#when first off all any relationship would have some form of strife | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roanniom · 3 years

Note

Hey Issa, my sweet honey bun! I don’t send many requests to people, so bear with me. I’ll forever wait for the day you write Kylo, but until then I’ll throw this one at you for Charlie. I had a wander through the prompt list, and I kinda liked “I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.” with Charlie being all protective of reader, unsure if she reciprocates his feelings. And because I’m a garbage can of filth, I also loved “I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me.” if you wanted to move into smut. I hope this gets the creative juices flowing? Take your time, no pressure ever! 💕💕💕

@paper-n-ashes as you know I have been holding onto this and chipping away at it steadily for FOREVER so I can get it just right for you, so I hope you enjoy it, my love <3

Push

Charlie Barber x Reader

Word Count: 6,862

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, PIV sex / unprotected sex, light light light choking (not even really), mention of infidelity (just canon from Marriage Story plot), a lil post-divorce angst/lack of confidence

The above photo is Charlie Barber, 1-year post divorce. He’s been working out as a form of anger management and because Henry, over many late night phone conversations, has shared his new love of hiking, a pastime he’s picked up since living in LA. Charlie plans to take Henry hiking on the Appalachian trail next summer break and wants to be on tip top shape to keep up with his enthusiastic son.

He’s been to therapy. Learning more about what went wrong in his marriage, but more specifically learning about how he can become a better person in the aftermath. How infidelity and self-interest were born of a deep-seated need for a love that he was not receiving. A love that was no closer to him prior to his indiscretions but all the same rendered unreachable as a result. He’s given himself time to grieve the man he’d thought himself to be. Because that is what had died with his marriage - not Charlie Barber himself. But the Charlie Barber he’d built in his mind. A man limited by support that came with conditions, love that came with caveats. That Charlie was a father and a husband. He was often suppressed, wound tight, on edge.

This Charlie is a father and a man. He is free to celebrate his own success without fear of wounding nearby egos. He’s limited only by what he feels he deserves. And granted sometimes those self-imposed limitations can really hold him down, as they did when he vowed not to jump into any further entanglements - affairs or otherwise - in the time immediately following his divorce. But that limitation was ultimately beneficial. It gave him space to be alone - with himself, for himself. He was able to finally see his own flaws with his own eyes instead of having them recited back to him by another, as if through a crude, second hand reflection. And in seeing these flaws, he also saw the virtues. Charlie was actually starting to like himself again.

And this is when he meets you.

You storm into his life with an energy he doesn’t recognize, introduced at a party by a friend of a friend, filling his senses with your too-loud-laughter and too-bright-eyes. In many ways that’s how he sees you: too much. Your enthusiasm makes you appear too young, though in truth you’re not that much younger than him. Your smile makes you appear too beautiful, though in truth there are often much more conventionally attractive women in the room at any given time.

“Charlie. Charlie Barber,” Charlie mutters as he shakes your hand. Its warm in his larger one and he’s suddenly a little self-conscious of the fact that he’d been holding his sweating scotch on the rocks just moments before the contact.

“Hello Charlie-Charlie Barber,” you reply with a massive grin, shaking his hand back vigorously and with seemingly no reaction to its clamminess. “The famous director, I assume?”

Charlie clocks the quirk of your eyebrow. A tease. A social cue he’s not used to. Not these days. He looks down at his worn tennis shoes, all too aware all at once of the way they dress down his sweater and jeans. He feels rumpled next to you and he’s not sure he likes it. You’re too put together.

You’re too honest, too fearless, too open to new things. Though Charlie’s beginning to grow, your presence reminds him of how stunted he’d been in his marriage. How the same old restaurants, the same old clothes, the same old glass of the same old scotch had become items of comfort for him, talismans of a previous life that he clung to for some semblance of familiarity. Around you, however, those same old things looks dull and uninspired. Quite the opposite of you.

You are the one to ask him out, though he’s not even really aware that it’s a date at all when he arrives. That’s how much he doesn’t see you coming. His affair had been one of convenience. An opportunity to blow off excess steam, and a pretty disappointing one at that, with neither party really find what they were chasing. His marriage had grown cold long before it had ended. All of this to say that Charlie wasn’t very familiar with warmth. With interest that occurred in the light of day, and attention that was given without anything sought in return.

You’re halfway through lunch before you realize that he doesn’t understand your intentions. So you explain them to him. Clear and empty of any pretense. You are attracted to him and interested in getting to know him further. It’s simple, really. He’s shocked by your openness and the absence of any games. In another life he’d once assumed that a relationship without strife, without agony, without strategic tug of war would be one without passion. However, as he soon learns while taking you out on the second date, that he couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

Over dinner this time he finds himself getting lost in your micro-expressions. Finds his eyes lingering on the animated way you gesture, finds his words getting twisted in his tongue as your gaze weighs on him, expectant and waiting for a response to some question. His bodily responses to your attention are no less potent in the absence of angst. In fact, he is surprised to find that his yearning practically triples when you part ways and he realizes not once had he been made to feel like he had to prove something, or fight, or challenge.

He learns over time that you challenge him in other ways. Challenge him when it comes to picking restaurants outside his comfort zone. Challenge him by dragging him, mid-lunch date, on a shopping trip with you, a trip where you gently help him to finally replace the worn out tennis shoes to which he’d been clinging. Challenge him by laughing with him, not at him, even when the subject of the humor is himself. Your laughter is lighter, more carefree, than he is used to. Then again, he’s not used to being around someone like you.

He kisses you after the third date – the lunch-turned-shopping trip. It’s quick and it’s light, on the curb before an intersection on the East Side, right before you both are about to walk in separate directions. You say nothing when he pulls away. Just smile and turn on your heel, already headed to your next destination. It drives Charlie crazy over the next few days. Not because he assumes you have some hidden agenda. On the contrary, he’s horrified that your interior thoughts match your exterior actions. You have been nothing but honest with him. It is Charlie who has been oscillating wildly in his mind. Between thoughts of how much it might hurt if you turn out to be too good to be true and thoughts of how much he’d love to feel your body on his. To explore the mouth you use so effortlessly to tease him, to compliment him, to charm him. You speak kindness like pleasantries, as if affirmations and praise were as easy to dole out as a cheery “good morning” on a stress-free Saturday. Charlie wants to know what you’re like on a Saturday. Away from the bustle of the city. Away from the common friends and the crowded shops and restaurants that have buffered all of your encounters.

But Charlie’s still afraid.

On your fourth date Charlie is more reserved when you arrive at the restaurant. You break the ice by pointing out that the formality of your dates is beginning to feel silly.

“Maybe it’s the fact that the tables have tablecloths,” you joke, swirling your pasta around a fork. “Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve never repeatedly had meals with someone I wasn’t already in a relationship with.”

Charlie prickles at the implication, taking a labored swallow of ice water. He doesn’t want to comment on the relationship part of your sentiment so he chooses something more neutral.

“Should I remind you that two of these meals have been at your suggestion and you did, in fact, also plan them as meals.” He relaxes a bit when you laugh heartily at that, relieved that the conversation doesn’t get any more dicey.

“Touché,” you reply. Then you lean forward and whisper conspiratorially at him across the small table. He feels himself lean in, curious but also looking for a chance to just get closer in proximity. He wishes he’d had the courage to sit next to you rather than across from you when he’d first sat down. “Feeling adventurous enough to let me pick where we go after this tonight?”

And Charlie feels adventurous. Adventurous as he lets you whisk him across town and to your favorite arcade bar. Adventurous as he passes you a large handful of quarters he got from the little machine at the front, only to grasp your fist in his when he miscalculates how much of his handful you’d be capable of taking, narrowly avoiding a massive spill of loose change on the floor. Adventurous as he orders a couple of beers and lets you show him your favorite game, Burger Time – a silly little maze game where you collect burger ingredients. Adventurous as he shows you his favorite game, which is pretty much any pinball machine known to man.

“Yours looks cooler than mine,” you huff, walking over to the pinball machine he’s playing once you abandon the one that was definitely broken. Or at least that’s how you justify so many consecutive, immediate losses. Charlie laughs and pulls back the plunger but doesn’t release, effectively pausing his game.

“You wanna try it?” Charlie ushers you in front of him and puts your hand on the plunger beneath his, careful not to release it in the process. “The key is anticipating where the ball will go. It’s all about patterns after a while.”

“Then why does it seem so random?” you ask, looking up at him over your shoulder.

“You just haven’t played enough yet. Over time you can predict what will happen if the ball hits a certain corner. Where it will go if it ricochets juuust right at the last second.”

“Sounds fake but I’ll let you prove it to me,” you say with a laugh, focusing your attention back on the machine.

“We’ll let go in one…two…three.” When you feel the pressure of his hand let up you let go as well, letting him guide both your hands immediately to the buttons on the side of the machine.

For as great as his theory of pinball predictability is, he probably underestimates your ability to suck. Because you do, hard. But you laugh the whole way through, and you never quit. Never turn to him in frustration asking to do something else or even to leave. Instead you keep feeding quarters into the machine and bringing your hands back under Charlie’s on the machine. And no matter how shitty you are, you always at least try to focus.

Charlie, meanwhile, is having a very hard time focusing on anything that isn’t your body. His hips bracket your ass in this helpful position he’s adopted, and he feels your pressure against his pelvis with every enthusiastic wriggle and little jump of frustration that you take in response to the game. When he makes the unfortunate mistake to look down over your shoulder at one point he’s met with a direct view of your cleavage, exposed as it is in your low-cut blouse. Charlie begins to sweat and it has nothing to do with how packed the arcade is or with the exertion of gaming. When he remembers that the arcade is also a bar, he excuses himself to get more beer, hoping that one will cool him off and cool him down.

You dazzle him with a smile thrown over your shoulder when he approaches with the two fresh bottles, and he’s not prepared for how the sight of your face almost knocks him back on his ass.

“Charlie! I did better this time!” He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, handing you your beer which you sip gratefully.

“I lasted a few more minutes than last time,” you elaborate proudly. “So I’d say that means I now qualify as a pinball wizard.”

“Move over Elton John,” Charlie says with a smirk. You slap him in the shoulder and immediately engage him in a spirited discussion of whether the Elton John movie version of “Pinball Wizard” was better than The Who’s version from the original album. However, after a few minutes Charlie realizes he’s lost in thought. Lost in your voice. Lost in your expressions. Lost in you.

When it finally comes time to leave the arcade, the night drawing much later than it had on your previous nighttime date, Charlie’s scared he’ll be lost without you. The two of you walk together for a couple of blocks before you reach that similar intersection. The place where you part ways.

“I think we really turned around that formality thing, don’t you?” you ask him, turning to Charlie and leaning back against the column of a pedestrian sign. Charlie moves into your space, swallowing his hesitation.

“I don’t know, I began to feel a little unworthy when you ascended past the role of pinball wizard.”

“Oh did I get a promotion?” You ask, tipping your head back so you can look up at him as he steps closer.

“The word wizard conjures up images of wizened old man,” Charlie says dismissively, as if that clears up everything.

“So if you’re saying I don’t remind you of a wrinkled old Merlin – to which might I say, shocker – then what exactly is my new title.”

“One that fits you inside and out.” Charlie braces a hand against the column above your head, his other in his pocket. His head dips down so that it’s closer to your face despite your height difference. You feel warm despite the slight chill in the air.

“And that would be Pinball….?” you prompt.

“Goddess,” he completes the title before pressing his lips to yours. His hands remain on the column and in his pocket until you reach forward and grab a fistful of his sweater, pulling him to you. Then his hands are at your waist, pushing you back into the column. His tongue is in your mouth and your hands are in his hair and he can’t breathe. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to suffocate, wants to asphyxiate on you and the way he feels so tethered to this moment, this intersection, this place where you cannot part ways.

When you break apart to, in fact, breathe, your chest heaves and your smile is radiant.

“As far as kisses goodnight go, I’d say that was top tier,” you say on a laugh. Suddenly Charlie’s throat is constricting and he has to fight his facial muscles to keep from frowning as his hands tighten on your waist.

“That wasn’t a kiss goodnight. Not yet.”

“Any longer and it’ll be a kiss good morning, sir. Have you seen the time?” Your tone is joking. You call people ‘sir’ all the time. It’s a weird quirk of yours, like calling someone dude or pal. But Charlie can feel himself choking on the word, as well as the implications of a ‘kiss good morning.’ All of a sudden he feels like if he could have only one more thing before dying, that’s what he’d ask for. But then he kicks himself internally for being so fucking dramatic and he fiddles with the hem of your shirt.

“Exactly. It’s late.

You survey him from under your eyelashes with a small smile.

“I’ve made this walk many times.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’ve made this walk in the dark many times.”

“I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.”

Charlie’s heart clenches. Before he can overthink, you’ve ducked out of his hold, grasped his hand and started pulling him down the street.

“C’mon Charlie, hurry up. You’d keep a goddess waiting?” you toss back at him over your shoulder. But in truth it was taking all of Charlie’s self control and the fact that he didn’t know the way to your place to keep him from throwing you over his shoulder and breaking into a full sprint.

~*~

Your place is exactly like you. Eclectic, warm, inviting. There is a moment, as you pull off your coat and turn away to place it and Charlie’s on a coat rack, when Charlie feels much too big for the space. Like he’s some kind of giant invading the home of a sweet little wood nymph. But then his little wood nymph is grabbing him by the front of the shirt and dragging him to a bedroom and the worries fade right out the window.

At first Charlie is gentle with you. His hands ghost over your body as you kiss him beside your bed. When you push him to sit down on the edge of the mattress and step between his open legs to kiss him with a different height dynamic his heart just about jumps clear out of his chest. He hasn’t done this – hasn’t touched or been touched – in so long. The affair had been transactional, just the mechanical motions of sexual gratification. Sex with Nicole, before it stopped, had been even colder, almost as if she had been begrudgingly completing some unwelcome chore.

You, however, are like fire beneath Charlie’s fingers. Your skin, your lips – everything is so warm it feels like you’re too hot to touch. But Charlie would rather risk burning up than to not become accustomed to the feel, the shape, the substance of you. He smooths over your body with a reverential softness, his muscles tense with restraint so as to keep from accidentally pushing you too far too fast. To keep from handling the way that, deep down, he desperately needs.

When your lips suddenly leave his, his brow furrows in frustrations. Before he can open his eyes a soothing finger smooths the furrow away, sliding down the bridge of his nose to press against his kiss-swollen lips. Charlie opens his eyes with a question present in them and you cock your head to the side.

“You’re tense. Like you’re holding back.” The statement isn’t accusatory but it isn’t a question. Charlie takes a shaky breath, unsure about how much he should say. Would his desperation read as too dramatic? Too undesirable? Would his enthusiasm come across as pushy or dominating? His brow must furrow again because your hand moves back up, finger pressing out the wrinkles. He shrugs.

“It’s been…a while for me. I didn’t want to come across as too…much.”

You laugh then and yet again Charlie is struck by how strange it is that you can laugh in his face directly in response to something he’s said without making him feel like you are laughing at him.

“I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me, Charlie.”

“You’re sure about that?” Charlie huffs out with a little chuckle. You give him a smirk and say your next words up against his lips.

“Try me.”

You probably were expecting him to require more cajoling. You probably were expecting him to gradually ease into something more. But Charlie takes you by surprise, grabbing you and pulling you onto the bed with him, rolling so that you’re laid out beneath his body, all the while maintaining hungry possession of your mouth. His body finds its place between your legs and you gasp at the feeling of how huge he is. How hard and insistent against your softness. He drinks from you like a man whose thirst can not be quenched. His hands find purchase on your waist and he squeezes. So hard you’re sure you’ll bruise. You smile against his mouth with the realization that you look forward to watching them bloom later.

Since Charlie seems too preoccupied with groping and making out with you, it is you who eventually takes the next step, beginning to pop open the buttons on your blouse one by one. When Charlie feels the motion of your hands between your bodies he ultimately pulls back to investigate, mouth dropping open at the slow reveal of the lingerie you’re wearing beneath. His hand shoots out to caress the delicate lace of your bra, teasingly not applying any pressure to the breast beneath.

“Do you wear things like this often?” Charlie’s voice is already rough as he asks this. You shrug.

“Whenever I want to feel sexy.”

“You wanted to feel sexy while out with me?” Charlie asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“You made me feel sexier than the lace, Mr. Barber,” you say with a smile before leaning up to capture his lower lip between your teeth. He groans and moves to practically swallow you whole. You’re entirely foreign to him. Enthusiasm, amusement, and enjoyment bundled up into one devastatingly sexy package. There’s no shame in your movements, no angst in your eyes. Just humor. Only an unabashed pursuit of pleasure. And if it’s pleasure you want, it’s pleasure you’ll get.

Charlie now aids you in the process of removing the rest of your garments, so it goes much quicker. When you move to pull off your bra, however, he catches your wrist in his massive hand.

“No…can these stay on?” Your eyebrows shoot up but you notice the way that Charlie is gazing at you with eyes slightly hazy and tongue running over his lips.

“This doing it for you, Charlie?” you tease, shimmying a bit. Charlie’s answer is sincere regardless as he dips his head down to sample the plush skin at the line of your cleavage.

“You have no idea.”

“So you’re a lingerie man, huh?” When you ask he stops to think for a second because, truly, he had never considered himself that way before. He’d never had any reason to. Sure lingerie models in magazines were hot, but it’s not a specific fantasy he’d ever explored previously.

But the sight of you here, strategically covered in lace and laid out beneath him pretty as a picture has him so hard he feels like a teenager unable to control himself. So, as you had urged him, he doesn’t.

“I might be. But really, I’m just enamored by these tits.” His teeth sink into your flesh and you sigh, especially when his tongue comes out to lave warmly at the spot. He moves down your body then, peppering kisses to the exposed skin of your stomach, sliding until your inner thighs rest against the sides of his face and his hands dip below you to squeeze your ass. “Although I feel like this might end up being my favorite part.” He says this last part directly into your clothed cunt, his lips just barely ghosting over the fabric with his words.

You wiggle a bit in his grasp, loving the answering way his fingers dig into your soft flesh. Your fingers card into his lush hair, tugging lightly at the roots, a feeling that shoots through his body and straight to his rock hard member. The way he discretely ruts against the mattress in response does not go unnoticed by you, so you drop a hand under his chin to tip his face back up to look at you.

“Will you fuck me, Charlie?” Your voice is clear and bright. Not playing coy and requiring any convincing. Just asking for something you want. And the hunger in your eyes seems unmistakable, though it still feels to good to be true. Charlie drops his gaze back down to the wet spot forming in your panties before looking back up and practically pouting.

“I’d like to taste you,” he counters. A brilliant smile breaks out across your face at the sound of that but you shake your head.

“There’ll be time for that later,” you argue, tugging on his shoulder to get him back on top of you. “If you don’t get inside me right now I’ll die.”

Charlie almost misses that last part because he’s still stuck on the first part. There’ll be time for that later. The possibility of later squeezes at Charlie’s hard and it’s only after a few echoing seconds that he’s able to process the rest of your statement with a delayed, choking laugh.

“Is someone getting dramatic on me?”

“Not yet, but I will if - ”

“If I don’t get inside you?” Charlie completes the statement in the exact moment a hand drops between your thighs and presses against the soaked fabric covering your slit. You inhale sharply.

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t take you for someone who was pushy in bed,” Charlie says good naturedly, swiping his fingers up the line of you to end with a swirl over where he assumed – correctly – your clit was. You tilt your pelvis to maximize his pressure before surging up to kiss him long and hard.

“I’m actually not. Not really,” you say breathlessly when you finally pull away and drop back down onto the pillows. You stretch luxuriously, almost like a kitten in the sun under his piercing gaze, the movement of your hips bumping his hand to rub you even better. Running your hands up and down the big, strong arms that cage you in and support him, you kiss his shoulder. “I’ve been hoping you would be.”

Suddenly your wrists are being pinned down above your head by one of Charlie’s hands. He’s got your legs open wide with his body sinking against you, hard and heavy.

“Pushy? You want me to be pushy?”

You grin big and wide at him.

“Yeah. Take charge like I know you want – oh!” You’re cut off by the welcome sensation of stimulation as Charlie’s hand drops inside your panties to slide around in your waiting slick. Without the barrier of the fabric between you, the feeling of your velvety slipperiness is enough to make him loose a growl.

He’s not hesitating and he’s not teasing anymore. Charlie has been waiting for this moment. He’s been waiting to care. Been waiting to feel. And what’s heightening the experience even more is the look on your face, the way your lips are parted and the way you gaze up at him longingly, expectantly. Providing all the evidence he needs to prove that you want this too. He wants you and you want him – what a novel idea. There are no angles or obligations, but also no shame or secrecy.

“Well if you wanted me to take charge you should have said so earlier,” he says, the corner of his lip quirking a bit as he dips two fingers inside your soaking cunt, not bothering to start with one. You gasp at the sudden intrusion. The stretch is a lot, but it is everything. Charlie sees the enjoyment register on your face, discomfort melting away almost immediately, and he begins to pull them slowly in and out to massage your walls.

“Maybe – ahh – maybe I should have,” you reply.

“Should I have caused a scene in the arcade?”

“Yes – fuck!” During an inward thrust Charlie curls his fingers up this time, rubbing against that spot in your upper wall that previous guys barely even knew was there. Before you know it he’s adding a third finger and you’re beside yourself. Charlie is elated to see how easily your body responds to his ministrations, how free you are with your reactions. He leans to down to suck a mark over your collar bone while his thumb meets your clit in tandem with his other thrusting fingers.

“You knew what you were doing when you kept rubbing that pretty little ass back into me while I taught you pinball.” His words rumbling against the skin of your throat.

“You made it so easy.”

“And you made it so hard,” Charlie counters, humor very present in his voice. You gasp out a laugh and try to tug your wrists from his grasp, but he doesn’t let you. Just keeps you pinned down as he continues to finger fuck you nice and slow.

“So impatient. I should have known. You’ve been impatient all night, haven’t you?” You whine out affirmations and screw your eyes shut as the pressure starts to build to a crescendo. Charlie picks up speed, his voice growing deeper as he continues. “Wanted me to fuck you on the pinball machine in front of everyone, didn’t you?”

You gasp and toss your head back against the pillows at that, hips bucking involuntarily. Charlie’s nose glides along the perimeter of your jaw, breathing in the scent of you as you fall apart. He’s never felt so powerful as he does with the feeling of your muscles tensing up under his fingertips. Never had the inspiration or audience for such language, but as you shiver and respond to his words, a surge of pride fills him and all he wants to do is dangle you over the edge over and over again.

“Charlie…” His name is a whimper when it falls from your lips. You’re so close. He feels it. So he pushes his fingers deep inside you, curling up with the motion, just as he sweeps one, two, three final circles into the throbbing bud of your clit.

You crest and you break against the tide of your orgasm, plummeting down from such heights you didn’t know you could reach from simple fingering. But there’s nothing simple about Charlie, the man who had been broken and put back together, only to find you, the universe’s overly generous reward for his perseverance.

Charlie’s slightly (unfocused) eyes focus on your heaving chest as you finally descend from the orgasm, but you’re the one to break the spell. Impatient is the perfect way to describe you as you wrap your legs around his middle and hook your ankles to trap him against you. You lunge up to arrest his mouth in a kiss. It’s sloppy, but just enough to distract him so that you can pull your wrists from his grasp. Once free you push him gently to the side so that you’re both rolling over, mouths still attached. He comes to rest on his back with you straddling him.

Charlie blinks up at you, taking in the way your breasts bounce in their bra cups as you busy yourself with the task of removing his clothes. He hadn’t even realized he was still in them until you began unbuttoning and pulling and pushing. Your impatience is clear once again in the way you divest him of the frustratingly excessive material and he finally gets the memo that he should help you.

With his pants and underwear pulled off and discarded, as well as the button up shirt that you had come to love as his signature look, you rest your palms flat on the plane of his chest. You’re still in your lingerie, as he had requested, only it is now beautiful askew. Your breasts now strain out of the cups, having been jostled into almost spilling out with your change of position. Your panties are sopping wet and stretched from his vigorous fingering and the evidence of your orgasm.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

But you become even more beautiful when you wrap your hand around his aching cock, lifting up on your knees as you do so. Your fists slides up and down, up and down and he watches it, mesmerized, until you lean forward to catch his eye.

“What should I do, Charlie?”

Your face is soft and open. You’re asking for him to continue taking the lead. And Charlie realizes right then and there that he will never want to disappoint you. Snapping out his daze he lets his fingers dig into your flesh where his hands curl around your hips.

“Sit down on my cock, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

The term of endearment is so sugary. He’s called his son that, but never a lover, casual or otherwise, and never during the first time. Your face, however, lights up and you do as you’re told, sinking down onto his long, hard length. The impact draws a moan from both of your throats followed by gasped phrases spoken over one another.

“You’re so big!”

“You’re so tight!”

You both laugh at the overlap but laughter turns to groans as you roll your hips experimentally. After a few moments of this, it appears that Charlie becomes the impatient one finally.

“Ride me,” he spits through gritted teeth. Your nails imprint half moons in his skin as you clench at his tone, not quite hearing the words. Charlie sucks air through his teeth at the squeeze.

“What?”

“Ride me. I need you to fucking ride me.” You can tell that he’s trying to remain cool and collected, but his brow is furrowed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

So you do as he says. You lift up and drop down, feeling the length of his cock slide through your sheath with a speed that you set, establishing a rhythm that has your toes curling. You let out a particularly shameless moan and Charlie opens his eyes. They widen immediately upon seeing that you’re clutching and squeezing at your own breast with one hand while grabbing onto his hip to stabilize you with the other. The sight alone of your face, screwed up in pleasure, flips a switch in Charlie and suddenly he is thrusting up into you without mercy.

“Charlie!” you cry out, both from surprise at the increased jostling and from how tremendously good it feels.

“I should have fucked you in the arcade. I would have if I had known how good you feel.”

“I – oh fuckfuck – knew,” you barely get out. Charlie hoists you back so that he’s sitting up with his back against the headrest now. The position gives him more leverage and power so he can lift you up and down his cock, bouncing you now with a rhythm that vibrates through your entire being.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Charlie asks, engulfing one of your breasts in his huge hand. The added sensation is perfect, but not quite enough. You wonder if you can coax more.

“I knew you would feel good.” You reach down to the base of his cock, encircling it as much as possible with it’s girth, and fisting upward just as he pulls you up, therefore maximizing the squeeze on his length. Charlie inhales abruptly and drops you back down.

“Little Miss Know-it-all, are you?” His voice is harsh and it sends a thrill throughout your body. Before you can respond, you’re pushed and yanked around, losing your grip with the motion.

“What - ?” Charlie’s hand on your throat quiets you. Not because he’s truly squeezing, but because the solid warmth of his hand causes you to squeak your way to silence. His adjustments now find you pulled up to the edge of the bed, legs spread and pushed back, with Charlie standing between them. Bent over, he grounds himself with one hand on your throat and one on your hip, positioning his tip back at the entrance to your weeping cunt. You expect him to slam his hips forward, to impale you with his cock, but he pauses with the swollen head just inside your folds.

“This okay?”

This power and control, the way he is manipulating your body for your pleasure and his own – he loves it. It’s so new and yet something he now wonders how he ever did without. But he also feels the need to check in and make sure that you’re still with him. The nod you give, the sparkle in your eye, and the quirk of your lips is all it takes to convince him and then he is plowing forward, slamming himself back in again and again. You let out a full throated moan and Charlie revels in the way your eyes roll all the way back.

He wonders what else will make you do that. What else will make your eyes roll back and your toes curl and your teeth sink into your bottom lip? He wonders, as his hand presses softly into the contours of your throat, what it would feel like to squeeze a little harder, and if the pressure would make you even more desperate for him. He wonders if you like a little pain with your pleasure, as he has long suspected he might enjoy, though has never truly had the chance to confirm.

But there will be time for that.

So now, he does his best to focus in on the sounds you release. Sounds of delight and surprise and sensual thrill. He coaxes you to your second climax and you don’t fight it. You don’t demure or wait for him or hesitate. Instead you unapologetically allow yourself to get lost in the pleasure he’s built for you, seizing and quaking beneath him without shame.

The sight and feeling are so beautiful he can’t help but follow soon after, pulling out and allowing releasing all over the bra and panties you had so generously left on for him. The sight of his seed landing on the delicate lace, as you lay beneath him fucked out and smiling, causes another tremor to rock through him, and he finds that he’s still cumming long after he usually would have finished.

Charlie finds himself in a daze in the immediate aftermath of his release. He looks around for something to clean you with, and when you notice you point out a box of tissues on the desk. After he’s done his best to wipe you up, you give him a kiss on the cheek. The mundane intimacy of the act makes him blush all the way to the hidden tips of his ears. It is absurd because you had just had sex, however the press of your lips to his skin seemed to seal the deal. This was not transactional. It was something more, Charlie can’t help but think to himself as you get up from the bed and skip to the bathroom.

In your absence Charlie again registers the smallness of your room. How large – out of place, maybe – he is amongst your delicate things. He pulls on his underwear and sits back down on the mattress, unsure.

Unsure about your expectations. Unsure about whether or not you’d want him to leave. Or stay.

Before he can make a decision in either direction you are bounding back into the room, a smile on your face. Your face is freshly washed and you’re in a faded, oversized tank top, having divested yourself of your abused lingerie. Charlie swallows at the sight of your breasts, free and outlined beneath the soft fabric. He adjusts his hands in his lap. No need to let you see him getting worked up again so soon like some horny teenager. You don’t seem to notice, instead slipping easily into bed beside him, shimmying under the covers and patting the space beside you so that he does the same.

So stay he will.

Once you’re both comfortable and situated, you slide into his arms, drawing them around your body without a question or seemingly a second though. Much like the way you’d slid into his life, Charlie thinks ruefully, nuzzling his face into the top of your head as you tuck in beneath his chin.

“Charlie?”

“Hm?”

“I know you always go to that diner on 15th for breakfast,” you begin, and Charlie’s heart spasms. Both at the thought of breakfast with you and the fact that you so casually know details about him. About his likes and his habits. He pulls you in a little tighter and nods his head.

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I show you a new place in the morning? I think you’ll really like it.”

And Charlie laughs. Because of course you’d want to push him out of his comfort zone. It’s what you do – push him to try new things. Push him to do things he wouldn’t usually consider. Push him to be the man he’d been working so hard for the past year to be.

“Yes, but I’m not changing the way I order my eggs,” he grumbles with humor, kissing the crown of your head. “Not yet.”

~*~

The next morning you order first, and you’ve never had breakfast with Charlie before, so when he asks for the same dish, you can’t possibly know that this is his first time ordering eggs Florentine.

As you both laugh and eat and sip coffee in the outdoor seating area of the quaint café you’d picked, fingers intertwined between you on the wrought iron table, you also can’t know that this is the happiest Charlie has felt in ages.

But he makes it his mission, right there and then, to do everything in his power to make you feel the same.

~*~

Tagging some lovely friends (please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged in the future!): @celestiasin @tlcwrites @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @edencherries @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @mrs-zimmerman @maryforyou @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @soggywhore @transparentmeoo @leia-suns @alpha-lobito

#paper-n-ashes #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #Charlie Barber/reader #Charlie Barber/you #Charlie Barber fanfiction #Charlie Barber smut #marriage story fanfiction #Marriage Story smut #writing #smut #Roanniom #tw: unprotected sex #tw: choking

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hartofhearts · 3 years

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Why Tifa is the only person, living or dead, who can resolve Cloud’s crisis

Alternate title: “What really happened in the Lifestream”

Of course the Lifestream scene has been discussed to death within the fandom. While some consider it one of the greatest triumphs of the Cloud/Tifa relationship and the game in general, others are quick to diminish its events and Tifa’s role. “Oh, any other childhood friend character who knew Cloud could do the job.” “Oh, Cloud only needed Tifa as moral support, he could have figured everything out himself.” “Oh, Aerith (maybe +Zack) could have done it by accessing her Cetra/time machine/empath/Planet powers.”

The Lifestream sequence is extraordinarily dense with many subtle visual cues, so there’s a lot to untangle and interpret. But no matter how you slice it, any take which downplays or eliminates Tifa is fundamentally missing the point of this scene, both for the plot and for Cloud’s character arc.

A lot of the confusion stems from a fundamental misunderstanding of what actually needs to happen in the Lifestream and why. Thus, using specific details from the sequence, I’d like to present my take on the following:

Part 1: What Cloud needs to accomplish in the Lifestream to advance the plot

Part 2: Why Tifa is the only person, living or dead, who can resolve Cloud’s crisis, where we will discuss fun things such as:

Why Tifa is the the focus of his greatest flaw

What Tifa’s presence in the Lifestream accomplishes

Part 3: Why those “Tifa-less” fan theories just can’t work

This is a very long ride so let’s get to it!

Part 1: What Cloud needs to accomplish in the Lifestream to advance the plot

Many fans think that all Cloud needs to accomplish in the Lifestream is prove to himself that he existed before the Nibelheim incident. This seems to make sense, as Cloud’s mental break at Northern Crater was due him losing faith that he was truly Cloud Strife of Nibelheim, right?

But that isn’t the only thing that needs to happen. Consider this: Ex-SOLDIER Cloud does believe that he is Cloud Strife of Nibelheim for almost the entirety of the game’s first half. However, Ex-SOLDIER Cloud couldn’t correctly remember the Nibelheim incident back at Kalm, and he occasionally exhibits alarming behavior (his headaches, his attempts on Aerith’s life). So the goal of the Lifestream sequence is not to restore Cloud to this previous flawed state, but... to accomplish something more. Accomplish something that will resolve the aforementioned issues by strengthening him against Jenova’s influence.

There are two ways to strengthen Cloud against the influence of the Jenova hivemind:

Rebuild Cloud’s sense of self by identifying and accepting his personal weakness -- without writing a whole other post, individuals injected with Jenova cells are susceptible to influence by the Jenova hivemind if they have a weak sense of self and weak will; thus, Cloud needs to fully understand and accept who he truly is, weaknesses and all, in order to withstand further Jenova tampering

Establish the truth of the Nibelheim incident -- until then, silver-tongued Sephiroth/Jenova will always be able to cast doubt on Cloud’s existence using the discrepancies between Cloud’s and Tifa’s memories

And wouldn’t you know it, but the Lifestream sequence does end up accomplishing all three of these things. It:

Proves that Cloud Strife of Nibelheim existed before the Nibelheim incident

Rebuilds Cloud’s sense of self by identifying and accepting his personal weakness

Establishes the truth of the Nibelheim incident

Something to note re: #3 - Establishes the truth of the Nibelheim incident: this is actually extremely challenging to do, as the truth lies solely within Cloud, but is blocked due to his own mental weakness. This is why the Lifestream sequence begins with Cloud trying and failing to correctly remember the Nibelheim incident: while he superficially does want to understand the truth of the incident, deep down he does not want to acknowledge his personal failings that are on full display in the true memory. It is only after Cloud accepts his personal weakness that he is able to face the full truth, failings and all.

So really, #2 - Rebuild Cloud’s sense of self by accepting his personal weakness is the most pivotal portion of the Lifestream sequence, as this empowers Cloud on a personal level and also allows him to remember the Nibelheim incident correctly. And as it happens, this is the portion that only Tifa can help with.

Part 2: Why Tifa is the only person, living or dead, who can resolve Cloud’s crisis

We’ve just discussed how rebuilding Cloud’s sense of self by helping him accept his personal weakness is one of the most important goals of the Lifestream sequence--and now I’d like to explain how this can only be accomplished with Tifa’s help and no one else’s.

>> Tifa is the focus of Cloud’s greatest weakness

I think that every fan, including non-shippers and anti-Tifa fans, will agree that Cloud is insecure and has a desperate need for acceptance. But because he needs to resolve and accept this greatest weakness, his shame, the real question is... when did it become pathological? What is it focused on, and what makes it his tragic flaw? The answers will give us a hint as to what Cloud needs to come to terms with his true self.

This is shown to us in the Mt. Nibel memory--the day Tifa’s mother died. And it is actually explicitly told to us by a very important entity...

...A blacked out, silhouetted version of Cloud that casually climbs out of his slack adult form. This silhouetted version of Cloud represents the deep dark secrets about himself that Cloud has hidden away for so long, and it tells us what exactly is on its mind.

Let’s review everything Deep Dark (DD) Cloud says:

Young Cloud: I began to think I was different... That I was different from those immature kids. That then... maybe... DD: Just maybe, they would invite me in. I thought that might happen, so I hung around...

...

DD: That night I called Tifa out to the well... I thought to myself Tifa would never come... that she hated me.

...

YC: This was the day... DD: Tifa's mother... T: The day Mom died...

...

DD: I don't remember the path I walked. Tifa missed her step. I ran to her... but didn't make it in time. Both of us fell off the cliff. Back then, I only scarred my knees but...

...

DD: Tifa was in a coma for seven days. We all thought she wouldn't make it. If only I could've saved her... I was so angry... Angry at myself for my weakness. Ever since then, I felt Tifa blamed me... I got out of control... I'd get into fights not even caring who it was.

(fade to black)

DD: That was the first time I heard about Sephiroth. If I got strong like Sephiroth, then everyone might...

(return to the nexus/Cloud’s mind)

DD: If I could just get stronger... Then even Tifa would have to notice me...

Many fans fixate on DD Cloud’s very first line (”just maybe, they would invite me in”), and I understand why--not only is the first satisfying eureka moment in the Lifestream, but it’s also deeply relatable. Who hasn’t felt like an outsider and wanted acceptance and approval? These same players then attribute all of Cloud’s motivations to this relatable feeling. “Cloud had a deep inferiority complex and wanted to prove himself to the world and that’s why he pretends to be the super coolest SOLDIER ever.”

But that interpretation completely ignores the other 90% of what DD Cloud says. The other 90% of Cloud’s shame is wrapped up in Tifa. “Tifa’s mom died... I tried to save Tifa, but I got off relatively unscathed while she suffered terrible injuries... Tifa must have hated me... I thought Tifa wouldn’t come to the well because she hated me... I wanted to be like Sephiroth so Tifa would notice me...” Even if a little bit of Cloud’s motivations are attributable to the contempt of the townspeople, the vast majority of it is focused on Tifa--would she always hate him? Would she ever notice him? Could he ever be worthy of her? DD Cloud’s dialogue reveals that Cloud’s shame and tragic flaw is completely centered on his need for Tifa’s approval. Perhaps only his pedestaled perception of Tifa, but Tifa all the same.

The "Cloud wants to impress all the kids” interpretation also ignores what the cinematography of this scene is telling us. The “big takeaway” of the Nibelheim memory and DD Cloud’s reveal is the single sentence that DD Cloud speaks after the memory is over and lights turn back on and they’re back at the nexus--the sentence that he “took away” from the previous scene. And look! It’s this one!

DD: If I could just get stronger... Then even Tifa would have to notice me...

THIS. THIS IS IT. This is the root of Cloud’s shame and explains his pathological need to misremember himself as a SOLDIER and thus misremember the Nibelheim incident at all costs: he was ashamed at his inability to rescue Tifa and Mt. Nibel, so he swore to himself that he would get stronger to earn her notice. Cloud needs to be strong so Tifa will notice him; thus, Cloud creates an illusionary world where he misremembers his own identity and the Nibelheim incident in a way that makes him a strong man that is finally worthy of her.

This is the personal weakness that Cloud needs to resolve in the Lifestream with Tifa’s help: he needs to learn that it is okay to not be the strong man, because Tifa will accept him regardless.

(And, sidebar, Cloud’s need for Tifa’s approval is not just some fleeting childhood dream in the distant past--even in present day, Ex-SOLDIER Cloud can’t bear to remember how he failed to be a stronger man for Tifa, because even in the present day, Tifa’s opinion of him is all that counts.)

>> What Tifa’s presence in the Lifestream accomplishes

While the above proves how Cloud’s personal weakness (his tragic flaw) revolves around Tifa and his feelings for her... we now need to answer, why does Cloud need Tifa to be in the Lifestream with him to work through these feelings? And this, I believe, comes down to two, very subtle, shown-not-told points:

Cloud’s honesty depends on Tifa’s presence, as Cloud’s need for Tifa to understand his feelings is greater than his need to hide his painful weaknesses from himself

Cloud draws strength from “his important person” (no matter how you want to define her: his main motivation, the person he’s been in love with forever...) accepting him and providing moral support

Let’s work through these in order.

REASON #1 - Cloud’s honesty depends on Tifa’s presence, as Cloud’s need for Tifa to understand his feelings is greater than his need to hide his painful weaknesses from himself

This one is very easy to miss, but is illustrated in two key ways. First, did you know that DD Cloud speaks early on in the Lifestream, even before the Mt. Nibel memory? His two lines are:

T: Now that you mention it, why did you want to join SOLDIER in the first place? I always thought it was a sudden decision you made... DD: ...I was devastated. ...I wanted to be noticed. Adult Cloud: ...I was devastated. ...I wanted to be noticed. I thought if I got stronger I could get someone to notice... T: Someone to notice you...? ...who? DD: Who...? ...You know who! ...You, that's who. AC: You... T: ...Me? Why!? YC: Tifa... did you forget... about those days?

Those two lines are definitely DD Cloud’s; in the earlier photos, we see that DD Cloud’s speech bubbles don’t have a background box. These new two lines are similarly background box-less. Moreover, these lines cannot be attributed to Adult Cloud or Young Cloud. See the below comparison photos:

DD vs. Adult Cloud’s vs. Young Cloud’s speech bubbles:

What’s very interesting is the tone of the second line (”Who...? ...You know who! ...You, that's who”); this is the only exclamation that Cloud uses in the entire sequence until all the revelations of the Nibelheim Incident re-memory. DD Cloud is startled into indignance that Tifa has no idea that he’s been trying to impress her all along. (DD Cloud is like, “Tifa, the past 12 years of my life were entirely motivated by you, are you telling me that literally none of this has gotten through to you!!?”) Even if DD Cloud were dormant and hidden this entire time, the ignominy of Tifa not understanding the effort he made for her for 12 years is just too much for him to suffer through silently.

The significance of this moment is actually incredible: the Deep Dark Secret that Cloud has been hiding from this entire time, the Deep Dark Secret that Cloud would rather die/go comatose than acknowledge... this Deep Dark Secret indignantly reveals itself just because Tifa apparently doesn’t know about it! Cloud’s need for Tifa to understand his Deep Dark Secret is even greater than Cloud’s need to be honest with himself to prevent his clone coma.

And this becomes a trend that continues up to the Mt. Nibel memory--Cloud is reluctant to revisit these memories, and only does so because he wants Tifa to understand his feelings. Almost every other line we see Cloud’s reluctance, his disbelief at Tifa’s cluelessness, and him forcing himself to open up so Tifa can know what he’s been obsessing over for 12 years. See the dialogue yourself (my notes in square brackets):

YC: Tifa...... did you forget...... about those days? [Cloud’s disbelief that Tifa doesn’t know]

...

YC: It's important to me... I hate to say it but... It's a very important memory... [Cloud’s reluctance to revisit the memory] Do you want to see it? Come on, hurry. [Cloud’s need for Tifa to see]

...

AC: ...a sealed up secret... wish... Tender memories... no one can ever know... [Cloud’s reluctance to revisit the memory]

YC: Do you know where this window goes to, Tifa? [Cloud’s disbelief that Tifa doesn’t know] Fine... I'll go. [Cloud’s need for Tifa to see]

Again, this is a tremendous moment. Cloud is only motivated to honesty for Tifa’s benefit, and takes each reluctant step towards the truth because Tifa is right next to him with all her cluelessness. In his desire to be honest for Tifa, Cloud ends up being honest for himself as well... Tifa’s presence is the only reason why Cloud can be honest to himself in the Lifestream. If not for her, Cloud never would have broached those painful memories and never would have resolved his crisis.

One last thing I want to highlight is that Cloud wouldn’t open up like this for anyone. Reread this line: “Tender memories... no one can ever know.” If anyone else was in the Lifestream with Cloud--or if it was just Cloud by himself--DD Cloud would never have felt the need to express himself. He would have stayed hidden, preferring for Cloud and the others to forever perceive him as the super cool SOLDIER instead of a “weak man” who couldn’t even save the girl he loved back on Mt. Nibel or fulfill his promise to her.

REASON #2 - Cloud draws strength from Tifa (the object of his shame/his fellow Nibelheim survivor/the person he’s been trying to win the attention of forever/the person he’s loved for 12 years) accepting him and providing moral support

This one is the most subtle as it’s mostly shown and the dialogue is not explicit, but the scene simply does not work without it. It is thanks to Tifa’s support that Cloud is brave enough to correctly remember the Nibelheim incident.

After DD Cloud says his final line in the nexus, he looks away from Tifa.

Can’t even make eye contact with her, even though he was able to back in the Mt. Nibel memory. He must think that now that all the cards are on the table, Tifa will reject him in some way. Maybe she will heap on the blame for failing to save her at Mt. Nibel, or be disgusted that he dared try to win her notice, but whatever it is, he expects some kind of rejection. But... that’s not what happens. Instead, Tifa implicitly absolves him of any guilt or shame by apologizing to him instead.

DD: If I could just get stronger... Then even Tifa would have to notice me...

T: So that was it... Sorry, Cloud. If I had only remembered more clearly what happened, I could have done something sooner...

...

So not only does Tifa fail to reject Cloud, but she also implies that Cloud is completely faultless, as she would have corrected the townspeople’s misconceptions about Cloud if she’d only known. Tifa plainly supports Cloud and does not blame him for Mt. Nibel.

Moreover, she continues to encourage Cloud after this moment. Soon after, Tifa exclaims:

T: Hang in there Cloud! Just a little longer! You've almost found the real you!

It’s only after Tifa’s words of encouragement that both Adult Cloud and DD Cloud merge into one another. This is a powerful moment; it shows that Adult Cloud hasn’t lost those deep, sealed away feelings, but has finally made peace with them. Cloud’s deep dark feelings are still a part of him but no longer hold him back; he no longer needs to misremember himself as a strong man for Tifa because Tifa accepts him as he is.

The game then explicitly shows Tifa and Cloud behaving with a togetherness that we haven’t seen the entire game--these two have finally overcome the distance between them and are able to tackle the world as a team. Cloud can finally be brave because he knows Tifa won’t leave his side.

And the game shows us this. First, Tifa, Adult Cloud, and DD Cloud all resolutely hold their fists up in unison (so ‘90s shounen anime, I love it):

Then they run into the Nibelheim memory together, side by side, literally in lockstep--look how every foot step is in sync:

This is different from previous memories, where one is always following the other or doing different things. What it shows us is that after Cloud comes clean about his shame and Tifa accepts him as he is, the two are closer together than ever before. Cloud feels brave enough to properly remember the Nibelheim incident when he has Tifa with him.

And it’s telling that the very first moment Cloud tries to remember is...

...the memory of Tifa being injured. Not the memories of him stabbing Sephiroth (or being stabbed by him), not the memories of Zack being injured, not the memory of Cloud putting on his helmet to hide his shame. If he were still afraid of Tifa’s disappointment, Cloud would not choose to relive this as his very first memory. Yet Cloud picks a painful moment that includes Tifa, trusting that they can work through it as a team. I know I keep on saying it, but it’s the truth: Cloud is empowered to fully face his deepest shame and weakness because he knows that the real Tifa accepts him as he is and will stay by his side.

Part 3: So what does this mean for those “alternate fan theories?”

Phew! That was a lot. Let’s recheck our notes on what the Lifestream scene needs to accomplish:

Prove that Cloud Strife of Nibelheim existed before the Nibelheim incident

Rebuild Cloud’s sense of self by identifying and accepting his personal weakness

Establish the truth of the Nibelheim incident

Given what we just discussed, any substitute for Tifa would accomplish some, but not all of the above three points.

So for those fans who say...

>> “Cloud could have done it all by himself” - did... did you miss the giant floating confused Cloud?? He was trying and failing to figure it out by himself because he couldn’t bear to be honest, even for his own sake. What ultimately turns the tide is Cloud’s need to express his true feelings to Tifa, and how it outweighs his need to hide his weakness from himself; thus, without Tifa’s presence, Cloud cannot be honest with himself and cannot resolve his identity crisis.

And PS, when Tifa says, “Cloud found himself on his own,” she’s referring to Cloud’s choice to reveal his weakness to her, and Cloud’s bravery at confronting the Nibelheim incident afterwards. She’s not saying “oh I didn’t need to be there at all and Cloud really just needed a couple extra minutes and I was basically scenery lol.” She’s complimenting Cloud for the radical honesty/personal strength that allowed him to finally express his true thoughts to her and thus to himself.

Verdict: Cloud gets half points for #2 (accept personal weakness) and #3 (remember Nibelheim) because ultimately he’s the one who decides to reveal the truth of those moments. Cloud gets 0 points for #1 (prove his existence) because he still needed to double-check with someone who knew him as a child.

>> “any childhood friend could have helped Cloud” - sure, that childhood friend could help accomplish #1 (prove his existence), but as we previously discussed, Cloud is only motivated to be honest with himself when he realizes that Tifa doesn’t know the extent of his feelings for her. If he never that Tifa was clueless, then Cloud would have kept the Mt. Nibel memory locked away from himself and everyone else.

Verdict: A Nibelheim rando would be able to accomplish #1 (prove his existence) but would fail to accomplish #2 (accept personal weakness) or #3 (remember Nibelheim)--Tifa is needed for DD Cloud to come clean, and Tifa’s unique role allows her to support Cloud while he works to remember the truth of the Nibelheim incident.

>> “Aerith (+Zack) could have taken care of it” - sure, Aerith (+Zack) could have shown Cloud the truth of #1 (prove his existence) and #3 (remember Nibelheim), because they both could observe the truth of those events.

But how could they help Cloud with #2 (accept personal weakness), when Cloud has been trying to hide his weakness all along and would probably feel even worse in comparison to these two shining beacons of excellence? And there’s some proof to this line of thinking; in CC, Cloud explicitly does not want to share his feelings for Tifa with Zack; and in OG, Cloud arguably tries to preserve the hero fantasy of being the Coolest SOLDIER Ever for Aerith. I can’t imagine Cloud wanting to share these “tender feelings that no one can ever know”/his love-induced weakness with anyone except for the object of those tender feelings. So #2 is still allllll Tifa, baby.

Verdict: Aerith (+Zack) could take care of #1 and #3, but they could never get Cloud to open up about #2--and even if they did, they were not the “victims” of “Cloud’s failure,” so their forgiveness/acceptance would mean nothing to Cloud and would not help him accept his own weakness.

Final thoughts:

>> Fun theory, but Cloti isn’t essential for it... the sequence still works even if Cloud’s tragic flaw is a raging inferiority complex.

There’s a difference between something technically working vs. what the game actually shows us. Yes, it could work if Cloud has a generic inferiority complex that has nothing to do with Tifa... but the game’s explanation of Cloud’s psyche (DD Cloud’s dialogue) spends >90% of its wordcount on Tifa. This argument essentially works if you throw out >90% of what the game was trying to tell you. Cloud’s entire inner world revolves around Tifa and stuffing your fingers in your ears and loudly saying lalalala does not change that.

>> But didn’t Cloud choose to hide his face because he wanted to hide his failure from everyone in town, not just Tifa, which would prove it was just a generic inferiority complex?

Sure, Cloud says:

C: I... never made it as a member of SOLDIER. I even left my hometown telling everyone I was going to join, but... I was so embarrassed. I didn't want to see anyone.

Off that line alone, one would think that he is ashamed to show his face to anyone in his hometown.

But the game shows us that Cloud specifically decided to hide when he saw Tifa.

Look how this baby is prepared to stroll into town with his Chocobo head free in that Nibelheim breeze. Not what you’d expect someone to do if they’re trying to hide from everyone, right?

But as soon as Cloud notices Tifa, he runs offscreen and puts his helmet back on while Zack can only shrug a “you do you” in reply.

It’s Tifa that Cloud couldn’t bear to disappoint. Not the rest of the town.

>> That final “resolution” moment after the Mt. Nibel incident is a little weak, isn’t it? There’s nothing explicitly saying that Tifa accepted Cloud and that’s why he’s able to shake off his shame and remember the Nibelheim incident properly.

It’s true that so much of this is implicit (the absence of Tifa berating Cloud, Tifa wishing she could have helped Cloud more back then), or shown-not-told (Tifa and Cloud raising their fists in unison, Tifa and Cloud running in unison). The OG script also jumps right to Tifa’s exclamation that the Mt. Nibel memory proves Cloud is a real person, not really lingering on Tifa accepting Cloud or anything. To be honest, the biggest reason why I even put together this theory is because 1 + 1 ≠ 4, but somehow that’s what happens in the Lifestream if we remove this shame/acceptance aspect. Also... how unsatisfying and uncharacteristic is it for Cloud to just feel ashamed that he failed to save Tifa, then for that shame to be resolved during the Nibelheim incident re-memory with a “oh it’s not that bad, at least you saved her during the Nibelheim incident so that mitigates it”? Or for it to not be resolved at all?

If Cloud was so deeply ashamed that he’d prefer to become a potato instead of face these memories, then I can’t imagine that facing the memories with zero support from Tifa would help him feel confident enough to tackle the Nibelheim re-memory. I highly suspect that this scene will be expanded upon in the Remake to explicitly highlight Tifa’s acceptance, resulting in Cloud’s readiness to expose his true memories to Tifa and himself.

#final fantasy vii #ffvii #ff7 #tifa lockhart #cloud strife #cloud x tifa #cloti #im sorry this is so long #i saw so many bad takes on the lifestream this month #i needed to get this out of my system #thank you to everyone who managed to make it to the end i appreciate you and love you

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magebcrn · 2 years

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Connor & The Fae/Werewolf Relations

So, this is gonna be a general post about Connor and his connection with the Fae. Technically, what goes here, can also go for his Topaxi verse as well. Keep in mind, this is just my interpretation of the Fae and their habits as well as the relationship I imagined them having with the werewolves of Scotland.

When it comes to the Fae, many people have an idea of what they are or their behavior. Some would say that the Fae themselves are not to be trusted, because of their natures as tricksters. Some would have people believe that they’re simply a group of beings who are generous and admire kindness above all else. The reality of the situation is that while they’re not exactly evil, they’re certainly the type to adhere to their own form of morality, something that causes no end of strife with others. However, none match the particular animosity that they share with the werewolves of Scotland.

Their dislike for one another is practically inborn, and parents often warn their children that the Fae will gladly take wolf children away given the chance and keep them in their court as pets. In turn, the Fae regard most, if not all of the wolves of Scotland as little more than animals. They’re no longer in open opposition of one another, but if they were to be in the same area as one another, they would definitely start coming to blows with one another.

Despite their reclusive nature, there are some cases where the Fae do help those outside of their kind, even the werewolves, no matter how reluctant they might be about doing so. They often help with the harvest for farmers, and even cast wards to keep any bad spirits from hurting the people every now and then. All they ask is that they’re given a small amount of a farmer’s crop as payment.

The Fae themselves draw their magic from the world around them, and while most of them can use any element they wish, most opt to stick with manipulating nature. Hence why they are often asked for help with the harvest by some people. In a fight, the world itself is at the tips of their fingers, but more often than not, they simply prefer locking people in illusions or playing tricks on those who have aggravated them in some manner.

Though, the point of this is to talk about Connor as well as his unique position as a child of Dagda and a werewolf. First off, Dagda is known as a “good god”. Now, this doesn’t mean that they’re morally good, moreso that whatever they decide to do, they happen to be naturally good at it. They can understand something immediately that might take others time to learn. With Connor, it manifests as him taking to things easily, he still has to know the basics, but once he gets used to the action and learning more about it, he can do them with ease.

Connor’s status as a child of Dagda makes him a demigod, but an outcast among the werewolves of Scotland. Not only that, but it also made his father an outcast as well. He went from a respected figure who had once held an interest in the Fae and improving relations, to being a shell of his former self. Connor was often ostracized at best, and at worst, he would get into fights with the other kids.

There was a legitimate love between Dagda and Connor’s father, nobody is sure how the relationship worked out too well, considering that at first Dagda only entertained the man’s questions out of amusement. Though, of course, after Dagda birthed Connor, they returned to the Fae. Though they had at least told others of their child who was left with the werewolves.

When Connor first met a Faerie, he had been guarded around them, not only because of his issues with people in general due to his pariah status, but also because of the stories he had been told. Of course, he was surprised when the Fae was friendly to him, though he hadn’t been told why. That was the day Connor found friendship in what would’ve been an enemy in another life.

As he spoke more with the Fae, he found himself questioning just why they were so friendly to him. So, he took it upon himself to look through his father’s things while he was away on a long haul trip. That had been the day he found out that he was part Fae himself. That had also been the same day he decided to leave Scotland, realizing that no matter where he went, among the wolves, he wouldn’t be truly welcome.

As far as Connor’s own magic goes, he shows a natural inclination towards fire. He’s not entirely sure why, but in a way, a Fae’s magic is representative of their emotions. Connor can be loud and angry, sure, but he’s also warm to those who befriend him, and passionate once he gets involved and invested in something. Due to his status as a hybrid however, Connor also exudes a powerful magical presence to those who are in tune with the supernatural. It makes him a beacon of sorts to other magical and supernatural beings. His blood also has a strange effect on plants and nature in general, making it grow faster.

As far as his wolf form goes, he’s larger than a normal wolf, which is natural for werewolves, however, he also has access to his magic in a transformed state. It’s also important to note that he’s immune to his own fire. As he grows older though, eventually, it’ll turn into a general immunity towards fire. He also heals faster than most werewolves, but has a weakness to iron and silver weapons, which give him wounds that would need to be healed at a normal rate.

Connor’s magic at it’s current form isn’t all that strong compared to most Fae, however, in Topaxi, his magic is much stronger than his normal counterpart. Though, he also has to focus much more and be a bit more in control of his emotions or else he might run the risk of accidentally channeling said magic.

#Post-it Notes (Headcanons)#Ride Around the World (Musings; Connor)

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millenniumfae · 3 years

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Video Game Cooking: Sugars (Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice)

Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice is a standalone historical fantasy made by the famous people who also created Dark Souls and Bloodborne. It became an instant hit, and garnered massive critical acclaim. You control the broody shinobi Wolf as he battles entire armies and legendary beasts.

One of the many consumables in-game are the Sugars; Gokan’s Sugar, Ako’s Sugar, Yashariku’s Sugar, Ungo’s Sugar, and Gachiin’s Sugar. These candies are named and colored differently, and each offer a different effect. One raises your attack power, another makes you more stealthy, and so on.

Today, we’re gonna be re-creating these Sugars with our own recipe. And true to my tradition when it comes to Video Game Recipes, we’re gonna be taking our ingredients accurate to the setting. Which in this case is Sengoku period Japan. This recipe meta draws especially true to my own heritage, as a Taiwanese person.

Sekiro Senpou Temple Sugars: Recipe (makes 10-20 individual candies, depending on the size)

Base candy recipe:

3 3/4 cups granulated raw cane sugar

1 1/2 cups golden syrup/brown rice syrup

1 cup water

Corn starch for mold making (optional)

Confectioner’s sugar for dusting

Flavorings:

Fresh ginger slices (Gokan’s Sugar)

Dried lotus seeds (Gokan’s Sugar)

Red cherries (Ako’s Sugar)

Dried Astragalus (Ako’s Sugar)

Ginseng (Ungo’s Sugar)

White peaches (Ungo’s Sugar)

Sake (Yashariku’s Sugar)

Dried Cocklebur fruit (Yashariku’s Sugar)

Dried Orange peel (Gachiin’s Sugar)

Dried Goji berries (Gachiin’s Sugar)

Food coloring

(Sekiro won the 2019 Game Of The Year award, the first FromSoftware game to do so.)

To make our Sugars, we’ll be infusing a traditional candy base with various ingredients, unique for each candy. Every ingredient is based off of TCM, which is an acronym standing for Traditional Chinese Medicine. For those unacquainted with TCM, it can be hard to explain its influence. There’s no true western equivalent because it’s more than just ‘old household remedies’, it’s almost a given that Asian citizens take various TCM practices seriously to a degree. Like westerners do with honey lemon tea, or chicken noodle soup.

It’s also accurate to the game. Sekiro takes its setting very seriously. Everything from weapons, to hairstyles, to interior decor, even down to the kanji on Emma’s note in the beginning of the game is true to the Sengoku period, and some levels even go backwards a bit to the Heinan period, to reflect an ancient atmosphere. You can reasonably minus the historical inaccuracies on your own volition; giant snake gods, lightning powers, and automatic prosthetic grappling hooks weren’t indigenous to Japan.

Except there’s in fact one tiny detail that you might be surprised to learn is actually anachronistic; disk-shaped hard candies. The Sugars.

Hard candies aren’t traditional East-Asian treats. Sugar was always readily available in the form of sugar cane, true, but sweets almost always took the form of fruit, and candy-coated/infused ingredients. This is true worldwide until refining sugar into its white form became common, but East-Asia in particular wasn’t munching on lozenges while Marie Antoinette already had cough drops.

The Sengoku period stretched from the early Renaissance to the Baroque period. While Wolf was parrying his way through the Ashina Outskirts, the first King James Bible was published. There was plate armor and court jesters, but also firearms and photographs. Japan didn’t get access to matchlock firearms until 1542, and since the Sunken Valley clan seems to define themselves by the expert use of these guns, it makes sense that the intro to the game itself dates Sekiro as specifically taking place in the latter years of the Sengoku period.

All throughout this stretch of two centuries, Japan has been under constant war and political strife, lending to the Sengoku period’s alternative name, the ‘Warring States Period’. Japan consisted of separate nations, all led under Daimyo and warlords and various nobles that demanded their armies scramble for more land and resources. Living under this kind of conflict for so long means that innovations and education are rare. There’s no opportunity to invent the telescope when you’re all constantly worried about your lives.

This means that the food of Sekiro would have very much been the same it’s been since centuries beforehand. Even though by this point, the Columbian Exchange has been well underway and Europe was experimenting with tomatoes in their food, Japan wasn’t enjoying this same golden period. Any developments would have been weaponry, not candy making methods.

This means that, for our recipe, we’re not using anything that a Senpou monk wouldn’t have access to. No potatoes, corn, vanilla, etc. No beet sugar, or fruits that aren’t native to Japan. Even the raw cane sugar we’re using is pushing the authenticity envelope, because the ‘raw’ granulated sugar you find in grocery stores aren’t completely raw, they’ve still been refined using lye and carbon to strip much of the molasses. True raw cane sugar, when boiled down from its juice form, makes a traditional Asian ingredient called black sugar, which is very dark in color and not suited for making the brightly-colored candy disks that the Sugars appear to be.

(Shinobi aren’t samurai, but Wolf’s relationship with Kuro is so clearly samurai-ish that we can assume Wolf was being paid buckets as a high-prestige warrior. He also would have access to better food, including white rice; which, while already genetically modified through breeding by the Sengoku period, wouldn’t have looked like modern rice. Or maybe Wolf wasn’t enjoying the high life, because he dresses in rags compared to Genichiro and apparently didn’t know rice was supposed to be cooked.)

Knowing all that history about the Sengoku period, it’s almost silly to see candy consumables in-game, looking like they came right out of a bag of Werther’s Originals. The developers of Sekiro made many lengths to ensure everything was authentic, so why are the candies so modern-looking when they could instead have been a traditional Sengoku period sweet like something mochi-based, or agar (seaweed) jellies?

The lore behind the Sugars are that the evil Senpou monks were mass-producing these candies, and selling them all across Ashina to fund their crooked child experiments. They’re not just (presumably) tasty, they offer benefits to your health. That’s definitely in line with TCM culture, and gives us some inspiration for how to pursue replicating them.

One important note; the Sugars are some of the lesser consumables Wolf can use. Almost all other consumables are better, offering more powerful effects for a longer duration. So what if these candies were true to TCM and were mere treats infused with medicinal ingredients, only capable of giving you a small boost? Especially in comparison to the Divine Child’s rice, which would be like an Epi-Pen in this analogy.

But there’s even more depth to the consumables than that. Kuro gifts Wolf a ‘sweet rice ball’ at some point, which is almost certainly an Ohagi bun; made out of glutinous rice, red beans, and sugar, and its a traditional offering for the Buddhist observance of seasonal equinox. Eating it is sometimes said to bring protection. In order for Kuro to make Wolf this rice ball, you gotta give him some of that special rice from the Divine Child. Wolf offhandedly mentions that her rice is “sweet when you bite into it”, and Kuro realizes that Wolf has been eating these rice grains raw all this time, like the feral 5′5 goblin he is. Kuro vows to give his loyal protector something nice to eat, for once, and makes him three Ohagi dumplings.

The food of Sekiro is symbolic. The Divine Child is able to make rice out of thin air, like a deity of fertility. Kuro takes this divine rice, and his sweet rice ball is more powerful than the magical blessed Sugars because it was made with compassion. And eating Kuro’s lovingly-made rice ball reminds Wolf of once being fed a rice ball when he was young and starving, given to him by his assfuck of a father who’s compassion is heavily in question.

The Sugars are described as giving the eater a ‘benediction’ of power, and who knows what the translators were thinking, but the word choice reminds us of communion, and the flesh and blood of Christ. It’s not a true comparison; communion is about replicating and worshiping the Last Supper, reminding Christians about Jesus willingly dying cause humans are sinful. Consuming the ‘flesh and blood’ of Jesus in the form of bread and wine is very different than eating a candy apparently blessed by an ancient Japanese warrior. It’s not like communion wafers are supposed to empower you, or protect you.

Looking at the in-game image of each Sugar, you can see the likeness of a person behind it, likely the very warrior the Sugar is named after. We don’t know if these people actually had a hand in these Sugars, somehow transplanting their power into each individual candy, or if the monks just named the candies after them. Either way, the process of receiving the benefits of the Sugars isn’t just about crunching it between your teeth, Wolf also takes a moment to strike a‘warrior stances’, which, according to the descriptions, is a required detail to properly absorb the candy’s effects. Each Sugar has their own corresponding ‘stance’ that Wolf performs. It’s a weird detail, and raises even more questions about the Sugars, the monks, and the warriors behind the candy.

(Observant players will note that the five Headless boss enemies drop ‘spiritfalls’, each of which share names with the five Sugars, and offer upgraded versions of their corresponding Sugar; Ako’s Spiritfall is basically a better version of Ako’s Sugar, and so on. We can assume that the Headless are, in fact, the very same legendary warriors that powered the Sugars, especially since the game itself states that the Headless are undead remains of powerful individuals.)

True to FromSoftware tradition, details are included with purpose. And also at the same time, some details are just meant to be taken at face value. The various centipede-themed enemies in Sekiro are associated with kegare - spiritual defilement, death - explaining visually their willing abandonment from Buddhism. But there’s likely no lore explaining why Wolf can automatically hoover up all nearby enemy loot like a vacuum with the press of a button.

The inexplicable details of FromSoftware games are almost certainly because of gameplay convenience. Many characters are 9-10 feet tall for no reason, towering over Wolf, who’s already short to begin with. Lore-wise, it doesn’t make sense for so many completely human characters to be so gratuitously large. Gameplay-wise, it’s a lot easier to observe an enemy’s telegraphed movesets if their model is scaled up. Helpful, in a game like Sekiro.

The ‘stances’ of the Sugars might fall into both these categories. They exist for both gameplay and story reasons. The developers wanted a lag between consuming these powerups and being free to fight, so the player is forced to time these powerups carefully. You need to avoid enemies taking a free hit while Wolf’s animations are occupied. Then they storified this gameplay-based lag into a lore-based reason. Wolf has to take a ‘stance’ when eating these candies to receive its powers. For some reason.

I wasn’t able to further research the ‘stances’ Wolf strikes. Maybe they’re based off of known martial arts. But the description also offers some additional insight; according to the game, these Sugars contain ‘excess karma’ that is apparently the source of their power. Now, Buddhist karma doesn’t run in ‘excess’, a better choice of word would be ‘transfiguration’. One person can experience another’s karma through a variety of means.

“Bite the candy and take the Yashariku stance to impart its inhuman benediction.” In accordance with Buddhist folklore, these warriors are dead and imitating them can impart their previous life’s karma unto you. Our recipe won’t have magical karma powers, but we can certainly infuse our candies with medicinal herbs. You can just imagine the Senpou monks stirring up a big pot of sugar solution, and throwing in handfuls of dried Goji berries.

(This isn’t the first FromSoftware game that draws heavily from Buddhism. Dark Souls’ stagnant world of undeath is a rejection of Buddhist rebirth, clinging onto your legacy in a bid for immortality. Bloodborne decided to further explore the ‘time and madness’ angle of the same concept, while Sekiro went in the opposite direction to expand the ‘death and karma’ side.)

To make our Sugars; begin by first boiling the 1 cup of water with the corresponding flavor ingredients. Essentially, we’re making a batch of 10-20 candies with one flavor at a time, to make things easier on us. Ako’s Sugar requires you boil sliced ginger and dried lotus seeds, and so on.

After the water has been properly infused with the medicinal ingredients, strain the water and add it to another pot with the rest of the candy base ingredients, then boiling it all down until it reaches 300f. It’ll take a while, and you’ll notice that there’s gonna be a point where it seems like the temperature isn’t rising again. But keep at it; all the water needs to be boiled away. But the flavor will remain.

Once it reaches 300f, add the food coloring, and then keep boiling again until it reaches 310f. Then immediately take it off the heat and pour it into molds. Disk-shaped candy molds do exist, but you can easily make your own by pouring a lot of corn starch into a pan, then pressing a disk-shaped object (like another candy) into the starch to make indents. When you pour the candy mixture into a corn starch mold, you can use a spoon to gently and accurately fill each hole without distorting the powder. After perhaps three hours, the candies should be completely set and cool, and you can tumble away the powder and store the candies. Any mold method is gonna give the candies a flat side, but a true disk candy requires factory-standard molds that we don’t have.

We’re not using natural food colorings, ‘cause I tried my best to research natural alternatives that could retain their dye after boilings. And it was super hard, especially blue. Take it from me that Sekiro’s Sugars shouldn’t have been so brightly colored; intensely colored food did exist, but it was with things like powdered dried beets and matcha and pepper powder. Boiling these ingredients (rather than mixing it with dough or jelly) will change the colors drastically, sometimes completely bleaching it, or changing red to purple and so on.

As for the various medicinal ingredients; I took a gander in my mom’s soup-making cabinet and took stock of the medicinal herbs we ourselves use in our lives. The ones included in this recipe are some of the more commonly used ingredients of modern TCM.

Gokan’s Sugar, as a posture-retaining consumable, is described as a popular choice amongst shinobi hunters, a job that requires “a body with an unshakable core”. Ginger and lotus seeds are great for restoring energy through chi, a person’s lifeforce.

Ako’s Sugar raises your attack power. This candy actually proved one of the hardest to find medicines for, since, you know, most medicine is about preserving your health. Astragalus root increases energy and resistance to stress, and red cherries are a warming food according to TCM; warming meaning that its a yang property that further enhances your energy levels. (Keep in mind that food warmness-coolness is more about keeping those two in balance for optical health.)

Ungo’s Sugar reduces the amount of health Wolf loses. Very protection-centric, so we’re using ginseng, for longevity, and white peach slices for their heavy association with divinity. Both of these ingredients have some of the most well-known history in Asian food culture.

Yashariku’s Sugar is a double-edged sword, since it reduces both your health and posture so Wolf can be super powerful for a little bit. So you’re gonna add sake to the candy mixture around the 300f mark, and the dried cocklebur fruit is an immunity-boosting medicine ... but the plant is mildly toxic and can cause diarrhea. You know, Wolf gets super powerful and aggressive when taking this candy cause he needs to shit his brains out. Don’t worry; we’ve got this in our own pantry, and it personally doesn’t make my mom’s stomach upset, but it does me so it must range from person to person.

Gachiin’s Sugar makes you more stealthy, which I took to translate into ‘quieting your thoughts and emotions’. Like when you hold a baby and it can feel your own inner turmoil and starts to cry? Orange peel and goji berries restore your chi, your vision, an irregular heart rate, and stress.

Enjoy your candies! Pop them before tough situations like speaking before a big crowd, or having to wait in line at the DMV, or when you have to fight the Headless Ape for the first time. Tell your friends to stay away from the Senpou brand, so you don’t support their unethical practices.

#sekiro #sekiro: shadows die twice #fromsoftware #fromsoft #video game cooking

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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Vincenzo: The Gentleman Villain Reborn

Long before there were loudmouth buff guys in spandex, there was the gentleman villain.

There once was a time when the gentleman villain, whether a gentleman thief in the Raffles or Lupin mold, or murderous arch-criminals like Fu Manchu and Fantomas, organizations like Les Vampires, and even in-between figures like Rocambole and Judex, was the coolest thing in the pop culture block. The figures right around the corner of Baker Street, when Nick Carter and Sexton Blake and any billion old serial detectives weren’t quite cutting it. Their time was not to last long in the spotlight, as the pulp heroes consolidated domain in the 30s and then the superheroes took over, but every now and then, they return in various forms, never fully gone. But I’d dare say I’d never seen a gentleman villain story quite so bold, so modern, so dynamic and so gloriously over-the-top in pride over it’s existence, until I began watching Vincenzo.

Vincenzo is BADASS and I don’t use the term lightly. Not just the titular character, but the show itself. It’s currently a couple episodes short of the finale and you should stop everything you’re doing or watching and go watch Vincenzo. It’s been an utterly glorious ride from beginning to end with no shortage of great characters, terrific writing, great relationships and jaw-dropping moments as every episode succeeds in topping each other in WOW HOLY SHIT factor. It’s a shot of adrenaline and storytelling excellence to the eyeballs and you don’t have anything better to be doing right now than watching this.

I mentioned a while ago that Black was a show that, besides being also terrific in quality, captured my interest as a Shadow fan specifically because I saw in Black what I believe is the heart of The Shadow as a character: an embodiment of evil, motivated and created and warped by social catastrophe and strife, set loose to punish true evil in order to protect humanity. In that regard, if Black is where I find the heart of The Shadow, Vincenzo is where I find the spirit of what I like about The Shadow as a series: Cathartic urban fairytales where an extraordinary agent of change, armed with incredible cunning, sleight-of-hand and combat skills, rises above a dark background to command a folk brigade of ordinary people who reveal themselves to be extraordinary through their newfound purpose, to right the wrongs of society’s predators, by being better at their tactics than they are and turning their tools against them.

I’m gonna spoil it a bit under the cut but please go watch it. I cannot praise this show enough and I’ll do my best to try.

Vincenzo centers around the titular character, Vincenzo Cassano, an Italian lawyer who works for the mafia as a consigliere, adopted by it’s Don at the age of eight. After the death of the Don and an attempted betrayal by his son, Vincenzo flees to Seoul and ends up taking residence at a ramshackle building called Geumga Plaza. Geumga Plaza is the hiding place of a gigantic stash of gold hidden by one of Vincenzo’s former clients, and he intends to retrieve it to rebuild his life somewhere else. Naturally, not only is the hidden room completely impenetrable, but the building is occupied. by residents who are being forced out of it by criminals working for the Babel corporation, which intends to take possession of the building. And thus, Vincenzo has to put his skills into working out progressively bigger problems, as his efforts to uncover the gold turn into a fight against Babel and it’s lawyers, as the problems take on bigger and bigger proportions.

Vincenzo’s got a lot of what you’d expect from a k-drama at first glance. The leading man is a dashing young man, the leading lady is headstrong and stubborn, you see their romance coming a mile away and they take their damn time getting there, there’s emotional backstories that take a long time to be revealed, lots of wacky side characters and comedy interspersed with the darkest moments, a focus on corporate corruption, and so on. But it’s got an intrusion of elements brought by Vincenzo’s inclusion, such as mob drama, tonal and cultural imbalance, and the gentleman villain tropes that Vincenzo brings, as the catalyst of change whose antics backflip through action hero, romantic hero, super hero and super villain, cunning puppetmaster and gun-toting warrior alike, and start to have an effect on the world around him. His allies become stronger, more determined and effective, and the villains grow smarter and more horrid as they desperately try to avoid their own downfalls.

On paper, Vincenzo is almost a textbook example of how to craft a villain protagonist. He’s a mysterious foreigner with a hidden past and incredible skills who shows up uninvited in “our” world, who starts terrorizing and manipulating people into doing his bidding. He’s got a hotheaded and foolish investigator chasing after his every move, and frequently employs misdirection and sleight-of-hand to fool the authorities. He commits crimes and employs underhanded methods in the service of stamping out people worse than himself. He never really makes any claim of being a hero and actively rejects the notion he’s fighting for justice, but instead states he’s doing it as a matter of principle. One of the characters early on even states he gives off the vibe of a movie villain, even Vincenzo himself tells Hong Cha-Young, the female lead, that he’s teaching her how to be a proper villain. In another series, Vincenzo would be the hypercompetent sidekick to the main villain, or secretly the main villain, the lone badass that the action hero would have a tough fight against before defeating and moving on. But Vincenzo does not allow himself to be dismissed so easily.

On the first episode, when we’re introduced to him in Italy, he’s painted as the badass to end all badasses. But the minute he arrives in Seoul, he falls for a trick at the airport and is mugged by two cabbies, and has to walk around penniless and without dignity, shouting curses in Italian that nobody understands. He has to sleep in a broken down apartment, his “taking a steamy shower with classical music playing” fanservice scene keeps being interrupted because the shower doesn’t work, and a pigeon chattering outside his window keeps ruining his sleep.

The tenants of the building are all introduced as varying levels of unsympathetic and useless, or downright creepy. The tailor screws up his favorite suit, the chef who claims to have studied in Italy is a total fraud, there’s tenants who scare us by passing as ghosts and zombies, and Hong Cha-Young is introduced as an unlikable stooge for Babel. Vincenzo is a villain protagonist who is forced out of his grand mafia epic film, where he conducts business around lavish manors while classical music plays, and stumbles onto a korean drama, a world that operates by different rules and where no one has any reason to take him seriously at first, and gradually finds out that the difference between both worlds is not as big as he’d imagined.

It’s only at the very end of the first episode, when the neighborhood gangsters show up to terrorize the tenants, that Vincenzo starts to kick ass again, and he has not stopped so far. In fact, not just him, ALL of the tenants have gradually started kicking ass with him. Hong Cha-Young severs all connections to Babel and proves to be, as his main partner in crime, just as cunning, twice as driven, and three times as batshit and kooky. The tailor who ruined his suit turns out to be an ex-gang member capable of fending off groups of thugs with only his scissors. The creepy piano girl reveals herself a hacking genius, the zombie impersonators become incredible actors, the failed wrestler and badass wannabe becomes his most active field agent along with his equally strong wife, the chef improves his cooking and lends his restaurant as a meeting center, all of the characters, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM gradually become incredible, competent, resourceful people, really no different than they were before, it just took a little courage and pushing.

The headstrong and foolish agent pursuing Vincenzo becomes 100% smitten with him and quickly becomes one of his greatest allies. Even the neighborhood gangsters, after being left to die by Babel and forced to start anew, quickly become some of his most loyal allies, and gradually redeem themselves in the eyes of the tenants to the point they become friends. In departing from his old family, Vincenzo forms a new one, even if never by his intention. They even all get matching suits.

This incredibly potent, human core surrounding the antics of an extraordinary figure of action is part of what used to make the Agents of The Shadow such a special, meaningful and beloved part of the series, and something every adaptation since then has been 100% poorer for neglecting. But Vincenzo does it, and does it right. I could watch a billion adventures with these people and never get sick of them.

Vincenzo is a slick, modern take on the gentleman villain that takes many of it’s oldest conventions and provides blueprints for making them work in modern times. His plans often take a performance art-edge as he employs tactics both old-fashioned and modern, like using social media to stage an event in front of the Plaza so the bulldozers set to demolish it won’t be able to pass, or copying files and passing them to his police contact while keeping the real ones when said police contact inevitably betrays him. The tenants put all of their skills to use, no matter how unusual or seemingly useless. Every episode lays the groundwork for a smashing finale where all of the threads come together and we bare witness to a grand tapestry of karmic retribution.

The villains themselves are no slouch, and also have that modern edge that gradually ramps up. They stage discreet assassinations involving gas leaks and watches meant to burst into flames. They stack the deck impossibly against all characters. They employ masked goons by the dozens, armies of lawyers to smudge any connections between themselves and their actions, and every sector of society in covering them, from journalists publishing pro-Babel propaganda to police commissioners. The assistant of the main villain does zumba classes amidst ordering assassinations, and is often likened to a snake and a witch with her "Crystal Ball” (the name she uses for ordering assassin contacts by the phone), complete with a cowardly, scheming assistant she bullies at every turn. The CEO of Babel has a dual nature not out of place in a Jekyll & Hyde/Dorian Grey kind of story.

The main villain is often painted as a slasher villain backed by massive corporate power, murdering people with hockey equipments and even outright named “Jason” at one point, with a tense string theme song accompanying his deeds. The show hides the villain at plain sight by using one of the most familiar set-ups of romantic dramas and the tension never stops even after he’s revealed.

Mobster films tend to paint an idealized version of it’s protagonists, not necessarily because of a genuine love or interest with mobsters (I mean, it really goes without saying that real life mobsters are obviously not admirable figures), but out of a sense of displaying a “this is what it could be” fantasy, a fantasy where the mafioso is a dark hero who will still ultimately do the right thing and stick up for the little guy, in a similar way to how superheroes often function as police officers except, y’know, actually dedicated to protecting people.

Vincenzo does go to great lengths to address the imbalance of putting such a dark figure as it’s hero, through showing how the situation can only be addressed by the intrusion of a figure such as Vincenzo. There’s a scene where Vincenzo and Hong proceed to explain extremely succintly to their cop ally why the “bad apples” argument is horseshit. One of the show’s characters, someone who’s spent his entire life being the best person he could, and dedicating himself 110% percent to fighting evil even at the expense of connecting with his own family, someone who absolutely should be the hero to take down Babel, admits shortly before dying that it wasn’t enough, that it was never going to be enough, and that what the situation calls for isn’t a hero, but a monster. That monster being Vincenzo, who is not only powerful and monstrous, but commands the loyalty of people high and low class alike, criminals and law enforcement agents, to fight Babel. In his words, “the ultimate monster”, something even the world’s biggest badass cannot defeat by himself.

On most other set-ups, Vincenzo would be pretty unmistakably the villain. But here, when he’s set up against a starkly realistic depiction of how corporations actually function in our world, depicts that Vincenzo’s ability to clear his way through goons John Wick-style is nowhere near enough, and to that end, he’s gonna have to fight impossible battles using his brains and his allies. And in the end, he defeats them, time and time again, and proves that they were not that impossible after all.

One can only hope he’s on to something.

Oh yeah and THE PIGEON BY HIS WINDOW ALSO KICKS ASS and I will not explain how, just watch the show, I can’t do it justice no matter how much I talk about it.

#k-drama #vincenzo #i've fallen in the k-drama rabbit hole and I am not getting back up #I love everything about this show so goddamn much #song joong ki #tvn vincenzo

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ilikekidsshows · 3 years

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Kagami got to take a happy selfie after all! You know, this episode has some god-tier mirroring, and you guys know how nuts I go over some good mirroring. Firstly there was the design of Ikari Gozen. As noted during the liveblog itself, Ikari Gozen combines the designs of both of Kagami’s Akuma transformations: Riposte and Oni-Chan. I’ve had a long-running theory that the purpose of an Akumatization, when not used for evil, might be to bring a person’s darkest emotions to the surface, so that they can be physically fought, which is why so many Akumatization victims get over whatever issue they had after being purified or why they might even feel better after the fact, as was the case with Chris. The fact that Kagami and Tomoe have similar Akuma forms implies a connection between their internal strife, with them either sharing them or Tomoe actually being the cause of Kagami’s. This makes me think that an Adrien Akumatization that emphasized his Adrien side’s conflicts would have design similarities with Collector, as their family relationship is paralleled with the one between Kagami and Tomoe.

Another mirroring that happens in the episode is the structure of the arc of Kagami and Marinette becoming friends, especially when you consider Adrien is at the center of both their connection and strife. When Marinette first meets Adrien, there’s a misunderstanding that damages their relationship, but once it gets resolved, they start to grow into very close friends. The same thing happens here between Marinette and Kagami. The similarities don’t end there. The thing that makes Marinette soften on both Adrien and Kagami is discovering how their parents control them and how they don’t have any friends. The contrast, however, comes from how the Act of Kindness that starts the friendship was performed by Adrien in Origins, and Marinette here. So, yeah, Kagami and Marinette’s relationship just got directly contrasted with the one Marinette shares with her primary love interest. Make of that what you will.

Also, the color palette contrast is strong in this episode too. Marinette and Kagami wear contrasting colors, but they also have complementary coloring going on. Marinette’s pink complements Kagami’s dark red, while the lighter/darker complement is reversed in their hair, signifying a balance between these two. Of course, the hair color is mostly intended for the purpose of highlighting, which is why their hair colors are actually identical in the last shot, though it could be symbolic of their new understanding of each other as well. The pink/red complement is by itself a fitting choice, though, as these two colors symbolize these characters extremely well, with Marinette’s pink standing for her romantic, playful and feminine aspects, while Kagami’s red stands for her passion, short temper and courage. Why I find this fitting is that these are personality traits that their counterpart shares as well.

Also, is it just me, or did Kagami instantly getting outed as a superhero feel like the writers made her too good, so they had to remove her from play? I mean, Longg is already a ridiculously overpowered Kwami, but Kagami had masterful control of his varied abilities right off the bat. However, Kagami’s mistake also highlights the nature of the conflict against Hawk Moth. Kagami is too careless to be a reliable Miraculous holder, which is risky because defeating Hawk Moth once and for all requires our heroes to exhibit caution. This would be an interesting angle of Kagami’s nature conflicting with the series’ main goal to study in a fic that makes Kagami a more permanent Miraculous holder, who has to constantly worry over making a mistake that could allow Hawk Moth to get the upper hand.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #miracublog #episode wrapup #marigami #am I using these wrapups to throw around fic ideas? maybe

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randomfandomimagine · 4 years

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Heal My Heart (Cloud Strife x Reader)

Characters: Cloud Strife

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Tags: Reader Insert, Gender Neutral Reader, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Injury, mentions of blood, sexual/romantic tension

Word Count: 2,2k words

Requested by anon: Hi :) may I request a Cloud Strife ficlet in which Cloud gets hurt in a battle and the reader patches him up and it's all very charged and filled with tension (since Cloud has to be shirtless and all)? Or it can be the other way around and the reader gets hurt and Cloud awkwardly but tenderly tries patching her up and is very conscious of being close/having to touch her body?

A/N: I was really excited about this one, and although I struggled a bit until I fixed some things I wasn’t happy with (big shoutout to the lovely @xionroxas for helping me with it!) I now love the result and I hope you do too!

Your first battle together had been very different from what you imagined. It was a strange point in your relationship with Cloud, past the friendship that used to bind you yet not quite reached the romantic part that you both seemed interested in. Hence, all your encounters were slightly awkward with the romantic tension repressed between you.

After lots of insisting on your part, Cloud had finally budged and accepted to let you come with him on this encounter. Your arguments, he had to admit, were strong and valid. No matter how capable he was, Cloud wasn’t invincible and as you predicted, he was outnumbered. Luckily, you were there to have his back. Even if he was worried that you would get hurt, which you did.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment now” You scoffed, noticing the tight wrinkle on his brow. “You got hurt too, didn’t you?”

“I told you it would be dangerous”

“Yeah, and I knew that already”

He still didn’t say a word as you both made your way back. Just the thought of putting up with a silent seething Cloud made you exhausted. Or maybe it was the injury that you were hiding from him even as your ankle and knee throbbed under the fabric of your clothes.

Comitting to his brooding demeanor, he silently opened the door to his room. You sneaked in before he could close it in your face and leave you to the loneliness of your own room.

“What are you doing?” He scowled at you as you followed him inside.

“Someone has to patch you up, right?” You tiredly pointed to the tear in his tank top, there where a small amount of blood still seeped through his stomach.

“You’re so stubborn” Cloud only replied, resigning himself. His eyes watched you as you closed the door behind you and went to get the first aid kit.

“Yeah, yeah, like you’re any better” As you faced your back to him, you paused for a moment. A sudden lump formed in your throat and tears stung in your eyes. In all honestly, you hated to feel this harshness between you.

Hanging your head low, you told yourself that he wasn’t the warmest person. Even on your best moments, he had never been openly affectionate... but he could be very sweet and tender when he wanted to.

When you heard the sound of his sword being leaned against the wall and the springs of the bed complain as he sat on it, you forced yourself back to reality. Clutching the first aid kit in your hands, you turned to him.

It was then when you realized where his wound was. And that you needed better access to it in order to properly treat it. Cloud frowned, staring at you, and you just hoped you weren’t blushing at the words you were about to say.

“Take your shirt off, Soldier” You dryly said, even if your voice shook a bit.

“Ex-Soldier” He corrected as usual, but didn’t move at first.

Exasperated, you rolled your eyes at him and tilted your head. Cloud sighed and obliged, removing his tank top over his head and carelessly throwing it on top of the bed.

Your breath hitched at the sight of his bare torso and you couldn’t help but to stare. There was a scar on his chest, right above his fresh wound. Despite his pale skin tone, he was slim and his muscles were defined. You gulped, having to remind yourself what you were doing.

“Any problem?” He asked, noticing your hesitance.

“N-No” You hurried to kneel down in front of him to hide yourself, being careful with your injured leg. “It’s just worse than I thought”

Your hands worked fast as they drenched a piece of gauze in alcohol and quickly applied it to his wound. Cloud groaned in pain at the sudden movement, and his hand flew to yours. He had taken his gloves off at some point, so it made direct contact with your skin. His palm lingered over your hand even as you looked up at him and locked eyes.

“Sorry” You could barely hear your low voice over the drumming of your heart. “I’ll be more careful”

He gravely nodded, slowly letting go of your hand. Immediately you missed his touch, his warmth, the rough texture of his calloused hands. You parted your lips, ready to tell him to do it again, to touch you, to forget the coldness that hung in the air and hold you. Until you remembered that you needed to treat his wound.

Resigned to your metaphorical distance despite your physical closeness, you sighed and carried on with your task. You gingerly pressed the gauze against his stomach. This time he didn’t flinch.

“What is it?” Cloud’s voice broke the heavy silence that had established.

He had noticed your inner turmoil. After all, he knew you as well as you knew him. You took a moment to reply, refusing to voice your genuine thoughts. Instead, you asked something that was starting to weigh down on you.

“Are you still mad at me?” You piped up after several more seconds.

Cloud sighed himself, averting his gaze when you glanced up at him again.

“I was never mad at you” Was his reply, still refusing to look at you.

You knew him far too well to realize what this meant. Angrily picking up a bandage to cover his wound, you shook your head at him.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this, it was my decision” Even if your tone held anger, your fingers continued to be gentle. “And I’m fine, just a few scratches here and there”

“Right” As soon as you were done patching him up, Cloud tugged at your arm.

Surprised that he was pulling you up, you gasped. He was strong and determined, and effortlessly pulled you to your feet as he stood himself. Mustering all self-control you could, you repressed the grimace that wanted to occupy your expression as you were forced to stand on your injured ankle. Despite your efforts, however, you stumbled forwards a little with a yelp.

Cloud was quick to hold you by the hips, keeping you in place. You stared at him, surprised that he seemed so ready to catch you. Almost like he knew you would stumble.

“Head rush” You lied, and Cloud frowned in response. Your gazes locked for several seconds.

Feeling closer to him in every way, you opened your mouth to say something. He broke the instantaneous connection. Not saying a word, he moved you so you swapped places with him and carefully shoved you down onto the bed, taking the spot he was sitting in just a moment ago.

“Cloud?” You asked in confusion, watching as he carefully picked up your foot. His grip around your ankle was loose and yet it brought a pang of pain. “Ow!”

“Hurts?” He solely asked, and heat immediately flushed to your face.

“You’re really strong and...” Watching how he delicately propped your leg up on his knee, you interrupted your poor excuse. “What are you doing?”

“You were limping” Going along with his raspy voice, his eyes were severe as he peered at you. It was now your turn to avoid his eyes.

Cloud didn’t say anything else, shielding in the silence as he gently rolled your pants up to reveal your ankle. When his bare fingers delicately traced up your skin, you couldn’t help but shiver. He carefully put pressure in different spots, and although most of them hurt, you never wanted him to stop. The invisible barrier that was always between you had finally broken and his touch was tender and more wonderful than you could ever imagine.

“It’s nothing” He muttered, forcing you to look into his eyes as he stared into yours. “You’ll be fine if you don’t strain it”

“Thanks, doctor” You joked, standing to your feet once more.

Again, Cloud reached out and held you by the hips when you inevitably stumbled. Your faces were suddenly extremely close, and you could see a faint blush appearing in his cheeks. The heat on yours betrayed the same flush.

When Cloud rearranged his hold on you, however, you yelped out in pain. He gasped before he could ask anything when your hands met again with his.

“Oh” You breathed in relief, remembering about the mild wound you had nearly forgotten about. “Just a scratch, a bullet grazed me”

Cloud’s brow furrowed as he frantically moved, carefully sitting you down again and going to take a look at it. His fingers, however, stopped at the hem of your shirt.

“Uh...” He gulped, shyly taking ahold of it. “Can I...?”

Wrapping your fingers around his hand, you pulled at it and lifted your shirt just enough to reveal your wound. Cloud focused his gaze on it, relaxing his shoulders at the realization that it was nothing grave even if his eyebrows lingered on their frown.

His touch was still gentle as he prepared the gauze and pressed it, drenched in alcohol, against your wound. It smarted, but you refused to complain. Instead, as Cloud treated the superficial injury, you observed him. It was hard to miss how he was careful not to let his fingers touch your skin if he could help it. Nonetheless, his cares were tender as he covered the wound for you.

You smiled to yourself at his face of concentration, and especially at the reddish tone his face had acquired. It made you remember all the reasons why you had feelings for him, even if you had unknowingly pushed them away after your argument.

“Did I miss something?” Cloud asked, putting everything back on the first aid kit.

“Yes, heal my heart” You replied without thinking, your gaze following him as he stood to his feet. You did the same, holding on to his shoulders to support yourself.

“Y/N...” When you regained that closeness, Cloud moved his head to the side.

“Just play along...” You begged, hoping that he would for once. It was exhausting that every time you tried to make a step forward, he took two steps backwards.

The brief silence that followed made the tension in the air all the more evident. It was not an angry one like before, yet one filled with unspoken words, sweet nothings that were never pronounced.

“How?” He said after heaving a resigned sigh.

“Give me hope” You wrinkled your forehead, feeling frustrated tears arriving to your eyes. “Say something, anything...”

He didn’t. Cloud stayed quiet as usual. Tense and uncomfortable.

Letting go of him, you dropped your head in defeat. You gave up. Tears started rolling down your eyes. You had been convinced that you were in the same page, that you had feelings for each other despite the walls you both built around them. Maybe you were wrong, maybe you say something where there was nothing. You thought Cloud cared about you, but maybe he was just resigned to your attempts. It was so tiring, and so painful...

“It’s useless...” You whispered to yourself, feeling your shoulders convulsing with sobs. Trying not to let him know, you tried to repress any sounds, although some small strangled noises left your throat as more tears blurred your vision.

Ttwo arms suddenly envelopped you, urgently shoving you against his bare chest so tightly that it made sense that you couldn’t breathe. Utterly shocked, you just stood there, arms by your side, without even realizing you could return the hug. The tears froze in your eyes and the tightness that had arrived to your chest lessened.

“When you screamed and I saw you fall, I was terrified” Cloud whispered, nuzzling your neck. “That what you wanna hear?”

A nervous yet genuine bout of laughter escaped you. Just then, your arms finally moved and wrapped around him in return. His skin was soft and warm.

“I’ll take it” You replied, relieved that he tore down his walls. At least, some of them.

Cloud chuckled against your ear, and you heart skipped a beat at the wonderful but unexpected sound. Pulling away, you looked up at him.

“Is that a laugh I hear?”

“No”

His arms left you, but you weren’t going to let him win this time. You smiled, and to your surprise you saw a glimpse of his smile before you put your arms around his waist and hugged him again.

“We should rest” All the accumulated tension left you as you pressed yourself against his chest. “I think the worry got to your head”

He scoffed, even if his arms returned around your frame.

“The pain got to your head” Was his response, which made you smile. That was the Cloud you knew and loved.

Despite your words, however, none of you moved to get some rest. Instead you stayed there, holding on to each other. You stood there, with your hands leaning over his bare built chest, with his hands resting over your hips in the small bit of skin exposed under the rolled up shirt. You both stood there, claiming something you craved and that you hadn’t allowed yourselves to have. Until now.

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @anxiouslyreckless / @xionroxas / @dancewaterdance02 / @little-faerie-artist / @x-joie-x / @honeybunhanbin / @legallyblindgamer727 / @goodmorningawfulbye / @trunks-kiwi / @ron-sparky-speirs // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, let me know!! // Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

#rfi writings #ficlet #cloud strife x reader #ff #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #ffvii #final fantasy vii ficlet #ffvii ficlet #cloud strife #cloud strife ficlet #reader insert #requested #faves

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fullmetalscullyy · 3 years

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i will come for you

summary: “Stay where you are. I will come for you. Do you understand me? I will come for you.” Riza spoke once more without thinking but knew in her gut that this was always going to be her decision if the opportunity presented itself. There was no way she couldn’t go to him to help.

an: after watching the day after tomorrow five days in a row last month i decided to fill a niche au for myself ✨ something short that isn't meant to be taken too seriously lmao i just really wanted to use the quote "i will come for you. do you understand me? i will come for you” for royai :)))))

rated: t | words: | tags: au, the day after tomorrow au, rescue mission, sniper bros havoc and hawkeye on a rescue mission

read on: ao3 | ffnet

“Riza?”

Her head turned tiredly towards her co-worker and oldest friend, wondering what new challenge was coming over the horizon for them now. However, one look at Jean Havoc’s face told Riza Hawkeye this wasn’t related to the global catastrophe happening right now – one she and her team were trying to predict the trajectory of. This was something completely different. There was hope in his eyes – something they’d been severely lacking recently.

“Roy is on the phone. Line two.”

Riza hesitated for a second as she tried to process what Jean had told her. Then, emotion surged within her body and lifted her out of the chair. With an encouraging look, Jean pressed the transfer call button so Roy would come through her phone. Riza quickly accepted and put him on speakerphone. She took a deep breath before speaking.

It had been days since disaster first struck. Days of wondering if he was still alive or not. Being in what was essentially “base camp” for the worldwide operation meant she’d heard the news. She was well aware of what was happening around the world. Riza and her team were the ones tasked with forecasting it all. She’d heard of the tsunami that ravaged New York, where Roy had been at the time of the event. It had been devastating, killing hundreds of thousands in a city where that should never have even happened. Under normal circumstances, that is. Riza had lain awake at night, praying he wasn’t one of the dead. With no way to reach him, she’d never known for sure. When it became too much, she smothered her tears and pushed it down, shelving it for later. She and her team had a duty to the whole world’s population to try and figure this crazy shit out – and how to save as many as she could. Riza couldn’t afford to think of only one person – something Roy would have told her too – and yet, her heart refused to let him go, refused to banish him from her mind. He’d been her best friend. Her partner. How could she simply forget about him?

And now, he was here. Finally.

“Roy?” Her voice was strong as she spoke, but that control was already wavering as hope started to build inside her chest. Riza hunched over her desk, placing both palms flat atop it as she hung over the phone. Jean was right by her side, listening intently.

“Riza! Riza, oh thank God.” Relief clouded his tone but there was something else to it. He sounded off –

“Roy? Where are you?”

“New York Public Library. Riza, what is happening out there?”

Riza swallowed and prepared to break the news. “It’s a superstorm. There’s multiple, all forming over the northern hemisphere.”

“Where we are right now. Typical,” he scoffed lightly. Even in times of strife, he managed to quip a joke. Riza’s heart clenched inside her chest.

“Listen to me, Roy.” Riza leaned in closer to the phone. “You need to stay inside the library. Burn anything you can to keep warm and wait the storm out. Do not go outside. Don’t leave, okay –?”

He gasped and there was a gurgling sound.

Riza froze. What just happened?

Jean looked as alarmed and helpless as she felt.

“Roy? Roy?” Riza and Jean’s commands for him to answer were met with silence.

Suddenly, Roy gasped again, but this was different – like someone gulping down air after being starved of it. He spluttered loudly over the line, coughing roughly.

“Roy!”

“I’m okay,” he reassured shakily. “I’m all right.” There was the sound of him gagging and breathing heavily.

Riza’s muscles shook as her head bowed, thankful he was back on the line.

“Don’t do that to me,” she scolded without thinking, pouring as much of her relief and upset into that one statement.

“Sorry.” He sounded cold. His teeth chattered together violently. The sound was clear over the phone. “You know how I like t – to keep you on your t – toes.”

Riza could picture his grin and she felt tears prick in the corner of her eyes while Jean barked out a relived laugh beside her. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze while Riza let out a heavy sigh.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“I s – slipped. The area is filling up with w – water.” He exhaled violently, his teeth still chattering with cold.

“Roy, get out of there. Now.” Alarm bells were going off inside Riza’s head.

“I will. In a second.”

“Roy –”

“I’ve got time.”

“That water will be freezing. Get out because it will only get colder. You need to get somewhere warm and dry.”

“Stay warm. Burn things. Stay inside. Got it.”

“Burn anything you can and don’t let the fire go out, all right?”

“All right,” he replied quietly. “I’ve got it.” There was a beat of silence and she started to fear he’d disappeared again. “I’ll be fine, Riza.” Roy’s reassurance was gentle. She could picture his face as he said it – a smile that reached right up to his eyes, making them crinkle at the edges, his expression holding a softness and affection that he showed only to her.

Moments between them flashed in her mind. The way he was the only person who’d ever made her truly happy, but her dedication to the job kept them both apart. He’d promised he’d wait for her, but Riza could never ask him to do that. A relationship couldn’t exist when she was in the Arctic or in Antarctica for six months – or more – of the year. And yet, every time she returned, he met her with an easy smile and picked up where they’d left off, no questions asked. Her work sent Riza to some of the coldest places on Earth, but when she returned, Roy welcomed her with open arms, and his touch warmed her more than any heat source would ever be able to.

Now the tables were turned, and she would get him out of there.

“Stay where you are. I will come for you. Do you understand me? I will come for you.” Riza spoke once more without thinking but knew in her gut that this was always going to be her decision if the opportunity presented itself. There was no way she couldn’t go to him to help. Riza had the gear and had walked that far before on expeditions. She hadn’t walked it during weather conditions befitting a new ice age, but it could be done. She was sure of it, and she’d do it for him.

“Riza, no –”

“I’ll be there.”

There was a silence on the other end and Riza feared momentarily that she’d lost him. Again.

“See you s – soon, then?”

“I promise,” she vowed.

There was heavy breathing, followed by a loud gasp before the line went dead. Her head snapped up to look at the phone, seeing the screen blink back at her to indicate the call had ended. Riza’s heart rate picked up as her gaze roved over the piece of technology, silently begging it to bring him back.

“Roy?” Jean called to him, a hint of fear in his voice.

Riza straightened her spine slowly but her eyes never left the screen of the phone.

Give him back, she begged it.

Jean placed his hands gently upon her shoulders, turning her in place. Upon contact Riza inhaled sharply as her body started to shake.

“Come here.”

Her exhale was muffled against Jean’s chest as he held her tightly. His hands rubbed her back in comfort, which she was extremely thankful for. She needed it. They were quiet for a few moments as Riza tried to compose herself and banish the images of Roy dying in this storm from her mind.

“Are you sure about going?”

“I can’t leave him,” she whispered into Jean’s chest.

“Riza…”

“I’m going.” Her tone was stronger, and she pulled back slightly, looking up at Jean’s face. His long, blonde fringe fell over sympathetic eyes that were filled with sorrow. “And you can’t stop me.”

Jean shook his head. Riza opened her mouth and geared up for an argument, however that wasn’t his intention.

“I just have one question for you.”

“What?”

Jean’s arms left her shoulders, falling down to her elbows. “When do we leave?”

* * * * * * * * * * *

The walls of the library were frozen solid. In all of her expeditions, Riza had never seen anywhere look so frigid before. Frost covered every surface, several inches thick. Nothing had been saved from it. Her stomach clenched as she prayed she wouldn’t find what she feared.

“Riza,” Jean called to her. He had continued walking ahead as she searched everywhere in hallway for signs of life. Jean stopped where the hallway split off into a new one. His torch was pointing towards something and, with her heart in her throat, Riza approached to see what it was.

There, ahead of them both, was a faint orange glow coming out from underneath a closed doorway.

Riza’s movements felt slow and jerky as she walked towards the door, however she didn’t even remember her approach. All of her focus was on the orange light instead. Jean nodded to her in encouragement as they shared a look. With a deep breath, she forced the stiff, frozen handle downwards and pushed it open.

There were people inside asleep before a roaring fire.

The muscles of Riza’s neck trembled as she searched the faces. Desperation made her grip her torch even tighter. She made her way slowly around everyone, starting from left to right. A small dog poked its head up as the light hit them. It was a black and white Shiba, nestled comfortably in their owner’s arms. The dog whined loudly, sitting up straighter and attracting the attention of their owner. However, Riza couldn’t pay attention to them. There was only one face left to search –

There. Beside the fire.

Roy grimaced at the sudden light shining in his face. He grunted and lifted a hand to shield his eyes, managing to crack one of them open. Riza knew she should lower it to remove his discomfort, but she was frozen in place like everything else inside the room.

He was alive.

“Who’s that?”

Riza didn’t recognise the voice that spoke and couldn’t tear her eyes away from Roy long enough to look at their face again. All her worries and fears about what she would find in this library were banished immediately. One look at him squinting into the bright light made her legs tremble and a shaky breath pass over her lips.

Her torch lowered to point at the floor.

Roy stood. His expression was one of wonder as he hurriedly walked around the piles of books and furniture. Jean had stepped forward to see to the other survivors, clapping Roy on the back with a grin and a quick hello. But he didn’t manage to tear Roy’s attention away from her.

They were a step apart when Roy stopped. He hesitated for a second, probably waiting for her to say something, however Riza quickly closed that distance between them. She was overwhelmed by the sight of him and the definitive knowledge that he was okay and unharmed. Her arms wrapped around his torso to squeeze him tightly. Roy did the same and it was difficult with all their layers, but they managed. She pressed her face into his shoulder and squeezed her eyes closed to try and stave off her tears. It was a struggle, as every emotion was surging to the surface and threatening to bubble over.

She was so happy he was okay.

“You came for me,” Roy breathed by her ear. He pulled away and lifted his gloved hands to cup her face. He gazed upon her in awe. “I can’t believe you did it,” he chuckled in disbelief. His exhale warmed the skin of her face beautifully in the frozen room. Just like it had done years prior after returning from a long expedition.

“Of course,” Riza replied simply with her own smile. “I promised you that I would.”

“You… You are amazing.” He leaned forward to press a fierce kiss upon her forehead before bundling her into his arms once more. His cheek rested against hers and Roy lifted a hand to the back of her head to hold her in place.

“And I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” she warned lightly, giving his torso a squeeze.

A laugh rumbled inside Roy’s chest and he nodded. “I can live with that,” he replied softly. “I would be more than happy with that, Riza.”

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #royai oneshot #emma writes #no plot just vibes #back on my bullshit 😌😌#the au no one asked for #but royai in disaster movie situations w ott action and drama and bad science?? RAD!!

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shiroandblack · 3 years

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Finwë, the Progenitor of the 'Fins'

[Disclaimer: what you are about to read are basically my thoughts and interpretation of Finwë. So if you have different thoughts and opinions that's perfectly fine]

Oh, and I'm totally not doing this because I'm procrastinating on the Fëanor thought-vomit I have going on in my head. Pfft, absolutely not!

Finwë, High King of the Noldor, Daddy to Fëanor, Findis, Fingolfin, Lalwen, and Finarfin (not that kind of daddy, get yer minds out of the gutter), husband to both Míriel and Indis, the Ned Stark of the Silmarillion, (depending on who you ask) the Fin to Elu's Finelwë -

I should stop.

First of all, we have no idea where this guy came from (I think?). He just suddenly popped out as an ambassador who basically went out with his buddies (OG Goldilocks and Tall Boy) to scout Valinor and see if the elves should move there or not. Prior to that, Finwë is not mentioned anywhere. People are generally divided if he was Tata's son as was Ingwë being Imin's son and Elwë being Enel' or if he's Unbegotten. Some also headcanon him as an orphan with his parents gone via Morgoth Kidnapping which was why he was chosen as an ambassador. I mean, magical guy on horse saying he'll take their society somewhere? I wouldn't really send the heirs or chieftains, I'd send someone competent enough to be a diplomat but ultimately no great loss to the tribal society of Cuiviénen (my god did I spell that right) if magical guy does pull a Dark Rider. Personally I do think that if he was indeed an orphan, it would explain some things in particular, like his want for many children and just a big family in general.

Anyways, the three go on their joy trip to Valinor and come back and go like "come, come, there are two pretty trees and no Dark Rider". I personally would have gone because of the no Dark Rider part but hey, if you like shiny, glowing trees and that's your main motivation, no judgement. Right after that, we don't know what happens to Imin, Tata, or Enel. Working on the assumption that the three are different people to the three '-wë's then they could have become Avari since the Avari are Tatyar and Nelyar. Interestingly, the Minyar all go and there is no more mention of Imin despite he was chieftain of all chieftains and then suddenly Ingwë is High King of all Elves? I'm gonna go with @squirrelwrangler's Klingon route here from their story 'Of Ingwë Ingweron' because I think there should be more depth to Ingwë and on a completely irrelevant note I have had a crush on 'the boy who would be Ingwë' since I started reading. You probably didn't need to know that, but now you do :)

(As you can see, I'm being very objective.)

BACK TO THE MAIN POINT. THIS IS A POST ABOUT FINWË. So anyways, the Great Journey happened and for some reason he and Elwë decide to meet up in a forest to do what nobody knows. Anyways, Elwë got skadooshed by Melian and Finwë went to Aman forever regretting the fact that he never got to do Elwë - I MEAN DO WHATEVER HE AND ELWË PLANNED in the woods of Nan Elmoth.

There he got married. Now, this is where I actually stop making fun of Finwë (yeah, no) and give you my interpretations and analysis which none of you have asked for but I'm doing anyways. So right off the bat, even when Míriel is obviously tired from giving birth to the baby who is his own crematorium - sorry, I meant Fëanàro - Finwë goes like "oh he's so pretty, I'm sure our other kids will be just as pretty". Which goes to show us that Finwë likely wanted an armada of kids right from the start. Y'all know what happens next. Point is, Míriel's dead and gone and Finwë is understandably a Sad Boy™.

Now, he also exhibits a certain impatient streak after Míriel dies. Surely he knew that the more he bothered Míriel about "hey, when are you gonna come back?" the more obstinate Míriel would be about not returning. I say he is impatient because he is an elf. He technically has all the time in Arda to wait for Míriel to return, but curiously he doesn't wait. Now, Fëanor was born in YT 1169 and Fingolfin in YT 1190 and since one YT is about 10 solar years (I'm pretty sure it's 9.8 years ish but I suck at maths so please have mercy on me) that means that Fëanor was around 200 years old when Fingolfin was born and we know Findis is elder. 200 years for an elf is not long at all, hell to the elven perception of time Finwë marrying Indis is probably like someone going out dating after 40 days of abstinence after a break up. This means that he married Indis relatively quickly after Míriel died, which shows that he was very eager for the marriage to happen.

Why? Was it because he knew Míriel wouldn't return for a very long time? Or was it because he wanted more kids? Or maybe that impatience is just intrinsic to Finwë's character? I actually don't know what to make of his motivations regarding this, so I'd love to hear anyone's opinions.

Finwë supposedly fell in love with Indis when he was going to visit Ingwë and saw her singing and the light was golden and Indis glowed and yeah. Prior to that, they most likely met in Tirion or even in Cuiviénen as Indis was close kin to Ingwë so I highly doubt that this was their first meeting and Indis was in love with Finwë since the early days of when the Vanyar and Noldor still stayed together in Tirion. This does make me wonder that even when Finwë was married to Míriel, were there seeds of feelings towards Indis? No, I am not saying he had an affair with Indis while married to Míriel, but you can feel attracted to someone even while married to another. But considering Finwë's favouritism towards Fëanor, I don't think this was the case and he probably began falling in love with Indis when he saw her singing and being basked in golden light. I do wonder what would have happened if he saw her picking her nose instead but hey, elves don't pick their noses in the Silm because all the nose dirt is removed by the sheer amount of times they must've cried in the First Age. Snotty crying ftw.

Many people in-universe seem to think that his second marriage was a mistake, but I do not think his marriage per say was a mistake. To me Finwë had the right to move on from Míriel, but what I don't agree with was that the Valar basically locked her up in Mandos for eternity. But this is a point of conflict that I feel I should address in a separate post about the Valar. In any case, what I think was the mistake was Finwë's impactful favouritism of Fëanor and his failure to reconcile Fëanor and his children by Indis. As there are a lot of external factors to him being unable to make his kids get along, I will be focusing more on the negative effects of his favouritism.

Finwë's marriage to Indis seems almost like a spontaneous decision, I don't think he actually sat Fëanor down and explained things to him quite well. After all, in Fëanor's mind Indis is the reason his mother is forever dead which is not really the case. Finwë wanted to marry Indis and Indis wanted to marry Finwë. It takes two to make the relationship work, after all. But despite Indis giving him what he wanted which is more children and a big family in general, Finwë still favoured Fëanor. Now I do get favouritism because everyone has favourites, but Finwë's favouritism only served to create more strife between Fëanor and Fingolfin. With one child, he lavishes praise and attention to the point that it's detrimental to Fëanor's growth as a person and with the other children, Fingolfin felt ignored enough to tailor his entire life into proving that he is more worthy to be Finwë's heir to - for a lack of better word - get his father to look at him the same way Finwë looks at Fëanor.

I don't doubt that Finwë loved his kids. I think he did love both Fëanor and his children by Indis, but the thing is . . . his actions always show that he loved Fëanor more. And I think that must have been devastating for his other children and what was the worst in my opinion is that Finwë doesn't seem to realise this. This could be a form of selective ignorance on Finwë's part or it could simply be that Finwë felt that he was giving equal attention to his children and that Fëanor needed more attention because he didn't have a mother. This is a logical thought process for him, but just because something seems logical it doesn't mean it's the right thing. Personally, I think Finwë's feelings towards Fëanor revolve around love and guilt and that guilt over denying Fëanor a birth mother makes him put Fëanor on a pedestal above his other children.

Now I'm gonna dive in to the circumstances up to his death. Prior to the infamous 'point-a-sword-at-traitorous-half brother' incident, the Noldor already had factions brewing under each of Finwë's sons. Which means that there were different groups supporting different sons (I'm just gonna give this quick glance because Noldorin elf politics and succession matters requires its own post honestly), both Fëanor and Fingolfin's group were advocating for these two princes to be Finwë's heir while Finarfin's most likely stayed neutral as throughout the text Finarfin has shown no real desire for kingship as his brothers (well, little did he know that his mother-name would come true in an arguably sad way). What is very interesting is the fact that Fingolfin thought he could be king after Finwë to begin with, which suggests to me that Finwë hadn't formally declared an heir. Usually it is assumed that the eldest son is heir and there would be no formal declaration needed, but the thing is Finwë had sons by a different queen and what's more is Fingolfin and Finarfin were the children of the ruling queen. Why he didn't do a formal declaration, I do wonder, because while it may have embittered Fingolfin for awhile I do think that if Fëanor had been assured of his position then maybe the two could have had some semblance of a healthy relationship. Maybe he viewed it as causing a greater rift between his children?

Now we finally get on to the sword pulling incident. We all know what happens, so I'll just skip on to the aftermath. Fëanor is exiled by Manwë, Finwë views this as an insult to his authority. I do agree that this can be viewed as that because as a Noldo, Fëanor should answer to the king of the Noldor and Manwë is exiling someone who is not his subject. But the thing is, Finwë probably wasn't going to really punish him and that's why Manwë stepped in. Hell, we have no evidence of a trial going on for what Fëanor did. But the thing is, this isn't just a regular Fëanor and Fingolfin screaming match this was Fëanor actually threatening harm to Fingolfin in front of everyone. The guy literally sashayed into the room, wearing armour and drew a sword. This must have been the equivalent of a bank robber drawing out a loaded gun to the elves.

Anyways, ya know what good ol' Finwë did to protest against Manwë's interference and Fëanor getting exiled -

He incited the Fourth Shinobi War -

No, he just yeeted off with Fëanor. Look guys, I have neutral feelings towards Fingolfin I mean he is no victim (in general) because he has done some pretty presumptuous things (which is what makes him interesting, let's be honest), but I have never ever felt so bad for him before. Hell, this is an even worse 'fuck you' then making him cross the Helcaraxë because Fingolfin's main motivation in life thus far is probably to be equal to Fëanor in Finwë's eyes. I mean, he did leave Fingolfin regent (did he? Oh gosh, I honestly forgot) but still dealt an emotional blow anyways.

Right, so we don't get much of what Finwë did in Formenos but maybe this whole thing was just for him to get a holiday. And then Melkor comes and fucks shit up by killing Finwë. Now, I'm going to talk about Finwë's murder and why it is in my opinion the Inciting Incident™ of the Silm, the Chekhov's gun being fired so to speak, the equivalent of Ned Stark's execution in the Tolkienverse. Everything else, Melkor's lies, the creation of the Silmarils, the drama between the brothers, it was a build up to this moment. And everything after, the exile of the Noldor, the War of the Jewels, it was what happened because of Finwë's murder. Prior to this, there were already factions among the Noldor as previously discussed above but none of these factions actually openly made any moves against each other. Why? Because Finwë was still alive, because Finwë was essentially the lynchpin holding the Noldor together. Now, I'm pretty sure that Morgoth killed Finwë just to fuck Fëanor's shit up even more, but what he did was quite tactically brilliant. He has effectively wrought chaos among the Noldor in one single swoop.

And thus the Quenta Silmarillion happens.

In Mandos, he meets Míriel and tells her about his life. Because maybe it went something like this:

Finwë: so yeah, you know I was with our son all the way through and then I died. What have you been doing?

Míriel: oh, you know the usual things one does when one is condemned to Mandos for eternity.

Anyways, he gives up any opportunity for life for Míriel. Which is admittedly a nice thing to do since the reason Míriel is kinda stuck there is related to him, until you find out Míriel weaves the history of the House of Finwë instead of well, I don't know building the Mírindis ship? Yeah, she probably weaved Fingon getting his head smashed open by Gothmog and getting his corpse trampled. Oh and the 'If I Die, You Die' duel between Celegorm and Dior which probably wasn't as badass as Katniss' "If we burn, you burn with us" line from Mockingjay made it seem but more bloody and violent. Also Maedhros throwing himself off into a fiery chasm. Finrod getting mauled by a werewolf.

Good times, I'm sure.

But hey, at least Fëanor comes within a few seconds after stepping into Beleriand to keep him company.

So, I'm done with teasing my analysis of Finwë. Thank you for your time. Have a nice day.

Just keep procrastinating <3

#the silmarillion #lotr #silm stuff #finwë #fëanor #fingolfin #the ASOIAF and Naruto and Hunger Games references you probably didnt need #house of finwë #look at me trying to form my thoughts into coherent paragraphs #ingwë #because i have a crush on him #elwë #because yeah #tags galore #i should be doing something productive

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years

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Contending the Flame IV

Author’s Note: Hope everyone had a safe and fun Halloween! Not much else to say here as we start to delve deeper into Ivar and the Nuns new relationship and the two different worlds they come from. Thanks as always for being so awesome!

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 2217

Warnings: Language, Master/Servant dynamic

His brothers had kept a close eye on Ivar since acquiring his new thrall. He still played at the leader of their army, but he had refrained from shutting them out of power entirely. Any chance they had at lending a commanding voice they took. Hvitserk's strategy of giving their little brother a distraction was paying off.

The changes in Ivar's behavior were minuscule. Only Ubbe and Hvitserk took notice. It was the same when they were children when someone would give a new gift to Ivar. It would be a stretch to say he was happy, but his vengeance had quelled. For the moment it was enough, and they could focus on securing lands for their people while Ivar was preoccupied.

It was strange for a thrall not to be seen waiting over their master's every whim, but it seemed Ivar wouldn't permit you to leave his quarters. The other slaves they had acquired tended to him during meals, and when he walked the streets with his guards, you were always absent. Ubbe walked alongside Hvitserk contemplating this.

"What do you think he has her do for him?" Ubbe wondered aloud.

Hvitserk's brows puckered in thought. "Don't know. I can't imagine they have much to talk about, and I know the one thing they aren't doing."

"What do you mean?"

"C'mon, think about it," Hvitserk jested with a smirk. "I suppose that must make him a good fit for her. She'll remain a virgin after all."

Ubbe latched onto Hvitserk's arm, pulling him to a stop as he gave him a harsh look. "Those are dangerous words, brother. Remember Sigurd. I don't want to see another brother dead because of Ivar's fragile grasp of his anger. He has poor sensibilities when it comes to that matter. It's unfair, but it's not his fault."

Hvitserk shook off Ubbe's grasp and rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. "Right, that was stupid. I do pity him, though I don't think he'd want it. Who knows how he'll be when we start having families of our own."

Ubbe grunted. "He'll probably resent us, more than he does already. I think I understand why he keeps her away from everyone. Besides our mother, no one has ever taken to Ivar's company outside of obligation or familial bond. He's lonely."

"And it's not as if she can refuse," said Hvitserk. "But she's a Christian. That's got to account for some strife between them."

They continued on their way towards the center of the city. Food was beginning to run scarce, and it seemed the Saxons were holding steadfast on starving them out. While Ivar was willing to take their army to its limits to play Aethelwulf's game, Ubbe and Hvitserk were devising their own plan to negotiate land. They just needed a little more time. Many things rested in the hands of the nun, as unaware as you were.

"I just hope he hasn't harmed her," Ubbe said while they passed through the market.

Hvitserk looked grim, a heaviness settling on him that had replaced his usual cheer. "Ivar did always break toys. We have to hope that Christian isn't as weak as she looks."

ooOOoo

You were growing accustomed to your new station. As a woman, it was your lot in life to suffer, and you took your new situation as a test from God. The heathen, Ivar, he had made no bid to harm you. That wasn't to say he was good company to keep. He had taken to trying to instruct you in a handful of words and phrases of his language. Some of the words were difficult to form with your accent, and when you mispronounced things, he would grow irritated and throw things at you. Uttering dark curses in his tongue, you were certain he had insulted you as well, but it was better than a flogging.

At night you continued to pray, your back to your master, and the words spoken only in your head. You were sure they reached God, even without a rosary in your grasp or the piety to kneel. In your heart, you struggled to keep hope alive. If this test was to be your final judgment from God, its purpose remained clouded to you.

It was late when Ivar returned, and you had remained awake for his arrival. You now slept when he did, short and inconsistent hours of the night, only to be woken before the dawn. He did not rest well. Be it from his duties or pain you could not say, but he never faltered from exhaustion. This pattern must have been his usual routine, life at war.

Ivar's eyes sought you out the moment he came through the door, and you returned the stare. He had only just started walking in his new contraptions, a set of iron braces that he had created from pride. His determination to walk was admirable. You had never witnessed such a fighting spirit before, and you were certain it was a blessing from God.

"Something you wish to say?" Ivar interrupted your thought, a scowl on his face from your lingering gaze on his legs.

"It is a good thing," You said while rising from your corner of the floor. "I believe God has blessed you."

Ivar snorted, blue eyes rolling at your absurdity to insinuate such a thing. He took a slow seat on his pallet of furs and started to remove the braces. "Really, and why would that be?"

"You are not the first cripple I have met, but you are the most assiduous."

You could see him test out the word for himself, a lack of understanding passing over his face. "I'm not sure what that means, but I like how it sounds."

"You have an unrelenting heart. Strong-willed and resolute in your goals. I find you impressive."

He halted what he was doing, and took a long, considering look at you. "I've been this way for as long as I can remember. It is the way if I am to be seen as a true Viking to my people."

"So there are others like you?" You asked as you approached him with careful steps.

"There are not many cripples among my people, no. A child born with a deformity such as mine is left to die. I would have been if not for my mother. She was softhearted, and couldn't bear my loss."

You didn't want to have any strong sort of feelings towards your captor, but to learn that he had been left to die as a helpless babe engulfed you in sorrow. "It isn't wrong for a mother to feel pity for her child," You murmured, showing how distraught you were by such a story. "You don't sound grateful for her mercy."

Ivar's face hardened at your sentiment. "Mercy is for Christians. I would have done the same as my father. I loved my mother, but there are days I resent her for her choice. Her gifts failed to foretell the agony I would endure at the hands of compassion."

"What gifts?"

"She was a Vülva, a woman seeress of our people who has visions of the future."

You frowned at such a concept. "That sounds like sorcery to me."

"I forgot your people fear magic and witchcraft," Ivar said in a teasing tone. "My mother would have hated you. She was too steeped in the beliefs of our own people to have care about your sensitive notions of God. My father would have liked you though."

You blushed at the idea of such a great man holding you in favor. Though you didn't hail from Wessex you had heard the stories of the Viking King who fought for Mercia and befriended King Ecbert. "King Ragnar? Why do you think that?"

"He was often amused and curious about your God. Maybe you would have reminded him of Æthelstan, his Christian monk." Ivar resumed the task of taking off his braces, wincing in pain whenever a particular part pinched or pulled at his legs. "Here, come help me with this."

Startled by such a request, you moved with haste and uncertainty. Ivar showed you which parts to unclasp, and you would mimic his actions with a gentler touch, stopping entirely when he would let out any sound of discomfort. You were certainly slower at the task than if he completed it himself, but he seemed to enjoy watching you work over him, and you were grateful for the distraction.

"What about your family? Where are your mother and father?" Ivar asked while leaning back on the strength of his arms.

"They're both dead," You said, pausing only a moment to collect yourself before continuing on his braces. "I was born in Rendlesham, in East Angles. My mother was a whore, and I never knew who my father was as a result of that. When she died, I was orphaned to the streets until the church took me in. Being of such low birth standing, I turned to the church as my ray of hope."

You could feel Ivar frowning at you, but you did not waver. "Did you not want to be something more than a nun?"

You breathed a laugh. "Such as what? Saxon women are not allowed to be warriors."

"Yes, but isn't there a way you could have improved your situation?"

"No," You said bluntly. "Blood is everything. Those who are of Royal standing will always be in power, and through marriage, their line continues. The best I could have hoped for was a marriage to a farmer, and he would have to have been a poor one. I would have raised his children, and likely died young from childbirth."

"I see now why you're a nun," said Ivar. When you chanced a look up at him, he appeared troubled by your story. "Those Saxons in power are greedy. They keep all for themselves and give nothing back. What chance is there of an honorable death for those forced to live a life of poverty?"

"If you die without sin, you go to Heaven. We have no need for honor."

"A life without sin," Ivar hummed. "As if any man is capable of such purity."

"A Priest is," You argued back. "It takes a nobleman to obtain such a pious position in the church."

"Is it noble for these men to keep silver and gold in their churches while children run through the streets, no better than dogs?" Ivar had sat forward, his eyes emboldened with the wrath of a demon. "I have seen your noblemen of the cloth, and they died screaming the same as any sinning heathen of mine."

You lost your balance, falling flat on your bottom as you gazed up at Ivar in terror. "What did you do to them?"

"The things I've done to your priests," Ivar paused, a calm washing over him. "It would make Loki grin."

The suffering of your people seemed to fall down on you like a star collapsing from the night sky. When he spoke, you could almost forget that Ivar was your enemy, but he had now made it clearer than ever where the line in the sand was drawn. You were just a slave, a Christian slave, and how soon would it be before he tired of you? You did not wish the same fate to befall you as it had for the priests, whatever it had been.

"I have not dismissed you," Ivar tutted when you began to walk away to your corner, unaware yourself that you had begun to do so. You craved distance from him, even if it was only a few feet away.

At first, he tried to manage his composure, calling you back with his voice deliberately even. When it became clear that no amount of coaxing on his part would work, he started yelling in his language. That word came up again, 'Ólaug'. It had been peppered into a number of your one-sided conversations. If he had tried to brand you with a new name, you would refuse. He would not take who you were.

Your fight ended with him throwing one of his crutches at you. It landed just before you, and you were able to contain your flinch. Ivar scoffed at your non-reaction and threw himself back onto the furs. He had finished disrobing and gave you the courtesy of his back, which appeared to be covered in a new etched design each time you saw him. Matched against your own untainted skin, it was a reminder of how different the worlds you came from were.

When you were sure Ivar had fallen asleep, you moved to get under your own thin pile of wool blankets. They were scratchy and held none of the warmth of the furs, but it was not the worst sleeping conditions you had ever weathered. That night you prayed for the lost Priests, and for God to take away your suffering. You didn't see a way out of your situation, but if God acted through you, you were certain to find your answer. Content to keep faith in your heart, Sister Mary Catharine slept, ignorant to the matter that Ivar was awake and watching you.

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#ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar the boneless #vikings #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar ragnarsson #history vikings #vikings ivar #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson imagine #ivar the king #ivar imagine #vikings imagine

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incorrectsmashbrosquotes · 3 years

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The Dragon and the Angel

Sephiroth was in his room, reading a book about the history of Eos and the nations of Lucis, Accordo, Tenebrae and Niflheim and sipping more of his favorite drink, Jenova Fruitjuice Tea with a few droplets of Lifestream extract for a minty aftertaste. His room was set up to be a study and adorned with paintings of memories back home like when he burned down Cloud’s home, though most of the paintings of his dear mom, Jenova.

He was interrupted from his reading when there was a knock at his door, sensing it wasn’t his favorite buddy Cloud, he chose to ignore it, not bothering to waste time on lesser beings. The person on the other side knocked again, this time a bit harder as the wood of the door creaked a bit. A third knocking made Sephiroth snap his book shut in annoyance and respond.

“Im not in the mood for company, woman.” He figured it was Rhea again after her little failed attempt at wooing him and still wanting him. He wasnt one for connections, after all he was a superior being and didn’t bother wasting his time with lesser lifeforms, unless their name was Cloud Strife. He knew the woman would return as he sensed her draconic aura behind the door. However he was surprised when black mist began seeping through the door and condensing before him, the mist coming together and forming the crimson and black cloaked figure of the resident Vampire Overlord, no not Mathias Cronqvist, Gabriel Belmont, and going off of his demeanor and gaze, he wasn’t in the mood for being denied an audience with the One-Winged Angel. “Evening, i hope you don’t mind me stopping by and desiring a chat with you, Sephiroth.” The vampire politely greeted Sephiroth who was smiling to his guest as he reached for his tea cup. “To what do i owe the pleasure for the visit, Gabriel, is this about your little grandchild, Rhea, i believe her name was? Quite the beauty i’ll admit, but not my type, too human…” sipping his tea as Gabriel just raised a brow at the silverette’s words. “Quite funny you should mention that, and ironic, considering your own concievment and upbringing.” Gabriel replied with his hands behind his back, not moving an inch as his words registered with the Ex-SOLDIER. Serpiroth set down his tea and his full attention was on the vampire now.

“Oh i can assure you, my mother is much more than a simple human, she-" "Your mother and father were both humans, both brilliant in their fields of work, though from what i gather, Professer Hojo is a bit of a nutcase and Ms. Crescent is imprsoned on her own terms and suffering major guilt for her actions over many things, including you. Like them you are human, your not even a Cetra like Ms. Gainsborough-Fair, human blood runs through your veins as much as the blood of the alien parasite you cling to so desperately for validation and approval, which was injected into you at such an early time that you suffer from it quite clearly. Your blind to the truth, your ‘dear mother’ only sees you as a means to an end, to consume this world and move on. Course thats not to be as she’s currently a useless corpse who'se entire presence has been wiped clean thanks to Mr. Strife and his companions, they also dealt with your machinations if im right on the details.” Gabriel brought his right hand up to cup his bearded chin as if in thought, sensing he struck a chord within Sephiroth as he felt the slow rise of power. “Is there a point to your visit, vampire, or have you come to mock my mother and hope for a slow death?” Sephiroth asked with a light frown, saw what you will about him and his true parentage, he had no care for them, but insult mommy Jenova in his presence, then it gets personal. Gabriel just shrugged and spoke up after glancing around to all the paintings in the room.

“Mocking? Oh no, you see i prefer to give truths and complete honesty when it comes to chatting about matters such as this. I understand your rejection to my dear Rhea and respect your decision, not everyone desires for companionship, be it platonic or sexual in nature. But would it really kill you again to at least open up that black heart of yours a little bit and make an aquaintance or two, or do you have a bit more of Hojo in you than you like to admit?” Gabriel asked as he heard all about the legendary Sephiroth, as the library in the Smash Mansion hosted a variety of knowledge from fighters to the small details of even the most mundane things. He also knew of his defeat and death, multiple deaths, at the hands of Cloud and his friends. Sephiroth folded his arms over his chest and while a bit annoyed by Gabriel poking the hornet’s nest in regards to Jenova, he asked anyway, “And why should I, I seem to recall you yourself are of higher status than others, but you were once human as well, don’t prattle to me about opening up and befriending others when you yourself keep within your castle and avoid mostly everyone like the plague, hypocrite.” he shot back as Gabriel just gave a light chuckle, not even denying that Sephiroth’s words were false.

“You’re right, I was at first, but I confess, Palutena is very tenacious and managed to open me up again, Ganondorf is always pleasant to hang out with and Cereza is just a treat to be around, all in all, i quite enjoy my group of friends. Im sure if you try you could make some surprising friends around here, while sure they can’t replace dear Genesis and Angeal, it wouldn’t hurt to form new friendships, how do you think Mr. Strife and his team were so equipped to stop you and your goals? If you ask me, you might be the better swordsman, but Cloud clearly is the better fighter, perhaps Jenova should have chosen him to be her son, he clearly is much more capable than you are, Mr. Best-Soldier-Ever~” Gabriel smirked with the jab as Masamune was summoned in Sephiroth’s hand and speared through Gabriel’s chest, through his heart and out his back. Sephiroth blinked as he didn’t hear the cry of agony that he was so accustomed to when cutting people down with his weapon, instead he was greeted with a smiling Gabriel, blade run through his torso as he wasn’t even bothered by it, he just took a step closer as the blade went further through and Sephiroth found himself close to Gabriel, Masamune about to be yanked free by its owner, but stopped when Gabriel’s cold hand clasped around Sephiroth’s wrist. “You’re angry, that good, shows that you haven’t completely discarded your humanity, and nice shot, you cut through my heart in an angle that severed the veins and arteries. But as you can clearly see, im a lot harder to kill. Now put away your washing pole and we can turn this little chat into something more appealing.” Gabriel yanked Masamune out of his body and his blood returned into him as his wound ehaled away, Sephiroth setting his weapon aside as Gabriel summoned a chair and sat down across from Sephiroth now. “Seeing as you made your grand entrance by killing off Galeem, i figure we can start by getting to know each other, from one god slayer to another.” Gabriel offered as he summoned a goblet of blood for himself. Sephiroth thought for a bit then shrugged, why not entertain this idea and see what becomes of it. -Later-

Rhea was carrying a few books she wanted to check out from the library and bring into Garreg Mach, both to help Byleth and Bylethe with their teacher duties and also for herself as she was an avid book reader in her spare time and having access to the many books about various realms and more intrigued her greatly. As she turned the corner of an isle, she bumped into someone she didn’t expect to see again, Sephiroth.

“Excuse me, didn’t see you there, here allow me.” Sephiroth greeted and knelt down as he collected her scattered books and then offered a hand to help Rhea up, she was a bit unsure but took his hand anyway and dusted herself off.

“No worries, i was more focused on my books, what brings you here, Mr. Sephiroth, you enjoy literature as well?” She asked

“I do, i read often when not participating in fights. I actually came here looking for you, Lady Rhea.” At her slightly puzzled look, he explained, “I wish to apologize for how rudely i replied to your advancements earlier. Its not that i think your repulsive or anything, its just that form where I'm from and what I’ve lived through, I’ve not the time or interests for such relationships.” He said as Rhea took that in and looked down, while yes she did manage to get over the heartbreak of rejection, she still found him interesting and couldn’t help but want to know the elusive and scary individual that as Sephiroth. “However, I am not opposed to the suggestion of making acquaintances, or friends if you would prefer.” He said as this had Rhea look back to him with surprise, studying him for any false pretenses as he held a rather calm smile that wasn’t mean. She smiled and looped an arm around his as she guided the black clad man around and started asking some questions on what type of stuff he liked to read. Needless to say, this was the start of an odd but blooming friendship.

-With Gabriel-

“Wow, thats new, here i thought he was a giant asshole for the sake of being one.” Sothis remarked as Palutena’s party were all having lunch and Sothis had tagged along at Palutena’s insistience and the group was watching Rhea and Sephiroth pick out books and go over what interests them in reading. Trevor was there too as he figured to spend more time with dad and the goddess who clearly helped him love again, that and Ganon’s kids were rubbing off on him.

“Looks like the mamasboy had a change of heart and decided to stop being a prick, i wonder if that had anything to do with you, darling?” Bayonetta asked as her eyes shifted from the crystalball on Palutena’s staff showing them the new friends to Gabriel as he was enjoying his burger.

“It did, we had a nice heart to heart and i convinced him that it wouldn’t hurt to make some friends around. Besides, im sure Mr. Strife would enjoy not being constantly followed around by his rival.” He said before taking another bite of his food. Alucard just chuckled and quipped.

“Surprised you didn’t threaten to tear out his wing, father. you usually resort to violence when people get stubborn and don’t want to change.” the vampire son snarked out as Gabriel just rolled his eyes.

Come now, my boy, i can be civil and persuasive when i want to be. Besides, i also promised him a good fight if he made friends with your niece.“ He added as this got Ganondorf thinking of how he could promote this and make money, The Dragon vs the One Winged Angel, sounds enticing.

#smash bros #submission #incorrect super smash bros #super smash bros #incorrect quotes #Sephiroth #Dracula #Gabriel #Gabriel Belmont #Sothis #Rhea #Ganondorf #Final Fantasy #Legend of Zelda #Fire Emblem #Castlevania

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peppersonironi · 4 years

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How I Picture a Batfam Age Reversal

I’m going to write this as a fic (And I want to go on into a young justice world where dick forms the team and his siblings are protective) but here is the outline in bullet points in case anyone is interested. Please note this is VERY first draft.

Ages (At end) & Order:

Damian- 24

Duke- 21

Stephanie- 20

Tim- 21

Cassandra- 19

Jason- 19

Barbara- 15

Dick- 13

Damian is Ten when he is sent to live w/ his father. Bruce is 30.

They don’t really work well together at first. But Selina, Alfred, and Clark somehow get it through Bruce’s thick skull that he has to care for this child.

Damian keeps sneaking out on patrol, against B’s wishes. Eventually, he let’s Damian join and tells him to choose a name (Not what we meant, Bruce!)

Damian wants to go for something like Shadow, or Demon, but Bruce puts his foot down. He says that Damian shouldn’t try to be darkness.

Damian is pouting in the gardens when he finds a wounded robin. It’s wing is broken. He demands that the animal should be taken to a shelter, and carries it in his hand the whole way there.

The bird makes it, and Damian demands to be called Robin. He designs his suit, going slightly more colorful. “I might be called Robin, but I am NOT wearing brown, Pennyworth.”

Bruce introduces him to Superboy (Jon, note: less age dif) and the pair are close friends.

He is Robin for a little over seven years before he begins to fight with Bruce about being allowed to patrol alone, and being his own hero. (basically what happened w/ Dick).

Damian leaves Gotham, opting to claim Bludhaven. Jon joins him. He suggests they call each other Nightwing and Flamebird. Damian thinks it’s a bit childish, but he can’t say no to Jon. They’re costumes are here. (done by @hyperactive-lectiophile! Fantastic job!)

They eventually realize they’re in love w/ each other, all while trying to figure their lives out. Damian briefly tries to join the police. He hates it. Eventually, he enrolls in BH college for a major in Art and a minor in business.

Later in Gotham, the We Are Robin/Robin War stuff happens. Long story short, Duke is adopted.

Damian is angry to find out he has a new brother, goes to Gotham to yell at Bruce, but then meets Duke. They bond, and are close siblings. Damian makes his father promise to not adopt any more strays.

Stephanie Brown wants to stop her Father, so she sews up a costume and goes out as Batgirl. Bruce is apprehensive at first, but his family basically yells at him to train the poor girl before she gets hurt.

He does, and after Steph meets Damian, who she absolutely adores (He loves her too. The way she pisses his father off is legendary), Stephanie decides she wants to be Robin. Batgirl was good for dealing with her father, but she wants to belong to this new family, and, w/ Damian’s blessing, she makes a new costume.

Unfortunately, after a while, Stephanie is killed by Black Mask (her death is faked, like in the comics, but the Fam doesn’t know)

Enter Tim Drake. Batman has been going crazy over grief, and not even Nightwing, Catwoman (this is SOOOO batcat, btw) or The Signal can calm him down. Tim steps right up, and demands to be robin.

Damian and Bruce fight over this. Surprisingly, Damian is the one who thinks Tim should be given a chance. He sees how his father has been acting. Damian knows that Tim must be brilliant to figure out their identities, and thinks that should count for something. Duke takes his side, knowing that it takes guts to talk to batman, and be willing to join him. Bruce, meanwhile, is a constant chant of “no more dead robins”. After a while, and lots of arguing, Tim takes his place as Robin. They redesign the suit, and he takes his place as robin.

It’s little while after this that Stephanie comes back. Tim offers Robin back, but Stephanie declines. They talk and grow closer. At one point they talk about Stephanie’s new moniker. She says she doesn’t want to be Batgirl either. She wants something new. Tim suggests Spoiler (Bad pun turned brilliant idea?).

Cassandra Cain arrives on the scene next. She saves the commissioner’s life (like No Man’s Land, minus No Man’s Land), and Stephanie immediately imprints on this tiny assassin child (So do the rest of the family, but Steph claims the fourteen-year old first. She and Bruce fight over custody.). She offers Cass Batgirl. Gotham gained a new vigilante, and Bruce Wayne adopted a new child. (Faster than the comics, I KNOW. But Cass deserves happiness)

Everyone loves their new sister, and everyone spoils her. Duke is the one to take her to a ballet the first time. She immediately begs to be put into lessons.

Somewhere in here Tim’s mom dies and his dad is in a coma. Bruce takes him in.

Eventually, Bruce decides to offer Tim Red Robin, hoping to avoid the strife he had with Damian. (Like in the comics, Bruce was going to give Jason Red Robin)

Tim is unsure of this, and puts off deciding. Then little Jason Peter Todd decides to jack the tires of the batmobile and is immediately taken in.

Everyone is captivated by the tiniest addition to their family, but it's also at this time that Jack Drake finds out about Robin and forces Tim to quit. Tim gives Jason his blessing to become Robin.

Everyone pitches in on helping train the newest Robin. Damian teaches the kid things he learned from the league (non-lethal things, since Damian loves this kid), Duke teaches him escrima fighting, Stephanie (Much to Bruce’s dismay) has a full seminar of the delicacies of glitter bomb making. Tim teaches the kid hacking, when he can get away from his dad.

Unfortunately, when Jason has been Robin for almost a year, he is killed by the Joker.

The family is torn apart by greif. But this time around, Bruce has a much larger support system. All of them lean on each other.

The only time that Damian ever broke his no-kill rule while living with his father was to kill the Joker. He hunted and murdered the clown, sparing Harley. He had been friends with Quinzel since he was Robin, and knew how the Joker treated her. Harley became the batfam’s honorary aunt after this.

Bruce was too emotionally tired to fight with Damian over his actions, so no one said anything. Eventually, Bruce and Damian did argue. Damian refused to apologize,, though he did promise his father to never kill again. Their relationship was strained for a while, but they worked through it.

Less than a year later, Jack Drake dies, and Tim comes back onto the vigilante scene. He refuses to become Robin, however, choosing to take Bruce up on his offer and become Red Robin. He designs his own suit, and the world seems to slowly become normal. Or some semblance of it.

One night, the circus is in town and the whole family (except Alfred) is home. Duke, Tim, and Steph drag Bruce, Cass, and Damian to go see it.

It is on this night that Dick Grayson’s parents fall to their death. Dick is sent to live in juvi, meanwhile Bruce tries to adopt Dick. He succeeds, and the manor once again has a bright young child running through it’s halls.

Dick figures out the secret identities of his family and instantly demands to be allowed out. He wants to take down Zucko, and won’t settle for every single member hunting for him. Dick wants to take down his parent’s murdered himself. He tries to sneak out multiple times, but is always stopped.

Damian talks to Dick (They are extremely close) and explains the origins of Robin. He says that the mantle was born out of a want to distance himself from the revenge and violence of the league. Dick cries when he learns this and says that his own parents used to call him Robin. He suggests that the mantle is more than a personal need. Robin is Family.

Damian almost immediately demands that Dick be trained and help catch Zucko. Bruce is confused, as before, Damian was strongly against letting a nine-year-old fight crime. Damian explains (after much cajoling. He might be more emotionally open and healthy than when he first arrived in the manor, but the kid is still constipated) what Dick had said, and that Damian understands the kid’s need for direction. “When I first came here, I needed Robin. I might not have known it, but I did. Richard needs Robin now, as well.”

The family took sides on the issue, but eventually Dick (with the aid of his puppy-dog-eyes™) won everyone over. He got his own Robin costume, and they caught Zucko.

Dick refused to stop being Robin, and so Gotham gained a new bird.

Dick was Robin for almost two years when The Red Hood made his appearance in Gotham. No one knew what he wanted, as he didn’t seem to do much beyond killing criminals. They thought he was a vigilante at first, but then he began to take over the criminal underbelly of Gotham, regulating crime. On top of that, Red Hood targeted Robin. Attacking the boy wonder when no one else was around. After the red helmeted rogue let loose a few hints about the league of shadows, Damian interrogated his mother, who explained the identity of The Red Hood, and how she had set him on Gotham.

As soon as the family figured out the newcomer’s identity, and the reason he was alive Damian tracked him down. He knew how to deal with pit rage from his childhood, and brought the lost bird back to the nest.

The family was whole for the first time in years. Jason was still angry and resentful, but he had his family back. Jason was grateful for Damian taking revenge for him, and they were once again close.

Slowly, Jason let everyone back in, including Bruce. Dick is wary at first of this new older brother, but the little chicken nugget quickly warms up to Jason, and even convinces him to teach him how to shoot a gun (In secret, of course, Dami and Bruce would blow a gasket). Jason couldn’t resist the kid. It was physically impossible.

A year later, Cass decides to pursue dance as her career. She gets a job with the Hong Kong Ballet company. She moves there, and decides to take a new moniker: Black Bat. Her family is so proud of her, but they miss her dearly. Duke visits often, bringing new back to the family.

The absence of Batgirl is filled after a while by Barbara Gordan. She makes her own costume and starts going out. Once again, Stephanie Brown adopts a smol bean (Well, not legally. The commissioner is still alive) and outfits her with a more Gotham-friendly suit and weaponry (I.e. heavy kevlar and leather)

Babs is taken whole-heartedly into the fold, and is made an honorary sister.

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