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the-firebender-girl · 4 years

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The Dragon’s Bride (Zuko x Reader)

A continuation to “The Dragon’s Mark”

-> Planning a wedding turned out to be way harder than ending a war.

A year has passed since Zuko formally courted Y/N. Ever since then the Fire Nation has been busy preparing for the wedding of a lifetime, after all the wedding of their Fire Lord is celebrated as one of the national holidays. It’s a grand occasion made for all, excitement buzzing in the air.

Wedding planning has been.... interesting, if you want to put it kindly. Y/N never knew that her wedding will be this elaborate. Iroh and Ty Lee has been drilling her non stop every single day on all the important details, especially when it comes to Fire Nation culture and customs. Long story short, she’s feeling more than slightly overwhelmed.

Today her parents will arrive in the capital, they had sailed all the way here from Agna Qel’a from about a month ago, it’s quite a long journey to make after all. This is definitely a break that she deserves and look forward to, although Zuko is all worked up about it, scared that they won’t like him. Not that she can blame him for feeling that way, after all he was there when the Siege of the North happened, and in some ways played a part in what follows.

But Y/N assured him time and time again that no matter what, she would do anything that she could to convince her parents to accept him as their son-in-law. She truly believes that despite his questionable past, Zuko has learned a lot and he has changed into a fine man. She only hopes that her parents could see him in that light too.

Zuko and Y/N stand side by side in the deck of the harbor, ready to welcome the visitors from up north. Specks of blue dot started to appear in the horizon, signaling the arrivals as the shape grew bigger and bigger. As the boats passed what remains of the Great Gates of Azulon, Y/N can see clearly the double-hulled vessels powered by waterbenders. Lips tugging up into a smile at the anticipation of meeting her parents again, how she misses them.

Y/N look to the side towards her betrothed just to find him swaying back and forth even though his feet is planted firmly. Hands fidgeting with the edge of his crimson robe. Biting his lower lips as his eyes is trained on the approaching ships. Even though the Water Tribe ships aren’t designed to be half as intimidating as how they make it in the Fire Nation, it still doesn’t help Zuko’s case.

Y/N chuckles and reached her hand towards Zuko’s, clasping their hands together. His head snapped towards her and he gave her a weak smile, a poor attempt on his part to cover just how anxious he is.

She extended her other hand to settle on his cheek, rubbing it soothingly. Feeling the texture of his freshly shaven skin, Iroh has been bugging Zuko to try and grow a beard or at least some stubble. But it seems like the idea hasn’t grown on him yet.

“You doing okay there, champ?” Y/N asked softly, cocking her head to the side.

“Honestly? I think i’m about to faint any moment now” Zuko replied, grimacing.

She trailed the both of her hands down slowly and finally settling on his waist, pulling him in closer into a hug. She leaned her face forward so that the tip of their noses and forehead are touching. Zuko sigh contentedly, enjoying all the ways that their bodies came into contact with each other. Relishing the feeling of her being soo close to him. Y/N once said that he might have a case of touch-starved, reluctant as he might on admitting it, he’s starting to see her point.

“Don’t let go” He mumbled out breathily and he earned another chuckle from his lover, a sound that always brings a smile to his lips.

“I see the appeal, love. But how are we supposed to greet them properly with the sickening amount of PDA that we’re displaying?” She teased him, to which Zuko just grunt in response, grudgingly putting some space between them.

They turned to look towards the ships, seeing that now it has dropped its anchors and the ramps are being lowered to the harbor.

One by one the passengers stepped out, the first few ones out is Chief Arnook and his wife, followed by the rest of the Council of Elders. Then two familiar figures made their way down, Tulok and Yuka, Y/N’s parents.

Y/N waved a hand excitedly towards them and they too gave a bright smile in return as they approach. When they all have stood in front of each other, Zuko and Y/N bow first to show their respect towards the elders, and they too follow suit after.

“It is my pleasure to welcome you here, Chief and Chieftess, I wish you a pleasant stay and the best of the Fire Nation can offer” Zuko said, addresing the leader of Northern Water Tribe.

“The pleasure is all mine, Fire Lord Zuko. After all this is a joyous momentum for both our people, the joining of Water Tribe and Fire Nation” Chief Arnook said solemnly, face showing his earnestness and support towards the union. “And it’s good to see you too, Ambassador Y/N” He said, looking towards Y/N.

“As do I, Chief Arnook. Thank you for coming all the way here for my wedding” She gave him a grateful smile.

The chief and chieftess then moved back to give space for Y/N’s parents. Y/N can hear Zuko’s breath starting to get heavy and she discretely put her hand on his lower back, rubbing soothing circles there.

Zuko and Y/N gave another bow, this time lower than the previous one. “Elder Tulok and Yuka, i’m humbled by your presence” Zuko said, still maintaining his bow.

“That is supposed to be my line, Fire Lord Zuko. Although formalities should be put aside if can, seeing that soon we’ll be family” Tulok said warmly, catching him by surprise.

Y/N’s mother also gave him a welcoming smile. “Thank you for taking care of our daughter, Fire Lord Zuko. And please just call us Yuka and Tulok, no need for the titles”

Zuko gave them a nod and smile back in return, “Of course, but only if you call me Zuko, after all i’ll be your son soon like you said”.

Y/N felt her chest swelling with happiness at the exchange between Zuko and her parents, they are off to a good start and that is more than she hoped for. Hopefully the rest of the week will be even better.

———————————————————————

That night, Y/N was preparing for bed, humming a tune under her breath when the door to her bedroom swung open.

It’s Zuko, standing in his sleeping robe, hair cascading freely down his shoulder. It’s getting quite long and she really likes how it looks on him, by Tui how is it even possible for someone to be that effortlessly good looking.

“Hello there, my soon-to-be husband. What brought you here?”

Zuko stood for a while, just leaning against the door, watching her. Wondering to himself how did he ever get soo lucky?

He took a few strides in and sat on the edge of her bed. “Uncle has taught you the complete procession of a traditional Fire Nation wedding, right?” He asked.

“Only about three times on every single day, him and Ty Lee both” She said, rolling her eyes. Even Zuko let out an amused snort. “What about it?”

“The tea ceremony... it’s been weighing on my mind a lot lately, more and more as our wedding draw closer”

Y/N’s expression turned into one of understanding as she knows for sure it’s not pity that he needs. The tea ceremony comes after the exchanging of vows, the both of them are supposed to serve tea to their elders, meaning their grandparents and parents. But Zuko only has Iroh, of course there is Ozai but it’s not exactly ideal isn’t it?

She moved towards where he’s currently sitting and let his head rest on her shoulder, fingers moving up to tangle itself between his silky locks.

“What do you want to do about it, Zuko?” She asked him softly.

“I know I owe him nothing... my father I mean. But it’s just that I’d like him to know that his son is getting married, not that I think that he would care. I was never his favorite child”

“Hey look at me” Y/N glides her fingers to cup his chin, moving it upwards so they see eye-to-eye. “There’s nothing wrong about what you’re feeling. I know that Ozai is a bad person and there’s nothing we could do about it, but he’s still your father”

“Yeah... I just feel so... helpless and pathetic. All he ever did was shun my existence and treat me like trash, but here I am still wanting to keep him on the loop as if it would matter” His eyes are closed, face contorting into one of pain. Y/N can’t even imagine the depth of his inner struggle when it comes to his family. She even felt bad because family is everything to her, and she’s lucky to be blessed with a great one.

“Look... the decision is all yours. If you decide to face him one more time then i’ll support you no matter what, get yourself the closure that you need, Zuko.... and find peace”

“Y/N?” He called for her, there’s a change in the tone of his voice, no longer somber.

“Yes, love?”

“You’re starting to sound more and more like Uncle Iroh these days, I think you’re spending too much time around him”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” She asked, scrunching her eyebrows together, slightly confused.

“Meh...” Zuko said, shrugging his shoulder. “ —I haven’t decided yet”

———————————————————————

After his defeat and stripped of his firebending abilities, Ozai was sentenced to a life in prison for several war crimes. The Capital City Prison where Iroh was once held captive, is now his new home. To spend the rest of his life behind bars and cold stone walls, with the ghost of his failure as the only companion.

But perhaps today fate and Agni decided to humor him as the door that leads to his cell swung open, revealing none other than the face of his son, the new Fire Lord.

Ozai hands involuntarily clenched at his side, face pulled into a sneer at the unexpected visitor. He watched as Zuko closed the door behind him, his other hand balancing a tray of teapot and 2 small cups.

“I was not aware that tea is a specialty of this particular prison” Although what Ozai said could passed as a banter, his cold tone indicates anything but that.

Zuko took his sweet time sitting down, folding his legs crossed style and placing the tray in front of him slowly. Keeping his nerves intact and delaying the inevitable as long as he can.

“It’s jasmine... care for some?” He finally spoke, looking straight back at Ozai’s amber eyes for the first time since he entered the room.

Their fondness for jasmine tea is the only thing that Zuko can confidently said shared between the two of them. Even the first time that he tried this kind of tea when he was little, was from the leftover of his father’s unfinished drink. He was curious and the tea was still hot anyway, so he took a sip. The deliciousness of the brew tickled his taste bud. That’s how he developed his love for jasmine tea until today.

Although Ozai made no answer nor any indication, Zuko still poured the hot liquid into one of the cups and slide it beneath the bars. The calming scent of jasmine filling the air, ridding it of the usual dampen smell.

He poured another cup for himself, all the while sparing one or two glances his father’s way. Watching the calculation that he could see clearly behind his eyes, although he’s never good at reading him, Zuko can definitely tell that right now he is bemused.

His hand toyed around with the cup, drumming his fingers on it. One two seconds later he finally grasped it and bring the cup under his nose, eyes closed, inhaling the scent deeply as he swirl the liquid around counter clockwise.

After he took one long sip, Ozai turned his attention to Zuko. Taking in his appearance, from the Fire Lord headpiece to the flowing ornate robe.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of being graced by His Highness’s company?”

The stony look plastered on his face combine with his disdainful voice nearly made Zuko freeze on spot, it certainly brings back a lot of bad memories.

“I’m getting married” He said, keeping his voice as even as possible, showing no sign of emotions, just as how he taught him.

But that statement piqued Ozai’s interest as he raised one of his eyebrows. “Indeed?”

“My betrothed... she’s Northern Water Tribe” He continued, trying to gauge out a reaction. It surprised him that his father still manages to keep his restraint.

“How....” Ozai stopped mid sentence, cocking his head to the side, eyes looking upward as if thinking hard. “—Intriguing” He finally said, finding the fitting word that he’s looking for.

“Intriguing? that’s it?” Zuko asked, now he’s surely the more confused one out of the two.

“Well at least she’s not Southern, what else do you expect me to say, Zuko?” Ozai retorted back, he is clearly enjoying this confrontation. “I don’t think any of your actions would astound me ever again, ever since you turned your back on me and chose to support the Avatar, I know better”

Zuko let out an aggravated yell, “I don’t know why I even bother”

Ozai had the nerve to laugh, “Believe me, son. I thought the same thing, if you think keeping me here is going to change anything well you misread it all, I raised you better than that. That is stupid even for you”

Zuko stood up quickly, tossing one last look at his father, “Bold of you to say you raised me when you were never there”

He turned around and reach for the door handle, turning it open.

“Goodbye, father”

Then he closed the door after him, along with a chapter of his life.

———————————————————————

Y/N is bringing her parents along to take a stroll through the palace. Showing them all the nooks and crannies that she herself has gotten familiar to. They had visited the gardens earlier and now is in the Royal Gallery, a hallway that displays large hanging portraits of previous Fire Lords.

“They executed the menacing look excellently, that’s for certain” Tulok said, head tilting upwards, eyeing the portrait of Fire Lord Sozin. He looked both amazed and terrified at the same time. Her father is quite the art enthusiast after all.

“I believe that’s exactly what they aimed for, dear. To strike terror into whoever is looking, fear is power to them” Yuka replied as she too stand in-between the portrait of Azulon and Ozai, admiring the details.

Meanwhile Y/N chose to stand a few feet back from them as she already had her fair share of looking at every single portrait there. But then Yuka turned around and direct her attention to her daughter, “Does Zuko not want a portrait of himself? I see that it stopped at Fire Lord Ozai” She asked curiosly.

“I don’t think so, mother. He said the style of the portraits doesn’t suit him, he doesn’t want people to view him like his predecessors”

“I see, that’s a relief” Her mother look satisfied with the answer, even letting out a smile. But her father doesn’t look appeased.

“Sweetheart?” Tulok said as he slowly approached her, taking the both of her hands in his. Her mother follow suit by placing one of her hands on her husband’s shoulder.

“Are you happy here? now don’t get me wrong, I know you are a smart woman and you’ll make all the right choices but as a parents we can’t help but worry anyway” Her father started out, her mother hummed in agreement, nodding her head. “Especially because your marriage is such a unique case, of course there are lots of people who have done this before you, marrying someone from other nation. But sweetheart, you are marrying the leader of a nation, your burden is way bigger than them”

Y/N gave her parents a reassuring smile and she placed her palm on top of her father’s hand. “I know you’re worried, but please father and mother, there is absolutely nothing for you to worry about”

“I am happy here, truly. And Zuko... he’s everything to me, I love him to the ends of this world. I always dreamt that one day I will find someone who will love me the way that you love mother, and I believe that I have” She said earnestly. Her words brought some sort of comfort to her parents.

“If you are happy, then that’s all that matter to us, sweetheart” Yuka said, giving a kiss to the crown of her head.

Y/N hugged both of her parents tightly, “Thank you... for everything”

And the three of them stayed inside the embrace, letting faith run its course.

———————————————————————

1 day before the wedding....

Y/N and Zuko sat side by side in the Royal Spa, with Tulok, Yuka, and Uncle Iroh as audience. A handmaiden stood behind them, holding a tray with 2 scissors and a red pouch on top of it. They are about to do one of the sacred traditions for bride and groom before their wedding takes place.

The handmaiden passed out the scissors to each of them and thus the ceremony begins. Y/N hold a lock of her hair and cut some of it off. Zuko doing the same thing beside her. Uncle Iroh then stepped forward and took both locks of hair and tied it together in a knot. The handmaiden present the pouch to him and he put it inside carefully before sealing it tight. The tying of knot signifies the bride and groom becoming one in flesh and blood to live happily ever after, or so they believed.

In no time at all, the ceremony is done and Uncle Iroh congratulated the both of them. Tulok then approached Zuko and said “May I have a moment?” to which Zuko nodded.

Both men then stepped out to the hallway outside to have some privacy.

“I know you are the Fire Lord and all but if you hurt my daughter in any way, I won’t hesitate to hunt you down myself” Tulok said, damn Zuko is even more scared now than he was at his first Agni Kai.

Zuko gulped and gave him a firm nod, “Understood, sir. I wouldn’t have it any other way and I promise you that that’s the farthest thing from my mind”

“I love your daughter with all my heart, by Agni I would die for her if I must”

Tulok’s cold manner melted, replaced with a knowing smile, “I know you do, I can see it in your eyes”

“Thank you for making her happy, Zuko” He said as he suddenly pulled Zuko into a hug.

A stunned Zuko hugged him back awkwardly, clearly taken by surprise but he accept it anyway. “Oh and Zuko?” Tulok said again, making him straightened his posture back so that he can look at him better.

“You can call me father... if you want to that is”

Zuko is overcome with bliss, not only did he earned Tulok’s blessing but now he is openly accepting him in the family. A wide grin made its way to his face, making him appeared like his younger self but less burdened.

“Father....” Zuko said, testing the word out to which Tulok gave him an encouraging nod.

“Father works for me” He said lastly, as both men gave each other a pat in the back before they walked back inside the spa.

———————————————————————

The Wedding....

Y/N took in a deep breath, admiring her surroundings as she stood in front of her now husband after exchanging their vows. Smiling at him brightly as she can’t contain her happiness that this day has finally come. Although wedding is usually presided over by a Fire Sage, Zuko and Y/N decided to have Aang to stand in instead. Which is the right decision since he made it a lot more fun and enjoyable. He might have even tripped over the words at some point, he’s not even the one getting married but his excitement is sky-rocketting.

The wedding ceremony is held in the Throne Room that has been transformed completely it’s even hard to recognize at first. Large-scale decoration in the form of red lampions and lanterns of flowers decorated every inch of the walls. The invitees cheered loudly as they sealed the vow with a kiss. Zuko even vaguely heard Sokka’s voice shouting “OoOhH get it, buddy!!!” over the crowd.

They decided to keep the kiss short but sweet to save some for later, when they’re finally away from prying eyes (and Sokka’s inappropriate comments). Zuko and Y/N moved to do the next procession which is Baitang. Firstly they bow to worship the heaven and the earth. The second they bow to Tulok, Yuka, and Iroh as a respect to their elders. For the last bow, Zuko and Y/N stood face to face and bow to each other as a respect to one another as husband and wife.

The last item that they must do is the tea ceremony. The very thing that Zuko was stressing over sometime ago, but now he feels nothing but relief. He had done his duty as a son by serving tea to Ozai, although it’s under a rather unconventional situation and doesn’t turned out the way he wants it to. But at least he had tried and that’s what counts most.

Zuko and Y/N both knelt in front of Tulok, Iroh and Yuka, as a handmaiden passed a boiling teapot to them. This time it contains ginseng tea, Iroh’s favorite, as per Zuko’s request. Zuko took delight in the way his uncle’s eyes lights up as he recognized the scent and throw a big smile his way. The both of them then poured the liquid carefully into separate cups and served it. The sound of striked gong reverberated around the room, signaling the end of the wedding ceremony. And Y/N and Zuko rise together, now officially the Fire Lord and Fire Lady of the Fire Nation.

Y/N watched as performers started to crowd the makeshift dance floor, Fire Nation performers stood to the right and Water Tribe performers to the left. With the steady beat of drum accompanying them, they started to perform both fire and waterbending. Awed gasps can be heard all over as all eyes are on the elegant harmony that the performers have successfully created out of the two opposing elements.

Y/N and Zuko sees it as a promise of what’s to come, of what the both of them can achieve despite their differences. They are fire and water and they are made for one another.

———————————————————————

A/N : Whew that’s definitely a long one! Personally I love this so much I think this may be my best piece yet but I would love to hear what you think about it 😄☺️ As always, feedbacks are appreciated and hoped for!! thank you for reading 💙❤️

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skeeter-110 · 3 years

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A Twist in the Tale (That’s Old as Time)

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. As punishment for his actions, the young prince is transformed into a monstrous beast by a mysterious enchantress. Only condition is if he can learn to love someone and earn their love in return, the curse will be lifted. The prince - now turned Beast - felt doomed for eternity; until he met a little boy with a heart of gold.

AKA: a Beauty and the Beast Irondad AU

Read on AO3

|| Chapter One || || Chapter Two ||

Chapter Three: Dinnertime Disaster

Peter's sob-fest was quickly interrupted a few minutes later by knocking on the door. Peter only stopped crying long enough to sniffle and wipe some of the tears off of his face.

"Who is it?" Peter quietly asks, his voice sounding rough from all of the crying he's been doing.

"Mrs. Potts, dear." A female voice responds making Peter wipe his face a bit more and run to open the door. "I thought you might like a spot of tea." The voice says again, Peter opening the door only to be pushed back by a teapot, and a couple of tea and sugar cups hopping into the room.

"But you're... you're a..." Peter tries to stammer out through his shock, only succeeding in backing up into a wardrobe.

"Oh! Careful." The wardrobe warns, Peter spinning around as soon as he heard the voice and come face to face - literally - with the wardrobe.

"This is impossible." Peter marvels out loud as he plops back down on the bed, the wardrobe tipping over to land on the bed next to him.

"I know it is, but here we are." The wardrobe responds.

"I told you he looked sweet, Mama, didn't I?" The teacup says.

"All right, Morgan, now, that'll do." The teapot - Mrs. Potts, Peter's mind supplies - says, getting the teacup - Morgan - to stop talking so the sugar bowl could pour some sugar into the tea.

"Slowly now. Don't spill." Mrs. Potts instructs as Morgan begins to hop closer to the bed. Peter took his cue, getting down on the floor and picking Morgan up. He also tried not to think about how weird it was that he was about to drink out of a sentient thing that had a name as he did so.

"Thank you." Peter thanks.

"Wanna see me do a trick?" Morgan asks as soon as Peter took a sip, making him pull her away from his lips. Peter watched in surprise as Morgan began to blow bubbles out of the top.

"Morgan!" Mrs. Potts scolds as Morgan and Peter both giggle at the popping bubbles of tea.

"Oops. Sorry." Morgan sheepishly apologizes.

"That was a very brave thing you did, my dear." Mrs. Potts praises.

"We all think so." The wardrobe adds right after.

"But I've lost my Aunt, my dreams, everything." Peter sadly says, looking away from all of them in an attempt to hide and get rid of the tears that were forming once again.

"Cheer up, Child. It'll turn out all right in the end. You'll see." Mrs. Potts tries to soothe before giggling at herself. "Oh, listen to me jabbering on while there's a supper to get on the table. Morgan?" Mrs. Potts says as she began hopping out of the room.

"Bye." Morgan bid farewell as she hops after her mother.

"Well, now, what shall we dress you in for dinner?" The wardrobe asks once it was just her and Peter in the room. "Oh, let's see what I got in my drawers." The wardrobe says, already beginning to rummage through her drawers and pulling out a bunch of evening clothes.

"That's very kind of you, but I'm not going to dinner." Peter stops her, making her gasp.

"Oh, but you must." She says, both of them looking towards the door when they heard Happy enter the bedroom.

"Dinner is served."

* * *

The Beast was pacing back in forth in front of the fireplace they had in the dining room as he waited for Peter to join him.

"What's taking so long? I told him to come down. Why isn't he here yet?" The Beast impatiently asks.

"Try to be patient, Sir. The boy has lost his Aunt and his freedom all in one day." Ms. Potts tries to placate.

"Master, have you thought that perhaps this boy could be the one to break the spell?" Rhodey chimes in, causing the Beast to whirl on him.

"Of course I have! I'm not a fool." The Beast snaps.

"Good! So, you learn to love and care for him, he comes to love you, and poof! The spell is broken. We'll be human again by midnight." Rhodey continues.

"Oh, it's not that easy, Rhodey. These things take time." Ms. Potts reminds, making sure Rhodey didn't get too ahead of himself and created false hope.

"But the rose has already begun to wilt."

"Oh, it's no use. He's a child and I'm - well - look at me! I'm something he'd see in his nightmares." The Beast grumbles, making both Ms. Potts and Rhodey sigh at his self-depreciation.

"You must help him to see past all that." Ms. Potts gently coaches.

"I don't know how." The Beast grumpily admits, causing Ms. Potts to furrow her brows in determination before hopping down towards him.

"Well, you can start by making yourself more presentable. Straighten up. Try to act like a gentleman." Ms. Potts commands, The Beast being quick to stop slouching and obey her.

"Yes. When he comes in, give him a dashing, debonair smile. Come, come, show me the smile." Rhodey is next to order, the Beast attempting to give a charming smile, which just turned into him showing off all of his razor-sharp teeth.

"But don't frighten the poor boy." Ms. Potts says, both her and Rhodey taking turns trying to explain what Beast should do to make Peter feel more welcomes.

"Impress him with your rapier wit."

"But be gentle."

"Shower him with compliments."

"But be sincere."

"And above all-"

"-you must control your temper!" Both Rhodey and Ms. Potts finish at the same time, the handle to the door jiggling right after.

"Here he is!" Rhodey excitedly says, making the Beast put on a smile as the door swings open. Only, Happy was the one to poke his head around the door, and he appeared to be there alone.

"Good evening." Happy nervously greets, causing the Beast's smile to fall.

"Well, where is he?" The Beast questions.

"Who? Oh," Happy begins, nervously laughing when he realized that playing dumb was getting him nowhere, "the boy, yes. The... boy. Well, actually, he's in the process of... uh... circumstances being what they are... oh... he's not coming." Happy stutters about before finally spitting it out.

"WHAT?" The Beast screams, instantly bursting out of the dining hall and running up towards the room Peter was staying in.

"Oh, dear. Your Grace! Your Eminence! Let's not be hasty!" Happy yells at the Beast as all three of them run after him.

As soon as the Beast slid over to Peter's door, he began banging on it as hard as he could, practically shaking the walls as he did so.

"I thought I told you to come down to dinner!" The beast screams through the door at Peter, everyone behind him shaking their heads at his harsh tone.

"I'm not hungry." Peter's small voice reaches out the hall, making Beast's hair stand up on his back due to how angry he was.

"You'll come out or I'll-I'll... I'll break down the door!"

"Master, I could be wrong, but that may not be the best way to win the boy's affections." Rhodey hesitantly chimes in.

"Please attempt to be a gentleman." Happy practically begs.

"But he is being so difficult." Beast points out as if that was going to excuse his behavior.

"Gently, gently." Ms. Potts coaxes, the Beast giving her an unimpressed look before turning back towards the door.

"Will you come down to dinner?" The Beast asks in a quiet and bored voice.

"No!" Peter still denies, the Beast turning towards everyone and giving them an, "I told you so" look.

"Ah-Ah," Happy tuts before coaching, "suave, genteel."

"It would give me great pleasure if you would join me for dinner." The Beast says with fake enthusiasm, Happy cutting in right after.

"And we say 'please'."

"Please." The Beast grits through his teeth, only to get the same answer in return.

"No, thank you."

"You can't stay in there forever!" Beast angrily yells at the boy.

"Yes, I can." Peter argues back, clearly dead set on being as stubborn as possible.

"Fine! Then go ahead and starve!" The Beast screams once again, turning the end of his sentence into a roar. "If he doesn't eat with me, then he doesn't eat at all!" Beast tells the gang behind him before angrily storming off down the hall and slamming the door after him.

"Oh, dear. That didn't go very well at all, did it?" Ms. Potts comments as Happy turns towards Rhodey.

"Rhodey, stand watch at the door and inform me at once if there is the slightest change." Happy commands, Rhodey walking right in front of Peter's door and getting ready to stand guard.

"You can count on me, mon Capitaine." Rhodey salutes.

"Well, we might as well go downstairs and start cleaning up." Happy sighs prompting both him and Ms. Potts to start heading back downstairs.

Meanwhile, the Beast was running down the hall in the west wing, slamming open a pair of doors at the end of the hall.

"I ask nicely, but he refuses," Beast grumbles, taking a broken chair that was sitting in front of the doors and throwing it clear across the room. "what does he want me to do, beg?" Beast angrily asks the air, stomping over to a table that held only two things; a rose glowing brightly inside a large glass bell and an enchanted mirror.

"Show me the boy." Beast growls as he swipes the mirror off the table, the last thing he saw was his own reflection before the magic of the mirror took over and showed him the image of Peter sitting on his bed next to the wardrobe.

'But the master's really not so bad, once you get to know him. Why don't you give him a chance?' The wardrobe tries to cajole.

'I don't want to get to know him. I don't want to have anything to do with him. He's mean and scary.' Peter tells the wardrobe, making the Beast wince and look away from the mirror.

"I'm just fooling myself. He'll never see me as anything, but a monster." Beast sighs, gently placing the mirror face down on the table, right next to the wilting rose that was already losing another petal.

"It's hopeless."

Tag List: @joyful-soul-collector @lost-lunar-wolf @spideyspeaches @hatakehikari @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad #fanfiction #beauty and the beast #kid peter parker #platonic love

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vintagedaydreams · 4 years

Text

True Love Never Runs Smoothly Part Two

I never really intended to continue this, since my muse packed her bags and left only a few sentences past where I ended it, but I had an absolutely lovely request to continue it and whaddya know? That muse of mine came back for a brief time!

However, she’s a fickle thing – so, I do have two options at the end. Chime in with what you’d prefer, and we’ll go that route. Or maybe both! We’ll have to see how it all shakes out. But you all may need to be my muses for awhile!!

Carlisle x Female Reader

Warnings: Mention of suicidal thoughts, language.

Enjoy!

You woke up to a hand running lightly over your back. You blinked at the unfamiliar room you could see from where your face was smushed into a pillow and suddenly the past few weeks, yesterday in particular, came back to you with a vengeance.

You froze, stiffening up almost painfully at the thought that it was Carlisle making the bed dip slightly from around your hip, and Carlisle’s hand on your back. You didn’t know what you were going to do if it was, (human vs. vampire didn’t really work out well), and the thought that you were essentially helpless made a tendril of fear slither through your veins.

“I knew my dear friend had done some damage, not fully accepting the Mate Claim, but I didn’t realize he had messed it up quite this bad,” came the smooth, quiet voice of Aro.

You opened your mouth to deny that Carlisle had messed anything up – this Mating thing wasn’t his idea!- but shut it without uttering a sound. The sheer relief you felt that it was Aro, one of the three ruling kings who drank from innocent people and who was generally made out to be a power hungry vampire with no regard to human life, and not Carlisle who wouldn’t hurt a fly and was probably one of the nicest people you knew, said a lot.

Yup. Carlisle had messed up quite badly.

“Carlisle, Esme and myself had quite the little chat last night,” Aro continued as you slowly rolled over onto your back to face him, “and I do believe that some of it even sunk in.”

You snorted, not feeling particularly gracious towards any of the Cullen family at this point, except maybe Edward.

“Well, I hope it serves him well in the future with Esme,” you muttered, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Unfortunately for dear Esme, our talk didn’t include her in Carlisle’s future. At least, not to the extent she has been accustomed to. No, our talk centered around you and Carlisle and your relationship, such as it is.”

You’re not sure where you got the guts, or maybe you were hoping the vampire in front of you would just end it already, but you found yourself shooting back, “I wasn’t aware mate counseling was in your repertoire. Helped a lot of couples between feedings, have you?”

It was silent in the room, Aro’s red eyes boring into your own before he suddenly gave a large, somewhat manic smile. “I positively cannot wait until my dear friend is back in your good graces. I am going to enjoy having you be a part of our world immensely.”

You frowned, yesterday’s punishment ceremony rearing its ugly head in your memories.

“I think, Aro, you would be the only one. I was not really exaggerating yesterday. I am…not well liked in the Cullen/Hale household at this time.”

Aro was waving a hand dismissively before you even finished speaking.

“Carlisle’s band of misfits were always odd, (Y/N). Do not take it personally. In our world, the Mate Bond is a sacred thing. Carlisle has always been known for his control, even among the Volturi, but to fight the Bond because of a love that would hold up as a candle would to a bonfire, well…I am beginning to agree with Ciaus. The man’s an idiot.”

That startled a laugh out of you and Aro’s eyes shone with triumph.

“There. That is much more suited to you. Now, if my limited knowledge of human care is correct, you are probably hungry, yes?”

Your stomach chose that moment to answer for itself and you blushed as Aro laughed, delighted.

“Go ahead and freshen up, (Y/N). I shall go and have our cooks prepare something for you. They should still be in the kitchen from our human staff’s lunch.”

“Wait…lunch?” you asked, eyes wide. Aro shot you a grin as he stood with a ridiculous amount of grace.

“It is just past the one o’clock hour. You’ve been dead to the world, to coin a phrase, for around sixteen hours.”

You rubbed a hand over your face. For sixteen hours of sleep, why did you feel like you could sleep another twenty?

“I shall have someone escort you down when you are ready.”

Your eyes shot up to meet Aro’s own. “What? Oh, no, I’d rather just –”

“There will be no hiding, (Y/N). You have done nothing wrong and will find no condemnation here. Carlisle’s, what does he call them-family?, they are the ones in the wrong. Not one vampire in this world, apart of them, would even dream of putting you, a Bond Mate through what they are.” Aro’s voice dropped a few registers as he added, “A Bond Mate should never be driven to contemplate suicide due to the actions of his or her mate. The punishment we offered you yesterday is not considered harsh to us, but justifiable for breaking such a sacred bond. But,” his voice suddenly was back to being almost creepily happy, “what’s done is done! So, head held high, my dear and I’ll have someone ready outside your door to take you downstairs when you are ready. Do enjoy anything in here!”

And with a flourish of his hand, he was exiting the room.

You stared at the door to your room after it shut.

Honestly. Was there any other vampire out there even half as flamboyant as Aro? Nevermind that the man had a wife…

Still shaking your head at his childlike antics, you headed to the bathroom to take a shower. Maybe you’d feel more able to ‘hold your head up high’ once you were clean and dressed.

A half hour later, you stood in front of the door to your room, hands nervously pulling down the sleeves of the long sleeve shirt you’d found in one of the drawers, along with a pair of jean shorts.

You were so not ready for this. And no amount of showers or sleep was going to prepare you for this. How could you go out there with your head held high when you knew damn well that the only people in this castle that you considered family, (at least you had), absolutely hated your guts?

And with how you reacted to what you thought was Carlisle in your room this morning, how the hell were you going to be able to actually look him in the face?

Oh, this was not a good idea. Not a good idea at all. Maybe you’d just starve yourself, starting today. You didn’t really need any food right now, right? Wasn’t there some kind of fasting you could say you were doing?

You were not prepared to go downstairs!

“Miss (Y/L/N)?” came a low voice from the other side of the closed door. “You’ve been standing there awhile. Is everything alright?”

Damn vampire senses to hell.

“Y-yeah,” you croaked out, clearing your throat and tugging the sleeves of the shirt one last time in nervous anticipation. “I’m…fine. Just….not very hungry?”

Damnit. Why did that sound more like a question than a statement?

“Master Aro has instructed me to escort you downstairs, Miss (Y/L/N).”

You blew out a heavy breath. Of course Aro would. That man covered his bases like Babe Ruth. You took a few steps to the door and opened it slowly, peering out at the large vampire in the hallway.

“You’re…Felix, right?”

“Yes, m’lady,” Felix beamed, seemingly ecstatic that you remembered him from the night before. Like anyone could forget the mountain of a man.

Holding out an arm for you, Felix gently looped yours through his and began to take you down the hallway. Your entire body seemed to be trembling from nerves and you swallowed heavily.

Now you really weren’t hungry. What if you ran into one of the Cullens? How humiliating would it be when they glared or snapped at you in front of Felix? Bond Mates were supposed to be sacred and yet, they treated you like dirt. What was wrong with you? You’d always dreamt as a child about finding someone who would be made specifically for you, and love you unconditionally and when you literally fell into the bond that was supposed to fulfill all that, you still ended up heartbroken.

Felix suddenly stopped, causing you to come to a sudden stop as well and you snapped out of your thoughts, turning to look at him. The stupidly tall vampire was looking straight ahead, a frown firmly fixed on his face and you turned that way as well.

You felt the blood drain from your face as you caught sight of Carlisle.

Carlisle must’ve noticed your reaction to him, because his face suddenly contorted into a mixture of pain and absolute devastation.

You had to close your eyes, lest you lose control of yourself and run to him to try and make it all better. Aro was right – you had done nothing wrong. And this time, you weren’t going to be the one to try and fix it.

“(Y/N),” Carlisle said quietly, though you heard him loud and clear. “Please, may I…”

He trailed off and so you opened his eyes to see Carlisle’s golden iris shining wetly in the dim light from the hallway. Your own eyes filled with tears in response, but Aro’s words from earlier came back to you.

You had done nothing wrong. Time to hold your head up high. It’s not like you were going to stay in Italy for the rest of your life and you needed to get a backbone here, while you still had support, and not lean so heavily on the Volturi to run interference.

That in mind, you looked up to Felix, giving a small nod. “If you could, Felix,” you murmured. The giant vampire hesitated before giving a short bow and suddenly disappearing.

Great. Too bad you couldn’t just do that.

A soft rustle of fabric turned your attention back to where Carlisle was and your eyes widened.

The golden eyed vampire was on his knees a few feet in front of you, head down and hands lifted slightly towards you, palms up.

You blinked at the gesture of total submission, unable to compute the fact that this man, this vampire, was on his knees in front of you, a mortal, mate or no.

“(Y/N),” Carlisle’s voice breathed out, “forgive me.”

You felt the breath punched out of your lungs as the quiet, desperate tone the doctor used.

“I was -am- a fool, (Y/N),” he continued, head still bowed. “I have listened to my son, Edward, for too long. I do not feel…good, (Y/N). That is why I continue to be a doctor, continue to try and help people, to try and atone for what I am. I do not…feel worthy of you. You are a good person, with your entire life ahead of you. I did not want to…see that destroyed, by having you with me. Esme, she is someone I turned myself, many, many years ago. She had no other option, no other life to live. But you…you are bright, talented, wonderful and have so much to offer the world alive and whole.”

You felt your throat tighten up. He still didn’t want you.

You must’ve made some sort of noise, because Carlisle’s head snapped up and he was suddenly on his feet, his hands gently cupping your cheeks as he bent his knees slightly to look directly into your eyes.

“No, no, (Y/N),” he murmured, voice agonized, “please, let me finish. Aro talked some sense into me, last night. You were made for me, (Y/N), and I you. I was a fool, an awful, selfish fool, to not embrace the Bond, to make you feel inadequate. You are more worthy of your place in this family than any of us, and we have all acted abominably towards you, myself more than anyone. Please, darling, please give me a chance to make this right.”

Alright! Which way should we go??

HEA starting now? (There will be plenty of fluff, little bit of angst, and everything else!)

Or make dear Carlisle, (and you), suffer more? (So…much more angst this route! And not a lot of fluff.)

I’m actually begging for someone to make a decision! If left to my own devices, this will end right here and now. (Procrastinator = me.) 😊

#Carlisle x reader #Twilight Imagine #Vampires #Volturi

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scottishoctopus · 4 years

Text

Not So Heartless After All.

Chapter 6: The Aftermath.

Warning!

*Implied past child abuse and mature language included in this chapter!*

~ ~ ~

"And I thought the Darkened Thorn was indestructible."

A relaxed voice mumbled to themselves. A voice belonging to a man who was stood by watching the crew of the Darkened Thorn climb abroad his ship, the Poison Grail. They all looked to be shaking terribly, probably from spending too much time either trying to find land or attempting to get passing ships to notice them. They seemed to be starving too, as their faces were pale as a ghost and their bodies looked thin. They must of spent maybe a couple of days on the boats that they had evacuated to, the man assumed as he watched the scene unfold before him.

The tall man appeared to be a Privateer, as he was dressed in a navy blue uniform with a golden trim lining his long coat and wrists, the front of his coat was patterned with yet more gold lining. This man certainly gave off a sense of authority and nobility around him with his sense of style.

He wore a crimson red vest on top of his pristine white undershirt, though you could barely see that as his coat was buttoned up tight so he could keep as much warmth as possible from the cold breeze from the ocean. Strapped at his waist was an elegant sword, the handle made out of bronze and silver that were decorated with black and golden stripes. Certainly a work of art and luxury made by an extremely skilled blacksmith.

On top of his head was also a navy hat but was decorated with beautiful angelic feathers on top. His face was young and smooth, looking to be in his early thirties. He had jet black hair neatly hidden underneath his hat, and had brown eyes shining with disapproval. He had no desire to wear a wig like so many that he sailed with, he liked having his hair out in the open blowing with the gentle wind.

His elegant stance shifted slightly as he spotted the captain of the Darkened Thorn, well not a captain anymore so to speak. Justin Daniels turned to face the man, and his furious expression that was on his rat-like face had softened slightly as he approached him. Transforming into annoyance.

"Lachlan Houghton, I must thank you for aiding me for once in your life." Justin sarcastically greeted, not showing any gratitude for his saviour as he crossed his arms together like a bratty child and stepped in front of the man, who rolled his eyes in response.

He had dealt with this man before.

Many times.

"That is Privateer Houghton, Mister Daniels. I honestly hoped I wouldn't have to be in a situation like this." Lachlan corrected Justin, putting a stern emphasis on his title and moving his hands together behind his back, pale fingers connecting with each other. Justin immediately frowned with jealousy at the response, eyes gleaming with hate as his fingers around his elbows dug into his damp clothing.

"And that is Captain Daniels." Justin quickly replied. Nearly cutting off the man mid sentence. Replicating the same stern manner that Lachlan had just done now except with a dark smile that was wanting to rise onto his wrinkled face.

"I don't see your ship, captain." The Privateer calmly smiled back, pretending to look over Justin's shoulder as if he was searching for the Darkened Thorn. The smile that was growing on Justin's face had vanished in an instant, and Lachlan could swore that the dark brown eyes on the older man's face had twitched in disgust.

"So, Cutler Beckett decided to promote you and give you a new ship then? After your foolish move in the Bahamas." Justin spat, completely ignoring the reply like it had never happened, examining Lachlan's neat state and the uniform he proudly wore. The captain of the Darkened Thorn was rather in a messy state, some how he had lost the wig and hat he wore on his head and now his blond grey hair was untidy and wet strands of it stuck to his wrinkled forehead. Making him look like he had been involved in an intense bar fight on Tortuga.

"Were it not for my...foolish move, those diseased pirates would of sunk your ship and you along with it. I managed to drive those filth off the islands when I rescued you." Lachlan firmly replied, a large trace of boredom in his sentence.

"I was handling the situation."

"It did not look like that from my point of view."

Lachlan had known Justin for a number of unfortunate years. And never did he find anyone so big headed and selfish like Justin. The two were almost always giving each other glares when they were in a room together, and were certainly always trying to piss off the other. Not only that, but they had always wanted the position to be next to Beckett as it was a very rewarding job and they would be in command of multiple other ships. Both men wanted the upper hand, and were willing to fight each other to the death if that opportunity would ever happen.

"Did you have any casualties?" Lachlan questioned and glanced at the crew members of the Darkened Thorn. One of the men just wouldn't move, even if somebody had tried to get him to his feet. He was sat down against the railing. Staring at the floor. One would immediately think that the man had no life in his eyes. He looked pretty familiar in Lachlan's eyes, but wasn't able to properly recognise him as two other crew members had stepped in front of the sitting man and unintentionally blocked the sight of him from Lachlan.

"Only a few insignificant men. That doesn't matter though. Are you headed to Port Royal?" Justin demanded and caught Lachlan's attention once more. The Privateer angrily frowned at the uncaring dismissal of the lives that were unfortunately lost, mouth twitching into a subtle snarl.

"Indeed I am. Cutler Beckett is going to assign me to a important task." He took great pleasure in the fact that Justin furrowed his brows and gritted his teeth together once again. Yet another jealous expression now fixed on Justin's face. Cutler Beckett hadn't spoken or mentioned an important task, he had only some vital news to share to his work partner. Lachlan just enjoyed seeing the jealously on Justin's rat-like face.

"And what task would that be?"

"It's not your concern, so I don't know why you must insist on sticking your head in." The crew members of the sunken ship instantly turned their pale faces towards Lachlan in deathly shock, their jaws dropping almost to the deck and their expressions on their faces looked like they were screaming, without voices, to tell him to cease talking immediately.

As far as Lachlan knew, it was never a good idea to be angering this man. But he didn't fear him, he had met people that would make anyone's knees buckle in fright and he was much more taller than Justin anyway. He had joyfully angered this man multiple times before, although definitely not in front of the nearby men that served Justin.

Justin immediately became bright red in the face, his hands transforming into tight fists that were both threatening to connect with the Privateer's soft face. Lachlan could imagine steam hissing out the man's like a boiling contraption. The man had surprisingly held that urge back however, and took a step backwards. Giving the Privateer one last glare, he marched angrily out of sight, his fists held steadily at the sides of his body. It seemed like Justin didn't want to make a scene today which Lachlan was thankful for.

The young man sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was slightly relieved that he didn't get another bloody nose from Justin again, that had happened too many times to count and Lachlan was surprised that he hadn't gotten a crooked nose so far.

Turning his eyes to the still man on the floor nearby, he began to walk towards the sat figure and eventually he finally recognised him to be the first mate on the Darkened Thorn.

Spencer.

They had met a couple times in the past before, only when Lachlan was unfortunately stationed upon Justin's ship by Cutler Beckett's order. But he found that he was quite respectful of the first mate, always wondering how he could cope for many years with the most obnoxious person that had ever sailed the seas.

Lachlan made his way over to the still form of Spencer, two of his crew members silently moving aside from the sitting man who they had unsuccessfully tried to see what was possibly wrong with him. His oak brown eyes gazed at Spencer for a brief moment before turning towards the men standing beside him.

"I will take it from here. Continue with your duties, you two." Lachlan assured them, and they quickly nodded and walked off with a determined pace, hurrying back to their work.

"Spencer?" The jet black haired man crouched down to his level and placed his right hand on the left of the silent man's shoulder. Spencer blinked a couple of times, his emerald eyes full of confusion and horror. His head darted around the ship, apparently he hadn't realised where he was sat. His panicked state calmed when his eyes had focused on Lachlan now, he held his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes and forehead.

"How about we head on into my quarters and you can tell me what has happened?" Lachlan offered and Spencer's intense stare mostly looked relieved now, as if he wasn't expecting him to say that. He nodded carefully and used the railing as support to pull himself to his feet. Lachlan gave him a small smile and led Spencer into the captain's cabin.

The room was spotless and pretty large, as if it reflected Lachlan himself. With the many books on the shelves all neatly arranged alphabetically, all written about myths and sea creatures. The man had a fascination with the ocean life, even having a painting of a beautiful sunset with magnificent colours of blues complimenting the sea hung right next to the doors.

There was a large wooden desk in front of the windows, with neatly stacked papers with a paper weight holding the stack down. There was a vintage tea set on a tray opposite the papers, seeming to be made from perhaps Japan. The porcelain was a simple charcoal but decorated with Japanese flowers and patterns, there was only four tea cups but was in the same style.

Next to the desk and sat in the corner of the quarters, was an extremely gigantic painted portrait of Lachlan himself, stood high and mighty on top of his ship. And around him was multiple burning vessels in front of a town full of life and greenery. The painting depicted the day where Lachlan had managed to drive the terrified pirates from one of the islands in the Bahamas that they attempted to invade. Lachlan found that to be one of his most important achievements in his life so far and decided that it should be painted with him in it too.

He was inspired to do just that after one time when he was having tea with his superior and friend Cutler Beckett. The man had shown a painting of himself proudly standing upon a large globe with the East India Trading Company flag flowing right behind him. Cutler Beckett had shared the name of the person who had painted the masterpiece and Lachlan eventually contacted the artist and kindly asked if he could paint a similar picture, but of course of that day Lachlan had imprinted in his mind.

Resting by the papers, was a sleeping cat with it's fur dark as the deepest night. Lachlan firmly believed that having a cat abroad a ship meant good luck so long as the pet was well fed and looked after. The cat was named after Lachlan's father who was Thomas Houghton, certainly a common name for a cat but Lachlan couldn't care less about an unimportant deed such as naming a animal.

Many of his work partners, for example Justin, had joked at his belief, commenting that it was only superstition and that pets didn't belong on ships, but Lachlan ignored them. Whether or whether not the myth was real, he enjoyed having such an adorable creature abroad his ship.

Lachlan guided the suffering man to a soft seat in front of the desk, letting him sit down in it. Spencer held his head in his hands and rubbed at his forehead. He looked exhausted, and Lachlan wondered why his eyes looked so puffy and bright red. He obviously had been crying for a while, but what for?

Because of the deaths? Maybe Spencer was quite close to his crew members and that was why he looked so heartbroken, Lachlan had wondered.

Instead of seating himself in his chair that was tucked into his desk, Lachlan leaned against it as if he was almost sitting on the top of it. He rested his hands on the wooden surface on both his sides and stared hard at Spencer.

"Now, what happened then?" He questioned.

Spencer took a few minutes to reply, extremely silent but Lachlan was certainly not impatient. He wasn't going to sigh and roll his eyes whilst tapping his foot against the floor like a disappointed parent irritated at their misbehaving child, nor tap his fingers against the desk behind him. Lachlan would give all the time Spencer needed to reply, Spencer looked rugged and seemed as all the life in his eyes had vanished like a corpse.

Spencer slowly looked up, a tired sigh escaping his throat as he removed his trembling fingers from his face and placed them on his knees.

"T- The ship crashed into some rocks, we were in a storm and we couldn't see any land or ships," He managed to mutter, although it sounded more like a whisper. As if he was reliving the event through his eyes right at this very minute, his emerald eyes looked haunted as he stuttered his words.

"We evacuated everyone to the boats, but..." Spencer attempted to explain, his voice quiet and sounding like it could break at any moment, and then suddenly stopped as his eyes widened slightly like he had seen somebody get shot right in front of him. His skin looked pale now, as if he was nauseous, sea sick.

"His niece. She...she didn't make it." Spencer looked as if he had a lump in his throat as he tried his hardest to not break down in tears. His eyes were glistening and his hands were beginning to shiver like he was standing out in the cold without any warm clothing on. As soon as he mentioned the niece of Justin Daniels, he immediately lowered his head and closed his eyes. Lachlan noticed that Spencer was trying to fight the urge of crying, and he immediately came closer to the suffering man and placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder.

Lachlan had briefly seen the niece of Justin that one time where he was ordered to stay upon the Darkened Thorn. He had noticed her one time below deck with a young boy around her age who was passing her a slice of bread for her to eat. Lachlan didn't know much about her but she seemed very quiet and he rarely ever saw her above deck which was certainly strange. He then had assumed that she probably didn't like being abroad ships so she spent her time below deck then.

He could never really have the time to know much about her. She was most likely like her uncle anyway, irritating and insufferable. Of course, Lachlan immediately regretted to have thought of that just now. As no child should of have to perish so early in their life.

"That is...unfortunate. How did it happen?" Lachlan further asked, desperately hoping at least she didn't have to go through a most painful death. He loathed it when children had unfortunately died. Even if they were stubborn or selfish, they could change into a much better person when they got older as the years went by, children like them could of had a second chance at life.

"Captain Daniels ordered for us to leave her on the ship." Spencer instantly spat at the question, immediately after Lachlan had finished talking.

The Privateer felt confused now with the reply. He knew Justin could be cold blooded and harsher than most people but was he capable of such a sick act as leaving his niece abroad his sinking ship? Lachlan didn't want to believe that but Justin was a very horrid person so maybe he could of done that.

"That doesn't make any sense, I thought he loved her--" Lachlan began but was cut off by Spencer quickly staring at him with his emerald eyes and opening his mouth to speak.

"He abused her." His eyes were dark now, eyes glistening with tears and his hands trembling with anger now. All trace of sadness disappeared as he revealed his words with no shaky voice now. Lachlan's eyes widened in shock at the revelation. He wanted to say something back but his voice had gone silent and he closed his mouth shut.

Lachlan stood himself up and removed his and from Spencer's shoulder, the man's words were repeating over and over in his head as he tried to let them sink in.

He didn't think Justin was that far gone.

All that time Lachlan was stationed upon the Darkened Thorn and Justin's niece was probably being kicked and spat upon below the wooden floors of the ship. And he didn't know those sickening events was occurring right below his feet? It would explain when he caught a glimpse of her, she had sunken eyes and swollen cheeks. He just assumed she was possibly sick with a disease or that she simply didn't enjoy sailing.

Lachlan sighed and turned back towards Spencer, his brown eyes full of sympathy for him. The first mate must of been close to her for him to be feeling this way.

"I offer my condolences. But at least she is now finally free." Lachlan apologised, his voice mildly broken as he lowered his head towards the floor as if he were paying respect to a deceased person buried in a grave.

"Free?" Spencer immediately stood up from his seat, nearly tipping over the chair by how fast he got back on his feet. Lachlan's eyebrows raised to the point of not returning as he met Spencer's intense stare. His eyes were dark as Justin's, and his voice now angered, as if Lachlan had intentionally insulted him. The Privateer knew he wasn't the best for coming to for advice but he definitely knew he wasn't that bad at giving it.

"What do you mean by that?" Spencer demanded as he approached Lachlan with an intense march. All traces that he was grieving had disappeared like a flick of a hand, now there was only fury as he got up close to Lachlan. The man took a step backwards as he nearly stood in front of him, chests nearly touching. Lachlan felt like Justin was stood intimidatingly before him right now, but it wasn't Justin. It was Spencer, and he had never seen this man look so provoked before!

"I did not mean to anger you, I was apologising for your loss--" Lachlan attempted to explain calmly but Spencer had yet again cut him off. Lachlan really hated it when people did that.

"Bullshit, what did you mean by that?" Spencer snapped with another demand, Lachlan raised his hands up like a child who was caught stealing a piece of fruit, wanting to show that he didn't mean any harm by his words. Spencer backed off slightly but he continued to be furious with the Privateer, his fingers gripping the palms of both hands.

"What I meant is that she has gone through much horror and sadness but now she is finally free of that, and she can live on happily in the afterlife." Lachlan expressed, really hoping that the first mate could see that he didn't mean to provoke him. He made sure that he had a honest expression on his face. Lachlan attempted to place his hand on Spencer's shoulder so that it would make comfort but the man brushed it off. The fury in the man's eyes had softened and was beginning to shine with yet more tears.

"This wasn't supposed to happen!" He croaked out, his voice entirely now broken now. "I was going to leave that bastard Justin, and take her with me so she could have a better life, a proper life!" Spencer rubbed his right arm across his nose and puffy cheeks, removing trails of tears that leaked from his eyes.

"She never deserved to be whipped at, beaten at, burned or- or- or..." Spencer struggled to speak any further as his emotions became heavy and full of heartbreak. He couldn't stand any longer, his legs wobbling and dropped to his knees like life had defeated him and took everything he once had. Beginning to sob and hold his head in his hands. Lachlan quickly lowered to his level and pulled the crying man into a comforting hug, placing a hand on his moving head and the other softly on the man's back. His cries were muffled now as he buried his face in the Privateer's chest, Lachlan could feel his coat becoming damp now.

"I could of saved her! She's dead because of me! It's my fault!" Spencer bawled and hit his hand against Lachlan's chest as if he didn't want to be in this position right now. His body moved with his sobs and attempted to move out of Lachlan's grip but failed as Lachlan held him back. Spencer eventually calmed down by holding the man's arms tightly like he was holding onto dear life. He was overwhelmed with emotions and all Lachlan could do was hold the suffering man against him.

~ ~ ~

Spencer could hear sobbing. And he immediately panicked as he stumbled down the stairs and followed the soft crying. A pit grew in his stomach and he could taste bile in his throat as a horrid smell reached his nose, a smell that had told him that skin had been burnt. He rushed throughout the deck, the sickening smell becoming stronger now. Eventually turning a corner to see a red haired child lying on the ground with her knees tucked in her chest. Her shirt missing and lay tossed on the wooden floor nearby, exposing her pale sickly flesh.

Her back was horrifically covered with red fiery welts that trailed from her ribs and upwards on her spine. There were not so visible white streaks across her back, certainly scars from past injuries. The red welts look like they had been marked with a belt, as there was a purple imprint of something that was shaped as a buckle embedded in the child's skin.

The young girl was softly whimpering, her exposed back facing Spencer, she looked as if she was holding something in her arms but the first mate couldn't see what it was. He rushed over to her and crouched down to the small malnourished child, seeing that she was trying as best as she could to cover as much of her body as possible. Her left arm hiding her right from the man's sight.

Her eyes were scrunched tight, tears uncontrollably falling freely down her dirty cheeks.

Spencer felt his heart beginning to snap in two as he covered his mouth in horror, silencing a gasp of shock as he tried to process what the actual hell had happened to her. He knew instantly that it was Justin. There was no doubt about it. The person who did this to her was him, and only him. Although this time, it appeared that he was much more violent in the punishment.

Spencer had unfortunately been forced to go off duty much to his continuing protests involving a family matter, and hadn't been upon the Darkened Thorn in only two days. And this was what he came back to?!

Only two days and all hell broke loose!

He had thought that the cabin boy, Michael Stephenson had took over caring for her! He loved her as much as Spencer did. Now that he had thought of him, the first mate hadn't seen the boy since he stepped back on the ship.

Where was he?

"Child? It's me, Spencer," The man gently placed his hand on top of her small head and she slowly opened her eyes. As if she was frightened to even open them. Her teal blue eyes were wide and full of terror, tears still falling freely from the corners of her eyes. Her breathing was mostly full of convulsive gasps as it took a few moments for her to recognise Spencer at last.

"It's alright, it's me, Spencer." He repeated again. He hoped that she didn't feel betrayed by his leaving the other day. Spencer told her that he was being forced to leave only for a few days, so he was praying that she hadn't forgotten. His heart always dropped to the abyss when her expression was full of betrayal and that she had felt lied to, like he had broken his promise of returning to her.

The child softly nodded, using her left arm to quickly rub away her tears, instantly covering her right again before Spencer had the chance to examine it.

"W- welcome back, s- sir." She greeted with a failed attempt of looking like she was glad or pleased with his return. Spencer shook his head and gently stroked the side the red haired girl's face softly. Offering a small smile to her.

"How many times must I have to tell you that you don't need to call me sir?" He asked but instantly regretted it as his voice sounded annoyed slightly. She didn't seem to feel anything by his hand on her face, she just frowned and attempted to lift herself into a sitting position. Spencer immediately helped her, being careful to not touch any of her sore and injured marks on her flesh. The child winced slightly but there was no sign of her discomfort.

"I'm sorry." She apologised quietly, almost whispering, still not meeting Spencer's sympathetic gaze. He was really worried by how much she was really trying to cover up her right arm from his sight. He could still smell the burning flesh and was convinced that it was coming from her.

"You don't need to apologise for anything. You haven't done anything wrong." Spencer insisted, and this time she actually did connect her eyes to him now and she smiled. It was a small smile, but for the first time in a while Spencer could see some life in her cheeks. He desperately didn't want to let that smile leave for possibly the last time, but he knew that he had to take a look at her arm to see what Justin had done to her.

"May I see your arm, child? Please?" Spencer softly asked as the smile unfortunately fell from her thin face and she immediately looked back to the floor. Glancing at her right arm with guilt and disappointment. The child hesitated for a couple moments but slowly moved her left arm that covered the right. Spencer had nearly fainted by the sight of it, the stench of burnt flesh was stronger than ever now.

Marked, below her hand and on her forearm was a large "P" branded into her flesh. It was burning to the touch as Spencer carefully examined it with the tip of his fingers. The child's entire arm was a horrific red, swelling around the mark. The "P" was bleeding slightly and leaking down the curves of her thin arm.

Spencer had to hold his mouth again in utter disgust. Justin had branded her as a pirate! His own niece! But why?!

"Uncle says that the P means that I am a parasite," The child softly smiled again, as if she wasn't bothered by the fact that Justin had scarred her skin with a letter that was given only to vile and dishonest men! Either that or she had just naturally accepted it as the next form of punishment for her if she didn't fulfill Justin's orders.

"Why did he do this to you?" Spencer coldly questioned, trying to hold back his fury so that he wouldn't upset the small girl. He wanted to pounce on Justin, to rip his throat out with his own teeth like a lunatic!

"Michael was trying to help me into a boat in the night," She explained, covering up her right arm again like before. "It was my fault we got caught by Uncle. And then he put this on me as punishment." She finished with a frown entirely full of regret. Her eyes looking like a little lost puppy.

Spencer felt panic invade him again, as well as confusion as the child looked painfully at the floor. If Michael wasn't here, then that meant...

"What happened to the boy?" Spencer's eyebrows raised, and his fingers dug into his palms. He was prepared for the worst. The child looked sorrowful and dejected, closing her eyes once more as if she was trying to recall what had happened. Her teal blue eyes opened after one silent minute had passed, and her expression changed to despair.

"Uncle threw him off the ship..."

Spencer immediately got up to his feet, fiery fury consuming him as he suddenly swung a tightly closed fist at the wooden wall. He roared in rage and the child quickly turned her head way from him. Shutting her eyes and flinching when she heard his hand make contact with the wall.

The first mate was pissed. Livid. Exasperated as he thought of Justin. His heart was beating rapidly with anger, he had enough.

Justin had beaten this child too much for Spencer to handle and now he had basically sentenced another child to death by throwing the boy off the ship! He couldn't let this terror and sin happen any longer, he might lose his sanity he lived this way! Spencer was going to save her like he had planned with Michael, take her far away from Justin's hands and wrath and love her like he were her father.

Spencer turned back to her and approached the red haired child again, she was shivering and he felt regret for scaring her. She most likely thought he was going to hurt her just then. Reaching into his coat, he brought out half of a loaf of bread and held it in his hands for her to take.

"Here eat this, child. I am sorry." She carefully moved her head back towards him and her teal blue eyes gazed at it with a smile that had shown no emotion. No delight. She hesitated to take it at first, drawing back her left hand a couple times. But she finally did take it, and brought the bread up to her lips. Taking a small bite and chewing it slowly.

There was still no pleasure upon her face and that disappointed Spencer, but he knew it wasn't going to be that easy to successfully heal her and get the past behind them.

"I am going to get you out of here, child. I will not let anything happen to you ever again." He vowed and sat down next to her, stroking her head and making sure that she was properly eating. The red haired girl didn't react to his words and continued to take small bites, a heartbreaking frown on her lips.

And by this, Spencer knew that she didn't believe him. And that made his heart grow cold with misery.

~ ~ ~

It was probably ten minutes that had passed as Spencer's cries had eventually silenced, though his head was still buried in Lachlan's chest. Lachlan's knees felt numb by the time Spencer had finished, but he knew that the man was distraught and was likely not to recover from it for a while now.

Thomas, who had awakened earlier prior to the shouting, had jumped off the desk and sat right next to Spencer. His furry little head resting on the man's knees, the cat seemed to sense Spencer's despair and Lachlan was grateful for the cat to come over. Spencer sniffed and let go of the Privateer whilst he also removed his own hands from the man's arms, rubbing his fingers at his eyes and wiping the remaining tears away. His eyes still looked puffy as he held his head, he likely had a headache now, Lachlan had thought.

"You should get some rest, Spencer. There should be a hammock down below for you to take." Lachlan offered, standing up and helping the first mate to his feet. Spencer had silently nodded in return, heading towards the door so he could leave. He paused before opening it.

"Thank you."

Lachlan nodded his head towards Spencer, a gentle smile rising on the Privateer's face as he watched Spencer exit the quarters. Turning away, he was about to pick up Thomas so that he could place him upon the desk when he heard the door open again. There was a voice quietly muttering. "Excuse me, sorry." Before footsteps were heard, and the first mate abroad Lachlan's ship, the Poison Grail, Aaron had entered.

He was a young man in his early twenties, dressed in a navy uniform with golden trims, typical with anyone who worked for the East India Trading Company. He wore a white wig like many others.

"Sir. We have arrived at Port Royal at last!" Aaron divulged with a relieved smile. He seemed to be pretty pleased that they had finally gotten to their destination. Lachlan wondered if it had anything to do with Justin on board his ship.

Nevertheless, Lachlan smiled and followed his first mate out from his quarters, Thomas trotting excitedly behind him.

~ ~ ~

The Poison Grail was heading towards the peaceful and beautiful town of Port Royal, the view of the life coming closer as the ship was sailing to it.

Lachlan stepped out of his quarters, holding the door open for his cat to follow. He instantly frowned when he spotted Justin Daniels leaning on the railing of his ship, his expression full of delight as he had finally arrived at his destination. The Privateer was quickly angered by the awful smile on Justin's face as he was reminded of the harsh things he had done in the past, but kept calm. Focusing his stare on the growing town nearby.

Walking up close to the railing, he smirked with joy as he spotted the HMS Endeavour floating in the town nearby. He knew it was Cutler Beckett's ship from the brown and golden wood that kept the ship together.

The Poison Grail was quite similar to that ship.

The similarities were of course the brown and gold wood, a total of seventy five cannons armed on the sides, less than the HMS Endeavour but still capable of created mass destruction. And large billowing sails with the masts. However, Lachlan proudly had the United Kingdom flag perched on the back of his ship along with an EITC flag that was next to it just like the Endeavour.

Lachlan had been rewarded with the ship by Cutler Beckett himself not only for his outstanding loyalty and brutal defense for the EITC, but for of course, that achievement Lachlan had always been so proud of.

"So I see you've still got this parasite around." A disgusted voice mocked at Lachlan, cutting the man out of his pleasing thoughts. The Privateer turned to face the man, who was unsurprisingly Justin, who was glaring knives at Thomas who hissed at the man in response.

"That's correct, Mister Daniels." Lachlan frowned, and crossed his arms as he faced the older man. Justin had seemed to still be furious about the whole losing his ship situation and immediately became bright red in the face. Lachlan began softly smiling with pleasure as he stared at the man's dark eyes.

The Privateer noticed that Justin's knuckles were dangerously white now as both his hands had transformed into fists and he knew that was a bad sign. He chuckled and stepped closer to the man.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, it would be a shame for Cutler Beckett to know that you attacked one of his most successful work partners." Lachlan threatened and stepped back after Justin let out an irritated growl of pure rage, he forced his hands open and could only glare at Lachlan as he walked off with the most smug grin on his face.

Lachlan could feel the hate radiating from that man even as he walked off to find his first mate.

He really enjoyed angering that man.

~ ~ ~

Here is the next chapter finally!

There is some more scenes of Justin in this one because I wanna make him a gigantic asshole who loves nothing more than making everyone hate him. So if you hate him, then that means that I've done my job! xD

So yeah, Spencer is gonna be pretty upset for a while but he is important to the plot so it's not like I'm dumping that guy off into the sidelines. There's another flashback in this fic, I really love flashbacks, and it just explains what kind of hell Spencer and Diana have been through and why Spencer wasn't present when Justin threw Michael off board. There will be plenty of more flashbacks about the past which should clear up plenty of questions.

Each chapter should be focusing on Diana's or Davy's POV for one chapter and either Spencer or Lachlan's POV for another so that should be good! Beckett should be appearing after the next chapter, and he's gonna be himself obviously. I'm thinking about having two canon character appearances that live in Port Royal and I think you know which two I'm talking about.

Hint: They both have the same last name and are related!

Next chapter should be back on the Flying Dutchman!

#davy jones #pirates of the caribbean #bill nighy #not so heartless after all #fan character #can't wait to start writing the next one #make sure to leave a review #i love other people's thoughts on my work!

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wiseabsol · 4 years

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WA Reviews “Dominion” by Aurelia le, Chapter 11: The Chase

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6383825/11/Dominion

Summary: For the Fire Nation royal siblings, love has always warred with hate. But neither the outward accomplishment of peace nor Azula’s defeat have brought the respite Zuko expected. Will his sister’s plans answer this, or only destroy them both?

Content Warnings: This story contains discussions and depictions of child abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and incest. This story also explores the idea that Zuko’s redemption arc (and his unlearning of abuse) is not as complete as the show suggested, and that Azula is not a sociopath (with the story having a lot of sympathy for her). If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, I would strongly recommend steering clear of this story and my reviews of it.

Note: Because these were originally posted as chapter reviews/commentaries, I will often be talking to the author in them (though sometimes I will also snarkily address the characters). While I’ve also tried not to spoil later events in the story in these reviews, I would strongly recommend reading through chapter 28 before reading these, just to be safe.

Now on to chapter 11!

CHAPTER 11: THE CHASE

Alright, so on to chapter eleven, “The Chase.” I think I know why I stalled on this one, besides life getting in the way: there’s a game in this chapter, in which the readers are challenged to find all of the trope names that Aurelia has snuck into Sokka’s POV sections. And, despite being one of the betas for this story (which renders the reward for finding all of the tropes meaningless), I still want to win. So let’s put on ATLA’s soundtrack and get cracking!

We start with the Gaang arriving at the Royal Palace. Toph still has a crush on Sokka, which both Sokka and Suki are aware of. He describes Katara and Aang as “Sickening Sweethearts” for the first trope. I like that Aang has a “gusty” laugh here—it’s a nice pun. Aang is in such a good mood and I’m like, “Oh buddy, you just wait, the angst is imminent.” Sokka thinks that it’s been two weeks since they last visited, which might be a hyperbole on his part, but if so, boy have things changed quickly.

“Little lump of baby fat who was heir to the Burning Throne” is a great description, though I have my doubts that Lu Ten is going to sit on that throne, given that there’s a chance that he’s a non-bender (which, along with the sexism that has made it so that they’ve never had a woman ruler before, is something the Fire Nation will need to get over at some point, since it could be seen as a fantasy equivalent to ableism).

“Having gotten to know Zuko a little better since then, he concluded it would probably actually suck to be royalty.” Yes and no, Sokka. Definitely don’t doubt how sweet—okay, to interject for a second, “Leaves on the Vine” just came on and it hurts my heart—but anyway, Sokka, don’t doubt how sweet being royal is. There is a reason that people fight for that title. Being a responsible ruler, on the other hand—one who works their butt off to serve the people—yeah, that can be rough, because you need to go to those meetings and listen to those complaints. Doing so is, hopefully, also rewarding to the soul, but in Zuko’s case…hard to say. I think he prefers to be directly involved in making things better, rather than being in a managerial position. I think I’ve mentioned before how he should have been sent on rebuilding and reparations missions, with someone like Iroh doing the governance side of things…though putting Iroh in charge might have been scandalous after the Siege of Ba Sing Se. There were no good choices there.

“Missing Mom” for the second trope. “He found himself wondering if dysfunction was some kind of prerequisite for royal families.” No, though I can’t imagine that the pressures of living in the public eye, making decisions that affect an entire land and its people, and trying to build a legacy helps. Doing that for a few years is probably fine, but not for your entire life.

Sokka makes an amusing fish pun in this section. “First Love,” “Manly Tears,” and “Vengeful Spirit” for the third, fourth, and fifth tropes.

The Gaang arrives at the throne room, where Zuko and Iroh are arguing. Zuko mentions something about selling Azula to someone, which must be the Earth Kingdom, since he had a tense conversation with them last chapter. Zuko is in a foul mood, snapping at his friends as they walk in.

“Visual Pun” and “Clean Cut” for a sixth and seventh trope. The Gaang and Zuko then start talking, with Katara quickly catching on to the fact that Zuko was in a fight with Azula. Zuko explains that Azula slashed his face with a pin, and almost mentions that he and Azula slept together, before cutting himself off and blushing. Sokka notices the blush and is confused by it.

“Aang breezed up to him”—I see your pun, Aurelia.

Toph asks where Mai is, and Zuko tells them that Mai and Lu Ten are staying with Mai’s family. You know what, totally fair, Mai. I’d want space too. Zuko goes over Azula’s escape and mentions that they fought, and Sokka points out that Zuko should have been able to track her afterwards, since he’s a “Scarily Competent Tracker” (for an eighth trope). Zuko lies and says that Azula knocked him out, which Toph notices.

“I’m kinda starting to doubt her resolve,” Sokka says about Azula killing Zuko. This is both funny and sad, because, well, Azula and Zuko are siblings. No one should have to worry about one of them legitimately wanting to kill the other, even in the games of thrones. It doesn’t even occur to Sokka that Azula might care for Zuko. And why would it? As far as he knows, she tried to kill Zuko during their Agni Kai, and before that sounded excited about the prospect of becoming an only child.

Sokka is annoyed that things aren’t adding up in this conversation, and Zuko bursts out that he doesn’t know why Azula does the things that she does, which is another lie. Toph catches on to that one, too, but isn’t sure what it means. What’s notable here, though, is that Zuko is so used to calling Azula crazy that he says this as an outburst, even though he knows better. It’s a kneejerk reaction for him.

Zuko tells them that the Earth Kingdom is planning to execute Azula if they catch her, which offends Aang, since the tribunal agreed that life in prison would be Azula’s maximum sentence. Zuko explains that the politics around her case got dirty, shocker. Aang matured a lot during the show, but in some ways, he’s still rather naive.

“‘I gave them everything they ever asked!’ Zuko raged helplessly, glaring at the black stone floor. ‘Why can’t they just give me my sister?’”—This is sweet, though I think that Azula would be offended by the idea of anyone giving her to someone else.

“Mismatched Eyes” for a ninth trope. Toph tells Zuko that he’s just going to have to find a way around the Earth Kingdom’s sentence, which Iroh and Zuko agree with her on. Zuko mentions that they’re having their lawyers look into the court case, and then turns on Suki, asking how Azula got slapped with a torture charge.

Sokka says that Zuko is out of line for accusing Suki here, but honestly? Getting slapped with a torture charge is huge, especially when there’s no evidence that the accused did it. It’s slanderous and I’m not surprised that Zuko is reacting poorly to it. The implication here is that Suki’s comrades lied about the torture out of spite, or, if they were tortured, that it wasn’t on Azula’s orders. The Fire Nation absolutely did torture people, namely the Southern Water Tribe’s benders…but so did the Earth Kingdom, since they psychologically tortured and brainwashed their own civilians in Ba Sing Se. One crime doesn’t negate the other—they both need to be held accountable for their actions—but there is definitely some hypocrisy here from the Earth Kingdom.

Suki seems to think that her comrades were tortured, or at least she didn’t want them to “lie on [Azula’s] behalf.” But Suki, do you know for a fact that it happened? Obviously, I think that you should believe your comrades, since it’s better to believe the victims than not. But if it happened, who tortured them? Has the person who gave those orders been brought to justice? Because letting Azula be scapegoated for someone else’s crimes isn’t justice, it’s vindictiveness, and it means that somewhere out there, an actual torturer went free.

“Ridiculous accusations”—no, Sokka, this is a fair accusation, and it’s something that should have been brought to Zuko’s attention during the court case, or at least to the attention of Azula’s lawyers. They have the right to know what their client is being accused of and the evidence against them. That is, in fact, how the law is supposed to work. Mind you, I’m speaking of modern law practices, but it seems like their law practices are analogous.

Sokka says that Azula getting beheaded would be a favor for everyone, and Zuko snaps. He lunges at him—Sokka gets his boomerang out—and Iroh steps between them. Iroh scolds Zuko for being so aggressive with his friends, which is fair. He’s lashing out a lot during this conversation. Zuko then breaks down, with Suki and Katara hugging him in response. Toph sighs in a “Surrounded by Idiots” way for a tenth trope.

Sokka feels guilty over making Zuko cry. “He guessed that even if she was a crazy bitch, she was his sister, too. Of course that was what Zuko would think of, when it looked like she was going to die. Zuko had got this way when she starved herself too, Sokka recalled, and thought that he should have remember that sooner.”—Yeah, no kidding, Sokka. A little empathy and tact would have served you much better in this conversation.

Sokka apologizes shortly after this and Zuko apologizes in return. Katara promises that they’ll always help Zuko, and I wonder if that would still be true if they knew that he’d raped Azula (which he definitely did, even if he didn’t realize it at the time, since Azula wasn’t able to consent).

Sokka “wondered idly why [Katara] couldn’t forgive him that quickly when he said something tactless.” While Sokka assumes that it’s because Zuko is crying, I’m pretty sure that it’s because Katara has an unacknowledged crush on Zuko, so she’s more inclined to cut him some slack.

“It would be like Toph shoe-shopping. No one would buy it.”—This is very funny.

“Sokka reflected again on the idiocy of investing this much time, emotion, and debate into someone as damaged and dangerous as Zuko’s psycho little sister.”—I see what you’re doing here, Aurelia.

Sokka asks what they should do if Azula tries to kill them, and Zuko says, “She’s crazy. And scared, and alone.” And on the one hand, that’s true, but on the other hand, he shouldn’t be infantilizing her.

“‘Please just—remember that, if she does anything too desperate, or,’ he practically choked on his words, ‘says anything too desperate.’” This is a bad look for Zuko, since he is, essentially, trying to give himself a cushion against any accusations that Azula levels at him. He is trying to plant a seed of doubt so they’re less inclined to believe her about the rape. But I think that this will backfire on him, because he’s priming them to pay attention to what she says instead. The cold truth is, if he hadn’t done this, I don’t think they would have believed her. They’d think she was trying to slander him, because A.) They like and respect him and want to believe that he’s fully redeemed and would never do such a thing, B.) They believe that she’s a lying villain who wants to take him down, and C.) Many people don’t believe sexual assault victims anyway, regardless of the evidence they have to support their claims. But now he’s drawing arrows to her accusations, and a few of them will probably remember that, and how weird he was acting during this conversation. They’ll wonder why he said that they should dismiss what she says, which would have normally been a given for them.

The conversation wraps up as the Gaang goes to their rooms, and Zuko and Iroh continue to talk offscreen. We shift over to Azula’s POV. She’s riding an ostrich horse past an abandoned mill. She’s being rather nasty to her mount, using her fire whip to make it do what she wants. It seems like she hasn’t grown out of being cruel to animals yet (though I just re-watched the introduction to June in ATLA, and she liberally uses her whip on her mount, so I’m not sure that this is an uncommon treatment of animals in this world, just distasteful).

Azula didn’t stop to grab provisions, which is a surprising mistake, coming from her. Granted, she had to escape quickly in the last chapter, and was probably scattered from a fresh dose of trauma. She fantasizes about eating Rai’s potato and leek stew, rather than some of her favorite foods from the palace. To be fair, if that was my most recent, tasty meal, I’d probably be doing the same. But also, I think the kindness of that meal has probably gotten under Azula’s skin.

“She had been discovered. She knew how that would end. So why did she stay? She had asked herself that a dozen times since the cook betrayed her, and now thought she knew. Not for Rai’s company, certainly. Azula ought to have her traitor’s tongue out just for the presumption she showed.”—Okay, Hot Stuff, have you ever actually ordered for someone to have their tongue taken out, or are you just repeating something nasty Ozai that threatened to do? Because I’m betting it’s the latter. Also, I bet you stayed because you liked being shown some basic human kindness.

“No, worse still, it was to eat food that didn’t taste the same every day, and lay her head on a pillow at night, and take a bath—an actual bath—without unwelcome supervision…”—You mean the things that every human being should have? Especially the unsupervised baths part? I understand why Azula was watched, since she might have tried to hurt herself if she was left alone in the asylum, but still, that’s terrible.

“If she let such base considerations drive her, she would be no better than her hedonist uncle. Far better she had been betrayed now and so incompetently, then continue that way. It was that kind of complacency that would get her captured, or killed.”—Oh good, you’re going to deny yourself basic human comforts to get the job done, that’s healthy for you, Azula. You want to know who I bet never did something remotely similar to that? Ozai. I bet he’s always slept with a pillow and always had a cook on hand and was always able to bath in private. Good lord, child.

“Her father was counting on her. Her country was counting on her. She could not make these kind of mistakes.”—That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself, my dear. Sadly, I think that the Fire Nation might have forgotten about her, since no one tried to break her out.

Azula unloads her mount of supplies and sends it running in another direction—with more fire whips, shame on her (though is she hurting it or just scaring it? That isn’t clear)—to leave a false trail for anyone who might be pursuing her. She then thinks, “It was too bad about losing the ostrich horse though, especially after Mother gave her so much grief—" So she’s still seeing Ursa. To be specific, Ursa was chiding her about stealing the ostrich horse. There are a couple of things of note about this. One is that Azula is committing the same crime that Zuko did in the show, and will probably get more flack for it. The other is that the voice of her mother, in this moment, seems to be her conscience—meaning that Azula feels guilty about stealing.

“They never did anything for me either . . . So what do you imagine I owe them?”—Azula shuts down her guilt by saying something that sounds suspiciously like something Ozai would say. That because someone wasn’t kind to her, that gives her the right to be cruel to them. Which…really isn’t how you should treat people.

“She didn’t talk to it. Wasn’t that her rule?”—Does that help you, Azula?

“How could she expect to rule anyone when she couldn’t even rule herself….”—Another thing that I’m certain Ozai said to her at some point.

“She had a mission. Everything else was immaterial. This was her one chance. No room for mistakes. No room for distractions. She had to focus. She had to get better. She would not be as effective as she could be, until she was whole again.”—Again, that’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself, Azula. Sadly, you might be right, though. The Earth Kingdom isn’t going to give you a second chance to find your mother. They don’t even want to give you this one.

Azula then burns down the mill and escapes by boat, hopefully widening the distance between herself and those searching for her.

Back to the Gaang! Toph and Aang are practicing earthbending, while Sokka preps the war balloon and inwardly gripes about them not helping. Aang and Katara are searching for Azula on Team Appa, while Suki, Sokka, and Toph are on Team War Balloon (which has been dyed black for the occasion).

Sokka makes a basket case pun about the balloon as he and Suki argue over how he treated Zuko the previous day. Suki points out that he missed the fact that Mai left Zuko, which Katara is peeved about. Katara, you don’t know and don’t want to know the full story there, trust me. Suki agrees with me. Katara reveals that she tried to talk to Mai, which Suki is horrified about, because good lord is it none of Katara’s business. Tact does not run in this family.

Zuko comes charging in, upset by this. Zuko and Katara argue, and Suki, hilariously, “looked to Sokka in clear disbelief that this much tactlessness could be contained in one family.” I knew that Suki and I were on the same page.

“Since when does she need to cool off? She shows all the emotion of an ice cube.”—Hey, Katara? This is super rude. Just because you don’t like Mai and are lowkey jealous of her relationship with Zuko does not give you the right to insult her.

“‘She had every reason!’ Zuko hotly defended, and implicated himself by saying so.”—Whoops, Zuko. Good job. “I brought you here to find my sister, not play marriage councilor! So why don’t you just stay out of problems that don’t concern you?”—Ho boy, so he shouldn’t have said this as hotly as he did, but he’s also not wrong? Focus on the problem that he’s asked for help with, Katara. His marital problems are none of your concern.

Katara responds equally hotly to this, but she’s in the wrong here, even if it will probably take her some time to realize that. What she’s most upset about is Zuko acting like he summoned them to his side, rather than them coming because they’re friends, and like…I can see why that would be insulting, but you also just tried to interfere with his marriage, Katara. I think you messed up worse in this fight.

Katara and Aang head out, or in Katara’s case, storms out. Team War Balloon leaves soon afterwards, with Sokka thinking that he’d rather deal with Flaky Aang over Angry Jerk any day, which is fair. Zuko and Katara were both poorly behaved here.

“He guessed they’d all be happier once Azula was back in her straightjacket. But first he had to make it happen. Right. No problem.”—I doubt that you’re going to make it happen, Sokka, and I think that you doubt it too.

And that’s the end of chapter eleven! Next up is chapter twelve, “The Seal,” which is my favorite chapter in this fic so far. I’m excited! As always, thank you for the read, Aurelia.

Sincerely,

WiseAbsol

#WiseAbsol #Dominion by Aurelia le #Fanfiction #Review #Azula #avatar: the last airbender

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welcometocaritas · 4 years

Text

‘IF YOU LOVE ME, DON’T LET Go’

First chapter of my yumagna fic is out ladies and gentlebabies!

Chapter: 2/7

Characters: Yumiko & Magna

Pairing: Yumagna

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Format: Multi-Chap

Summary: At some point, you just have to let go - or so Yumiko keeps telling herself.There was never any letting go of Magna.

Links: A03, FF.NET, Wattpad

A/N: This is a shorter chapter and is basically just a little look at Magna's history (I'll be getting into Yumiko's around about chapter 6).

I really didn't mean to make Magna's backstory as angsty as I did, it just sort of . . . happened as I was trying to figure out where her head's been at with her relationship with Yumiko, and why she's been doing some of the things she has. I don't take some of the situations I've used lightly, especially since they can be extremely triggering for people and I wanted everyone in the fandom to be able to read this. The child sexual abuse is in there because I'm pretty sure that's what the show was implying when they mentioned Magna's cousin. Everything's pretty much implied or referenced. I don't think I go into great detail. There are no actual scenes with the stuff.

So I've done some half-assessed calculations that are probably shit but I'm gonna go with them for the sake of this story - I'm a little worried that lack of sleep might have made me mess up some of the maths but oh well. I used the actresses' real ages for this, went back 10 years to before the apocalypse so Yumiko would have been around 27 and Magna around 22. Now Magna had to have been out of prison long enough to get a job - which is NOT easy to do but I decided to grant her a stroke of luck and had her being out of prison for around at least a year. Now Michonne mentioned hard prison time - whether Magna actually experienced much of this time, or if it was just that she expected to and got a tattoo before being allowed out early is up in the air - and I've gone with giving her about three-four years in prison, because I didn't really want to drop below the age of 17 for her being sentenced. I'm headcannoning their meeting when Miko was 24 and Magna was 19, so about her second-third year in prison.

Also my understanding of the law is . . . not great? I basically only know what I've gleaned from reading about injustices and corruption in the system so if you're a lawyer and notice any mistakes please don't crucify me and I didn't do much research for this story when I normally do heaps cos I wanted to get it finished quickly. However, I have based a lot of the incidents mentioned throughout this fic on real situations/cases that I've read about so there is that element of truth to it. I did my best anyway. I think the issue will be that there are a lot of variations between states and laws changing over the years. I recently fell down a Proven Innocent rabbit hole because Rachelle Lefevre playing a bisexual is hard to pass up and, like with Nadia Hilker, I'm addicted to her hair (Abbey knows I have a hair fetish, she understands my weakness when it comes to these things).

"I learned at a young age that if I was ever going to see justice for the wrongs done to me, I had to find it myself."

― Erin Merryn

. . .

Magna didn't think she'd ever regret what she did - the bastard deserved it, and if the justice system wasn't such a joke she never would have had to go to such lengths - but she did regret what it had done to her relationship with Miko. What she had done. Lying wasn't difficult for her - even if she had always preferred a more blunt approach, along with the honesty that entailed - but lying to Yumiko had been . . .

She'd hated every second of it. Hated even more the toxic resentment that had started to build up inside her as a result, the way a gentle kiss could make her stomach turn, her thoughts sickening her as they bubbled up from the dark pit in which she tried to keep them contained; the number of times a loving look had made her want to snap, to let the truth fly free and watch as everything between them burnt to ashes.

(it'd be everything she had been waiting for, after all - for thirteen years)

Because Miko . . . Miko was so good. And she cared so much, sometimes more than Magna could bear, and none of it was real. All those feelings had grown from a lie that she'd never had the courage to uproot, to set before them and watch as the disgust bled into her lover's - her best friend's - eyes. Because Miko thought she was good as well, and whilst Magna didn't think that what she'd done was wrong, she also knew it wasn't right. Justice, maybe- definitely, but not Miko's version of justice. Not part of the framework she had chosen to study and dedicate her life to. Magna's version of justice didn't fit in her world, couldn't and worse . . .

Neither did Magna.

She hadn't been able to trust Yumiko's love for her, that it could withstand the impact of truly knowing her; and in the end, she'd only sabotaged what she had hoped to protect. She was self-aware enough to realize that part of that had been intentional. When their relationship had crossed over the border of friendship, when they had gotten all that more close, too close, something inside Magna had rebelled. Something panicky and defensive, revolting at the love that was building inside her, the safety she felt lying in Miko's arms (a place she never wanted to leave); that fear that it was only temporary, too temporary, that one day Miko would wake up and realize just who she'd fallen into bed with, and then it would all be over. The longer it continued the worse it would hurt. She hadn't been able to wait around for it to get to that stage. Instead, she'd forced the gears into rapid motion, propelling herself towards that inevitable heartbreak whilst she still had some heart left for herself, before she gave it all away to Miko.

(and deep down, knowing it was already too late, that Yumiko had taken her heart years ago, and Magna had barely murmured a protest)

It had been impulsive. And stupid.

And after everything was said and done it still fucking hurt. It hurt so much she could barely breathe in the aftermath.

She hadn't been able to save herself from that.

And she'd tried to explain to Miko why she'd done it but it had been a poor attempt, born more out of spite than any rational thinking. She hadn't even really tried. Because in the end, she hadn't seen the point. Wasted energy. Wasted hope. She couldn't see a future in which Miko would be able to understand. To understand and forgive her and love her still.

Because she couldn't understand, not really.

(and sometimes she hated her for that)

Because Miko was a good ass fucking lawyer and she had seen the system work as a result, but all Magna had ever known were its failures: how she'd had to move in with her uncle and his wife after her mum had gone to prison for killing her own father, never mind that it had been in self-defense; and later, watching the sick bastard who'd preyed on her cousin be allowed to walk free even after pleading guilty - rather, from what she'd gathered, because he had pled guilty, his easy compliance and willingness to accept a deal leading him to walk free with barely a slap on the wrist fine and a registration as a level 1 sex couldn't even search his name or address on the local registry when he was considered that low a risk.

How the fuck was any of that justice?

Though, she supposed she should be grateful, in a way. That same system that had wreaked havoc across her life had also allowed her to be released after only serving four years - less than - when Miko had found far too many ways to poke holes in her case; much better than the life sentence she'd been staring into ever since she'd left the courthouse for the final time.

To be fair, the case against her had been less than flimsy in the first place, the evidence circumstantial at best - they'd never even found the murder weapon. Surprisingly, all those cop shows she'd binged growing up actually came in handy for something. She wasn't an idiot, she planned ahead, did what she could to cover up.

But she'd also been realistic. She'd known back when the crime was still only a hypothetical in her head that getting away with it wasn't the most likely outcome, that she'd probably go to prison, maybe even for the rest of her life. But as long as he didn't get to live his - as long as he wasn't given a chance to do to another child what he'd done to her cousin -that had seemed like an acceptable price. It wasn't like she'd had much going for her, anyway. Hell, given the state of her bank account and failed education, she probably would have ended up going to jail for petty theft one day, regardless.

And at least you got free boarding and meals in prison - though she would have rather starved and slept on the street than feel so trapped every second of her life, to the point that when freedom did come it was that which felt unnatural to her.

If Magna's court-appointed lawyer hadn't been breaking under the weight of over a hundred ongoing cases she might never have been sentenced in the first place. Not that she had even had it in her to care at the time. Even now, those months were almost a complete blank in her memory. She could remember that she'd been in a daze for most of it, that she hadn't been feeling much of anything - a welcome liberation from the all-consuming rage that had burned within her for months before she drew that knife: not when the police locked her in handcuffs that pinched at her skin; not sitting in that courtroom with the press of too many people's eyes on her; and not when the door to her prison cell had slammed shut for the first time.

She could maybe recall her lawyer snapping at her more than once, frustrated and helpless as she refused to offer more than the occasional one word answer or grunt.

Years later, when Miko had finally come onto the scene, she'd been far more awake to her circumstances; too awake.

But she'd do it all over again, even now. Even with the memory of that look haunting the space between them, the way her heart had drawn in on itself, shuddering under the weight of all the judgment she'd expected but still not been prepared for.

He deserved it.

How could she let him just walk away?

How did Magna explain to Miko that the law she'd devoted her life to was nothing but shit? It was all gone now, anyway, the system that had ruined her life fallen away into dust along with the rest of civilization.

But Miko . . . Miko still looked on that lost world fondly, she missed it in a way that Magna never could and . . . even with all that rage boiling inside of her, begging her for an outlet, she couldn't take that from her; didn't want to.

One of them should have something worth remembering in this nightmare.

Magna could be selfish. She'd be the first to admit it. But she was also incredibly selfish about the people she loved. They came first - and fuck the rest of the world. And Miko . . . Miko was on the top of that list. It had killed her, being stuck in that cave, knowing that she had hurt her, that the last thing she would probably ever do in this sorry life was hurt the only woman she had ever loved.

And she wouldn't do that again.

Except she probably would. Because that's what she did.

She messed everything up. Including her and Miko.

But maybe that was for the best. She and Miko . . . they weren't compatible. They were like oil and water that had fallen into the same bowl and ended up stuck together, but always separate; Magna heavy and sinking to the bottom whilst Yumiko floated to the top, always.

They weren't meant to bond.

(but they did and they did it so well that-)

She didn't think she would ever be as open and trusting as Miko - but life experience warned her that that was probably a good thing, especially if she wanted to survive in a world where the dead wanted to eat you and most of the living wanted to kill you. It scared her, how easily Miko - and even Connie and Luke - let people in. She was terrified it was going to get them killed one day.

Kelly was more like Magna in that respect. They were both always preparing themselves for the eventual fallout. It was why Magna hadn't even had to bring up the idea of creating a stash - they'd both already fallen into the familiar habit of scrounging away what they could. In the past, that kind of safety net had been the difference between life and death. She hadn't felt good about it. Of course she hadn't. She liked the people at Hilltop, as much as she liked anyone who she couldn't allow herself to grow attached to, and she was so fucking grateful to be taken in by them, to finally have a home. But homes never lasted. Even before the Apocalypse they were nothing but a false promise you would end up hanging yourself with if you didn't keep your guard up. And Yumiko, Connie, Luke and Kelly were hers. They were her people. And at the end of the day, they came first. She had to protect them. Even if it meant doing things that they would never agree to, things they might later end up hating her for.

And Kelly. . . Kelly understood that because she was hard in a way that the others weren't and she had Connie. Kelly would do anything for Connie.

The thing was, even if she and Yumiko decided to try again, even if they could move past this, Magna didn't think she could change that part of herself. She didn't want to change it. How could she when it had the potential to keep Miko alive? She would rather destroy their relationship beyond repair than one day have to drive a knife through Miko's skull because she had failed to do the only thing she had ever been any good at - keeping them just that little inch further away from death's door.

Ten years and most of their group was still alive whilst the rest of the world had become a sea of ravenous corpses and that . . . that had to count for something.

It had to.

. . .

"What are you afraid of?

that you love him

or that you 've lost him

either way the heart beating in your chest

didn 't originally belong to you."

— You'll Be Buried With Him Painted Over You by Abby S

A/N: I tried to think about what kind of life experiences might have shaped Magna to be someone who could do what she did. Cos no matter how many of us might want to punish bastards like that when they do commit these crimes, most of us don't actually do it. There are things that restrain us. Certain moral codes, fear, faith in the justice system, having things that we don't want to lose, not being ready to sacrifice our freedom and our future if we get caught. For whatever reason, most people just don't cross that line. So I thought a lot about what we'd seen of Magna and the kind of person she is and how her past might have shaped her to be able to make that choice. I mean Magna cares about the people she considers hers a lot and she's very protective, so that's obviously a large part of it, but I knew there also had to be more. Also it's my head cannon that Magna loves kids, like they're one of her weak spots, but she keeps her distance from them because they remind her of her cousin, and because of the person she's become since her cousin died. . . . OK, just gonna do a little shameless self-promotion, hope you don't mind :)

I made a yumagna vid so if you haven't seen it already and you're interested it's here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grzrpr0QZEE (I'm gonna do more so if you want to stay in the loop subscribe to my youtube channel. I'll probs end up doing a short one for Unsteady because of this fic but I'm holding out till we get a yumagna hug)

I have an insta for yumagna called @yumagnas.home . my multifandom one is @bonnielextra (lots of awesome women that i make edits for just fyi) and my personal one is @cissyalice. Hit me up so I can follow some more yumagna stans!

My twitter is @bonnielextra and @tocaritas (for my edits). Currently just a lot of crying about yumagna on the first one.

And my tumblr is welcometocaritas. Obviously no pressure to look at any of these but I just thought I'd put them in just case :)

#yumagna #magniko #the walking dead #magna twd #yumiko twd #yumiko x magna #yumagna edit #yumagna fanfic #nadia hilker #eleanor matsuura #twd edit #twd fanfiction #mypost #my post #myfic

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sarcastic-sunshines · 5 years

Text

ABIONA AU - Before Abiona Interlude Part 2: Lamaze

Pairing: T’ Challa x Black!Reader

Warning(s): None

Word Count: 2440

Link to ABIONA by @writingmarvellousimagines

Link to Face claims (2)

Part: (1) (2) (3) (I1)

Lamaze

At six months pregnant, Alix was not as fast as she once was. However, the speed she took to go from work to back home was record breaking. She couldn’t be late for lamaze. There was no late policy, and frankly she just loved lamaze. It allowed her to be around other women who knew exacty how she felt and could share all her weird questions and concerns with. Especially when T’Challa wasn’t around yet and she had no one to lean on.

Alix abruptly stopped walking through her apartment floor. She had totally forgotten about T’Challa. Lamaze was a couple’s activity, but she wasn’t even sure if her and T’challa were a couple. On top of that, she wasn’t ready to introduce him to that aspect of her life. Lamaze felt like an escape from everything else. Her and the other women even had a groupchat. She thought it over some more as she slowed down her walking. It would be best to just have Jules come as he had been, even though he was a constant disruption to her pregnancy sanctuary. Alix just wasn’t mentally prepared for T’Challa so that was that.

She continued fast walking into her apartment. T’Challa seemed to be in his room working so she quickly ran in hers and changed clothes. She called Jules to make sure he was on his way.

“Hey big sis, what’s up?”

“What do you mean what’s up? Are you almost here?”

“Here for what?” Alix was going to kill him.

“Lamaze Jules! It is Thursday, we have been doing this for a month. This isn’t new information.”

“I thought I would be off the hook since T’Challa is here. I hate lamaze and you know it.” Alix was growing tired.

“Jules you know how important this is to me. I need you to come, please. Plus T’Challa isn’t here,” she easily lied to her younger brother.

“T is always here from Wednesday to Sunday. He never misses a day. It is super weird how scheduled he is.”

“Jules. Focus, please!”

“Alright, alright, I am coming. Give me five minutes, and you owe me.” Alix breathed a sigh of relief.

“Anything you want, just come get me please.” She hung up and waited to see Jules’ car out her bedroom window. As soon as she spotted him, she grabbed her bag and started exiting the room and went to the fridge to grab her water bottle, only to be met by T’Challa who was...cooking?

“I didn’t know you were home. I thought you were working late,” he asked. Alix had completely forgotten she had said that. Her lies were starting to get jumbled and it was becoming exhausting.

“Yeah, I finished earlier than expected.”

“That is great. I am making dinner. Pilau with a side of lamb, just like we used to have in Uganda at that old women’s restaurant. I had asked for the recipe and thought we could try it out since we were talking about it the other day,” he said with a smile and hope in his voice. He really wanted her to see how hard he was trying.

“Maybe later? I am going out with Jules right now. He should be at the door in any second.” T’Challa’s face sank immediately. Not that Alix noticed.

“Where are you going? Will you be gone long? Maybe I can wait for you,” he said as Jules opened the door and Alix quickly moved towards it.

“I am not sure. Just leave me a plate in the microwave or something. Jules, let’s go. We are going to be late.”

“Hey! I thought you said T’Challa wasn’t here. I knew my man wouldn’t miss a day of his visits. Why can’t he take you?”

“Take you where?” Alix shot daggers at her brother while pushing him out the door. She quickly told T’Challa it wasn’t anything serious and would be back soon.

T’Challa was left alone with his half cooked meal. Some days it seemed like he was making progress. Other days felt like a waste of his efforts. Now, Alix was purposely keeping parts of her life a secret. He loved this woman, but he wasn’t sure where to go from here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alix rolled out her mat as she talked with the other women. Despite the earlier confusion, she was in a really good headspace and nothing could ruin that.

Except for Jules.

“Is everything okay with your brother,” Amélie asked. Alix turned to look, only to find her brother angrily touching things like a child.

“He is fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.” She whispered his name and begged him to join her on the mat with her.

“Bonjour, tout le monde. Ca va?” The instructor continued to refresh what was discussed last class. Jules quickly tuned out. What brought him back was when the instructor said ‘birthing video’. Jules knew this was going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. He loved his sister wholeheartedly, but if she brought him to one more lamaze class, he was going to have to disown himself. He hated it! From the weird breathing exercises to the stranger birthing positions. The discussions on breastfeeding probably took the cake for his all time low. That is what he thought until he saw the instructor load a dvd of her own birthing video.

“I think I am going to be sick,” Jules whined while pretending to gag.

“Well, do it quietly. You are being a nuisance as usual,” Alix whispered.

“Then maybe you should stop bringing me to this couple stuff, and bring, hmmm, I don’t know… Maybe your baby daddy!” The instructor looked in Jules direction and asked him to be silent.

“T’Challa and I are not a couple and these lamaze sessions are my thing!”

“You are a more a couple than we'll ever be. Alix, this is a human rights violation. I am telling Maman. This is too much!”

“Jules, please keep it down,” Alix tried to tell him as the whole class continuously turned to look at him.

“Is that the head?! Oh hell no! That is not normal! Alix is that what you gotta do! Mon dieu! I am seriously going to be sick.”

The frustrated instructor turned to Jules and said: “Monsieur Jules, I am sorry but if you cannot stop being disruptive to the class I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Gladly! I will be in the car”. Alix tried to pull him to sit down but Jules jumped out of her reach.

Alix was embarrassed and scared. For once, Jules was right. This was something that she and T’Challa were meant to be doing together, and quite frankly, she wished he was here. After seeing what the baby was going to do to her nether regions, she was terrified. If he were here, T’Challa would hold her hand, maybe kiss it, and tell her that she would be fine. He’d tell her he would be by her side no matter what. Of course, she would act like his words didn’t mean anything, but she would be grateful for his presence nonetheless.

The ride home was silent. Alix was frustrated and embarrassed by Jules. She loved her brother wholeheartedly, but he was always doing the most. His freak out at Lamaze took the cake. As he walked her into her apartment, she walked right by T’Challa and his set dinner table without saying a word.

“Sis! I said I was sorry! You can't treat me like this. I was doing you a favour, remember? Whatever. Hey T. Is that lamb? Great. I am starving.”

Jules served himself as T’Challa frowned at his unexpected guest.

“What is wrong with your sister? Actually, what did you do?”

“I am hurt, T, why do I have to be the cause of her strife?” T’Challa skeptically looked at Jules. “Fine, it was me. I told her that I didn’t want to got to lamaze with her and so--”

T’Challa stopped Jules mid-sentence.

“Wait... Alix does lamaze?”

“Yup! Every Thursday. It is like her favourite pregnant people thing to do. I told her I hate it and she still drags me, even though you are here. Then when I ask why you can’t go, she lies and says you aren’t here, only for me to pity her. I come here, see you being here getting your chef Ramsey on, still having to go to lamaze and watch this nasty birthing video.”

T’Challa was hurt. When he said he wanted to be apart of this journey fully, he meant every aspect of it. Not only did Alix not tell him about it, she took someone else instead to do what he was supposed to be doing which was being by her side, being her comfort and reassurance. T’Challa looked up at Bast and asked for guidance because this woman would drive him to do insane things.

“Don’t feel like you missed out on anything. That birthing video was disgusting. I am going to have to go to church with Maman on Sunday just so the priest can spray holy water on my eyes.”

T’Challa couldn’t speak so he just walked back into his room leaving Jules to eat.

“The lamb is super good man. Nice and tender. I can taste the effort you put in!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before heading to bed, T’Challa remembered the mess he was sure Jules did not bother cleaning. He went to the dining room, only to see Alix enjoying his Pilau and lamb. He was a little shocked but happy. He took a seat across from her.

“I was coming to clean up.”

“That’s okay. I was so angry earlier that I forgot to eat. This is really good by the way. Not as good as the one in Uganda but you near perfected it.” T’Challa averted his eyes and responded.

“Yes, I heard about lamaze class.” Alix dropped her spoon, hearing the hurt in T’Challa’s voice.

“T’Challa, it’s not what you think.”

“Alix, what am I supposed to think? I am literally here, most of the week, just to make sure you don’t have to do things alone. For you to know I am serious about both you and the baby, it just seems like you are constantly brushing off my efforts.” Alix lowered her eyes.

“It really isn’t like that. Lamaze is just something I usually did by myself before you showed up. I had created a friend group there. Everything has been changing so quickly since you showed up I thought I should have this one thing to myself.”

“Did you ever think maybe it was important for me to go to these classes as well, especially since they are for couples, so I could better help and support you. Instead, you chose Jules. Jules?! Really? I would have rather you’d given this explanation than to sneak around and lie like I am not here.”

“I know and I am sorry.”

“And another thing… Wait, what?” T’Challa did not expect such an easy apology from Alix.

“I said I‘m sorry. It was wrong for me to do what I did. You are the baby’s father and you have more than proved you want to be here. It’s going to take some adjustment on my end but I will make sure you know of every baby related activity that I am in. I know you won’t miss a single one. To tell you the truth, I kinda wished you were there today. Jules was acting like a fool. All I wanted was someone to hold my hand and I could only think of one person who would do that for me.” T’Challa looked down and smiled.

“I really am sorry, T’Challa”

“That’s okay. I know I say this often but I do want to be here. Every step of the way. I look forward to my days in Paris just so I can be here with you and our child. Alix didn’t mind how many times he said it, she liked hearing it.

“Do you always have to be so poetic? Short sentences are not your thing, are they?” They shared a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thursday rolled around, and T’challa received a text from Alix at work reminding him of Lamaze. It was his favourite text in a long time. Before she showed up, he had all her things ready so they could head out as soon as possible. When they got there, Alix introduced her to all her mommy friends and their partners, as well as the instructor who was happy to see anybody other than Jules. T’Challa got along with everyone so easily. It was like he had been there from the beginning. Some of her single mommy friends were getting a bit too touchy and it was not sitting well with Alix. It didn’t matter because T’Challa had his hand around hers the whole night. T’Challa would never tell her but he found her jealousy adorable, especially when he only had eyes for her.

When the rest of the birthing video was played, he held her and whispered comforting words, just as she had suspected. Even when he was fully attentive he would kiss her hand to remind her he was still there, supporting her. Practising birthing positions were no different. He captured every word the instructor said and took his time with her. Alix could not be more grateful that she was there with T’Challa and not Jules.

The ride home was filled with a comfortable silence. T’Challa finally spoke.

“Thank you,” he said never taking his eyes off the road.

“For what?”

“For allowing me to be on this journey with you. It has been the best I have ever been apart off. Everyday my excitement to meet our child grows because of you. Truly. Thank you for being the mother of my child. There is no one else I would want to share these moments with.”

Alix was left in a daze.

“You are never not poetic, are you? You just can’t be?” T’Challa shook his head and smiled as Alix giggled “your welcome”.

The car returned to its comfortable silence. Alix wanted to say that she couldn’t imagine being on this journey with anyone else either, that she was so grateful that she found him at her doorstep as she did but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she kissed his cheek which left him with a bigger and goofier smile than the one he previously had. Maybe, one day, she will finally get the courage to say it.

________________________________________________________________

Taglist:

@dramaqueenamby @writingmarvellousimagines @teechallas-blog @ashanti-notthesinger @wakanda-inspired @lovely-geek @chaneajoyyy @chefjessypooh @imagine-mbaku @90sinspiredgirl @dopegalkk @fonville-designs

#Abiona AU #Interlude #PART 2 #t'challa x reader #t'challa #writingmarvellousimagines

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hallythelantern-blog · 6 years

Text

Marichat May 2018: Chapter 4

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Fanfiction AO3 Wattpad

Prompt: Croissants!

Chapter 4: Home

"Now," Sabine said. "We will be making the one day version instead of the original. Is that okay, dear?"

"I'm sorry we can't get you the best quality," Marinette apologized.

Chat Noir smiled. "No, no! That is purr-fect. I was starving for some croissants because I haven't had any sweets in such a long time. I was afraid I might have to resort to killing someone to get them." He smirked, but the expression melted as he said, "Thank you."

"Well, that's fortunate. We wouldn't want our beloved superhero becoming a criminal, now do we?" Sabine nudged Marinette's shoulders. They laughed.

"Maman," Marinette said. "Maybe we should invite him at another time to let him help us, so that he could finally taste a true croissant." She looked towards Chat Noir to see his reactions and -

She saw dead flowers reviving because of him.

She smiled. Chat Noir was an important friend to her, and she was happy that she could cheer him up.

Sabine smiled. "I think it's a great idea, dear. And judging from Chat Noir's expression, I think he means a yes too." Marinette and Sabine giggled.

Chat Noir laughed along and rubbed his right hand on his messy hair.

Marinette and Sabine gathered the ingredients from the fridge and behind the counters. Chat Noir, not knowing where anything was, stayed put.

After a few minutes of constant bustling, they had finally had most of the ingredients on the workstation. Marinette finally asked the question that had been itching her mind. "You said that you haven't had sweets for how long?"

"Um.. About three months, I think."

"Three months?!" She almost yelled. How was that possible? She couldn't survive three days without sweets! Plus, there was Tikki...

"Yeah." He said, without any change in his expression. "My chef makes only healthy and low-calorie foods, so it's rare that I get to eat sweets," Chat Noir said. His eyes widened and his right hand went to his mouth. "Oops," he said. He tried a smile.

"A chef? A personal chef?" Marinette asked.

Chat Noir nodded.

Marinette felt as if she had been stung by a bee. "I would have never thought that you, out of all people, would have a personal chef." She was curious as to who he was in civilian form, but she shook herself off from the idea. Superhero identities had to stay secret. She, out of all people, should know that.

"Hey, what do you mean, 'out of all people'? You wound me, princess." Chat Noir smirked.

"Oh come on," Marinette smiled playfully. "We all know those cheesy puns are not exactly Grade A."

"Oh! Oh, that was fatal, princess!" He reenacted the Shakespeare scene where Julius Caesar was stabbed multiple times. "You have officially slaughtered my ego. You know how much I take pride in my puns."

Marinette laughed. "Stop being such a drama queen, Chat Noir." Marinette pushed her index finger to where his heart must have been at the word. "We're going to get started now."

They gathered all of the ingredients. Sabine called for Tom. They were going to make tomorrow's batch, and the more hands, the better it was.

"Here," Marinette said, giving Chat Noir the measuring cup. "Get one cup of the flour and put it in here." She pointed at the empty bowl in front of them. "I'm going to find the yeast."

Chat Noir did exactly as she said. When he was done, Marinette came back and put the yeast in and added water.

Chat Noir looked at the bowl with the wonder that a child had for a new toy. "Wow," he said. Marinette thought it was cute.

"Now, we wait an hour," Marinette said.

"Hello, Chat Noir!" A voice boomed from behind. "We are so glad that you could join us today," Tom said with a huge grin on his face.

Chat Noir caught the same grin. "The pleasure is all mine," he bowed.

Sabine and Tom smiled. Marinette couldn't help but grin with them.

A minute or two of silence between the two teenagers had passed. Meanwhile, Tom and Sabine had been talking excitedly about how the bakery had been garnering more attention nowadays. It had become one of the first stops that tourists passed through. They had said that the reviews were stellar and the people around had said nothing but great things about the bakery. They had taken all of this in pride.

"Chat Noir," Marinette said. "Since you said that you have a personal chef," Tom and Sabine turned around to hear their conversation. Tom's eyes were wide open. Sabine gave an understanding smile to Tom. "I assume that you haven't cooked much. But have you ever been in a kitchen?"

"Well, yes." Chat Noir answered happily. Then, his voice lowered in pitch and volume. His head was lowered. "The last time I was in a kitchen, I was twelve and mom and I had made spaghetti."

"Oh," Marinette said. "Does she not cook often or something? I can guess that having a personal chef around would reduce the burden of having to cook."

"No. She loved cooking. She used to do it all the time." Chat Noir sighed, looking down at the floor. "The personal chef has been an addition to us ever since-"

"Oh no." Marinette's face grew pale. "Is she…"

"Dead? Yeah." The word yeah was barely a whisper.

"Oh my gosh," Sabine had her hands covering her mouth. "I'm so sorry, dear," Sabine hugged him, petting his head. Chat Noir's ears were drooped down all the way.

It feels like mom, Adrien thought. He leaned in to Sabine's shoulders.

"How old are you, sweetie?" Sabine asked, wiping away tears he didn't know he had with her fingers.

"Fourteen."

She gasped. "The same age as Marinette! And when did she pass away?"

"A year and a half ago."

"So it's recent. How is your father handling all of this?"

"Not good, I guess?" She hugged him harder. "Ever since her death, he…changed." He cried.

Marinette flinched. She had never seen Chat Noir cry. He had always been an image of goofiness and fun to her.

"Just the night before yesterday, it had been her birthday," Adrien continued. "And so I had gotten him a hiccup present that had reminded him of her. But he called it as only the hiccup thing that brought terrible memories." He cried.

Marinette tried to hold back her tears without success. Now, she was more appreciative than ever that her parents were alive and well. She only wished that Chat Noir could be the same, but she couldn't just wish back a dead person, even as Ladybug. She tried to imagine a life without either her mom or dead. It was devastating. She would have become a walking zombie. Just going through the motions of life.

She couldn't even imagine what Chat Noir felt. He was handling all of this…alone. And with much more courage than she might imagine for herself.

Marinette wept. All this time with Chat Noir, and she hadn't even known that he was severely pained until just the day before yesterday. She was a terrible partner.

Adrien's jaws chattered. The mask started to break. It blinked back and forth, disappearing and reappearing.

Marinette couldn't believe her eyes. It was as if the mask were just pixels from an old video game. She had never known that the masks could ever break. However, she still couldn't see who the boy behind the mask was. It blinked too quickly for her to see.

"I just…wanted him to be…happy. I wanted the present to serve… as a reminder that mom…was always with us." With every pause, his voice lowered three pitches, as if it was to calm himself down. "But hiccup-" He couldn't finish the sentence.

Sabine embraced him even harder and rubbed his back in a swirling motion. "It's okay. It's okay."

They stayed like that for thirty minutes.

Adrien was calm now. His cheeks were drenched in dry tears, but he felt a lot better than what he had felt like for a long time. It was as if he had thrown away extra weights that he didn't even know he had.

Chat Noir pulled away from Sabine, who still had been hugging him. "Uh.." he ruffled his hair slightly with his right hand. "I'm sorry if I brought the mood down. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, and I ruined it." His ears drooped.

"No, dear," Sabine smiled. "You didn't ruin anything. Far from it."

"Of course not!" Marinette chimed in.

"Yes," Tom said. He was silent for a second. "If you need any help, you can always come to us."

"In or out of costume," Sabine said, taking Tom's hand. "We won't tell anyone. We swear."

Chat Noir smiled. "Thank you," he said, the words barely a whisper.

But Sabine, Tom, and Marinette had heard him. They smiled too.

"Think of us as your adopted family," Sabine said, the smile still on her face. "Marinette could provide a spare bed to you if you ever need to stay for the night. Is that okay, Marinette?"

"I can't say no to a stray kitty," Marinette smiled.

The alarm went off.

"Oh, I guess the croissants are ready for the next step."

Marinette and Chat Noir finally managed to make the croissants. Marinette often instructed him on how to fold or how wide to cut, but she was astounded at the speed which he learned. She didn't have to repeat anything twice, and furthermore, he was able to recreate an exact replica whenever he saw her do it. Maybe it was one of the magical powers of the suit, or maybe it was that Chat Noir was just a talented person. But she couldn't help but be impressed.

They talked about a lot of things. Marinette's school life and her projects, Chat Noir's hero life, Jagged Stone, Ultimate Mecha Strike III, Marinette's crush, Chloe, and Chat Noir's crush on Ladybug. Marinette hadn't said who her crush was, but she had talked about how hard it was to even talk to him. He was too perfect for a mere mortal like her to be able to talk to, she said. And because of that, she got flustered around him easily.

She remembered that Chat Noir's eyebrow had gone up. He couldn't comprehend who could be more perfect than her if she was already perfectly imperfect. It warmed her heart that the kitty thought of her so highly. It didn't change the situation, but it was sweet.

She had then complained that Chloe was too blunt. Marinette was sure most of the akuma attacks had something to do with Chloe. Chloe and she had been in the same class for four straight years, and every time until this year she had let Chloe bully her. But not anymore. She had gained new friends and a new power – confidence. She stood up to Chloe, and she felt happy putting Chloe in her place. Also, the girl had to learn social context. It was obvious to everyone but her that Adrien didn't want to be in her company. She needed to give him personal space. She had fumed.

Chat Noir had nodded, although he wasn't quite sure how the conversation had changed from Marinette's crush to Chloe.

When the croissants were finally done, Marinette and Chat Noir smiled.

Marinette took a bite into the croissant. She could taste the crunchy flakes on the outside and the buttery gooey goodness in the inside. Her tongue was satisfied. She looked at Chat Noir to see what he thought about the taste.

He was examining the croissant from all angles, admiring the work they had put into it. He hadn't even taken a bite yet.

Marinette laughed. "It's not a museum artifact, you know."

Chat Noir laughed. "Right." He took a bite.

His head rose along with his hands, which were now balled into fists. He looked as if he had just found out he had won the jackpot. She swore that she also saw tears.

Marinette smiled. "So?"

Mom. "It's…beautiful." Chat replied, staring at the hole he had just created in awe.

Marinette laughed.

If you have any suggestions or constructive criticism for me, don’t hesitate to contact me.

I hoped you liked this chapter. I had a lot of fun writing this (I hope that doesn't sound sadistic).

#marichat may 2018 #marichat may #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #ml marinette #adrien agreste

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when-the-spring-dies · 3 years

Text

Azumaya Sakurai (ENG)

LIFE IS a constant battle between Sakurai and God. Ever since he was born, nothing good served on his plate. On Monday, it would be pain; on Tuesday, it would be despair; on Wednesday, it would be violence; on Thursday, it would be regret; on Friday, it became milder, shame; on Saturday and Sunday, Lord gave him a little bit mercy and fun with lust.

Had Sakurai plead for more mercies, God might send him a packet of blessing every day. But no one ever taught the man how to kneel down or to slosh in tears, asking for forgiveness and hoping the heaven belonged to him. But for once, he saw and heard his parents shouting: “God! Oh, God! Forgive me. God!” while raising a kitchen knife. Later, they thrusting at each other with it, still calling out for anybody’s God.

When the shouting stopped and the red river claimed the lifeless builds, Sakurai crawled on top of them. His dark hair which inherited from his mother and his sharp strong-willed eyes gifted by his father, shaped him like a vulture in a huntㅡready to devour the corpse before flies and maggots joined the feast.

For days, he sucked on his mother’s stiff nipples, but no milk calmed his hunger; all left was dried blood and maggots eddying around him. They nudged his weakened cheek and hand several times as if inviting the boy to play. But he was too hungry to move and his mother’s warmth had gone, so he did what a three years old would do: crying. And when the vocal cords couldn’t support another weep, he fell asleep.

Days passed, Sakurai was saved. He didn’t know who and when, but what he faced once he woke up was a woman dressed in white, carrying him while feeding something unfamiliar. A year later, he learned that he fed from a cow and he loved it. He loved it more than his mother’s which he couldn’t recall the taste anymore.

Everything became blurred to him. How his parents look like? What nickname did they give him? What was the title of his favorite bedtime story? All those memories dead along with his parents.

Fighting over flower scented blanket or new donated toys was the usual activity. Some kids would use their fist and the others would cry. The strongest got the blanket and the toys while the weak ones bawled together in the corner of the room. Sakurai believed they shouldn’t cry because later, once someone took them away, they would have their own toys and bedroom. Just like Nanao who left with an uncle who had big belly, she sent some pictures where she went to the Disneyland and stuffed her pink bedroom with dolls from there.

Soon, Sakurai figured that not every child who left the orphanage could have a beautiful life like Nanao. He remembered he held hands with his fellow orphans, dressed in all black, following the caretakers who cried while hugging a photo of a kid named Genta. They said Genta was beaten and starved until he passed. The police arrested his adopted parents and threw them into jail.

After Genta’s death, everyone became murky. None of them excited whenever they were told to line up or to hear: “The parents are here!”. Sakurai saw them and himself like the goods being sold in the market. And it was just his luck that a woman dressed in kimono took interest in him. She said he looked handsome and not so Japanese; that his records showed he behaved well.

For a week, Sakurai who lived for only six years on earth, felt nervous. Would he end up like Genta? But did he have anything to lose? He didn’t even know how the future would like.

So he left with Makoto, the woman’s name. She took him to Gion, Kyoto, where she worked as a geisha in her early twenties. Now she in her middle thirties, no one interested being entertained by her. And with her charming mind, Makoto opened a restaurant which serving her hometown delicacies to tourists and the tea houses’ visitors.

Sakurai didn’t end up like Genta and didn’t end up like Nanao. He ended up as Azumaya Sakurai, the adopted son of Nakamura Makoto. Every morning he helped his mother to clean the restaurant and went to school with his friends from the same neighborhood. He grew up bright and playful. Everyone loved him, but some couldn’t help to tease him for being parentless and for being adopted by Makoto.

One afternoon, Sakurai got home with cuts and bruises. Makoto asked him if he were falling or fought someone. And the answer was the latter. “I defeated them,” he said. “Then, I’ll make sure to visit your school tomorrow,” she said.

After Makoto patched his wounds, Sakurai asked her if she didn’t want to know the reason of his fight. And with a motherly smile, she said, “I know the fight is for me. Thank you, Saku-kun. If I were born as a real woman, you wouldn’t need to through this embarrassment.”

And Sakurai yelled in rage: “What was the purpose of the sentence?” For him who left by his parents and knew nothing about how warm a mother’s love could be, Makoto was the most beautiful mother in the universe. Even when she turned into ashes.

Sakurai forgot how to count. He forgot how to count the times he had cried over Makoto’s full name on a tiny jar. It was unreal how he could feel a great sadness in his heart.

The aching, the yearning, and the emptiness he experienced, every single of it were for Makoto; for his mother. That day, Sakurai had his first conversation with God to condemn Him. My mother would still alive if You didn’t allow those drunkard yakuzas came in. I hate You!

An eleven years old boy who grew up with manner didn’t know how to cuss properly. Even when a stranger held him in his arms, Sakurai got nothing to say but to ask: “Who are you?”

His dark long silky hair swayed beautifully as he walked. And his droopy but keen eyes stared at him tenderly, just like Makoto’s. “I’m Makoto’s little brother. So, you are my responsibility now. But because Makoto didn’t have a good relation with our family, you should work harder than everyone else to gain the Oyabun’s favor.”

“I’m sorry, but who is Oyabun?”

Nobody said anything. Not even the men in the front row of the car, they were as quite as the dead. But once the car stopped and a grand gate appeared behind the tinted window, the man opened his mouth: “The Head of Sui-kai, my father.”

General Information

Name: Azumaya Sakurai (東屋櫻井)

CV: Howl

Place and Date of Birth: Tokyo, September 13 1991

Gender: Male

Height and Weight: 188 cm and 87 kg

Blood Type: A

Education: Bachelor of Science Communication University W

Job: Yakuza mentor to Hanase, Vice President of Celestial Entertainment, (former) kindergarten teacher

Outfit: Simple modern black suit, tracksuits, and hoodie

Pants: Anything that's comfortable

Shoes: Classic shoes (Oxford/Chelsea), sneakers

Tattoo: Irezumi style (on the back)

Accessories: Watches, earrings, and a belt

Perfume: Gentleman by Givenchy

Weapons: Daggers, swords, knives, and fists

Favorite Food: Anything

Favorite Drinks: Whiskey, tea

Favorite Cigarette: Camel Wide

Group: Murakami-gumi, Sui-kai (former)

Pets: Kyosuke, Hanase, Otsuka, You.

Personality

MBTI: INFP Alignment: Lawful Evil/Good Keywords: Analytical, intelligent, reserved, critical, helpful, conscientious

Usually, Sakurai is a good-hearted man. He is sensitive to his surroundings and tend to help his peers in need. Generally, he is respectable, hard-working, and bright in knowledge and practical matters. Everyone will search for him when they need advices.

Sakurai doesn’t enjoy spotlight. He prefers standing in the background as long as he is appreciated for doing things well. He may brush off people’s compliment harshly which leads to uncomfortable situation, but honestly, he’s just shy.

Not everyone knows that Sakurai is honestly a playful and has mischievous sense of humor. He’s a bright person who enjoys life and freedom; he loves to travel the world and meeting new people, creating many lovely memories.

Sakurai doesn’t like to hold back due to his temperamental nature. He’ll dealing with his problems right away so he can get on with other things. He secretly enjoys trouble and confrontations, stagnant life isn’t for him. And some people can’t hate him deeply because of his childlike innocence.

Even so, Sakurai used to live as a soldier; the knight in fairytale stories. He lives listening to the Lord’s command, not the one in command. He’ll submit and do the tasks bestowed upon him, bringing the victory for his Lord.

He is chained by the destiny. He is forced to do what his heart refused to do. All the blood, the suffering, the dying souls in the battlefield, he must weight them on his shoulders for years to come; eating up the little light inside him.

How to trigger him? Anyone who breaks the rules and creates a chaos will not live peacefully until they pay for their actions. Sakurai doesn’t get along with people who have bad manners and direct or abrasive expression of feelings. Not only they’ll keep fighting, but Sakurai has tendency to give in (avoiding conflict) and let the person always bullies him.

Physical Statistics

STRENGTH (2,205lb/1,000kg)

CONSTITUTION

stamina: 100%

endurance: 100%

vitality: 100%

recovery: 85%

resistance: 90%

fortitude: 100%

resilience: 85%

DEXTERITY

agility: 90%

accuracy: 97%

Mental Statistics

INTELLIGENCE (90%)

CHARISMA

presence: 100%

charm: 100%

social skills: 100%

PERCEPTION

awareness: 100%

POWERS

interrogation (4/5)

firearms (3/5)

hand-to-hand combat (5/5)

intimidation (5/5)

manipulation (3/5)

skilled acrobat (4/5)

multilingual (English, Korean, Japanese) (4/5)

technology (4/5)

Trivia

He has affectionate nature.

He has more networking with older people than younger ones.

Stamina King.

Twitching his eyebrows and gripping his buckle when he’s mad or irritated.

Changing his home or office interior regularly.

Controlling his sensitive side with working out and cleaning home (loves domestic works).

Discount Maniac, he knows when the supermarket will have great deals.

Contributed to society as a health instructor for the senior citizens.

Yes to extreme sports, not much scared of anything; even the dark side of human nature.

Love music and art, Makoto taught him.

Can’t sleep alone, he collects bear dolls to accompany him or sleeping with someone instead.

Cover Up Tattoo

#profile #backgroundstory

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theheartsjourney · 3 years

Photo

The Public Square (1923) - Will Levington Comfort

D. Appleton and Company, New York. 320 pages.

“This isn’t an English-Indian story. It’s a story of all the world.“

CW: murder/massacre, animal (horse) death, war

The book primarily follows its first narrator, Pandora "Pidge" Musser, although it varies from chapter to chapter. Fresh from Los Angeles to New York to work independently as a writer, nineteen-year-old Pidge enters a rooming house on 54 Harrow Street in Greenwich Village. The owner is the calm and experienced figure of Miss Claes, an Indian-American, who takes the role of a mentor figure to Pidge.

Others who take residence in the building are Nagar, or Mr. Naidu, Richard "Dicky" Cobden, and a "couple of girl-pals; one works in a restaurant to support the other who is to become a prima donna; [and] a couple of decayed vaudeville artists looking for a legacy" (32) who--to my great disappointment--never appear.

Nagar is the writer and Hindu friend of Miss Claes. He presents his story, "The Little Man" to the Public Square, where Dicky, the weekly paper's reader, is enthralled by the narrative of Gandhi. Dicky leaves his wealthy home on East 50th Street to join the others at Harrow. There, he believes he'll find inspiration among the artist-types to write his magnum opus.

Loves tangle from there. Two additional characters are introduced to complete Comfort's commentary on relationships: Fanny Gallup and Rufus Melton. Fanny, the destitute, worldly girl from the Lenox way factory, embodies woman ruined in her search for love, and Rufus the type of confident man who loves for himself--even if he must beguile and silence for it.

Pidge's struggles with love are raw and convincing. Despite craving comfort, she refuses to allow Dicky to love her by his imaginary ideal of her. She prefers the independence she escaped Los Angeles for--even if it exhausts her and starves her to keep. The peace a husband's salary could give her is too easily won for her to accept.

Yet the past combines with her need for "experiences, life" (107) in Rufus Melton, a man whose self-serving love is still a constant battle for her to accept. She never manages to change herself for him--rather, in the same way she did for her father, she adapts, ignores, and tolerates his presence as she can. Comfort compares the two directly: "she was lacking in the ability to detach herself from Melton, as from the influence of her father" (93). When she first capitulates to Rufus' advances, she even blames it on being her “father's child (134). As her tenderness for Rufus wanes, the narration also comments that “Rufus thought her extremely selfish. So had her father" (157).

Rufus again acts as a foil to her father in the way his character is treated off-scene. Chasing a story, he departs for WWI France--and is promptly forgotten by the narrative. When he reappears, he is trapped in a new marriage and is potentially shell-shocked. Dicky frees him--and he is forgotten again. His absence does not have the same power over her as Adolf Musser did, yet even his wanes as Pidge matures: when Adolf falls ill and Pidge rushes to him, she “suddenly discovered she had a father” (221) as though she had forgotten him.

To an extent, the act of saving Rufus and forgetting him places Dicky in the same role as Pidge. While Dicky is away in India and France, Pidge has taken his place in The Public Square as reader, completing the exchange of roles. Their codependence and unshakable link remains throughout the novel. This relationship asserts that their link is not as lovers but comrades.

When rejecting Dicky's proposal a second time, Pidge states:

“Do I have to begin by saying how dear you are— how kind, how utterly good it is to know you; what it means to have faith and trust in one man?”

“Please not, Pidge.”

“But never forget it, Dicky. It’s the pedestal upon which everything’s builded. Always remember that I know you underneath; that I turn to you in trouble—not like a brother or father or lover, but what our word *comrade* means—what it will sometime mean to many people!" (106)

The word "comrade" calls to Comfort's language in his Will Levington Comfort Letters (1920). He dedicated the volume of letters "To The Comrades," referring to his compatriots in the spiritual sect he headed called The Glass Hive. In the first letter, he states that "We should belong to one another better in the Long Road sense, in the sense of the real meaning of the word Comrade" (WLC Letters, 2). The second letter clarifies that his purpose in the volume is "to touch the real Comrade within you, for I have an Immortal Friend there, one who would die for me every day" (WLC Letters, 8).

When Dicky attempts to make a lover of her, she refuses: comradeship is the higher relationship to her. None of Pidge's relationships have the power to alter her character but the one with Dicky. Her empathy for others in financial hardship is sourced from her time working in the exhaustion and hunger of the labeling factory. Nothing in her sense of value or work ethic was dictated to her by another. But after rejecting her novel manuscript for being too shallow, Dicky unwittingly changes Pidge: she sets her writing aside, understands the naivety of it and herself, and matures as a reader instead.

Dicky does not understand this relation at first, and in contrast, he does nothing but develop based on others' influences. Most of those influences are Indian: Nagar's "Little Man" tale inspiring him to write an equivalent story, Miss Claes' wisdom at the Punjabi dinner where they gather after the fallout of his first failed proposal, Gandhi's comment on marriage that reawakens Dicky's love for Pidge. In the critical scene of Pidge's second refusal of Dicky’s proposal, she states, "Miss Claes and Nagar lose themselves in nations. You’re getting to be like them" (107). Furthermore, Dicky’s development moves in tandem with that of India throughout the climax, which Comfort summarizes as "there had been death and birth for India and for himself" (283).

In its later pages, the novel places Dicky amidst the Indian nationalist movement of Gandhi. In particular, Comfort references "The Rowlatt Bills," likely referring to the "Black Bills" which preceded the Rowlatt Act. Introduced March 18, 1919, this act allowed the government to arrest and incarcerate without trial anyone on grounds of inciting terrorism in support of the Indian nationalism. Dicky arrives in late May to reunite with Gandhi and understand the position of "The Little Man" in international politics. The pacing swiftly moves onto April, where Dicky is nearby the arrest of Dr. Satyapal and Dr. Kitchlew--public figures who campaigned against the Rowlatt Act and who, being Hindu and Muslim respectively, promoted unity. The resulting Jallianwala Bagh massacre is also covered.

I adore this excerpt of from the Jallianwala Bagh scene. Dicky confronts General Fyatt (Reginald Dyer) at the head of the massacre

Dicky felt the horrible slowness over everything—that somehow there was not in this man’s volition the power to order the firing to cease. No recognition showed in Fyatt’s eyes. He stared. It was like the man who had stared at him on the docks in Bombay, when he heard that America had entered the War.

“I only wanted to ask —” Dicky stopped and raised his voice above the tumult of shots and voices. “Cobden of New York—saw you in France!’’

[...] “Ah, Cobden. Heard you were in town. Busy, you know!”

“I see!” the American yelled back. He felt like a maniac. “I see! I merely wanted to ask, General, if you had gone mad—or have I?” (277-8)

Comfort’s description style of the massacre closely resembles his techniques to describing the trauma of WWI combat in Red Fleece (1915). His sentences are fragmented and disorderly, and smooth comprehension is abandoned for the narrator’s uncertainty. Another mirror in his combat writing is through specters. Dicky notes feeling as though Pidge were with him through his transformation into a “world citizen” (292). Despite recognizing the absurdity of it, he allows himself to find comfort in her imagined presence--and he notes that "things of this kind had often happened to soldiers on the battlefields of France" (285). The phrase has merit in Comfort's experience and in others. Sassoon (Diaries 1915-1918, 68) and Bird (Ghosts Have Warm Hands, 38), for example, describe seeing loved ones in moments of stress. Twice the protagonist in Comfort's second WWI novel senses his love nearby: "he fancied her near..." (Red Fleece, 134) and "she had been near" (Red Fleece, 148).

Still--not wishing to distract from the novel's theme towards India--Comfort spends a brief time in WWI France and Arabia "with young Tom Lawrence, whose fame Dicky Cobden helped to make" (137). The French portion receives a short chapter set near the Meuse–Argonne offensive ("The 'Oregon' forest," 197) which contains a passage I found memorable:

His mount had turned gently away in the thickening dusk, turned on his toe corks through the slush to follow a wind-blown leaf. Plop — a water-soaked trench-siding gave way, and Yorick disappeared into an unused pit. [...] Yorick looked like a monster in the process of being born out of the mud. There was something both humorous and hopeless about the gaunt lifted head that came up into the ray. And now Dicky discovered that Yorick’s left foreleg below the knee veered off suddenly to the left, at a decided angle from the way it should lie. Dicky felt alone in a harrowing underworld. [...]

“Pretty lucky old boy, you are,” Dicky said. “Work done, war over for you, nice warm ditch to lie up in at the last, and I’ve got to take all the responsibility.”

He drew the pistol from his belt and placed it on the little twist of hair halfway between the eyes.

“I ought to take the saddle off first, but I’m not going to. So long, old kid, and best luck.”

The pistol banged in the dugout like a cannon cracker under a flower pot, and the voice of an American sentry above was heard to say:

‘‘Some fool’s blowed his head off, down there. Why in hell can’t a man be patient!”

Although not a complete surprise coming from Comfort's strong anti-war background, the novel references support for the pacifist movement. John Higgans, the Public Square's editor, wrote a pacifist article in outrage of his conscientious objector friend's arrest. Despite knowing it would doom the Public Square, Higgans pushes to publish the article. Pidge convinces him not to, and he cedes ownership of the paper to her and Dicky. Thus, despite its feature on little more than a page, the scene contributes to the novel's imaginary future story: the tale of the press in the hands of Pidge and Dicky.

But the Public Square is not the ultimate point of the novel. Neither is Pidge--which weakens the novel’s impact after spending so much time wither her. Dicky is key. The value of the story is in his transformation, but even that is muddled toward the end.

Even after every change India and Indian culture has wrought in Dicky, he concludes though the trauma specter of Pidge that it was her influence that matured him. He goes so far as to say “The Little Man has made me see [...] the great thing you have done [...] pushing me back into myself ” (292-3). By relegating Gandhi--and India in extension--to a supportive role for Pidge, the novel completely undermines the strength of Dicky’s world citizenship. All his work towards his journalism--watching Nagar be whipped, drilling himself to avoid partisanship, neglecting his family for India--is abandoned for what he suddenly realizes is to “at last to become connected to her this way, though across the world" (286).

Furthermore, Pidge’s character relied deeply on the concept of the Comrade. Instead, her role in maturing him is as a “the man-maker a wife must be” (292). While the novel’s final pages do not state explicit romance, the intention is obvious: Pidge is to be divorced from Rufus, she confesses that she is “dying to be a woman” (318), and she repeatedly asks Dicky for rest--the thing he offered her in his original proposal.

It’s a disappointing finish on an otherwise well-done book. Comfort’s love for his settings genuinely shows. His characters--while not very complex--are effective and generally interesting. The language he uses is beautiful and rewarding, and the way he conveys empathy is clear and moving without grim moralizing.

---

The Public Square dust cover from Yesterday’s Gallery.

Everybody’s Magazine Feb 1923 cover from rarerecordsncollectibles on eBay.

Everybody’s Magazine Mar 1923 image, page 105 by C. R. Chickering.

Everybody’s Magazine Apr 1923 image, page 155 by C. R. Chickering.

Everybody’s Magazine May 1923 image, page 149 by C. R. Chickering.

#the public square #will levington comfort #american #novel #1923 #1920s #love #war #3rd person #pg 300 #wwi #other front #post war #western front

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sigmastolen · 7 years

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dsc 1.04 “the butcher’s knife cares not for the lamb’s cry”

honestly i love this tos-style title esp. after the last three which were frankly not up to snuff but lemme tell you everything i thought about this episode (because, you know, nobody asked)

spoilers below the jump obvs

so i guess the big thing is that, though i ended this episode crying all the tears, i was Not Impressed.

not impressed by lorca being shouty and manipulative and generally treating people callously

not impressed by the klingons eating georgiou’s remains, although i wouldn’t say it’s out of character for klingons, especially klingons who are starving

not impressed by the klingon storyline in general so far

not impressed that the klingons are mostly still!!!! white actors in blackface

not impressed that the show has killed another woman of color

treating woc as disposable is not a good look

and no, you don’t get a pass just because the main character is also a woc

treating women in traditionally-male occupations as disposable is not a good look

and no, i won’t ever be over tasha yar (i was a child, that shit was formative, okay)

harberts & berg making references on the aftershow comparing landry’s death to yar’s is also not a good look. denise crosby left and tasha yar died because s1 of tng was intolerably sexist, something which dsc has explicitly claimed it is trying not to be -- so maybe act like it, show. you wanted us to praise you for your ~diversity~, well, it turns out you have to actually be diverse

also given that dsc was conceived as an anthology series and we only have 15 episodes with this story and these people by design, it is highly unlikely landry will get a “yesterday’s enterprise” to redeem her death, so stop trying to be fucking cute, showrunners.

and, like -- i love rekha sharma and i was interested in knowing landry, and the whole thing is so tired. audiences are no longer shocked that “anyone can die” -- we’re tired of getting interested and invested in characters, especially characters with marginalized identities, only to see them pointlessly killed in the next episode. i literally said out loud, “are you fucking kidding me,” because i was not shocked but annoyed. it’s not impactful storytelling. it’s just disappointing.

and from a character standpoint, it’s not as though we needed landry or anyone else to be fridged for burnham’s motivation -- i’m sure she would have been motivated just as well by, say, a serious but nonlethal maiming, because she has already demonstrated an advanced guilt complex and also she’s not a sociopath

the replicator (matter synthesizer, whatever) technology we’re seeing seems inconsistent with the technological timeline of other treks; however, it may be more consistent with the timeline of current human technology, considering the rapid advancement of 3D printing in recent years. something to think on.

i think part of my trouble reading the new uniforms is that it’s actually really difficult to distinguish ops copper from command gold from, sometimes, science silver -- they’re too visually similar, especially on the blue field. also, having the rank pips be itty bitty on the combadge is also not great.

what do we call the badges if they are not also communicators, but neither are they mission patches? just badges? that seems a little... pedestrian

my heart hurts for the tardigrade

but real talk unless the spores are a superfood or the tardigrade’s body is hyper-efficient, it’s gonna need to eat a lot more than what one of those cylinders can hold. it could probably eat the spores of discovery’s entire mushroom forest and still be hungry, that is a Large critter.

i really miss georgiou

also i can understand burnham’s radio silence last episode, when she still planned/expected to serve out her sentence, and maybe as a convict she would not have access to long-distance communications, but now that she’s officially been conscripted, you’d think she’d at least send sarek and amanda a voicemail like “hey jsyk i’m not in prison any more”

then again (a) off-ship communications are probably restricted because it seems like discovery is pretty hush-hush and anyway it’s wartime and also (b) lorca echoing (in 1.03) sarek’s comments about waste (in 1.02) makes me think sarek definitely knows and possibly put the idea in lorca’s head. which, honestly -- we kind of already knew sarek is a maverick, since he married a human, but wow he must be a serious Loose Cannon

tilly is such a delight. i love her. that is all.

between the supermodel strut, the protective, hair-fluffish hand gestures around the threat ganglia, and something in the prissy, cutting tone of his conversations with burnham, i’m definitely reading saru as a Bitchy Queen

doctor culber has something both bonesian and crusheresque in the way he is completely unimpressed with stamets’s grumpiness. also the part of me that was a teenage rent-head is just so happy to see cruz and rapp reunited in space.

i feel like i had smart things to say about the klingons and about parallels but now it’s late and i’m too tired

i’m sorry to report that my after trek trivia streak is now just as broken as my duolingo streak

#sigma watches trek #sigma watches dsc #thinky thoughts #spoilers #star trek discovery

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ruleandruinrpg · 7 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, LISSA!

You have been accepted for the role of MARGARETE STARIKOV. Admin Bree: Margarete is easily one of the darkest characters I’ve ever written, and I don’t say that lightly. Her darkness is the sort that’s so deep and depraved that it can be much more difficult to understand and put into words without romanticizing or excusing, and even when she was but an idea in the back of my mind, I worried we’d struggle to find someone to do her justice. But Lissa, you did so wonderfully! Her mannerisms, her ways of thinking, her sick little mantra, and even her love for berries—all of them painted a clear picture of the twisted little thing she is. Well done! You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS: Lissa

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/Her

AGE: Twenty

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: During the summer probably an 8/10, though I might be taking trips throughout, but I’ll be sure to shoot the main an ask giving notice. As for when the school year starts, I can’t say for certain since I haven’t registered for classes yet, but hopefully it’ll be either a 6 or a 7 since my unit load shouldn’t be as heavy as it has been.

CURRENT/PAST ACCOUNTS: Redacted.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER: Margarete Vera Starikov

MARGARETE: It is such a lovely name for such a lovely girl, especially one who is every bit as treasured as her moniker implies—she is a pearl, iridescent and bright, but her outward appearance is a demure facade hiding a darkness thick, sweet, and enticing like syrup though closer to poison in composition.

VERA: To some it means truth and to others it means faith, but both are correct when it comes it to the doll-faced girl. For even though they try to hide her and make her someone else, she cannot fight her nature and has never once wanted to. But in terms of faith, it’s what she asks of others, to believe that she can be great and deadly. However, it also refers to the faith a Healer needs to do their job when the ill and the injured place their lives in their skilled hands.

STARIKOV: It has been known to strike fear into people’s eyes because often it’s associated with an entire line of gifted Heartrenders who have served at the foot of the Darkling for ages at his beck and call. She is the first and only Healer in her family, something she believes is a great shame although her parents are convinced otherwise. It makes her bitter and brittle to know that she is unlike the rest in this sense, at least.

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?:

I’ve never shied away from playing “evil” characters—in fact, I quite enjoy exploring moral gray areas—but in all my time writing, I’ve never played someone filled with such guiltless malevolence. Of course, one could argue that there’s a reason for it: she’s trying to prove herself, trying to be who she truly is, but then what does that say about her? Well, she’s a killer and fine, there are people who must kill in order to protect or serve, that’s justifiable. However, her victims are the wounded and the ill, the weak and the weary, and what she does is not out of mercy however sick that would still be—no, Margarete kills purely out of spite, bitterness, and pride. There is no nobility in her cause and because of that I think there is no chance for a redemption arc which is what draws me. She is so determinately set in embodying death and making an impression on the world that she cares little about what it does to others. Her search for infamy and recognition will leave a huge scar in her stead and I think it’d be such an interesting challenge to tackle because I don’t want her to be sympathetic, I want her to be the worst that she can be cause only then will she be, in her eyes, the best she can be.

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?:

She presses on Konstantin’s bruises by merely existing, but she has never been interested in inflicting the barest pain—instead, she twists the blade in his abdomen by wordlessly taunting him with her presence, situating herself firmly in his line of sight whenever she can. Let him come for her; let him try and prosecute her—when she fells a general, who then could deny her? So she hones her craft in secret, waiting for the moment he snaps like a twig in her vise grip. If he misses his dead wife and child so much, she’d be happy to reunite them, all he needs to do is ask.

In stories it is usually the older that corrupts, but here the roles are reversed. Rita is so sweet it makes her teeth sorely ache, but how grand it would be to map out and see through her fall. They both know pretty things, but darkness obscures and death preserves, so there is a sort of refined beauty in both. Margarete wants to show the other girl that glamour will fade—that it is better to practice things that are much more definitive and permanent.

This feels like dying and in some ways it is—to see who you could’ve been turn to ash in your hands. If she is forced to be a Healer for the rest of her long life, she will surely go mad. There are only two who can stop that from happening, two with the power to give her what she wants. The Darkling is a busy man, she escapes his notice, but Altan with his haughty gaze holds her whole world in his palms. If he can’t see it, she will make him, even if it means squeezing the life out of him for once. But how can a girl take on a monster? The answer is clear: she must become what she wants to destroy even if it means it destroys her as well.

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE?: As hard as it would be, I am open to the idea! Of course, it’d need to have proper justification, but if push came to shove I think I’d be able to let him go if it were under the right set of circumstances.

IN DEPTH

IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S):

I think it goes without saying, but to be on the safe side TW: DEATH, STRANGULATION, and also just general unpleasantness so if that’s not your cup of tea look away.

—I.

From their likeness, they sculpted five children, each undoubtedly theirs, thus Death was their birthright and murder their call. It was hard to argue with fate or, in actuality, genetics—they all had hair dark as a raven’s feathers and they all possessed the same taste for the metallic tang of blood. However, after their second eldest had fallen soon after their first, when the dirt was still damp on their marked graves, they realized there was a sixth to come. Stricken, they fretted over the future of their young babe, and when she was born, they sighed in relief for she was nothing like the others, nothing like them—with hair the brown of a wren’s downy body and eyes that were a bright, shining blue, Margarete or Molly, as they would come to call her, was sugar, spice, and all things nice.

What they had failed to realize in that moment was that although her looks were completely her own, she had indeed inherited their proclivity for blood. When they resigned her to her meager fate, they starved her of it and as a result she became ravenous and wanting.

—II.

She arrived with a ruddy guard in tow, about to jump headlong into a fever let in by a chill. Gaunt-faced, she knocked on Margarete’s door, begging for some semblance of relief if not for herself then for the poor babe kicking forcefully in her womb. It was a simple case in all honesty, one that could be resolved easily with no testament to her skill—except if the noblewoman were to veer sharply in another direction, exhibiting symptoms more resembling death than life. It was a challenge the young girl accepted readily, all too eager to prove her worth, but not as a Healer like some would believe, but as something else altogether.

Her slender hands were placed protectively around her belly, half-swollen with a child’s growing form—the miracle of life, Margarete thought sardonically, though her face expressed nothing except insincere joy. “Don’t you worry,” she stressed, lips pressed into a sly smile, “I will take care of you, just put your faith in me.”

The noblewoman shivered under Margarete’s scrutinizing stare—perhaps she knew deep down that this was end. As she tucked her long legs together and lied down passively, hands still hovering around her unborn child, she murmured a quick and simple prayer to her saints.

Margarete was careful to go gradually—after all, her assigned guard was stationed outside—and beat by beat the woman’s heart slowed. It was a subtle feeling, not too unlike the apprehension she had felt in coming, so much so they were indecipherable from each other: the dying and the fear.

First she fell into a slumber, drawn in by the lull, and then she gasped as her lungs struggled to draw a breath no longer propelled by the rushing of blood. In a matter of moments she had gone from living to dead and with a pleased smirk Margarete looked upon her hard-won triumph, now pale and still. Schooling her features to reflect a mask of terror, she peered out the door, her voice even trembling as she spoke, “Something awful has happened—quick, get your superior!”

He ran down the hall and around the corner, gone as soon as she finished her sentence. Then turning around, she looked back at the lifeless noblewoman—was this number two or two and a half?

—III.

They called her murderess and gleefully she rejoiced. It was a nice change from what they used to say when they’d tell her she was like glass or a long bolt of uncut silk, but in their haste to compare her to fine things, they forgot that even glass could cut and silk could strangle in the right hands—well hers were ready, willing, and skilled enough to do just that.

She felt his dark blue eyes bore into the back of her skull, likely wishing to crack it open on the granite floor of courtyard and spill the blood that pulsed within her.

“I’m sorry Sir, for failing you so,” she told him one day when he insisted on knowing just what had gone wrong, “I am no saint, but if it provides you any comfort, her last moments were peaceful.”

His jaw tightened, the muscles there taut and stretched; Konstantin was the very picture of restrained fury and she reveled in the ability to make a man—a general, in fact—feel so helpless and incensed.

Where did the girl go; the one that was so full of sugar, spice, and everything nice? Well she was the first victim, strangled by her own hands and brute strength the day she donned that gray-sleeved kefta. She tried it their way through hard work and perseverance, but after that failed, it was time for her to show them what a grave miscalculation they made. Her proof was in the bodies and in each life that she took and she will continue until her heretic’s song is recognized as truth.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

She favors certain fruits, especially ones that are berries. When she bites into them, the juice drips down her chin and stains her lips and fingers red like blood.

In the more recent years, she has become cold and aloof—almost unrecognizable from what she used be, because in her quest to become her heart’s desire, she has sacrificed everything, even herself. All her old friends regard her with a great deal of caution, she seems off-kilter and slightly awry, so now she is more of a lone wolf which only further encourages her to spiral since there is no one really her stopping anyways.

Although she wasn’t originally, now Margarete is more methodical in choosing her victims for fear someone will start asking questions about her less than stellar record. It wasn’t that she didn’t think of the consequences earlier, just that she didn’t care for them when the opportunity arose. In truth, she targets the fearful ones, finding their terror at her delectable. Often she’ll utter the line, “I will take care of you, just put your faith in me,” just to humor herself.

She has never seen the Unsea, but oh how she yearns to. It’s a morbid curiosity of hers to see where so many have died, kin or not. While everyone tries to avoid it like the plague, she does not, but only when she’s rightfully a Heartrender will she visit the Shadow Fold.

EXTRAS: Nope, didn’t have anytime for them!

ANYTHING ELSE?: Either The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald or East of Eden by John Steinbeck.

#raraccepted #accepted: margarete

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macabrecabra · 7 years

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Is something burning or is something just recently blown up? Junkrat finally makes his debut into Aquawatch!

Junkrat is a landshark, the catch all term for human/Mer hybrids. The mer half is the species known as the Greater Spinned Hammerhead Wave Ripper, a rare and often destructive species.

Junkrat’s story is mostly known as he’s told it in his own words being he can actually speak to staff and given Overwatch has records confirming many parts of the wild tale....but read for yourself by clicking the read more...

Junkrat is a, like mentioned above, a landshark, one of the most hated hybrid species and one that has more or less been manufactured unnaturally but truth be told, most hybrid species are unnatural. The term hybrid is used to indicate a species is made of two known and established cryptoid species.

Comparatively though, landsharks have more impact on humans thus they tend to be villianized the most. Landsharks are partially human, some appearing nearly human and others more mer, but most suffer terribly and only a scant few can survive to live long lives. Nearly all landsharks are manufactured though as human genetics tends to make smaller mers and lessen their natural defenses that make containing them difficult. Thus poachers will capture healthy mers able to carry and artificially impregnate them.

Thus you get the worse affront against mer-cryptoids that Overwatch is highly keen on snuffing out: Mer-Mills.

Junkrat’s mother was kept in one of these places and Junkrat was born to her with the rest of a litter of half mutated landsharks. The weakened mother couldn’t produce the milk to feed the children, could barely even react given the cramped, unsanitary conditions being maintained as well as the drugs pumped in constantly. Greater Spinned Hammerhead Wave Rippers are large and dangerous creatures, prone to violence and blowing up human ships for “sport” by launching the spines on their back. However the blood of these creatures can be used to manufacture an oil that works better than gasoline meaning hunting them down is of great importance. However, extinction would mean loss of a cash opportunity so many are captured alive and forced to produce landsharks which are easier to harvest. for their blood which is then turned processed. Technically illegal but most governments will turn a blind eye. Junkrat has this blood in his veins and the development of back spines allowing him the “detonate” talents of his mother’s species and the immunity to extreme heat. Add to that though is the very unique ability to actually speak and communicate in English, picking up a strong Australian accent due to where he learned English in his formative years. Junkrat is the only mer able to communicate with staff directly and translate other mer-speak more or less. Getting good translations out of him though is the hard part as some things he speaks about like it is common knowledge/terminology.

Junkrat was a strange case in that his liter, being mostly dead landshark whelps, wasn’t really harvested carefully and he managed to wriggle back into his mother’s tank. The large mer seemed vaguely aware of him there, enough that she made some attempts to rouse herself to raise him. The mer-mill staff thought it amusing enough, cracking jokes but left Junkrat there where he grew up with a half-dead mother barely able to respond socially. Thus he started “talking” to the humans, picking up the English and Australian slang. Eventually though the novelty with the staff was dying off and it was becoming more important to make a profit.

At about five years old, by Junkrat’s rough estimation, he was taken from his mother’s tank, branded with a tattoo on the left forearm, and shoved in a cage tank with a dozen other half starved landshark whelps of various other species. Problem was that the others couldn’t read....Junkrat could. He’d watched the staff. He made his escaped and managed to get out through a water intake pipe to freedom. Freedom though turned out to be a desolate Australian wasteland, the facility far from any ocean and more or less a death sentence. He only survived being a landshark, able to travel upright where he snuck into a watercooler of some local hunters and burrowing into the icy water among beers. The hunters were more than a little shocked to find a mer-child in their cooler.... a freaky half-fish that they sold off to a side show just outside Perth where he became the amazing fish boy.

Unclean conditions and more mercryptids and land cryptoids kept in miserable cages to perform for excited populations, only legal due to local political corruption and perceived “good conditions and happiness” of the “animals”. The place went up in an explosion a year later with the mers and land cryptoids running free and was called an “eco-terrorist attack” by local news.

Little did they know it was a landshark who rigged it all to go up and then who made his escape into the open ocean, sort of swimming free. He was never the strongest swimmer but he managed to find his way to a landshark colony and for a time lived with them before a cull order was put out due to the constant stealing by the landsharks of beach goer possessions and and raiding the shoreline for food.

Poachers were hired under the table to remove the colony but one of the ships was sabotaged from underneath, exploded sky high and the second ship nearly also went up in flames but the “saboteur” was caught and to their surprise it was one of the landsharks. This savage retaliation had the poacher leader find a use for Junkrat other than a quick cull: Pit fighting. The left forearm and lower leg were amputated to slow Junkrat down and make it harder for him to escape and replaced with crude replacements, ones that didn’t fit right and scarred up the stumps and more than once caused harm. It was also meant as a way to remove the tattoo designating him as property to a rival business and avoiding any “ownership” issues. Then Junkrat spent the next few years fighting tooth and claw for life in pit fights against larger species. Eventually though the audience just wanted to see a slaughter and see the maniac landshark get chomped and he was pitted against a large beachhog taniwha that had been starved to the point it was biting anything that moved. During the fight though, Junkrat managed to convince Roadhog not to eat him in return for literally breaking the door protecting the audience.... a very hungry very angry beachhog taniwha doesn’t show much mercy in those circumstances. The two escaped again into the ocean and from there on out, kept close together, raiding and plundering up the shoreline for food and other items. Around this time Junkrat had an idea that he and Roadhog could find a way to get inland and go free his mother and “siblings” from the place he grew up.

A mad cap idea that was put on hold when they went a bit to far upriver and Roadhog ended up stuck in a muddy river, slowly drying up in Australia’s brutal sun. Overwatch was called in when the strange pair was spotted and after initial confrontation, managed to capture both and bring them in.

Detaining Junkrat was hard given he could speak (mostly cussing them all out) and able to blast his way out using his own unique blood as an ignition fluid for it in combination with his spines. Eventually he was calmed down enough to engage in conversation, Mercy leading it and getting some information out of him. It would only be later at seeing the care and work Overwatch did to help mers, a first time sight in Junkrat’s life, that he began to open about why he and Roadhog were stranded at all.

Overwatch was able to track down the facility and burst in, finally shutting down the mer-mill. Records showed there were over a hundred mer cryptoids there at one point or another although only ten were found alive. Hundreds of landsharks were found, over 85% were deformed and unable to survive even with corrective surgeries. 15% were malnourished and already pass the point of saving as well. Only 5% were rescued and nursed to health and able to be helped to live a somewhat normal life. Of the ten full-blooded mers found, Junkrat’s mother was among them, close to giving out, extremely sick, and rendered infertile due to the constant artificial breeding. She was brought back to Overwatch and after many tense weeks, managed to pull through. Remarkably she did remember Junkrat and they re-united, the waveripper reacting positively and affectionately as if he was a full-blooded individual of their species. Still, she did not wish to remain in Overwatch and was released back to open ocean after a private goodbye with her only surviving offspring.

Junkrat was a bit despondent and hasn’t not commented on what was said in the goodbye, opting instead to bury himself under Roadhog and avoid everyone. He has since bounced back and gone back to his explosive ways, running amuck in the base, causing Symmetra to shriek when he gets in her tank and messes up her reef or giving Mei a fright when he goes “boom “ too close. A little menace, but he claims he’s just having fun....as he steals all the cute plushies to give to Roadhog.

He serves often as a translator for the mer-speak of the others although his translations are as colorful as you are imagining them to be. Not to mention he tends to embellish things, forget other things, and use a lot of what is termed “mer-lish lingo”, direct translations or references for what mers call things, that makes the translations even harder to understand.

Junkrat is the most likely mer to be seen out of the tank as he is allowed to come and go as he pleases as long as he behaves and doesn’t blow up too much. Still he tends to avoid contact with visitors as he doesn’t like being stared at like some “freak”. He prefers to lounge about the office area, racing office chairs down the hallways with Torbjorn, answering telemarketers to chat with them, and building mockships to blow up in the harbor with Reinhardt or Roadhog. He is one of the weaker swimmers, a fact often compensated by hitching rides on Roadhog. Also he can’t handle extreme pressures of deep ocean survival which seems to put him out for some reason.

His coloration is not a healthy shade. Given the conditions he grew up in, a lot of the molted grey spots indicate early malnutrition in his youth. The prosthetics have been re-aligned to be comfortable and no longer locking up to allow him better movement although he was not too keen on getting complete replacements like they were a badge of honor or reminder of what he went through. For a landshark though, he IS usually tall.

Mercy handles care of the Beachog Taniwha and Junkrat as both need the most medical expertise, Roadhog more for his dietary needs and Junkrat more for his....everything. Hybrids tend to develop problems so careful monitoring is needed to make sure nothing lethal occurs in his biology. Also she is the only one that is not easily ruffled by their antics and the only one that can get Junkrat to behave somewhat.

Lots of text but I hope you enjoyed = w =

#Aquawatch #Overwatch AU #Junkrat #Jamison Fawkes #Mercy #The junk son has arrived

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nimueriesa · 7 years

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mists of avalon → sentence meme

This is part three of a many part series of lines and dialogue taken from The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley. Feel free to change pronouns or anything else to better suit your needs.

This has been planned since before he was born.

How real is the talk of Gods to a boy?

Whatever may come of it, we have gone too far to stop now; we are all committed.

Such skill as that one has should not be hidden in obscurity, or even in the court of a king.

A voice and hands like that belong to the Gods.

He is gifted, certainly, but I wonder -- is he wise?

What shall be, must be; it is not mine to order.

Are you truly acknowledging that there is anything on the face of this earth which you feel is not yours to order?

I thought you believed that your will was the will of the Goddess, and all of us puppets to serve you!

You must not talk this way, my child.

You can hardly mean to be so insolent to me.

Did I leave you for too long among the Christians, after all, with all their talk of sin?

I could not give you to anyone unworthy of you.

Done is done. And at this moment the hope of Britain is more important than your feelings.

So you, too, shall have a part in the battle to defend our country.

Go and sleep, my dearest; you have wearied yourself in this great work.

I think of you all the time. I cannot help myself.

It was true what I said, that all my life I shall remember you because you were the first, and I shall always think of you and love you.

You must not think of me in that way. For you I am not a woman, but a representative of the Goddess who came to you, and it is blasphemy to remember as if I were only a mortal woman.

Where got you that sword, boy?

Know you my dearest wish, my lord and king?

Why, you were such a little girl, and now you are grown, and a priestess!

You blossom like the wild roses of the hedge.

The priests are very sour about me and say I do not keep my place as benefits a woman - no doubt they think I am some kind of evil sorceress or witch.

Do you think I can’t tell a breeding woman when I see one?

I’ve no shame to confess you sit at my side as my equal in all things.

I have had news from my homeland that a dragon is raging there; I would swear to follow it until I have killed it.

No one alive could call her beautiful!

It is easy to see you have been reared in Avalon, which is even more isolated than most nunneries. I do not think you know what men desire for beauty in a woman.

Come now, there are virtues other than beauty.

Men are like babies -- they see only the first thing they want, a full breast.

Love is a diversion for the bower and the winter fireside.

I would rather dwell in a hermitage in the forest than in a house full of chattering ladies! If God is there, it must be hard for him to get a word in edgewise!

When this land is at peace we shall find wives and castles for all of you, no doubt.

I don’t know so very much about women after all.

Why then, we must find you the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, and the highest born.

Shall I find you a husband, or will you be one of my queen’s ladies-in-waiting?

Who should be higher in the kingdom than the daughter of my mother?

Pray don’t trouble yourself with finding me a husband.

I am sorry - I have wept all over your fine gown.

But it is a marvel to me that you would seek to cast away the only child you will ever bear.

I don’t want it! I didn’t want it! Why did the Goddess do this to me?

Why did you do this to me, _____? Why did you use me this way? I thought you loved me!

The Goddess knows, child, I love you as I have never loved any other human being on earth.

I told you: a time would come when you might hate me as much as you loved me.

Here and now, I tell you that you have worked upon me and played with me like a puppet for the last time! Never again!

I will no longer be your toy and plaything.

May the Goddess deal with you as you have done with me, Lady.

I’m going to be a knight! Knights don’t have to spin!

You must not starve yourself like this, you have a child and you must consider him!

I will be obeyed, you cannot starve yourself and your child this way.

Sing to me. Sing me that song about the dragon.

What ails you, girl? You’re restless as a caged bear!

Come within my hall, we will drink together, and I will make you an offer.

I am an old man. I have no desire to learn new battle methods.

Enough of this, then; pour us some wine.

Are you not afraid of that great fierce horse?

My lady, I do not believe the horse was ever foaled that I cannot ride.

Is it true that you control horses with your magic?

I like horses and I understand their ways and the way their minds works -- that is all.

Do I look to you like a sorcerer?

I think it well that a woman should be wise.

I am not wise; I am very stupid.

Has he tried to win your heart -- or your maidenhead?

Well, don’t get any ideas into that featherhead of yours.

If all goes as I plan, you’ll wed the High King himself!

I’d be afraid to be the High Queen!

Mother, never kneel in my presence. I forbid it.

The Devil gives you your knowledge of such things.

Ah, but God makes doubts and the Devil too.

The idea of marrying a stranger doesn’t please me all that much.

Marriages must be arranged by those with wiser heads.

______ is a wencher. I am not so sure I want him within reach of my bride.

Has ______ such charms that you fear my bride will love him instead?

I am all too worldly -- I like a chance to travel beyond convent walls.

Why, it is as if the sun went behind a cloud then -- but do as you will, lady. I hope you will shine out on us again another day perhaps.

You are lovely indeed. You have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen.

I would say that any man without an ear for music is an ignorant ass indeed, since without it he does not speak but brays.

You are troubled. Can I do anything to help you?

The law requires that they must see us put to bed together, but what happens after that need concern no one but ourselves.

I knew you were an enchantress, but not that you were a musician as well.

I had not imagined that a woman would remember a point of military strategy.

I would to God you had not been sworn to the Goddess.

Are you like so many men, afraid of a woman’s tears?

Women who never weep frighten me, because I know that they are stronger than I, and I am always a little afraid of what they will do.

I would like to ride him. There is no horse I fear.

______, you fear nothing do you?

Oh, no, my kinsman, I fear many things.

I fear to die before I have savored my fill of life.

It does not seem to me that you have left much untasted.

There are so many things I long for, and whenever I pass one by I regret it so bitterly, and wonder what weakness or folly prevents me from doing what I will.

Gods! Of all the damnable -- Gods! Tonight -- swear it! Swear!

When you get older, I will make you a knight and you shall ride out to conquer giants and evil raiders, and rescue fair ladies.

You fell off a horse.

That’s ridiculous. I don’t fall off horses.

It is simple. Do as the Goddess prompts you.

She isn’t the Goddess. She’s just a girl, and she’s frightened.

I have no right -- will you kiss me once?

I promise you, I promise in the name of the Goddess, it will be well, I swear to you.

#sentence meme #OOC┊▌❝ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʳᵉᵉˢ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ˢᶤᶰᵍ ❞ ┊► ᴍᴇᴍᴇs #( it's been so damn long that I can't even remember the login to get onto henry's old account and put this on the meme blog )#( so just have it here )#( i think i'm going to skip ahead a bit for the next one )#long post for ts

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pussymagicuniverse · 4 years

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witch puns are good

a fictocritical reading of caliban and the witch: women, the body, and primitive accumulation by silvia federici

TW: rape, murder

all italics are direct quotations from federici’s text

in a system where life is subordinated to the production of profit, the accumulation of labor-power can only be achieved with the maximum of violence

in Maria Mies’ words, violence itself becomes the most productive force

sometimes it’s remarkable that we keep having to fight the same shit. but it’s oddly comforting that for more than five hundred years we’ve never stopped fighting this shit. people have always been against a tax on life. whether under feudalism or capitalism there is rarely a shortage of those who assert themselves against injustices of the like. before hospital bills that tacked on as many charges as they could to see if you contest them, serflords would issue tallages, a sum of money arbitrarily decided, that the lords could exact at will. akin to spending hours on the phone with a goddamn insurance company to dispute a bill, in 1299 the monks of dunstable asserted that “they would rather go down to hell than be beaten in this matter of tallage”

everyone knows vaguely of the heretics. some know they existed in their variety. people who were essentially against the presiding Church. but hersey was so much more than that. the heretic movement was a conscious attempt to create a new society. the heresy was in refusing to sit back and accept the imposition as it came. in the 830s Սմբատ Զարեհավանցի [Smbat Zarehavantsi] began his preachings, his followers later to be known as the Tondrakians [Թոնդրակեաններ]. their call for property rights for peasants was blasphemy their proclamation of gender equality a dangerous dissension. as with all dissidence they suffered their defeat when the authorities joined forces; feudal lords spiritual and secular joined forces with emirs and byzantines in their persecution.

the advent of capitalism was a similar persecution. against the church of capitalism heresies were drawn and defined. capitalism has created more brutal and insidious forms of enslavement, as it has planted into the body of the proletariat deep divisions that have served to intensify and conceal exploitation. it is in great part because of these imposed divisions--especially those between women and men--that capitalism accumulation continues to devastate life in every corner of the planet. capitalism demanded the loss of the body and the loss of land. it’s amazing what can be accomplished with stolen goods.[1] it’s amazing what will be touted out as ‘progress’. experiments and trials were carried out in europe and shipped around the world reworked and exported back. informing on one another like their witch hunting participants justifying one with the other. Anna Eriksdotter gets decapitated while Maria da Conceição burns while Agnes Sampson is garroted.

some people say it’s easy to point a finger at capitalism. they insist upon metrics and grimace at conjecture. well, wouldn’t you know that between 1350 and 1500 the real wage increased by 100%, prices declined by 33%, rents also declined, the length of the working-day decreased, and a tendency appeared towards local self-sufficiency. even during the Black Death starvation wasn’t as rampant as it was during the inauguration of capitalism. we know this because “had the production of grain dropped as sharply as the population, its price would have remained high." as soon as land began to be privatized, the prices of foodstuffs, which for two centuries had stagnated, began to rise and instead initiated two centuries of starvation.[2]

in september 1565 in antwerp ‘while the poor were literally starving in the streets,’ a warehouse collapsed under the weight of the grain packed in it

II.

with land privatization came a destruction of the commons, a space which had not only hosted survival but life for generations. as enclosures came up one of the most popular forms of social protest was ripping them down. it was not the workers--women or men--who were liberated by land privatization. what was ‘liberated’ was capital, as the land was now ‘free’ to function as a means of accumulation and exploitation, rather than as a means of subsistence. liberated were the landlords, who now could unload onto the workers most of the cost of their reproduction, giving them access to some means of subsistence only when directly employed. when work would not be available or would not be sufficiently profitable, as in times of commercial or agricultural crisis, workers, instead, could be laid off and left to starve.

besides encouraging collective decision-making and work cooperation, the commons were the material foundation upon which peasant solidarity and sociality could thrive [...] the social function of the commons was especially important for women, who, having less title to land and less social power, were more dependent on them for their subsistence, autonomy, and sociality.

it is significant that, in England, most of the witch trials occured in Essex, where by the 16th century the bulk of the land had been enclosed, while in those regions of the british isles where land privatization had neither occurred nor was on the agenda we have no record of witch-hunting

though the Enclosures continued into the 18th century, even before the Reformation more than two thousand rural communities were destroyed in this way. so severe was the extinction of rural villages that in 1518 and again in 1548 the Crown called for an investigation. but despite the appointment of several royal commissions, little was done to stop the trend. can you believe that? but there were several commissions. what began, instead, was an intense struggle, climaxing in numerous uprisings, accompanied by a long debate on the merits and demerits of land privatization which is still continuing today, revitalized by the World Bank’s assault on the last planetary commons.

in pre-capitalist europe women’s subordination to men had been tempered by the fact that they had access to the commons and other communal assets, while in the new capitalist regime women themselves became the commons, as their work was defined as a natural resource, laying outside the sphere of market relations

III.

as people began to congeal united against the gentry the state the church, their community required dissection. the witch-hunt deepened the divisions between women and men, teaching men to fear the power of women, and destroyed a universe of practices, believes, and social subjects whose existence was incompatible with the capitalists work discipline. for the mass people to be divided required the most principle division of all. it was a strategy of enclosure which, depending on the context, could be enclosure of land, bodies, or social relation. it was one of many divisions to come. bacon’s rebellion would later become a warning call to the ruling classes as they watched African men, free man and enslaved man, join with white indentured servants. it was this that led to the creation of the virginia slave laws of 1705. once enshrined into law differences are hard to overcome. two hundred years later this distinction of whiteness would be upheld in United States v. Bhagat Singh Thind, assuring its citizens that “‘free white persons,’ as used in that section [of the constitution], are words of common speech, to be interpreted in accordance with the understanding of the common man” rather than the scientifically charged ‘caucasian’.

the differences should not be underestimated [...] but the similarities in the treatments to which the populations of Europe and the Americas were subjected are sufficient to demonstrate the existence of one single logic governing the development of capitalism and the structural character of the atrocities perpetrated in this process

women were well interlaced with social protest. “it would appear that the most direct expressions of popular discontent were often associated with women, who clearly spoke with special force when community values or basic self-defence were threatened." coupled with this is the fact that at the very moment when population was declining, and an ideology was forming that stressed the centrality of labor in economic life, severe penalties were introduced in the legal codes on Europe to punish women guilty of reproductive crimes.“infanticide was the major cause, after witchcraft, for the execution of women during the Renaissance.”

it was necessary to execute them for crimes of infanticide and abortion because bodies were needed for scientific research. remember anne greene? hung 1650 died 1655. after being raped by her master’s grandson she gave birth to a child that was stillborn. the line on wikipedia goes “which, as she alleged, and according to medical evidence, was stillborn”. i suppose even wikipedia can be pleasantly surprised by the validity of a woman’s words. regardless, she was sentenced to death and hung. at her own request her friends tug and twisted the hanging body to ensure her demise. a day later when her dissection was about to start it was discovered that she still had a pulse. thankfully they decided to revive her and she was granted a full pardon. in a world of witches they called it a miracle.

it was also in this period that the word ‘gossip,’ which in the Middle Ages had meant ‘friend,’ changed its meaning, acquiring a derogatory connotation, a further sign of the degree to which the power of women and communal ties were undermined

one way to find a witch was through pricking, for all witches supposedly bore a spot where they felt no pain. this was the mark of the devil. only one way to find a needle in a haystack is to stab through every hay. funny how while descartes was filling up echo chambers in jars his words of self-actualization were ringing true in trial rooms and torture chambers. we are what we make of the world. white men accused women of being branded by the devil while they went on to brand women they had enslaved. it goes beyond being an ironic juxtaposition into the humorless grotesque.

every incident is just a trial run for the next one. the trial of dorothy good is still happening over and over again. she was a four years old when her spectre was accused of having bitten some other girls, she was jailed and on her finger was found a red spot. dorothy good was a four year old when under fierce questioning she said she had been suckling a snake. dorothy good was a four year old when she was asked if the snake had come from a dark demon. dorothy good was a four year old when she didn’t understand and called out for her mother. her mother sarah would be hung four months later. dorothy good was a four year old kept in jail for seven months. dorothy good “would emerge so mentally damaged that she needed a carer for the rest of her life” [1]

this story is not new. this story never ended. we know this continues by the thousands. these aren’t flukes. these aren’t mass panics. it’s always a systematic destruction. with the persecution of the folk healer, women were expropriated from a patrimony of empirical knowledge, regarding herbs and healing remedies, that they had accumulated and transmitted from generation to generation, its loss paving the way for a new form of enclosure. by destroying the keepers and purveyors of a knowledge that exists outside the established power structure, the knowledge way be assessed and recreated by those who seek to control its proliferation. within a handful of centuries thousands of years of reproductive knowledge was burned at the stake, its ashes swept up and disposed. with the marginalization of the midwife, the process began by which women lost the control they had exercised over procreation. midwives were pushed out and called incompetant while male doctors would go on to invent the prototype for a chainsaw as a tool for assisting childbirth. totally normal. the midwife not only reminded them of their ignorance of reproduction but she propagated the power to withhold it.“church court records featured women accused of using certain plants or 'physicks,' which might also be obtained from apothecaries or 'cunning' women." while in the Middle Ages women had been able to use various forms of contraceptives and had exercised an undisputed control over the birthing process, from now on their wombs became public territory, controlled by men and the state, and procreation was directly placed at the service of capitalist accumulation

the witch-hunt destroyed a whole world of female practices, collective relations, and systems of knowledge that had been the production of women’s power in pre-capitalist europe, and the condition for their resistance in the struggle against feudalism. knowledge that had been passed down for millenias was criminalized and privatized.

many witches were midwives or ‘wise women,’ traditionally the depository of women’s reproductive knowledge and control. The Malleu dedicated an entire chapter to them, arguing that they were worse than any other women. across oceans women’s knowledge was documented in detail decorated and defended in the name of scientific exploration. but the purveyors of knowledge were left as inconsequential footnotes beside intricate illustrations. look at how pretty the peacock flower is. learn how it’s used as an abortifacient. maria sibylla merian eagerly followed in the footsteps of her colonial fathers to acquire appropriate assume anything that may be deemed valuable. maria sibylla merian chose not to visually represent “the Indians who are not treated well when in service with the Dutch, us[ing the peacock flower] to abort their children, not wanting their children to be slaves, like them. The black female slaves from Guinea and Angola have to be treated very kindly. Otherwise they do not want children in their state of slavery and will not have any. Indeed, they sometimes even kill them because of the harsh treatment commonly inflicted on them, because they feel that they will be reborn in a free state in the country of their friends, as I heard from their own lips." after this brief diversion it’s back to her forte of caterpillars. it is the condition of the enslaved woman that most explicitly reveals the truth and the logic of capitalist accumulation

Liz Polcha writes;“scholars have suggested that her citation points to an inclusivity or mutuality among women, as if merian shared a commonality with the women she enslaved. what the peacock flower passage ultimately shows is the unnamed enslaved women’s complex understanding of the relations between herbalism, sexual oppression, and juridical notions of slave status—a complex understanding that merian lacked.” i’m inclined to agree with her. it’s hard to believe that merian, born just fifteen years after the würzburg witch trial, living at the time of the salam witch trials, was unaware of the connotations of abortifacients.

the suspicion under which midwives came in this period--leading to the entrance of the male doctor into the delivery room--stemmed more from the authorities’ fears of infanticide than from any concern with the midwives’ alleged medical incompetence. a fear not unfounded due to the midwife’s knowledge of abortives to avoid and thus could incidentally prescribe. while white europeans were leveling accusations of cannibalism, back within their local colonies they were simultaneously licking sniffing and smoking every morsel of the body. under the guise of medical practice blood would be sipped human hearts would be dried and marrow would be ground while accusations of cannibalism would ring till high heaven on the other side of the atlantic.

with their handy little medical degrees, that women obviously weren’t allowed to get, doctors also expelled women from their own bodies under the guise of objectivity and scientific research. the banner of scientific research owes a debt of gratitude to the witch hunts. it is not a coincidence that the progress of anatomy depended on the ability of the surgeons to snatch the bodies of the hanged and after being found to be foolproof the custom would continue well into the 19th century. in 1788 columbia college’s school of medicine caused an uproar when it was discovered that they were graverobbing at a nearby cemetery of Black men, most of whom had been slaves. while this led to statute criminalizing the improper treatment of dead bodies, it permitted the use of people executed as criminals “in order that science [might not] be injured by preventing the dissection of proper subjects.” after 38 Sioux were hung on December 26, 1862 their bodies were plundered by surgeons of the day. the body of Maȟpiya Akan Nažiŋ was pillaged by the founder of the Mayo clinic.

witch-hunting did not destroy the resistance of the colonized. due primarily to the struggle of women, the connection of the American [Indigenous] with the land, the local religions and nature survived beyond the persecution providing, for more than five hundred years, a source of anti-colonial and anti-capitalist resistance. this is extremely important for us, at a time when a renewed assault is being made on the resources and more of existence of indigenous populations across the planet; for we need to rethink how the conquistadors strove to subdue those whom the colonized, and what enabled the latter to subvert this plan and, against the destruction of their social and physical universe, create a new historical reality.

the global expansion of capitalism through colonialism and Christianization ensured that this persecution would be planted in the body of colonized societies, and, in time, would be carried out by the subjugated communities in their own names and against their own members

in the 1840s, for instance, a wave of witch-burnings occured in Western India. more women in this period were burned as witches than in the practice of sati. meanwhile today accusations of sorcery are used to oust women from valuable land that men covet just as every witch-hunt prior has come with the appropriation of the land of accused.

there is no evidence of men rising up to protest this assault. either no records exist because there were none; one of this first roles of the printing press was to populate pamphlets with the propaganda against witches. why have countless propaganda from one side and not a shred of rebuttal. why instead did countless clamor at the chance to be self-assigned hunters. is there a chance they existed their records were destroyed to wipe any trace of male betrayal off the face of the planet.

the hunt isn’t over. Ama Hemmah was burned alive in 2010. Noxhamla Landa was burned to death in 2018. Fabiane Maria de Jesus was lynched in 2014.

nothing may ever be undone.

but for us to do more, we must know what has been done. as with most things that involve women the witch hunts have often been written off as hysterical. but when we look back we see something systematic and sinister. we like to think we wouldn’t let something like this keep happening.

[1] The Trial by Sadakat Kadri

marina manoukian is a reader and writer and collage artist. she currently resides in berlin while she studies and works. she likes honey and she loves bees. you can find more of her words and images at marinamanoukian.com or twitter/instagram at @crimeiscommon.

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