#for the sole purpose of showing him off like he's some exotic animal...

[meowmeowmessi]

inter miami are going to be the reason messi retires early btw

#working a 36 y/o athlete (with a pre-existing hamstring injury!) into the ground by parading him across the globe #for the sole purpose of showing him off like he's some exotic animal... #remember that one aesop's fable abt the golden egg-laying goose? anyone? #all this while fleecing the fans! so many articles written abt how inter miami might be bad for the mls #when the project is bad for football period #anyways. hope those who came to watch messi in hong kong get their money back

[fox-moblin]

How about Wild regains his personality before the calamity? You know the more serious and stoic wild versus the wild child we know and love.

I hope you don’t mind if I took this in a slightly different direction...

****

****

Time shifts, adjusting his shirt collar and nodding to a soldier who passes by, trying not to show his discomfort. Big events like this have never suited him and the stiff fabric of his outfit is becoming more unbearable with every second. He spares a glance at Twilight, who looks about as pleasant as a cucoo. His protege is hiding a grimace while greeting an older noblewoman, who sneers a bit at his accent then moves on to greet Time as well. He smiles politely, commenting on the pendent hung around her neck, and the woman thanks him and waves a hand through the air, gesturing to the event around them.

“Oh, but isn’t it just lovely,” she breathes, her words laced with an air of longing. She sighs, delicately exaggerated; her shoulders rise and fall so that the lace adorning them billows out like wings of some exotic bird. She glances at Time from beneath long lashes, eyes roaming across the laces of the borrowed blouse he’s wearing. Time clears his throat, avoiding her eyes as he smiles and nods to the surrounding crowd.

“Yes, lovely,” he swallows thickly and wishes Malon were standing beside him. His gaze drifts. The courtyard is filled with people, mulling about it their finest attire. He can see Sky a ways off, sipping something light and fizzy from a glass, chatting to a young man in uniform.

“Ahem.”

Time’s attention is drawn back to the woman in front of him. She is staring at him intently.

“Don’t you just,” she glances down. “...love coronations…”

Time leans back slightly, and glances at Twilight out of the corner of his eye. His protege is watching him with wide eyes, a mixture of amusement and concern in his face. Time fumbles for words.

“Err, yes. Lovely… um, how do you know the… prince…”

The woman seems unimpressed by his response, but she covers it with another wave of her hand. Time can smell her perfume; a mixture of roses and lavender.

“I’m the sister of one of his advisors,” she says, her chest puffing slightly at the declaration. She smiles, the barest sliver of teeth showing through thin lips. “And how, may I ask, are you acquainted with our dear prince…?”

Twilight, in all his grace, chooses now to break in, hastily explaining their earlier escapade in escorting the prince’s caravan through dangerous territory. The boy (because that’s really all the prince was, a boy) had been more than grateful, and maybe a little star struck, and had insisted they come to his coronation that night. The heros had tried to refuse, keen on getting back to their quest, but the prince had been so excited and well, as Sky had put it earlier, didn’t they deserve a little bit of a break, if only for a night?

The woman is taken aback by Twilight’s sudden reappearance and Time uses the opportunity to pretend as if he’s seen someone, politely excusing himself from the conversation and leading Twilight away to the other end of the courtyard. He can feel the woman’s stare on his back. They end up next to an ornate fountain depicting a Great Fairy and her followers, letting out simultaneous sighs as the misted spray coming off of it cools their heads. Time looks around, intent on getting himself a glass of whatever Sky had been drinking earlier, when he feels a tap on his arm.

Wind is staring up at him with desperate eyes. He’s dressed to the nines like the rest of them, stuffed into borrowed clothes (probably those of the prince himself), with his usually windswept hair slicked back with some kind of harsh smelling gel. The ruffles around his neck bob up and down as he turns his head, making sure nobody’s watching. He looks absolutely miserable.

“Time, please tell me this is gonna be over soon,” he hisses, playing with the cuffs of his sleeves. Behind him, Time can hear Twilight snort into his hand, but he tries to keep a straight face for Wind’s sake.

“Soon,” he tells him, though it’s a bit of a lie. The young prince hasn’t even made an appearance yet, but Time suspects that they’ll be gone soon after that anyways. Stay long enough so that people know you were there, and then make a hasty retreat.

Wind doesn’t seem too content with his answer regardless, bouncing on his toes as Time sighs and looks around. Sky has been joined by Hyrule and, together, they seem to be telling a wildly animated story to some young soldiers. Warriors is nowhere to be found, but Time is too surprised; he’d seen him earlier surrounded by a flock of young woman, showing off his scarf and sword. Legend and Four have planted themselves next to a table overflowing with lavish bowls of fruit and platters of hors d'oeuvres and Time holds back a groan as he watches Legend stuff some into his bag while Four keeps watch. Time tears his gaze away, reminding himself to confront them on it later, and searches the crowd; as for Wild, he’s…

“By the way, have you seen Wild,” Wind mutters, staring murderously down at his shoes. “I’ve been looking for him everywhere ‘cause I figured he’d understand my plight.”

Time nods in agreement, still searching the crowd, but their local survivalist is nowhere to be found. He turns to Twilight, who he realizes now is also searching.

“You haven’t seen him, have you?”

Twilight shakes his head and Time catches the nervous downturn of his lips.

“Nah, I was just ‘boutta ask ya…”

Wind scowls.

“I swear to Hylia if he ditched and left the rest of us here to-”

He’s interrupted by the shrill laugh of a young woman. The three of them turn; she’s bent backwards, a hand on her chest as she laughs, her pale pink gown glimmering in the surrounding lights. She straightens, fanning herself as she turns back to her conversation. Next to Time, Twilight makes a strangled noise.

Wild is standing in front of the woman, poised and polished, the barest hint of a smile adorning his features; he reaches a hand out in offering to the young lady, as if to steady her, but does not touch her, his other hand resting behind his back. His long hair has been pulled back so that only his bangs frame his face, peeking out from beneath a dark blue cap, with a matching ribbon weaving between the intricate braid that falls down his back. He’s in a uniform that fits too well to be borrowed. He says something, too quiet to hear, but Time winces when the woman laughs again. Wild has no such reaction. Instead, he tilts his head ever so slightly to the side and then he bows, perfectly balanced, before straightening up and excusing himself. The woman lets him go, a soft blush painting her features, and Wild turns on his heels and glides away. He looks, to Time, the epitome of a soldier.

“Hylia,” Wind breathes, followed by an expletive that Time mercifully ignores. “That’s disturbing.”

Time has to agree. Wild weaves through the crowd, the dark blue of his uniform a stark contrast to the mostly pale palette of the crowd; his smile is gone, replaced by something more stoic. He mostly ignores those around him, stopping only when stopped, and then moving on. Yet, at the same time, he makes it so that there is no rush to his pace. He has nowhere to go. Instead, he walks purposefully without purpose, the slightly raised heels of his tall white boots clicking melodically on the stone of the courtyard. And it is disturbing.

This is not the Wild Time knows. Twilight shifts beside him, an unreadable look on his face. The Wild Time knows is a force of nature, a tumultuous mix of turbulent energy and stormy calm, like the eye of a raging storm.

There is no storm in this Wild; no violent passion or unrestrained will. Even the nervous fire that Time has sometimes seen in quiet hours of early morning is gone, replaced by some baleful presence that Time cannot name; it lurks beneath the surface of Wild’s impassive expression, hidden away with every simple smile and bow he makes as he sinks in and out of the crowd, bobbing into view like a boat on the horizon.

He is a walking contradiction, his back stiff but his movements fluid. A sword, its colors paired perfectly with his uniform, hangs at Wild’s side and he keeps a hand on its pommel at all times, taking it off only to shake hands and play the part of refined soldier and guest.

And that’s what it is, Time realizes. An act. A part to be played until the show ends. Wild turns, accepting a glass from a young servant and the capelet around his shoulders flutters lightly. He does not drink from glass; instead it becomes a prop which he uses to gesture lightly to the gardens and fountains as he makes light conversation with the servant, who in turn seems beyond flustered. Wild lets him go after a minute, releasing him back into the crowd with a curt nod, and the boy scurries off as if he’s been given an order, back stiff as he disappears into the crowd. Wild places his glass on a nearby table and, as he straightens up, Time meets his eyes.

Wild holds his gaze with eerie composure and Time can see a flash of whatever’s hiding beneath the surface; Time doesn’t know all that occurred before Wild’s fated sleep, but the flicker of torment tells him enough. There’s a bitterness there. Wild plays this part with a familiarity Time himself doesn’t have; he thinks maybe Warriors could come the closest. But this is more than just a soldier; this is almost royalty, a soldier so close to nobility that the distinction is practically blurred; you might just mistake him for a prince, if not for the uniform. Someone who lived their life solely for the crown under which they served, and gave it away in the end.

The sober distinction that pervades Wild in this moment makes Time lower his gaze without thinking, and he almost misses the sigh Twilight releases as he stalks towards his protege. Time cannot hear what they say, but he sees Wild’s shoulder drop, if only for a second, as he shakes his head, a soft smile on his face. He sees Twilight reach out, grasping Wild’s arm.

Someone sighs and Time realizes Wind is still beside him, watching as well, and Time feels him lean ever so slightly into his side. He places a hand on the younger’s shoulder.

“Soon,” he says.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #mobwrites #fic request #botw #loz #ocarina of time

[kittae]

period movie fics | masterlist

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

inspired by the movie: Marie Antoinette

moodboard 

summary: 

Being a duchess by birth is all fun and games until you reach the ripe age of 20 to find yourself a suitable husband. Or rather, you flee into the warm comfort of pretty dresses, shoes and other material delights while your father keeps record of every available duke and prince (less won’t do) he can find. Your escapism earns you the newfound title of “shopaholic” as a good portion of your fortune gets traded for silk and lace. It lasts until your scheduled appointment with the poor but immensely handsome talented portraitist, Kim Taehyung, to have your portrait painted for your father to show your suitors. 

Many such appointments are needed to bring your image to life on canvas, but only one is needed to know those portraits will never meet their purpose after you’ve fallen for the everything-but-a-wealthy-prince Taehyung, and vice versa, at the drop of one of your many hats.

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

inspired by the movie: A Knight’s Tale

moodboard

summary:

Jeon Jeongguk, a splendid young knight defending his jousting champion title for four consecutive years since he was only seventeen years old and your resident heartbreaker. You, an unremarkable ‘apple girl’, selling the fruit from your family’s orchard on the streets and jealousy running through your every nerve almost as green as the apples in your basket when gazing upon the brave young man during tournaments. Jealousy that is certainly not directed at the pretty and dolled up ladies sitting in the tribunes, catching fleeting kisses blown from the hand of the knight whose heart they’d wish to hold, whose lance they’d wish to touch. 

No, this jealousy is reserved only for the man whose praises are being sung after winning yet another jousting match, whose banners billow high upon the poles of the stadium. You swear, you would see that shit eating grin eating the sand of the arena instead one day. When he looks up, he would watch yours beaming down on him from your high horse.

Pairing: Seokjin x reader

inspired by the movie: Casanova

moodboard

summary:

Is it easy to be a free thinking woman in the 18th century? Most certainly not, but that won’t stop you from breaking into the university auditorium during lectures to give some gratuitous, poignant ones of your own, mostly about an unpopular subject: feminism. You have had more than enough of the way women are collectively being degraded to walking lust objects, all the while getting denied proper education and personal freedom. You loathe the majority of the men you encounter on the streets and inside the buildings of Venice, with one in particular; Kim Seokjin alias Casanova, a womanizer with the sole ambition of getting into the skirts of every single living, breathing woman in the city. 

There is one man, however, who keeps you from losing all hope in the male sex. A famous and controversial writer, anonymously writing illegal feminist books under the pseud of Ink Jose. In love with his beautiful mind and ideology, you send him heartfelt letters that soon turn into a regular correspondence when he sends one back every time. Needless to say your heart almost beats out of your chest when he asks you to meet him at a masquerade ball, one evening.

Pairing: Hoseok x reader

inspired by the movie: The Three Musketeers

moodboard

summary:

For someone with the reputation of being “too clever for her own good”, you sure made a stupid mistake carelessly letting your medicine books and anatomy studies lie around your room. One inspection by the inquisition was all it took to get you pinned as a witch, forcing you to go into hiding and slip unnoticed out of town, at the darkest hour of the night. Not as unnoticed as you’d hoped, as you literally run into a man with bright smiles and witty comments who introduces himself as Jung Hoseok; Musketeer and at your service. 

While you do not appreciate being considered a damsel in distress, you are in no position to refuse his services. You take his offer of seeking refuge at the Musketeer headquarters after you’d shared your situation with him. The only condition being that you’ll use your knowledge of healing practices and medicine to help the organisation. You decide to trust him, and that trust steadily blossoms into something much more intimate the more time you spend with the energetic and sassy Musketeer. Who knew life could look so rose-coloured while in the midst of a witch hunt?

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

inspired by the movie: The Greatest Showman

moodboard

summary:

Ever since he was a little boy, Kim Namjoon has been obsessed with the circus. He remembers secretly watching the shows from underneath the tribunes inside the tent to marvel over the graceful acrobates, exotic animals, contortionists, and many other spectacular acts until he got chased out for being a non-paying spectator. His dream is to launch a circus of his own one day, one to rival the famous names touring the globe in caravan. Little by little, he manages to get some performers together to create an act, by sparing the food out of his mouth to be able to pay and keep them.

Everything gets put on the fast track when he meets you, a fortune teller he goes to see out of desperation when he runs out of money and the whole thing starts to seem hopeless. Following your advice to a T, he lets go of all common sense when he starts noticing many positive changes and luck finally seems to be on his side when his dream becomes within his reach. That is until he stumbles upon something that makes his entire faith in you falter.

Pairing: Jimin x reader

inspired by the movie: Moulin Rouge

moodboard

When you say you work at the famous, luxurious and lavish nightclub annex brothel Moulin Rouge, wildly exciting images come to mind until you mention your job as a seamstress. Being hauled up in the attics along with your colleagues (old women chattering about recipes for the perfect peach compote making out a great percentage), nothing is less true. Your days are filled with mending the girls’ stage outfits, their personal wardrobe and even lingerie, all while far away from the revelry downstairs. Still, you can’t help but slip out of your dusty workplace once in a while, to sneak a peek at the beautiful girls letting their skirts twirl and fly up during french Cancans, gracefully kicking their dance partner’s top hats off with their elegant, bare legs. You’ve religiously watched these glamorous women from afar, frequently enough you could remember every dance routine, know the club’s schedule like your back pocket. 

Your bleak and boring life turns around 180 degrees when one of the girls gets an acute case of the flu, while you happen to be at the right place at the right time. The show must go on, after all, until a series of events cause you to meet the young , shy and slightly out of place gentleman Park Jimin. If love at first sight exists, it comes crashing down on you the moment he, quite literally, falls for you when his friends give him an encouraging push towards the dancefloor. 

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

inspired by the movie: Amadeus

moodboard

By the age of 25, Min Yoongi had already composed no fewer than 12 operas,  30 piano concertos, 14 string quartets, 25 sonatas for piano and violin, and 34 symphonies. Being what the people believe to be the musical prodigy of the century, a genius if you will, expectations of his work only keep rising. Locked up in his studio for the majority of his youth, only few actually know what he even looks like, with the exception of the people who have watched him direct the orchestra himself, during premiers of his work or exclusive personal performances of his piano concertos.

For his new opera, featuring many ballet scenes, he requests the collaboration with a prestiguous dance school. You, one of the students at the school, are dying to get a spot among the chosen ones to be a part of a work of THE Min Yoongi. Dance is your whole life, your passion, your reason for living. You spend as many hours practicing as Yoongi does composing in his studio, though neither of you know of the other. That is until Yoongi comes to introduce his music to the dancers himself, by playing parts on the piano in the practice room. Yoongi purposefully chooses not to be part of the judging board during auditions, but when he sees you dance during a choreography lesson... He’s almost tempted to rewrite the entire composition.

#summaries take longer than i thought lol but i wanted to share these three with you already! #others very soon! #bts #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #btswriters #jungkook scenarios #taehyung scenarios #jin scenarios #yoongi scenarios #namjoon scenarios #hoseok scenarios #jimin scenarios

[defendersofaurita]

Title: Retrace III: Subjugation 

Author/Artist: AnchoredTether

Rating: M [graphic depictions of violence, major character death, dark themes]

Pairings: Plance [Pikelavar], Kallura [Thunderyun]

Series: Defenders of Aurita

Chapter: 14/?

Summary: Meklavar has a formidable secret. Pike has an objective for which he’s willing to kill. Despite their odds, they might have a chance of realizing their seemingly impossible desires if they fight for them together. Revelations are brought to light, quests align, and their hope lies in the power of a common cause.

Aurita is on the brink of desolation and it will require more than courage and sacrifice to save what is left. As the stakes continue to rise, what was once a fight for restoring a broken kingdom turns into a war far more sinister.

CH14 :: RETRACE III : SUBJUGATION

][ CHAPTER WARNINGS ][ This flashback chapter is all about Pike's family during their time in slavery. As to be expected, this chapter has very dark themes including subjugation, violence, abuse, death, and implied/referenced nonconsensual sex. With that in mind, the rating for this chapter is still M.

][ music ][

The worst part of it all was that she heard it coming.

And she was powerless to stop it.

In the middle of a warm summer night, Sapphira heard the footsteps of their intruders, the incantations of their spells, the screaming of her children. She heard the frantic beating of their terrified hearts as the nightmare unfolded and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Magic was a powerful thing, especially when it was mana-based used against a race that couldn't wield or even sense mana. They were slaves to the spells long before they were ever shackled and sold. Their resistance was in vain, the magic holding them down or even shocking them when they fought back. She wanted to continue fighting but at some point she lost the energy. It became too painful to struggle and she didn't want to cause further harm to her unborn child. 

The dark carriage ride felt like an eternity with her shaking children huddled around her, her husband's presence close and shielding them from whatever harm would arrive next. When they reached their destination, hands yanked them onto their feet and led them to the last place they would ever truly all be together. 

It was upon a stage, chained and shackled in front of a crowd of people wanting to buy them.

She will never forget the moment her two eldest sons were torn away from her and she was likely to never see them again. As the destruction of her family rent its course, Sapphira could do nothing but watch in frozen horror. She watched numbly as her husband screamed and fought against his chains, his collar shocking him for his retaliation as he crumpled to the ground, her sons sobbing and screaming as they were pulled off the stage. The price paid for her children was a mockery. It caused the blood to boil in her veins and for the numbness to subside as she clenched her fangs.

"The next khaliit is a girl of six years, blue eyes, strength rating four, intelligence six, health eight. Starting wage: 80,000 gold."

Veronica. She was priced far higher than her older brothers and Sapphira had to wonder if it was merely because she was a girl or because she inherited her blue eyes - a trait considered "exotic" among their kind. Both considerations made her sick to her stomach, the nausea beginning to rise up in her throat like a snake. Sapphira dreaded how much she would be sold for considering she had blue eyes, red markings, and both stripes and spots in her markings - three separate rarities in khaliit genetics. Veronica may have had blue eyes but she had common brown stripes like her father. 

The bets were laid, wealthy men and women shouting against their odds and Veronica was sold to a man for 110,000 gold. Before they yanked her away, she looked back to her mother and it was in that moment of locking terrified gazes when Sapphira passed the stage of absolute shock at their predicament and finally broke down in tears.

Her next daughter Rae was sold for hardly 7,000 gold to a different master than Veronica's or their older brothers'. Sapphira figured it was because Rae was only three-years-old and she had common amber eyes and brown stripes, but it still broke her heart that her daughter would forever feel her worth was significantly less. She was old enough to understand numbers. She was old enough to understand that was what the world thought of her: nothing more than cheap labor. 

Sapphira was granted a small shred of hope when her husband was sold for 130,000 to the same master as Veronica. At least she can grow up with her father... at least two of my children will have one of their parents with them. Even if she was torn from her entire family she had the minuscule peace of mind that she couldn't be separated from her unborn son. Lionel and Merik had each other and now Veronica had her father Kahedin. Her heart still ached for Rae, the one who would grow up never knowing any of her family...

"The mother is thirty years old, expecting a boy, blue eyes, exotic markings, strength rating seven, intelligence eight, health nine. Starting wage: 200,000 gold."

Sapphira felt her heart skip a beat. She was not expecting to be worth that much, so much more than her husband who was far stronger and more capable for slave work... but then she remembered she was exotic and she was carrying a son who would grow to be like his father and possibly inherit her features. Not all slaves are bought for the purpose of manual labor... she realized as the room began to spin more violently.

She watched her fate bounce from bidder to bidder, her future lying solely on the measure of wealth and greed. Her joined hands in front of her clenched within her cuffs and she could feel her son kicking restlessly inside her, almost as if he felt just as terrified and uncertain. She unclenched her fits and moved her hands reassuringly over her protruding stomach to try and calm her child. Tears spilled from her face as she thought about her son who would grow up never knowing about the freedoms his siblings had enjoyed, however brief. Her grief overtook her senses to the point that she didn't even notice the bids or hear what her final selling price surmounted to, instead focusing on the tiny heartbeat inside her.

It wasn't until the chains connected to her wrist cuffs yanked her hands forward, did she realize she was being dragged towards the same man who bought her husband and Veronica. She felt a slice of guilt at the joy that blossomed in her chest since she still lost over half her family, but a part of her was relieved with the knowledge that Pike would now have a father, and Veronica a mother. At least she could continue to raise two of her children as much as the constraints of slavery would allow her.

She sobbed for the duration of their ride to their new prison, feeling broken and hollow as she held Veronica close and Kahedin embraced them both within the darkness.

 ][ --- ][

  ][ music ][

Harkon Volkihar was a wealthy elf desperate to win the affections of a woman whom his money could never buy. In his numerous vain attempts to court Amara, the servants suffered the brunt of his disappointment. It was easy to place the blame upon the slaves and that it was their shortcomings which caused the woman to not show any interest in him; if only the fine china was better shined, or his coat more intricately tailored, or the food served at a hotter temperature, then things would have surely gone better by now.

It was easy to take out his frustrations with reprimands and physical violence. It was easy to send an ounce of mana to their collars and give them a wave of excruciating pain. It was easy to remove all his accountability and place such a burden on someone else.

Harkon Volkihar lived an easy life and would never change his ways.

Pike Cimclan lived a life of hardship and never understood the concept of hope.

When Pike accidentally knocked over a crate of fine wine at the age of four, Volkihar in his anger told him a poison that seeped into his bones and became a hardened truth:

"Once a slave, always a slave. You will never amount to anything more than the animal you are. You were born a slave and you shall die as one."

And that's what Pike believed.

His father died only a year prior and he was just waiting for the inevitable day when his mother or sister would die as well. Slaves didn't live very long from the hard labor and trauma so he knew his days were numbered. He saw what happened to his family when they rebelled or resisted or even hesitated to do what they were told. Pike grew up knowing nothing beyond submissiveness and fear. 

Sapphira did all she could to try and help him see differently despite their dark circumstances. It was her constant struggle as a mother to encourage her son that he was more than a tool, more than an animal, more than a number.

"Why'd you make me a cake?" Pike asked on his fifth birthday. He sounded confused, one of his ears swiveled back.

Sapphira let out a small laugh despite the concern that churned in her stomach. "Because it's your birthday, Pike. We need to celebrate."

He asked the classic question of all children, his head tilting. "Why?"

She bit her lower lip for a moment as she tried to piece together a response that would get through to him, but luckily Veronica was in the kitchen as well and piped up from her workstation. "Everyone celebrates their birthdays, Pike." 

"But we're slaves," he explained as if it weren't obvious. "Slaves don't celebrate birthdays."

"If the master told you that, it is only his opinion and not fact," Sapphira countered soothingly. "Everyone has the right to celebrate their birthday, and you should not feel ashamed for eating a treat that was made for you, meant for you."

Pike still looked uncertain, his eyes lowering and his head following with flattened ears. His voice was barely above a whisper. "But what if you get in trouble?"

Her expression softened and she crouched down so she could be on eye level with her son, her hands finding place on his small shoulders. "Pike... a mother must always do what's best for her children. I would suffer through whatever pains it took to make you happy." She moved a hand to lift his chin up and his blue hues eventually followed to meet hers. "Alright? It's okay to have some cake. I even made your favorite, three-milk."

His ears perked forward excitedly. "Three-milk?"

"Yep!" She ruffled his hair and stood up to dish out the cake for them to eat. She felt her worry ease when she saw a glimpse of happiness in her son's face as he ate. It was nothing compared to the ideal childhood she dreamed of giving him, spent with days playing by the river and earnest hard work on the farm. But to see his eyes shine and his tail curl up was enough to keep her going. After a moment of silence between all of them, Sapphira prodded softly, "Pike?"

"...yes?" he answered mid-chew, his body stilling as he sensed the seriousness in his mother's tone. 

"Don't... don't allow your self-worth to be defined by the dictations of man. By their rules, you will always be sold short. You are so much more valuable than they could ever bargain for." She gave him a sad smile. "You understand?"

Pike blinked a few times but nodded, returning his attention to the cake. She wasn't sure if he truly took it to heart but she decided in that moment that she would remind him of that truth every night for as long as she had him. Every night before they went to bed she would remind him, to the point where he would say it along with her:

"You matter. You are priceless. And there will always be someone in this world who loves you."

 ][ --- ][

 Pike was eleven the first time his master went somewhere and took only him. He was confused about why he didn't take Veronica or even his mother. Veronica was older and better for carrying things and making suggestions on what would make Amara happy. He never took Pike anywhere unless his mother or sister came too but he didn't dare inquire his master about it.

They snuck through alleys and secret passageways within bars and Pike had an inkling of where they were headed. Dread suddenly consumed him with the thought that his master was going to sell him. What had he done wrong? What could he have done better? What was the last thing he said to his mother and sister?

They ended up in a physician's office and Pike's fear only solidified deep in his stomach like a stone. They were here to have a doctor evaluate his physicality so Volkihar would have a price estimate. Pike was shaking and it took the elvish female doctor's soothing words and occasionally the command of his master to get him to do what was asked. It was a very basic checkup where the doctor tested his senses, listened to his heartbeat, and let a small amount of blood which she quickly healed with magic.

"Sir, I'm going to take his collar off real quick," the elf said more as a precaution than asking for permission. When she bended the mana to release the gold band around his neck, Pike exhaled a deep breath he didn't realize he was holding and felt himself relax. The collar was never too tight around his neck but it still felt oddly liberating to have the familiar presence removed. The only times in his life where the weight didn't lie around his neck were the rare moments it malfunctioned or needed to be adjusted as he grew. He felt the strange desire to find a mirror so he could examine the severity of the scars he knew were branched there.

The doctor felt along his neck and told him to swallow and then deeply inhale and exhale a few times. His breadth of freedom was short lived when the collar was once again clasped around his neck, and Pike felt a strange reassurance at having the weight returned.

The checkup seemed pretty standard until the doctor requested he take off all his clothes. When Pike hesitated, still trying to process that the doctor did in fact just ask him to strip down, she offered to do it for him but Volkihar cut in and ordered him to obey. Pike slowly peeled off his layers, not daring to make eye contact with either of the elves. Choosing not to look at them somehow made his complete nudity more bearable.

Despite the extensive embarrassment, Pike found it odd that he was feeling more self-conscious about his stripes than anything else. He wasn't sure why - both the elves had markings that also adorned their skin. In addition to the standard elvish markings by the eyes, Volkihar's were a deep purple that curved around his forearms while the woman had a bright orange that marked up her collarbone and the backs of her hands. Perhaps it was because the only markings of his that were ever visible were the ones on his face, occasionally the ones on his upper arms. Perhaps it was because his markings were exotic and he assumed they were eyeing him like a rare work of art. Perhaps it was simply because he felt like his wild stripes gave more validity to the notion that he was just a cat compared to the elves' elegant designs.

As the elf looked him over he thought his discomfort would consume him but there wasn't exactly anything he could do about it. At least in the midst of the sluggish torture, he learned something new.

"You can discern a lot about a khaliit's health just by looking at their claws," the doctor explained to Volkihar as she held one of Pike's feet, forcing the claws from his toes with some pressure. "When they're nice and clear like this that means they're getting all the nutrients they need."

Pike made a mental note to check his mother and Veronica's claws.

When she was finally done and he was told he could put his clothes back on, relief flooded his chest temporarily. He froze while pulling on his shirt when the doctor asked something he wasn't expecting.

"He seems perfectly sound. Has he gone into heat yet?"

"Yes, his first time was about two weeks ago," Volkihar replied.

Pike didn't hear the rest of their conversation as he sat there wondering why they would start discussing his heat cycles. He put the rest of his clothes back on with trembling hands as worry began to consume his thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to go home and part of him was tempted to curl up somewhere in the corner. The closest thing he could do for comfort was wrapping his arms around his waist. When the nurse asked about his price, his ears finally trained back towards their discussion.

"How much was he worth?"

"His mother was pregnant with him when I bought her for 275,000."

"Hmm... judging by his markings and coloring I'd say he'd be worth at least 175,000 or even as much as 250. Even if an offspring only received half his traits you'd probably be able to get around 60 for each kit, easily. Exotic slaves are hard to find and in high demand."

Wait, so the master isn't selling me? What is this talk about kits??

"Would it be easier to pay for a dam or just buy a female khaliit?"

"With your income, it'd be safer to just buy your own. You wouldn't have to split the earnings with the owner of the dam. The kits would also be healthier and therefore worth more if they lived in the presence of both the dam and sire."

"Is Renella and Tasimir the better place for buying right now?"

"Tasimir would have more interest in khaliit at the moment."

Pike didn't notice the rest of their conversation, his brows furrowed as he pieced together the exactness of his master's plan. He was smart enough to know Volkihar was using breeding terms. He could connect the dots. Why the master needed even more money was beyond him, but he figured Volkihar could make easy money by forcing him to have children to sell and all because of his markings and blue eyes. The thought made him sick and he hadn't even reached the horrific realization about what he'd be forced to do with a female khaliit stranger. 

Although he wasn't expecting any kind of conversation on the trip back home since the master only saw him as a tool (or a horse, apparently), Pike still felt an uneasiness in his stomach and a need to yell or cry or break something. He knew that if he did anything to reflect the emotional turmoil welled up inside him he'd receive a nasty shock from his collar and he didn't have the energy to deal with that right now. He kept his tears back by biting his lower lip and focused on the blur of trees outside the carriage window as he anxiously sunk his nails into the flesh of his arm.

As soon as he reached the kitchen he ran to his mother's side and clung to her as he sobbed into her apron. She was covered in flour but he didn't care.

"Pike honey, what happened? Did the master hit you??" She tried to pry him off of her to examine his face but when he shook his head against her stomach she gently pressed, "Where did he take you?"

"The master took me to see a physician," he mumbled.

Sapphira's spine grew cold. Owners never took in their slaves for physical checkups unless they were taking them in to be evaluated, which could only mean one of two things. "What did they say?"

"I'm healthy," he moaned as if it were a death sentence.

"I knew that much, sweetie." She chuckled softly to lighten the mood as she stroked his head to try and ease him through his sobs. "Do you know why?"

Pike didn't want to answer.

 ][ --- ][

 ][ music ][

"Master, permission to speak freely?"

Volkihar let out an annoyed sigh from his desk where he sat. "Yes, what is it?"

Sapphira fully entered the master chambers and stood at the side of his desk. "Why are you breeding Pike? What could you possibly need that much money for?"

"That is none of your concern-"

"My son is my concern! There is nothing more you can give Amara that money can buy! Don't you see that?"

"What would you know about winning the affection of the upper class?" Volkihar's hand twitched, a habitual tick which Sapphira learned had meant he was considering giving her a zap. "Besides, I'm doing this as a favor to Kallis. He had his eyes set on buying you, but out of the generosity of my heart, I told him I could instead give him a khaliit with a likeness to you, in turn keeping you with your son."

"...Kallis wanted to buy me?" A shudder ran through her spine, causing her tail to flick. She had seen the man at parties - he would have used her solely for entertainment and pleasure. This information changed her perception of the situation but she still felt disturbed. She didn't like the idea of Pike becoming a father to a child he would never see again who would only know a life of suffering. She realized with a bitter taste in her mouth that there was nothing she could do about it and that such a dismal future was the only one her son could ever know.

"He was persistent. In his desperation, he even tried buying Veronica... but she's much too useful to me to give away."

Sapphira felt her claws itch to unsheathe at the way Volkihar spoke of her daughter as if she were a pretty hammer only to be used on golden nails. "So you think breeding Pike is a better alternative? It'll be years before the child is... of any use to Kallis. It would be better for him to just go and buy his own damn khaliit sex slave!"

"Kallis prides himself on obtaining only the finest." He frowned. "He's convinced there's no better combination than your specific markings and eye color, and your son is an exact replica of that."

"So it all comes down to what's considered exotic..." she growled. Sapphira was considered a beauty among her own kind and she had many suitors, but that had nothing to do with the color of her eyes or stripes. Most khaliit didn't care about markings - it was akin to a human getting excited over how many freckles another had. It seemed pointless to her. A part of her wanted to offer that the master sells her to Kallis in hopes of sparing Pike of such a fate, but Sapphira reckoned Volkihar would eventually breed her son anyways and then he wouldn't have his mother anymore. She regrettably had to admit she was grateful Volkihar had insisted on keeping her. "Can... Sir, if I may request it, can you at least wait until Pike is a bit older? He may be capable of reproducing now but that certainly doesn't mean he's ready."

Volkihar was quiet a moment and her heart fluttered at the idea that he could be considering her proposal. "You said so yourself," he began darkly, "it'll be years before the child is of any use to Kallis. Logically, starting sooner would be better than later. Especially considering it might take a few tries until an offspring inherits an exact resemblance." 

Her ears drooped, her gaze falling to the floor. The master would force Pike to breed with a stranger until one looked exactly like him. None of her children looked exactly like her until Pike and he was her fifth child. "You were going to do this to him regardless of Kallis, weren't you..." It was less a question and more a resentful accusation.

"I am a businessman, Sapphira," he said simply. "Of course I'm going to invest in obviously advantageous assets."

Despite the fact she wanted to scream that her son wasn't an asset to exploit, her tone was still vile. "You have enough money. What more could you possibly want?"

"You should know what I want," he said coolly.

Her expression changed from a controlled anger to a dissatisfied glare. "Sir, with all due respect this will not help you charm Amara. The reason you can't win her love is because you are giving her something in which you have an abundance. True genuine love comes from sacrifice, and you aren't sacrificing anything for her."

She was surprised when Volkihar lowered his dark brows and actually looked her in the eyes with a pained expression. He seemed reluctant to ask the question but his curiosity got the better of him. "Since you know so much, then what would you suggest I... sacrifice... for her?"

"The one thing that is limited for everyone: time." Her face softened but it wasn't quite sympathetic. "For the longest time I thought my husband was just like everyone else, trying to win me with all these displays and gifts that suitors presented me, but I eventually learned that... he worked so hard to make or obtain those gifts for me. He had nothing to give but he gave it all anyways." Even the ring he proposed to her was nothing but a tied up piece of a reed stalk, but she knew Kahedin spent days getting it for her. The reed was a magical plant that was a vibrant red during the day but glowed a faint cyan at night. She learned that he had spent days traveling to find it since they were so hard to find. His humble proposal meant more to her than the worth of any kind of precious gems.

"Master, you can't buy Amara, no matter how good your intentions may be. You have to earn her love, and that comes from work, patience, and sacrifice. You've clearly got the patience part down, but you need to work a little harder and find something more valuable than your gold to give her. Something more meaningful."

His expression softened as he soaked in her words and she could never recall her master looking so vulnerable. He seemed to realize this pretty quickly when he rapidly blinked and the familiar hardness returned to his sharp features. "Very well. I will think on your words." Before Sapphira could so much as open her mouth to respond, he cut her off with a lifted hand and a blood-curdling command.

"You will return to my chambers tonight. Perhaps then, you can further persuade me."

She felt a bile churn in her stomach, the forced words feeling heavy as they left her lips and bound her more strongly than the collar around her neck.

"If it's good by my master."

 ][ --- ][

 Pike had never felt more dread in his life than when he first met Nyma. Even though his mother said she had a word with the master it seemed it changed nothing. Volkihar came home with a blonde khaliit girl a few years older than Pike, and he would admit she was pretty but that barely eased the knots in his stomach or made the situation any less disparaging.

"I thought you spoke with the master!" he blurted when he was alone in the kitchen with his mother.

"I did, but..." Sapphira took a shaky breath. "He never agreed to anything... but I was so certain my words got through to him. Yet it still wasn't enough... I'm so sorry honey..." She moved to pull Pike into an embrace, her angry tears flowing as he felt the powerlessness of being unable to protect her family.

He closed his eyes and buried his face into his mother's shoulder. "What's..." He started to shake as he tried to voice his fears. "What's going to happen now?"

She was quiet a moment as she tried to console him with gentle strokes on his head. "You're... going to have to get really close with Nyma, I'm afraid..."

His tears began to turn into something more akin to anger as well. "But I don't want to. I don't want anything to do with her! I don't want- I can't do it. I can't, mom..."

She knew her son didn't have a choice. Even if he and Nyma resisted to fulfill the master's wishes, he would punish them until they complied. Pike was old enough to understand what disobedience to the master meant. He remembers the day with painful clarity even if he didn't fully understand what was happening.

He saw that such resistance resulted in his father's death.

 ][ --- ][ 

 When Volkihar's mansion was under siege, Pike thought it was some lucid dream. Men and women in suits of armor swarmed the building, shouting commands and throwing spells. Only when he realized that they weren't attacking the slaves did he notice they were royal guards of the king. When a khariit approached his family in the kitchen, she took off her helmet and lifted her hand for some kind of signal. An elven guard cast magic with his hands, causing Pike's collar and the collars around his family and Nyma to unlatch with a resounding clack. 

"We have arrested Lord Volkihar for his crimes, thus you are all free to go," the khariit explained. 

Pike pulled off the two halves of his collar and held them in his hands in disbelief. He looked up at the guard's sincere brown eyes and asked skeptically, "What do you mean?" He was waiting for some kind of catch or for her to say they were being transferred to a different master or something more believable than that they were simply free.

"Harkon Volkihar bought and owned slaves and that's illegal in Aurita," she answered. "I'm surprised he's gone this long under the radar, but alas, Aurita is a large country, he lives in a secluded mansion up in the mountains, and many guards, unfortunately, are persuaded by gold."

"If you couldn't find us for twelve years, how were you able to find us now?" Sapphira asked, her tone only curious.

"The one who sold the blonde girl," the khariit flicked her wolfish tail towards Nyma, "was actually a double agent. Even had a tracking spell on her."

"That explains why he was so nice to me..." Nyma muttered in awe.

Sapphira suddenly fell to her knees, bending over completely as she buried her face into her hands and sobbed, her collar falling off with a loud clatter to the floor. Pike and Veronica were on either side of her and locked worried gazes as each of them held onto her. "Mom...?" Veronica inquired softly. After a moment she sat up enough to pull in both her kids for an embrace, her tear-stained cheeks a sign of relief and peace. Pike eventually sighed and yanked Nyma in for the group hug since it felt awkward excluding her.

The guards left them to have a moment as they searched the rest of the mansion for any more illegal dealings. Sapphira and Veronica left the kitchen to find the khariit woman while Pike and Nyma stayed behind. Pike was wondering what he should take with him but he was lost. It all felt too surreal. Would they still live here? Where would they go? He knew nothing beyond the mansion's walls. He didn't exactly own anything - everything he had was technically the master's. He kept returning to the golden collar which sat on his bed. It was the only thing that was truly his, and the only thing he would take.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked hollowly to the girl across from him. 

"I... I don't know," Nyma admitted, her blue eyes falling to the floor. "I don't know a life outside of this, either."

They were quiet for a long time, but the silence was never awkward between them. Pike and Nyma had learned to endure awkward silences well. She too, was born into slavery but Pike had to count his blessings. He at least stayed with part of his family and remained in a fairly stable situation despite his master's cruelty. Nyma had been bought and sold to so many different masters she had lost count. She didn't know the meaning of family. Despite the strange situation of their circumstances, Pike wanted to offer to her that they could become her family - in a way far different than what their master ever intended. 

"You could stay with us if you want," he offered, his tone somber. A part of him rejoiced at the thought of never having to see Nyma again, but deep in his heart he also ached for her and wanted to offer some semblance of a better life than the hell she endured. The freedom alone should have provided that but he felt the aching need to extend an invitation. He didn't want to be another in the long line of people in Nyma's life who had completely forgotten her. He was willing to live with the constant reminder of better-forgotten memories if it meant making her life a little less painful. He diverted his gaze from her, his chest feeling tight. "But... I understand if you want to leave. I don't know what my family will do but I just... I don't want you to feel like you're being abandoned again. You can stay with us. You and I can start over... if that's what you'd like. Because you do matter. You are priceless. And there will always be someone in this world who loves you."

A sniffle caused him to look up and see Nyma was crying, her face a pained expression. "Thank you, Pike. That is..." she took a shaky breath, "That is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I'm not sure what I'll do but... I will definitely consider it."

He offered her a nod with a pained smile, leaving her to her thoughts.

As soon as Sapphira found the khariit guard, she blurted the question that burned into her mind. "Is it possible for you to find the rest of my family?"

"Oh no... you were separated?" she asked with creased brows.

"I have two sons who went to a different master and a daughter who went to another." She lifted her hands and closed her eyes a moment. "I know - I know it's asking a lot, but if there is even a chance that you could-"

"I will find them," she cut in decisively.

Sapphira blinked her eyes open, her ears flicking in surprise. "You...what?"

The khariit held out her hand. "You may call me Olia. I am the best tracker under King Samuel's guard, and I swear to you on my life I will find the rest of your children."

She grasped Olia's hand with both her own but quickly pulled her in for a tight hug, throwing the khariit off by surprise. "Thank you. You have already done more than you can possibly imagine."

"You are more than welcome," Olia replied while returning the embrace.

 ][ --- ][

 ][ music ][

"How is this any different than what we did last time?"

"This is an orange cake, the last was lemon. Honestly Pike, I thought you were more observant." Sapphira chuckled.

"No I mean..." He sounded hesitant. "How we used to live."

She stopped, blinking a few times before she set down her icing pipe to properly look at her son across from her. "You mean serving Lord Volkihar verses the Telcontars?"

He nodded.

"You don't get beaten when you're not perfect, that's certainly a big difference." The bitterness left her tone as the emotion hit her. She shook her head softly as troubled tears started to glisten in her eyes. "The difference is that we're free."

"We're still doing kitchen work though. And other housework."

"That is true. But we're doing it as servants, not slaves. It's..." She frowned slightly as she tried to piece together her words in a way her twelve-year-old son could understand. She moved around the table and stood next to Pike, lifting her hands to hold his face, her thumbs stroking the markings on his cheeks. "The difference, Pike, besides a much nicer, kinder way of living, is that you could run away from here, past those castle walls and live whatever life you'd like without a collar killing you." She paused and let out a soft laugh, adding, "Please don't actually do that though." She didn't want him to get any irrational ideas but she also wanted him to understand that he was not restricted to live within the walls of their new home.

"You are not the Telcontars' property. You belong to no one. We work here because we want to, not because we're being forced. The fact that we're still doing kitchen work is simply because that's what I'm good at. We could work at a small bakery or even a restaurant, but wouldn't you rather make cakes for a king? We live a good life here, sweety, and it's not because of the abundance of food or the lavish commodities. It's because we're free." She raised a hand to gently rub one of his oversized ears (he'd grow into them eventually), a sad smile forming on her lips. "The greatest difference we could ever ask for is our freedom. Do you understand?"

"... I think so." Pike purred in agreement. "It is much nicer here."

Sapphira laughed. "I would hope you'd at least notice that difference! It's definitely much more obvious than lemons to oranges." She released her hands and returned to her side of the table where she continued piping the cake. She blinked back tears, her gaze troubled. "I'm sorry your childhood was robbed from you... if there was anything I could have done to change everything, I... I would have done it."

Pike had returned to peeling oranges, his brows furrowed. "I don't think there's anything you could have done, mom. The collars prevented us from doing anything against our master. And it's not like we could use mana to release it. The only thing you could have done... was probably kill our master... which would have been impossible." 

"... I tried," she admitted, causing Pike's ears to perk in surprise. "I nearly poisoned them all one night. The asphyxiation would have kept them from shocking any of our collars... but he had a greater tolerance than I anticipated..."

"...Mom?" He was hesitant as he saw his mother's arms begin to shake. She set down the icing and pressed her hands into the table. Pike moved around and held one of her trembling hands with both his own. His mother just admitted to attempted murder and he didn't know what to think. "Mom... why? He could have killed you for doing tha-"

"Because I love you, Pike." Hot tears followed along the lines of her crimson markings. "I was helpless to watch your father die... I couldn't bear - to lose you or your sister too." She sniffled, letting out a heavy exhale. "Sometimes... sometimes the impossible, such as taking a life, becomes easy... if it's for the ones you love." 

His lips pressed into a thin line. "Were you scared?"

"Terrified." She had gained control of her shaking and stood up straight. "But that didn't weaken my resolve. However... I couldn't attempt it anymore because Volkihar was on to me and he bought Rolo. I couldn't murder the taste tester, a fellow slave who suffered the same as us. So I did whatever else I could to make you and your sister happy."

"...I appreciate that," he answered heavily. "I can't imagine what it might have been like without you there, or worse, to have neither you or Veronica..."

"You thinking about Rae?"

He nodded. "I don't even know her, have never even seen her and I still... I miss her. I feel like she should be here. Instead she's completely alone... she doesn't have you or a sister or a brother to endure through things with..."

Sapphira moved her arm to wrap around his shoulders. "We'll find the rest of your siblings one day. Olia and King Samuel personally made it a promise to me. I know Olia and her troops are out there looking for slaves to free and I'm certain she'll find them because she found us. Volkihar was the most cautious about hiding his slaves. If she found us, she can find anyone."

"I hope you're right," he said, a part of him coming to the dark realization: if they're not already dead.

 ][ --- ][

 Pike ran and ran.

He ran past people who called out to him, wondering why a random castle kitchen boy was running through the town. He ran through crowds of people in the market streets, too many colorful sights and sounds he had to ignore. He ran past the gate and beyond, as far from the castle as he could get without stopping for breath. When he reached the top of a hill panting, he turned to look out at the glorious expanse of the city of Arus laid before him and fell to his knees and sobbed. 

You could run away from here, past those castle walls and live whatever life you'd like without a collar killing you.

He had to see it for himself. 

He had to feel it. 

He didn't realize how something he had never known he could suddenly feel so strongly. It was the relief of a burden far heavier than the collar he once wore, something he could never understand was there until it was gone. He felt like a new creature with infinite paths laid before him. He wasn't born a slave and destined to die as one. He was born a slave but would die however he well pleased. 

Pike looked at the glistening white castle and felt a yearning in his heart he had never experienced before. He felt at peace as the tears fell down his face and he came to realize a beautiful truth that was now part of his life.

He was free.

This was his home.

And there, his family truly lived.

#voltron au #voltron fanfic #voltron dnd au #pikelavar #pikelavar fanfic #monsters and mana #plance #plance au #chapters #defenders of aurita

[finestfenwick]

Now or Never--Undercover

He’s awoken by clanging coming from the other room. Benjy rolls over, instinctively feeling for Cleona. Maybe she’s the one making the noise, but if she isn’t...

Benjy’s eyes open and take a few seconds to register the unfamiliar ceiling above him. The mission. The nifflers. Cleona wasn’t there for a reason-but she was safe. Benjy lets out a small breath and rolls out of bed almost noiselessly, the only sound a small creak of one of the floorboards as he stalks towards the kitchen, wand raised. 

He’s not as familiar with the cover apartment as he should be-a dumpy, cramped two room number above a long ago foreclosed exotic animals shop in Knockturn Alley. Benjy makes a mental note to do that if he doesn’t get his brains blasted out of him. As he turns the corner towards the icebox, he recognizes the back of the head and relaxes slightly, but keeps creeping forward, speaking only when the tip of his wand is digging into the other man’s spine. Benjy smiles slightly when a cry of surprise rings out, but he makes his voice a bit sleepier, drunker, when he speaks.

“Ya know, Glenn, if you wanted a bite, all ya had to do was ask.”

“Fucking Hell.” 

The leader of the Nifflers turns around to glare at Benjy, who backs up with his hands raised, indicating he didn’t want a fight.

“Don’t call me Glenn, it makes me sound like a pussy.”

Benjy makes a show of yawning. “Alright, mate. What are-”

“Are you naked?” O’Donnell cuts him off, his expression balking in the dim light of the room as he studies Benjy. Benjy chuckles and summons a pair of his robes with a wave of his wand.

“How the hell else am I supposed to sleep? Want a cuppa?”` Benjy feels O’Donnell’s eyes on him as he moves around the kitchen-no doubt he’d glimpsed the scars marring the majority of his left side. He didn’t think O’Donnell or anyone on the Nifflers recognized his name or his previous Quidditch fame-but then again, had Sawyer even told them his last name? He sets the kettle ablaze with a wave of his wand, trying not to talk to rapidly, trying not to make his lies obvious.

“Auror training gets a bit er...brutal. They don’t-they make you feel less than human-hardens us, you know. Makes us better at killing. “ The look on O’Donnell’s face is almost laughable. He’s buying it. Benjy picks up an apple on the counter and bites into it, buying himself some time to think.

“Sorry for sneaking up on you like that. That’s old hat too-Moody, the fucker, used to break into our places and torture us-he said it was a good lesson in setting protection spells-we’d never forget after that, and I haven’t-mission accomplished, I suppose.” 

That wasn’t entirely a lie. Moody had broken into his place when he was a trainee, though instead of torturing him, Benjy had simply woken up to the sight of his new boss staring him down, laying beside him in bed. “VIGILANCE, FENWICK!” He’d roared, falling off into laughter as Benjy leaped out of bed screaming and throwing every curse word he knew at him. They’d had their lesson in protection spells after that (and after Benjy had put some clothes on-a key part of the lesson he’d forgotten).

“You forgot tonight.”

Shit. He couldn’t exactly tell O’Donnell he’d been instructed not to set the charms for the sole purpose of their current exchange possibly happening. Vigilance, Fenwick. Benjy grins in what he hopes is a malicious way. 

“I’m waiting for the bastard to break in again-I reckon once they find out where I moved I’ve got a few weeks ‘til I come by an ‘accident’ of some kind.”

O’Donnell’s eyebrows raise as Benjy takes another bite of the apple. It’s mealy. 

“They can do that?”

“It’s the government, mate. They can do whatever the hell they want.” He summons two mugs over as well as a bottle of cheap whiskey. He pours a generous amount into both and adds the tea just as the kettle starts to whistle, sending one over to O’Donnell without waiting to see if he wants it. “So I say, let him come-the bastard has no idea what I’m capable of.” Benjy glances at the clock on the wall-it was nearly 4 am. 

“But anyway, mate-what can I help you with?”

O’Donnell studies him with an expression that might be intimidating if his face wasn’t so beady. 

“Just wanted to make sure you’re the real deal.”

Benjy laughs to himself, taking a generous sip of his mug. “I respect a man with suspicions- and you have every right to have them. I wouldn’t trust me either. But I wanna take those fuckers down-more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”  Another long drink-the whiskey burning his throat makes the lies easier. 

“And I’m grateful you lot are allowing me to help you do that.”

It might be laying it on a bit thick, but Benjy sees O’Donnell stand a little taller. His arrogance would be laughable if Benjy didn’t know first hand how dangerous it could be.

“It should be easy enough if Scamander holds up his end of the deal this time. Though it seems like he’s come to his senses-if you ever wonder what happens when you double cross us, just ask your mate. ” O’Donnell says with a chuckle-Benjy stays silent, all but holding his breath. That was basically a confession.

“Er, alright-”

“Do you know where he is? Scamander?” O’Donnell whips out a cigarette and starts to smoke, the tip pre-lit when it touches his lips. “He wasn’t in when I popped in-I’m hoping for both of your sakes that he’s not done something idiotic like run off.”

Benjy swallows hard, letting that statement physically affect him more than it actually does.

“I can go check on him tomorrow-”

“No. The less you two see of each other, the better. You’ll know what I need you to know, Fenwick. This is the real shit-this ain’t no pussy auror squad full of bitches. You listen to me, you do what I say-you don’t fucking question it-understand?”

A wand is poking the center of his chest, O’Donnell had drawn it so fast Benjy hadn’t even noticed. There was no need to feign fear this time.

“Yes sir.”

O’Donnell smiles in a way that strangely reminds Benjy of his ex boyfriend, Graham.

Gross.

“Good. I’ll ask again. Do you know where Scamander might be?” 

Benjy clears his throat.

“Er, he mentioned some bird he knew from America being in town or getting out of prison...or going to prison. Something. He’s probably with her. And knowing Sawyer...he’ll probably be back at his in the morning.”

O’Donnell nods.

“You seem capable, Fenwick. I can see you sticking around for a while as long as you don’t fuck it up.”

Benjy meets the other man’s eye again and bites back a strange urge to laugh. If only O’Donnell knew-and how like Benjy to be thrilled at the thought of anyone underestimating him. 

“Cheers.” Is all he says, raising his mug as O’Donnell nods, spinning on the spot to leave.

Game on, motherfucker.

~

There had been no point in going back to bed. Benjy had brewed a proper pot of tea-sans whiskey-and set to work pouring over everything he had on Sawyer. Intel from the man himself and from the rather thick file the aurory had on him. Benjy breaks out the pensive he has hidden under the bed and drops in on his and Scamander’s interactions from the past-mimicking how Sawyer moves and speaks right along with the memory. After a few hours, when it’s close to 8, Benjy pours one of the vials of polyjuice with Sawyer’s hair into it into his mug of tea. Amelia, who was on guard at his place had gotten the All Clear from Frank, positioned at Sawyer’s-no Nifflers about. The gang was small enough that after a bit of digging, the squad knew for certain who most of it’s members were-there were always the unknowns, but that was the gamble Benjy had to take. He squinches his nose as he downs the cup of tea, dreading what was to come. 

Benjy wasn’t sure if the transformation process was this painful for everyone, or if the curse scars on him made it worse. He’d forgotten to set his mug down, and when it fell from his shifting hand, it shattered at feet that were no longer his. He’s shorter now-which is funny, Benjy isn’t that tall to start-but stockier. Thicker, he guesses. His hands aren’t as quick and his vision is a bit fuzzy. Benjy squints and things focus-Scamander needed glasses. His left side doesn’t throb any longer-its not ever something Benjy notices anymore unless he’s someone else-shifting back meant he’s going to notice it again for a few days. He absentmindedly goes to run his hands through his hair but he stops himself-Sawyer didn���t do that-his hair was always tangled and close to ratty-Benjy couldn’t be himself any longer. He crosses to the small loo and squints at himself in the mirror. It was always surreal, no matter how many times he did this-but at least Scamander wasn’t as ugly as the last person he morphed into. Carefully, Benjy presses his wand to his own neck, saying the spell and wincing as life like hickeys start to form. Another wave of his wand crumples the simple t-shirt and boxers he was wearing. He’d throw on one of Scamander’s dressing gowns when he got to the apartment. As a final step, Benjy dumps a bottle of whiskey over his head. It’s cold and awful-but he flicks the wetness away with a final wave of his wand-he was dry now, but he reeked. Satisfied that he looked like a proper version of Walk Of Shame Sawyer, Benjy grips the sides of the sink and takes a breath. 

All he had to do was convince a dangerous criminal that he was someone he wasn’t-if he failed, all that would happen is putting a major very expensive mission in jeopardy and the possible loss of his life.

He pictures Cleona, in low light, telling him about dying at one hundred and fifty three. Benjy smiles, shakes himself, and turns on the spot.

It was now or never.

~

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

‘Sawyer’ opens the door and feigns surprise at seeing Glenn.

“What’s up, mate?”

“Fun night, last night?” O’Donnell jeers, pushing past Benjy as Sawyer into the living room. He’s different here. More relaxed. Smarmier. 

“Oh you know it-birds from the states are fucking mad women.” Sawyer’s voice was hard to mimic, his accent a blend of American and British. Benjy clears his throat. “Bit of a cold-probably got it off her, Merlin knows how many blokes she’s been shagging on her vacation. What can I do you for?” He adds, watching O’Donnell run his hand over the back of an armchair.

“Where’s Ruse?” O’Donnell asks instead of answering, looking around the apartment with surprising softness. The Niffler wanting the niffler. Benjy as Sawyer chuckles softly, lighting up one of the cigarettes he’d found in Sawyer’s bedside table-they certainly weren’t tobacco and the taste of weed instantly relaxes Benjy. He offers a joint to O’Donnell who shakes his head.

“I don’t want your hippie shit.”

“Your loss, then. Ruse is out on an errand for me. Need a bit more funding before I can start your project. You’ve got expensive taste, Glenn.” 

The smell from Benjy’s joint starts intruding on the space between them and he sees O’Donnell wrinkle his nose. He doesn’t tell Sawyer not to call him Glenn-he trusted him more than he let on. 

“Just get it done-I don’t care what it costs you.”

O’Donnell, of course. was employing Sawyer to make a variety of dangerous and damaging potions and poisons for the Nifflers to use against their enemies and to sell. The ask at their initial meet up alone was enough to arrest O’Donnell, but Benjy didn’t just want the leader-he wanted the whole damn group-especially if they were supplying any for Deatheaters. Benjy as Sawyer smiles easily. “Did I say that I cared?”

O’Donnell doesn’t respond, he just looks around the apartment, uneasy.

“You alright, mate?”

“That fucking auror of yours is something else.”

Benjy inhales again on the joint, raising the cup full of tea and polyjuice to his lips just after, not grimacing at the taste despite how badly he wants to. “He’s not my auror, for fucks sake. He’s just a bloke I know.”

“I don’t know if we should trust him.” O’Donnell says, watching his own fingers trace the back of the chair still. “Seems dodgy.”

“Right, and Nim and the rest of the lot are upstanding citizens, so I see where you’re coming from.”

O’Donnell meets his eyes with a glare and BenjSawyer laughs.

“I’m just saying, mate. Listen, you don’t have to worry about Fenwick. He’s not...well, he’s a bit of a wank, but he’s not nearly as important as he thinks he is. The whole mess with him getting fired did go down as he says, but I bet he didn’t tell you about the shit they found his locker.”

O’Donnell’s eyebrows raise up his forehead. “He didn’t.”

Benjy as Sawyer laughs. “Bastard’s an addict-pretty much anything you can think of, he’s on it. And yeah, that makes him a bit unstable-but that also makes him vulnerable. And when you’re vulnerable, you’re easy to use.” He lets out a puff of smoke, eyeing O’Donnell carefully. “Anything you tell him to do, he’ll do. I’m the only one that’ll sell to him-Avery and the lot of others don’t fuck with him because of the ministry ties. He’s desperate, Glenn. And eager to please. It’s a great combination.”

O’Donnell lets out a little laugh. “I had no idea you were that fucking cold, Scamander.”

“This shit hasn’t hit yet.” Benjy raises the joint. “Soon as it does I’ll be back to your regular scheduled programming.”

O’Donnell laughs and Benjy sucks harder on the joint.

“As soon as Ruse is back, I’ll get started on what you need, mate. One problem though-no one has Doxie powder. Like, no one. I even asked that weird bitch Avery shacks up with, and she hasn’t had a taste of it in months. I think there’s been some bullshit crackdown from the ministry.”

“Ah you don’t need to worry about that, mate. I’ll bring you some on the 25th-little Christmas present for you. Shipment’s coming in on Christmas Eve-Doxie powder and lots of other shit. The ministry closes on the 23rd-before those idiots even know what’s hit em we’ll have so much of it already out on the streets.”

O’Donnell lights another one of his cigarettes.

“Sounds good, just keep me posted.”

“Sure-I told Fenwick to stay away from you-he’s got to prove himself proper or he’s gone-I hope you’re not too attached.”

Benjy feels a little piece of his stomach drop as he watches O’Donnell’s face change back to the complete coldness he’d shown him in the apartment. He’d under estimated him a bit-while still incredibly dumb, he was far from harmless. Benjy as Sawyer clears his throat and shurgs, taking another hit of the joint to buy him time.

Vigilance. 

“Fenwick? Nah, mate, I’m not attached.” Another inhale, exhale-the smoke floats towards the cold expression on Glenn O’Donnell’s face. Benjy ignores the tick up in the speed of his heart rate. Emotions, valid or not, are not helpful now. He’s not going to lose this-there’s no way the idiot standing in front of him, scary or not, will ever best him. With newfound resolve, Benjy speaks, an almost perfect imitation of Sawyer’s accent, spoken lazily, as if discussing the weather.

"If he has to die? Just collateral damage.”

#drabble #undercover #sawyer #polyjuice #yikers

[adaralondon]

Exploitation of black women: Is sex our sole purpose for media representation?

Women have always been a precarious subject when it comes to their portrayal in the media. Often in movies they are used as plot objects that serve to drive their male counterparts further in movies. However, the way they drive the plot is through their sexuality and sexual organs. Even when it comes the famous femme fatale genre the women have no agency the only way to encapsulate a man is through sex and helplessness. We see this in films such as Body Heat (Lawrence Kasdan 1981) although Matty Walker (Kathleen Turner) is considered a femme fatale she still must depend on her body to trap a man. She has no other skill or personality troupes that would allow her to outsmart a man, her charm solely based on what her vagina has to offer. Sexualization is a problem that all women seem to face when it comes to their portrayals.

The male gaze is a part of Mulvey construction in feminist theory. Since the film industry has always been a masculine dominated industry the way women are portrayed in media is often overly sexualized. Instead of focusing on a female character’s plot and character development the male gaze tends to focus on how the woman can serve the plot. The male gaze also has to do with the camera angle that women are filmed in. When watching television or a movie and even things such as anime or animated media when women appear on screen instead of focusing on their face a camera will cut to her breast or legs. The psyche of men and why they feel the need to portray women in such a perverse way not only is studied in feminist theory but also in psychoanalytic theory as well.  It is mentioned in our book Film Noir Reader on page 129 that men feel the need to view women objectively because the “male scopic desires must centre around control—never identification with or submission to the female.” (Silver) In all our films thus far there is an instance of the male gaze. The case with a lot of the women in noir films is that they are a plot drive for the male character and a romantic guise. This stereotype still affects the actresses in the movie industry today. I believe that the femme fatale character was birthed in response to the male gaze. The femme fatale uses her sexuality to her advantage in getting what she wants from the lusty male characters.  However, when it comes to black women in films, they seem to be hyper sexualized. This is not a practice that originated in filmography the over sexualization of black women goes back to slavery.

History holds many stories of black women being over sexualized. While taking a Gender Studies class we learned that when white colonist explored Africa, they often viewed black women as masculine beings who needed to be feminized through the act of sex. It was not just the masculinity they felt was appealing though. “The minimal amounts of clothing worn by Africans (appropriate in a hot climate), the fact that some tribes practiced polygamy, and the seemingly suggestive tribal dances led these Europeans to believe that Africans were sexually lewd.” (BlackBurnCenter) this was also used as a justification during slavery. During the period of chattel slavery black women were often raped and impregnated by their white slave masters because they were rare and exotic beauties. Based on research that was often based heavily in racism black women were portrayed as being sexually insatiable and heavily promiscuous. Due to the laws and slaves being considered as property black women could not be raped however if a black man was found having sexual relations with a white woman whether consensually or not, they could be put to death.This hyper sexualization is not exclusive to slavery though. Black women are known to have fuller figures than other races: fuller lips, wider hips, curly hair, and an overall curvier figure. This led to them being a popular collective item for human zoos. Sarah Bartmen is the most famous example of this. She was exploited in a freak show during the 19th century due to her abnormally large buttocks.

Ideas about black women were passed down and subconsciously led to a lot of sexual abuse. Even the black community itself feels as though black women are sexual deviants denying many black women their childhoods. “Approximately 60% of Black girls experience by age 18/For every Black woman that reports her rape, at least 15 Black women do not report.” (End Rape on campus ) as sexual assault is purportedly is more likely to be committed by someone you’re familiar with— which in the black community would a black man It is theorized that black women are less likely due to a practice during slavery. As aforementioned a black man convicted of sexual assault of a woman (both and white) was likely to be put to death. Due to race solidarity a black woman would not report being raped to protect her fellow black men. In the black community black girls who reach puberty at an earlier age than others are thought of as fast or promiscuous regardless if they are a Virgin or not. The boys are told to stay away from them, and they are shunned simply because they have achieved puberty at an earliest age than other girls. Many black girls are assumed to be older than they are and accused of lying of their age when being harassed by Men in the community. This maturity also leads to them being more likely to be taken advantage of.

These ideologies are passed down through generations and enacted subconsciously. This can be seen when we watch films and media that have black women as characters. Even when they are not seen they are mentioned. In the film Reservoir Dogs the element of racism is not hidden by the way the characters speak about black people “You guys are acting like a bunch of niggers.” (Tarentino) What is more surprising though is the scene where the characters are in the car discussing the taboo of being attracted to a masculinized black woman. They view black women as dangerous to try and treat badly unless your black man is only doing it to gain notoriety in public. They then go on to discuss an attractive black waitress who was a ‘maneater’' and every guy [who] ever laid his eyes on her had to jack off to her at least once.” (Tarentino) These comments suggest that why black women are dangerous they also fetishize them. Tarentino has stated himself that he did not write the dialogue in the movie in the way he and his friends trade casual banter. He has also stated: “"I don't think the word is offensive in the context of this film ... Black artists think they are the only ones allowed to use the word. Well, that's bull.” in response to his casual usage of racial slurs and racial epithets. Suggesting that black people are overly sensitive when it comes to racial slurs in the media.

           Another instance of over sexualization in noir films is in the movie One False Move. One of the main characters is a mixed black woman which due to the issue of colorism, makes her significantly more attractive and appealing to the men around her. However, the potential of her character is wasted.  Fantasia was supposed to be femme fatale because she had stolen their money and ran off to star city however she seemed to be just along for whatever any guy wanted to do with her. Instead of coming off as a dangerous and sexy femme fatale she is used as an expendable by her boyfriend. She comes off as a jezebel whose only purpose is to use her sexuality against the cop chasing them so that her boyfriend can make a clean escape. Which is sad because black women never get to use their sexuality in a movie as a weapon the same way white female characters do. Their sexuality is over masculinized as seen in Reservoir dogs or they come off as a jezebel type character.

           The way the media portrays women is dangerous however the way it portrays black women is even more dangerous. Instead of being a femme fatale black woman are often shoved into two categories both which will lead to their oversexualization and for them to be considered promiscuous. While black women in noir films are rare most of the time their appearance warrants racism and sexual harassment from the men around them.

Works cited:

“Survivor of Color Prevalence Rates.” END RAPE ON CAMPUS, endrapeoncampus.org/new-page-3.

“The Historical Roots of the Sexualization of Black Women and Girls.” Google, Google, www.google.com/amp/s/www.blackburncenter.org/single-post/2019/02/20/The-Historical-Roots-of-the-Sexualization-of-Black-Women-and-Girls.

Samuel L. Jackson Blasts Spike Lee For Criticizing Him For Using 'N-Word' in 'Jackie Brown'". Jet. March 9, 1998

“Phantom Lady, Cornell Woolrich, and the Masochistic Aesthetic.” Film Noir Reader, by Alain Silver and James Ursini, p. 129.

#writing #formal writing #essay and formal