#how many times does it need to be said that neither of those are trustworthy sources to predict the chot outcome 😭 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thestreamofconsciousness777 · 2 years

Photo

In my heart I have treasured up your saying: The trustworthiness of your times must prove to be a wealth of salvations—wisdom and knowledge, the fear of Jehovah, which is his treasure...

“Watch out for the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy. But there is nothing carefully concealed that will not be revealed, and secret that will not become known. Wherefore what things YOU say in the darkness will be heard in the light, and what YOU whisper in private rooms will be preached from the housetops. Moreover, I say to YOU, my friends, Do not fear those who kill the body and after this are not able to do anything more. But I will indicate to YOU whom to fear: Fear him who after killing has authority to throw into Ge·hen’na. Yes, I tell YOU, fear this One. Five sparrows sell for two coins of small value, do they not? Yet not one of them goes forgotten before God. But even the hairs of YOUR heads are all numbered. Have no fear; YOU are worth more than many sparrows.

“I say, then, to YOU, Everyone that confesses union with me before men, the Son of man will also confess union with him before the angels of God. But he that disowns me before men will be disowned before the angels of God. And everyone that says a word against the Son of man, it will be forgiven him; but he that blasphemes against the holy spirit will not be forgiven it. But when they bring YOU in before public assemblies and government officials and authorities, do not become anxious about how or what YOU will speak in defense or what YOU will say; for the holy spirit will teach YOU in that very hour the things YOU ought to say.”

Then a certain one of the crowd said to him: “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” He said to him: “Man, who appointed me judge or apportioner over YOU persons?” Then he said to them: “Keep YOUR eyes open and guard against every sort of covetousness, because even when a person has an abundance his life does not result from the things he possesses.” With that he spoke an illustration to them, saying: “The land of a certain rich man produced well. Consequently he began reasoning within himself, saying, ‘What shall I do, now that I have nowhere to gather my crops?’ So he said, ‘I will do this: I will tear down my storehouses and build bigger ones, and there I will gather all my grain and all my good things; and I will say to my soul: “Soul, you have many good things laid up for many years; take your ease, eat, drink, enjoy yourself.”’ But God said to him, ‘Unreasonable one, this night they are demanding your soul from you. Who, then, is to have the things you stored up?’ So it goes with the man that lays up treasure for himself but is not rich toward God.”

Then he said to his disciples: “On this account I say to YOU, Quit being anxious about YOUR souls as to what YOU will eat or about YOUR bodies as to what YOU will wear. For the soul is worth more than food and the body than clothing. Mark well that the ravens neither sow seed nor reap, and they have neither barn nor storehouse, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more worth are YOU than birds? Who of YOU by being anxious can add a cubit to his life span? If, therefore, YOU cannot do the least thing, why be anxious about the remaining things? Mark well how the lilies grow; they neither toil nor spin; but I tell YOU, Not even Sol’o·mon in all his glory was arrayed as one of these. If, now, God thus clothes the vegetation in the field that today exists and tomorrow is cast into an oven, how much rather will he clothe YOU, YOU with little faith! So quit seeking what YOU might eat and what YOU might drink, and quit being in anxious suspense; for all these are the things the nations of the world are eagerly pursuing, but YOUR Father knows YOU need these things. Nevertheless, seek continually his kingdom, and these things will be added to YOU.

“Have no fear, little flock, because YOUR Father has approved of giving YOU the kingdom. Sell the things belonging to YOU and give gifts of mercy. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, a never-failing treasure in the heavens, where a thief does not get near nor moth consumes. For where YOUR treasure is, there YOUR hearts will be also.

“Let YOUR loins be girded and YOUR lamps be burning, and YOU yourselves be like men waiting for their master when he returns from the marriage, so that at his arriving and knocking they may at once open to him. Happy are those slaves whom the master on arriving finds watching! Truly I say to YOU, He will gird himself and make them recline at the table and will come alongside and minister to them. And if he arrives in the second watch, even if in the third, and finds them thus, happy are they! But know this, that if the householder had known at what hour the thief would come, he would have kept watching and not have let his house be broken into. YOU also, keep ready, because at an hour that YOU do not think likely the Son of man is coming.”

Then Peter said: “Lord, are you saying this illustration to us or also to all?” And the Lord said: “Who really is the faithful steward, the discreet one, whom his master will appoint over his body of attendants to keep giving them their measure of food supplies at the proper time? Happy is that slave, if his master on arriving finds him doing so! I tell YOU truthfully, He will appoint him over all his belongings. But if ever that slave should say in his heart, ‘My master delays coming,’ and should start to beat the menservants and the maidservants, and to eat and drink and get drunk, the master of that slave will come on a day that he is not expecting [him] and in an hour that he does not know, and he will punish him with the greatest severity and assign him a part with the unfaithful ones. Then that slave that understood the will of his master but did not get ready or do in line with his will will be beaten with many strokes. But the one that did not understand and so did things deserving of strokes will be beaten with few. Indeed, everyone to whom much was given, much will be demanded of him; and the one whom people put in charge of much, they will demand more than usual of him.

“I came to start a fire on the earth, and what more is there for me to wish if it has already been lighted? Indeed, I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and how I am being distressed until it is finished! Do YOU imagine I came to give peace on the earth? No, indeed, I tell YOU, but rather division. For from now on there will be five in one house divided, three against two and two against three. They will be divided, father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against [her] mother, mother-in-law against [her] daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against [her] mother-in-law.”

Then he went on to say also to the crowds: “When YOU see a cloud rising in western parts, at once YOU say, ‘A storm is coming,’ and it turns out so. And when YOU see that a south wind is blowing, YOU say, ‘There will be a heat wave,’ and it occurs. Hypocrites, YOU know how to examine the outward appearance of earth and sky, but how is it YOU do not know how to examine this particular time? Why do YOU not judge also for yourselves what is righteous? For example, when you are going with your adversary at law to a ruler, get to work, while on the way, to rid yourself of the dispute with him, that he may never hale you before the judge, and the judge deliver you to the court officer, and the court officer throw you into prison. I tell you, You will certainly not get out from there until you pay over the last small coin of very little value.”

At that very season there were certain ones present that reported to him about the Gal·i·le’ans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. So in reply he said to them: “Do YOU imagine that these Gal·i·le’ans were proved worse sinners than all other Gal·i·le’ans because they have suffered these things? No, indeed, I tell YOU; but, unless YOU repent, YOU will all likewise be destroyed. Or those eighteen upon whom the tower in Si·lo’am fell, thereby killing them, do YOU imagine that they were proved greater debtors than all other men inhabiting Jerusalem? No, indeed, I tell YOU; but, unless YOU repent, YOU will all be destroyed in the same way.”

Then he went on to tell this illustration: “A certain man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came looking for fruit on it, but found none. Then he said to the vinedresser, ‘Here it is three years that I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, but have found none. Cut it down! Why really should it keep the ground useless?’ In reply he said to him, ‘Master, let it alone also this year, until I dig around it and put on manure; and if then it produces fruit in the future, [well and good]; but if not, you shall cut it down.’”

Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. And, look! a woman with a spirit of weakness for eighteen years, and she was bent double and was unable to raise herself up at all. When he saw her, Jesus addressed her and said to her: “Woman, you are released from your weakness.” And he laid his hands on her; and instantly she straightened up, and began to glorify God. But in response the presiding officer of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus did the cure on the sabbath, began to say to the crowd: “There are six days on which work ought to be done; on them, therefore, come and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.” However, the Lord answered him and said: “Hypocrites, does not each one of YOU on the sabbath untie his bull or his ass from the stall and lead it away to give it drink? Was it not due, then, for this woman who is a daughter of Abraham, and whom Satan held bound, look! eighteen years, to be loosed from this bond on the sabbath day?” Well, when he said these things, all his opposers began to feel shame; but all the crowd began to rejoice at all the glorious things done by him.

Therefore he went on to say: “What is the kingdom of God like, and with what shall I compare it? It is like a mustard grain that a man took and put in his garden, and it grew and became a tree, and the birds of heaven took up lodging in its branches.”

And again he said: “With what shall I compare the kingdom of God? It is like leaven, which a woman took and hid in three large measures of flour until the whole mass was fermented.”

And he journeyed through from city to city and from village to village, teaching and continuing on his journey to Jerusalem. Now a certain man said to him: “Lord, are those who are being saved few?” He said to them: “Exert yourselves vigorously to get in through the narrow door, because many, I tell YOU, will seek to get in but will not be able, when once the householder has got up and locked the door, and YOU start to stand outside and to knock at the door, saying, ‘Sir, open to us.’ But in answer he will say to YOU, ‘I do not know where YOU are from.’ Then YOU will start saying, ‘We ate and drank in front of you, and you taught in our broad ways.’ But he will speak and say to YOU, ‘I do not know where YOU are from. Get away from me, all YOU workers of unrighteousness!’ There is where [YOUR] weeping and the gnashing of [YOUR] teeth will be, when YOU see Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets in the kingdom of God, but yourselves thrown outside. Furthermore, people will come from eastern parts and western, and from north and south, and will recline at the table in the kingdom of God. And, look! there are those last who will be first, and there are those first who will be last.”

In that very hour certain Pharisees came up, saying to him: “Get out and be on your way from here, because Herod wants to kill you.” And he said to them: “Go and tell that fox, ‘Look! I am casting out demons and accomplishing healing today and tomorrow, and the third day I shall be finished.’ Nevertheless, I must go on my way today and tomorrow and the following day, because it is not admissible for a prophet to be destroyed outside of Jerusalem. Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the killer of the prophets and stoner of those sent forth to her—how often I wanted to gather your children together in the manner that a hen gathers her brood of chicks under her wings, but YOU people did not want [it]! Look! YOUR house is abandoned to YOU. I tell YOU, YOU will by no means see me until YOU say, ‘Blessed is he that comes in Jehovah’s name.’”

And on an occasion when he went into the house of a certain one of the rulers of the Pharisees on the sabbath to eat a meal, they were closely watching him. And, look! there was before him a certain man who had dropsy. So in response Jesus spoke to those versed in the Law and to the Pharisees, saying: “Is it lawful on the sabbath to cure or not?” But they kept silent. With that he took hold of [the man], healed him and sent [him] away. And he said to them: “Who of YOU, if his son or bull falls into a well, will not immediately pull him out on the sabbath day?” And they were not able to answer back on these things.

He then went on to tell the invited men an illustration, as he marked how they were choosing the most prominent places for themselves, saying to them: “When you are invited by someone to a marriage feast, do not lie down in the most prominent place. Perhaps someone more distinguished than you may at the time have been invited by him, and he that invited you and him will come and say to you, ‘Let this man have the place.’ And then you will start off with shame to occupy the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and recline in the lowest place, that when the man that has invited you comes he will say to you, ‘Friend, go on up higher.’ Then you will have honor in front of all your fellow guests. For everyone that exalts himself will be humbled and he that humbles himself will be exalted.”

Next he proceeded to say also to the man that invited him: “When you spread a dinner or evening meal, do not call your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors. Perhaps sometime they might also invite you in return and it would become a repayment to you. But when you spread a feast, invite poor people, crippled, lame, blind; and you will be happy, because they have nothing with which to repay you. For you will be repaid in the resurrection of the righteous ones.”

On hearing these things a certain one of the fellow guests said to him: “Happy is he who eats bread in the kingdom of God.”

[Jesus] said to him: “A certain man was spreading a grand evening meal, and he invited many. And he sent his slave out at the hour of the evening meal to say to the invited ones, ‘Come, because things are now ready.’ But they all in common started to beg off. The first said to him, ‘I bought a field and need to go out and see it; I ask you, Have me excused.’ And another said, ‘I bought five yoke of cattle and am going to examine them; I ask you, Have me excused.’ Still another said, ‘I just married a wife and for this reason I cannot come.’ So the slave came up and reported these things to his master. Then the householder became wrathful and said to his slave, ‘Go out quickly into the broad ways and the lanes of the city, and bring in here the poor and crippled and blind and lame.’ In time the slave said, ‘Master, what you ordered has been done, and yet there is room.’ And the master said to the slave, ‘Go out into the roads and the fenced-in places, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled. For I say to YOU people, None of those men that were invited shall have a taste of my evening meal.’”

Now great crowds were traveling with him, and he turned and said to them: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own soul, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever is not carrying his torture stake and coming after me cannot be my disciple. For example, who of YOU that wants to build a tower does not first sit down and calculate the expense, to see if he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, he might lay its foundation but not be able to finish it, and all the onlookers might start to ridicule him, saying, ‘This man started to build but was not able to finish.’ Or what king, marching to meet another king in war, does not first sit down and take counsel whether he is able with ten thousand troops to cope with the one that comes against him with twenty thousand? If, in fact, he cannot do so, then while that one is yet far away he sends out a body of ambassadors and sues for peace. Thus, you may be sure, none of YOU that does not say good-bye to all his belongings can be my disciple.

“Salt, to be sure, is fine. But if even the salt loses its strength, with what will it be seasoned? It is suitable neither for soil nor for manure. People throw it outside. Let him that has ears to listen, listen.”

Luke 12-14, NWT

There is Nothing Carefully Concealed That Will Not Be Revealed, And Secret That Will Not Become Known

2 notes · View notes

muji-milk · 1 year

Note

hey! same anon who said that the quotes around affirmation felt very terf-like. first i wanted to say that your response is exactly why i wanted to give you a chance to answer, but i was just letting you know how the way you wrote it came across to me (who is admittedly an american and maybe there’s a text difference for how things are written. we use quotes to dismiss an idea or to indicate sarcasm) and offer a reason as to why those people may have unfollowed without waiting to hear more from you. i think having a healthy conversation around how we treat dysphoria is important!

anyway! i think maybe the disconnect lies in what we call gender affirming care. i’m sure that’s the technical term for what results in medical transition in the UK, but it should be more general! i would absolutely agree that your experience where you sought counseling and worked out what your gender was and that transitioning wasn’t for you totally counts as gender affirming care. you weren’t pressured to transition and you were allowed to explore what you felt and what you needed. i have a friend who went through the same as you and feels better without having transitioned. i agree it’s also a shame that we have no way to keep track of people who have done this.

in a perfect world, counseling would be the best step for a young person who’s figuring out their gender. in fact, that was a requirement here in the US for a loooong time before someone could see an endocrinologist for hormones. to reiterate my point from my last ask though, not all counselors are one in the same about how they counsel people. i say this 1. as a trans person who (briefly) went through conversion therapy as a teen, and 2. as someone about to graduate with a masters in counseling. they drill into us in my program that we aren’t supposed to let our beliefs change how we counsel someone, but it does happen. so, just like many of the medical clinics here in the US that would turn away young ppl trying to transition, i also worry about how many of them would be affected by counselors who would steer them from the help they need. i hope that made sense, i just wanted to kind of add that to the conversation.

Tbh i tried to italicise the word affirmation but tumblr mobile kept fucking it up 🫠 so yeah the marks were just emphasis.

Like you said in a perfect world there should be more steps of evaluation. (Honestly, in a perfect world no one would be trans but that's another thing to discuss) but if we're talking about improving the current system, it should really be reframed 'gender related care'. Or gender considerate psychoanalysis. Or gender focussed counseling. Any of these terms instantly imply a more neutral and comprehensive approach.

But yes despite a rebranding or the terminology its still soo hard to get true impartially from anyone involved! Even you being trans, if you become a professional counselor that would create a personal bias within you. Just as being a woman or man, being rich, or black or old, etc, would do.

Regarding the approach to treatment of gender dysphoric youth, time is the biggest teller. Not statistics about trans peoples deaths and lives (which we don't even have enough of to draw conclusions. Its still a fairly modern thing!), not the opinions of your parents, not the advice of an affirmation clinic or a conversion therapist; but most importantly, not even your own feelings can be said to be true and trustworthy and permanent. People change their minds every day about trivial things and major issues, you feel like a different person every year, you learn and grow and its a humans' lifelong task to find and understand oneself. So, like you, I'm also worried about those being steered in a particularly firm direction at a young age. Whichever that direction is! Neither affirmation or conversion therapy should be the only immediately presented choices because you can't know how the individual's inner feelings will grow and change as they get older. That's why words like 'affirmation' and 'life saving' and even 'living your truth' are so loaded; they constantly present that one route as the best option and the younger you start the better, the way you think now is how you'll think forever, and you'll just die otherwise.

#but about myself: i didnt receive counseling related to gender #i never actually mentioned it to her #it was like over a year after i changed back to myself and it was no longer struggle for me by then #so i wouldnt count thay as gender affirming care #the literal definition of GA care: to support an individuals gender identity when it conflicts with their assigned birth gender #soooo that isnt a neutral approach to dysphoria.......

0 notes

lunastwilightblog · 3 years

Text

The Volturi are the good guys and Bella is the up-and-coming villain

I’m on my computer for this as I know it might be long, but bear with me (insert Emmett pun here) 🐻

So wait - the Volturi are the good guys? But didn’t SM write them as the bad guys?

Well, yes, SM did write Aro and co in as the antagonists of the series, but bear in mind that originally she didn’t write most of New Moon to happen, or the entirety of Eclipse. There was Twilight and Forever Dawn, which we’ll sadly never read. Her vision of the Volturi and their role as the evil villains who wanted to separate Edward and Bella became distorted as she had to flesh them out more and show their role as the governing body.

Then she wrote the Illustrated Guide and revealed their history and the horrors of the world without their authority; with the Romanians being as brutal as they were, the constant terror humans lived with and the fracturing of the world into many unstable and violent vampire-ruled empires (plus with way more children of the moon running about, probably as far west as - at least - central Europe).

When the Volturi were coming to power they were laughed at with the idea of their law, a significant reason the Romanians didn’t take them seriously. But now they are extremely popular.

This isn’t just because Aro created vampires to go out and sing his praises. Volturi rule has been a blessing for both humans and vampires.

For humans it’s the obvious: they are not living their lives in fear, they are not subject to massacres (except if caught in newborn warzones), their population has been able to grow and expand, modern medicine and technology have been able to flourish, society is much more stable, people need to flee areas much less (if ever) so they can stay put and complete research/live to meet their grandkids/etc, and not have to serve a vampire in the local castle.

For vampires it’s actually quite similar: with the human population growing to as large as it is today when at the time the Volturi came to power it was (estimated to be) only 210 million globally, vampires have been able to grow to even greater numbers also, and feed more often than before. If a vampire 2000 years ago killed 5 people in a town it would be an outrage the humans would certainly have noticed, however kill 5 people in a place as big as London, LA, Paris, Singapore, Bucharest... it would likely not be noticed very much, if at all (depending on who you kill).

Humans like to measure things in percentages. Those 5 people is a huge number to a town of 2000 - that’s 0.25% of the whole town’s population. It would be talked about, and relatives of the dead/missing would all know each other. Yet kill those 5 in a city of 12 million (as is London), that’s only 0.00004167% of the population. And chances are, the dead humans’ families don’t even live in the area (or could be in another country entirely) never mind know each other to realise there was a mass murder.

So vampires, as long as they hide from humans, as is the only law (besides no immortal children or consorting with werewolves), they have a lot more freedom nowadays than they did before the times of the Volturi. There are so many people that they can easily get lost in a crowd, move internationally, and not be pressured for allegiance by a local vampire warlord (before meeting Aro, Caius ran afoul of the Romanians, and he barely escaped with his life).

With there only being one authority, and one that does not interfere with your day-to-day life, is a dream come true. As long as they don’t break this law that is very easy to abide by, they can do whatever the f*** they want.

Carlisle would have never been able to get a job as a doctor if he was known to be a vampire, nor could any of the Cullens have entered education of any form. They’d be stuck sneaking into libraries after closing, and googling. Edward would have never met Bella (neither would Edward’s ancestors have immigrated to America - in fact, Europeans may have never discovered America in the first place. The whole Cullen coven aside from Carlisle might never have been born).

So what the Volturi have done (despite many of them having not-so-savoury personalities corrupted by hunger for power or violence) is bring peace to the world, get rid of tyrants, increase the food supply, allow a greater amount of freedom, and the first kind of trials and justice ever seen in their world. Sure, Aro uses trials to find new talent, but it’s still a world away from before.

Which leads me on to the events of Breaking Dawn, and Bella.

So. Maybe controversial, but: the Volturi did absolutely nothing wrong in Breaking Dawn.

They turned up thinking a serious crime had been committed. They stopped to talk (which Vladimir certainly never would have done!), considered the evidence and processed new discoveries and discussed their legality, decided there was no crime to punish, and left with only the informant dead. Yes, Irina had been innocent in the way that she strongly had believed she had been telling the truth and her memories must have presented good enough evidence to Aro initially, but their witnesses had come to see justice being served, and in the vampire world that is execution. Aro could have continued with prosecuting the Cullens for something he now knew was false, or execute Irina instead.

(Side note: she did kind of deserve it too. She didn’t bother to check her evidence, she wanted revenge for Laurent’s death so her accusation wasn’t coming from a place of good intentions but instead she was willing to have her friends and family killed for Laurent. She was also forcing Aro into a position where he had to prepare himself to kill Carlisle, whom we know he cherishes. Remember also that Aro turned down Laurent’s application to the Guard because he’d followed the Romanians for a while, so he won’t have been entirely trusting of Irina anyway, her having been Laurent’s mate).

Anyway. Onto Bella.

So Aro’s impression of Bella after New Moon seems to be positive. Why? Well, through Edward’s thoughts he saw that Bella was able to keep The Secret. He had heard how much she wanted to be a vampire. In addition, Marcus showed him how strong Edward and Bella’s bond is. Both of them knew, that if E & B’s love was almost as strong as Marcus and Didyme’s, that no matter what Edward currently said or thought about Bella being turned it was invalid. If Bella were dying, he would turn her for sure, which happened. Then the obvious, that Edward had already proven he could not live without her.

Bella was trustworthy and probably going to be turned. Alice showing proof was just a formality so Aro could say he had evidence rather than admit he’d just made assumptions (and Alice having had that vision may act as proof that his assumption was correct).

Therefore, from Aro’s perspective, Bella was a human who wanted to become immortal so much that she would rather die than not, and she was already following his law. She was no issue.

Yet.

Bella, knowing the law, should have been very grateful that she was left alive. Edward not being executed and she not being killed or forcibly turned on the spot... Aro had been very nice to them.

And again, in BD, he was very nice to them. Some people will inevitably say that he was weak in not killing them all. I mean, they stood beside Vladimir and Stefan! They have an army of wolves fundamentally opposed to vampires! Aro has lost Good Reputation Points by sparing the Cullens. He held as close to a trial as vampire society has ever had, and rightfully pronounced the Cullens innocent.

So shouldn’t Bella like him? He has spared her life and the lives of her loved ones more than one, and proven that he can be spoken to and conversed with properly and is willing to admit he was wrong. With Aro, we know it’s important to look more at what he does than what he says, and what he has done is be very kind to the Cullens (though who knows about the future?).

Yet Bella was creeped out by him when they met and interpreted him as a threat to Edward’s life. As she loves Edward, she’s always going to be of this mind, and first impressions are important.

Vampires are stuck with the mindsets they had when turned. An example of this is Esme, who was turned after her baby died and she tried to die too. She is permanently feeling maternal. She was turned only days after giving birth. Before knowing this, Bella even describes her as maternal and the mother of the family. Huilen also has a lot of care for Nahuel, being his aunt, because of her love for Pire, and while she was dying, Pire begged Huilen to raise him. Joham does not seem to have this parental love for his son and daughters; he never really knew Pire and was never affected by her love for Nahuel, and did not meet him until years after he was born. He’s only genetically a parent. He doesn’t have the protective mindset. When he was turned, he was a curious scientist (in fact, it was even why his creator turned him). He sees the world and people as things to study.

Anyway.

When Bella was turned, all she was thinking about was Renesmee. She begged Edward to get the baby out and didn’t care for her own life.

And she will be forever stuck in this high alert, must-protect-my-baby mode. Then for weeks as a newborn vampire, she was thinking of Aro as a threat and preparing to fight him. Compounding that, he was a threat to her daughter.

Both of these things will have had a significant effect on who she will have become after her newborn phase ended. It is impossible for Bella to ever like Aro now, even if she tried.

Her dislike of him, and willingness to fight against him, will be forever engrained in her brain.

This is dangerous.

Bella found the Romanians weird, but she didn’t dislike them per se. She would probably be willing to stand with them against the Volturi again.

We can take an educated guess and assume that sometime they will rise up again - and Bella might stand with them (though I highly doubt any of the other Cullens would).

Bella was not a problem for Aro until she stood beside Vladimir and Stefan.

Here is this vampire who can block most of his coven’s gifts, stuck with an intense dislike of him, who he has seen with his own eyes stand with his enemies. He has every right to be nervous now. Her love for her mate is almost as strong as Marcus’s bond to Didyme - how strong is her bond to Renesmee? Likely more. Aro knows the threat in that. He knows that Bella may be viewing him in the way Marcus feels when he thinks of taking revenge on whoever killed Didyme.

Nobody wants the Romanians back in power. Those who lived under their reign and those who have heard first hand stories told to them all know very well that life under Vladimir would be horrible, brutal, awful for all beside his close coven members (though considering he had a very large coven that was often squabbling amongst itself, it was probably miserable for a lot of them too).

But Bella is young. She has no memory of the world before the Volturi, and knows no one with first hand experience of that world other than the Volturi. She will have heard that it was horrible, but she has no emotional or personal connection to the near-ancient past, and vampires who lived during that time are disappearing. No one lives forever.

Then, she is American. Like Garrett, she values freedom, and the Volturi are the only oppressive vampire force either of them has ever known. Despite them being the least oppressive in vampire history, Bella and Garrett haven’t experienced the alternative. They are a government that is at times harsh, is corrupt, and executes people. They go to war and they obliterate their enemies. Bella doesn’t see that the Volturi is the least bad government her world is ever going to get, and that they’ve granted her so much freedom. She is unable to see that because, in her youth, she has nothing to compare them against.

By standing against the Volturi, Bella isn’t just standing against Aro, Caius, and Marcus. She is standing against the peace they have brought between vampires, against humans living without fear, against modern civilisation itself. She stands a representative of the next world order, and Aro can sense it.

294 notes · View notes

suite43 · 3 years

Text

this was a commissioned peice of writing for @princemai . If you're interested in a commission, dm me!

Adjusting to life after the war was never going to be easy. How do you coexist with the people who've been trying to kill you for millions of years? It didn't take a nihilist to think that the peace wouldn't last.

Bumblebee counted himself pleasantly surprised that, well, something seemed to last. Peace wasn't the right word, but at least it was less "endlessely killing each other" and more "the entire universe hates us and we can't really blame them". But for the most part, these days, things were peaceful.

That didn't mean it was easy.

You wouldn't call it easy to wake up next to the closest thing you'd ever had to an arch-nemisis wrapped around you. You wouldn't quite know what to do with the fact that as much as he hates to admit it, he's afraid of the dark. And you wouldn't blame yourself for waking up sometimes afraid that you'll find a knife at your throat.

It wasn't easy. But it was peaceful, more or less. Because when Starscream kissed him in that way he did almost every morning, gentle and still half-asleep, Bumblebee could nearly forget he'd ever thought of the mech next to him as dangerous, and a part of him would wonder why it hadn't always been like this.

But then they get up, and the day would go on, and even though there's peace now, there's a lot of history, and Bumblebee can't help but feel like they're both just waiting for everything to turn sideways.

Bumblebee wants to trust Starscream. And he does, on some level at least. Immensely so. Enough to have trusted him with the fate of the universe. But every argument, every time the banter hits just a little bit too close to home, every time Starscream slips back into a crueler, more violent version of himself, Bumblebee wonders to himself if maybe this is it. After all, it wasn't really that long ago that they were shooting at each other.

Starscream has the same thoughts. Obviously, he won't admit it, but it's easy enough to see through his acts once you know him well enough - When did Bumblebee start to know him well enough? How the hell did that happen? It all feels so fast - But sometimes when there's a certain tension in his wings and his fingers curl up ever so slightly and his eyes shoot around, planning his escape, Bumblebee knows that Starscream is just as scared as he is.

It's not always like that. There are moments when they're alone where it feels like none of that matters. They sit together on their couch and they're quiet as they both do their own thing, and Bumblebee shifts to lean against Starscream's shoulder and Starscream wraps one arm around him, his hand idly tracing small circles on Bumblebee's plating, and it just feels right. Bumblebee feels more safe there than anywhere in the universe, curled into the side of one of the most dangerous people in the universe. In a moment like that, he'd tear his spark out and put it in Starscream's hands if he asked him to.

But... It wasn't that long ago that he watched people he loved die at those hands. Those same strong, clever hands that slotted perfectly into his like they were built that way, like everything in their lives had led them to this specific touch. Bumblebee wasn't a big believer in destiny but sometimes everything would line up just so, and if he'd been slightly more of a romantic he'd've called them soulmates.

It was this confusing blend of love and hate, of forgiveness and grudge and grief and adoration that didn't make sense at all and yet when Starscream knows exactly what to order him when they go out it makes perfect sense. And, somehow, it works out.

They've never really talked about... well, whatever this is. It's clearly a relationship, at this point. It's hard to argue for 'just friends' after that many rounds of... well, you know what. It's equally as hard after catching each other after god-knows-how-many nightmares, after thousands of late-late-night conversations, after the way that making each other laugh became the easiest thing in the world, after the way that they would whisper sweet complements between each other like a secret because it was far too embarrasing to say loudly.

So yeah, it was a relationship. But "open, honest communication" was not exactly in Starscream's skillset, and, well, Bee wasn't really sure he wanted to talk about it either. Putting a name on it felt. Dangerous. Like it'd ruin it. There'd be too much pressure, too much commitment, too much... truth. It felt like confessing something that he wasn't ready for.

It was one thing to sleep with Starscream. It was another to, say, kiss Starscream. It was a third thing to literally sleep with Starscream, to trust the second-least-trustworthy person on Cybertron to be with him at his most vulnerable. But to be dating Starscream? To introduce Starscream as his partner? As his conjunx? That was a world of different things that Bumblebee was absolutely not prepared to handle.

What was he supposed to say? Oh, by the way, this is my conjunx. He's killed more people than my brain can even comprehend, but he also saved the universe that one time so it's totally cool now, don't worry!

But he loved him, and that was the problem. He loved Starscream so much, and he wanted everyone in the universe to know about the funny, thoughtful, brilliant person that he loved with all his heart.

And didn't it mean something that Bumblebee had seen Starscream at his absolute worst, and still decided that loving him was worthwhile? It wasn't like Bee was just flailing at the whims of his emotions, he chose to be here. Well, not the first time, that had just kind of happened. But after that, he'd chosen to stay, because loving him seemed worth the trouble of hating him, right? And Starscream was getting better, and that was a good thing.

And who was he worried about knowing? The handful of people Bumblebee would've bothered to tell if they did get married already knew the situation, and it wasn't exactly like either of them were really public figures anymore. The government job Windblade had gotten to keep Starscream busy was mostly just paperwork, and aside from the odd job here or there Bumblebee didn't do much. He'd basically retired. So they weren't going to be the talk of the town or anything. Besides, it's kind of old news, there'd been rumors of them doing something together pretty much since the second the war ended. It wasn't true then, but by now the scandal had kinda worn off and it was more of a "yeah, no shit" kind of gossip.

Still. A decade or so of closeness didn't really feel like long enough for a lifetime commitment, especially after what, four million years of hating each other beforehand?

But... Life is shorter than you expect it to be, right? They'd both died once over the course of this whatever-it-was. And the second time, they really had thought it'd stick, and Starscream sorta-haunting him from another dimension or whatever seemed like it was a permanent commitment, and that didn't scare Bumblebee at all. It sounded nice, not having to be alone again. This was like that, except he could be alone, sometimes, because neither of them could walk through walls or locked doors anymore so all he had to do for some privacy was tell Starscream to politely fuck off for a bit, which was a plus, right? Way more pracitcal.

"Can't we talk about this in the morning?" Starscream complained, eyes half shut, snapping Bumblebee out of his train of thought.

"What?" Bumblebee asked, confused.

"I don't want you to propose while we're drunk and you're rambling, idiot," Starscream was laying in Bee's lap, nuzzling his face into Bee's stomach plating. They were holding hands. When did that happen? "We can talk about it later."

Oh, shit.

"How much of that did I say out loud?"

"I dunno, you talk a lot. You're keeping me up."

"Shit. Sorry."

"S'okay. Your voice is nice."

"Oh." It was quiet for a minute.

"It's okay if you hate me. I get it," Starscream said.

"I don't hate you," Bee responded, blinking a few times, trying to shake off the feeling of spinning. "I like it when you're here."

"But you kind of have to hate somebody a little to love them, right?" Starscream shifted, staring up at the ceiling, head still resting on Bee's stomach. "I mean, it's hard to be with someone all the time. Especially when you're stubborn and stupid, and you do stupid obnoxious things and I hate it. But if you weren't those things I hate, you wouldn't entirely be you. And I don't just like parts of you, I like you, and I can hate things you do while still knowing that it's you, and I love who you are. Even when we piss each other off. It's still you. Right?"

"Do you think i'm stupid? I'm not stupid."

"You're missing the point."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing so much. I hate it when you apologize." Starscream's hand squeezed his a little tighter.

"Oh... uh. sorry."

"You make me feel... like..." Starscream just kind of trailed off.

"Yeah, I know. you too... uh. I mean. you make me. uh. you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"This is good, right?"

"Mmm, it's gonna feel shitty in the morning, but right now it's good."

"What about after tommorow?"

"I don't know. Ask me then."

"Hm."

"I don't have a plan, Bee. That's not normal for me. But I don't need you to tell me it's going to be like this forever, because it probably won't be. Things don't work out like that for us. But right now, for the first time in my entire life, I'm genuinely satisfied. Can we just enjoy that? I don't know how to be happy, Bee. I don't know how to handle it. But I'm trying to make this work. We can go back to shooting each other tommorow if that's easier for you, but right now, I'm happy."

"Yeah? Yeah. Me too. God, I'm happy," Bumblebee pulled their joined hands up, pressing a kiss to Starscream's knuckles where they intersected. "I'm happy that you're happy. I want you to be happy."

"I know," Starscream said. He muttered something else, but it was quiet and slurred and Bee couldn't quite make it out. In his head, Bee imagined it was something along the lines of I love you.

#the prompt was 'so why arent bee and starscream conjunxed' and i got to go from there #it was interesting! this is pretty stream of conciousness so i hope its interesting to yall as well!#red.doc #starbee #maccadams

66 notes · View notes

tuber-culosis · 3 years

Text

I've been reading through a lot of radfem blogs and posts lately. and gotta say, i'm leaning a lot towards radical feminism. And im definitely gender critical.

but one topic I want to talk about in particular is the criticism of Islam.

Which I feel is totally valid considering the current state of mainstream islam and Muslims.

Mainstream Islam (is what you see on all social media, seemingly practised by a lot of Muslims) IS sexist. And homophobic. There's no use denying it, neither do I think I'm a bad Muslim for not supposedly defending my own religion. You have to recognise the flaws in your own system to improve and progress.

Then arises the question why am I still Muslim then/ why do I still practise Islam? If I recognise the way it is practised is sexist and homophobic, which are things I'm against?

The difference lies in my belief that "mainstream Islam" is much different from the root of Islam.

Many (read: a LOT, not all) modern Muslims have been influenced by ultra conservative movements that want to return Islam to the way they believe was practised during the time of the Prophet (pbuh), ie; some centuries back. This is propagated by the ideas of Salafism and Wahhabism that frankly, prevent progress, reform or any sort of growth in Muslim communities.

I personally have witnessed this in my own country, India, where women are increasingly wearing the hijab and even full body covering purdahs, not talking to the opposite gender, men not looking a woman other than their wives in the eye, etc compared to when my mother was a child, when almost all Muslim women dressed in normal comfortable clothes and there were no much gender segregations. (Gender segregation still existed to a certain degree due to conservative Indian culture ofc)

This radicalisation led to the development of ultra conservative Muslims who enforce sexist, homophobic and separatist policies in the name of God.

They claim to want to return to "true Islam" but they add so many unnecessary rules and regulations you have to follow in order to be a "true Muslim" that are almost so impossible to follow I can vouch I have unconciously broken like 50 of them in one day maybe. These "laws" are derived from:

1. The hadith

2. Arab culture

3. Poor translation of the Quran to fit these radical ideals.

Explaining each of these in a little more detail,

1. A lot of practising Muslims might come at me for this one, but I feel that considering the hadith to be a holy source of guidance and believing everything in the Hadith when there are so many contradictions and logical fallacies, is foolish.

For those who have no clue what the hadith is, Islam basically has the Qur'an, which is, as we believe, a holy book revealed by God to the Prophet (pbuh), which acts as divine guidance on how to live life as a good person. It has rules, suggestions, and guidance to take desicions on a lot of everyday matters we face. It was a godsend (hehe pun fully intended) to women, who weren't even allowed to own property back then. Muslims believe that the Quran is guaranteed againt corruption by God, as revealed in one of the verses. Therefore, to a believer, it is THE book to consult, and the verses will never change, no matter how many years pass. There's actually a really interesting way the Quran is coded, so people can know if it has been tampered with or not, if anyone is interested. But the bottom line is, for a Muslim, the verses of Quran cannot be challenged. There are various INTERPRETATIONS of said verses, but the core Arabic text is the same.

Now there is a secondary source of guidance in the form of Hadith, which is literature that claims to record things the Prophet (pbuh) has said in his lifetime. The problem I find, along with other hadith critics, is that it was compiled much later after the death of the Prophet. Muslims argue that these hadiths were passed down in a proper recorded chain of transmitters that can assure the message hasn't been altered or tampered with. The problem is, that the standard used then was just how reliable was a person's memory and how trustworthy they were, and they did not actually judge the actual content of the hadith. So even if a hadith hypothetically said "Kill all the disbelievers", (which, fyi, it does NOT) and it had a reliable chain of recorders, it would be accepted as "sahih" (trustworthy) hadith, even though it clearly goes against the guidelines of the Quran, where it says there shall be no compulsion in religion (which implies you cannot just murder anyone who refuses to believe/ believes another religion). If one actually examined the content of this imaginary hadith, it would be easy to see it's tampered with by people with or without malicious intent (for eg, it might've actually been "You can kill the disbelievers ONLY if they attack you and will not leave you and your family alone") or some may not even remotely be the words of the Prophet, as he only followed the Quran.

Also, the integrity of the Hadith isn't guaranteed by God anywhere in the Quran. To know more about this, I suggest you read this link , and this one.

So yeah, I take hadith with a (large) grain of salt. So I will not be including them in my discussion obviously.

Now a lot of these hadith have been fabricated, as established, or reflect something that was applicable specifically in that time and setting, seeing that the Prophet was an ordinary man who couldn't predict the future or know about all the different cultures of the world.

So even if the headscarf was a part of Arabian attire, that doesn't mean it has to be assimilated into our cultures now. Just because prostitutes used to pluck all their eyebrows out to signify that they are prostitutes (sex work is forbidden in Islam, because of the negative impact on women and society), doesn't mean that women are not allowed to pluck their eyebrows now.

Following these hadith blindly without considering for a moment that hey, these might be outdated, seeing it isn't meant for all time periods like the Quran, and half of these contradict themselves, maybe we shouldn't consider this as an authority on rules in Islam. Personally, I don't believe anything is forbidden that is mentioned as such solely in the Hadith, and not in the Quran.

But the staunch belief in all of these Hadith leads to micromanaging of women, and literally everyone else. Few ridiculous examples include:

women can't pluck their eyebrows

men can't wear silk or gold, and they need to grow beards

music and dance is forbidden (seriously???)

the Prophet married a literal child of nine years (no do not try to justify it as "it was acceptable back then". According to the Qur'an it wasn't. Girls had to be mature enough to reject or agree to marriages and literal children can't do that. There is plenty of research to prove that Aisha (ra), his wife, was at the very least 19 or 20. Again a case of unreliable and maybe purposefully manipulated Hadith. Scholars and people who uphold the theory that Aisha was 9, and hence, child marriage is legal are pedophiles through and through)

I feel that if anything, hadith should be considered with the authority of historical commentary, giving us more context to the times, and should never be blindly trusted just because a lot of scholars say it is a "sahih" (trusted) hadith.

Also a main feature of Islam is that you don't need an extra priest (no offence to religions who have priests) or a scholar to tell you things and intervene with God for you. You have a holy book, your own common sense and humanity, and you pray to establish a connection with God. Scholars are secondary OPINIONS who can provide insight from their knowledge and research to people who want it, but by no means any authority on things, just like hadith.

2. Arab culture and society, especially back the times that radicals want to emulate, was heavily patriarchal. Islam gave women rights and protection, but they were still limited by the cultural norms of that era.

What these people actually want is to return society to Arabic culture in that time period. (Exhibit A: the abaya/purdah for women and khandoorah for men. exhibit B: sex-segregated spaces)

Back then, women were expected to be caretakers and mothers, and men were expected to be the strong masculine protector.

Enforcing said cultural norms into modern day Islam is ridiculous. Saying that women rarely left the house back then, hence women shouldn't leave their houses now is the same as saying there weren't phones back then, so I shouldn't use one now. Would you ever give up your phones? So how about we do the same to women's autonomy and freedom? Adapt to modern times like regular humans?

If women were meant to stay at home, and meant to just rear children, and never meant to be seen in public, and never meant to be seen by the opposite sex, as extremists say "is God's will", then why is none of this found in the Quran? Do you seriously believe that God, describe multiple times as All-forgiving and generous and kind, would ever persecute women to such a fate? If you do believe that, then maybe you need to re-examine in the nature of God that you believe in. Also if you tell me the "it's for their safety" gimmick, I will flip out. It has been proved multiple times that a woman's dressing has nothing whatsoever to do with why men rape.

Sure, Islam advocates for modesty in dressing, for both sexes. Both are called to not stare rudely (many Muslim men seem to forget that part of the verse, strangely), both are advised to dress in modest, comfortable, clean and practical attire. Never once is anything remotely like "YOU'LL GO TO HELL IF YOU EXPOSE YOUR ELBOW, WOMAN". But the way modern Muslims enforce the dress code (some even going to the lengths of saying women shouldn't wear BRIGHT COLOURED CLOTHES, so as to not attract attention!!! I'm looking at you, Mufti Menk), you'd think that God says something much worse than that. Infact God pulls out Uno reverse, and encourages us to dress as beautifully as we want, especially when visiting the mosque.

3. A lot of English translations of the Quran come from Saudi Arabia. A country famous for its conservative practise of Islam. While the original Arabic text cannot be changed, a lot of these translations include information in parantheses that add "rules" based on the above mentioned factors, that a casual reader or a new Muslim who doesn't know Arabic will consider to be authentic rules of the Quran, extrapolated from the verse, and not extra additions that are often derived from hadith. A very good example of this is the headcover verse, which you can see in this link.

Even all the hostility surrounding homosexual people has been derived from cultural influences and one set of verses. From around 6000 verses, just a single set passingly mention homosexuality. Don't you think that if it truly were such a great sin, God would have explicitly forbidden it? Also why would he create such a natural variation in sexuality and then forbid it? Why isn't it forbidden for animals then? Is all-loving God that cruel to create this natural and healthy attraction in them and then explicitly forbid it when straight people get to marry and live life in bliss? (Please don't say that "God also created pedophilia, and that's natural, so by this logic shouldn't we allow that too?" because pedophilia IS NOT HEALTHY, AT ALL. IT'S IS A DISORDER. Unlike homosexuality) I'm also not picking and choosing things to fit my lifestyle, as some might say, as I am straight, and the only reason I support the LGBT community because I have basic humanity?? And they're humans who deserve rights and joy and freedom and acceptance just like the rest of us.

There have been reformed translations of Quran which examine the verse without prior bias against LGBT people, and they have presented an alternate translation, that the verse condemns sexual assault, which happened to be homosexual in the particular story. Check out this link too, which explains how closely examining the words used could change the meaning from one thing to another.

What I attempted to prove in this extremely long post is that the practise of a religion isn't necessarily the reflection of its true nature.

There are progressive open-minded people who believe in Islam because it gives them hope and solace. People who believe because core beliefs of Islam aligned with their own views and simple logic.

NOT to say there aren't religious bigots who will totally use religion to manipulate people into oppressing themselves or other people. There are, there are a LOT of people like that who call themselves "scholars". And there are a lot of people who follow these extremely harmful regressive version of Islam without critically thinking about what they are following.

I've seen a post discussing the meaning of the word Islam, which means submission to God. It said that it implies total submission, without questioning what we believe.

That is an argument used by both religious extremists to further their beliefs, and by the opposite side, who say the religion is oppressive.

I wish to present a view that Islam itself tells us to think critically, to use our brains to question everything and anything we believe. And then to arrive at our own conclusions. And if you're a decent, kind human, those beliefs maybe align with Islam (not saying that if you're not Muslim, you're horrible, that is not what I meant at all). And if the opinion between people differs, there's always logic and reasoning behind every rule that is presented in the Quran. Don't believe me? Here's the verse that tells people not to blindly follow their parents' religion. And here's a list of verses about critical thinking.

The reason we (atleast reformist Muslims) submit to God is because we questioned it, we came to the conclusion that Hey! This is right. I can submit to my Creator by, who is basically the consciousness that created everything and is the source of all goodness, love and strength, because the rules mentioned here make sense and they privde a moral framework for me to base important desicions on. They feel right. And there is logic behind everything written in this.

I don't mean to present Islam as an all-perfect amazing religion everyone should believe and that I'm right, everyone else, especially those liberal atheists who criticise my religion are wrong and WILL BURN IN HELL. I consider Islam a perfect moral framework, and that's my business only. Anyone can follow what they want and it's none of my business. In fact there is no compulsion in religion at all, and people who say Muslim or go to hell are wrong imo.

What I intended was to paint a picture of reformist Muslims who are still out there, who follow the religion because they questioned it. And not the religion as this stringent rule book we all have to follow down to a t, micromanaging every aspect of our lives and living in perpetual fear of hell, but rather this basic moral guide that teaches us tact, compassion and justice, to bring us closer to God spiritually. I wanted to show that the majority isn't always reflective of what I think is the true core of Islam.

I feel that many practises in the name of Islam are highly questionable and should be criticized, but I also want people to know that the people who seemingly represent the religion, are not representative of the entire mass of believers. That sometimes the practises you might criticize might have nothing to do with the actual religion, atleast according to some of us. It was also for fellow Muslims who might be in the same place I was a few years ago, questioning everything I had learnt was part of my religion.

This is also NOT to undermine struggles of people forced to follow Islam and its seeming requirements like hijab. This is not to claim that nope, every Muslim is fine and ok, and we're all peaceful progressive people. In fact I wish to do the exact opposite, to show that people who enforce oppressive policies in the name of Islam aren't actually backed by the religion and neither should they be backed by other Muslims. I'm also not trying to say no one should criticize Islam. Criticism helps us grow. Criticism is necessary to uncover oppression and eradicate it. So by all means, criticize.

I'm so glad I found the subreddit r/progressive_Islam when I did because it helped me a lot, and opened me to other like-minded progressive Muslims, who actively hope to counter the negative effects of Salafism and conservatism that is overtaking Islam.

So yeah, I think I covered almost everything I wanted to talk about and here's a final link that pretty much just states my position on things.

PS idk why this thingy is in different colours it just seemed cooler and less boring to read

#religion #islamicpost #radfem #gender critical #muslim #progressive #change #critical thinking #sexism #feminism #feminist #allies #humanity #extremism #womenempowerment #freewomen #headcovering #mine

83 notes · View notes

the-darklings · 3 years

Note

“ you’re my person. you’ll always be the one i go to. ” Jean + Clara/V 🥺

prompt: “you’re my person. you’ll always be the one i go to.”

pairing: jean x v (coa verse)

wc: 2.3k+ (aka I don't have an off button when it's them regardless of setting/verse)

notes: so while I'm obsessed with jeara in npfh verse, something about exploring them in coa where jean is almost a rogue figure in v's life and is near entirely removed from the overall dramas of her life is just so... (makes a vague, distressed sound). guess i'm just a sucker for "no matter what, life keeps drawing us back together" energy, also I just love their antagonistic, sexually charged banter : )

It’s the soft cocking of a gun behind you that alerts you to someone’s presence at your back.

It’s a split second, a whirlwind of gripping your own weapon, but it’s all too slow. Far too slow, John and Cassian and the Elder would have reprimanded you. Disappointing after years of work and training you’ve done. Sloppy at best, life-threatening at worst.

For priding yourself on speed as your greatest physical weapon, you simply react too slow. It’s not because your instincts are dull anymore — no, if anything, after the dessert you’re an even sharper version of yourself.

But there’s is a singular hole in your instinctive wall. One person who — unfailingly, and irritatingly — seems to slip behind every single one of your guards. More of a snake than you are. More deadly, more deceptively charming and coy.

"Well, well — look who the cat dragged in."

Jean’s voice is still silk. With the gentle roll of his accent, the ice in his eyes shifts and morphs — cracking at the sight of you; always, a match and a fuse — when you level your pistol on his face. Unflinching. A slight, indulgent twitch of his mouth greets your clinical action. He appears so infuriatingly unconcerned to have a fully loaded weapon trailed on him you have to bite back a snarl. Arrogant bastard.

But you’ve seen what his mouth is capable of. He would no doubt make an innuendo if you brought up the said mouth but he’s stopped entire gunfights with his wit and tongue alone in the past. Has stood beside you plenty of times, trying to weasel you both out of serious trouble.

You have a habit of running into each other every time the other needs backup the most. Neither of you would ever admit to needing one another but you’ve served each other’s self-interests plenty of times.

"What are you doing here?" you demand.

The Frenchman doesn’t move, dragging his stare over your body with curious, probing intensity. It’s near lazy, bordering on sexual perusal and instinctively your skin warms under the examination. Prick.

"Lovely to see you too, chérie,” he greets, his voice honey yet always just tantalisingly teasing the idea of more. He’s learned to present himself as the devil’s biggest temptation long ago; a temptation very few resist. His arm finally lowers with those words, followed by a click of safety coming back on but you’re not so quick to follow his lead. “You look positively alive," he adds, a touch sardonic.

Your lips twitch. "Sorry to disappoint."

Last time he saw a mess, not an assassin.

His broad frame is clad in a stitch-to-stitch perfect tailored suit. Dark and sleek. Not dark enough to be outright black but an odd, shimmering material that indeed reminds you of a devil in disguise. Prowling around and passing around favours and information but at a price — always a price, and never one you want to pay in the long run.

"Hm, yes,” he hums thoughtfully, a melody of rumbling deepness that is his voice settling in your gut as he draws closer. Strolling forward without a care in the world, as if you don’t have your pistol still raised. Still aimed at him. Your finger on the trigger. As if there isn’t a pinch to your features; a warning, venomous gleam in your eyes. “While you disappearing is no novelty. You disappearing for seven months to a point even I can't locate you certainly is."

With the sheer vastness of his web of information, you can only imagine how profoundly irritating he found it. Jean doesn’t like losing. Doesn’t like not being in control, in the know. Never has. Others dance to his tune. Losing is a language he doesn’t speak. If there is no way to get his way, he makes one. He cares little for the collateral damage left behind. His ruthlessness alone has always put you at odds though he’s always been quick to point out how hypocritical you are for your wry comments. How every enemy of yours has oftentimes been left spluttering on their own blood, robbed of life or a future.

You burn everything, chérie, he told you once, years ago now, to destroy so thoroughly is a curious talent for one so invested in life and greenery to have.

"I'm touched by the concern," you say eventually, your expression still sour and your mouth curved downwards.

Jean’s face creases at that, an eyebrow quirking, and lips stretching further back. That stupid little dimple in his left cheek appears again, and it’s a rare sight — one to always makes you wonder if this is genuine amusement or just another mask he wears.

"Actually I needed you to kill someone for me, vipère,” he rebukes, dismissive of your notations of sentimentality. A small sound whistles past his teeth, his eyes narrowing down on you when he halts in front of you, his chest bumping into the muzzle of the gun. The pearly white of his dress shirt cuts for a bleak contrast to your sleek, black pistol. “Your sneaky ways have proven to be... most useful."

His voice lowers, dripping towards a lulling, beguiling thing. He slants his head lower, near blending into the shadows of the room where you were searching for more information about your current mark just moments prior.

"Yeah, right," you huff, unimpressed.

"Does it surprise you?” he wonders curiously, his cologne tickling your nose when he slants even closer, still towering over you. And you know his cologne — so damn well, you know it in your marrow — know how it smells when it’s faded and muted. When you nudge your nose against the juncture of his throat, burying yourself in him. Greedy or not, you always stole his warmth. And for some reason he always permitted it. Perhaps he found some begrudging amusement in moments of lingering contact and intimacy between you. For a man who might as well be carved from ice, he knows exactly how to make you burn. “The idea that I think you're my person? A trustworthy contact? You'll always be the one I go to."

Your arm lowers at long last, making you peer up at him from under your lashes. Consider him. Jean’s mouth rests slightly agape, his breaths slowing, slowing, slowing — matching yours, you realise suddenly, ignoring the pinprick of desire at the base of your neck. His proximity chips at your guard and you lean closer too. Alone in this dark room, alone in this world, two solitary figures occasionally passing by each other. In these rare instances of proximity, it’s easy to forget your loneliness. Easy to pretend you’re one and the same.

Your fingers slither up his chest and towards his neck. To kiss him you would have to stretch your limbs and muscles. This you know intimately. If only because you know exactly how his body fits against yours. And what an odd thought it is — to know that where there is fear and unease with others, there’s only need to be closer with him. Every cell in your body seems to hum at the mental image; eager to agree, eager to indulge. The idea of sampling more of him, tangling yourself further in the spider’s web is too tempting. Too enticing. Jean inclines into you. Your escape, hideaway, so dissimilar to how the dessert felt. Like a gilded cage. A makebelieve. With him though it feels…

Your breaths mingle, intertwining, neither of you breaking the eye contact first. He doesn’t allow you a single inhale without devouring every micro quiver of your lips.

"Nice try,” you exhale knowingly before your mouths can touch, leaning back with a saccharine grin. Your fingertips tease over the heated skin of his neck despite the broken spell. It thrills you, the tension of strong tendons you feel there, pulled tauter by your prodding. “Now why are you really here?"

For a single instance, you think Jean will continue his pretence, his unending fictitious act. Mock you further with yet another agreeable mask he shows everyone else. But a flicker, and then his charm melts into something more cunning, crueller, yet somehow — impossibly — even hungrier and darker than before. He’s still too close, too physically there; next to you, in you, like a splinter you can’t get out. Or want to.

Unravelling of a facade packaged in a span of a second, a heartbeat.

"I need him alive, V."

His voice drips from honey to dark velvet. Teasing, seductive promise. Jean’s fingers drag against the curve of your jaw as he speaks, his touch inveigling but you’ve danced this dance before. He should know better than to expect easy prey by now.

"And I need him dead,” you snip back, cupping his cheek in return, scraping your fingers against the dark stubble against his jaw with an innocent tilt of your head. Sometimes you hate it — the way he’s able to rip out something darker in you, more chillingly untamed. Jean is a paradox, a tempest blowing against the ruleset. So often being beside him makes you recklessly want to do the same. “So if you're after something, I suggest you work quicker, Jean."

There’s a split second in which you think he might flip on you the way he’s done on so many others. A warm, inviting smile — all charisma and magnetism, toothy and wide — seconds before he plants a bullet in your body. You’ve seen him do it so many times in the past your head spins. In part from wondering if he will give you one last kiss before he pulls the trigger, or if he really believes you will not take him down with you if he attempts it.

"If I get the information I need by sunrise, have dinner with me tomorrow."

His thumb nudges against the curve of your bottom lip. Rough yet gentle, sensuous yet treacherous. He’s so used to getting his way you want to refuse him out of principle alone if nothing else. It’s rather enjoyable — in a dark, cruel way — to deny him, to see how many masks he can flip through until only his own face remains. You've yet to see such a day.

"There's a distinct lack of a question mark in that statement," you note coolly.

The tension between you sits like a physical weight. Overbearing and thick; you glimpse all the things he’s doing to you inside his mind already. His fingers digging into your hips, hoisting you into his strong arms. A hiss of searing breath against your ear, teeth against your neck, animalistic, skin against skin. Sweat and filth and passion. You’ve healed during your stay at the dessert. He can see it in you. A part of you has transformed, shed your old, torn skin — he’s certainly coaxed and encouraged this change in you prior. It had become a particular interest of his once John departed.

Bury your past, vipère, it doesn’t serve you anymore.

Glaciers of his gaze thaw and spark into a sapphire flame the longer you gaze at one another, hungry and wanting. Jean’s angular, virile features tighten with restraint but he doesn’t crack, a faint grin still lingering in place.

"I'm not going to grovel at your feet, vipère,” he says, his words ringing deeper and sultry, near gravelly. A knife’s edge, really, razor-sharp against your fragile pulse. His fingers trace the contours of your parted mouth, and you sense his breath when he nudges close. The scent of tobacco and red wine still lingers on his own lips muddying your honed senses. “It's not in my nature to do so. If I want something, I go for it."

And for some reason it’s him — him you lean into, him you don’t shun or snarl at when he touches you. So intimately. Painting you with his hands anew — bloody hands of a murderous man, a liar and a cheat.

Your lashes flutter. "And here I thought you liked games."

"Only the ones I win,” he breathes hotly, his teeth gleaming, a wolf’s jaws open for devouring. His large palm slips to cup your face, bracing against your cheek, steadying you. Your mouths are almost touching, almost kissing, almost biting. “And you... are... most certainly a game I'm happy to play every time, ma vipère.”

The last part — wanton and just a touch possessive, throaty with a heavier accent — scrapes against the shell of your ear. Hot, wet exhales of oxygen skitter against the curve of your neck and it leaves you shuddering against him. Jean grins into your skin at the small victory, his mouth flitting over your beating pulse in reward. Once, twice. He’s not touching you further, and you grind your jaw to prevent yourself from touching him in return.

Always the game of who will give in first.

When he realises you’re not about to hand him his victory as he no doubt hoped you would, he pulls back, a flash of teeth visible in the darkness. Lights from the street outside illuminate his handsome features when he moves back. His eyes drink in your form, from head to toe, his thumb swiping over his own mouth slowly. It coils your stomach when you realise it’s the same hand he touched your mouth with.

An indirect kiss to taste you. Despite your controlled expression, you feel that distant kiss as if he were smearing your mouth with his until your edges blurred with his.

“Dinner will be at 8 pm sharp. Don't be late,” he instructs, low and smooth, his voice still scratchy with hunger. He pivots to go but pauses midturn, glancing at you over his shoulder while his hand slips into his slacks. “Oh, and do wear red. You always look so fetching in that colour. And it looks ever-so pretty on my bedroom floor."

#original writing #spilled prose #original prose #oc x reader #oc writing #writing #s: almost love #c: jean #head empty - only they!!!#ngl kinda proud of how this one turned out so hope you enjoy anon!!!

28 notes · View notes

half-bakedboy · 3 years

Text

when you’re not listening (read on ao3)

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: General Summary: “You don’t want to kiss me, Buck.”

“How do you know that?” Buck shot back. He would realize later that he never denied her accusation. He stared her down almost desperately and saw more sympathy in her eyes than he liked. It made him feel vulnerable and he hated wearing his heart on his sleeve with anyone, especially Taylor.

“Because you’re just going to wish it was him and neither of us deserves that."

A Season 4 Episode 12: Treasure Hunt Fix It (contains spoilers for the ep)

There was no doubt in Buck’s mind that Taylor Kelly was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life. She had those big blue eyes that Buck could compare to skies and oceans with the little specks of green that were scattered through them, and her hair was brighter than most of the fires Buck had put out in his line of work. She was smart, cunning, and witty and she could put Buck in his place with a raise of her eyebrow or a single well-formed word on her perfectly lined lips.

Buck was leaning in before he could think about what he was doing, the double shots of tequila already thrumming through his veins and dizzying his head just enough for all coherent thought to disappear. She was complaining about something — someone — that was related to the treasure hunt they had teamed up to try and figure out for the last few days and was seemingly not paying attention to the way Buck moved closer to her.

She never paid attention to him the way he did her. He wondered if she thought he was pretty; if she ever compared his hair to a sandy beach that led to the ocean that was his eyes. He wondered if she ever took a second to think about what adjectives she would use to describe Buck. Would she call him intelligent? Lovable? Stupid? Sarcastic? Annoying? Exhausting?

He shook his head to focus his mind and eyes back on Taylor who was scanning the map in front of her like it held all the answers. Buck knew it didn’t have any for him. It was just another way for him to keep his life exciting and hold those around him even closer. He got to spend the last few days with his best friends and he wondered if they cared as much as he did. He figured Eddie did and that thought alone had a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What does Eddie do?” Taylor asked, breaking him out of his haze.

“He’s a firefighter…” Buck explained slowly because Taylor must have hurt herself looking for all the clues or something. She smacked him on the arm.

“You were rambling - which we will talk about more in a second - but then you stopped, got this goofy smile on your face, and said, ‘Eddie does.’” Buck blushed. He could blame it on the alcohol, but they both knew that wasn’t it.

“How much of my internal monologue did you hear?” He asked instead, resting both hands on the table as far apart as they could go so he had a little space between him and Taylor.

“Well, I heard you think about trying to kiss me which you quickly convinced yourself off of. Thank god, too, cause I didn’t wanna have to deny you again.” Before Buck could argue, she gave him a look that shut him up almost as quickly as Athena’s did. “Then I think you were scrolling through a thesaurus in your head? Then you talked about the treasure hunt and then, as usual, you stopped thinking at all because of Eddie.”

“What do you mean as usual?” Buck asked. He probably should’ve been embarrassed that she had knocked him down so many pegs with just a few sentences, but he was more interested in why she was looking at him like he was an idiot.

“We’ll get to that,” Taylor said, waving her hand in dismissal.

“This isn’t the news, Taylor, you can just tell me what’s going on instead of teasing it for the ten o’clock story,” Buck complained, sliding his hands across the table until a pin pricked his skin sharply.

“We’ve known each other for a little bit of time now, yeah?” Taylor asked, resting a hand on Buck’s shoulder and squeezing. He glanced up at her and nodded. “So you could say that I know you pretty well considering?”

Buck nodded again and agreed, “Considering I can count the number of people that do on one hand, yeah.”

“So will you trust me when I say what I have to say?” Who was Buck to argue with her when she stared at him with too much sympathy in her eyes. She rested a hand on Buck’s cheek and began, “You are inquisitive and always searching out new information even if it’s unimportant. You’re impassioned about everything you do in life. You’re absolutely ridiculous in every sense of the word. You’re sensitive and captivating and endearing and reliable and trustworthy and thoughtful, and—”

Buck leaned in to kiss her. He didn’t have to think about it because, after everything she had said, he knew she must feel the same as he had the last few days. But then his lips met her cheek and her hand smacked over the small bubble of laughter that escaped her mouth.

“I was going to say impulsive next,” Taylor noted as she glanced up at Buck again, leaning back as if she was scared he would try to make another move.

“God, I’m so sorry, I’m— You just said all of those things, and I just got carried away and—”

“Who said those were my words?” Taylor noted easily, maintaining eye contact even as Buck furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“I am way too buzzed to play this game right now, Taylor,” Buck said, pulling his hands away from Taylor’s waist and backing away.

“Have you ever heard the way Eddie speaks about you?” Taylor asked before he could get too far away.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” Buck said honestly. Sure, he knew they were best friends and he knew how he spoke of Eddie, but he had always assumed that Eddie never talked about him. He was a man of few words and Buck wasn’t sure why any of them would be wasted on him.

“I’ve spent all of twenty-four hours being the third wheel attached to the fine-tuned engine that is Buck and Eddie. While you were off finding more clues and gathering information, Eddie was telling me all about how lucky I was to have someone as impassioned and sensitive and reliable and thoughtful and selfless and—”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Buck said, blushing deeper when he thought of Eddie saying those things about him. He wasn’t sure why his stomach chose to flutter in excitement or why his heart sped up just a little quicker than necessary.

“He never mentioned that you were oblivious, though, but I’m assuming that’s because he’s just as bad,” Taylor noted, staring Buck down like he was a news story she couldn’t wait to crack. Buck said nothing and avoided her eyes at all costs, staring down at the hole in his sweater and wishing he could disappear into it.

“I don’t understand what any of this has to do with us,” Buck relented, turning back toward Taylor and crossing his arms over his chest. “We make a great team and we could be even better if we just—” He stalked forward again, sighing when Taylor’s hands rested on his chest and patted gently.

“You don’t want to kiss me, Buck.”

“Because you’re just going to wish it was him and neither of us deserves that,” Taylor said softly, trailing a hand to cup Buck’s cheek, sliding her thumb comfortingly across his cheekbone. Buck leaned into it, relenting to the softness and allowing himself for one moment to be happy that he had a friend like Taylor.

“There’s a really narrow line between friends and… more,” Buck stated with a defeated huff of laughter. Taylor froze and glanced down at the map before smirking up at Buck.

“I know where the treasure is.”

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

Eddie could be described as many things, but currently, the only word he could think of was jealous. His skin was still crawling from witnessing the easy way Buck and Taylor interacted, reading each other’s minds like they were the same damn person and smiling at each other like they had cracked a secret code while Eddie tagged along. He was still a little pissed that Buck had decided to go to Taylor first - over Eddie - to search for the stupid treasure in the first place.

He wasn’t even interested in finding the five million dollars. Although it would be nice to provide some wiggle room for whatever Christopher wanted to do in the future, he didn’t need it. What he had wanted was to spend some time with Buck and really figure out the feelings that were suddenly clouding his mind whenever he so much as looked at his best friend. Spending a few days doing a ridiculous task with Buck seemed like the perfect excuse to try to figure out where the sudden urge to break up with his girlfriend in favor of pursuing a relationship with his best friend came from.

Then Taylor Kelly happened. He was sure everyone in the firehouse was increasingly aware of the way his lips turned down and his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at the mere mention of her name or how seeing her ridiculous(ly beautiful) face on the television made him want to ban Buck from using electronics again. He didn’t think it would slide, though, because for some reason, Buck liked her and that was enough of a punch to the gut to have Eddie scrubbing down his dinner dishes furiously in the sink.

When the knock at his door sounded, he slammed the plate he had been over cleaning into the sink, taking a deep breath before turning toward the door. That last person he expected to see was Buck leaning against the doorframe with an almost concerned smirk on his face.

“What did your dishware ever do to you?” He asked, swinging his keys around his finger. Eddie saw the bright red cap on the key that belonged to his home and regretted giving it to Buck for just a moment. He would have given anything to be able to prepare himself for Buck to be in front of him considering, well, everything.

“He had it coming. I can’t prove it, but I think he was conspiring with the forks,” Eddie responded, shrugging his shoulders. Buck laughed and all of the pent-up anxiety drained from Eddie’s body.

“I’m sure you’ll get a confession out of him sooner or later,” Buck said, resting his head against the frame and licking his lips. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he would think that Buck looked a little sad or even… nervous.

“I thought you were getting together with Taylor tonight to drown your sorrows?” Eddie asked. He couldn’t help himself. The entire reason he’d been angry all night in the first place was because he knew Buck was hanging out with her. Eddie glanced at the clock and saw it was almost midnight. It didn’t make sense that Buck had shown up at all, especially with how late it was.

“We did a little drowning. Turns out I’m more of a lightweight on tequila than I thought.” Eddie narrowed his eyes and Buck clearly knew why he was suddenly angry. “Taylor got me an uber. I didn’t drive here,” Buck defended, holding up his hands in surrender.

“And why are you here? Not that you’re not welcome, I just figured you’d be spending the night with your—”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Buck interrupted, clearly exasperated at the accusation. Eddie wasn’t sure whether to let the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips grow and risk his obvious pleasure at the secondary confirmation. “She figured out where the treasure is.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “She found it and you’re here? Buck, why aren’t you with her to get it?” Eddie asked, stalking toward the door to slip on his shoes and grab his keys. Buck’s hand on his arm slowed him down and when he glanced at Buck, he had that soft smile on his face that Eddie was grateful to recognize as one of his Diaz-specific looks.

“If I’m gonna find five million dollars worth of treasure, it’s not gonna be with her,” Buck said simply. Eddie felt his stomach flutter and that jealous heat that surged through him turned down to a simmer as Buck stared down at him.

“Yeah?” Eddie said because he wasn’t sure how else to respond. It was a simple statement but it held the entire universe to Eddie and he wondered if Buck realized that.

“The way I see it,” Buck began, stroking his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand, “we have two choices. One, we go get the treasure and split it between the four of us; you, me, Taylor, and Paul.”

“Paul?”

“The cameraman. Does no one know his name?” Buck asked, shaking his head as if to bring himself back to the subject.

“And number two?” Eddie asked, staring down at the hand that held his so delicately. Buck slid a finger from his free hand underneath Eddie’s chin to force their eye contact and Eddie would never be able to explain away the audible gulp or the way his face reddened at the intensity of Buck’s gaze.

“Or two, we stay here and finally have that conversation you seem to be having with everyone else besides me,” Buck noted, narrowing his eyes knowingly. Eddie groaned and pulled his hand away, only marginally upset by the loss of contact. Buck’s laughter rang through the air again and Eddie wasn’t as comforted by it that time around.

“Seriously? Was I that obvious?” Eddie asked, sending a pleased glance in Buck’s direction.

“It was Taylor that really convinced me. I was feeling sorry for myself and I tried to put the moves on her—”

“You what—?” Eddie interrupted only to be waved off by Buck.

“Lapse of judgment on my part, but it’s not important. What is important,” Buck took a deep breath and with each word moved a little closer, “is that I think you’re incredible. You’re good-hearted and loyal, kind and full of forgiveness even when I clearly don’t deserve it. You love your son more than anything in this world and don’t care who knows it. You’re… everything? And I’m not sure why it took me so long—”

Eddie leaned in to kiss him.

He wasn’t thinking, hadn’t been for the last few days of anything besides that moment where their lips might touch and all of the pieces of Eddie’s life would slot into place. Kissing Buck felt like finally taking a sip of water or dipping his body into the ocean after the hottest day of the summer and touching him, holding Buck’s face in his hands steadied him so much, he wasn’t sure he had ever been so balanced. There was five million dollars waiting for him somewhere in L.A. but Eddie couldn’t bring himself to care about it. Nothing was worth more than finally having Buck exactly how he had dreamed. When Buck pulled away, the grin on his lips was enough for Eddie to realize that everything was going to be okay; more than okay.

The next day when he sat around the lunch table with his new family surrounding him, he could only focus on the way Buck caught his eye from across the table and the nudge of his foot against Eddie’s when they thought no one was paying attention. He was sure the smiles and soft looks they gave each other were anything but subtle. It was Taylor that surprised him. She raised her eyebrows at Eddie, her eyes darting between the two men carefully as if asking if her secret plan had worked. Eddie nodded, smiling widely as he mouthed her a thank you.

It wasn’t enough just to thank her but it was a start and he had more important things to focus on. Eddie glanced back at the most important thing--Buck.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #911 #911 on fox #911 spoilers #911 fic #911 coda fic #my writing #this was supposed to be a quick one #but almost 3k later #OOOOPS #hope you like it!! <3

55 notes · View notes

pawprintsmoon · 4 years

Text

Wanheda in Sunnydale; the Commander of Death

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27060634

The first time Clarke the Vampire Slayer tried to dust the mysterious vampire, they did not exchange words. It must have been an off night for the Slayer, because after their fight the undead woman ran off into the night unharmed.

The second time they met, the vampire got away again. Right before disappearing, she had let her face relax out of it’s fighting wrinkles. She had the most hauntingly green eyes and the most infuriating little smirk. Clarke committed her face to memory, for there were not many vampires who could continue to best her. This was easy, for the vampire’s face was so memorable that Clarke saw it in her dreams for the next several nights.

Just as the vampire was about to get away for the third time, Clarke called after her: “Who are you?”

She turned slowly back to face Clarke, looking down at her from the large grave she was unceremoniously jumping over to leave.

“Why, Slayer?” she asked softly. “Are you afraid of me?”

“Of course not.” Clarke glared and gripped her stake tight. Then after a small sigh she said, “But I’ll admit that you are a formidable fighter.”

“Oh stop, you’ll make me blush.”

“Oh yeah? With what blood?”

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” she asked, ignoring Clarke’s response.

“Well the undead can’t really be killed.” Clarke rolled her eyes. “You’re already dead, genius. Looks like your brains don’t match up to your fighting skills.”

“Come now,” the vamp feigned a look of hurt, “you’ll hurt my feelings if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll hurt more than your feelings if you’re not careful!”

“No, you won’t.” The Vampire turned away slowly to meander away through the graveyard. She called over her shoulder, “I know you have a soft spot for me, Slayer.”

Clarke fumed, but let her get away a third time. There was more patrolling to do and her watcher wouldn’t be happy to hear she’d wasted her night on one inconsequential vamp.

The next time they met the fight was brief and Clarke had her cornered against the stone wall of a crypt. Right before she was about to drive the stake into the vamp’s heart, however, her forehead wrinkles smoothed out to make the vampire look human. In Clarke’s moment of hesitation she spoke.

“I’m Lexa,” she whispered. Clarke froze, except her labored breathing from the combat. “You asked who I was, remember?”

Of course Clarke remembered. She didn’t move a muscle and neither did Lexa. Lexa didn’t need to breathe, of course, but she was choosing to and Clarke could feel the cool puffs of her exhales.

“That’s just my name though,” said Lexa. “There’s much more you could know about me.”

“I don’t want to know anything about you,” snarled Clarke, pulling back her arm to stake Lexa through the heart. Just as she did so, Lexa grabbed her attacking wrist and spun them both around so that Clarke was the one pressed against the crypt wall.

“Well,” Lexa said softly, “I’d like to know more about you.”

Clarke pushed her away and followed through with a kick to the stomach that made Lexa roll to the ground. She rolled back up however, ready with a punch. So they fought and Clarke convinced herself that her hesitation meant nothing. But when Lexa got away a fourth time she knew she ought to be concerned.

The resulting conversation with her watcher, Marcus Kane, consisted of instructions to meditate and reassess her feelings. He said that it was not the first time that a Slayer had been attracted to a vampire. Clarke immediately denied any such attraction to the monster and simply trained harder than ever. Perhaps she could sweat it out. The possibility that certain vampires could have souls lingered in her mind, however. So did Lexa’s green eyes and sarcastic remarks. Over and over again Clarke and Lexa would meet in the graveyard, pretend to fight, and never end up with real bruises or cuts.

One night in late October, Clarke was in the tunnels underneath Sunnydale defeating a Haxil Beast when three more gigantic demons joined them. Just as Clarke was considering retreat, Lexa appeared with two long and lethal swords. In seconds one of the demons was dead and oozing puss on the tunnel floor. With no time for questions, Clarke accepted Lexa’s help, and together they took out the remaining demons.

After the fight and before they could speak. Lexa disappeared into the night leaving Clarke with a thousand questions. The Slayer immediately went to the Magic Shop to share her concerns with her watcher, Mr Kane. Immediately they hit the books. Clarke was just starting to feel guilty about not thanking Lexa for coming to her aid, when Mr Kane showed her the records of Lexa’s past. She was known to the demon world as ‘The Commander.’ A pretentious and narcissistic title.

His interpretation of the horrors that Lexa had committed, suggested that Clarke should avoid upsetting her. Raven and Monty agreed that it would be useful to keep a vampire on their side and even Bellamy and Octavia were prepared to follow their advice.

Grudgingly, Clarke agreed as well. These horror stories were more than enough to remind Clarke not to be attracted to monsters.

And yet.

And yet…

The months went on and Lexa continued to show up just in time to fight at her side. Often Lexa would appear with helpful information when Clarke was leaving the Bronze late at night, or patrolling among graves. She would always come with information about the Big Bad -a dangerous and mad woman with inhuman powers and mysterious origin. Her power was the Apocalypse causing type.

“Clarke. You need to know this…” or “I’m here to help you Clarke.” More than once Clarke would ask, “Why are you doing this?” and “How do you know all of this about Alie?”

Lexa never gave a straight answer until the night before Clarke was going to face off with Alie, who Lexa had informed her was a god separated from her home dimension. Clarke and her friends had laid out an insane plan and now it was just time to wait. In the morning they would save the world but tonight everyone went to their respective houses to sleep. Lexa insisted on walking Clarke to her house.

“Why are you walking me home?” Clarke asked as she allowed Lexa steps to fall in sync with her own.

“To protect you.”

“I’m the slayer, I hardly need protecting. You could have walked Monty home instead.”

“Monty got a ride with Raven, Clarke.” The slayer shivered at the way Lexa always announciated the ‘k’ at the end of her name. “And you’re the slayer. Alie is most likely to come after you.”

Their footsteps made the only noise for a moment before Lexa whispered, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Why?” Clarke all but yelled. The stress of tomorrow’s plan exacerbated the constant frustration that was the Commander. “Why are you helping me?”

“Just trust me,” Lexa replied, voice still soft. Those eyes. So soft and sincere and not at all like a demon.

“Why would I trust you? You are death itself.” Clarke wanted to punch the vampire. Or lunge at her in some other way.

Lexa apparently shared that urge because instead of answering, she pulled Clarke into a hard, passionate kiss. Clarke’s body responded as her mind buzzed with white noise. It was rough and thrilling. Lexa’s hands were exploring the skin just under the hem of her shirt before Clarke pulled away.

“No.” Clarke shook her head. “No. Being a good kisser does not equate to being trustworthy.”

“So you think I’m a good kisser, then?”

“I think you’re probably a good liar and you definitely have secrets and you should go back to your crypt.”

“I am a good kisser.” Lexa smirked, moving closer to Clarke, hands still on her waist. “You’re good too.”

“Please…” Clarke’s suspicious mind wondered if the vampire was really saying that she tasted good. The still buzzing part of her mind was vaguely thinking that Lexa tasted good. Then Lexa took several steps away and the California air felt cold.

“Right.” Lexa nodded, suddenly serious and impassive. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We will send the goddess back to the City of Light. Do not worry.”

Clarke wanted to apologize, but she also didn’t want to apologize. So she turned away and walked home alone.

Early the next morning Clarke and her friends went out to an empty construction site to defeat Alie. Just after Raven failed to close the portal to Alie’s home dimension (the City of Light) everyone discovered why Lexa was called the Commander. Try as she might, Clarke could not completely corner the powerful goddess. Only when Lexa finally stepped in and commanded Alie through the portal. They all shared the victory, but Lexa had exhibited a special power that nobody could explain.

Faced with a full team of armed and curious demon-fighters, Lexa revealed the most important secret. Before becoming a vampire, she’d come from a long line of demi-god from the City of Light. Clarke couldn’t quite pretend to be surprised.

“Wait,” said Raven, her eyes wide and staring at Lexa. “If you’re part god, that means... you have a soul. The goddess part of you would have protected your soul when you were sired.”

Clarke felt as if her heart had stopped beating. She searched Lexa’s face, desperate for confirmation. The Commander’s silent nod pushed her heart to back into beating, hard and full of adrenaline.

The moments were too long until they were alone again and Clarke’s pulse pounded inside her the whole time. Finally, the sun set and Clarke and Lexa were alone in the Magic Shop.

“You have a soul?”

“I do.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want to distract you,” Lexa explained. “I know you would’ve cared for me and I didn’t want to be a weakness for you.”

“It was a lie of omission.” Clarke did indeed feel somewhat weak at the knees. Last night Lexa had asked for trust, and now Clarke was tempted to give it. “If you ever lie to me again-”

“I won’t.” Their eye contact was infinite. “And it would be a lie if I denied my feelings for you now. I understand if you can never want me. I may have a soul, but there is still demon in me. There is goddess too. I am not human, and you are so beautifully human.”

Lexa knelt down before her, a promise on her face. The magic of this moment was tangible.

“Because of my power and lineage, I am known as the Commander,” Lexa said softly. “But last night you told me that I am death. You were right. But you, Clarke, are the chosen one. The Slayer. The Commander of Death. I am death. And I swear fealty to you.”

Clarke offered Lexa a shaking hand and pulled the vampire to her feet. Everything she was thinking could not be put into words. So instead of speaking, she stepped toward Lexa and reached up to caress her cheek. Lexa leaned closer, all hesitation and desire.

When their lips met, everything softened. When Lexa reached up to run her fingers through blonde hair, it was as if Clarke was spun of glass and she was afraid of breaking her. When Clarke’s lips opened to taste the Commander the hunger that stirred inside her was incredibly human. When that hunger became too intense, Clarke pushed her against a table and tossed aside all caution.

Fingers dug into hips and roamed under shirts. Books were pushed off the table to fall open on the floor. Clothing was abandoned along with all inhibitions. Two bodies explored each other, discovering pleasure through their closeness. Two girls with the weight of the world on their shoulders floated as light as air. This time Lexa didn’t run off into the night, but stayed in Clarke’s arms until morning.

(At which point they snuck off to Lexa’s cozy candlelit crypt because they were still at the Magic Box and even Slayers, gods, and vampires prefer beds over tables. They spent the entire next day in bed, actually. They deserved it, they had just saved the world after all.)

#clextober20 #7DaysofClexa #Day5 creatures of the night #I really had no idea I was going to write this #the 100 #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #femslash fanfic #day5 #clexa #no beta we die like ben #crossover life

103 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 4 years

Note

How about a fix where Mando fell in love with a princess that had a bounty on her. Reader can be badass like Leia (bless May Carrie Fisher Rest In Paradise)

Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Did you really think you were just going to outrun me?” there was a tone of amusement in the bounty hunter’s voice as he loomed in front of you, leaving you trapped between him and the wall of the building. There were two options, you quickly realized, and neither of them were particularly good. One – you try and dash past him, ducking under one of his arms and hoping you’d outrun him this time, or two – you could surrender and turn yourself in and go with him. The second option definitely didn’t like fun, and the first was a risky option at best and most likely would fail. So, instead you remained in front of him, tilting your head to the side and giving him a smile you hoped was as sweet as honey.

“I mean yeah, that was the intended plan,” you admitted, shrugging innocently, “after all, what kind of bounty hunter goes after an innocent young lady?”

“You’re not so innocent, Princess,” he sighed at you and almost weren’t able to hold back the giggles that bubbled up. Up close and personal when he was like this, he didn’t seem so bad, not like the fearsome Mandalorian that you were told to expect. Maybe it was because you weren’t fighting him…you’d just run for life when he approached you. You’d managed to evade other bounty hunters for quite a while now and you knew it was only a matter of time before the best was sent after you, “you’ve got a handsome bounty on your head.”

“Oh? Is that so?” you feigned innocence, giving him the best doe eyes you could managed as you stared straight into the spot where his eyes would be, “you must have me mistaken for someone else. I’m just-”

“Save the speech,” he told you as the sound of approaching footfalls reached your ears. More. How many people did it take to bring in one of you? You hadn’t even done anything…not anything bad technically. A large looking thug started walking up behind the Mandalorian, blaster pointed at the two of, “I’m not mistaken. We both know I’m not.”

“Ugh, hate to cut you short, but there is a large and scary looking man coming up behind you,” you jerked your head in his direction, but the Mandalorian was unphased. There was a feeling in your gut that told you this guy wasn’t messing around, “look, I’m not trying to shake you or anything, but he looks pissed.”

He remained silent, crossing his arms over his chest as you started to panic. Almost without thinking, you reached for the blaster in his holster and grabbed it, aiming it over his shoulder. You had just enough him to shove him out of the way and dodge the blast that skimmed by your shoulder as you shot the incoming bounty hunter dead in his tracks. You let out a shaky breath as the blaster dropped from your hands and you leaned against the rough rock wall, your chest rising and falling rapidly. The Mandalorian had barely had time to process what had happened, reaching down and picking up the discarded blaster and looking between you and dead man.

“I told you I wasn’t lying,” you managed to let out between your rattled breathing, “have you considered getting your hearing checked?”

“Thank you,” was all he said as he reached for the cuffs in his pocket. You sighed and rolled your eyes at him, raising an eyebrow as if to say seriously? After a few moments when he didn’t budge you begrudgingly obliged, limply holding up your wrists. He slapped the cuffs on, leaving them loose enough to where if you really wanted to escape you could, “let’s go.”

“I think this is a little dramatic,” you groaned as he put a hand on your shoulder and started leading you away, “besides I just saved your life and this is how you repay me?”

“I have a job to do,” was all he said, a stoic tone creeping into his voice. The rest of the walk back to his ship was silent, but there was something about the way he gripped your shoulder. Tight, but not too tight…just right.

»»————-　♡　————-««

He presented to be an enigma; both gentle and kind and yet stoic and stern. He'd led you onto his ship with few words, bringing you into the cockpit with him and sitting you in the copilot's seat, silently removing the handcuffs. You thanked him quietly, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your head on them. Part of you wanted to fight him, to try and escape but you knew it was useless. Your time was up and your fate was sealed.

He was quiet for a while, focused on the piloting the ship, but you could tell he was itching to say something. He stole glances at you every once in a while, thinking you wouldn't notice. But you did; you were hyper aware of everything at moment.

"You might as well spit it out," you finally said as you turned to him, playing with the a loose lock of hair that had escaped your bun, "we've got nothing else to do right now."

"The bounty on your head," he said as he turned to you, swiveling in chair and facing you, "why is it so large?"

"Don't you know?" you almost scoffed at him, wondering if he was honest or just trying to see if you'd lie.

"I never ask. I just do the job," he answered and you nodded. It made sense: less information was less attachment. It made the job easier.

"I ran away from home last year," you admitted, finding it hard to meet his helmeted gaze, "they've been looking for me since."

"You ran away from a life of privilege and leisure," he stated, not even asking as you rolled your eyes.

"It was hardly a life of pleasure," you sighed, "yes, I had the things I desired and needed, but that was it. I wasn't even a person to them, a commodity to be used however they wanted. My father was insistent on my marriage to a man twice my age, who only wanted me to bear him a son. He made it no secret, especially since he'd publicly disposed of and shamed several wives before me. My father didn't care, he wanted to secure trade."

"Oh," was the only response from the Mandalorian as he watched you, feeling a pang in his chest as you dabbed at your eyes with your sleeve. You bit your lip and nodded, raising an eyebrow, "so you left. You've learned to defend yourself well."

"Of course I left. I would rather die than be married to a man I do not love that only wants one thing. I will do no man's bidding," you explained, a hardened glint in your eye as he listened to every word intently, "things were better before my mother died. She loved me, tried to raise me to be my own person. She was a skilled warrior, taught me everything I know. She would have been horrified to know what was happening, but my father turned into."

"I lost my parents too," he said suddenly, surprising himself with how easily he trusted with such personal information, "it changes you."

"Yes," you agreed, just now noticing how close you were to him, his knees brushing against yours, "so I left and decided to do the one thing that makes me happy."

"Which is?" he was gentle now and for a few moments it almost didn't seem like he was hunter and you were prey, just two friends talking.

"Helping others," you gave him a smile small, "there's so many children without parents in the Outer Rim, so I've been helping at places that take them in. It's not much but its something. My mother always told me it was important for us to give back...why should we have everything and they have nothing? It never seemed fair, so when I left I knew what I had to do."

"I think that's a very noble thing to do," the pang in his chest was followed by a weird feeling in his stomach. Were those butterflies? He wasn't sure what it was, but there was something about you that he was inexplicably drawn to.

"It doesn't matter anymore," you shrugged at him before standing up and turning to leave. He stopped you by ending grabbing your wrist in a gloved hand, his touch more gentle than you would have imagined, "what is it?"

"If you could go anywhere in the galaxy where would you go?" he asked, surprising you as you turned to him with a curious expression on your face.

"I've always wanted to see Naboo," you admitted, "I've heard its beautiful there."

"Set back down, Rebel Princess," you could tell there was a smile in his voice as he turned his head towards the seat next to him.

"What!?"

"We'll go on an adventure," he stated simply and you plopped back down into the seat.

"Before I go to my doom?"

"No," he promised, watching as the smile spread across your face. He already knew he was never going to get tired of seeing that, "you're not going back."

"They'll put a bounty on your head too," you told him, making sure he was fully aware of the choice he was making.

"I can handle it," he promised as you relaxed in the seat, staring at the stars outside.

"Why?" you asked as you turned back to him, "I'm just...me. One insignificant person."

"I don't know," he admitted, turning to you, "but you are definitely not insignificant. Everyone matters."

"As do you," you reminded me, reaching over and giving his forearm a light touch, "thank you. Seriously."

"There's nothing to thank me for, Princess," he said as he watched your hand, partly wishing you wouldn't remove it.

"Y/N. Please just call me Y/N," you insisted, "and should I call you Mando then? Everyone seems keen on calling you that."

"Din," he responded quietly, almost finding it weird to say his own name out loud. He hadn't shared it with anyone else in a long time, but he felt compelled to tell you, he knew you were trustworthy, "Din Djarin."

"Thank you for saving me Din Djarin. You were my only hope. My savior."

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #din djarin #din djarin x reader #dyn jarren #dyn jarren x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

623 notes · View notes

theotherackerman · 3 years

Text

THE RUBBLE OR OUR SINS?

CHAPTER THREE: The bare face that only I know

Eren knocked softly on the door outside of Mikasa and Sasha’s shared room.

It took a few moments before Mikasa opened the door, her hair a mess.

“Commander wants us to move back to the cabin. Something about how Levi doesn't trust us here. Neither does Hange,” Eren explained.

Mikasa simply nodded as she was half asleep.

“I’ll get Sasha ready,” Mikasa replied as she started to close the door.

“Wait,” Eren said as he reached out to stop the door.

He raised his hand and smoothed out the hair that was sticking up. Mikasa blushed at the sudden but sweet gesture from Eren.

“There, see you soon,” Eren replied as he began to walk away.

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

Squad Levi and the Commander would be moving back to the cabin along with Ymir and Historia

"Why are we relocating out here right now? We haven't even had breakfast yet…" Sasha grumbled as she unloaded one of the wagons.

"Because I have three brats who like to run off in the middle of the night and steal ships. That's why we're out here...again…" Levi sighed as he oversaw all the work.

"And to keep Eren and Historia safe," Hange added.

"Eren's got Mikasa as a guard and Historia has a titan shifter. I don't think anyone is going to touch them," Connie replied as he carried in barrels from the wagon.

"We also need to talk where no one is around," Ymir said as she picked up several crates. "I don't trust the Marleyeans running around."

"At least someone around here has some sense," Onyankopon said as he took the horses over to the stable.

Everyone stopped and just stared at him.

"I'm not from Marley. Besides, I'm the one who tied up Yelena and gagged her."

"And you did admit to helping them. That's the reason why you're here. You're trustworthy. Don't make me regret that," Hange said.

"You won't. I promise."

Hange nodded before moving on.

"You really think we can trust him?" Levi asked as they moved towards the cabin.

"Enough that he can stay at the small camp we set up. He's working on plans to change the airship. His plans for getting the radio towers up and running were well received," Hange explained as they moved closer to the cabin.

"Hope you're right, four eyes."

Hange hoped they were right too.

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

Once the wagons had been unloaded and Onyankopon had gone to the small campsite to the south, the meeting was called.

It had started with Ymir debriefing them on what the Warriors were and how there were children being used. She explained how the Eldia area worked and what she had seen. She told them about the war, how she had fought, how she was used. She told them about the room where she was held and the cells. She told them everything she knew about Zeke, Pieck, and Reiner. She told them everything she knew about the man who had been poised to take on her titan. Then she told them what little she knew about the War Hammer.

There was a large piece of paper hanging on the inside of the cabin. Hange had written every titan shifter onto with their corresponding titan and what they knew about it.

"So you know nothing more about this War Hammer Titan?” Hange asked Ymir.

"No, I don't. Nothing besides that's what it's called. Zeke was just talking about it briefly. They didn't really want me to hear their plans," Ymir explained.

"Do you trust Zeke? Did he do anything that would make you think he would switch to outside?"

Ymir shook her head. "Honestly, I think Zeke is just out for himself. It wouldn't surprise me if he wanted to overthrow Marley but it wouldn't surprise me if he was lying about wanting to help Eren either."

Hange simply nodded.

“So what if I ate the Female Titan? Would I shift into a giant girl titan?” Connie asked Ymir.

“I don’t know. Why are you asking me?” Ymir asked as she crossed her arms across her chest.

“You were behind enemy lines! You heard about the War Hammer. If I was the Female Titan, I could touch my own boobs,” Connie smirked.

Levi sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Jean just leaned his head back against his chair in annoyance with his best friend.

“Why would we make you the Female Titan? I’m clearly the best option,” Sasha added.

"No, Sasha. It’s me. I'll do it," Historia spoke up.

"No," Eren said.

"Absolutely not," Ymir said at the same time.

"What? Why not?" Historia asked.

"You're the only royal blood we have. Zeke's years are running out and unless he has a love child out there….no. Not you," Ymir said as she crossed her arms.

"We're trying to break a cycle. You having a kid will just continue the cycle....do you even want kids?" Eren asked.

"I wouldn't mind but….I don't think that's possible with my current…." Historia tried to find a word to describe Ymir.

Girlfriend seemed too simple of a term.

Ymir was so much more than that.

"Fiancé. That's the word you're looking for," Ymir smirked.

“You didn’t propose yet,” Historia muttered.

“What? My letter wasn’t enough for you? Besides, didn’t you come get me because you wanted to be selfish? You didn’t want to marry Eren and have a ton of kids with him. I’m here because of it. I’ll be damned if you take on a titan.”

“I just want…..I don’t know. I don’t want to be useless.”

“You’re the least useless person I know. How many of those guards did you take down? You, Mikasa, and Sasha were like a force of nature.”

Historia’s face went red. “I still want to help. I’m still the best to take on the Female Titan.”

“Nope. Not happening.”

"None of this is helpful. We can worry about who will eat her afterwards," Hange steered the conversation back.

“Or we could recruit Annie to our side,” Ymir suggested.

“Yeah, but how are we going to do that?” Connie asked.

“That’s not a horrible idea,” Hange added. “As with Eren, I believe it would take whoever a moment to get a hold of the titan shifter powers….I think if we could get Annie to switch sides, it would be in our favor.”

"So we're just going to ignore all the people she killed?" Connie asked after a moment.

"Are any of our hands really clean?" Levi asked.

“Okay, great. But aren’t we forgetting? She doesn’t like any of us. In fact, she tried to kill most of us in this room. Remember that?” Jean scoffed.

“That’s not entirely true. There is one person who she didn’t try to kill in this room.” Hange locked eyes with Armin.

Everyone followed Hange’s gaze.

“Annie did say she cared if you thought she was a good person,” Mikasa added softly.

Silence overtook the cabin.

"What? Why me?" Armin asked.

"You already go and see her. Might as well make use of that time," Eren suggested.

"I...I don't….I mean...I thought she might be able to understand what I'm going through…."

"She did have a crush on you. So it would make sense…" Historia spoke up.

"What?! No, she didn't!"

"Makes sense why she didn't kill you. She saw it was you and left. Seems like a logical conclusion to me," Jean added.

"So you go talk to her. We need to talk about what to do with Marley," Ymir said.

"We should attack them first. We need the War Hammer," Eren said.

"Good luck with that. The security is tight. I don't even know how these three got in. Not to mention that they're in the middle of a war. They're getting ready to send Zeke and Reiner into battle. Pieck and I weren't enough," Ymir explained. "We should see if we can capture the other three too."

"You think you can convince Zeke to help us?" Hange asked Eren.

"I can. I'll have to lie to him. I'll have to speak to him. I'll have to go into Marley," Eren said.

"I'll go with you," Mikasa said.

"They've seen your face, Mikasa. They'll know," Eren told her.

"I'll go with him," Jean said.

Everyone looked over at him.

"What? The suicidal blockhead will get himself killed and someone will have to take up his titan. And I'll be right there to do it."

"Fantastic," Eren muttered under his breath.

"Plus it'll help to have back up. If Zeke is lying…"Hange trailed off.

"I'll kill him," Eren replied.

"And then I'll take the Beast titan. Looks like you and I are going to Marley," Jean answered.

"We’ll discuss that at a later time. Mikasa, you feel like calling in another favor to Azumbito?" Levi asked.

Mikasa nodded.

"Great. Write the letter. See what she wants in exchange for information on the War Hammer.”

"Jean, I need you to ride out and find out how the radio towers are going. Connie, I'll need you to see how the plans are coming with the flying ship. Armin, go talk to Annie. See if you can get any reaction from her. Sasha, go check on Niccolo. See if he's heard anything about Zeke's plans. Ymir, Historia, try talking to Yelena. See what she knows. Use the information from Ymir's time in Marley in your favor. Also promise her a reunion with him. Eren, go through your father's things that you still have. See if there's anything about the War Hammer Titan or anything we can use," Hange commanded.

They all stood and saluted before going their separate ways.

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

Mikasa had written her letter. Eren had been busy going through Grisha’s things. She made her way to his shared room with Armin.

“Anything?” she asked as she stood in the doorway.

Eren shook his head. “Nothing about the War Hammer. Nothing that I didn’t tell you either. I wonder…..”

Mikasa nodded.

“I wondered if I could trigger more of my dad’s memories by doing this but so far…”

“Nothing. Are you really going to go talk to Zeke?” Mikasa asked.

“I’ll try.”

“What makes you think that he won’t just ambush you when you go and meet him?”

“I don’t know. I just think….I’ve got to try.”

Mikasa walked into the room and sat down on Eren’s bed.

“Eren, do...you regret what happened yesterday?” Mikasa asked.

Eren shook his head. “No, do you?”

“No, I just…didn’t know if you did.”

Eren stood up from his spot on the floor and sat down next to Mikasa. He wiped a stray hair out of her face.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

That was all Eren needed. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

It was less awkward this time as they both had some sort of idea of how this was supposed to work. Yet it was still only the second time either of them had kissed one another.

Eren couldn’t help but smile.

Never in a million years did he think that he would be back in this cabin, sitting next to Mikasa and kissing her.

Mikasa broke away.

“What?” she asked.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it’s just you’re smiling. Why?”

“Because I’m kissing you,” he replied before he kissed her again.

Yes, Eren could get use to this. Maybe….maybe what he had seen when he kissed Historia’s hand...maybe that future didn’t have to come to be. Maybe he could stop it. It didn’t need to be an endless nightmare.

He had to protect Mikasa.

Mikasa...that’s what mattered in this moment.

That’s all that mattered as her lips moved in sync with his.

“WHOA!” a voice came from the hallway.

Mikasa and Eren broke apart.

Connie was standing in the hall with the biggest grin on his face.

“What are you going on about?” Jean asked as he caught up to Connie.

“Uhh….I...Uhhh….thought I saw something. Just a shadow,” Connie replied as he continued walking to his room.

“What did you think you saw?” Jean asked as he passed by.

“A spider. A big one.”

Eren and Mikasa began laughing.

“What do you think they’re laughing about?” Jean asked.

“I dunno. Who knows what’s going on with those two?” Connie asked with a smirk.

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

For the first time, Armin didn't know what to say to Annie.

Normally, he just said whatever was on his mind.

But now….when it mattered….he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Well.

That wasn't entirely true.

Armin kept thinking back to what Historia said. Had Annie had a crush on him?

If anyone would know, it would probably be one of the girls.

But no.

Annie couldn't.

She didn't.

Historia had to have been teasing him.

So he just sat there.

The shell from the ocean that he had brought with him still sat on the ground next to the crystal.

"Annie…..We need you. They got Ymir back. And now….now things feel like.....it's just unstoppable. I don't want anyone else to have to beat the curse like we do...we could really use your help right now. We have to…..do something…..” Armin pleaded.

But as with every other visit that Armin made, Annie seemed unaffected.

“This is pointless. You probably don’t know anything and even if you did, I doubt that you’d tell us. You asked me if I thought you were a good person. I do. I just don’t think we should have to die because the entire world thinks we’re monsters. We are just people, Annie. Like you’re just a person but we need you,” Armin remarked as he stood up.

Armin lingered for a moment before he stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“I need you,” Armin said before he left the room.

Armin should have stuck around, if he did, he would have seen the effects his words had on the woman trapped inside the crystal.

For the first time since the crystal had been formed, the woman inside opened her eyes.

Two blue eyes looked at the room she was kept in.

Maybe it was time.

#troos #my writing

3 notes · View notes

thepandapopo · 4 years

Text

A Step Through Time - Chapter 1: Visitor

Me: Don’t do it

Brain:

Me: Don’t do it.

Brain:

Me: We haven’t even finished the other one yet-

Brain: HERE’S A SYLVIX IDEA THAT YOU NEED TO WRITE SINCE IT’S PREVENTED YOU FROM DOING ANY MEANINGFUL WORK ALL DAY.

Me: FUCK.

Pairings: Sylvain x Felix ; minor Claude x F!Byleth

Warnings: mentions of masturbation/sex; typical Felix swearing.

Synopsis:

When Felix agreed to go back into the past to make sure certain events during the war actually happen, he expected that he would be the only time traveler at the monastery for those three moons. What he did not expect was for his 6 year old daughter to send herself to the past 4 weeks after himself because she missed him.

The one where the post time-skip gang meets an older Felix Fraldarius from the future who tells them he’s there to help for a few battles for reasons he can’t explain and everyone’s dying to figure out who the hell he’s married to - wait, what the fuck he has a daughter?

Some notes:

Verdant Wind / Azure Moon route mash up. Basically the Golden Deer Route but then at the Battle of Gronder (Ch: Blood of the Eagle and Lion), Dimitri joins up with Claude.

Dedue is back. Dimitri isn’t crazy anymore. Rodrigue is unfortunately dead.

All characters are recruited (including Black Eagle students)

Next Chapter (coming soon!)

XxXxXxXxXxX

It takes roughly two weeks for the Resistance Army to fully wrap their heads around the fact that there are not one, but two Felix Hugo Fraldarius’s at the monastery.

It takes them another week on top of that to come to terms that the newest Felix to join their army is from the future. 12 years, to be exact.

The day that Future Felix - that’s what they’ve dubbed him and he thinks it’s ridiculous; who has time to say that mouthful? - arrives knocking on the monastery gates, the entire place goes into an uproar. Claude and Byleth aren’t entirely sure whether or not this is just some dark magicks that the Empire has cooked up in a sad attempt at espionage, or if something has gone so horribly wrong in the future that they send their prickliest general back in time to whip them into shape.

Claude insists on tying him up which Felix grudgingly accepts, because of course this all seems a little far fetched - no one has ever heard of time travel magic...at this point in time anyways. And like everything else Felix does, it just makes them even more suspicious of him because the Felix they know would be hissing and spitting at them with all the fury of an angry wyvern if they even tried to touch him, much less restrain him.

Funnily enough, it’s his past self that manages to convince them that he’s the real deal.

“This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.” Younger Felix crosses his arms and glares at his future self, as if his stare alone could dispel any illusionary magic with its withering intensity.

It’s a bit weird to be on the listening end of his scathing remarks rather than saying them. But technically he is saying them... or at least the past him is, so really is it any different?

“Well, unless you have a better idea, I think this is the best we’ve got for now.” Claude shrugs and runs a hand through his tousled hair for the millionth time that day. “If he really is you, then he should know a secret you’ve never told anyone, and you can confirm it.”

Byleth nods from her place next to the Alliance leader, “We can’t wait until Lysithea and the others find an answer in the library. It could take weeks before they can confirm that any of this is possible through magic.”

More like years, Felix thinks to himself. In his timeline, time travel magic is still a completely new thing. In fact, the only people who know anything about it are a select few that Dimitri, Byleth, Claude and Linheartd trust with their lives. The only reason he’s here now is because the green haired mage had somehow stumbled upon a rift in the flow of time while conducting some experiments. Fearing that this small bump could have dire repercussions to the past, it was decided that they would send someone back to Harpstring moon of that year to help along the events that were yet to unfold.

Between the people who knew and who were available, it ended up coming down to Felix or Sylvain.

Unanimously, they all voted for Felix. (”Hey! I’m totally trustworthy!” “We know that, Sylvain, but with your reputation for having a silver tongue, none of them will believe you.”)

And now here he was 12 years in the past, tied up to a chair in the Knights hall in front of the fireplace, patience running dangerously thin at the bickering that has been going on for hours.

“Fine,” his younger self grouses with a scowl fierce enough to make a grown man cower. “But he’s writing it down and none of you are allowed to stand close enough to read it.”

It’s a smart idea, really. And if Felix knows himself, then he knows that the quickest way to get to the end of this whole fiasco is to write down a secret his younger counterpart is too embarrassed to admit out loud.

Thankfully, Felix has plenty of those from that time.

From before things become official with Sylvain.

From before he becomes Felix Hugo Fraldarius-Gautier.

A mercifully short moment later, his hands are free and he’s rubbing at the tender muscles where the rope bit into his skin.

A small inkwell, quill, and piece of parchment are placed in front of him by a silent but wary Dedue and Felix nods in thanks before his younger self more or less shoves everyone back a good distance so they cannot read his secrets.

It is silent other than the occasional pop and crackle from the low fire. Hard, piercing Amber meets warm liquid Amber, neither willing to look away, one gaze filled with distrust and jaded bitterness, while the other watches with silent empathy and understanding.

Blame it on his husband’s bad influence, but Felix can’t help the growing desire to tease his younger self. (Which he knows is absolutely hypocritical because he hates being teased but Sylvain was right when he said it is just so easy.)

“How much do you want me to reveal?” Felix dips the tip of the quill in ink and pauses, the tip hovering over the parchment ready to spill secrets only the two of them know.

“...I’ll tell you when to stop.”

It’s a free pass to go wild, is what Felix hears.

There are so many things that he could write. Ranging from the priceless family heirloom he accidentally broke and hid when he was child all the way to some of his more embarrassing training mishaps - one of which involved him falling and stabbing himself on his own goddamn sword - but despite all of the memories that flash through his head, one in particular stands out the most.

For the second time that day, Felix curses his husband and his perverse influence before scrawling out:

Bedside table. Second drawer. Third notch - press hard to release the fake bottom.

Images of a very familiar flask of oil that has seen many restless nights flash across Felix’s mind. And if the red flush on his younger self’s face is anything to go by, he would bet everything he owned that he was also thinking the same thing.

A beat of silence. “Not enough?”

Felix is honestly a little impressed. He was sure that his secret sex drawer would be enough to mortify his younger self into believing him.

Fine then. He could bring out the heavy artillery.

The first time we realize we are in love with Sylvain is when we are 15 and figure out that the burning rage we feel every time he talks about his latest girlfriend is actually jealousy.

He pauses for a moment to look up at younger Felix. Receiving no response, he continues writing.

The first time we realize how absolutely fucked we are is the morning after the training session where Sylvain takes off his shirt and we dream about -

Ink splatters on the table and over his gloves as the parchment is unceremoniously wrenched away from him and immediately tossed into the fire.

“He’s real” are the only words the new Duke of Fraldarius manages to sputter out between the fingers hiding his burning face. The poor boy looks like he wants to spontaneously combust and also let the floor swallow him whole.

Felix almost feels bad. Almost.

----

The days following can only be described as incredibly odd as Felix wanders the familiar - yet different - grounds of Garreg Mach. He helps where he can with the chores and spends the remaining time either at the Training Grounds like usual, or just simply chatting with his friends of old.

A few times a week he will accompany the troops and assist them in their various missions eliminating bandits or Demonic beasts that have wandered too close to their base. Though he is older now, Felix has never slacked off in his training regimen, not even after the war ends, and his current skill and mastery of swords and Reason are more than enough to deal with these minor nuisances.

All in all, Felix is enjoying himself.

...Except for how much everyone keeps pestering him to reveal things about the future.

“Ooooh, do Claude and the professor finally hook up?” Hilda is leaning across the dining hall table with the biggest shit eating grin on her face, the sausage breakfast in front of her completely forgotten in favor of even juicier gossip.

Felix sighs for the umpteenth time that morning and cuts into his own plate with a bit more force than intended. “Hilda. For the last time, I can’t tell you anything specific in case it fucks up the future.”

“But you’ve already told Annette that she goes on to teach at the School of Sorcery and Mercedes opens up an orphanage!”

“Yes, and that’s because I want to make sure those things actually happen.”

“So what, you don’t want Mr. Leader Man and the Professor to finally knock boots?!”

To his right, Dimitri chokes on his toast at the mental image Hilda conjures.

Much to his relief (or dismay), Dorothea chooses this time to slide into the seat to his left along with Petra.

“Are we interrogating Future Felix again?” The Songstress doesn’t even bother hiding her mischievous glee as she eyes Felix the same way a predator would prey.

“No, we are not.” He glares at the former opera star, cursing the fact that his friends have already figured out that the years have more or less mellowed out his bark and that he has a LOT more patience before he actually bites.

“Aww, come on. It’s basically a breakfast tradition now! Nothing like a side of future gossip with my tea to get me going in the mornings.” Dorothea winks at him before a flash of flaming red near the food line catches both her and Felix’s attention.

“Hey Sylvain! Felix! Come sit with us.” She waves them over and nudges Petra to scoot over to make room.

“Is there anything you guys want to know about the future?” the pink haired Great Knight asks as soon as the pair are seated.

“Oh tons,” Sylvain winks as he picks up his fork and twirls it loosely in his hands. “But the real question is if Future Fe over there will actually answer them.”

Felix lets out a humorless snort. As if he would.

He makes a point to actively avoid his younger self as much as possible because he isn’t sure if it will affect his timeline in any way. Unfortunately, that also means that he has to avoid Sylvain.

Seriously, how did he never realize that they were basically joined at the hip? Where one went, the other was never very far.

It was a fucking miracle that no one had figured out his lifelong crush on Sylvain considering how much time they spent in each other’s company.

But then again, considering everyone’s surprise at how many of them ended up paired off after the war... maybe they were all just that blind. Or stupid.

Thank the Goddess they were all blind and stupid.

Felix manages to fend off most of their prying inquiries, snapping only a few times at Hilda and Dorothea who don’t know when to stop, but everything truly goes to hell in a handbasket when Mercedes comes by asking the group if there is any equipment or armor that needs cleaning since she’s on duty this week.

“Oh, yes actually.” Felix seizes this opportunity and begins pulling off his gloves to hand to the Bishop. “I need the ink stains removed from my gloves. I never managed to find time to properly clean them since the first night I arrived.”

He isn’t aware that he has done anything wrong until the table goes silent and everyone is staring at him, or rather his hand, with a mixture of disbelief, shock, pleasant smugness, and overall general bewilderment.

“What are you all...” His question trails off when he realizes that his wedding ring - the one that he always wears under his gloves - is now out in the open, the plain obsidian band glittering innocently in the morning sunlight filtering through the windows.

“You’re... married?!”

Oh fuck.

----

“So who’s the lucky girl?”

You like Annie. Don’t murder Annie.

Felix swings his training sword against the practice dummy and lands a clean diagonal hit.

“Ohhh, I bet it’s some noble girl from the Kingdom.”

You like Thea’s opera shows. If you kill her now, you won’t be able to see them after the war.

Stab. Feint. Slash.

“No, Felix doesn’t care for dainty noble girls who don’t know how to fight...”

Thank the Goddess Ingrid is still reliable as ever.

“Maybe it’s a guy?”

Nevermind. Ingrid is the devil.

Duck. Side step into a zig zag pattern approach. Upwards slash.

“It’s... forgive me if I am overstepping, but I am happy that you have found happiness in the future, Felix.”

Don’t kill your king. Regicide is a crime.

Retreat backwards. Dash in for the final blow.

“Yeah! Congrats Felix on finally getting laid!”

It’s only when Felix snaps his training sword in half at the blue haired warrior’s comment that his sword training session turns into a brawl training session.

----

The Fraldarius Duke has never been more relieved to receive a call to action than when Byleth rushes in not long after Future Felix gives Caspar a shiny new black eye.

“Bandits. In the sealed forest. Civilian involved. Gates, now.” is all the warning they get before she is sweeping out the training room doors, no doubt going to retrieve her own equipment.

After 5 years of being at war, they are all seasoned soldiers and as such, it doesn’t take them very long before they are rushing towards the site of the battle.

They have foregone the usual battalions in favor of only deploying their former classmates, allowing them to move much quicker through the dense vegetation.

Up ahead, they can hear low voices talking and what sounds like muffled sobbing. Byleth signals them to slow down and get into position - it’s one of their usual strategies: approach undetected, surround the enemy, and then close in to eliminate.

It isn't until they get close enough to hear the sobbing more clearly that Felix feels his heart leap up his throat.

He knows that sound. He’s heard it a million times over the past 6 years at all times of the day.

Please Goddess, he prays as he creeps closer with more urgency, ignoring Claude’s alarmed look, let me be wrong.

Of course he isn’t.

Raw panic seizes his chest as he recognizes the little girl with an ornate sword strapped to her back cornered under the jagged overhang of a large rock, her long wavy hair a crimson beacon amongst a sea of green and brown, and Felix is running before he can even formulate a plan.

“Come on, little girl... just give us the sword and we’ll let you go,”

“N-no! Papa gave m-me this sword!”

“Well then I hope you’re ready to die-”

Electricity crackles through the air and his body falls to the ground before he can finish his threat.

“Sophie!”

Large, watery honey gold eyes lock onto his and suddenly the battlefield narrows. For one agonizingly long heartbeat, Felix watches the little delicate, red nose he loves so much scrunch up, and he can already hear the tearful wail that comes next.

“PAPA!”

Then, all hell breaks loose.

---

There were very few of them that could say they had the privilege of watching the Felix from the future fight prior to the current battle. Felix - the younger Felix of this timeline - is not one of them.

However, as he watches his older self weave through the bandits like liquid steel, mercilessly cutting them down with cold rage, he cannot help but compare it to his current skill level.

He wonders how many more battles he will have to go through before he reaches that level of deadly grace.

“Watch your left!” Sylvain shouts at him from somewhere to his right and Felix grunts as he parries a hard downward strike of an axe.

His feet flow through footwork long ingrained in his mind and in the next moment, he has slipped past the bandit’s strike range and shoves his sword through his chest.

A clean, quick kill.

Felix is actually rather grateful for the distraction of a battle. But despite the battle cries and sounds of metal on metal clashing around him, he still cannot silence the one thought he’s sure is going through everyone’s mind.

He has a daughter.

He has a daughter in the future. A freaking daughter.

A little girl whose hair is unmistakably the same obnoxiously beautiful colour as those of the Gautier lineage.

Who in the actual fuck does he marry?!

The question rings in his head over and over again as he fells enemy after enemy, and by the end of the battle, he still has not found reprieve from the shock that he is grappling with in his mind.

Felix is not aware that he is unconsciously searching for familiar golden brown eyes before the knot in his chest dissolves when he spots Sylvain cleaning his lance off to the side.

But just as quickly as that knot disappears, another one takes its place.

Because as much as he loves Sylvain with all his heart, there’s no way that even if by some miracle they get married in the future that they can have a child together.

Which means that either Felix has married a distant cousin of Sylvain’s or Sylvain has a daughter that Felix somehow ends up taking care of.

And since Felix knows that he would never be able to love or marry anyone other than his childhood best friend...

...that leaves him with a very bitter pill to swallow.

----

“Papa!”

Sophie is wearing her favourite teal dress with the little swords embroidered on the hem, and even though it is now caked entirely in mud, Felix cannot bring himself to care as he falls to his knees and cradles his daughter tightly to his chest.

“Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” Calloused fingers fruitlessly brush away the steady stream of tears on Sophie’s blotchy cheeks, the salt water clearing some of the mud away as Felix scans for any injuries.

She shakes her head twice and continues to sob into his chest and he continues to hold her while stroking her hair gently in gentle, calming caresses. Even after this whole fiasco, Sophie’s long waves somehow look as beautiful as ever and a distant part of Felix’s brain wonders if it’s just some inherited Gautier genetic to always looks good no matter what.

��Felix! Goddess, who is that? Is she okay?” Ashe runs up to him, Mercedes and Ingrid not far behind him with equal looks of concern in their expressions.

Felix shakes his head, “I’ll answer questions later. Mercie, can you take a look over her right now and make sure she has no injuries? she says she’s okay but she’s probably still high on adrenaline.”

It is the first time in Mercedes’ life that she has seen Felix look this concerned for another person’s well being and she’s already reaching out with warm white magic even as she nods, but as soon as her hand makes contact, Sophie flinches further into Felix as if burned.

“Sophie. Sophie, it’s alright. You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

It takes a little bit more coaxing before she pulls away far enough to look at him.

“Hey,” Felix nudges her temple gently with his nose. “It’s alright. You remember Auntie Mercie, don’t you? Auntie Mercie would never hurt you. She just wants to make sure you’re not hurt, okay?”

If Mercedes has any reaction to being called Auntie, Felix is thankful that she does not outwardly show it.

“It’s okay, Sophie.” The healer flashes her a soft smile. “I promise this won’t hurt a bit!”

It’s only when Mercedes manages to start her healing spell that Felix lets the tension and fear seep out of his body.

There are so many questions clamoring around in his head, like how in the world is she here in the past and where the hell is his husband who is supposed to be watching her in his absence, but all of that will have to wait until they return to the monastery.

And, if the matching strangled, heart-broken looks on his younger self and Sylvain are anything to go off of, he’s also going to have to reveal a little more than planned if he wants to make sure that he still gets to marry the love of his life.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sorry that the ending seems a bit rushed. I’ve been working on this for 5 hours now and I just want to post it and go to bed (it’s 3AM). I promise I’ll come back to make some edits later!

Next Chapter

Masterlist

#sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #SylVix #felix x sylvain #fire emblem 3 houses #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #byleth eisner #dimitri blaiddyd #blue lions #golden deer #azure moon #verdant wind #AU #alternate universe #alternate timeline #time travel #future felix #original character

40 notes · View notes

ibijau · 4 years

Note

Worst engagement AU! How lxc learn nhs can fight? First hand on himself or see him fight someone?

Worst engagement AU

I’m recycling some of this thing about LXC falling in love. When I wrote it I hadn’t planned on NHS ever getting good at fighting, but it does all work out in the end!

Also, this is LXC learning that NHS can fight, but not yet believing it. It’s set shortly before The River Incident though, and after that, LXC will have to accept that his fiancé really is full of surprises >3

The fight has already been put to an end by the time Lan Xichen reaches them and gets an account of the situation from Lan Wangji. He sends his brother away to take the two injured teenagers to the infirmary, leaves the little boy in the end of a trustworthy junior so he can be brought back to the dorm, and turns his attention to the three boys who started all this.

Of course it would be Wei Wuxian making trouble. When isn't it? But since Jiang Cheng is involved as well, Lan Xichen can guess that the fight wasn't started just on a whim, especially when he knows there's been complaints against those two Lan disciples before. They are the sons of high ranking elders, though, and it has always been impossible so far to get anyone to testify against them. Hopefully, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian's testimonies, if there was a reason for the fight, can be deemed receivable in spite of their behaviour.

At worst, he'll try to get Nie Huaisang to say something. Since he's decided to be so bold this year, perhaps now he'll find the courage to speak up against bullies instead of protecting them... but Lan Xichen considers that a last resort. He'd rather have an explanation from people who have a better reputation than that.

First, though, he needs to figure out just how guilty each of the Jiang disciples is. Fighting is prohibited already, but to use such violence...

“Which one of you broke Lan Minhui's nose?” Lan Xichen asks. “And which one broke Lan Fanghua's wrist?”

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng exchange a look, but say nothing. It's hardly surprising of course. However much these two argue, it's obvious they are fiercely loyal to each other. Lan Xichen sighs. He doesn't like punishing someone for something they didn't do, but Lan Minhui and Lan Fanghua refused to say which of the two managed to hurt them this badly, and if neither of them will confess...

“Who says it's one of them?” Nie Huaisang interjects, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Nie xiong, shut up,” Jiang Cheng immediately orders, elbowing him in the ribs.

Lan Xichen's eyebrows rise in surprise. If it had been just Nie Huaisang speaking, he would have ignored him, knowing full well that his fiancé is, to put it mildly, incompetent at martial arts. Not that Lan Xichen himself has had many chances to observe that himself, but Lan Qiren has complained more than once that the fencing teacher is at the end of his rope with him, and Nie Mingjue always says he despairs of his brother ever being capable of protecting himself. So Nie Huaisang trying to hint that it could be him hurting two Lan disciples who are both older and stronger than him should be ridiculous.

It would be, if not for Jiang Cheng's intervention.

“Nie gongzi, are you trying to take the blame?” Lan Xichen wonders, a little amused by the possibility. Lan Minhui is taller than him, so he's not sure Nie Huaisang could even have reached his nose to break it.

“I'm taking responsibility for my actions,” Nie Huaisang retorts, narrowly avoiding Jiang Cheng's attempt to elbow him into silence again. “I am! I'm not ashamed of what I've done. They both had it coming and I'd do it again!”

This is ridiculous, Lan Xichen wants to protest, but he sees the way Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are looking at Nie Huaisang and he hesitates. There can be no doubt at this point that those two genuinely enjoy Nie Huaisang's company, for which Lan Xichen is glad of course, but in spite of him being the older of the three, they've mostly treated him as a little brother. Now, though, they both seem to be quickly re-evaluating their opinion of their friend.

“Fighting is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Xichen scolds, refusing the entertain too long this ludicrous idea that Nie Huaisang could have hurt those boys. “If there was a problem, you should have found a senior and asked them to handle the situation.”

Jiang Wanyin grabs his brother’s wrist, probably his way to tell him to stay silent. Wei Wuxian pinches his lips but obeys, probably unwilling to add to the punishment he’s already receiving with Lan Wangji.

No one is there to control Nie Huaisang though.

“And what would the senior have done?” he asks, glaring at Lan Xichen. “Listened to the bullies’ lies before blaming that boy for making people want to tease him? There was nobody around, Lan gongzi, someone had to do something, and it had to be now.”

“Surely there had to be options other than violence,” Lan Xichen retorts.

“We tried talking first,” Jiang Wanyin intervenes, glaring at Nie Huaisang as if hoping to make him shut up. “But they were unwilling to let that boy go and he was crying. I hope Lan gongzi can see why we had to do something.”

“And I promise you they won't do it again too soon,” Nie Huaisang adds with a smug grin. “I hope we won’t be the only ones punished, though. We can testify that they were taunting him. I think that’s against quite a few rules, no?”

“The child says they were just playing,” Lan Xichen retorts, because he can tell this isn't just about that little boy anymore, and he remembers that incident with Jin Zixun as well.

Nie Huaisang's grin grows just a little too wide.

“Of course he’d say that. That’s why we’ll bear witness to what really happened, if it’s needed. Gusu Lan believes in rules above all else, but Qinghe Nie will always stand for what’s just.”

Lan Xichen glares at Nie Huaisang. It’s not his fault if Jin Zixun was never punished for his abuse of others, he wants to say. It’s not his fault if Nie Huaisang, like the boy today, was too terrified to stand up and blame his attackers. It’s not his fault there were no other witnesses that time, no one but Lan Xichen himself who could so easily have been accused of being biased in favour of his fiancé.

“They will face proper punishment,” he promises. “And so will you. All three of you, since Nie gongzi is so insistent that he played a role as well. You will copy the rules of Gusu Lan in their entirety, and apologise before Grandmaster Lan for disrupting the peace.”

It’s a light enough punishment as all three of them should know, especially after how many times Wei Wuxian has gotten in trouble already, but they still groan and complain. Nie Huaisang bemoans the pain he’s sure to fill in his wrist he’s sure to feel, until Wei Wuxian starts teasing him about something and they nearly get into a playful argument. Jiang Wanyin wisely stands to the side, rolling his eyes and trying not to smile.

Lan Xichen has to order them to calm down, but they still exchange amused glances. He also request that they go report what they saw to Lan Qiren right away, so that their version is the first he hears about. Lan Xichen has more faith in what they said than in Lan Minhui and Lan Fanghua's tale of being unjustly attacked out of the blue while they were innocently chatting with that young boy.

As for Nie Huaisang's involvement... it makes no sense. Lan Xichen doesn't know why his fiancé would bother lying about that, and why his friends would play along with his lie.

And it has to be a lie. It cannot be anything else.

Yet as soon as they're far enough from him, Lan Xichen hears Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian laugh, he sees them patting Nie Huaisang on the shoulders and grinning at him.

It just makes no sense.

But then again, nothing about Nie Huaisang has made any sense since he returned from Qinghe.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #it is late and I'm sleepy so I'm sorry if it's not very good #or if it doesn't really answer the question lol #jau writes #worst engagement AU #I need to make a post with a timeline for everything that's been posted yet #someday #Anonymous #wwx and jc are trying to cover for nhs because they figure out nobody would believe them if they told the truth anyway

45 notes · View notes

originaldanganronpascenarios · 4 years

Text

Wattpad request- Amacha oneshot. Not spoiler free

I just love writing for Amacha! This ship needs a lot of growth in order to make it happen and I just love writing for it. This one is platonic not romantic since that's what I felt like writing.

3rd person POV

Tenko was walking around the 'school' wondering what she was going to do. The killing game began. She could feel safe around girls but many of the male students made her feel nervous. Thinking that even though she might probably win a fight with them if they try anything she can't deny possibility of surprise attack. The anxiety was slowly killing her from the inside, however she remained her energetic self. She had to, otherwise she could lose herself to despair and do something regrettable.

As she continued exploring on her own she felt someone tap her shoulder. She immediately grabbed that person's hand and threw them on the ground. After seeing her attacker's face- wich was Rantaro she yelled "YOU TRIED SOMETHING YOU FILTHY DEGENERATE!?"

Sitting up he rubbed his back in pain "No... I just was wondering what you were doing here all alone. After all it's quite dangerous, but I see that you are more than capable of self defense" he looked at her "I guess it's my bad for approaching you in such way though..."

"Ugh of course it is" she crossed her arms. Rantaro stood up "Well I guess I'll get going since you neither need help nor you want me around"

"What's with me needing any help? Do you think I need someone like you to guard me!?"

"I'm sorry that I didn't wanted anyone wandering off on their own" he said annoyed.

"You can't expect me to believe that! You can be plotting something and acting like you mean well"

"You have a point I might not seem trustworthy. I'll leave you to whatever you were going to do, goodbye" with that he left.

She felt uneasy around him but now she felt even worse alone, although her pride didn't let her admit to her mistake. She decided to finish exploring at that and tried to take her mind off everything. So she thought that exercise was in order.

Running around the building she thought about her encounter with Rantaro wich was exactly the opposite of what she wanted. It made her even more angry "Stupid degenerate... Thinking that I need help. If someone he needs it more! The audacity!" she started running faster "Who does he think he is!"

"Tenko?" she heard someone call her name out once she turned towards source of the voice it ended up being Kaede. Her angry expression quickly changed into a smile "Hello Kaede! What are you doing out here?"

"I was about to go to my room but I noticed you here all alone so I came by to check on you. After all it's dangerous to be all by yourself at times like these"

"Aww you are so considerate! Unlike that degenerate..." she crossed her hands. The pianist's curiosity took over as she decided to ask "Huh? Did something happen earlier?"

"That guy with green hair- what was his name again...?"

"Rantaro?"

"Yeah him! He just came up to me and said that he was 'wondering what I was doing all alone' and I know better than that to believe him. He definitely was plotting something!"

"How can you know for sure?" Kaede tilted her head "I know what kind of situation we are in but if we're going to suspect everybody then we can't move forward"

Tenko fell silent and tried to think through her actions. Seeing her suddenly lost in thought Kaede quickly said "But if you want to suspect him it's okay! After all nobody can know who you can trust without doubts"

"You're right" Tenko looked at her "He just gives off this suspicious aura... I mean we don't even know his talent! He definitely does hide something but don't worry if anything happens I will protect all the girls!"

"Of course you will" Kaede smiled "Sorry but I'll have to leave you now I'm pretty exhausted" the pianist fake-yawned.

"Sleep well!!!" Tenko said energetically before she parted her ways with Kaede. She continued her small exercise and thought yet again of what Kaede said to her.

"I must keep an eye on him so he has no time to strike!" she thought loud "But how do I do it? Follow him?" she had no idea what to do next. However she decided to look for him right away.

"Earlier he just came out of nowhere and now I can't find him anywhere!" she continued her search. When she finally found him he decided to walk in the opposite direction.

"HEY!" Tenko shouted making him turn around "Are you talking to me?"

"Who else?" she said and quickly realized that she didn't know what to say.

"Alright then, what do you want?" he asked, although earlier he was annoyed now his voice was calm and collected.

She got an idea it was rather risky but she decided to swallow her pride "I wanted to apologize for snapping at you earlier" he didn't expect to hear that from her but he didn't wait to answer "I guess we're both to blame. I should have called for you like you just did instead of surprising you" he smiled at her and she smiled back "Well I'm glad we settled that out, I'll be on my way" he turned around but she quickly grabbed his hand "WAIT! Let me go with you"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah! After all I think I proved last time that you are pretty defenseless... and I don't want to worry about someone more than I have to" the last part was quite hard for her to say. After all saying stuff like that when you don't mean it was never easy.

"Well I can't stop you if you want to go with me"

'Sweet' she thought as she noticed that her plan was working. She was just following him around as he felt quite uneasy feeling her staring at him in silence.

The two heard voices coming from the game room. Rantaro decided to enter it thinking that whoever was there could get rid of the akward silence between him and Tenko.

"Rantaro, Tenko! Look Tsumigi did my nails for me!" Kaede said showing off her nails "Whaaa!? Don't show them off like they are something flashy!"

Despite Tsumigi's request Tenko got closer to take the look "So cuuuute!"

"See Tsumigi! Tenko agrees they are adorable!"

"They are not that amazing..."

"Ooh painting your nails, huh? You know, I can do that too" Rantaro admitted and the girls turned towards him.

"You can!? But you're a boy" Kaede asked lowkey surprised.

"Could it be you've done it for your girlfriend? Or girlfriends? Y-"

"Wait! Pause!" Tenko said crossing her arms "Let him speak becouse I don't want to even think of those possibilities!"

"Are you jealous?" Kaede teased.

"Wha-? Why would I be??" Tenko looked at Kaede.

"Well either way that's not the case. No girlfriend or anything. What gave you the impression?" he stopped Kaede and her further teasing. Even though they just made up he still could feel that Tenko felt uneasy around him and he didn't wanted it to get worse.

"Yeah I guess you wouldn't have one. You seem like one of those types" Tsumigi spoke up "I was just messing around earlier"

"Wait what do you mean by those types?" Kaede was confused.

"A gradient is nice" Rantaro thought out loud "But with nails like yours Kaede, I recommend a French slant"

"French slant? Is that some kinda cooking technique?" both Kaede and Tenko said at the same time. Kaede giggled shortly afterwards.

"Haha no it's a kind of design" he explained "It will be faster to just show you. May I?"

"You'll do it for me? Then yes, please!"she seemed excited.

"Alright then" he got closer to Kaede and began working on her nails.

"Do you mind being still?" he asked and she immediately corrected herself.

Tenko looked quite annoyed "Hey Tsumigi" when Tsumigi faced her she continued "Can you do my nails too?"

"What?" she asked surprised "I really love the way you did it for Kaede and I want something like that too! Unless you don't want to..."

"No it's oka-"

"Wow! It looks amazing!" Kaede said excited "Maybe you are actually the ultimate Nail artist!"

"Tsumugi, Tenko look!" she showed it off yet again.

"I'm glad you like it, but I think you are overreacting a little bit" he smiled awkwardly.

"Stupid normies..." Tsumugi said under her breath and left.

"Wait don't leave!" Tenko tried to stop her but it wasn't enough "Damn I wanted cute nails too..."

"I can do yours too if you want" he suggested.

"I guess it will do" she sighs. She really wanted her nails done by Tsumigi.

"I'll leave you two be if that's the case" Kaede winked "NO" Tenko shouted but it was for nothing since Kaede just smiled and closed the door of the game room.

"Listen if you're not comfortable being with me alone I understand. You don't need to act Tenko" he said in rather serious tone.

"I don't know what you're talking about" she looked away.

"Yeah you definitely don't" he rolled his eyes.

"I want to get along with you. I just don't know what to do or say" she didn't knew anymore whether she was lying or not. After all her first goal was to keep an eye on him. She told herself that he's the enemy and acted rather hostile yet all he did was understand her? It might have been just a bunch of empty words but she didn't feel like that was the truth.

"Let's try this again okay?" she requested before reaching her hand out "I'm Tenko Chabashira! Ultimate Aikido master! What's your name?"

He looked at her hand, smiled, then shook it "Rantaro Amami, I can't remember my talent but I hope that's not a problem for you"

"You can't remember?" she pretended to be shocked "Then let's help you remember together!" the two laughed after that little act and carried on.

"Do you still want me to do your nails?"

"Absolutely!" she paused and realized something "Wait... Kaede took the nail polish" she looked disappointed.

"Well we can do something else"

"Like what?"

He thought for a while "Doesn't your hair get in your way while you train? I can show you few hairstyles that will both look cute on you and won't be an inconvenience. And if you want to keep them long I can do something more special"

"That sounds great!"

=>???

"A Body has been discovered!"

Tenko immediately looked at the nearby screen. Just looking at that bear made her want to punch it but now something more important is happening.

"Everyone, please gather in the library!"

"Oh no..." she looked at the corpse.

"W-why?" she murmured as her eyes started tearing up "Why does it hurt so much?" she thought.

"It's a joke, right?" There was no mistaking it. It was Rantaro. Someone who she talked to, laughed with... Is no longer alive.

She wanted to break down but considering everyone was there too she couldn't allow herself to be weak.

"Tenko?" Tsumigi said looking concerned. As a response she wiped away her tears and smiled at her like nothing ever happened "Do you need something Tsumigi?"

~Mod Angie

#Amacha #Tenko x Rantaro #Rantaro x Tenko #Platonic Amacha #amashira #Tenko Chabashira #Rantaro Amami

27 notes · View notes

lendmyboyfriendahand · 4 years

Text

Canon divergent sequel to this fic I wrote 2 years ago. Brief summary is that Amrod died at Losgar, but his ghost “moved in” with Amras.

Maedhros was trying his best to plan an orderly retreat to Amon Ereb. Given that a quarter of their force had deserted or outright turned on them, and many besides were dead, this was far from trivial. The sobs of Elwing’ frightened sons did not help his mood, and the problem of what to do with them was another complication. They were too young to be left alone for the days it would take Gil-Galad to arrive from Balar, but any of his soldiers left with them would surely be executed. There was also the problem that there was hardly a building left in the city with four solid walls and an intact roof.

Amras walked into the command tent. Or it was probably Amras – Amrod had refused to fight at Doriath or Sirion, and had not shown himself to anyone for weeks after the former. “We will care for them,” he announced without preamble.

“Care for who?”

“The twin sons of Elwing. We aren’t able to send them to Gil-Galad or Celeborn or whoever you’re thinking of; it would be a suicide mission. So we will care for them personally, on the journey and when we reach Amon Ereb.”

“I don’t have time to look after children.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to.”

“Ah. Is Amrod aware you’re signing him up for this?”

“We can’t actually ignore each other when one of us is trying to talk. He doesn’t want a repeat of the woods at Doriath either.”

“Neither of you have any experience with children.”

“Everyone who does either refused to fight here or is far too busy. Besides, we watched Celebrimbor.”

“For a few hours at a time when Curufin was busy, you haven’t raised any. The boys should be sent to their kin, anyway.”

“We’re their kin. And you can’t safely send them with anyone.”

“If anyone was injured in the fight, mortally but slowly –”

“There are none. I spoke with the healers, and all who will die of their wounds have already done so.”

“Perhaps if we included a message –”

“Everyone would go on a suicide mission if you sent them, but don’t pretend it’s anything else. And I don’t know it would even work, one adult and two children out in the wild.”

“Fine, we’ll take them with us until we can think of a safe way to hand them off. It doesn’t need to be you though.”

“Why not me?”

Maedhros cast around for a polite reason. “Maglor just died. We’re both grieving. That’s not a good emotional state to raise children in.”

“Everyone in our army had a family member die this battle, save only those who already lost everyone they hold dear years ago.”

“They would benefit from having guardians who can be in two places at once, if they have different interests or fears.”

“They’ve lost everyone they know and will be too terrified to let each other out of their sight for months. Then we can introduce another person who they must trust not to slaughter them.”

“I don’t think convincing them that no one but you two is trustworthy is healthy either. Or that they can rely solely on family.”

“Not just family, their twin brother. I know that anyone can make stupid decisions, but a twin is the one who will always pull you back out. We know that better than anyone else.”

Maedhros sighed. “That’s part of my worry.”

“Oh?”

“The two of your relationship isn’t healthy. I don’t know what it would do to children to try and copy it.”

“Oh, so I should have just let Amrod die?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that just because something is not worse than death it is not necessarily good!”

Ambarussa’s expression grew more set. “I don’t actually have to do what you say,” Amrod said.

Maedhros sighed. “You really have your mind set on this?”

“I’m not about to get bored and abandon them in the woods.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“What did you mean then?”

“You’ve thought through what this means, not just in terms of a little less blood on our hands, but in terms of your position in the Feanorian host.”

“I don’t have a position in the Feanorian host, I’m just a guest of Amras.”

“That’s my oint. You can watch over the princes, but I’m ultimately the one in command. They’ll come with us back to Amon Ereb for a while, but if I say they’re being sent to Gil-Galad, or Celeborn, or a nice Edain couple who are distant relatives of theirs through Rian, they go. Likewise, you don’t take it into your head to set them free from the horrible kinslayers if I say they stay with us, even if they hate us – even if they hate you. You don’t pull the ‘I was executed and don’t answer to your authority’ card over them.”

“I don’t trust you not to get them killed, judging by what a fine job you’re doing with us.”

“You can argue if you think my plans will hurt them, but I will have the final say. Thingol’s last heirs are too important to be let wander Beleriand with only a one and a half warriors to protect them.”

“What exactly is you plan if I won’t obey?”

“I go into the army, and ask for a volunteer to watch the princes here, in the remains of the palace, until Gil-Galad comes. We leave the volunteer with two weeks’ worth of food, and a dagger to slit their own throat when the king is in sight. We lose a soldier, the princes get a little more traumatized, and life goes on.”

“Fine. They’re your prisoners, and you get to send them where you want, and I won’t stage any prison breaks. If you abuse them though, I’ll come after you myself.”

“Lovely. They’re in the cellar at the moment; tell the guard at the door you have my permission to be there. You and Amras will have to work out how to get the boys on horseback.”

“They’re light, and we still like horses we could ride doubled up on. One in front of us and one behind, and they can swap out when their arms get tired.”

#silmarillion #amras #amrod #my fic #third kinslaying #death cw #non canonical major character death #tehhumi October

22 notes · View notes

nellied-reviews · 4 years

Text

Cigarette Candy Re-listen

Okay, it’s episode 5 of my epic Wolf 359 re-listen, and that can only mean one thing:

Cigarette Candy

In which Eiffel is ill, Minkowski and Hera are out of the picture and I have way too many thoughts about how Hilbert is totally not making Eiffel sick. Nuh-uh.

Where do I even begin with this episode?

Maybe I'll start with the obvious: Cigarette Candy is a very different episode on a re-listen. It was a sinister, tense episode to begin with, sure. But knowing that Hilbert really has been making Eiffel sick adds a whole layer of uncertainty, for me at least.

Because what is the point? Largely, I think it's an episode about whether or not Hilbert can be trusted. We heard last episode, after all, that the good doctor was willing to leave Eiffel to die in space. It's natural that we might now wonder where his loyalties lie. And so we get this, an episode that teases us with the idea that Hilbert might, in fact, be a bad guy. And of course, the answer we are left with, at the end of the episode, is that no, Hilbert’s creepy and weird and a million kinds of unethical, but ultimately he is one of the good guys.

It's a brilliant misdirect, and it relies entirely on us misunderstanding what an evil Hilbert would look like. We, like Eiffel, assume that Hilbert, if he were actually evil, would be the archetypical mad scientist. And mad scientists aren't generally subtle. They certainly don't do regular things like help Communications Officers overcome the flu. And so we assume, since Hilbert isn't cartoonish in his villainy, and does, ultimately, help Eiffel, that he mustn't be a villain at all. We're wrong, of course. The episode doesn't give that away, though.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Because as Cigarette Candy starts, it's not immediately clear that that's where this is all going. Instead, we tune in to a weirdly happy Eiffel, who claims he's trying a new, more optimistic approach to life. It's odd, and doesn't exactly bode well, especially with the occasional, gross coughing that Eiffel insists is no big deal. But it still feels like a light-hearted, comedy set-up. And hey, at least Hilbert seems to be doing something helpful, this time, right?

Of course, it's worth mentioning that Hilbert's "help" involves the titular cigarette candy, which are what Eiffel calls his nicotine lozenges. These, we quickly learn, are the reason for Eiffel's new, sunny outlook on life. They're sugary, they're soothing and - oh, yeah - they taste like "day-old ashtray". Which... eww! But apparently Eiffel prefers that to the default cinnamon? Enough that he's consuming them in unwise quantities? I don't know, it certainly wouldn't be my choice. But you do you, Eiffel.

In any case, it leaves us in this weird situation where Hilbert is actually in Eiffel's good books, which is fun to listen to, until the doctor suddenly lets slip that hey, Eiffel, it's strange how you aren't experiencing any myalgia... yet.

It's super unsubtle, and part of me really wants to believe that Hilbert did it on purpose, just to troll Eiffel. "English such inelegant cudgel of a language", my ass. I see you there, Doc.

Funny as it is, though, it also marks the point at which the episode takes a sharp U-turn into psychological and medical horror, as Eiffel slowly begins to suspect that Hilbert has been poisoning him. Things only get worse when Eiffel faints and is taken to sickbay, and when Hilbert admits that he's not really a proper doctor, bound by all of those pesky ethics, it's downright chilling.

One phrase in particular, I think, tells us everything we need to know about Alexander Hilbert's motivations: "Always saw Hippocratic Oath as leaving one with a very limited scope. True science mustn't be so severely hindered." Hilbert, in the end, is all about the science, and he'll break the rules to get results, if needs be. It's a single-minded, pragmatic focus that we’ll see from the doctor over and over again as the show wears on. Here, then, although we don't know it yet, we're actually getting our first proper insight into what makes Dr. Hilbert tick. Pretty neat.

That said, on a first listen-through, before we learn about Decima, it just sounds like your standard mad scientist rant. It's followed up by some more mad scientist antics too, as Hilbert confines Eiffel to sickbay, ties him up and claims total authority over Eiffel's schedule, cutting him off completely from Hera and Minkowski. It's textbook nefarious, and so it sets Hilbert up perfectly as a properly sinister, if slightly cliché villain.

Of course, it's also just about plausible. We can just about see how confining Eiffel might help him get better soon, and we can just about see that he's not fit to be working, and we can just about see how a lack of distractions might be helpful. Add Eiffel's potential delusions into the mix, and we can see how the whole business could just be a misunderstanding, a product of Eiffel's fever and Hilbert’s lack of people skills. We can't 100% write the doctor off as a villain - and so the episode manages to maintain the tension, all the way through the back end of the episode. Is Hilbert really as evil as he seems? Or is Eiffel imagining it all?

It's at this point that the first season's log format works in our favour, because if we're only hearing the personal logs of Douglas Eiffel, we're only getting the story from one very limited, potentially delusional point of view. We aren't getting Minkowski or Hera's more balanced perspectives, and so the suspense is preserved - is Hilbert trustworthy? We can't know. It's the sort of thing the show won't be able to do as easily in later seasons, at least not without finding a plot-related reason to side-line the other, more objective characters. Here, though, the nature of Eiffel's logs creates a more claustrophobic, tense bottle episode, where we can never quite be sure what's going on.

The absence of Hera and Minkowski is also ominous in and of itself. The pause after Eiffel calls out to Hera and she doesn't answer, in particular, is really eerie, at least for me. I don't know, I guess I'm just used to Hera being there? It certainly cranks up the tension, especially when Hilbert foils Eiffel's attempt to contact Minkowski, and even more so when he reveals that he also knows that Eiffel hasn't been taking his drugs - that's why he's been giving him them intravenously.

And look, I know we've said that Hilbert isn't bound by the Hippocratic Oath. Being shady and unethical's kind of his thing. But can we just stop and appreciate just how messed up it is to drug Eiffel like this? It's not even like it's the first time this has happened, either. Remember the halothane gas? What we're seeing, in that light, looks more like an emerging pattern - a pattern of incidents where people are messed with, physically or psychologically, without their consent.

It's something we'll see again and again, throughout Wolf 359, and more often that not, it's linked less to individuals like Hilbert, and more to Goddard Futuristics, and their general ethos of dehumanising callousness. Hilbert is possibly evil, sure. But he's backed up by a whole, sucky-ass corporation, who have created an environment where consent - and all of the respect for human dignity and life that that implies - is not encouraged or valued. It's a gross, corporate attitude that is linked directly to moments like this, where Eiffel can be drugged and held captive against his will precisely because Hilbert knows there will be no official consequences for it. Goddard Futuristics do not care about human minds or bodies. They just care about the profits. It's not the same thing that drives Hilbert, as a character. But it aligns with his goals. Hilbert wants answers. Goddard wants money. Neither care much for actual humans.

That's actually one of the most frightening things about this episode - that, and the recording that Eiffel makes for Minkowski, urging her not to trust Hilbert once he's dead, which is funny, in a dark sort of way, until you think about Lovelace's old crew, and how Dr. Hilbert - sorry, Dr. Selberg - picked them off, one by one. That's essentially the exact same scenario that Eiffel's imagining here, when he worries about Hilbert going after Minkowski next, so perhaps he's not too far off the mark. Yikes.

Still, all is well in the end, as Hilbert reveals that Eiffel is cured! The knife was only for cutting Eiffel's restraints - way to not terrify your patient, doc! - and now Eiffel is cleared for duty, effective immediately. Phew!

It's a relief, for Eiffel and for us, and it's very easy to just see it as a heart-warming ending. The mad scientist turns out to be a good guy after all, Eiffel learns a lesson about judging people, and everyone goes back to their routine. Crisis averted. The episode asks, "Can Hilbert be trusted?" The ending tells us that he can. Case closed.

Only it's not that simple, is it? For one, Hilbert admits that Eiffel was infected with a tropical flu from his lab; knowing how much we now know, how likely is it that that "tropical flu" was actually Decima, or somehow Decima-related? In this respect, Hilbert's trustworthiness is actually far from established.

Secondly, though, and perhaps more interestingly, there's also the idea that Hilbert might have genuinely cured Eiffel, but might still be up to no good. A dead Eiffel, after all, means no more Decima research, and that would be a disaster for Hilbert. Keeping the crew alive and healthy is in Hilbert's best interests, and so, to a degree, he is actually trustworthy, or at least reliable. In fact, Hilbert is probably one of the most reliable characters in the series, if only because he can always be trusted to protect his own interests. Unlike the others, whose goals sometimes shift, and whose actions are often determined by their emotions or their underlying characters, Hilbert almost never acts in such a way as to compromise his goals and his work. His focus is single-minded, and it makes him very, very reliable - trustworthy, almost. But good? Ethical? Not so much. It's at best a parody of integrity, a twisted, brutal code that doesn’t care much for other people.

The story, I think, is more interesting for it. Instead of a story about how Hilbert secretly has a heart of gold, we get a more unsettling story about how Hilbert can be relied on, but only to a certain extent. Instead of a story about a good person being good, it's the story of a bad person doing good - and that is infinitely more compelling.

And of course, all this is only really obvious in hindsight. Listening to it blind, we get an episode that is funny, tense and just about the right kind of creepy. It's simultaneously the darkest thing the show has done so far, an excellent black-humour-filled bottle episode and (almost) a heart-warming tale. To have that and all the bonus, retrospective Hilbert characterisation?

*shakes my head*

This episode, man.

Miscellaneous thoughts:

I said already but cigarette candy sounds so gross!

Zach Valenti does such a good job of sounding properly, horribly ill throughout this whole episode

"Officer Eiffel, you look terrible." Aww, no need to sugar-coat it, doc!

"You're not making me sick, are you?" "What possible reason could there be for doing that?" *whistles innocently*

Ugh when Hilbert says "Good night!" like that :O

Heh, the ticking clock in the background when Hilbert gets the kife out is a nice little touch

"Bedside manner is like anaesthetic. It just gets in way of what needs to be done."

#wolf 359 #wolf359 #w359 #wolf 359 relisten #cigarette candy #nellied reviews #so many thoughts about Alexander Hilbert #too many thoughts about Alexander Hilbert #but at least I posted them on the right blog this time

60 notes · View notes