore,” Levi continued, “then you’re just a pretty little pain in my ass.”

Sonya couldn’t help but play off of that. She batted her eyelashes at him, giving him a coy smile. “Oh, captain, you think I’m pretty?”

“I do.” Levi said flatly, which caught Sonya off-guard. Usually when someone called her pretty, they were smiling or flustered or drunk. Levi was none of those things-- he was just saying it like it was a fact. She wasn’t sure how to respond to the captain being so candid, so she just stood and perused the bookshelf beside the desk. She felt Levi's stone colored eyes follow her, his gaze sending a chill down her spine. Absentmindedly, she pulled a book out to examine it, but found a greater treasure behind it.

“Well, well, well,” Sonya grinned, reaching into the bookshelf and pulling out a half-drunk bottle of dark liquor. Levi raised an eyebrow, meeting her gaze that said, ‘can we?’. With a shrug, he gave his consent, and Sonya unscrewed the bottle, taking a brave swig.

The dark drink burned on the way down, and she coughed a little as she passed the bottle to Levi. “Bourbon?” She said.

Levi nodded, taking his own swig in turn, almost completely unaffected by it. It was strange, being tucked away in his office, drinking in comradery; even though she came in fearing for her life, she now seemed to be feeling more at ease. He really wasn’t all that bad. Clearly, he cared a bit about her, even if he was rude and blunt.

Levi stood, coming around the desk to join Sonya in front of the bookshelf. He passed her the bottle, and she took another swig, then another. She found that she was sort of craving the warm numbness that alcohol provided her with. That, accompanied with the warmth from the fire and the late hour made Sonya quite content.

“Have you read all of these?” She asked, gesturing to the array of books in front of them. Levi took the bottle from her, taking another sip.

“No. I think I’ve only read one.” He said, pointing out a little book on the middle shelf. “I don’t have much time to read.”

“Me, neither.” Sonya picked out the book, thumbing through the pages. She took the bottle, took another swig. The alcohol began to warm her bones and relax her nerves. “Y’know, I came in here expecting to be… I dunno, beaten up?”

Levi raised an eyebrow. “I don’t beat up my cadets just for shits and giggles. You were mouthing off today, but you were right. I’m shit at explaining things.”

Sonya smiled-- she loved being right, and she especially loved that Levi admitted it. Just as she was about to take another swig, Levi caught the bottle in her hand, gently pulling it out of her grasp.

“Boo,” Sonya pouted, crossing her arms. ‘Well, I guess my punishment had to happen eventually.’ She thought sourly.

Levi gingerly set the bottle down on the desk. “Show me what you learned.” He said quietly.

Sonya jerked her head to look at him, leaning on the desk beside her. “Huh?”

“Show me some of what you learned down there.” Levi repeated, hooking her green eyes with his steely gray ones. Was he serious? He had to have been joking; but he didn’t crack a smile, of course. The fire was flickering, reflected in his gaze, but it wasn’t the fire that was causing Sonya to warm up. She attributed that to the alcohol-- in fact, moving forward, Sonya attributed everything to the alcohol.

“Sure.” She let out a breathy laugh-- this was silly, and wildly inappropriate, but it seemed she had a streak of acting out of place that she needed to keep up. “This one’s one of my favorites.” Sonya moved to stand in front of Levi, who opened his arms to her, resting his palms on the desk behind him. He was watching her with intensity as she reached up, pulling the red ribbon from her hair, which cascaded wonderfully over her neck and shoulders.

Levi’s gaze followed her hands, which took hold of either end of the ribbon, lifting it over his head to rest languidly around the back of his neck. His gaze fluttered back to meet hers, her green eyes slightly hooded, a coy smile playing on her plump lips.

“Then I just,” She gently tugged on the ribbon, pulling Levi with her as she pressed herself up against the wall between the bookshelf and the fire. Levi followed obediently, and lazily placed his hands on the wall on either side of Sonya: one by her waist, the other by her shoulder. She attempted to swallow her nerves, but her throat and mouth were incredibly dry as the distance between them seemed to close rapidly. She could smell grass and smoke mingling with Levi-- it was a pleasant scent, warm and musky. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening-- any minute now, she was expecting him to pull away and make fun of her. But he didn’t; Levi’s eyes roamed over her face, down her neck, to her chest, and all the way down her body. He was ravishing her with his gaze, and Sonya didn’t realize she had been slowly pulling him closer until she felt his breath, hot against her cheek, his lips dangerously close to her tingling flesh.

She sucked in a breath. “Then, I’d uh-- I’d kiss you.”

Levi hummed in response, bringing his finger to ghost over her jawline, gingerly taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “So do it.” He murmured, sending chills throughout Sonya’s body. She was very much aware of the warmth pooling in her core, setting her inner thighs and gut ablaze. She wondered if he knew-- of course he did. Sonya’s eyes were captivated on his lips, her breath hitched in her throat.

When they brought their eyes up to meet each other’s, Sonya was done for. She felt so incredibly nervous as Levi leaned closer, his whole body beginning to press into hers. Her eyes fluttered shut as she met him halfway; she gently pressed her lips against his, barely feeling the soft flesh meeting hers. It was such a tender, innocent kiss-- Sonya felt herself become about ten pounds lighter at the contact, and couldn’t help the little smile that was forming on her lips.

Levi’s hand moved to cup her cheek as he kissed her again, pressing his lips onto hers a bit harder this time. Sonya took a chance and opened her mouth just a bit, capturing Levi’s lower lip and sucking on it briefly before running her tongue over the same spot. Levi opened his mouth in response, clearly taking that and running with it as he darted his tongue inside Sonya’s mouth, licking the roof of it hungrily.

Sonya couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t want to if it meant kissing Levi like this. Her head spun as she reached up, tangling her fingers in his silky black hair, while Levi's other hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her body closer to his as he deepened the kiss. Sonya sighed, tilting her head as she caught Levi's lower lip with her teeth, and felt a jolt in her gut when his lips curled up in a smile at what she did.

He pulled away, slowly kissing Sonya's jaw to move down to her neck, dragging his tongue along her sensitive skin, sucking and biting. Sonya bit her lip, feeling like every kiss Levi planted on her skin was a spark of fire, igniting her body and senses. She tilted her head back, inviting Levi to do more. He leaned down to her collarbone, gently pushing the collar of her shirt out of the way as he bit down gently, then sucked with some hunger, earning a stifled gasp from Sonya. Levi pulled away with a small grin, his lips wet and swollen. Sonya looked down at her collarbone, seeing the beginnings of a hickey form, and she blushed.

Levi gingerly tucked some hair behind her ear, and the two leaned in to each other to kiss again, but a knock on Levi's office door startled them both away from each other. Sonya looked to Levi in a panic, but he just shrugged-- though he looked annoyed-- and went to answer the door.

It was Hange.

“Good evening, you two!” She said brightly, strolling right on in. “Ah, hello, Sonya! Actually, it's a good thing you're here. Some kid from the Garrison regiment is here to see you-- he looked pretty familiar.”

Sonya's gut tied itself into a knot; the Garrison regiment? Her mind flashed back to the night on the roof with Levi, the hushed conversation between the Garrison soldiers and the MPs. She and Levi exchanged a glance.

“What does he want with her?” Levi said irritably. “We were in the middle of something.”

Sonya's face flushed a deep red, but Hange didn't seem to notice.

“Yes, yes, I heard about Sonya's disobedience today. You can sentence her to cleaning the stables later-- this kid was pretty insistent to see her.” Hange shrugged.

Levi looked Sonya up and down. “Do you want to go see him?” He asked casually, but his gaze was loaded with… was that concern?

Sonya could only hope it was Dimitri-- the one who shared her name. Her only family on the surface was here. But why? How had he figured out her last name if they had only met once in a tavern? He didn't know that she and Levi had been spying on them, did he?

A million questions were racing through Sonya's mind, but she overwhelmingly knew the answer to the question Levi had asked her.

“Yes.” She said a little too eagerly. Levi raised an eyebrow, then looked to Hange.

“Alright! He's just down this way.” She said, but shot a glance to Levi as if to say 'we'll discuss whatever deeper meaning is here later.’

Sonya was led out into the hallway, around the corner and outside to the stables, where she could see only one man waiting by the light of a torch. His back was turned to her, but Sonya's breath was still caught in her throat as she approached the man.

As Sonya came closer, he turned, with the same languid smile she had seen before in the tavern.

“Hello,” Dimitri drawled. “It seems we have a lot to discuss.”

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #levi x original character #levi x oc #levi fanfiction #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction

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rose-of-pollux · 7 years

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Inktober for Writers, Day 26

Prompt: Realization

Summary: In which Emory Partridge attempts to get revenge on Napoleon by kidnapping his mother--only to realize too late that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Notes: I couldn’t resist having Illya be a bit of a troll at the end there...

Cross-posted to AO3.

Emory Partridge was convinced that this time, he would have Napoleon Solo surrender to him without hesitation. Kidnapping Illya had proven to have its problems—namely that the Russian was smarter and more agile than he was and would find ways to escape. Partridge knew that he had to use a bait that wouldn’t fight back, yet would still give Napoleon enough of a motivation to surrender.

As though by serendipity, Partridge found the perfect bait while watching the races at a casino racetrack. He had been counting his winnings as he heard something he had never expected to hear.

“And here are your winnings, Mrs. Solo.”

“Mrs. Solo…?” Partridge murmured, turning to look. He stared as he saw the woman accepting her money and placing it in her valise; she had black hair that was going gray, and her facial features were unmistakably the same as Napoleon’s. “Ahh, Mrs. Solo!”

She turned to him, arching her eyebrows in a way almost identical to the way Napoleon always did.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“Er, not formally,” Partridge said, putting on his usual air of quintessential gentleman. “But I know your son Napoleon very well. I must say, his resemblance to you is quite remarkable indeed.”

“Genetics will do that,” Cora intoned.

“…Even the wry wit is the same,” Partridge noted, with a forced smile. “Well, Mrs. Solo, it would appear to me that you are wandering about unescorted in this Devil’s Den—might I be permitted to escort you?”

“There really isn’t any need for you to put yourself through any trouble,” Cora replied. “I was about to leave anyway—my husband is looking after my dogs, and I think all of them are eagerly awaiting my return.”

“Of course, of course,” Partridge said. “Then will you allow me the honor of giving you a lift home? My chauffeur and I certainly wouldn’t mind, and it would be shame to see those winnings go for cab fare.”

Cora chuckled to herself.

“That’s true—I suppose you could say that the cab fare rates are highway robbery…”

Good Lord, she even makes horrible puns like him…

“…But I simply couldn’t take you out of your way,” Cora continued. “Perhaps another time?”

“I really must insist,” Partridge said. “This is no place for a lady!”

“You know, I’ve heard that so many times before during Prohibition,” Cora sighed. “I used to dress up as a man just to sneak in to casinos… I even had an alter-ego, Corrin Stroller…”

“Be that as it may, Madam, this place is filled with ne’er-do-wells who would have no qualms about injuring you for your money!” Partridge insisted. “No, no, no—I simply cannot allow it!”

Cora frowned, adjusting her earring as Partridge pushed her along outside to where his Rolls-Royce was waiting.

“You can place your valise in the boot,” Partridge said. “Just so that you can be assured that I shan’t try to pocket your money.”

“I wouldn’t have accused you of such a thing,” Cora insisted. “Really, I think you’re making too much of a fuss--”

“Nonsense, nonsense,” Partridge said, placing Cora’s bag in the trunk and then guiding her inside the car, sitting beside her. “Take the lady home,” he instructed to his chauffeur, and the man quickly drove off.

Cora took notice of the doors locking as they drove. She made no attempt at small talk as Partridge sat beside her, instead fingering the button on her blouse.

“You never did inquire my name, Mrs. Solo,” Partridge observed. “Or how I knew your son.”

“Napoleon makes friends very easily,” Cora said. “Of course, he also makes enemies just as easily. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to be dropped off at that bus stop right there…” She exhaled as the chauffeur sailed right past it.

“Please, Mrs. Solo, I give you my word as a gentleman that no harm will come to you,” Partridge said. “I shan’t lay a hand on you, nor will anyone in my employ do so. You see, your son has caused me a lot of trouble, and I merely need some leverage for when I next converse with him.”

“If it’s money you want, you can keep my winnings,” Cora said, clutching at her blouse button even more tightly.

“It isn’t about ransom,” Partridge said. “You don’t understand what your son has done to me, Mrs. Solo. I was once the ruler of a serfdom—the authority I had was one worthy of my birth! Your son dethroned me—led a small army of U.N.C.L.E. agents to depose me! And he humiliated me in front of my subjects…”

“I am sure it was nothing personal,” Cora said. “Napoleon isn’t like that. He just wants to help those who need it; perhaps your ‘subjects’ needed help that you were unable or unwilling to give them.”

“I will not try to justify those events to you; you will, undoubtedly, side with your son no matter what I say,” Partridge said. “But I will not soon forget the humiliation I felt. He infiltrated my staff—and, somehow, he managed to sneak a dagger under his uniform! I screened my house staff for weapons constantly; I cannot understand how he got it past my security!” He quietly fumed, glaring out the window. “I was making a grand speech to my subjects, telling them just how I would protect them from this U.N.C.L.E. invasion, and your son—just barely past the point where he could have been called a child—holds a dagger to my throat and announces that I’ve been deposed! And then he proceeds to have the audacity to exile me to the jungle!”

Cora didn’t say a word.

“So you see, Mrs. Solo, I have a score to settle—and you will help me even that score,” Partridge finished. “Once your son meets with me, you will be released, and he and I will continue our discussion.”

“I’m afraid there are three things that you didn’t take into consideration when orchestrating your plan,” Cora said, quietly.

“Oh? What are those?”

“First of all… Napoleon is my son.”

Quick as a flash, she grabbed Partridge in a headlock and pulled her to him with her left arm; in her right arm, she produced a switchblade knife, which she momentarily held in front of Partridge’s line of vision so that he would see exactly what it was before moving her arm so that she could hold the blade to his neck.

“Who do you think taught him that trick?” Cora scoffed. “Now tell your driver to pull over, right now.”

“Now… Now, Mrs. Solo, surely w-we can…”

“Pull over, Jeeves!” she barked, and the realization sunk in to Partridge that he was now the captive.

“Do as she says!” he howled.

“And you…” she hissed to Partridge, as the terrified chauffeur obeyed her. “Don’t move, and make sure your driver doesn’t move. If either of you moves, even an inch, I’ll go for the jugular.”

“I think you have made your demands quite clear, and they will be obeyed to the letter,” Partridge said. “Exactly how long do you intend for us to stay here?”

“Until Napoleon and Illya get here,” Cora said. “That’s the second thing you didn’t take into consideration—that they’ve set me up with earrings that double as trackers that I’m supposed to activate if I suspect that I am a target in a plot, and that they would have told me conceal a weapon on me.”

“And the third thing?” Partridge asked, sweating as the blade balanced delicately on his Adam’s apple.

“Do you mean to tell that after your time in the jungle, you didn’t learn never to threaten a mother’s offspring in front of her?” Cora asked.

“T-Touché, Madam…”

No one said another word until Napoleon’s convertible pulled up; Illya was driving, and Napoleon practically leaped from the passenger seat with his Special drawn without even opening the door. Illya put the car into park and backed him up, tranquilizing Partridge’s chauffeur as Napoleon grabbed Partridge and practically slammed him into the ground. Illya took it from there as Napoleon now helped Cora out of the car.

“Are you alright, Ma?” he asked, hugging her.

“Of course, Dear, of course,” she said. “One threat to his jugular, and he folded like an umbrella in a gale.”

“Nice touch, Mother,” Illya said, as he finished handcuffing Partridge. “Although, next time, go for the carotid arteries—they’ll bleed out much faster that way in case you need to deliver on your threat.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that for next time,” she said, as she now retrieved her valise.

“Ah, let’s just hope there won’t be a next time, hmm?” Napoleon asked.

Partridge mumbled something about Cora making Edith seem like a gentle soul.

“Who’s Edith?” Cora asked.

“His wife,” Napoleon said.

“She and this one tortured poor Napoleon on the rack, and made me watch,” Illya said, solemnly, as he stood back from Partridge. “Remember, Mother—the carotids!”

A flash of fear crossed Partridge’s face as a flash of rage crossed Cora’s.

“Ma, no--!” Napoleon exclaimed, holding her back.

Illya now knelt down to face the cowering Partridge as Napoleon struggled to calm Cora down.

“I was going to tranquilize you,” he said. “But instead, I will have you in the backseat with Mother. It’s going to be a long ride back to headquarters.” He smirked, devilishly. “I know I shall enjoy every moment of it.”

The look of utter fear on the former squire’s face was something that Illya was going to relish for a long time to come.

#DON'T MESS WITH MA SOLO #Napoleon Solo #Illya Kuryakin #the man from uncle #mfu fic #inktober for writers #napollya

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vampireadamooc · 7 years

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Vampires: a cultural history

From 12th-century ‘revenants’ to teen thriller Twilight, belief in vampires has been  an enduring theme in cultural history.  Richard Sugg looks at the legend that just won’t die and examines possible physiological causes...

This article first appeared in the September 2013 issue of BBC History Magazine

http://www.historyextra.com/article/premium/vampires-cultural-history?utm_source=Twitter%20referral&utm_medium=t.co&utm_campaign=Bitly

Sunday 1st September 2013

Submitted by: Ellie Cawthorne

In the late spring of 1870, an American journalist was staying in a little Hungarian village. One night at about 2am he awoke “in a cold sweat, screaming and struggling with some horrible thing, cold as death, that lay upon my breast pinioning my arms to my sides, and trying to fasten his clammy mouth about my throat. I yelled and fought, and presently I heard men running through the hall toward my room.” Hearing this tale, the American’s landlord warned gravely that he had been sucked by a vampire – and must prepare for death. At this point the American is not persuaded. But presently, having had it explained to him that ongoing and widespread vampire hysteria in the region is due to the recent death of one Peter Dickowitz, who has since attacked many villagers, he follows a party of vampire-killers to the local cemetery.

Two coffins are hauled from the earth. And at this point something remarkable happens. Our author, who had previously referred with disdain to “the old, horrible superstition of vampirism”, very quickly becomes  a true believer: “I saw – dare I tell it? – in the sickly light of the flambeaux, that the men within them were not dead; but, horrible beyond expression, deadly in their ghastliness, yet, alive, they lay there. Their bodies were swimming in blood, and a horrible leer was on their mouths, and agonised fate within their staring eyes. Loathsome beyond thought, ghoul-like beyond nightmare dream, they were the living dead.” Dragged away from the consecrated ground, these two vampires are staked through their hearts. At this point, our already-traumatised witness hears from each “such a wailing sob and cry… as I never did dream even in nightmare”. The heads of both ‘vampires’ are then laboriously hacked off with sharp spades. By 1870, most educated Europeans and Americans saw vampires as either thrilling entertainment (on both stage and page) or as an example of the backward superstitions of peasants in such lands as Hungary, Romania, Serbia and Greece. So what could have caused the radical change of heart seen in our previously sceptical reporter? One factor was undoubtedly the relatively undecayed state of the exhumed corpses, supposedly swimming in blood. Since the painstaking forensic work of Paul Barber, it is relatively well known that some bodies are slow to decay, and that copious fluids (resembling blood) can issue from them.  The sudden release of trapped gases can even result in ‘vampires’ screaming when staked.

A human-headed bird attacks a man in a 1491 illustration. (Science Photo Library)

 Paralysed with fear The second factor in the American reporter’s vampire epiphany is less well known. The attack that the American suffered was almost certainly a combination of sleep paralysis and nightmare. These inter-related medical conditions have occurred throughout history, and still occur now. When we sleep we routinely become paralysed; this prevents us from acting out dreams and suffering possible injury. We’re not usually conscious of this state. But during a sleep paralysis nightmare, the victim feels absolutely conscious. They see their room, often in  vivid detail, but are paralysed and cannot speak. Presently, they become aware of an entity approaching. They may see it or hear it; but even if they do neither they are horribly convinced of it (perhaps hovering just outside their field of vision) and utterly traumatised by fear. Now the demon entity is on their chest, its weight crushing and its hands or mouth suffocating, squeezing the life from their throat… Although in reality such attacks last no more than a few minutes, to victims the experience can seem endless. This mix of symptoms can vary, as can the extremity of attacks. But in many cases they cause a level of terror that mere words can barely capture. In 2011, some years after a nightmare attack, the American writer Alexis Madrigal wrote that:  “It didn’t feel like my life was at risk. That was, in fact, too small. It felt like the presence was after something else, probably what you’d call my soul” – strong words from someone who describes himself as “a straight materialist”. This and many similar descriptions leave one wondering if the nightmare is indeed the origin of evil itself. It certainly is the origin of many vampire epidemics. Some of the very earliest written accounts of proto-vampires come from Britain. In the 12th century alleged revenants (essentially, undecayed walking corpses) brought terror and death to people in Buckinghamshire, Wales, Northumbria and at Melrose Abbey  on the Scottish borders. In Wales, sometime after 1149, an English knight complained of a recently deceased “Welsh wizard” who “keeps coming every night, calling by name certain of his former neighbours, who instantly fall sick and die within three days”. A contemporary report from Buckinghamshire tells of a dead man who, the night after his burial, “suddenly entered the room where his wife lay asleep and, having awakened her... almost killed her by leaping upon her with the whole heaviness of his weight and overlying her”.

Henry Fuseli's 1781 painting 'Nightmare'. (Art Archive)

In 1567, in the Bohemian city of Trawtenaw, the revenant of one Stephen Hubener “did pinch many men with such strait embracements, that many of them died”. Those who survived reported “with one consent... that they were thus clasped or beclipped by this... man” – who, for his pains, was decapitated, eviscerated and burned. Around 1738, a young Serbian girl “named Stanoska... went to bed in perfect health, but awoke in the middle of the night, trembling, and crying out, that the son of the Heyduke Millo, who died about nine weeks before, had almost strangled her while she was asleep. From that time, she fell into a languishing state, and died at three days end.” Many similar reports depict crushing and suffocation. All in all, the symptoms of sleep paralysis nightmares fit ‘vampire’ attacks uncannily well – in some cases, as snugly as one of Count Dracula’s well-tailored travelling gloves. The sense of weight and suffocation are obvious enough similarities. Name-calling was also pretty common, and fits the documented auditory hallucinations of nightmare bouts. Outside of fiction, the vampire did not always suck blood. But nightmares could give reason to think that it did. Recent accounts have described the pressure on the throat as like “something sucking the life out of me”. More precisely still, nightmares seem to cause spontaneous bruising in some victims. If these were found on neck or chest (over the heart), then thirsty teeth would easily be inferred. Why, though, is one particular dead person often identified as the attacker? The answer is twofold. First, medical science has found that, bewildered by the nightmare, the brain shapes the imagined ‘entity’ into something familiar. In regions where vampire legend abounds, this will naturally be a vampire, and in a small community where everyone knows who has just died, the most recently deceased would be a prime candidate for the role. But recent studies have also shown that attacks are increased or exacerbated by stress. So after the first attack, once the story has spread with the speed of village gossip, there will probably be more attacks (often perpetrated by the same culprit), thus more stress, leading to yet more attacks – until the vampire is destroyed. As with many psychosomatic terrors, belief is potent: if you believe the vampire has been dispatched, it will usually stop haunting you. Many people who died from ‘vampire attacks’ were actually victims of contagious disease – one reason why vampires were often said to attack their own families first. Some deaths, though, are not so easily explained. The 12th-century Welsh victims and the Serbian girl Stanoska all died within three days of the first attack. Why? Astonishingly, these people probably died  of fear. A number of travellers and anthropologists have reported ‘voodoo deaths’ of this kind in Africa and among the Aboriginal peoples of Australia. In such contexts, if someone knows that they have been cursed (usually by a witch doctor or similar), their belief-driven terror is so potent that they fall sick, experience a kind of physiological shutdown, and die within three days. This phenomenon was, for a long time, thought typical of primitive tribal beliefs.  In fact, it is equally typical in vampire and witch territory. Writing in 1923, the traveller and folklorist Edith Durham told how “the peasants all through Albania, and Macedonia are extraordinarily affected mentally if they believe they must die, and seem to make no effort whatever to live...  I heard of more than one case in which a man’s death having been foretold by reading the future in fowls’ bones, he proceeded to sicken and die.” In her recent book on sleep paralysis, Shelley Adler related how the religious beliefs of Hmong people from south-east Asia led to several nightmare-related deaths during and after the 1970s. These attacks, which occurred in the USA among Hmong refugees, were thought to be due to angry ancestral spirits, and subsequently inspired the horror film A Nightmare on Elm Street. So vampires (or nightmares incorporating them) really can kill you – if you believe in them. Anyone who has suffered from sleep paralysis nightmares will understand this level of terror. And if you suffered such an attack in a little Serbian or Greek village a century or more ago, what explanation  could there be – except something supernatural and demonic? Neither the nightmare nor the vampire have quite relinquished their hold, even in 21st-century Europe. Just before Christmas 2003, one Petre Toma died in the little Romanian village of Marotinu de Sus. As archaeologist Timothy Taylor reported, “his niece suffered nightmares and appeared seriously ill. She claimed that her uncle was visiting her at night and feeding from her heart; that he was a strigoi [a Romanian revenant]”. The girl’s illness was clearly psychosomatic: Toma’s corpse was disinterred and his heart burned, the ashes mixed with water that was given to  the niece to drink – and she recovered. And this incident took place just as Stephenie Meyer was signing the deal for her first Twilight books. More recent still was the case of Sava Savanovicˇ, a Serbian first identified as a vampire in the 18th century. When in 2012 his reputed home – an old water mill on the river Rogacˇica in Zarozˇje – collapsed, local authorities warned residents to arm themselves against the now-homeless revenant with crosses and garlic. This was probably shrewd business PR rather than authentic superstition: the mill and village had been popular with tourists for some time, and the story made world headlines. Yet the announcement that “five people have recently died, one after another,  in our small community”, and allegedly “not by accident”, would be all-too familiar to vampire believers of past times. Vampires on screen: how the legend became box-office gold The early wave of 18th-century reports on the folk vampirism of central-eastern Europe might well be described as the first phase of ‘vampotainment’. But it was in the 19th century that it became really popular. A short tale, The Vampyre, penned by Byron’s physician, John Polidori, caused a sensation in 1819, prompting a popular stage version, The Bride of the Isles, and the invention of a highly sophisticated ‘vampire trap’, through which the defeated bloodsucker magically vanished in the closing scene. This tale gave us the prototype of the suavely seductive vampire aristocrat, Lord Ruthven – and it certainly didn’t hurt that many saw the shadow of Byron himself behind this figure. Female vampires soon got their teeth into readers, starting with the impressively daring quasi-lesbianism of Sheridan Le Fanu’s 1872 Carmilla, on through John Payne’s long poem Lautrec in 1878, and reinforced by Robert Louis Stevenson’s powerfully atmospheric Spanish tale, Olalla, during Christmas 1885.

The 1922 silent film 'Nosferatu'. (AKG images)

Stoker’s Dracula (1897) of course remains for many the vampire classic, and perhaps rightly so. There again, many people now ‘know’ Dracula without having read it – whether via the silent Nosferatu (1922), the numerous caped outings of Bela Lugosi, or Coppola’s superbly lurid version of 1992. With many recent vampire tales getting more ironic than supernatural, one can see how the Twilight novels and films offered something new in vampotainment. Oddly, though, the Victorian Dracula is far more sexy than Stephenie Meyer’s tamely puritanical saga. Nothing in Twilight comes anywhere near the scene in which Jonathan Harker swoons under the eyes and lips of not one, but three alluring female vamps. Richard Sugg is a lecturer in the English department at Durham University. He is the author of Faces of the Vampire: From Holy Terror to Sexual Taboo (2014).

#tags preserved for commentary of OP

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gossipgirl2019-blog · 6 years

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'Crazy Rich Asians' aims to end drought of films by starring Asian-Americans

New Post has been published on http://gr8gossip.xyz/crazy-rich-asians-aims-to-end-drought-of-films-by-starring-asian-americans/

'Crazy Rich Asians' aims to end drought of films by starring Asian-Americans

LOS ANGELES — It’s been 25 years since a major Hollywood studio released an English-language film with a primarily Asian cast. The last was Wayne Wang’s adaptation of the generational tearjerker “The Joy Luck Club,” which was released in 1993.

But that dry spell is about to end with the release of the opulent romantic comedy “Crazy Rich Asians” on Aug. 15. The film is based on Kevin Kwan’s best-selling book about a Chinese-American woman who gets a culture shock when she meets her boyfriend’s wealthy family in Singapore.

Veteran producer Nina Jacobson said that when she and her Color Force partner Brad Simpson (“The Hunger Games”) read Kwan’s manuscript, they knew it had to be a movie.

“We just tore through it,” Jacobson said. “It was so specific that it became really universal: Anybody who has ever faced in-laws who felt that they were not worthy of their beloved.”

They knew that the film would likely never survive the studio development process, however, and decided to have a vision, a script and a budget to sell as a package before going to the marketplace. Ivanhoe Pictures’ John Penotti signed on to help and Warner Bros. would ultimately join to partner with them to release the film.

“Hollywood has done a bit of a disservice by not taking us into these worlds,” Simpson said. “There is a hunger for not just token representation but to really dive into the world of different ethnicities and races.”

Meanwhile, Jon M. Chu, who would eventually sign on to direct “Crazy Rich Asians,” had already been hearing about this new book from family members. His last name is the same as that of the main character, Rachel Chu, and they’re both from Cupertino, California. There’s even a reference to his family in Kwan’s book, but ultimately the book spoke to the uniqueness of the Asian-American experience.

“I think a lot of Asian-Americans go through the same journey … I relate to having that dual cultural identity of being a full-on all-American, all-California boy, but having a Chinese side to me,” Chu said. “I remember going to Asia for the first time and there’s a very specific emotion that you feel that’s like, ‘Oh, this feels like home but it’s not my home and these people don’t see me as being part of this.’ Then when you’re home you start to notice people may not see you as part of that, either.”

Having known Jacobson and Simpson for years, he knew they would “protect” the film and do it right. He signed on to transport audiences to an unbelievable world of wealth, privilege and tradition — part Edith Wharton, part “Gossip Girl.”

Chu brought on Malaysian-born screenwriter Adele Lim to give the script an Asian specificity and set off to assemble his dream cast. The worldwide search had casting directors looking in Canada, New York, Los Angeles, Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong, London, Australia, Singapore and Malaysia. All had to be English-speaking — and have the right accents, too.

“Fresh Off the Boat” star Constance Wu was chosen to play the lead, Rachel. They found an unknown to play her boyfriend, Nick, in Henry Golding, a handsome and charismatic TV host who had the perfect English accent to play the London-schooled heir, and cast Michelle Yeoh to be his disapproving mother, Eleanor. But even this hand-picked ensemble caused some consternation on the internet over the specific ethnicities and whether they matched exactly with what the book laid out.

Chu said that there’s even a discussion is important.

But just the mere fact of a film having a female Asian-American lead and a majority pan-Asian cast is significant. A USC study found that 37 of the top 100 films from 2017 featured no Asian-American-speaking characters, despite making up 5.6 percent of the U.S. population.

“Since I’ve graduated from drama school I never get to play the lead,” Wu said. “The fact that Asian-Americans never get to center the narrative means that their parts are always going to be not as whole and fleshed-out.”

That made it an emotional experience for many on the set.

“Everyone had gone through the process of what it’s like to be an Asian-American in Hollywood or around the world,” Chu said. “You could see the difference between someone like Michelle Yeoh who literally said, ‘I’m the majority where I’m from so I don’t understand the plight that you guys are going through.’ It was very shocking for her to see how it affected these young actors and how people would just cry on the set and how happy they were that they got to do this.”

Jacobson described it as a “joyful sense of purpose that we all shared.”

Wu, who is an outspoken advocate for Asian representation on social media, said the film is significant for differentiating the Asian experience and the Asian-American experience.

“You show that our culture is more than just skin-deep,” Wu said. “You show our similarities and how we’re different.”

Warner Bros. has been enthusiastically promoting the movie for months, with early screenings for press and influencers alike, along with a full-force ad campaign.

“I hope people go see it because I think we have a great movie and if they go see it, it changes things,” Chu said. “People have to show up. I guarantee four new stories of Asian-Americans will be greenlit in two weeks if it comes out and does well. That’s what’s on the line and that’s what I think is still up in the air.”

The film is tracking for a strong $18 million opening against a $30 million production budget, although some experts predict it will be even bigger. Tracking can be an imperfect metric for films that don’t have direct “comps,” or similar films that might suggest how a new film will perform.

“I think we have to take control of our own voice and our own story,” Chu said. “And we won’t be perfect, this discussion is ongoing the more stuff that gets made, the more discussion we can have about what we want. We just never had the privilege of having that conversation.”

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caveartfair · 7 years

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This Photographer Captured the Glitz and Despair of the Global Culture of Wealth

Lindsey, 18, at a Fourth of July party three days after her nose job, Calabasas, California, 1993. Lauren Greenfield Fahey/Klein Gallery

There were many people for whom the election of Donald Trump as President of the United States came as a total surprise. Photographer Lauren Greenfield was probably not one of them. For nearly three decades, Greenfield has been meticulously documenting wealth: those who have it, those who aspire to it, and its pernicious influence on our culture.

In that period, she’s watched how a worship of prosperity has spread, transmitted and amplified through technology, popular culture, and the media. Is it any wonder that someone who so perfectly embodies our fascination with wealth, and all the emptiness and artifice that so often lies beneath it, ultimately snaked his way into the White House?

“Generation Wealth,” opening later this month at the International Center Photography, features over 200 of Greenfield’s photographs from her decades-long exploration of the culture of affluence in its many facets. It’s accompanied by a mammoth book of the same name, published by Phaidon this May and bound (naturally) in gold cloth.

Greenfield decided to bring these works together, she said, in the aftermath of the financial crisis. She, like many Americans, found herself reflecting on what had caused an entire nation, seemingly, to run amok.

She realized in looking back at her early work that what she had documented was “a time of cultural change, and of change in our values and change in technology which was a big driver of these values,” she said. “Where I started ended up being really important, because it was kind of the beginning of all of these trends which I ended up covering for 25 years.”

Greenfield had not intended to become a visual chronicler of the wealthy and their aspirants, an F. Scott Fitzgerald or an Edith Wharton wielding a camera instead of a pen. She grew up in what was then the grungy neighborhood of Venice, Los Angeles, but attended the ritzy private high school Crossroads, alongside the children of Hollywood’s rich and famous. After graduating magna cum laude from Harvard University in 1987 with a degree in visual and environmental studies, she embarked with her mother, a psychology professor, on an assignment for National Geographic in Chiapas, Mexico. She quickly realized her status as a cultural outsider (and the discomfort her subjects felt with being photographed) was hindering her work; she longed instead to return to Los Angeles and “[turn] the camera on my own culture,” she said.

That project became her first book, Fast Forward: Growing Up in the Shadow of Hollywood (1997), a broad exploration of Los Angeles youth culture, which took her to East and South Central L.A. to photograph the young people who were part of, or adjacent to, the gang culture that Crossroads students, enamored of hip-hop and graffiti, tried to emulate. At the same time, she notes, the youth in South Central and East L.A. themselves lusted after the markers of wealth (gold chains, designer clothes) the Crossroads kids took for granted.

“There was this kind of homogenization of culture that I was seeing from kids from really different backgrounds, even in the ’90s,” said Greenfield. “Part of Fast Forward is about the rich kids and [their] disproportionate influence.” The Generation Wealth book, she added, is “really not about wealth, it’s more about the influence of affluence and the aspiration to wealth.”

So what does Generation Wealth look like? Greenfield notes that it’s “really not about wealth, it’s more about the influence of affluence and the aspiration to wealth.” As the photographer writes in the introduction to the book, her subjects “seek material-based status, from Minnesota to Milan, South Central Los Angeles to Shanghai, Dubai to Moscow.” At one end of the spectrum, there are mansions, designer handbags, two-year-olds getting pedicures, the staid rituals of France’s aristocrats, portraits on the tarmac in front of a private jet.

But just as compelling, if not more so, are the images of what it looks like to merely aspire to that lifestyle, with varying degrees of success. There are unfinished homes in Dubai after the financial crisis, women making thousands of dollars a week as strippers to support their families, people posing on a toilet made of solid 24-karat gold in Hong Kong, four-year-olds sporting tiny false teeth at beauty pageants, the funeral of a teenage gang member in an L.A. suburb. Across the social and economic landscape, power and money tends to concentrate in the hands of men.

“It was important to me to include so many different kinds of places because in a way, what I’m looking at are the similarities more than the differences,” Greenfield said.

In chronicling Russia’s emerging elite, for example, Greenfield meets a Moscow real estate developer whose luxury homes come pre-stocked with a library of the finest Russian, British, French, German, and American literature, and an art collection for which he’s also printed a hefty catalogue that the buyers of his homes can leave prominently displayed, in case there’s any doubt as to how important the art collection is. But Greenfield is quick to point out that deploying culture to signal taste and class is on a continuum with the behavior of a newly flush finance bro in New York, only more visible.

“As an oligarch, you could buy culture. And in a way that was the ultimate thing to purchase: education, class, culture…kind of what money can’t buy,” said Greenfield. That explicitly transactional approach to culture might seem extreme, she said, but it can make visible similar, if more hidden, dynamics around us.

“In New York, you might have a wealthy person who hires an art consultant who buys for them, and so the owner doesn’t actually know anything about the art,” she said. “Well, that’s a hard thing to document here: It’s like so subtle, they probably would not want to share that they don’t know the provenance of their actual art.”

In both the book and the show, Greenfield’s photos are accompanied by the subjects’ own words. There is a series of portraits of Jackie Siegel, the wife of time-share mogul David Siegel, dubbed the Queen of Versailles (after the spectacular mega-mansion the couple was building before the economy collapsed in 2008). Siegel started her career as an engineer at IBM in upstate New York, but quickly realized she’d fare better modeling in New York City and marrying rich. “You can never be too rich or have big enough boobs,” she told Greenfield, reflecting on her four breast augmentations (whose end result fills the entire frame of one photo).

Adam, 13, and a go-go dancer hired to entertain at a bar mitzvah party at the Whisky a Go Go nightclub in West Hollywood, 2012. Lauren Greenfield Fahey/Klein Gallery

Or consider 13-year-old Adam, a subject in Fast Forward who told Greenfield that he and his peers feel compelled to spend $50,000 on a bar mitzvah or risk being unpopular. “Money affects kids in many ways. It has ruined a lot of kids I know. It has ruined me.” His parents know that, and send him to summer camp in Michigan where “the kids are so different,” he said. “They are nice.”

“He had so much insight,” Greenfield said. “He was kind of a social critic, but was still affected by these pressures, and right in the middle of them.”

That helped her see that the subjects’ voices were a critical component of the project, documentation that rounds out—or often stand at odds with—the accompanying images. “A lot of my work is about this conflict and contradiction between image and substance,” she said.

“Photography is a great medium to think about image, because I can use glossy colors and shiny surfaces and strobe,” Greenfield continued. The interviews, by contrast, “provide a deeper cut, sometimes even a contradictory cut to what’s going on. The photographs are really my perspective, and the interviews allow their voices to come through in a deeper way.”

She knows that ambivalence from her own relationship to material goods, even as her decades-long dive into the culture of wealth has made her extra conscious of how destructive it can be to covet.

“If I didn’t care about those things I don’t think I’d be able to document it either,” she said. “I’m not immune to the things that I cover. When I go into a store I’m…attracted and excited by shiny objects. I kind of know that about myself so I try to stay out of that environment unless I really want something or need something.”

Lauren Greenfield, Ilona with her daughter, Michelle, 4, Moscow, 2012. © Lauren Greenfield/Institute. Courtesy of Phaidon Press.

Greenfield credits her kids with holding her accountable, describing a recent incident when her youngest son chastised her for putting a $55 face cream in the grocery basket. Perhaps more Americans could use a similar watchdog. The nation’s credit card debt hit highs this year not seen since 2009, and defaults have begun to climb, too. The worship of affluence, by some measures, is as strong as ever, with Donald Trump its reigning deity. Greenfield’s ongoing examination of wealth (she’s currently working on a related documentary film) feels more urgent than ever.

Incidentally, Trump is one person who she never got to capture on film, even though she tried, although she observed that time-share magnate David Siegel (who called Trump’s election “the greatest thing that’s happened to me since I discovered sex”) embodied many of the same qualities.

“The one dream shoot that I never got for Generation Wealth is the President, because he embodies so many of the qualities of Generation Wealth,” she said. “That was probably the fish that got away.”

—Anna Louie Sussman

from Artsy News

#Artsy News

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dreamss-of-boston · 5 years

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Rise - ch2

Sonya’s first expedition.

hello! this chapter was hella fun to write, cuz ive never really written too much action before and it was interesting describing everything. i hope i was able to write down what i was visualizing accurately so that it makes sense lmfao. i hope u all enjoy!! thank u for reading love u bye

-the expedition-

link on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/16998978/chapters/40117439#workskin

The Survey Corps thundered out of the gate, spilling out into the wide expanse of Titan territory. Sonya would have been lost in the throng of soldiers if it weren't for her squad leader-- Moblit Berner-- to guide them to the right position. Sonya couldn't help but gaze up at the blue sky, dusted with clouds and uninterrupted by the off-white walls which usually surrounded her vision. No, out here, there was merely sky and Earth, meeting at one single point.

“Eyes front, soldier!” Peter yelled at Sonya sharply, and she turned in annoyance to see him smiling cheekily. “We don't want you running into any trees, now, do we?”

They rode on. This particular mission was intended to be a quick one: they were to enter the forest, gather supplies left there by the previous squad members, and leave. It seemed simple enough, but the supplies were in an area of thick forestry, and the only reason they got there in the first place was because the previous Commander had attempted to set up a safe-house there. A ‘safe-house’ in titan territory seemed like a very obviously stupid idea to Sonya, but apparently the Corps had made it their top priority to establish one before she had joined.

A red flare went off to her left, and another, and another. She felt immense fear rise in her throat, and she and Anna locked panicked eyes next to each other. Peter noticed this, and actually didn’t make a joke out of it.

“Hey, it’s okay! Look, we’re totally avoiding them.” He nodded to the green flare that was now ahead of them, pointing in the new direction which the Corps were slowly turning in. Peter gave a reassuring smile to Sonya and Anna. “We’ll be okay! We’re in one of the safest parts of the formation.”

And on they rode. There were some red flares here and there, but the Commander’s green flare would always guide the formation to safety. Eventually, Sonya felt a sort of rhythm within herself, and felt part of a whole-- like how she felt standing among her soldiers as they were accepted into the Survey Corps that night.

“Heads up!” Moblit called from the front of their squad. “Once we get close enough to a tree, deploy ODM gear and follow my orders.”

Slowly but surely, the corps were approaching the forest line and Sonya began to feel a little more at ease. She eased Chuck to a stop, and gave him a little pat before she dismounted and whisked herself up into a tree beside Moblit, Peter, and Anna.

“Well done.” Moblit said, and pointed to the other Corps soldiers ascending to tree branches not too far away from them. “Our job, for now, is to guard the entrance to the forest while the other half of the formation enter and gather the supplies.”

“Oh, so we-- we’re actually gonna kill some titans today?” Peter said.

“Pray you don’t have to.” Moblit said grimly. “Spread out so that we cover more area.”

Sonya grabbed Anna’s hand and gave it a squeeze-- the poor girl was trembling. Anna breathed in sharply at the contact, and attempted to smile at Sonya.

“Look at the sky, Anna.” Sonya nodded to the clouds. “Isn’t it beautiful out?”

Anna looked up, and that seemed to distract her a bit. She gave a little nod, and with that, Sonya glided to another tree branch, a bit closer to the ground. She could still see Chuck, and it was of some comfort knowing that the titans had no interest in eating her horse. At least Chuck would make it out okay. She stood alert, scanning the horizon for any sign of titans-- and just like every soldier there, she waited.

[-]

The waiting seemed to last forever-- even Moblit was getting restless. He kept glancing back, as if he were expecting to see the others exiting any time now.

“Captain,” Sonya called, “would you like me to relay a message to the teams inside?”

“Yeah,” Peter responded before Moblit got a chance, “tell them to hurry it up!”

“Wagner.” Moblit said sharply, shooting him a glare. “As for you, Romanova, yes-- I suppose you could. Ask them if they require assistance. Take Weber with you.” He gestured to Anna. “And be quick about it.”

“Yes, sir!” Sonya and Anna barked, and off they went, whirring into the trees.

Sonya had to admit-- it was very freeing using her ODM gear in the forest with no goal of slaughtering a wooden titan, without any officers barking at her to straighten her posture.

“Check this out!” She called to Anna, and used the momentum she had built to launch herself into a backflip-- she clumsily regained balance, causing Anna to laugh as they continued onward.

“How much farther in?” Anna asked.

“Can’t be that far--” Sonya began, but stopped cold as she saw the bottom half of a Survey Corps members’ body hanging limply over a low tree branch. Sticky red blood was oozing out of the exposed guts, and Sonya almost slammed into a tree if she didn’t stop herself in time. Anna had stopped, too-- the two girls looked at each other, panic-stricken and sick.

“What…” Anna whispered.

“I don’t know.” Sonya felt a sort of gear shift in her brain as she looked away from the soldiers’ body. A static-filled numbness took over. “We need to keep going-- but let’s get higher up.”

Anna nodded, and they continued. Sonya was right-- it wasn’t much farther until they reached the rest of the Corps, who were all perched high above their goal, staring down in terror. Sonya almost smacked into one of the soldiers from her training-- Alfonse Gunther.

“Watch it!” He cried. “Wait-- what are you doing here?”

“We came to see what was happening…” Sonya mumbled, although looking below told her everything. There they were: about ten or fifteen titans, standing among the wrecked safe house, staring up at the Corps with dead, hungry eyes.

“They just came out of nowhere!” Alfonse said. “They got my brother… They got Hans…” His voice broke off, and he didn’t say anything more.

“We can’t leave now that they’ve seen us-- they’ll just follow and that’ll send them straight to the rest of the Corps.” Edith Gutherie, a veteran soldier, said grimly. She had her blades out and ready, and yet she made no move on the titans. She glared up at a branch occupied by Commander Erwin and Captain Levi. “They haven’t given us orders yet… They’re scared to risk lives unnecessarily. After the last mission… we lost too many soldiers. We can’t afford to lose more until the next round of recruits come in.”

“Then why did we go on this mission in the first place?!” Ernst Klauffman, another new recruit, shrieked. “Why did we come out here and risk all these lives, huh?!”

“There’s eight months food and water down there, soldier!” Edith snapped. “In case you haven’t noticed, food is becoming scarcer by the day, and financial support for the Corps is at an all-time low. If you want to eat and keep your position in your comfortable living quarters, I suggest you keep quiet and follow orders.”

Sonya said nothing, she only stared at Captain Levi and Commander Erwin. They were stoic as usual, never allowing their inner emotions to betray their outward appearance. She glanced at the soldiers around her, all clearly waiting for any sort of command, and turned to glare back at Commander Erwin.

“Commander!” She yelled sharply, and both he and Levi turned their piercing gazes on her. Now that she had their attention-- and everyone else’s, for that matter, she grew suddenly self-conscious. Was it right of her to yell like that? Nevermind-- forget it, now is not the time to think about it. “Orders?”

Commander Erwin paused. “The plan,” he called, “is this. There are a total of fifteen titans of the 10-meter class below us. Therefor, fifteen veteran soldiers will be tasked with taking them out.” He listed the names of the soldiers, including Captain Levi and Edith Gutherie. “However, we cannot risk killing them while they are around our supplies, for we risk them damaging all of the food and water when they fall. Half of you all will join the fifteen veteran soldiers by working as a group to lure the titans away from the supplies. The other half of you will join me in descending, packing our supplies on our carts, and exiting the forest. Once the titans are slain, the rest of you will join us outside the forest, and we retreat.”

The soldiers all nodded-- Sonya felt herself tense up, and instinctively unsheathed her blades.

“You don’t need to do that-- you can count on us.” Edith said with a little smile.

“I’m sure I can count on you,” Sonya said grimly, “but I’d rather prepare for the worst.”

And so the plan was set in motion. The scouts divvied themselves up, with Anna being part of the group to retrieve supplies and Sonya to lure the titans away. The soldiers began their move, but the titans still seemed intent on watching the others, staying still in the trees.

“Drop lower!” Captain Levi commanded, and reluctantly, the troops descended a few branches. Still, the titans did not seem to notice or care.

“Are they abnormals?” Edith wondered aloud.

Sonya gritted her teeth-- and without thinking, she swooped down, swinging directly in front of one of the titan’s monstrous eyes. That caught its attention. It turned towards her with a sickening grin, and sluggishly began to reach for her.

“Sonya!” Anna screamed, just as Sonya pulled herself up, using an excessive amount of gas on the way. She clumsily perched in a tree, and watched with satisfaction as the titans began to turn their attention on her and the other soldiers.

“Good work, Sonya!” Edith called, and the other soldiers followed suit, dropping to Sonya’s level as the titans began to trudge their way away from the supplies.

Sonya caught Anna’s gaze high up in the trees, and for her sake, she flashed her a confident thumbs-up. Inwardly, her heart was racing and her limbs felt hollow. She was sure that she was going to throw up at any moment, but she pushed on, following behind the soldiers.

“We’ll get them surrounded in that clearing up ahead,” Captain Levi called, gesturing to a sunlit absence of trees in front of them.

And so the soldiers went-- swooping right by the titans noses, narrowly missing their giant hands, until they reached the clearing.

Captain Levi, Edith, and the other thirteen veteran soldiers took their places in the branches as the titans stumbled right into their trap. Some of the other soldiers had followed Sonya’s idea and stood with their swords unsheathed, just in case.

“Now!” Captain Levi commanded, and the soldiers whizzed forward, slicing and spinning with rapid movements. Sonya was impressed by Captain Levi especially-- he seemed to literally be flying, a focused concentration of death for titans. The veteran soldiers made quick work, luckily-- all except for one.

“Captain!!” One of the soldiers-- Klaus Vernon-- screeched. He was trapped in the grip of a titan, one with brown hair and a permanent frown. It’s monstrous jaw gaped open, bringing Klaus right up to its slimy tongue.

Captain Levi grunted, pushing off of the titan he had just slaughtered, and swung around to the back of the titan gripping Klaus. Before the titan could bring its jaws down to crush Klaus, Levi dealt the finishing blow, and Klaus was released from its grip. As he fell, Edith swooped in to catch him and bring him to safety on a branch.

Levi wiped some blood off of his cheek with a grimace as steam fizzled off of his cloak.

“Move back to the supplies.” He ordered, and so they went.

When the troops made it back to the supplies, they had made pretty fast progress on loading everything on to the carts.

“Any casualties?” Commander Erwin asked Levi as he joined him.

“Klaus got grabbed by a titan, but otherwise no.” Levi reported.

Sonya went to join Anna, who was on the fringes of the supply yard, loading food on to the carts. Now that danger was relatively gone, she was brimming with excitement to tell Anna about seeing the veterans in action. Before she made it to Anna, though, something made her stop cold.

Behind her friend, shrouded in the shadows of the trees, there was something glistening-- something moving. Sonya’s breath caught in her throat-- was that…?

“Anna!” She shrieked, but it was too late. A monstrous hand was reaching towards her friend, and it was moving much faster than the titans Sonya had just seen. Anna looked behind her, and screamed just as fingers wrapped around her arms, pinning them to her torso, and she was lifted off the ground. Anna kicked and screamed, and as the titan brought itself up to reveal itself, it was too late.

The five-meter titan brought Anna into its mouth head-first, and snapped her body in half as its jaws closed.

Sonya’s feet were glued to the floor-- no one was closer to this situation than her, and all she had done was watch her friend get eaten. The crunching of Anna’s bones rung in Sonya’s ears, and as the crouching titan turned its hungry eyes towards her, she felt a gear shift in her brain once more.

Numb and angry, Sonya charged straight at the titan. She could hear the other soldiers yelling at her to stop distantly, and as she leapt from the ground, deploying her gear to swing around and behind the titan, her unsheathed blades and the nape of its neck were all that she chose to focus on. As she made her way behind the titan, she readied herself, attaching her wire to its neck and bringing herself forward.

Using all of her strength, she made the cut she had made a hundred times before-- while cutting through flesh felt much different than cutting through leather, the result was the same. The titan fell, with Anna’s blood staining its mouth, and Sonya held on to it on the ride down.

Steam surrounded her as the body began to decompose-- she detached herself from the corpse, and stumbled onto solid ground. At the edges of her vision, she could see the soldiers running up to her to see if she was hurt, other soldiers deploying ODM and whisking off into the trees. Sonya paid them no mind. She fell on all fours, and retched onto the forest floor.

#attack on titan #fanfiction #levi x original character #levi x oc #levi x reader #snk #aot #levi ackerman

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gossipgirl2019-blog · 6 years

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History-making 'Crazy Rich Asians' readies for release

New Post has been published on http://gr8gossip.xyz/history-making-crazy-rich-asians-readies-for-release/

History-making 'Crazy Rich Asians' readies for release

LOS ANGELES — It’s been 25 years since a major Hollywood studio released an English-language film with a primarily Asian cast. The last was Wayne Wang’s adaptation of the generational tear-jerker “The Joy Luck Club,” which was released in 1993.

But that dry spell is about to end with the release of the opulent romantic comedy “Crazy Rich Asians” on Wednesday Aug. 15. The film is based on Kevin Kwan’s best-selling book about a Chinese-American woman who gets a culture shock when she meets her boyfriend’s wealthy family in Singapore.

Veteran producer Nina Jacobson said that when she and her Color Force partner Brad Simpson (“The Hunger Games”) read Kwan’s manuscript, they knew it had to be a movie.

“We just tore through it,” Jacobson said. “It was so specific that it became really universal: Anybody who has ever faced in-laws who felt that they were not worthy of their beloved.”

Meanwhile, Jon M. Chu, who would eventually sign on to direct “Crazy Rich Asians,” had already been hearing about this new book from family members. His last name is the same as that of the main character, Rachel Chu, and they’re both from Cupertino. There’s even a reference to his family in Kwan’s book, but ultimately the book spoke to the uniqueness of the Asian-American experience.

“I think a lot of Asian-Americans go through the same journey … I relate to having that dual cultural identity of being full-on all-American, all-California boy, but having a Chinese side to me,” Chu said. “I remember going to Asia for the first time and there’s a very specific emotion that you feel that’s like, ‘Oh, this feels like home but it’s not my home and these people don’t see me as being part of this.’ Then when you’re home you start to notice people may not see you as part of that either.”

Chu said that there’s even a discussion is important.

But just the mere fact of a film having a female Asian-American lead and a majority pan-Asian cast is significant. A USC Study found that 37 of the top 100 films from 2017 featured no Asian-American speaking characters, despite making up 5.6 percent of the U.S. population.

That made it an emotional experience for many on the set.

Jacobson described it as a “joyful sense of purpose that we all shared.”

Wu, who is an outspoken advocate for Asian representation on social media, said the film is significant for differentiating the Asian experience and the Asian-American experience.

“You show that our culture is more than just skin-deep,” Wu said. “You show our similarities and how we’re different.”

Warner Bros. has been enthusiastically promoting the movie for months, with early screenings for press and influencers alike, along with a full-force ad campaign.

The film is currently tracking for a strong $18 million opening against a $30 million production budget, although some experts predict it will be even bigger. Tracking can be an imperfect metric for films that don’t have direct “comps,” or similar films that might suggest how a new film will perform.

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