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gumnut-logic · 1 year

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The Tavern Keeper

Okay, I did it. @onereyofstarlight was a grinning accomplice and I blame her encouragement. I hope she enjoys reading this mess in the morning :D

Many thanks to @greywake for the read through when I grabbed her by her collar and shoved this in front of her. She even listened to my babbling :D

Its AU, its two universes that were never meant to exist anywhere beside each other, slammed together and remodelled into one. Shall it continue? Let me know, cos this one is actually quite a challenge to write because I lack a lot of knowledge of the other universe.

I hope you enjoy it, regardless.

Warnings: canon mention and description of violence, but scarce on detail.

-o-o-o-

It was a strikingly cold one for these parts. Where there was usually desert wind on sand, but the sand was now coated in a fine layer of impossible ice. A bounty for the moisture farmers, but a curse for those used to the warmer clime.

G wiped down the bar.

He had an equally unhappy crowd tonight. A few of those farmers grumbling about those up-wind sucking the sky dry, a handful of the usual homeless blessing the roof above their head as long as he kept the bar open.

And yes, he had the intent of sheltering them over night. Only a heartless man would chuck them out into that weather.

But it was the groups surrounding a young and foolish blue mythrol who had obviously floundered well out of his depth. The ruffians hounding him were far too familiar and G was considering doing something about them.

But right now? By himself? He may not be a coward, but he wasn’t stupid. With the fall of the Hutts, protection was not guaranteed, and honestly, what life he had was built on choosing his battles.

Perhaps Brains could intercede. He must remember to speak to him later. Financial transactions weren’t really his thing, but science could be applied and frankly G was sick of rounding up these dimwits who kept messing with his business.

The leader of the group was suggesting farming the poor mythrol at which point G decided a line had been crossed, when the door spiralled open, letting that harsh wind in to rattle the furnishings.

G knew what he would see before he saw. His hackles shot up and crawled the length of his spine.

A figure stood framed by the circular portal.

Helmeted. Armoured.

Mandalorian.

G put the glass he had been drying down on the counter as the man strode in. His very stance spoke of experience and readiness.

The ruffians torturing the mythrol picked up on the change in the air, obviously attracted by the man’s potential. The blue man was shoved aside and left to stumble as they hurried over to seek new prey.

Further proof of their foolishness.

And definitely a danger to G’s establishment.

The Mandalorian approached the bar, beskar shining in the low light, revealing some kind of bird etched into his right pauldron. His posture was sure, but quiet.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get a chance to order.

The gang leader challenged the man in Huttese.

He was ignored.

G couldn’t help but agree.

Yet, he had an establishment to protect. “Hey, now, your drink is on me.” He shoved a fresh one in front of the gang leader.

Definitely going to do something about him.

The helmet of the Mandalorian held no expression, of course, but something crawled over G’s spine again.

The potential in the air sung with inevitability.

And sure enough, the leader took that one step too many and the room exploded.

G took a step back as the Mandalorian took his opponents out.

Smooth and clean, with the exception of the last one who made a foolish run for it out the door.

The Mandalorian shot the controls and the gang member got stuck in the door as it spiralled shut, leaving a half of him on either side.

Someone was puking in the far corner.

G sighed. Now he had a whole pile of cleaning, and fast talking with the authorities ahead of him.

He was sorry for their young lives, yes, but they were stupid lives.

The Mandalorian said nothing before turning towards the mythrol, who was now free of the harassment and was taking the passing of his aggressors with little concern.

G arched an eyebrow as the Mandalorian dropped a bounty puck in front of the blue youth.

Ah, kriff.

The hologram that appeared had G’s heart sinking into the floor.

Too bad.

“I can bring you in warm.” The bounty hunter reached for his blaster, ever so calmly. “Or I can bring you in cold.”

-o-o-o-

The Mandalorian left as quietly as he had entered, dragging his catch behind him. Apparently the mythrol preferred warm travelling.

Best of luck in this weather.

Turning back to his bar he found it mostly empty. Even the homeless were scattering out the door. Freezing in the night was obviously preferable to sharing a room with a dead body.

G sighed and threw down his towel.

Half a man at least.

Explaining this was not something he was looking forward to.

A groan from the floor in front of the bar had G moving.

Hurrying around and stepping over the corpse, he grabbed the two remaining gang members, broken limbs, bloodied noses and all and hauled them out into the night before they could get their feet under them.

Years of service had honed his muscle mass and the struggling men were nothing. He may not have the speed and reflexes of the Mandalorian, but he still had his own set of skills to offer.

And offer he had.

For a long time.

But the past was the past and there was no use mulling over it when he had work to do.

His own moral code saw the two men on their own feet, mobile and out of his establishment as smartly as possible. If he pointed them in the direction of the local sheriff, so be it. With a bit of luck they would have a lawful encounter. If not, he and Brains would make sure they did the following day.

Dragging half a man out of his tavern didn’t require anywhere as much muscle. He piled the bits outside his door and planned to report it all the following morning.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first death on his property.

Not that the law really cared out here.

Hence the need to maintain muscle.

He closed up the bar, cleaned the blood off the floor and secured the building. Only then did he let his shoulders relax.

There had been something about that Mandalorian. Something odd, almost familiar?

He shuddered and exited through a door, down a stair into a basement he had shielded from detection himself. The real reason for the building’s existence.

His workshop lit up automatically as he approached and Brains hurried over.

“M-master G, I have completed the c-c-conversion.”

Kriff, the droid’s vocal processor was glitching again. He had thought he’d fixed it.

Brains was all he had of his family. Created by his father and left behind as much as G had been when the man vanished, two of his brothers with him.

His other two brothers had already been taken.

He pressed his lips together, forcing the pain back into its box.

The rebellion had been an obvious answer to many of his problems.

But all through it, he kept Brains. It had been Jay who coined the droid’s name and it had stuck.

Almost as a eulogy to a brother long lost.

He shook himself. “It worked?”

“M-m-ost certainly, Master G.”

He straightened and looked beyond the droid to the workhorse of the rebellion he kept stashed in his basement workshop.

Her number two gleamed in the overhead lights.

-o-o-o-

TBC?

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #the mandalorian #thunderbirds fanfiction #mandalorian au #our boys are in there #just need to write them all in #nutty is nuts #I honestly don't know enough and am faking it until I make it #please bear with me #nuttyfic

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maironsbigboobs · 10 months

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Some Andróg fatherhood feels.

G, 628 words. Andróg takes his son out for an archery lesson, and reflects on fatherhood.

“Keep up, Papa!”

Andvír raced ahead of him, the bright yellow of his tunic making him hard to miss against the melting spring snow. His mother always worried when he went out with Andróg – too wild, she called him, too reckless, too irresponsible. He wouldn’t argue, but in that tunic, he doubted even he could lose the boy. She worried too much.

He grunted, shifting the weight of the equipment on his shoulder. Still… he shouldn’t let Andvír get out of his sight. “Alright, alright, I’m coming. Don’t run off!” His son was really too small for archery, having only just passed his fourth spring, but Andvír had begged and begged. He had promised not to cry if it was too hard, he had offered to do extra chores (that had not mattered to Andróg, who did not live with the boy) and even had tried getting his mother to intercede on his behalf. So Andróg had given in and he had retrieved his own childhood bow, dulled the heads of a few arrows, and here they were, trudging up the hill to a makeshift target. Andvír was sitting on a boulder and swinging his legs as Andróg came over the hill. For a moment, his heart swelled, to see that little grinning face – he had never expected to be a father, really, not when he was only twenty-one winters himself, and he didn’t think he was particularly given to it. He would rather have been spending the afternoon with his friends, getting drunk and daring each other to increasingly dangerous stunts. Andvír had been the result of one such afternoon, though the only danger he had been in on that night had been from the girl’s parents. He remembered when she had told him. He had not taken it well; he had laughed at her, thinking it was a joke, and then he had been struck silent with shock. It had all worked out in the end, but at the time it had felt world-ending and he remembered the fear of being a father so keenly. But maybe… maybe it was not so bad, when Andvír looked up so adoringly at him, like he was the best thing in his entire world. Had he looked at his own father like that, when he was young? He couldn’t imagine it swaying his father’s heart. It surprised him that it even worked on him – he was not moved by pity or softness, and he never had been. But Andvir was his boy and he could not deny him anything. “Alright, kid, up you get. Stand in front of me.” For the next few hours, he guided Andvír through the motions of archery, though the boy struggled with holding his arm straight, and the draw was a bit too heavy. But Andvír squealed in delight when he saw his arrows hit the edge of the target, even if they fell to the ground a moment later. “You’ll be a great archer one day, son.” Andróg declared, ruffling the golden curls of his son’s hair. “Will I have a bow like yours, Papa?” “Of course.” He laughed, thrilled by how much Andvír looked up to him. He swept the giggling child up onto his shoulders as they headed back down the hill. “I’ll make you one for your next birthday, one you can keep on your wall until you are big enough to use it.” He was not Dor-Lómin for Andvír’s next birthday, nor any birthday after. But twelve years later, when Andvír came to him out in the wilds, fleeing a life of thraldom in Dor-Lómin, Andróg made him a bow of his own. And though the winters were harsh and wilds unforgiving, in their own way, they were happy.

#androg #andvir #my fic

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histoireettralala · 1 year

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Blanche, Marguerite, and Queenship

Blanche's actions as queen dowager amount to no more than those of her grandmother and great-grandmother. A wise and experienced mother of a king was expected to advise him. She would intercede with him, and would thus be a natural focus of diplomatic activity. Popes, great Churchmen and great laymen would expect to influence the king or gain favour with him through her; thus popes like Gregory IX and Innocent IV, and great princes like Raymond VII of Toulouse, addressed themselves to Blanche. She would be expected to mediate at court. She had the royal authority to intervene in crises to maintain the governance of the realm, as Blanche did during Louis's near-fatal illness in 1244-5, and as Eleanor did in England in 1192.

In short, Blanche's activities after Louis's minority were no more and no less "co-rule" than those of other queen dowagers. No king could rule on his own. All kings- even Philip Augustus- relied heavily on those they trusted for advice, and often for executive action. William the Breton described Brother Guérin as "quasi secundus a rege"- "as if second to the king": indeed, Jacques Krynen characterised Philip and his administrators as almost co-governors. The vastness of their realms forced the Angevin kings to rely even more on the governance of others, including their mothers and their wives. Blanche's prominent role depended on the consent of her son. Louis trusted her judgement. He may also have found many of the demands of ruling uncongenial. Blanche certainly had her detractors at court, but she was probably criticsed, not for playing a role in the execution of government, but for influencing her son in one direction by those who hoped to influence him in another.

The death of a king meant that there was often more than one queen. Blanche herself did not have to deal with an active dowager queen: Ingeborg lived on the edges of court and political life; besides, she was not Louis VIII's mother. Eleanor of Aquitaine did not have to deal with a forceful young queen: Berengaria of Navarre, like Ingeborg, was retiring; Isabella of Angoulême was still a child. But the potential problem of two crowned, anointed and politically engaged queens is made manifest in the relationship between Blanche and St Louis's queen, Margaret of Provence.

At her marriage in 1234 Margaret of Provence was too young to play an active role as queen. The household accounts of 1239 still distinguish between the queen, by which they mean Blanche, and the young queen — Margaret. By 1241 Margaret had decided that she should play the role expected of a reigning queen. She was almost certainly engaging in diplomacy over the continental Angevin territories with her sister, Queen Eleanor of England. Churchmen loyal to Blanche, presumably at the older queen’s behest, put a stop to that. It was Blanche rather than Margaret who took the initiative in the crisis of 1245. Although Margaret accompanied the court on the great expedition to Saumur for the knighting of Alphonse in 1241, it was Blanche who headed the queen’s table, as if she, not Margaret, were queen consort. In the Sainte-Chapelle, Blanche of Castile’s queenship is signified by a blatant scattering of the castles of Castile: the pales of Provence are absent.

Margaret was courageous and spirited. When Louis was captured on Crusade, she kept her nerve and steadied that of the demoralised Crusaders, organised the payment of his ransom and the defence of Damietta, in spite of the fact that she had given birth to a son a few days previously. She reacted with quick-witted bravery when fire engulfed her cabin, and she accepted the dangers and discomforts of the Crusade with grace and good humour. But her attempt to work towards peace between her husband and her brother-in-law, Henry III, in 1241 lost her the trust of Louis and his close advisers — Blanche, of course, was the closest of them all - and that trust was never regained. That distrust was apparent in 1261, when Louis reorganised the household. There were draconian checks on Margaret's expenditure and almsgiving. She was not to receive gifts, nor to give orders to royal baillis or prévôts, or to undertake building works without the permission of the king. Her choice of members of her household was also subject to his agreement.

Margaret survived her husband by some thirty years, so that she herself was queen mother, to Philip III, and was still a presence ar court during the reign of her grandson Philip IV. But Louis did not make her regent on his second, and fatal, Crusade in 1270. In the early 12605 Margarer tried to persuade her young son, the future Philip III, to agree to obey her until he was thirty. When Philip told his father, Louis was horrified. In a strange echo of the events of 1241, he forced Philip to resile from his oath to his mother, and forced Margaret to agree never again to attempt such a move. Margaret had overplayed her hand. It meant that she was specifically prevented from acting with those full and legitimate powers of a crowned queen after the death of her husband that Blanche, like Eleanor of Aquitaine, had been able to deploy for the good of the realm.

Why was Margaret treated so differently from Blanche? Were attitudes to the power of women changing? Not yet. In 1294 Philip IV was prepared to name his queen, Joanna of Champagne-Navarre, as sole regent with full regal powers in the event of his son's succession as a minor. She conducted diplomatic negotiations for him. He often associated her with his kingship in his acts. And Philip IV wanted Joanna buried among the kings of France at Saint-Denis - though she herself chose burial with the Paris Franciscans. The effectiveness and evident importance to their husbands of Eleanor of Provence and Eleanor of Castile in England led David Carpenter to characterise late thirteenth-century England as a period of ‘resurgence in queenship’.

The problem for Margaret was personal, rather than institutional. Blanche had had her detractors at court. It is not clear who they were. There were always factions at courts, not least one that centred around Margaret, and anyone who had influence over a king would have detractors. They might have been clerks with misgivings about women in general, and powerful women in particular, and there may have been others who believed that the power of a queen should be curtailed, No one did curtail Blanche's — far from it. By the late chirteenth century the Capetian family were commissioning and promoting accounts of Louis IX that praise not just her firm and just rule as regent, but also her role as adviser and counsellor — her continuing influence — during his personal rule. As William of Saint-Pathus put it, because she was such a ‘sage et preude femme’, Louis always wanted ‘sa presence et son conseil’. But where Blanche was seen as the wisest and best provider of good advice that a king could have, a queen whose advice would always be for the good of the king and his realm, Margaret was seen by Louis as a queen at the centre of intrigue, whose advice would not be disinterested. Surprisingly, such formidable policical players at the English court as Simon de Montfort and her nephew, the future Edward I, felt that it was worthwhile to do diplomatic business through Margaret. Initially, Henry III and Simon de Montfort chose Margaret, not Louis, to arbitrate between them. She was a more active diplomat than Joinville and the Lives of Louis suggest, and probably, where her aims coincided with her husband’s, quite effective.

To an extent the difference between Blanche’s and Margaret’s position and influence simply reflected political reality. Blanche was accused of sending rich gifts to her family in Spain, and advancing them within the court. But there was no danger that her cultivation of Castilian family connections could damage the interests of the Capetian realm. Margaret’s Provençal connections could. Her sister Eleanor was married to Henry III of England. Margaret and Eleanor undoubtedly attempted to bring about a rapprochement between the two kings. This was helpful once Louis himself had decided to come to an agreement with Henry in the late 1250s, but was perceived as meddlesome plotting in the 1240s. Moreover, Margaret’s sister Sanchia was married to Henry's younger brother, Richard of Cornwall, who claimed the county of Poitou, and her youngest sister, Beatrice, countess of Provence, was married to Charles of Anjou. Sanchia’s interests were in direct conflict with those of Alphonse of Poitiers; and Margaret herself felt that she had dowry claims in Provence, and alienated Charles by attempting to pursue them. Indeed, her ill-fated attempt to tie her son Philip to her included clauses that he would not ally himself with Charles of Anjou against her.

Lindy Grant- Blanche of Castile, Queen of France

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citrusreadstoa · 1 year

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Reading The Dark Prophecy: Chapter 16 (SPOILERS)

"In my four thousand years of life, I had searched for many things . . . and a 1958 Gibson Flying V." Image below. They sell for ~$9,999. Apollo's fine with $15,000 Tater Tots but draws the line at a rare $9,999 guitar.

"If we die here, I'd just like to say you aren't as bad as I originally thought." Aw hey, they're making progress.

"And alas, I was all out of Tater Tots." I love how his Plan B is to try negotiating with the Tots. Actually, those are pretty pricey. Maybe he can pay his own ransom money with that.

"Good cheap labor is terribly difficult to find." [Insert comment about inhumane Chinese factory wages here]

"My friends call me Lit, but my enemies call me Death!" That's not nearly as cool a line as you seem to think it is.

"I changed my mind. First, that roof collapsed on me." Fair counter. If anything were to change your mind about taking someone alive, it would be an attempt on your own life. "Then my bodyguards got swallowed by a stand of bamboo." Say what now? I was wondering why Lit was here but the Germani weren't.

"My pulse boomed like timpani" TIMPANI (n.): kettledrums, especially when played by one musician in an orchestra

"Surely Zeus would intercede." They're probably going to find a way out of this situation before it becomes too close of a call, but if Apollo were to actually die, I think Zeus would actually intercede. At worst, his intentions for Apollo's punishment might be to live and die permanently as a mortal, but dying a month into his punishment might cross the line there. Besides, if Apollo died, he'd have to find a new Sun god.

"the crossed blades of Meg McCaffrey." Knew it would be her. They've been building up the anticipation with the plants.

"Hyacinthus the time he wore that amazing tuxedo on our date night" They... did not have tuxedos back then. Whatever, Apollo has the gift of prophecy. Of course he would use it for little things like this.

"THIS is Meg?" Oh yeah, forgot they've never met. I bet Apollo's been hyping her up and all and with the way he embellishes stories, Calypso at this point probably thinks she's some great hero to rival Hercules.

"Yep . . . You're stupid." Very Meg. "Now she would stay by my side" These very words instantly convinced me that she would not stay by his side.

"Now it was clear that our master-servant relationship could not be so easily broken." Okay, so even Meg can't release Apollo from her authority.

"no child can match the Reaper of Men." Okay, so once he said this to Meg, I started wondering how old Lit was and after some Googling and being careful to avoid spoilers, I found everything I need to know about him except his age. He's also a child of Demeter! Meg's bro! That makes "Reaper of Men" a marvelous pun. He has a sister named Zoe, unrelated to Zoë Nightshade. Also, his Wikipedia page is depressingly short and part of his fandom wiki page is literally a copy-paste of the Wikipedia article. According to Wikipedia, he challenged people to harvesting contests and beheaded the contestants when they lost. Guess he's really good at that. Then Hercules came along and turned the tables on him and that's how he died. Apparently the PJO series is the only ever piece of pop culture poor Lityerses appears in. I still don't know his age.

"leaving Calypso behind to the blemmyae . . . I'd like to say that wasn't a serious thought, but it had been, however briefly." Wait, he was serious about that?!

"run over by a herd of armored ostriches." THE OSTRICHESSSSSSSS! Man, Lit's really taking a beating today. First he gets run over by a roof and then he gets run over by a bunch of big birds. Now I see where he gets all the scars from. Does this happen regularly?

"She howled in rage and the net blasted upward, ripped from its moorings" She does still have magic? Holy shit, she can do more than sing!1!!1! She seems surprised by it afterward, though. Has this never happened even once when she was in the Sea of Monsters? Surely she'd be in equally dangerous situations. Or maybe she's surprised she was able to conjure enough power to rip out the whole net.

"I was quite content to be annoyed, once again, by Meg McCaffrey." I like this ending line. I dunno, I just like it.

Also, this chapter made me realize that the cover art is not, in fact, the two of them flying under a bridge. That's netting and if I looked closer, I would have seen the arena. So sue me, the blue looked like water. I just thought the ostriches could walk on water.

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zealouscanonindeer · 1 year

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5. Checkmate, Mr Holmes

There was dead silence in the room for perhaps a full minute, broken only by the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway outside, the sound of Leopold trying to soundlessly clear a particularly stubborn blockage in his sinuses, and the feeling that I had just tripped over an erroneous conclusion and fallen flat on my face.

"It's very pretty," she said finally, just as the silence was about to reach uncomfortable proportions. "Where did you find it?"

"It was in the coat pocket of the current suspect," I summarised.

"And the police don't have it because...?"

"Fortune interceded. He grabbed the wrong coat on the way out."

She was thoughtfully silent for a few moments. "Of all the people they might have accused," she said finally, "I wouldn't have expected Dr. Watson to be one of them. That was his watch, wasn't it?"

I nodded soberly. Her reasoning was sound; the initials J. H. W. monogrammed on the watch-cover and my unsolicited interest alone would have proven a personal interest. Add to that the fact that I knew he had grabbed the wrong coat...

"Well, if it's any consolation," she continued, "I didn't see him at the debutante."

"I proves nothing, of course," I replied, "By your own account the guest list was extensive. Anyone - especially the thief - could go unnoticed." Besides which, I reflected, even I could not account for Watson's whereabouts on that evening, as he had stepped out for about three hours, from roughly five-fifteen to eight-thirty, and when I asked him what had summoned him out in such rotten weather he simply said he'd had some business to attend to, after which he retired to his room for the remainder of the evening.

"So you believe he did it?" She looked incredulous.

"I believe nothing of the sort at this point," I retorted, "I believe only in the facts of the case, of which we have far too few to form any conclusions." I stood, preparing to embark on the next stage of my investigation.

"In that case," she replied, also standing, "I think we had better get to work at finding out who did this."

I stopped halfway to the door and turned to look at her. "I do not wish your help in this matter," I said stiffly, "But thank you for offering."

"We both have a stake in this case, Mr. Holmes," she replied, returning my look, "I wish my jewelry back, and you wish your friend exonerated for the crime. And a lot of people besides us wish to see justice done."

"You know nothing of detectivework. You're-" I stopped myself, but there it was all the same.

She frowned. "I'm what, Mr. Holmes?"

"Nothing," I replied, on the off-chance that she would drop it. She folded her arms across her bosom and looked at me coldly. I turned back towards the door.

"An amateur?" she pressed, "So are you, as far as employment goes. So what am I? Inexperienced?"

So. She was going to force the issue, was she? I sighed. "The issue is not open to discussion, Miss Cartwright," I said calmly, "I will contact you as soon as I have heard anything about your stolen jewelry."

I was nearly out the door when she asked one final question. "It's because I'm a woman, isn't it?"

I stood there, bristling at her audacity and weighing several possible responses, most of which sounded like hollow excuses. Except for one.

"Yes," I said simply, "It's because you're a woman. Are you satisfied now?"

"No." Her voice was calm, but with an edge like a razor to it.

"As I said, the matter is not open for discussion. Good-day, Miss Cartwright."

The fact of the matter was that I knew this case would likely be dangerous, especially for a young lady, and I wished to investigate it alone without having to babysit her. It was mainly my own pride - and the certainty that she would argue even this point - that prohibited me from explaining any further.

I was actually out in the hallway when she threw the bracelet at me. It was not heavy, but it caught me just so between the shoulder-blades so that the unexpected impact jolted a surprised exclamation from me. The door slammed shortly after.

"She doesn't like being talked down to, Mr. Holmes," Leopold informed me from his post by the door as I stooped to retrieve the bracelet.

"So I surmised," I replied, tucking the bauble securely into my pocket.

"I blame her upbringing, personally," he added cryptically, but would say nothing else against her as he led me back to the sitting room.

*****

"I trust Emily did not give you too much trouble?" Mr. Cartwright smiled, though his attention was focused on a point over my shoulder. I turned in time to see Leopold's face finish rearranging itself into an expression of sober obedience. I deduced that whatever had been on the butler's face immediately prior had told his master all he needed to know about the tone of the interview.

"Yes," I replied, "Your daughter has a keen eye for observation, all the same. She was very helpful to the investigation."

"Is there anything else you require, then, Mr. Holmes?" he asked, preparing to show me to the door.

"Yes," I said, and watched his mouth twitch slightly in annoyance, "I would like a list of the guests who had arrived early to the debutante, up to the time the jewelry was discovered missing, as well as a list of the companies hired in connexion with the ball."

"You think one of my guests took Emily's jewelry?"

"I must consider all the possibilities. Miss Cartwright tells me that there were a lot of people present that evening... any one of them could be the culprit."

"Well, there is such a list... it was made out while we were trying to figure out who might have seen something."

"Excellent. May I have a copy of this list for my own investigation?"

"I'm sure Emily would be happy to let you see it." He paused. "She's been examining it herself during the last couple of evenings. I believe she fancies herself some sort of sleuth."

"I see. So what you're telling me is that Miss Cartwright has the only copy of this list?"

"Of course. We weren't expecting any outside help, let alone unsolicited."

My mouth tightened slightly in annoyance. I hoped that Miss Cartwright would not decide to throw anything further at me when I returned to request this list.

*****

Miss Cartwright sat at her desk going through the aforementioned list if nothing but to spite me and provide a unneeded reminder of my apparent loss at our recent disagreement.

"Oh, you again," Miss Cartwright said, the very model of cordiality, when she permitted me entry in answer to my knock on her door. "I expect you're here because you found out I have something you want, after all. Isn't this a pretty problem?"

"And I expect that you are not about to give over the list without a fight," I replied in a similar tone, resenting the idea of being forced into anything, let alone a partnership, regardless of how intelligent she had shown herself to be.

"So here we are."

"Yes. Here we are."

The silence crawled.

"All right," she said finally, "I'll give you the list, on one condition."

"That being?"

"We collaborate on this case."

"I beg your pardon?"

"As I said before, we each have a stake in this. You want to clear your friend's good name; I want my jewelry back."

"You of all people know, through Watson's accounts, that I utilise rather unorthodox methods of detection."

"I'm no prude."

"I set a brutal pace."

"It gets the job done, does it not?"

"It could be dangerous."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were worried about me."

I stiffened. "On the contrary, I believe you can take care of yourself."

She smiled. "Then there's no problem."

Checkmate.

"If at any point I think that you cannot keep up with me," I said, "I will send you home. Is that understood?"

"Quite," she said, "But I shall keep the list with me at all times. Is that understood?"

"Understood," I growled.

This had started out as such a simple case...

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christian-perspectives · 9 months

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Abraham Intercedes For Sodom

What does it mean when someone intercedes in prayer like Abraham did for Sodom? It’s when a person prays a pointed prayer on behalf of one or more people. Let’s look at why Abraham felt the need to intercede for Sodom. And why he made the following statement to the Lord. Surely you wouldn’t do such a thing, destroying the righteous along with the wicked. Genesis 18:25 It began one day when Abraham invited three men to rest in the shade of a tree. One of them was the Lord and He delivered two messages to Abraham. First, He said by this time next year and your wife, Sarah, will have a son! Women in their 90s like Sarah no longer bore children. When she heard Him say that, she laughed under her breath. Of course, history revealed that within the year she did give birth to a son. They named him Isaac. The other message from God dealt with the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. The Lord asked the other two men if He should hide His plan from Abraham. Then He answered His own question. For Abraham will certainly become a great and mighty nation, and all the nations of the earth will be blessed through him. Genesis 18:18 The promise God gave to His servant Abraham went well beyond himself. To become a mighty nation it had to continue for generations to come. I have singled him out so that he will direct his sons and their families to keep the way of the Lord by doing what is right and just. Then I will do for Abraham all that I have promised. Genesis 18:19

Wicked Sodom and Gomorrah

The Lord said He had heard the people of Sodom and Gomorrah were utterly evil. And that everything they did was wicked. After the other two men left, Abraham talked with God. The action the Lord was about to take concerned Abraham because his nephew Lot lived in Sodom. That’s why the Bible titled this section, “Abraham intercedes for Sodom.” He asked the Lord this question, “Will you sweep away both the righteous and the wicked? But he didn’t stop there, he made his question more specific. Suppose you find fifty righteous people living there in the city—will you still sweep it away and not spare it for their sakes? Genesis 18:24 That wasn’t Abraham’s whole question. We’ll get to the rest of his question later on. God did, however, respond to this part of his question. And the Lord replied, “If I find fifty righteous people in Sodom, I will spare the entire city for their sake.” Genesis 18:26 Then Abraham counted down the number of righteous people in the city before God would destroy it. He asked, “Suppose there are only forty-five righteous people, then forty, thirty, twenty, and finally ten. Between each one, he said to the Lord, “Please don’t be angry with me.”

After Abraham Intercedes for Sodom

The two men who left Abraham went to Lot’s house in Sodom. Sin did run rampant. You can read it in Genesis 19. The men warned Lot and his family about the coming destruction. For we are about to destroy this city completely. The outcry against this place is so great it has reached the Lord, and he has sent us to destroy it.” Genesis 19:13 Lot quickly rounded up his two daughters and their husbands. But they didn’t all believe him. So Lot rushed out to tell his daughters’ fiancés, “Quick, get out of the city! The Lord is about to destroy it.” But the young men thought he was only joking. Genesis 19:14 Even though the Bible says “Abraham intercedes for Sodom” not everyone made it to safety. First, Lot’s sons-in-law were offered the way of salvation but neglected to accept it. Then the Lord rained down fire and burning sulfur from the sky on Sodom and Gomorrah. He utterly destroyed them, along with the other cities and villages of the plain, wiping out all the people and every bit of vegetation. Genesis19:24-25 Next, Lot’s wife received her salvation and seemingly escaped the danger. But because of her disobedience, she lost it and also suffered destruction. But Lot’s wife looked back as she was following behind him, and she turned into a pillar of salt. Genesis 19:26 Lot and his daughters escaped the Lord’s destruction of the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah and the surrounding villages. But God had listened to Abraham’s request and kept Lot safe, removing him from the disaster that engulfed the cities on the plain. Genesis 19:29

The Urgency of the End Times

We can take this story into account when thinking about the end times. Will God leave the church on the earth during seven-year tribulation while destroying many parts of it? Just like Abraham interceded for Sodom, Jesus intercedes for us. And just like God urgently warned His people in Sodom, He also warns His people with urgency today. Paul said the dead in Christ will rise followed by those alive in Christ to meet Him in the air. Because of what Abraham said to God, I believe He will spare Christians from the tribulation. Surely you wouldn’t do such a thing, destroying the righteous along with the wicked. Why, you would be treating the righteous and the wicked exactly the same! Surely you wouldn’t do that! Should not the Judge of all the earth do what is right?” Genesis 18:25 Some will be lost because they know the way of salvation but don’t accept it. Others will walk in the way of salvation and up to the last minute choose another way. Then there will be the saved. God wants us to join Him in heaven for all eternity. But we must accept His way of getting there as we live in obedience to His Word. Lord, thank you that Jesus intercedes for us as Abraham did for Sodom. We look forward to joining you for eternity. Help us to not blow it, as Lot’s wife and sons-in-law did. Check out these related posts about prayer. - The Necessity Of Powerful Intercessory Prayer - Seek Forgiveness Of Sins Through Prayer - Jesus Prayed For Us! Did You Know That? - The Altar Of The Lord - Moses Interceded For Israel With Great Results Read the full article

#BibleStudy #Devotions #Evangelism #Genesis

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stovetuna · 3 years

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How much does Steve melt, the first time he sees how good Tony is with kids?

anon I am so busy with work but there are so many good li’l prompts in my inbox OH NO WHATEVER SHALL I DO anyways—

obvs there’s the scenario in which steve and tony are already together/in a deeply committed relationship (see also: MARRIED) and are discussing kids and whether or not they want to adopt or use a surrogate or if they should even do it given who they are and what their lives are like (and ofc Tony would have at least one “oh god what if I’m a horrible father like Howard was??” meltdown for some extra ~drama~)

but it’s me, and you know I *live* for pining!Steve, so imagine: Steve (who has been nursing a crush on Tony for ages but doesn’t want to ruin their friendship/doesn’t think he’s good enough/doesn’t think Tony wants him that way/take your pick of Steve angst) volunteers to join Tony at a very Tony-specific event, say, an MIT job fair. lots of smart kids doing smart things way above even Steve’s pay grade all clamoring to work for Stark Industries or intern for the Avengers tech squad or NASA, etc. (Steve would also like to talk to the folks at NASA because let’s not forget our man is an absolute nerd in his own right and would like to volunteer for their next, extra-dangerous space mission...)

Steve basically acts as body-man-slash-Tony’s-time-manager the whole time, because he knows Tony is liable to get tunnel vision if someone comes to him with a particularly good idea. The MIT kids are more interested in the science of Steve than Steve himself, so once he makes it clear that Tony’s the one to talk to about anything super-serum related, they all pretty much leave him alone.

which is fine, because that leaves Steve with extra time to just observe Tony in one of his many elements: talking “cool science stuff” with the next generation of the world’s brightest minds, hands waving around, suit jacket and tie discarded, his hair a mess after running his excited fingers through it one too many times—happy. He gets to watch Tony be happy and excited and genuinely engaged with people who understand him, which makes Steve pine that much harder because Tony can never be that around Steve, of course!! Steve’s not smart or quick enough to even come close :(((

(steve, darling, your low sense of self-worth is showing.)

AND THEN! an older student—I like to imagine a mom who fought tooth and nail to get back into school after having to leave for a number of years to deal with Life Stuff and eventually managed to nab a spot in one of MIT’s grad programs beyond all hope, all on her own—approaches the Stark Industries table with a very fussy, very noisy, very literal baby strapped to her chest.

Steve turns around to tell Tony his 3 o’ clock is here, but oh look, Tony is already there, telling Steve as he passes “oh my god Steve look it’s a baby!” and then stumbling around the table in his excitement, eyes big and round and shining. he the woman’s resume before she can even try to hand it to him (Steve usually is fast enough to intercede) and folds it up and places it in his wallet before he’s asking her—Shantelle, her name is Shantelle—if he can hold the baby while they talk.

so Steve’s helplessly watching as Shantelle unhooks the contraption while Tony holds the baby—Faith, who’s maybe six or seven months old and already has her mother’s eyes—under her arms and then moves her around to cradle her against his chest. Steve watches the two adults move around to the other side of the table out of the throes of traffic to talk, and they do, intensely and excitedly and animatedly, but all the while Tony holds baby Faith in his arms, running a knuckle down the middle of her back and humming under his breath whenever he stops talking. he looks—he looks blissed out, Steve thinks, and Faith is passed out completely, drooling on Tony’s very expensive shirt and gripping his designer sunglasses hanging from his collar in one sticky, chubby fist.

by the end of their half hour meeting, Shantelle has a job at SI and Faith has an ample education fund (K-12 AND college) waiting for her, personal courtesy of Tony Stark. and Steve literally just stares at them the whole time, at the drooling, sleeping baby on Tony’s chest, at the shine in the man’s eyes when he passes her back to her mother, at the smiling way Tony tells Shantelle not to worry about the drool or the crushed glasses, at the wave he sends her off with.

Steve is ready to propose on the spot. he doesn’t, but he imagines it, because he would literally put down his life, his shield, if it meant giving Tony a life in which they could have a family and he’d get to see Tony’s face light up like that every day. it’s such a perfect, beautiful fantasy Steve almost tears up on the spot.

all he manages, after the fair is over and Steve’s talked to the NASA folks and their arms are full of resumes, is “I didn’t know you liked kids so much.” it comes out kinda gruff because he’s still lowkey on the verge of tears just imagining carrying around a baby while Tony makes cooing noises at her or letting her sleep on his chest after he’s passed out on the workshop couch.

meanwhile Tony’s off and babbling about how babies and young kids are purely innocent with zero ulterior motives or cynicism and they just make him look forward to the future that much more because “babies are the purest expression of hope I can imagine” and Steve’s heart CLENCHES, but he says nothing.

later on, he draws Tony like that: fast asleep on the ratty workshop sofa, a baby passed out on his chest, his arm around her to keep her from rolling off, instinctual protectiveness amplified by his being Tony Stark, who would rather die than see someone he loves get hurt.

as Steve shuts the notebook and turns out the light, he imagines the baby opening bright eyes the same color blue as Steve’s and grinning toothlessly when she sees him standing in the workshop doorway. he falls asleep thinking about that. he spends every day of the next week thinking about that. every time he looks at Tony, his subconscious adds a baby, and that shining look in Tony’s eyes. and he wants it. all of it.

finally, after a tough mission and an even tougher de-brief, in the middle of Tony ranting—halfway out of his seat—at Steve about him holding the reins too tight and not letting the team improvise enough, Steve just stares straight into Tony’s eyes and says, “I’ll make it up to you if you let me take you to dinner tonight.”

he doesn’t know where it came from, but it’s worth it given how Tony all but swallows his tongue and just dumbly nods, still halfway out of his seat, hand hanging in the air mid-jabbing finger motion.

that evening, Steve takes him to a Burger King that still has a play area kids can use and delights in watching Tony try to focus on his date with Steve and the gaggle of toddlers in the ball pit on the other side of the glass. it’s the best first date Steve’s ever had (and his last first date, period. naturally).

#wow whoops here's a word vomit fic #stevetony #I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS #maybe Scenario One would come after Scenario Two #like #years down the line Steve and Tony are fully Married and Steve really wants to have at least A kid so he can fulfill this longstanding fant #the domestic life Steve didn't think he wanted or deserved after the ice but which Tony is MORE than willing to provide #but Tony ofc freaks out about Bad Dad what-ifs and Steve has to reassure him that he is not Howard and it's entirely his decision what kind #and also Steve wouldn't let it happen #so they adopt a baby and she and Faith have lots of playdates happily ever after THE END #rachel writes fic #stony fic #kinda

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addictedtostorytelling · 2 years

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Let’s say If Grissom was still at the lab when Doug came into town and say things were a little rocky between him and Sara , and Doug was flirting with her. Do you think Grissom would be a little upset / jealous?

hi, anon!

since the entire problem between grissom and sara in s13 is distance, if grissom happened to still be at the lab at that time (and especially if he were still living in las vegas and working at the lab full-time alongside sara), i just don't think his and sara's relationship would be at all rocky.

like.

literally, in canon, if they could have just gotten on the same continent for even just a few days, they would have been able to get a read on each other and realize that neither one of them actually wanted for them to be apart, and the ship would have naturally righted itself.

so in a scenario where grissom is in vegas to begin with, i just don't see there being trouble in gsrland.

and if no trouble in gsrland, i can't imagine him getting too worked up over doug.

as i talk about here,

while before they’re a couple, and especially during the period when he believes that they might never be one, grissom panics when he sees other guys express interest in sara, and especially when he believes she might be receptive to said interest, as he feels as if he might be in danger of losing her but that he can’t do anything about it.

but after they’re together? once he knows for sure that she loves him?

i don’t think he gets that panicked anymore.

he knows she’s not the type to cheat on him—and in fact is stubbornly loyal to him, even to a fault...

he knows that she’s monogamous.

that so, he doesn’t really have much to fear from other guys hitting on her.

like.

he might not like watching it happen, but he doesn’t experience that same kind of kneejerk panicked reaction that he once did. he trusts her enough to handle the situation and make the declinations herself. the only reason he’ll intercede is if it’s a situation where she can’t decline—like, say, during the secret dating phase, when they’re at work, and she can’t come out and say, “back off, guy, i have a boyfriend!”—or where the guy doesn’t seem to be heeding her, in which case he might simply help her to extricate herself from the exchange (i.e., walk up and be like, "hey, you ready to go?”).

as for when they’re married specifically, i don’t think he much fusses about any guy who’s dumb enough to blatantly hit on a woman wearing a ring. he trusts sara, so he knows she’ll shut that shit down.

which is exactly what she does, even when her and grissom’s relationship is actually on the rocks, when doug wilson throws himself at her during the events of episode 13x10 “risky business class.”

while he would be upset with doug for being such an utter jagweed as to pursue sara in the first place—given that she is married and not soliciting it and that, you know, he, as her husband, is right fucking there—he wouldn't have any worries about the sara side of the equation, as he trusts in her fidelity.

like.

doug could make a million passes at her, but she’d never give him the time of day, grissom knows.

so in that scenario, i don’t really see any jealousy on his part.

annoyance? sure.

but not the green-eyed monster, as it were.

of course, if we were to tweak the scenario you proposed a bit so as to keep the “rocky marriage” part intact, we could say that after years of living abroad, grissom decides to come back to vegas in order to hash things out with sara in person, and he just so happens to arrive at the lab at the exact same time as one mr. doug wilson—

in that kind of scenario, things could get really ugly really quickly.

if as soon as sara saw grissom standing in the hall, she ran over to him and threw her arms around him and from then on was like “douglas whomst?????” to the point where it was abundantly clear that she wanted nothing more than to be back together with grissom, things might still turn out well for their marriage.

however, if she were at all hesitant about grissom or expressed any kind of hurt feelings toward him, and especially if she did so while being at all open toward doug, even just in a friendly way, grissom might indeed end up getting very upset.

he would already be coming into the situation operating on the assumption that sara perhaps no longer wanted to be with him, so if he saw any evidence to suggest that she was even slightly receptive to doug's advances—i.e., if she didn't reject doug's advances either vigorously or immediately enough, in grissom's view—then i think he'd take her behavior as proof positive that she did indeed want out of their marriage. and if so, he would be absolutely gutted and waste no time in telling her that he thought they should get a divorce.

in so doing, he might treat her meanly (much how he does when he finds out she’s with hank in episode 03x03 “let the seller beware”).

still.

would he confront doug? likely not.

that’s not his mo when it comes to “rivals” for sara’s affection over whom he has no kind of professional authority.

much as is the case with hank in s3, i think he'd just stand aside, acting under the belief that sara preferred doug to him. however, that’s not say he wouldn’t also be jealous of him; just that he wouldn’t direct any open hostility toward him.

no use fighting the inevitable, in his view.

anyway.

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

#answered #anon #asks: csi #hypothetical scenario #let's talk shop #csiverse

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light-miracles · 3 years

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Azulaang?

Andddd I guess I ship Azulaang now. Thanks anon. They're actually pretty interesting??

.........

"I'm not going to apologize," the young princess said, brushing the flying bison's fur.

Aang was on the other side of Appa, brushing his third leg. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his scar was visible all over his back, as if someone had thrown mud and blood at him.

Aang looked up, confused. "What?"

"Do you call that brushing?" asked Azula, always a perfectionist. "You'll have to do it again."

"Apologize for what? Did you spend all the money on strawberries again?"

"Of course not, that's ridiculous. And it only happened once," replied Azula rolling her eyes.

She had been traveling with the Avatar for the past year, under such unusual circumstances that it was still hard to believe. After some time in the madhouse where Zuko had locked her up, it had become more than evident that no one could help her if she didn't want to. Her very existence was a danger to Zuko's reign. Her brother had tried visiting her, talking to her, but the poison between them was too deep. Azula suspected that poison would always be there.

It was then that the Avatar, of all people, interceded for her. He somehow convinced Zuko that his sister needed to go through her healing path on her own, just like he had done years ago.

That was how her brother, the Fire Lord Zuko gave her a choice. She could be free again, but the most precious thing that any citizen of the Fire Nation possessed, her honor, would be linked to the Avatar from then on. She would travel with him as his bodyguard. She would help him keep the peace between the nations. That would be her mission and her sentence. And if she escaped or betrayed the Avatar, she would lose her honor forever and history would remember her as a traitor to her country. Azula knew they would probably also lock her up for good and throw away the key. His brother's reign was still fragile and he couldn't risk her trying to kill him.

Azula knew perfectly well that she could regain the throne if she wanted to. But she didn't want to. There was no one to impress anymore.

So there was the princess, almost a year later, traveling the world with the young Avatar who had once been her worst enemy on the other side of the war.

"So why do you want to apologize?"

"I said I'm not going to apologize," replied Azula, brushing Appa's neck. "You were on your side of the war and I was on mine. You won, but I'm-not-going-to-apologize."

"Oh, I see," said Aang slowly, studying her reaction. "You don't need to apologize. I've already forgiven you."

"Has it ever occurred to you that I don't want your forgiveness? You haven't been paying attention. I didn't do anything wrong," she replied, brushing harder. "Everything I did was in the service of my nation."

"There are certain limits to what is right to do out of patriotism, princess. You know that."

"You were my enemy. No, there wasn't."

"So that's it," replied Aang, leaving the brush aside and putting on his shirt. "My scar."

Azula crossed her arms, refusing to look away in defiance.

"As I said before, I have already forgiven you," said the Avatar with a smile. "But I think it's you who need forgive yourself."

"It was a war. There is nothing to forgive."

"That's fine," replied Aang simply, satisfied with the simplicity of their conversation. The first two months of their trip, Azula hadn't even talked to him about anything other than his safety. Her 'bodyguard' seemed content to remain silent and ignore his existence for days. Aang would be lying if he said it wasn't awkward at first, but over time their relationship had progressed to the point of basic and more or less normal conversations.

Aang knew he had made the right decision when he asked Zuko for permission to take his sister away. Not only because he was convinced that the mental hospital was in no condition to encourage any chance of Azula's recovery, but because his former enemy could be a formidable ally in his duties as the Avatar. Azula was a genius and an expert in strategy and politics. He was convinced that the princess could do a lot of good for the world if she wanted to.

He still didn't know if she did, but he would accept any advance as a small step in the right direction. Their time together was, after all, her chance to heal. That was the priority. Help a person who needed help.

"You're doing it again, Avatar."

"What thing, Princess?"

"Let me have the last word just because you don't want to argue," she said with a frown. "As if I were a wild animal that should not be provoked."

"I don't think that and you know it," replied the young Avatar softly but firmly. "You say you have nothing to apologize for and I respect that. I understand. Like you said, it was a war. I'm not going to apologize for what I did to your father either. He had to be stopped at all costs. But the war is over now," he said walking towards her and staying still by her side. Azula continued to brush the bison without giving him the satisfaction of looking at him. "Wouldn't be better to leave the past behind and look towards the future? Wouldn't you be happier?"

Azula threw the brush away, breathing hard through ber tightly pressed lips. "Don't be ridiculous," she said without turning around. "I have no future."

"Of course you have-"

"Open your eyes, Avatar," she said in frustration, but not anger, just resignation. "Wherever I go I will always be a pariah. Even in my own home. Or do you not see the hatred in the eyes of the people in every town we visit?"

"It won't always be like this," replied Aang softly, smiling at the princess. "It may not seem like it, but time heals all wounds. Even the deepest ones."

"It doesn't matter," she said with a shrug. "I haven't really lost anything. I've never been loved, Avatar. I have accepted that it will simply never be a part of my life."

"You're loved."

"Excuse me?"

"You are loved, Azula." For a moment he thought about mentioning Zuko or Ursa, but quickly decided not to. "I know that you think it is foolish, and that you don't feel much hope right now. But even if my people didn't profess love for all living beings, I'll always try to have my heart open to anyone who needs help. Or who needs a friend. And after all our time together, I must know I care about you. I would like to be your friend, if you allow me."

Azula didn't answer him, her mind calculating all the chances that the Avatar was manipulating her to win her favor. For what purpose? She no longer possessed political or military power. Was the Avatar trying to use her talents and strength? It must be that, because there was no other option but-

The Avatar stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug.

Azula's instinct was to shake him off, before feeling something she couldn't remember ever feeling. Something so alien to her that she considered it an invention of fiction, like ghosts. Love. It was a warm feeling deep in her stomach, making her eyes feel heavy and for just a moment, everything stopped hurting. The Avatar radiated love like a burning coal radiated heat.

With wet eyes, Azula returned the hug.

#Super happy i could finish this one #azulaang #Azula #Aang #Avatar aang #Atla #Avatar the last airbender #Fire squad

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robin-the-enby · 3 years

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Hey! I love your matchups and I really want one with on the black butler characters.

I am ISTJ and even though I was born in America I come from a Mexican family. So I am fluent in Spanish and English. Along side of Mandarin Chinese (still learning) and Japanese (still learning)

Appearance wise, I have olive skin, long wavy/curly hair that reaches my tailbone (i like putting it in side braid). I also have long bangs that quite often fall over my glasses. And just too lazy to move them. I also have dimples when I smile. I will bite anyone who try poke them.

Personality: I can get hard to know at first because I have trust issues (my heart has been broken okay) . Not too mention people don't try to get know me because of my major Resting Bitch Face. They think I am judging them or that I am scary. But I am not... I am attentive so I will stand up for myself and anyones else. I am patient. Also, after you get to know me you will realize I am a chaotic crackhead with a melodramatic persona. Like "your star is here!" "The stage is calling for me. Move out of my way" "the spotlight is on me so could you move you crusty face?" I like to tease and flirt with the people I am close to. I zone out or daydream a lot. And in the worst times. It could be a serious meeting and I am chuckling because of something in my head. Which have scared people. It could be during a conversation and I will stop listening. But I will always feel bad and apologize.

I also like to scare people. Like tell them the unsolved cases or horrific cases that I know (I love unsolved cases) . This is also why my little siblings hate me. Turns out talking kids murder cases and disapperinv cases was not appropriate for bed time story... woops.....

I like to pop out of nowhere and either flick or playfully punch my friends and say boo. I do accidentally roast people. I don't think before I say things. And don't realize until hours or days later. And I am like "shit"

I am sarcastic and that has gotten me in trouble before. My friend asked for my advice and I didn't know she was being serious. So I gave her a sarcastic advice and she came back to me mad. I was like "shit you believed me?"

Likes/hobbies: i like my anatomy class and I like to read, write, meditate (because I get stressed a lot). I really like to dance and listen to music. Which my music taste is everywhere: Kpop, classical music, jazz, jpop, Spanish songs, rock, metal. Every music genre except for country. I like to play the violin.

My passion lies in the arts and crafts. I would like to do illustration and photography. More specifically street fashion photography and and event photography. Like weddings and funerals. Yes funeral photography does exist and I will like to do it. Since it is also special event. I draw a lot of portraits and landscapes. I have been told that my art is either scary or mysterious. Though I can get a little caught up with my passion. I practice to get better with no rest.

Flaws/toxic traits: I am not empathetic or sympathetic. People always thought I didn't care about my friend's issues. I do i just don't understand them. My compassion does make up for this and will give advice. My other flaw, is the high walls I build to protect myself. I am there for other people. But people were never there for me. People have manupliated me and that cause me trust issues. I don't know how to handle negative emotions like depression, anxiety, self doubt, procrastination. So I just isolate myself in these moods. They really take a toll on me and make me think I can't do my passions. I am afraid of commitment because of toxic relationships i had before.

Love language: I am not obvious with affection. (Because no one ever gave me it). I show it through my teasing and flirting. My love language is however Act of Service. I will help my s/o with anything they need. Chores, work, advice, etc. Sort of the mom of my friend group. But a Savage mom as I have been told. "Stop crying, here I made you a cookie" "do I need to hurt someone" "don't worry I can get coffin with a lock in it". I am also an aggressive supporter. Like "No YOU are beautiful. YOU are gorgeous!" (This happened when someone gives me affection and time try to turn the attention to them as way to hide my fluster)

I will call my s/o like "stupid" "idiot" but in a endearing way. Okay. Occasionally I will use "beloved" and "Cariño/cariña"

I am not good receiving verbal affection or physical affection. I was never given affection so I am not used to it. I will start blushing and stop working. I will also probably say "idiot" or turn the attention to them like "no.. u" but I think fails because I am terrible at hiding my blush. I get easily flustered with affection okay. But I won't ever admit that I like it. Though it is obvious.

Sexuality: i am bisexual so it doesn't matter what gender I am paired up with.

Funt fact i guess?: I love small plants, plushies, and banana milk. Like I have hundreds of different kinds of plants and they each have their own name. Like GGmo, Lily, Melody, Edward. I love Banana milk as I said. I drink it every evening. It always get me happy so when I am sad or had a bad day. I drink banana milk and I am happy. It is also to make up for my coffee addiction. I am addicted to coffee. My friends said no coffee and I was like fine banana milk then :)

This is getting long now... bye.

I'm glad that you like my matchups, I'm trying my best tbh😅 I match you with:

Sebastian Michaelis

Sebastian is very curious in nature, so he definitely wants to know what you're really like, not the front you put on.

He's also very charming when he wants to, he makes it very easy to open up to him and get comfortable around him.

Sure, he, as a demon, doesn't really care much for humans, so when he doesn't have to play the polite, kind butler, he probably has a RBF as well, however, I think that changes when he's interacting with someone he loves.

His sweet words may have been a mask at first, so he could see the real you, but the closer you two become, the more he means every word of praise, encouragment or comfort he utters.

He would most certainly be amused by your crackhead self once you do get comfortable around him, but it's not really his vibe. He wouldn't scold you for being loud, brash or inapropriate, like he does the other servants.

If he's in a really good mood or when the situation calls for it, he can be dramatic as well. Sometimes he'd do it just to get on Ciel's nerves XD

One big pro of being with Sebastian is that he lets you off the hook a lot. If he was talking to anyone else and they'd space out, oh honey, he would stare them down so hard, it's sending chills down my spine just thinking about it. But if it's you it's like a complete 180, Sebastian can't possibly be mad at you, everyone spaces out sometimes, those things just happen.

The other servants make sure to be on your good side so that you could intercede with him on their behalf.

You can't scare him with your true crime stories, but you sure as hell can scare the others. And you can bet your ass Seb's gonna help! The plan is: You tell the story and then he's gonna pop up out of nowhere behind them, giving them mini heart attacks.

If you try to scare him though, you'll need to be on guard 24/7 until he gets you in return. And even if your on guard all the time, he finds a way to scare the life out of you.

Your humor is practically the same, I mean, Sebastian is great at off handed remarks/roasts and sarcastic comments that you have to look for to really see them. You two could be talking shit about anyone and everybody would be like "Oh yeah, normal conversation, yes"

Sebastian would love to dance with you. And trust me when I say this, he is good at any type of dance. If you two are ever at a ball, prepare your feet, because he's not gonna let go of you the whole night (unless his master is in danger of course).

He would be your #1 supporter, he'd go with you out to take photos, and if you asked him to look at some, he'd take a good long look at each and every one of them and describe in detail how he feels about them. Also would go to any art shows you'd host if it came to it.

When it comes to sympathy and empathy, Sebastian also has a hard time showing these feelings. He's been alive for far longer than any human on Earth and he's a demon. He's never had any of the problems humans have, so naturally he doesn't kniw what it feels like to have them. Plus, before you came into his life, he didn't care much for them either.

However, he's gonna be there for you whenever you need him, emotionally or practically, even though he doesn't get your feelings.

You both have walls put up, you because of bad past experiences, him because as a demon, he has major issues with being vulnerable in any way. And I'm not talking just emotionally here, but demons are almost undestroyable, yet they have very few weaknesses that they just need to hide away.

It's rare Sebastian has a problem, but even if he had, you wouldn't know, because he thinks you, as a human, wouldn't understand and so he won't burden your mind with it. However, he's very perceptive and so if your behaviour changes, be it due to anxiety or a depressive episode, he'll know.

Now, he's not the type of person to try and break down your walls by force, but in situstions like these, where he's not sure how to help, you gotta talk to him and he won't leave you alone until you tell him how he can help.

He's not above carrying you around and doing everything for you until you're embarassed enough to tell him

He is very appreciative of your help around, since the other servants are good at everything but what they're supposed to do.

You with your tough love and Sebastian with his teeth rotting compliments and affection, it'd be honestly really funny to watch. He adores how you show affection, because it's different from most people he's known. But on the other hand, you can't expect him not to spoil you afte all the hard work you do every day?

He would really shower you in love and affection, because you deserve it and because it makes you flustered XD

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler matchups #matchups #requests open #black butler x reader #black butler x y/n #sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis x y/n

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pamphletstoinspire · 3 years

Text

Our Lady Goes to War

Some people “read” themselves into the Catholic Church, having been convinced by Patristic writings or by dogmatic and doctrinal arguments. Others, looking about at the chaos within their own denominations, cross the Tiber due to the issue of authority. There are even stories of souls converting because of sacred architecture or liturgy, not to mention matrimony.

But then there are ones “born out of due time” (1 Corinthians 15:8), who have rejected Christianity altogether and undergo, like Saul, a Road to Damascus moment. Why this should occur to those at war with Christ and not others is a mystery. While I never discuss my own conversion (and won’t do so here), it falls in the latter camp. I owe my faith (and subsequent education) entirely to Our Lady of Fatima.

My family is blessed to currently have the Pilgrim Virgin of Fatima staying in our home during this special anniversary of my conversion. And all this has provided me some time to reflect on the events at Fatima, especially the much-needed catechesis given by Our Lady.

For She comes to the world at Fatima terribilis ut castrorum acies ordinata (“fearsome as an army drawn up for battle”) and fires the opening salvo in a war against Marxism and Modernism, a war of which the faithful were largely unaware they were in danger.

In 1907, on the Nativity of the Blessed Mother, Pope Pius X publishes his condemnation of Modernism and closes by wanting some oversight to root out the heresy’s presence among the laity, clergy, and seminaries. He worries that it may prove futile if his remedies are “not dutifully and firmly carried out.”

Who among the faithful, though, ever hear their own shepherds sound this warning? Instead, a decade later, the shepherd children in Portugal receive a visit from the Queen of Heaven among their sheep. She has come to warn and defend her Son’s Church. It is not merely messages and secrets She conveys. She upholds, by the events themselves, the very doctrines that are the remedy.

The first teaching She demonstrates is that the heavenly hosts not only exist but are intimately involved in the mission of Christ and the salvation of Man. This flies in the face of a good many professors and priests who think of angels strictly as “literary devices” in the Bible or mere nursery tales. Before the Virgin ever appears to the shepherd children, She sends an emissary: the Angel of Peace.

For the devout Catholic, the existence of angels is no surprise, though it is greatly scoffed and ignored these days, even from the pulpit. But this emissary also identified himself as the Angel of Portugal. That there are angels who are charged with guarding individual nations is not as well-known as it used to be, despite its place in Scripture. (Cf. Daniel 10:13)

This angel teaches and guards two other truths of the Faith: the True Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, and that propitiatory sacrifice is both real and required by God. Neither of these tenets are accepted in most “theology” departments these days. They have many models of soteriology but that Christ (and we united with Him) must expiate and atone for sins is not one which is typically welcome. But here, the angel sent by Our Lady insists on offering the Eucharistic Lord in reparation for sin as well as many personal sacrifices to “console your God” and to save sinners.

Which brings us to other doctrines Our Lady protects from the encroachment of Modernism: that of Hell and sin. She shows the children Hell itself. They could see human souls falling into it. She tells them many go there because they have no one to pray for their conversion. This underscores the reality of sin. Imagine that such a thing is no longer patently obvious!

I recall an entire course I was required to take in graduate school, allegedly on the Trinity, which opened my eyes to the genuinely frightening state of things. There was no Hell in these teachings. No sacrificial saving act of Christ. No need for Reconciliation because there were no individual personal sins, only “systemic” and “structural” ones.

When I hear from pastors that Hell does not exist; or that it is empty; or perhaps just temporary; or that the wicked blink out of existence; or that Judas is a saint; or when Confession is impossible to come by (except by appointment, or only for the vaccinated); when I am asked whether absolution would make me “feel better,” I think back to this course. And I know such ideas are not a bishop’s “fuzziness” or lack of education. It is its own system of theology that hangs together as a piece. But it is not Catholic.

A final matter on sin: Fatima underscores for us that sin has not only permanent consequences in eternity but real ramifications in this life as well. The Virgin warns that if people do not convert a worse war will break out.

That is perhaps something to spend time praying over. What do our daily choices bring upon the world? Conversely, what do our prayers and sacrifices accomplish?

In a time in which so many feel powerless against the powers-that-be, against the corruption, against the agendas set in motion and the long-plotted evils underway, Mary comes to gather an army. She comes to tell us that we, in our insignificance, make the difference in this Great Battle. Christ’s remnant flock, clinging to their pious devotions and the Ancient Truths of the Faith. Interceding for the world. Reconciling it to God.

Evil cannot stand against such humility and sacrifice. Call on the angels encamped around you! The Virgin never loses. She gives weapons fit for children in this spiritual battle. Penance, the Eucharist, Confession, and the Rosary. They cannot backfire. They harm no one. Then pick them up and lay siege.

By: Taynia-Renee Laframboise

#our lady goes to war

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

hey girlie! so i have another prompt! i would really like your take on the avengers first few weeks/months/year together and how things changed and how they learned to really trust each other and the different, perhaps unexpected, bonds that grew! just some fun almost 2012-esque fluff uwu? (but if you made it angst, i would not complain. you do you) thank you!

Tony took one look at Fury.

“No.”

“Stark, where the hell else are they gonna go?”

“Idaho!” Tony says. “Hulk can leap a ton, he’ll get to New York in about ten minutes with all of them hanging off his back. It’ll be fine.”

Director Fury wants to use Tony’s place of residence as a way to hold the Avengers. As if Tony is just this Amazing, Fantastic Man Who Can Definitely Hold the Avengers in a Building.

He calls Pepper because he knows that they’ll show up. He needs reinforced glass and he needs to start testing just how well his coffee machine can hold up, or if he needs to build an entirely new one.

He probably needs a new one.

Rhodey, understandably, is a bit pissed.

“What, so Fury just decided ‘haha fuck you take these poor souls in’?” Rhodey asks. Tony sighs, flopping down on the couch.

“Essentially, yes. Because apparently, I have better resources to contain them.”

“Military spends over six hundred billion for their budget alone, and SHIELD really thinks you’re the only one who has resources?”

“I’m the only one sharing them,” Tony says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you think that they need healthcare? Steve might need healthcare, I’m not even sure if the serum would allow that…”

“You are not giving them healthcare, I don’t care how nice you are,” Rhodey says. “They can do it themselves since they’re ruining fruit pizza night.”

Fuck.

Clint is shouldering one duffle bag, another bag that he’s trying to keep still, and looking at Natasha, who is staring up at the garish “A” that was put back up after the fight.

“You think this’ll be fine?” Clint asks.

“No.” And just like that, Natasha walks in, like this has always been her home.

The elevator is weird. Clint’s not used to a functional elevator, and realizes that he’ll have to add arm workouts because he won’t have to pry himself from the elevator doors anymore.

He doesn’t know where the gym is. He also doesn’t know how seriously Tony takes coffee.

Steve is…well they told him that he has a room available at Stark Tower, but he’s not entirely sure that he should go.

The apartment in Brooklyn is just fine, even if the rent is too damn expensive. It’s a shoe box of a place, but as long as he can have a bed and a window he’s fine.

“You’re so sad,” Natasha says to him on the phone. He appreciates texting, but it seems that everyone thinks his poor 1940s sensibilities are still ingrained. To some aspect they are, but he also realized that looking at videos of people falling for twenty minutes is hilarious. Everyone else thinks he’s doing something else. He is not.

But he doesn’t want to move. He just got here. And he keeps talking to people who aren’t there.

(He asked Bucky if he still wanted bacon that morning.

He’s not there.)

Fury insists on it.

“You’re under SHIELD,” he says. “And besides, it’ll be good for Stark to finally have someone who’s on his…level.”

“What do you mean by that, Sir?”

“He has an ego. Needs to be taken down a few pegs.”

Steve nods. He’s not completely sure that he agrees with that. Tony flew under giant jet propellers, flew into the sky for what needed to be done. It was death, he knew that.

(Oh, he knew it a bit too well. Sent ice down his spine as a reminder for how well he knows it.)

But he grabs his things because he’s anything if not a good rule-follower, according to history.

He just leaves a bit of a mess for Fury to deal with in the form of “oh, those gosh-darn-new-fangled washing machines! I don’t know what I did. I put spaghetti sauce in the dish detergent area I thought that’s where extra food went!”

Steve knows for a damn fact that that’s not where food goes. He just likes letting them know that he’s not some “how high do I jump, Sir?” kind of guy.

He stares up at the big, ugly tower. Well…here goes nothing.

Thor was actually pretty okay with sleeping on a couch. He was not expecting a bedroom of his own, so when Tony told him?

Thor hugs him.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling. “Your kindness stretches for miles.”

“Um…you’re welcome?” Tony questions, subconsciously rubbing his own arms, as if he can’t believe that someone else hugged him.

“I have a question about human advancement,” Thor says, changing the subject. “I…you guys haven’t figured out my sort of transportation, correct?”

“I didn’t even know we could do that,” Tony says, eyes going wide. “Does it rearrange your cells? Do you have to think about it? How dangerous is it?”

Thor grins, setting down his bag and resting at the kitchen counter. He’ll be ready to talk about this for a while.

Bruce comes into the Tower as quietly as possible, not wanting to cause any huge sort of fuss.

This doesn’t matter when Tony finds him and visibly brightens. Thor is already sitting at the kitchen. He looks surprisingly domestic, just in jeans and a worn t-shirt.

“I didn’t know you went shopping,” Bruce remarked.

“Have to fit in with your mortals somehow,” Thor jokes. “Good to see you again, Doctor.”

“Just call me Bruce,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “What have you guys been talking about?”

“Interdimensional travel. Tony’s betting he can perfect it in under a year,” Thor says.

Bruce looks to Tony.

“You sure about that?”

“So long as you help me,” Tony teases.

The team being together is…awkward. Tony is not used to people living in his house, so he forgets to amend his usual…habits.

Rhodey is used to them, but currently he is overseas on a “top secret” mission. Tony knows all, because that’s the type of friend he can be. He’s sending Rhodey a postcard, addressed to the exact location. Rhodey’s superiors will be furious, unless if it’s one of the older ones.

But Tony is not used to other people being present for his breakfast shenanigans, so he’s in an old tank top that is stained with grease, and he’s humming as he’s flitting around the kitchen, turning on the coffeepot without so much as a thought.

When he turns, he sees Clint.

“You’re a morning person?” Clint asks, eyes as wide as can be.

“You are also up at six in the morning,” Tony says. “So I think that qualifies you as well.”

“Had it not been for SHIELD, neither of us get up before eleven,” Natasha says. “Like the rag you call a shirt, Stark. Suits you.”

Tony pokes out his tongue, taking a swig of coffee.

“You’re just jealous,” Tony says. “I make this look like it could be four hundred dollars.”

Clint groans.

“I’m mad that you’re right,” Clint says. “Hey, quick question. How averse are you to me using your coffeepot?”

“I’m done, go for it,” Tony says. “Thank you for asking, I appreciate it.”

Clint brings out a bag of coffee that Tony was banned from about two years ago.

Pepper does not need to know that.

“If I give you money, will you buy more of this?” Tony says, eyes wide.

“Um, yeah?” Clint says. “This is the only coffee that wakes me up in the morning.”

“Why can’t you buy it?” Natasha asks, suspicious. “Were you banned?”

“Sir was, indeed, banned from the substance,” Jarvis intercedes, smoothly. Natasha jumps a bit. “I would highly advise against buying it for him, as that would induce the wrath of Ms. Potts.”

“Spoilsport,” Tony pouts. “Clint, I will make you a custom-bow with the perfect measurements and full custom design. I would even deign to put any logo on it that you wanted.”

“So if I wanted it to be themed, you’d do it?”

“Yes.”

“Worth it. I also don’t fear death by a powerful woman, it’s in my Top Five Ways to Die list,” Clint says with a shrug.

Steve is used to living with other people. He was in the army, after all, and guys slept about three feet apart. He had thought he would see it all.

This is until he walks in to see Bruce and Natasha in a staredown, hands clasped in an arm-wrestling pose.

“What are the stakes?” Steve asks.

“There are communal strawberries on the line,” Bruce says, not blinking. “And I am going to eat them. Natasha seems to think that she will be taking them to her room.”

“Why not buy more?” Steve asks, settling into the bar with his sketchpad.

“Because that’s the route for pacifists,” Natasha answers.

“Bruce, are you not a pacifist?” Steve asks, raising eyebrows.

“Technically? Yes,” Bruce says. His arm is shaking with effort. “But when fruit is involved that tends to…ebb.”

“I’m going to leave,” Steve says slowly. “I am scared.”

He hears a thump on his way out, a curse from Natasha, and then Bruce passes by him with a huge box of strawberries, cackling maniacally as Natasha rushes after him.

Steve laughs.

Thor raises an eyebrow as Bruce launches himself into his room, shutting the door.

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“Strawberry fights. Very serious thing,” Steve asks, grinning. “Wanna take a bet on if Natasha gets in?”

“She will,” Thor answers. “But twenty bucks says she does it in ten minutes.”

“Twenty minutes for me. You’re on,” Steve counters.

Of course, it isn’t all violets and roses. Steve and Tony fight like cats and dogs, and Bruce gets short with people.

Natasha doesn’t like talking feelings, and Clint would rather launch himself off a building than deal with any sort of threat that is adulthood.

Thor…Thor is older significantly. He’s just dealing with mortal life and how quickly it goes by and the truth behind his father’s reign of Asgard.

The team, gets through it. But not without a few hard knocks.

One of the first moments of bonding as a team is due to the ever-heated-debate of pineapple.

Natasha, Tony, Bruce, and Thor are on the side of “acceptable.”

Clint and Steve are on the side of “simply terrible and the absolute worst.”

Steve comes up to bat first with the line of “I ate war rations that were better than this shit.”

Bruce has nothing to add other than “my self-esteem directly correlates to pineapple on pizza.”

“I don’t know what that means, but! I think if we put pineapple on pizza then you guys can’t argue when I make my food.”

“You think putting cheese-sticks instead of shredded cheese on pizza is acceptable,” Tony says. “I have trust issues because of that. They didn’t even melt right!”

“I thought you were all about admitting to mistakes, Mr. Sorry-I-Accused-the-Whole-Team-of-Stealing-My-Kiwi-When-it-was-Rhodey,” Clint teases.

“Speaking of, what is Rhodey’s opinion on this?” Steve asks. “I bet he hates pineapple!”

“We are not bringing him into this,” Tony says quickly.

“I’m calling him,” Clint says.

“How do you have his number?”

“I’m Hawkeye. I see all.”

“You couldn’t even see the name of ‘Bruce Banner’ on top of my Murtabak.”

“How am I expected to read that shitty doctor language? Anyways, you should be grateful that I ate it because my toes curled because of the spice.”

“You can’t handle the spice!”

“You’re right!”

From there, it dissolves into giggles and laughs.

Tony orders pizza, and they all sit around the common room, debating over what is the least acceptable topping (other than pineapple in some settings).

They end up debating over sardines next, which Steve says “aren’t the worst.”

Natasha says broccoli, which is agree upon. Broccoli should not go on pizza.

Steve draws a little picture of Clint and Tony arguing, complete with gesticulating hands and the little t-shirt details of Clint.

Thor hangs it up on the fridge.

“This is now where we hang accomplishments,” Thor says gravely. “I saw it in a show. Do people actually do that here?”

“Don’t ask me,” Steve says. “I just got a fridge this century. Didn’t have one growing up. Too poor in the Depression.”

“I can’t believe you and me both lived in a Depression,” Bruce says thoughtfully.

“Bruce, you were born in the–” Steve stops for a moment. “Oh. Now that’s a neat joke.”

Bruce snorts.

The fridge is stacked with sticky notes that are usually petty in nature, although Tony allows his good stationary to be used for good accomplishments.

The Petty Messages are as Follows:

Bruce managed to share blueberries with Natasha and not bitch about it the whole duration. Incredible. -Nat.

Thor actually didn’t monopolize the aux cord and play his super shitty playlist that is full of bad 2000s music. -Tony

Tony withstood the whole duration of American Classic “Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls” and only winced once. -Thor.

Steve managed to be tolerable for more than three hours. -Bruce

Clint is a Good Guy Who Deserves Good Things -Natasha

Even though she wrote that drunk she’s right lmao -Clint

The Excellent Messages are as Follows:

Tony actually opened up and told us what was bothering him so we could address it! -Clint and Bruce

Thor helped Natasha with her furniture and helped us calm down from IKEA instructions. -Steve

Bruce kicked the government’s ass. -Everyone on the team plus Maria and Fury

Steve tried to roller skate and provided wholesome content when he was gripping the wall but also bonded with the team. -Natasha

Clint baked cookies!!!!!!!!! And didn’t burn the tower down!!!!! -Tony

Rhodey finally let us make fruit pizza and shared his music playlists. -Thor

Natasha helped with group therapy today and opened up. It was amazing and I love her so much for that. -Bruce

The team grows closer, due to many reasons. But most of all, it is because they kept trying, which is very important. Even when they wanted to rip their hair out and they said the wrong things, they were still there and circling back around to make an apology.

So when they’re out for battle, they don’t worry if someone won’t have their back. Hulk will be there with outstretched palm, Iron Man will be there with a quick joke and open arms, Black Widow will be there with deadly skill. Hawkeye will be there with the most accurate aim in the world, Thor will be there with thunderous force, and Captain America will have a shield and protection.

But Bruce will be there when they need a joke and calm reassurance. Tony will be there to share his endless affection and touch. Natasha will be there with sound logic, a smile, and soft sweaters. Thor will be there with stories of old, energetic reassurance, and a strong and reliant personality. Steve will be there with art and words that go unsaid but not unheard.

That, perhaps, is the most important.

#LLLLLOOOOOOONNNNGGGGG #tony stark #rhodey #ironhusbands #ish #avengers as a family #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #thor #steve rogers #clint barton #iron man #black widow #captain america #hawkeye #hulk #anyways yes they BOND and are GOOD together #lovelyirony writes #tsatkes is a godsend

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

Text

Making this its own post because replying to the ask got so weirdly formatted I can’t even. Oh tumblr. You work so well.

@themessofthecentury asked:

jsksjf my tumblr notifs are bugging and i didnt see your post but!!! The patron Saint of Robins?? I am much intrigue!!

(This is from this ask game, just....gotten to late, lololol. And I still have more I’m getting to, no worries. Just had a rough couple days is all, laid me up a bit.)

Okay, so The Patron Saint of Robins is kinda like the situation at the end of Grayson, except also not at all. And actually this is one of my older WIPs, and according to Scrivener I started it in 2015 afhislfhalhfalf, so it really has nothing to do with that. Also, its Young Justice-verse, but for two specific reasons:

1) YJ-verse is my go-to for Good Dad Bruce Wayne, when I don’t want to actually tackle the issues I have with his and his kids’ dynamic in comic book canon. I don’t carry over things like the adoption issue or the Robin succession into YJ fics, as I don’t think there’s anything that suggests they’re ever a specific issue in YJ and I don’t feel a need to make them one. So pretty much anything and everything I write in YJ goes with the backstory that Dick’s already adopted by Season One, and he’s the one to grant each later Robin permission to use the mantle, with no conflict over that, and more of a pre-Crisis transition to Nightwing than the post-Crisis firing from Robin. And this fic inherently needs Good Dad Bruce Wayne to work, lol.

2) I needed Klarion the Witch-Boy. Who of course exists in comic book canon, but is muuuuuch different there, and I just needed him to be a little demonic evil shithead, who sets everything in motion to get payback on the heroes for thwarting the Light in Season One, and he targets Robin due to being the oft-cited ‘first of the baby brat heroes’ and the ‘heart of the cape community.’

You don’t really need to be familiar with YJ canon at all for this one, as it goes sharply AU from after Season One, and only faintly and vaguely references specific events from that season. And I use my own YJ-ized version of the Titans as much as the actual YJ Team.

So basically, the plot of this one is to take revenge on the heroes for spoiling his game in Season One, Klarion plays a new game, by putting a chaos curse on Robin. It essentially erases him from peoples’ memories, though he’s perfectly able to make new ones. If he re-introduces himself to someone ask Dick Grayson, for instance, they don’t suddenly remember who Dick Grayson is or was, but they don’t forget about him again from that point onward, its like they meet him for the first time as a stranger.

But the curse part of things is only Batman can break it and restore everyone’s memories of Dick and his actual history, and only by identifying him for who he really is. And Dick can’t be part of breaking his own curse or else it seals it and makes it permanent and unbreakable forever.

Which of course leaves Dick completely miserable at first, understandably, and Bruce (and everyone else Dick knows, to varying different degrees) feeling some kind of loss but with no idea what it is they think or feel that they’re missing. Dick makes some half-hearted attempts at starting a new life for himself in Gotham, and in the process befriends a street kid named Jason Todd, though Dick introduces himself to Jason with just the name Robin.

The way the curse operates is it restitches together peoples’ memories to cover up the gaps where memories of him would go. So for instance, even though Jason never knew Dick before the curse, he was familiar with Batman and Robin just as much as any Gothammite was.....but due to the curse, the name Robin, upon meeting Dick, had no special meaning to him or anyone else. As far as he knew, Batman had always operated on his own in Gotham, the first teen superhero was that Speedy kid in Star City, etc. So when Jason first meets Dick, he just thinks he’s some dude whose name happens to be Robin.

Eventually, because Dick’s been kinda torturing himself by spying on Bruce just to ‘keep an eye on him’ and still watch his back, and he’s recognized by now that Bruce is mourning his loss without even knowing that he’s missing something....so Dick, who has also kinda come to see Jason as a little brother figure due to watching out for him as well....decides to kill two birds with one stone, unfortunate pun not intended. (Jason doesn’t die in this one, lol). Basically, Dick puts in motion the chain of events that lead Jason to stealing Batman’s tires, because he doesn’t know EXACTLY what Bruce will do but he knows it’ll get his attention in a big way and Bruce will take it from there.

One thing leads to another, Jason ends up living with Bruce and when eventually he wants to be trained by Bruce so he can do what he does and protect kids like he used to be.....when asked to pick a name....Jason names himself after the guy who always looked out for him, and who led to him being found by Bruce in the first place. He doesn’t know that his friend ‘Robin’ steered him towards those tires deliberately, just to bring him and Bruce into contact, but he does credit him with making the suggestion that ‘inadvertently’ (as far as he knows) enabled his and Bruce’s introduction, and so he names himself in honor of the boy who helped him and who he tried to track down again to similarly help, after Bruce adopted him, but was never able to find again.

Over the years, Dick also ends up steering Tim, Cass, Duke and Damian to Bruce in different ways than comic book canon (Steph and Babs’ debuts remain their own, as family adjacent but not family specifically) and thus is integral to the forming of the Batfam and has a connection with them even before the curse ultimately ends up broken and he’s able to reclaim his full identity. And each of them end up Robin at least briefly, like Steph is never Robin in this AU, and sticks with Spoiler, whereas Cass IS briefly Robin before becoming Batgirl after Babs. I did this for a few different reasons...

One, I really like that Cass is never Robin in main continuity as it creates a different dynamic between her and Dick than most of their siblings have, BUT I’ve always been curious to play around what Cass-as-Robin might even be like, just for an AU. Two, part of the Black Bat and Batgirl but never Robin sequence of mantles for Cass in the comic book continuity is like.....although it doesn’t get explored nearly enough, Babs was as much a kind of mother figure for Cass as Bruce was a father figure, despite Babs’ young age. So it makes more sense for Cass to stick more to just Bat-mantles than to ever be a Robin in the comic books. But in YJ, Babs is even younger, and just way too young to have the specific kind of dynamic that leads to that in the comic books, so its not as unreasonable IMO for her to have a different dynamic in her early days in the family here, before becoming closer with Babs and taking up the Batgirl mantle after she moves on to become Oracle.

And then also, and this is also the primary reason for making Duke a Robin briefly, before Damian is old enough....I got hung up on the title and it just didn’t work as well if it was Robins + Cass and Duke, lololol. See, in addition to helping steer the family into the points of introduction that make them a family, over the years he also acts as like, a guardian angel figure to the various family members, looking out for them and interceding in times of extreme danger, like when Jason is almost killed by the Joker. He’s always in disguise, but the kids eventually compare notes and realize there’s a singular figure behind each of their introductions to Bruce and the guy swooping out of nowhere to save their behinds whenever they’re most in danger, and Jason eventually connects this back to the guy who apparently NOT so coincidentally suggested he go after the Batmobile’s tires that fateful night, and the kids end up jokingly/not-so-jokingly referring to this figure as the Patron Saint of Robins. (Shout-out to the occasional mentions/allusions of Jason’s Catholicism).

They never tell Bruce about this figure (at least before Bruce starts to put together clues on his own), because they all figured out that for whatever reason, this person despite wanting them all to meet Bruce seems to want to avoid Bruce himself, and they kinda want to respect that as a kind of payback for his help, and also like....Bruce, even a kinder, gentler Bruce, is still Bruce. And when Bruce is gonna Bruce, that means Batparanoia. And all of them for various reasons DO trust that this guy has nothing but good intentions towards them, and so they don’t want to like....ruin or tarnish the positivity they associate with his intercession in their lives with paranoia or treating him like a bad guy. Which ultimately is really just smoke and mirrors for saying that he’s kinda a ‘just for them’ secret. Its a Robin thing.

(Until its not).

Because meanwhile, Dick, in between meeting the various Batfam members and pulling strings and looking out for them from the shadows, at first travels the world looking for ways to break his curse. But when ultimately its clear that the only way to break it is the loophole built into it already, Bruce identifying him for who he really is, but without Dick doing anything to steer him towards the answer, Dick settles into a new hero identity as Nightwing, and forms the Teen Titans, a public group of young superheroes (minus Roy and Wally, unfortunately, but still with Donna, Garth, Raven, Kory, ignoring season 3 Vic and also Terra because AU redemption arc what what, etc). And the Teen Titans avoid both the Young Justice Team and the Justlce League with EXTREME measures, much to the other heroes’ confusion and aggravation, because in the early days of the Titans, in a moment of what he’d term weakness, on one of his ‘bad days,’ Dick tells them enough of his story that they’re able to put together a good sense of what happened and who he really is by reading between the lines and what he leaves unsaid....

BUT as a result, all end up extremely committed to not mixing and mingling casually with the rest of the cape community because they don’t want to risk dropping any hints about the guy under Nightwing’s mask, in case that might count as steering Batman towards clues and seal the curse for good. So I have a lot of fun with having the Titans just nope out of the scene the second the bad guys are defeated even when they have to team up with other heroes, leaving the other heroes confused as hell and trying not to be all ‘WHY DON’T YOU LIKE US??”

Anyway, so yeah, that’s the gist of this one, lol. With it of course following the eventual plot that like...the Batfam starts to Detect and put things together.

ANYWHO!

Snippet

Damian versus Klarion: Round One

“Aww, its adorable that you think you’re in my league,” the Witch-Boy cooed in an absolute mockery of sympathy. Damian bristled, but before he could do anything more than that, he was faced with a much more pressing matter as reality completely lost its mind.

The walls of the cavern fell away in an instant, only to be replaced with a whirling dervish of winds all around them, as if they now stood in the center of a cyclone that bled red and silver and black. It shrieked and wailed in a chorus of voices just on the other side of being comprehensible, a symphony of the damned that set every nerve in Damian’s body aflame with a primal instinct to get out, to find silence, to be anywhere but here.

He’d barely staggered a step backwards when the ground erupted beneath him, splitting apart into jagged obsidian shards that bobbed precariously in the sea of magma barely glimpsed through cracks now spiderwebbing their way across the floor. Spears of lightning burst upwards through them, stabbing impossibly at the heavens rather than raining down from them. They hissed and crackled as they flickered like forked serpent tongues of electric violet and black. The forks becoming branches, the pillars of sky-shattering light transforming into the trunks of great trees that grew upwards and outward, weaving a canopy overhead. One that wept violently red leaves that fell gently to the ground, only to hiss and bubble like acid once they did.

“See, normally this is when I’d hit someone with a little razzle-dazzle like this,” Klarion called out over the song of madness he’d created, as it crooned and careened wildly all around them. He snapped his fingers, and in the span of a second it all ceased. Reality reaffirmed itself, and all was right with the world once more…except now the two of them stood at the end of a hallway in Wayne Manor.

Damian stumbled, the sudden reappearance of firm ground paradoxically being the thing to challenge his balance. The demon boy standing beside him crooked his thumb and forefinger in the semblance of a gun, the smile pasted across his face one of wickedly gleeful malice.

“But you, kiddo, you’re special. Cuz there’s nothing I could do to you now that could top what I’ve already done, so why try when I can just savor the moment instead?”

“What are you babbling about?” Damian demanded roughly. In the wake of what the Witch-Boy had just conjured up with nothing more than a gesture, he was keenly aware of how flimsy a shield his bravado made. He just had absolutely no idea what else to fall back on.

Klarion only threw back his head and laughed though, skipping merrily down the hall as he did.

“I know something you don’t know,” he sing-songed and Damian lost what little grasp of his patience he’d managed to hang onto.

“You overestimate my need for an answer. Attempt to intimidate me all you wish, but I have no desire to indulge your little game any further.”

Klarion jerked to a stop and spun around, his face screwed into a childish pout. He stomped his foot, petulance personified. “I’m not intimidating you anymore, I’m gloating! Ugh, you’re so stupid! They’re completely different, how can you not tell?”

Every light in the hallway flickered and fizzed abruptly. The walls wavered, bubbled, momentarily molten as if made of wax.

Again Damian was reminded just how mercurial this being he was faced with was, and how dangerous. Perhaps, as Father would say, this was not the time to indulge his own instinctive inclinations. Or as Todd would put it, just because you’re already fucked, that’s no reason to fuck yourself over more than you have to.

Crude as his older brother was, there was occasional merit to his…pithiness. Not that he would be admitting that any time soon, of course.

“Fine. What is it you wish to gloat about then?” Damian grated out. The appeasement, such as it was, tried its best to stick in his throat before finally clawing its way free. But at least it proved worth the effort when the godling’s mood reverted back to impishness as readily as with the flip of a switch.

“Well. Its like this, you see.” Klarion said. He dragged it out as he folded both legs underneath him to sit cross-legged in the air, plopping his head into his hands. “I did a baaaaaaaaaaaaad, bad thing to your family, a loooooong time ago. And none of you have done anything about it, because you don’t even know! Isn’t that funny? Doesn’t matter how big a hero Daddy Bats is if he doesn’t even know what needs saving huh? Little Catch-22 there, you might say.”

“Yes. Quite hysterical,” Damian said dryly. “So what is it you claim to have done then?”

The Witch-Boy just sat there, regarding him with amusement, and the seconds marched on into minutes. Damian’s skin crawled. Prickling with impatience and possibly something…more. He wasn’t quite ready to name it anxiety or something as melodramatic as all that yet. In fact, he’d rather not put a name to it at all, but today did not appear to be a day for configuring things to his liking.

Klarion’s wicked grin grew as if sensing his thoughts, though to the best of his knowledge (and Damian did quickly ransack the library of his memory just to be sure) there was no indication telepathy was included among the Chaos Lord’s many, many powers. And still that detestable smile stretched slowly wider all the same, in perfect synchronization with the rising tide of Damian’s unease. Perhaps the Witch-Boy’s file was in need of annotation.

“How many doors would you say are in this hallway?”

“What? Seven.” Damian snapped out his answer, annoyed by the non sequitur. Not to mention baffled. Was it too much to expect even a semblance of linear thought from the Chaos brat?

“Are you suuuuuuure?” The Witch-Boy stretched his query out obnoxiously. “Maybe you should count again. Just for kicks and giggles.”

Damian throttled back each and every retort attempting to spring to his lips, stuffing them back down and cramming a lid on everything he most dearly wished to say to this most vexing of…shitheads. Once again, it appeared as though nothing less than Todd’s preferred form of nomenclature would suffice. Wonderful. On top of everything else Damian had to deal with today, he seemed to be finding common ground with the man all over the place. Was there no end to the indignities he must suffer?

But marshaling his own formidable willpower, Damian took a deep breath and indulged the Chaos Lord, glancing his eyes down the length of the hallway and counting out each doorway one by one. There was his own room of course, with Cassandra’s to the right of his, and the room Brown used when staying over to the right of hers. That was three. Then there was Thomas directly across from his own room, with Drake to his right and Todd just beyond that, with Father’s room at the very end of the hall, his master suite staggered and with no direct opposite like the others. Seven.

Except all of a sudden there was a door directly opposite his father’s. For a total of eight.

Damian’s brow furrowed in consternation. The faint whispers of uncertainty already seeded throughout him bore fruit, ripening into poisonous stabbings of doubt.

“That’s not real,” he stated with as much conviction as he could muster.

The Witch-Boy’s smile only grew wider still. “Isn’t it, though?”

“There’s never been a door there before,” Damian persisted, striding confidently down the hall towards it. The Chaos Lord flitted ahead of him, inverting til he was upside down and skipping merrily once more, though this time from the ceiling.

“Or has it been there all along?” He sing-songed some more.

“I would think we might have noticed if it had been,” Damian growled.

“Yes, you’d think, wouldn’t you? You are all supposed to be a family of detectives, I thought. Makes you wonder…if you could miss this, what else might you have failed to notice?”

Damian snarled to himself and did his best to shut out the demon boy’s prattling. He quickened his strides, eating up the length of the hallway in his haste to reach its end. He wasn’t sure what opening the door would prove, let alone what bewilderment the godling had conjured on its other side, but it appeared the only end to this game of his was through it, so let there be an end to it already.

And yet, for all his certainty - or best facsimile of it - he couldn’t help but pause once he reached the door in question. His hand hovered within reach of its brass knob, but some instinct, some…caution, held him at bay. As much as he wanted to dismiss all this as just one more of the Chaos Lord’s inane charades, there was a tension in the air that felt too weighty to be the product of just magical conjuring. Something more was in play here. Real forces were at work. His father might disdain magic, but Damian had been around enough of it himself to know when true power had been raised. And the span of empty space between his hand and this hither-to-unseen doorknob held more of it than Damian had felt throughout all the mad warpings Klarion had made of reality thus far.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Klarion asked from somewhere overhead. His voice, usually pitched to carry, was so soft for a moment Damian mistook it for his own inner doubts. “Some doors are easier to open than to close again, you know.”

Even knowing the goading for what it was couldn’t stop Damian then, and with a simple breath to fortify himself, he reached for the knob, spun it once, and shoved the door open all in a single sharp movement.

The Witch-Boy giggled up above.

The door swung wide, a forceful arc that should have revealed anything and everything within it all at once; the better to react quickly to whatever that might be. Fine in principle, perfect in execution, but thwarted by one small detail:

There was nothing on the other side.

And not in the sense of it being just an empty room, but true nothingness. A pitch-black abyss darker than the deepest night, yawning forth from the doorway in a vast, impenetrable shroud. Nor was anything hidden in the darkness, Damian knew, even if just intuitively. He could feel it, that he stood on the edge of an impossible cliff, that there was nothing beyond this threshold but an aching chasm of emptiness and loss. The surety of it hung in the air, thick and heavy, a miasma that seeped through to his side of the doorway and clung to him like the moisture of a fog beads upon the skin.

Klarion’s head suddenly popped up alongside him, hovering just over his shoulder.

Albeit still upside down.

“Well that doesn’t seem right,” he mused, tapping at his lips with a forefinger. “What do you suppose is meant to be in there?”

The last of Damian’s brittle patience shattered.

“Enough! What is the meaning of all this, demon? Speak plainly, for once in your miserable existence!”

His self-preservation instincts and the reminder of just who it was he was shouting at kicked in too little too late, but he wouldn’t take his exasperated fury back even if he could. He was who he was after all. But fortunately, that described the Witch-Boy just as accurately, and rather take offense or perceive any actual threat from Damian’s rage, the Chaos Lord just shrieked with laughter and sprung backwards. He flipped right side up, still hovering in mid-air, and clapped his hands with glee.

“Oh, I should have done this ages ago,” Klarion sang out. “Why, you’re almost as fun as he used to be. Back before he got all droll and serious, that is. He’s no fun at all anymore, nothing like this. Never wants to play, always just running back to his tower with that little bitch of a demoness.”

His face soured like he’d just sucked on a lemon. But rather than stop there, his countenance kept morphing into an increasingly savage scowl, the longer he ranted. The hallway was suddenly sweltering, baking with unseen heat that twisted the air into shimmering ribbons. The small horns sprouting from his forehead burst into scimitars of flame that cut through those ribbons and set them similarly ablaze.

“Always putting on airs like she’s some kind of royalty, just because her Daddy Dearest put the fear into a few peasants back in the day,” the Witch-Boy snarled viciously. “As if that’s enough to put her on par with the likes of me. No one is the likes of me. NO ONE!”

Reality itself quaked with the force of his shout. White-blue flames spat forth and crescendoed down the length of the corridor, splashing against its walls and searing them to a crisp. Damian braced himself for all the good it would do, keenly aware of the void still gaping hungrily behind his back, but before the fire could become an actual danger to him as well, all was quiet once more.

Silence hung in the air much like the demon boy, poised yet motionless. Suspended. Waiting.

And then Klarion simply inhaled and brushed his hands down the front of his garments, smoothing out the wrinkles as he reclaimed his calm. The corridor restored itself to its former self, curtains of vintage reality unrolling from the ceiling to the floor as though papering over the damage. Damian felt rather than saw when the portal behind him swung shut and was replaced with the expanse of ivory paint and ornate sconces he was used to seeing in its place.

“I am one of a kind, after all,” Klarion finally remarked. It was a casual drawl offered forth almost off-handedly, as if more a reminder to himself than uttered for anyone else’s sake. He used one hand to spell out letters in the air. They appeared and vanished again in bursts of fireworks and fluorescent flame. “U-N-I-Q-U-E.”

“As I, apparently, am not,” Damian said, seizing upon the Chaos Lord’s restored calm and good cheer. “Who is this ‘he’ you mentioned? If I’m to be pitted against him as entertainment in your eyes, might I at least know his name?”

“Nuh-uh-uh,” the Witch-Boy scolded. He wagged his finger at Damian. “No spoilers. That’s not how the game is played.”

Keenly aware of the boy’s power once more, Damian gritted his teeth and pressed on. “Well, if there are to be rules, shouldn’t I at least know what those are?”

Klarion sucked in a deep breath, drawing himself up along with his inhalation as though preparing for some great speech…and instead just toppling backward, flopping onto an extravagant fainting couch that suddenly appeared beneath him, though similarly floating in the air.

“I can’t recall at the moment.” His now-faint voice drifted up from where he lay buried amid a mountain of pillows. “I’ve had a terribly exhausting day. But you’re supposed to be a detective, remember? Go…I don’t know. Detect things.”

He flapped an arm at Damian dismissively, and then crooked a finger into a twirling motion that set his divan to spinning in lazy circles.

“Isn’t life grand?” Klarion sighed fondly. “With all its twists and turns, its eddies and swirls. I mean, take the two of us. Scant hours ago, we were mortal enemies, and just look at us now.”

The Witch-Boy lazily rolled his head to the side as the couch drifted to bring him face-to-face with Damian. His lips spread wide in that malevolent, wicked grin of his once again, but somehow it managed to be even wider than any he’d shown off before. His eyes blazed with a hellish inner light, and his voice, when next he spoke, dropped deep into a demonic register. A bass that boomed forth and set Damian’s very bones to rattling.

“Ain’t we got fun?”

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talldarkandroguesome · 3 years

Text

25th of Hearthfire, Loredas

When Veya roused herself, she gave me a pendant as a thank you. I told her that I did not need it, that I had been forced to lose a brother in a life or death choice, so I knew how it could feel to want to see things resolved. To see some kind of justice for everything.

I left out the full details, they were hardly important. This was about Veya’s feelings, not mine.

She still insisted I take it. She told me that outside of Naryu and Ashur, I might be her closest friend. It was a vulnerable moment and I dare not refuse it on such terms, though it broke my heart that after less than a week I might be considered so close by her. Was she so naive? Or had things seemed so dreadfully hopeless to her already? I did not wish to think on it.

Veya told me she still did not understand how Brivan could be involved, he was her brother’s best friend. I told her that there was likely a lot more being offered to him for the opportunity, but that we would not know for certain until we spoke with the soldiers.

She did not seem to think it would do any good, on account of House before family. I told her I understood that, I was of a House myself, but that if even one of them were as upstanding as her brother, that they would likely seek out justice above all else. That was what Ulran had done to the end and it was enough to inspire those following such a leader.

She told me she knew a few ways to get people to talk if they did not wish to share and I reminded her that that sort of method was probably not going to win her much more than a rite of execution. She told me I was as dire as Naryu.

I told her that while I was not an assassin, I had been a spy and trained to do much the same job as Tong members like her, only under a different label. She wrinkled her nose and asked why I would follow Sithis.

I laughed and told her that I did not. I was far too optimistic and life-loving for that sort of thing. That I was more aligned with the worship that fascinated her brother than she may realize.

She seemed to want to learn more, but I told her that if we wanted to get any answers, we should get a move on. After all, was she not the one who wanted to get out there and see some action?

That brightened her, and her beaming smile showed that, despite all the talk of killing people left and right, there was still a hopeful young mer under it all. I decided that in Naryu’s absence, I would do my best to at least try to steer Veya out of the way of harm and trouble both. It would do no good having risked so much just to leave things fall apart now.

So we made our way out of the city and west to the old Chimer ruin.

Hlormaren was not as it had been described in the old tales. And yet, there it stood, still strong and proud, an example of good fortification. We set out to find signs of the Redoran soldiers. As Veya explained to me, they had been sent to track down cultists. I feared that it all may have been a death sentence or a trap, either way the plan was likely to simply kill them all and leave no witnesses behind.

I asked Veya if she knew the leader of this group, a mer named Vatola and she said that she did. He was your typical loyal soldier and devoted to Ulran. It did not surprise me. He seemed an unlikely candidate for having betrayed Ulran, making me lean towards the idea that they were mere witnesses and were being killed to clean up a trail that could get back to the House or the Council.

We soon found signs of where the soldiers had camped. Then a bit further we found a lost sword and a torn insignia for the worship of someone called Nycot, whoever that was supposed to be. And eventually even a fallen soldier. It was clear that we had the right place at least, as grizzly as the impaled body was. Verya recognized the fallen mer, but not the civilians impaled next to him. It was typical cultist style deterrents, we just had to hope some of the soldiers were still alive.

I asked Veya if we should not wait for Naryu. After all, three of us defending against a group of cultists that could have tens of members was a lot better odds. And no one wants to be impaled in such a way as to disembowel them.

Veya brushed me off and reminded me that after what happened to the Zainab, time was of the essence. I did not disagree and warned her of the dangers of cultists and she steeled herself for the battle ahead. I knew that she would be eager since she seemed so thirsty for blood.

She did not disappoint.

We slay any who got in our way and I admired how deftly she cut down enemies, given her inexperience. It did not take us long to find a few great cages with Vatola and a sparse few of his soldiers. He recognized Veya right at the outset, too. Which was a relief since it could mean an easy exchange of information and more people to help us fight our way out if necessary.

When I asked about what had happened with Ulran, Vatola got very defensive and demanded to be let out before he would talk. I could understand a fear of being caught, but it was the resolution in his voice that felt off. Perhaps he was the type after all.

Veya immediately began to gear up for beating the information out of Vatola and it seemed to shake him. Looking between them, I knew I could not leave her alone with them. In the state she was in, she was too likely to take things too far on accident and kill one or all of them.

I decided to intercede. I told him that I would definitely get them out of there. I could pick the lock at any time, but in order to help to keep the peace, I suggested that he simply tell us the information so we could move things along. I even said I would pick the lock while he spoke.

He tried to say he was wanting to protect Veya, the wrong thing to say. She raised her voice, saying how she was going to handle more than the truth if he did not start speaking soon.

I pulled out my lock picks and told him he better hurry and tell her and tha tI would see them free as soon as they shared what they knew.

I may have also used my birth gift to ensure that he would agree. But given the fragile situation, it was the only avenue truly left to me.

Vatola said that he was with Ulran furing the incident. That he had been the one ordered to lure the Velothi to Balmora so that Ulran might be given his loyalty test.

My stomach went cold. That same hatred that Veya was feeling spread in frozen fractals through my blood and I, too, wished for blood to be spilled.

Of course, I held that in and moved my lockpicks without actually moving any of the inner pins.

Then, to make matters worse, he told us that it was, in fact, Brivan who had given the order for the loyalty test.

Veya turned and began to run out of the fort. I turned to follow, Vatola cursing me and asking how Veya could abandon them like this.

I felt little sympathy. They had betrayed someone who trusted them and killed innocents in the process with no remorse. They deserved to be treated the same by whatever strange cultists had caught them. If they somehow managed to survive, I could deal with that myself.

Yet as I gave chase, Veya drew her own shadows to her, damn her. I could tell she was running, but with the way she was going I had to slow down to be able to track her. Even using all the means at my disposal, she was quickly gaining a lead.

I managed to track her back to Balmora. I had assumed that was where she was headed, though I had half hoped she might go to her cave to regroup and plan, though no such luck.

I understood why she was upset, but her inability to understand the consequences of her action was dangerous. When we had been talking and discussing the rules she was to abide by, she told me plainly that in this case the rules did not apply to her.

It made me wonder if she might be cut out for the Morag Tong at all. But seeing that she does have the basic skills, it makes me all the more worried. No one is more dangerous and a mer with basic knowledge and ability. You know how to use your power, but you have not the control or wisdom to ensure that it is used properly.

Veya has clearly decided that going rogue is her prerogative. If she were not in the Morag Tong that would be one thing, but her actions do not only affect her, they reflect on Naryu. And if she manages to kill someone without a writ, not only will she be responsible, so will Naryu.

I thought I could guide Veya, to show her the way gently. But she is too hot headed to listen to reason right now. If she cannot learn to do that, then she will have herself and Naryu killed. If I can do anything at all to stop this, I will.

I should have done something more to keep her in the safe house. We have a budding friendship, I could have used my birth gift to force her to wait. She would have hated me. It may have made things worse, but at least Naryu would be there to have the chance to make the decision.

I was so relieved, when, moments after I made it into the streets of the city, Naryu ran up to me and told me in Velothis that we had a situation. I told her we did and it was probably worse than she knew and while I may be to blame, we had to deal with it all first and she could stab me afterwards.

She was already rather upset that Veya was out of the safe house and the House guard after her. I explained briefly about trying to temper Veya’s... well... temper. That we went to gather information, I figured we would be away from the city and hopefully getting some answers might bring closure. Only now she knew that Brivan was involved and was almost certainly on her way to kill him, despite my attempts to try and stop her.

Naryu said Veya was clearly n the kinhouse and we agreed she needed to be stopped. I elected to go in and find her since I had less to lose in all this and said I would use my birthgift if necessary to force her out. If not, I had a boon from our Prince that might come in handy.

Naryu said she was grabbing Ashur and that they would look for where she may have escaped to in town and we ran in separate directions.

Inside the kinhouse was a trail of dead bodies, all of them guards. A servant was on his knees quivering, muttering that she had just been so silent and killed them all so fast. So easily. Before storming up the stairs to Brivan’s apartment.

I realized just how dangerous this entire situation had gotten. It was spiraling out of control faster than lantern on hay.

There was a note stuck to the wall with a dagger claiming to take what was loved in exchange for what was taken from her. This was going to be more than a brief rampage and I wondered how long it would be before the killing wore her down enough to rest and maybe regain her senses. There was no time to waste and I rushed upstairs.

I found Brivan’s wife, alive and well, and she told me that Veya had demanded to know about where her husband was and she had told her about a House Council meeting at the garrison north of the city.

I hurried out into the streets and found Naryu almost at once. She asked if I had found Veya and I conveyed what I had learned to her.

Naryu was shocked. Particularly about how many soldier Veya had killed in pursuit of her revenge. We agreed that once we had stopped Veya from doing anything worse, we could work on a way to manage the very real problem of the potential ramifications for Naryu, Ashur, and every other member of the Morag Tong. That was a political situation to be dealt with when time permitted.

It was good that already there seemed to be some rumor that a writ may have been purchased by House Hlaalu who had been trying to make a foothold in the city of late. I do not know if that may have been started by Ashur or Naryu, or if someone else was responsible, but I was sure that I would help that rumor along when I had the chance.

When Naryu and I arrived to the garrison, we saw that it was the Warclaws, not House soldiers who were guarding the councilors. It was very strange. Had all this been a setup where Brivan knew he could use the situation to justify mercenaries? Was someone trying to take control of the House guard by getting rid of as many of the guard as possible? Somewhere someone was going to make a lot of money.

Naryu said she thought she had an idea of how we could use this all to our advantage, but first we needed to get Veya out of there, knocking her unconscious and dragging her out if necessary.

I agreed, this was going to cause ripples throughout all of Morrowind if it was not stopped. We headed into the fray, cutting our way through the mercenaries when necessary and weaving our path to the front of the garrison without letting too many know where we were.

Inside we split up to cover more ground. We were already playing catch up and needed to get to Veya quickly.

We joined back up at a door that was locked. Naryu said she would go through the door and I should take the back way. We agreed she had a better chance of getting through to Veya, so I headed down to the cellar since Naryu thought there might be another way around. If we could get on both sides of her, we would have a better chance at stopping this.

I had to kill a few Warclaws, but I managed to find the passage Naryu mentioned and even found Brivan. He was smarter than he looked and recognized me from before.

I told him that I was there to warn him that Veya had found out about what he did and was coming to kill him. He started insulting her age and then threatening me for killing his mercenaries. I told him that he had the blood of Ulran and an entire camp of peaceful Ashlanders on his hands so he was in no place to judge the worth of other’s lives.

He seemed to welcome the threat and said he wanted Veya to try and kill him. That he set things in motion, but was told by Councilor Eris to help prove his son’s loyalty to the House, who thought that Ulran had been corrupted by Velothi influence.

It seemed rich to me to place the blame on another person when so many of Brivan’s actions had killed so many others. That things in Vvardenfell had become so hostile.

Not that I had much time to finish the thought, for Veya appeared from behind Brivan and had her dagger in him before he had even finished talking.

Then she cursed the entire House Council and her father, swore vengeance, and before I could make a move, she vanished. I threw a web where she had been, but it was too late, she must have teleported away.

Naryu found me just after and I could feel her disappointment and her anguis about what to do. Obviously she cared greatly for Veya, but with all that had happened, there was so much more to consider. Veya had signed her and Naryu’s execution by killing Brivan without the writ. The Morag Tong would see to it.

We agreed that, whether we liked it or not, we had to save the Councilors from Veya’s murderous rampage. It was the only thing that might yet save the Morag Tong from being hunted down and eradicated from Morrowind as they had been in the past. The whole Dark Brotherhood debacle with killing the potentate and blaming it on the Morag Tong. The fetchers. It had caused a century of issues for the Morag Tong.

And knowing what I did of how the Morag Tong helps to maintain House balance, I cannot even imagine with the war on what their absence would do to the House conflicts. We had to stop this.

We made our way towards where the meeting was being held and at last came to a large metal door. It was locked tight and I went to pick it, but Naryu pushed me out of the way. The look on her face let me know that it was important that she be the one to do this. That she would be able to stop Veya. We could see through the bars, Veya, approaching her father. He apologized for everything, clearly sorry that any part of his actions had ended in Ulran’s death. He may not have been a good man, but he clearly loved his children and felt incredibly guilty about Ulran’s death.

He said how much he wished to make amends, but Veya said there were none to be made except with her blade.

Naryu cried out to her to stop, even giving her a direct order when everything else would not suffice.

Veya did not listen. She said she was not Naryu’s apprentice any longer and that she had to cleanse the corruption of her House.

And then she ran her father through. I could see his despair, his acceptance, and even a bit of the feeling that he deserved it.

It was awful to watch.

Naryu got the door open just as the councilor fell to the ground, his blood spreading across the carpet.

Veya screamed that she was not going to follow any more rules or be fooled by more secrets and she attacked us. Naryu and I fought to defend ourselves, not wanting to kill her if we could stop her. Her rage had given her so much strength and she seemed to have an unnatural strength in her strikes.

We managed to take her down together, but it was hard pressed.

High Councilor Meriath approached us and asked to speak with us. Naryu asked for a moment and said I was better suited at negotiations anyhow. She was not wrong. Especially not given all that had just transpired.

The High Councilor and I spoke of the entire affair with Ulran and how Eris had been the one responsible and the Council had allowed themselves to be convinced since it was his own son involved. She said she regretted what happened with the Ashlanders since their House was not that of butchers. They did not hire brigands to keep their hands from being bloodied, they would still be soiled.

While we had some clear differences of opinions, the High Councilor sould tell how much Naryu cared and praised her convictions. Then she offered us up a deal. While I thought she was likely laying more of the blame on those who were dead and could not defend themselves than was probably true, a deal was what we needed right now.

It was decided that the bodies be left where they were and that Veya would be made a hero, dying while trying to protect her father from the Warclaws. Though she failed, she had acted valiantly with her last breath. It was a very neat wrapping to a very messy situation, but it was the best way to solve our problem.

All that we were asked to do was to never speak of what transpired. To never let the truth see the light of day. It was a far easier bargain than any could ask for. The Council must have been desperate. Luckily, both Naryu and I follow a Prince whose sphere is rooted in secrets and it was easy enough to agree.

As soon as the High Councilor left to return to the meeting, Naryu hissed at me to come over in Velothis. She thought this was far too easy an thing, that there was clearly more going on. I told her I agreed, but our hands were tied. This was the only way to ensure that there were no repercussions.

Naryu told me there was one very big obstacle.

Veya was still alive.

Sure, the High Councilor thought we had killed her and her body was a major sticking point in all of this. Of course, if Veya was allowed to live and the Morag Tong found out about any of her actions, it was as good as our deal not having been made. And it was also clear that Veya was not cut out for this.

There was not even a way to gaurentee she would not simply return to kill the Council later.

Naryu said she had a friend in Summerset, she could send Veya to be kept safe there.

I reminded her that we needed a body and that ships work in more than one way. Besides, Veya was now notorious for breaking away and causing bloodshed when made to keep a low profile. And as much as I would not mind her killing a bunch of our Dominion enemies, there was always the chance she would return to Vvardenfell. There was not even a way to ensure that she would agree to any of it. Naryu agreed with me, she even went further into detail about how she felt as though she could not stop Veya from ever doing exactly as she pleased.

I felt a twist in my gut as the words formed in my mind. Naryu could see them forming there too. They were on her mind as well.

I looked away.

She grabbed my chin and made me face her. She told me I had to say it.

I told her that I cared for Veya but Naryu shook her head and again told me to say it.

I struggled to find the best way, but with Naryu’s blade pressed to my hip, I just spoke plainly. It was clear, Veya could not live after all she had done.

The words cut my throat like razors. I felt disgusted for saying what should have reminded in my own mind. But none of it was untrue.

I could see that Naryu agreed.

She hated it. But she agreed.

She said she knew that Veya needed to die, but it still felt wrong to her. I told her I felt the same and I placed a hand on her shoulder.

She threw it off of her as though disgusted, then grabbed my hand in hers. It was a big decision to make. So much blood was already shed. But how could we allow the chance for so much more?

Naryu told me she wanted to be the one to do it. It was her responsibility to do so. Once Veya disobeyed her order there was no other choice to regain her standing in the Morag Tong. I nodded. I knew already, but it still hurt to see Naryu have to face it.

She told me I did not have to stay, that she could do it on her own.

I shook my head. I told her we started this all together, we should finish it that way too.

Naryu gave me a slight smile, her way of thanks, for what it was worth given my failures to stop it.

I asked if she wanted a poison that would just put her into a sleep she would not wake from and Naryu nodded. I gave it to her and held her hand until she administered it.

Veya’s breathing shallowed out. Then stilled.

I could see Naryu holding herself back. Keeping her emotions back.

I led her out of the garrison, past the bodies of mercenaries. We went back to the safehouse and I pulled a bottle of good brandy from my bag.

She and I drank deeply before she started to talk. She tried to be her usual self, but the emotion was drained. I did not push it. I just took things gentle with her, even if later she may tease me for it.

Yet as I tried to offer comfort, Naryu lashed out at me. It was well deserved. I was to blame for some of it after all. But I did not rise to her anger either. I knew where it came from. It was grief.

Eventually with some more drinking and a bit of silence between us, she apologized and said she was grateful for everything. She did not want to think of how much worse it might have gone without me. I wish I could feel like I was of any real help, but if I even did one thing to ease her through the whole affair, then it was worth it. We have known each other too long not to have some compassion for one another.

Perhaps we both saw a little bit too much of ourselves in Veya and were not as objective as we should have been about her personality flaws.

In the end, Naryu asked to have some time to herself and told me that she would be keeping the rest of the bottle. I told her that it was the least I could do, but that it meant she owed me when next she was in Morrowind.

She grabbed my wrist as I turned to go and told me she wanted me to have Veya’s dagger, something to remember her by, since she had seemed to really like me, after all, she treated me the same was as she had treated Naryu, so that had to count for something. Plus, I was there for her when Naryu could not be.

I took it and said my farewells.

Then I just went back to my room at the inn and ordered a couple bottles of fortified wine and drank until I could no longer keep open my eyes.

I need to head to Ald’ruhn, but I just hope I can find the strength

#ESO #TES #RP #Dunmer #Elder Scrolls Online #The Elder Scrolls

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