#...to not feel SHAME over it. the shame is the enemy. the fear and self-loathing and self-hatred are the enemies... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yerrmar · 4 months

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𝐀 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬

!Fem! reader child of Persephone x Luke Castellan

Summary: you’re just like your mother a loyal sweetheart who’s feared by her enemies; he’s just like Hades completely mesmerised.

warnings: The reader can get quite dark when she’s angry, and Luke is his lovely self, swearing, mentions of: war, violence, killing, and blood.

notes: this is my first time writing on here and writing like this so sorry if it’s shitty im not that good at writing, I just loved this idea and wanted to write it so bad because like i don’t know how to ask someone else to write it if you get what i mean😫

You have a heart made of roses and thorns, beautiful to look at, but if you get too close be careful not to get pricked.

That’s what people at camp liked to do anyway, just look at you. They didn’t want to hear you speak. You are just a pretty face that would never get old. Endlessly, boys and girls plucked petals from your beautiful rose garden, gently placing them into their hands before tearing them apart; right in front of your face. All anyone thought of you for was your beauty, not your fighting skills, or your love for flowers, and not how wicked your mind could be.

It wasn’t something you made people aware of. Why would you? Why would you ever want people to know about your deep loathing for this stupid camp and the Gods that ruled over the earth? They’re pathetic-you hate them, the way they feed off of their children’s desperate cries to be loved, and how they would start wars just because they can.

You hate their children too, for wanting to be like them. For desiring history to continuously be repeated. Watching them never take the fucking hint that their parent has no interest in them. That’s pathetic. Every single thing in this world is pathetic; at least it makes you laugh.

Your mother, on the other hand, isn't like them. She could never be like them. She gives a fuck about you, you didn’t even need to beg her for a reply. There was no wonder Chiron tells you that you are the exact double of her, you are a seed that dispersed from her golden rose.

You always dreamed of a love like Persephone’s and Hades-their love runs deeper than the Mariana Trench. Their loyalty put all the gods to shame. I mean, yes it was bad that he kidnapped her you wouldn’t dismiss that, it was just how they found so much love for each other. But a hard truth that you needed to realise was that the only thing you could ever be loved for is your pretty face.

But you didn’t mind, it's easier to manipulate people when they can’t tear their stare away from your enchanting face. Though it makes you feel miserable most of the time; you just wish that someone would see you for everything you are.

That someone being Luke Castellan- unknowingly to you, he adores everything about you. He often observes how gentle you are when you’re tending to wounds, or taking care of your plants, he can’t help but smile at the motions. Your heart is a mystery to him, how can a person have that much love in their body and not even a pinch of darkness?

Everyone at Camp loves Luke, he's admired by all. He's also talented at hiding his true intentions and feelings.

You knew who the boy was. If you didn't you had probably only just joined camp half-blood. Luke Castellan, the best swordsman and a total heart-throb, you found the boy to be very attractive. You didn’t mean to stare at him during training, but you couldn't help it, everything about him made your stomach do flips. The only downside is that you two had never held an actual conversation before, always just quick hellos as you passed each other, even from that you were longing for him to just give you something more. Something better.

That was till one night, his mind had been racing with dark thoughts that he couldn’t shake. Then he saw you sitting on the dock, your feet dangling over the edge. Your feet are submerged in the freezing, pitch-black water. He wondered what you were doing up so late. As he got closer; the image of you became clearer. His eyes wandered over you. Usually, you had a flower sitting in your hair, but tonight you didn’t. Dried blood covered your knuckles; he could’ve sworn he saw a smirk on your face before he made himself known.

“Are you cold?”

You don't need to look at the person to know who it is. You've dreamed of his voice too often for it not to become familiar.

“No.” You replied, your voice as cold as the chilly air. Winter was arriving, and that's when you unconsciously became more closed off.

Luke frowned watching as your body trembled due to the freezing temperature, “Are you sure? You can borrow my jacket.”

His eyes still never left your swollen knuckles, curiosity almost getting the better of him. You groan, wanting to be left alone without being interrupted at least for just a minute, but everything around you seemed to be getting louder, and now here Luke was trying to start small talk.

If it was any other night you would've been happy to engage in conversation with him; tonight was not that night.

“I'm fine.” You snapped. Luke, strangely not taken aback by this action, placed his jacket around your shoulders anyway. And you didn't stop him.

Luke took a seat beside you, he wanted to ask about your bruised knuckles, and now he could see more clearly, he wanted to ask who caused that cut under your eye.

You knew exactly what he was thinking, it’s not like he was being discreet- you saw his eyes tracing over your hand, and how his jaw clenched from seeing your injury.

First, you tried to think of an excuse; you fell. But you couldn't help but want to tell him the truth, it was strange. “Just ask.”

Luke snapped his eyes to look at yours as you finally faced him. He tried to loom confused as if he didn't understand what you're talking about. “Ask what?”

“You know what, don't play dumb with me Castellan.” You scoffed. He loved how you read him like he was a book, if it was anyone else he would've attempted to kill them for reading him so well (it would be harder to hide), but you're different.

“Fine, you got me, princess. What happened to you're hand?” He chuckled.

You'll always stand up for yourself, no matter what. Nobody could ever make you doubt your worth.

So, when a boy from Apollo tried to make you look stupid in front of his friends, you snapped. Whilst you were practising archery, he came up behind you and placed his hand on your waist making you miss the target. He commented on how naive you are, and how you should accept his offer with private “lessons”.

Your fist collided with his nose, making a satisfying crack. You smirked at how he stumbled backwards, his face contorted into an unattractive expression. You would've laughed if it weren't for the judgemental looks you would have received.

People around you gasped, and some even cheered. The boy looked up at you in shock, his nose creating a pool of blood in his hands. “You bitch!” He hissed before lunging at you.

You didn’t have time to react when he slapped you, the sound echoed across the field. His ring got caught under your eye, causing a gash to appear. You held your burning face and snickered.

Finally, something interesting was happening in this shitty camp. You probably looked insane, but you didn’t care; you felt alive.

Your fist met with his face again, rekindling the connection that was once there. This time his whole body dropped to the ground, and you didn't stop there. You wondered how people felt about your pretty face when it was covered in blood.

People came to his rescue after seeing that you had no sign of stopping, even after he passed out. You ignored the disappointment on Chiron's face as he assessed the situation, with a smug expression and your head held high, you walked away.

Luke cursed himself for not being there, how he would kill to see you get angry like that, to watch you make people pay for being ignorant. Just imagining it made him grin. “How did it feel?” Luke spoke softly to you like if he spoke even just a bit louder, you'd shatter like glass.

You’re surprised by this question. His eyes stare deep into your soul-searching for his answer. He looked at you so deeply and intently that it made your cheeks burn. You didn't answer him, you just turned away and focused your attention on the ripples your legs made in the lake. He already knew how you felt, the way you explained the story to him, how you even laughed at one point. He knew that both of you shared the same anger; the same thirst for blood that came from the gods.

He reached out for your face. Gently, he placed his hand on your jaw turning you to face, his finger softly brushing your cheek. “You can trust me.”

His voice made you shudder, you'd never seen him treat someone so delicately. “Good.” She muttered.

“What?” He asked, even though he heard her perfectly fine, he wanted you to be proud. You’re ashamed that it made you feel so good to hurt someone who deserved it, you loved wiping the smirk off the bo's face. It made you feel… powerful.

But you'd never admit that to anyone. Luke understood that, but he wanted you to know you could talk to him about things like that; about anything. “I love duelling, not because it helps me with training, or because I win every time.” Luke smirked watching how you rolled your eyes at his cocky tone, “I love it because it feels so good to get all that anger off your chest. I love how it sounds when my fist meets someone's face. I love how it makes me feel powerful.”

After every sentence, his face got closer to yours, your noses just inches apart. Your breath hitched as he raised his hand to brush your hair behind your ear. He thought you were breathtaking like this, but you're always breathtaking to him.

You could be covered in blood and he'd still want to hold your face in his hands. He'd still kiss you so softly, but he knew he'd be too hungry for your lips to be gentle.

To Luke, his whole world was grey. Recently he hated everything and wanted to destroy it all. But you, you're the only colourful thing in his world. He'd do anything and everything to keep you safe, if anyone touched you he'd kill them. He so badly wanted to show you how perfect you are-he so badly wanted to close the small space that was between the both of you.

“So, how did it feel?” Luke asked again, seeing you give into trusting him.

Finally, you smirked. “It made me feel good. So. Fucking. Good.”

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #persephone #oneshot #Spotify #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fanfic

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edenmemes · 1 year

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god of war: ragnarok starters

may contain spoilers !

❝ trust? you have broken my trust. ❞ ❝ you seemed troubled in your sleep, even for you. nightmares? ❞ ❝ if you’re not fighting dirty, you’re not fighting, right? ❞ ❝ the worst is still ahead of us. we must be strong. ❞ ❝ it’s times like this i really miss home. ❞ ❝ you must live with your deeds, but do not be troubled by them. ❞ ❝ you don’t strike me as someone who fears death. ❞ ❝ that is not who i am anymore. ❞ ❝ the problem doesn’t have to reach our doorstop to be our responsibility. ❞ ❝ please don’t make me do this. ❞ ❝ the storm is getting worse. ❞ ❝ i’d offer you a hug, but why traumatise either of us further. ❞ ❝ whatever anger you’re feeling, whatever loathing toward me...it’s nothing to what i’ve said to myself. ❞ ❝ i know the hate that burns you from within. i’ve felt those flames...known the comfort of their warmth. ❞ ❝ i do not need you to protect me. ❞ ❝ be glad you have a home to remember fondly. ❞ ❝ you’ve come a long way since i first met you. ❞ ❝ the pain only grows. will i ever be free of it? ❞ ❝ i need you...i can’t do this by myself. ❞ ❝ got a case of pride, i get it. hope yours clears up quicker than mine did. ❞ ❝ you were given an impossible problem. do not blame yourself for failing to solve it. ❞ ❝ you speak of your deeds with shame. ❞ ❝ i wronged you. and i cannot change that...and can never apologise enough for it. ❞ ❝ we do not know what lies ahead. i wish to enjoy the time we have left. ❞ ❝ there is no need to shoulder this burden on your own. ❞ ❝ i suppose that’s all any of us can hope for in the end. that our death has purpose. ❞ ❝ i don’t need to hear about your mistakes. i’ve made enough of my own, thanks. ❞ ❝ some free advice? you don’t want to let anyone catch you talking to your sword. ❞ ❝ you reek of cheap mead and that is by far your most endearing characteristic. ❞ ❝ i expected you to come and find me. that no matter how hurt or angry, you wouldn’t abandon me when i needed you the most. ❞ ❝ you started this fight --- i will end it. ❞ ❝ you don’t have to do this kinda stuff just to keep my mind off things. ❞ ❝ could i ever think of this place as home again? after all that’s happened? ❞ ❝ all too often, people are blinded to all but their immediate self-interest. ❞ ❝ not exactly a calming presence, are you? ❞ ❝ know that all reigns end, and all empires fall. ❞ ❝ do not doubt the lengths i will go to. ❞ ❝ so much has been taken from me and i’m supposed to let it all go? ❞ ❝ if you don’t think i could lead us, just say so. ❞ ❝ i’m not saying anything you haven’t thought. ❞ ❝ there’s no making this right, is there? ❞ ❝ love should be---could be---stronger than hatred. ❞ ❝ it seems to me we share a common enemy. ❞ ❝ i know how bad it can get with one’s own kin. ❞ ❝ seems the only thing i can do right these days is destroy everything around me. ❞ ❝ i am haunted by your incompetence. it keeps me up at night. ❞ ❝ so i’m not allowed to give you a nickname? ❞ ❝ oooh, getting nosey. getting personal. ❞ ❝ that’s the most dangerous and irresponsible thing i’ve ever heard. ❞ ❝ i haven’t given up hope on you. ❞ ❝ i had hoped my days of ceaseless battles were over. ❞ ❝ to grieve deeply is to love fully. ❞ ❝ the truth is always more complicated. to imagine it’s simple is dangerous. ❞ ❝ you're a killer, just like your father. ❞ ❝ you think you just get to walk away? ❞ ❝ uh...someone’ll clean that up. ❞ ❝ i dont know if we’re breaking fate, or fate’s breaking us. ❞ ❝ how can you, of anyone alive, be squeamish about war? ❞ ❝ oh, wow...that’s quite the compliment. ❞ ❝ i grow tired of your lack of empathy. ❞ ❝ to abandon a poisonous path and walk another is no small challenge. ❞ ❝ can i get you a water or something? ❞ ❝ confronting the past comes with a price. ❞ ❝ i want things to be the way they were. ❞ ❝ being in love’s always a risk. that’s what makes it fun. ❞ ❝ i was always fond of our talks, you know. ❞ ❝ curiosity’s all well and good...but so’s privacy, yes? ❞ ❝ whatever you ask, consider it done. i am forever in your debt. ❞ ❝ what’s the biggest thing you’ve ever fought? ❞ ❝ so...was this all that you hoped for? ❞ ❝ the closer we get, the more tightness grows in my chest. ❞ ❝ your path leads to countless deaths. unimaginable pain and suffering. ❞ ❝ can’t you take a joke, you old goat? ❞ ❝ everyone takes it easy on you because they’re scared of your father. ❞ ❝ that’s family. you got to keep them close where they can make you good and crazy. ❞ ❝ maybe, for the moment, you’re of more use to me alive. ❞ ❝ look at the ruins before you and understand the truth: this was your doing. ❞ ❝ forgive me. my words were chosen carelessly. ❞ ❝ my success does not come from luck. ❞ ❝ just shut up and drink. ❞ ❝ no matter the size, every creature has a weakness. ❞ ❝ sometimes we never really know the ones we love. ❞ ❝ tell me about your homeland. ❞ ❝ leadership? not really my strong suit, let’s be honest. ❞ ❝ what am i gonna do, walk around with a bandage on my head, begging for attention? ❞ ❝ why are you so bent on hurting me like this? i’ve done nothing to you. ❞ ❝ you seem like a calm and reasonable person. are you a calm and reasonable person? ❞ ❝ i’ve seen my fair share of bloodshed, but this is an awful lot for one morning. ❞ ❝ if you’re planning on killing me, at least let me finish this song. ❞ ❝ everywhere i look, i am reminded of my mistakes. ❞ ❝ i have seen many lands. many realms. i can tell you with some certainty: no such paradise exists. ❞ ❝ do something about it or shut up already. ❞ ❝ breaking tension with humour is the sacred duty of a travelling companion. ❞ ❝ forgiveness can be powerful. even for the unworthy. ❞ ❝ you have no idea the kind of shit i’ve been through. ❞ ❝ our actions have consequences. to be reminded of them is not a punishment. ❞ ❝ take the hint. go away. ❞ ❝ something is on your mind. what is it? ❞ ❝ what a twisted little soul you have. ❞ ❝ your eyes say everything. ❞ ❝ me and you against the world, huh? just like the old days. ❞ ❝ there is no making things right. only better than they were. ❞ ❝ without me? i thought we were partners. ❞ ❝ this will end in blood. the only question that remains is which side is willing to spill more. ❞ ❝ i have lost myself before. more than once. ❞ ❝ you cannot sneak up on me like that. ❞ ❝ is it always moral to kill something that’s trying to kill you? ❞ ❝ we’ve gotta be more than a bunch of stories with our endings already written. ❞ ❝ the smell is making my eyes burn. ❞ ❝ you are staring... ❞ ❝ even the brightest among us carry darkness. ❞ ❝ anyone ever tell you that you babble when you’re terrified? ❞ ❝ every path i walk...leads back to vengeance. ❞ ❝ maybe our families are just meant to be enemies. ❞ ❝ i know how it feels...to lose a parent. ❞ ❝ your love of this place...i can feel it. anyone can. ❞ ❝ what you can do is get the fuck out of my sight. ❞ ❝ it was stupid of me to hope in the first place. ❞ ❝ is that regret in your voice? ❞ ❝ there are things even gods cannot control. ❞ ❝ you don’t care about anyone beyond yourself. ❞ ❝ say something. i enjoy hearing your voice. ❞ ❝ does it frighten you? that is why you must do it. ❞ ❝ the dumb doesn’t fall far from the tree. ❞ ❝ you’re quite agitated, even for you. ❞ ❝ ain’t you never seen a legend in the flesh before? ❞ ❝ you are one of the few i would call a ‘friend’. ❞ ❝ this place is kinda pretty, when things aren’t trying to kill us. ❞ ❝ i find the hues and shades of your shortcomings almost moving. ❞ ❝ i still might kill you when this is over. ❞ ❝ i wish i could do more, i really do. ❞ ❝ do you ever have those moments where you wish you could...go back? rewrite your own past, make different decisions. ❞ ❝ do you want me to stop talking about your muscles? ❞ ❝ you are a formidable warrior, but even more than that, you have a good heart. ❞ ❝ this world takes more strength than it gave me. ❞ ❝ i’m trying to save your life, you big jerk. ❞ ❝ at least something out here doesn’t wanna kill me. ❞ ❝ i’ll just say it. i’m getting a really terrible feeling from this place. ❞ ❝ violence changes us. you are not weak to feel its effects. ❞ ❝ i’ve always loved you, you know. ❞ ❝ what side are you on anyway? ❞ ❝ everything was fine until you showed up. ❞ ❝ i have been...falling back into my old ways. angry. distrustful. ❞ ❝ one day, you will have to survive. without me. ❞ ❝ you don’t have to like me but...we’re gonna have to trust each other. ❞ ❝ you think war drives me? or power? wealth? no. never has. ❞ ❝ and they say i’m the bad guy. ❞ ❝ you feel it in the air, don’t you? the anxiety. ❞ ❝ i’m not being weird, you’re being weird. ❞ ❝ sure you’re up for breaking the rules like this? ❞ ❝ doubt is a weakness we cannot afford. ❞ ❝ mm. i do not like riddles. ❞ ❝ it just seems like a lot for someone your age. ❞ ❝ use the judgement of a man and not of a child. ❞ ❝ so what are we supposed to do? roll over? do nothing? ❞ ❝ war will not give you the purpose you seek. ❞ ❝ nasty hit! are you alright? ❞ ❝ well, glad you survived the first day. ❞ ❝ what do you think? is there a right side in this war? ❞ ❝ didn’t you ever have an awkward phase in your youth? ❞ ❝ you will not find me good company. ❞ ❝ how about we just don’t kill each other? ❞ ❝ what have your promises ever been worth? ❞ ❝ why would you come this way alone? ❞ ❝ leave now, whether you value your life or peace in your death. ❞ ❝ i put you in so much pain. put you in a terrible situation. ❞ ❝ the most difficult battles are fought within. ❞ ❝ it’s not my job to teach you everything. ❞ ❝ thanks for patching me up. ❞ ❝ loss can do things to a man. ❞ ❝ i don’t know why i thought i could do this alone. ❞ ❝ i will do what it takes to keep you safe. ❞ ❝ a desperate creature can be the most dangerous. ❞ ❝ you’re just sharing your thoughts on a subject you know nothing about. ❞ ❝ this isn’t who you want to be. ❞ ❝ i knew this was going too smoothly. ❞ ❝ can one man do this much damage? ❞ ❝ this is your final warning. ❞ ❝ you have a lot of nerve, know that? ❞ ❝ i am counting on you. to be safe. to be smart. ❞ ❝ uh, maybe that’s not a good idea? ❞ ❝ well, that was violent. ❞ ❝ don’t go to too much trouble on my account. ❞ ❝ are you not a soldier? are you not a leader of people? ❞ ❝ just when i thought you couldn’t get even more godly. ❞ ❝ do you wish to speak of what happened? ❞ ❝ you have no hold on me any more. ❞ ❝ have you ever been in love? ❞ ❝ mind if i give you the best advice you’ve heard all day and possibly ever? sleep. ❞ ❝ you’ll have my wise and faithful counsel always. ❞ ❝ look, i just want to do the right thing. ❞ ❝ all i ask for is a good night’s rest. ❞ ❝ you’re angry with me, aren’t you? ❞ ❝ we live in strange times. ❞ ❝ do you hear that? i thought i heard a voice. ❞ ❝ any outsider is considered a threat. ❞ ❝ it is not always wrong to trust people. ❞ ❝ never thought i’d be so relieved to be back here. ❞ ❝ well, we all make mistakes. ❞ ❝ this is the craziest thing i’ve ever done. ❞ ❝ when we get out of here, i’ll give you some space. ❞ ❝ violence cannot prevent violence. ❞ ❝ the truth can be a cruel thing. ❞ ❝ defy your prophecy at your own peril. ❞ ❝ i must say, i think we make a good team. ❞ ❝ where would you even be without me? ❞ ❝ calm your mind. control it. ❞ ❝ you look...weirder than i imagined. ❞ ❝ we must tread carefully. danger is close. ❞ ❝ there are worse things to discover about someone you love. ❞ ❝ i know how it feels to be wronged. ❞ ❝ did you just wake up with the urge to be a pain in my ass? ❞ ❝ is it revenge if justice is served? ❞ ❝ sometimes there is no other way. ❞ ❝ all journeys come to an end. ❞ ❝ you’re the first person that i’ve talked to in a really long time. ❞ ❝ i’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment. ❞ ❝ so...do you forgive me? ❞ ❝ sorry, i’m just really excited to talk to you. ❞ ❝ is there any way to stop fate? ❞ ❝ it would be the first time in a while i have something truly mine. ❞ ❝ the earth is the reflection of those who tend it. ❞ ❝ i have to say. i am profoundly unimpressed. ❞ ❝ i did not come to you for a lecture. ❞ ❝ perhaps there is a measure of monster inside us all. ❞ ❝ i was about to look for you. ❞ ❝ i said we would speak no more of that. ❞ ❝ peace cannot endure without force to protect it. ❞ ❝ what is it you will not tell me? ❞ ❝ where has everyone gone, i wonder? ❞ ❝ i suppose we’re all entitled to walk our own paths. regardless of where they end. ❞ ❝ you are in way over your head. ❞ ❝ so much about that day i wish i could change. ❞ ❝ it is difficult to seek forgiveness when you feel unworthy. ❞ ❝ i don’t recall asking you to come along. ❞ ❝ don’t you know who i am? ❞ ❝ real power does not need to flaunt. it emerges when the time is right. ❞ ❝ i don’t move, you don’t move. don’t do anything you’ll regret. ❞ ❝ sorry we got off on the wrong foot there. ❞ ❝ i meant it when i said you’re not a prisoner here. ❞ ❝ the culmination of love is grief, and still we open our hearts to the inevitable. ❞ ❝ why aren’t we working together? ❞ ❝ maybe together we can take back what’s ours. ❞ ❝ you don’t hear me spreading your business all around town, do you? ❞ ❝ you judge me? you? ❞ ❝ you think i’m being stupid. ❞ ❝ go before i change my mind. ❞ ❝ you deserve nothing but pain. ❞ ❝ always expect the unexpected. ❞ ❝ don’t go telling anyone about that. ❞ ❝ i shouldn’t have listened to you. ❞ ❝ you think my anger is irrational? ❞ ❝ prophecies are slippery by nature. ❞ ❝ seek no quarrel with me, and i’ll have no quarrel with you. ❞ ❝ you’re a destroyer, like me. ❞ ❝ you think i’m trouble? you just met me. ❞ ❝ not sure that makes me feel any better... ❞ ❝ let me see the monster inside. ❞ ❝ i know what you’re doing. trying to play on my sympathies in the hope i let you live. ❞ ❝ i do not want you to feel alone. ❞ ❝ the mistakes of the past need not be repeated. ❞ ❝ never mind...i shouldn’t have asked. ❞ ❝ i regret many things. killing you will not be one of them. ❞ ❝ do you believe in fate? ❞ ❝ you can’t kill what you can’t catch. ❞ ❝ i just could use some fresh air, is all. ❞ ❝ i told you never to come back here. ❞

#roleplay meme #roleplay starters #rp meme #rp starters #long post for ts #gow spoilers #god of war spoilers

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sillypiratelife · 4 months

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Falling for zosan and namivivi because I am a sucker for parallels and relationships that are not what people would expect of them.

For example, I prefer when Zoro and Sanji don't get together because they are sexually attracted to each other, but because there is literally no real reason forcing them together but they choose to be together either way.

Why do they fight? Why each other?

There's nothing about fate or blind love in there.

Loving Sanji is a decision for Zoro. He picks Sanji. He decides he wants to tease Sanji and fight with him and offer to Sanji those parts of himself that no one else has seen. Zoro loves deliberately, with all his being. He knows what he's getting into and he accepts it, a promise made to last forever. He did the same with Kuina and Luffy, so it doesn't make sense to me to have a version of Zoro that loves romantically 'cause there's no other option. Remember when he preferred to die over denying his ambitions? Or all the times he has sacrificed himself expecting nothing in return? Or the fact he is praised for following no one he doesn't want to and nothing but what pleases him?

And Sanji can only choose to love Zoro. It'd be a fight with his traumas and the persona he created to keep the hurt at bay, you know, "the romantic cook that loves and lusts for women". It wouldn't be fair or pretty either if Sanji was forced into it. I'm not saying he can't be sexually attracted to Zoro —and I must clarify, for me Zoro is fully on the asexual spectrum— but ultimately, I think that Sanji would never dive on it if not fully conscious about what it entails. Sanji has a lot of issues he must start working on before involving himself in anything romantic or sexual with a man. It's the guilt? The shame? The way he represses himself and denies himself happiness? The way he thinks he needs to fake an easygoing persona so that others wouldn't worry? The self-loathing? Zoro sacrifices himself because that's his duty and he knows himself and his wishes— he'd die to be the best swordman and he'd die for Luffy to be the pirate king and he'd die for his crew. He doesn't wish death, tho. Sanji? His self-sacrificing is born out of suffering and self-deprecation. Loving Zoro would be a choice, no doubt.

With Nami and Vivi, it's that the circumstances make them perfect for each other, just to later keep them apart.

Vivi and Nami fit together. It took Nami one single night and she knew she'd sacrifice anything— that they would sacrifice anything to help Vivi. Nami saw her own fear and loneliness and guilt and desperation reflected in the way Vivi made her lip bleed from her bite while the Igaram ship was on fire. They were "cursed" to survive. To fight and struggle and survive, because no one else could face Arlong or Crocodile. Little girls —kids, then teenagers— sailing to a world of crime where they got claimed by the organizations they hated the most, the one they wanted to tear down because they were hurting their home. Young attractive teen girls who turned their bodies into weapons to distract and surprise their enemies so they could have a chance to defeat them.

Girls who know what it's like to smile when you want to break down, what it's like to kneel out of frustration and scream and feel useless helpless.

The strawhat girls were to fucking hell as mere children and got out of there walking, okay?

What allowed the princess and the burglar to find companionship within the other were those things like the trauma of being the only one who could reclaim back their home or the fear of being alone against a situation bigger than themselves. Being honest, I'm not sure if they'd have clicked without it. In the end it's a bit funny, isn't it? Alabasta is the reason Vivi met the strawhats and the reason why she can't sail to go on adventures with them. In fulfilling the promise of saving Alabasta, Nami made it so that Vivi wouldn't be able to leave with them. Well, she could, but not really. Vivi is a good princess and she wouldn't abandon her people = her country.

Vivi suffered for being a rich princess, but saved herself + her people 'cause they underestimated how influential and powerful she could be. On the other hand, Nami suffered for being a poor no one first, then for being too important for Arlong to discard, yet they never expected that Nami would have so many people willing to fight for her.

Like a moth to flame, a girl reflected on water.

Vivi and Nami are an echo of each other, one that rings clear and true across the seas. For me, there could be no one else for them. Who else would get it? Who else could understand what they can't explain? What they've lived through? Who held Vivi and swore it'd be okay that night at Whiskey Peak? Who took care of Nami when she was at death's door with fever for days? All the moments become a giant picture with them at the center of it. There's no one else. It couldn't be.

#zoro and luffy are queerplatonic to me and they deserve their own posts #no romantic no platonic but a secret third option (an aroace relationship between a captain and his first mate)#ANYWAY #shan blogs about one piece!#one piece anime #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #zosan #one piece nami #cat burglar nami #vivi nefertari #namivivi #vivinami

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mysticstarlightduck · 9 months

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happy blorbo blursday! what are your OC's biggest fears and how do they (or dont') deal with them?

Happy Blorbo Blursday! Thanks for the Ask, @cabbojage! (Sorry for the late answer, yesterday was a bit of a crazy day and I was very tired lol. Plus I wanted to be thorough with this answer.)

What are your OC's biggest fears and how do they (or dont') deal with them?

Oh boy, this is such an interesting question - and such a dark one as well. Let's take a deep dive into my character's worst nightmares: (Since this is a very straightforward question, I will do this for the entire cast - of good characters - from TLW)

It is worth noting that most characters don't have very healthy coping mechanisms, as such is needed for any character development to occur (by the end of the story they grow and learn to handle emotions properly).

This is incredibly long, so the answers will be under the cut!

Raelen Ashiren -

Fear: Her worst fear is losing more of her family to the Secret Court (she also has a very viscerally terrified reaction to Secret Court assassins in general). She also fears that she isn't enough and that this will cause her to inevitably fail her family's legacy.

How She Copes: Well, she mostly copes with this fear by taking action to ensure that it doesn't happen. She prefers having to stand up and fight against her worst enemies than letting this reality come to pass (yet again because she already lost family to the Secret Court once in the past).

Azra Moorsworth -

Fear: His worst fear is that doesn't have an identity or significance. That he will forever be stuck as a "nobody" who was found abandoned in the woods with no parents and no name. That this is all he'll ever be if he doesn't prove himself as someone worthwhile.

How He Copes: Azra mostly tries to push down this fear, doing all that he can to prove himself and make a name, an identity that he can be proud of. Every time he fails, if only so slightly, the fear grows slightly stronger.

Julyan Ashiren -

Fear: His worst fear is that he isn't strong enough to protect his siblings and that he'll end up alone (as in, that they'll die) should he not be able to shield them from the world. He promised his parents before they died that he would keep their family safe, and desperately fears that he will let them down. Also, as the story progresses (after he is captured by the Secret Court), he develops a brutal fear of becoming a monster and losing control of his powers.

How He Copes: Julyan tries to handle everything by himself, so as not to burden others, and never allows himself to take a break or show weakness, even if it costs his well-being. He tries to do more than he needs to do, to ensure nothing unexpected takes him by surprise (including controlling his powers).

Vallerius Zyndrosar -

Fear: His worst fear is that he is an unlovable monster who is unworthy of love and respect. Due to the circumstances of the death of his dad (who was killed by an assassin that was looking for Vallerius), Vall developed strong feelings of self-loathing. He fears that - due to being the son of a Fallen One (thus having dark magic in his blood) - it is in his nature to be dangerous/cause harm to others.

How He Copes: Vall copes with his fear by doing everything in his power to be helpful to those around him, as if to fight against what he fears is his nature. He also tries to contain much of his powers, only using them when it is truly needed, as he fears they are the cause of everything wrong that has happened in his life. He puts the needs of others before his own every time, being afraid to act (as he calls it) "selfishly", and always kees a funny/easygoing mask to pretend to be unbothered by things.

Nyx Faestorm -

Fear: Nyx is terrified of being "a coward". Haunted by the brutal slaughter of his people by the Morosyn Empire, Nyx was able to survive by running away and hiding, which caused him to develop feelings of guilt and shame over "having run away and not helped" when in truth he had no other choice and it was not his fault (he struggles with survivor's guilt, especially since he is considered to be the last fae alive)

How He Copes: Nyx copes with his fear by trying to always jump into action, and keeping a proud facade to hide his low self-esteem. He struggles with freezing up during moments of high stress or danger and tries his best to avoid that from happening so that he can take action.

Sybil Rihdel -

Fear: Sybil struggles with a fear of rejection, feeling like she will never fit in or be accepted by others around her, no matter how hard she tries. She fears that everyone is silently judging her and thinking less of her.

How She Copes: Sybil copes with this by being as wild and unexpected as possible. She believes that, since everyone is going to judge her, she might as well just be herself. And that's good. However, on the days her insecurities are especially strong, she makes a point of being aggressive/obnoxious, even making weird/disturbing jokes (dark humor) often rejecting other people before they can reject her.

Kaden Rihdel -

Fear: Kaden struggles with a strong fear of abandonment. He is afraid of being "left behind" and that he'll end up alone (he doesn't even like spending large stretches of time by himself, it makes him anxious).

How He Copes: Kaden tries to keep those around him as safe as possible, making sure that he is not seen as "a burden". He tries to find ways to always be in the company of someone else, be it by chatting a lot or just following them/helping around.

Nadinne Ahmirah -

Fear: She fears that she will have to live her life stuck to the shore, and never get the chance to sail the seas like she yearns to. She fears being unable to act upon her own choices and fears that her status as a noble lady might stop her from making the difference she wants to see in the world. On the other side of this coin, she also dreads disappointing her family, so she is stuck between being free and being the daughter she needs to be.

How She Copes: Nadinne copes with her fear by finding ways to take action without dishonoring her family name. She becomes a guide/messenger for those who need her help, using her influence to aid those that can truly fight directly against the dangers she wishes she could face without repercussions.

Morwan Destrin -

Fear: Morwan fears that, deep down, she is still the same scorned lady she was in the past, someone who she sees as weak, afraid, and incapable. She fears being weak because weakness only got her hurt and mistreated by a world that saw her as "lesser".

How She Copes: Morwan copes with her fear by doing whatever she can to be as strong and fierce as she can be. She becomes the most dangerous warrior in Agrannor, and yet, she still feels like she could be stronger, more respected. She tries to become a different person than the one she was when she was rejected but neglects to heal the trauma and wounds that said event caused.

Trystan Grayspear -

Fear: Trystan's worst fear is the fear of failure. He is afraid of failing in his duties to the Order of Knights, he is afraid that he will fail on teaching Peregrine everything he needs to know to become a knight. Trystan lives haunted by the thought of one day having to face the shame and humiliation of failing something important (especially since so much of his identity and self-worth is centered around him being a knight and the duties he has to fulfill)

How He Copes: Trystan copes with this by always being the best he can be. He tries to be perfect because if he is perfect he can't fail, and he won't make mistakes (or so he thinks). With him, everything has its time and place, every action must be perfectly calculated in every way, and every chance of making a mistake must be eradicated.

Peregrine Duskeblom -

Fear: Peregrine's worst fear is that he is a disappointment, a letdown that only screws things up. He is afraid that everything wrong that happened in his life was his fault (plus he is haunted by the mistake he made that got him exiled from the Order and disowned by his mentor/adoptive brother).

How He Copes: Peregrine copes by making sure that everything he does is to make sure he makes up for the mistakes he has made and to ensure he doesn't "screw up" again. He tries to fix the problems around him, to redeem himself for all that has happened.

Darian Caelestis -

Fear: Darian is afraid of breaking his promises, of not being able to uphold the vows he makes to his friends and their cause. He is also afraid that - since he is not a skilled warrior and instead is more of a scholar, and his inventions rarely work out as planned - he will be unable to fight for what is right. Darian is also rather afraid of conflict and tried to avoid the war for as long as he could because of this fear.

How He Copes: Darian tries to make newer and more upgraded inventions, sure that this is the time he will get it right. He tried to avoid the war so as not to be forced into a conflict, but upon realizing that this was his only chance to save his friend, he decided to face the danger head-on, so as not to break yet another promise.

Tanwin Lyrandeth -

Fear: Tanwin is afraid of being treated like a weapon and not a person. He is also afraid of having his privacy invaded and having his opinions and thoughts dismissed.

How He Copes: Mostly, he doesn't. All that he can do is hope that it isn't true, but since he believes that "hope" is a lie and that it died a long time ago, he mostly has to just live with the belief that his fears are true.

Seira Nivaine -

Fear: That she'll never know who she truly is, and that she'll have to live her life with that gnawing void of "What am I? Where did I come from?", should she fail to find the answers she needs. The fear of not knowing why she is who she is and never knowing her true past haunts her.

How She Copes: Seira copes with her fear by facing the unknowing, by taking whatever chances she can get to lead her closer to the truth she sorely needs. She copes by taking reassurance from the present, and the things that she knows exists, so as not to let her mind spiral into the void of the endless questions she has no answer to as of yet.

Lukan Velterin -

Fear: That he will forever be just a "good for nothing thief", a scoundrel that will never be more than what he always was, forced to accept a mediocre existence.

How He Copes: Lukan wears a mask of pride and indifference towards the world, using his reputation and the name he built for himself as a defense mechanism against his fears and the world. After all, the "thief of a thousand tricks" always comes out on top. He never needs anyone (because he believes that no one ever needed him) and believes in golden coins, not in any ideal.

Isolde Kierah -

Fear: That she will never live up to her mother's name and expectations. She fears that "how can one be an honorable knight if the crown I hoped to serve is corrupted?". Torn between her orders/training and what she knows is right.

How She Copes: Isolde copes with this by always following her moral compass and letting it guide her, hoping that she is doing the right thing. Thus she has one of the healthiest coping mechanisms on this list. Still, the insecurity and doubt are still there, waiting for a moment of weakness to resurface again.

Arammis Dohrfaren -

Fear: Arammis fears being helpless and unable to stand up against the injustices she and others around her face. Having a very just and rebellious personality, Arammis hates being forcibly told what to do or being stuck in a situation where she can't fight back.

How She Copes: Aramis makes a point of standing up against injustice, the more she is told to back out, the more she wants to get involved. If she can't combat it directly, she will find a subtler alternative, but she'll never give up. Anything to not be helpless.

Princess Ellinor Dallantes:

Fear: Ellinor fears that she doesn't have what it takes to be the ruler she needs to be. That she is not ready for the challenges yet to come. She is also afraid of how her orders could put her friends and her subjects in danger if she doesn't think things through.

How She Copes: She tries to make sure that she is ready for every single outcome, and that she doesn't give her enemies the chance to retaliate and cause more harm. She studies, practices, and fights, all to make sure no one has to die in her name and that she is prepared to take her place as the Queen of Arkellya when they reconquer her lands.

Bryn Seperi -

Fear: Fire. Bryn is viscerally terrified of fire, and even the lightest of candles can cause him immense aversion. He is not afraid of much else, but fire is one of the only things that makes him have a full o breakdown. He is also afraid of losing Cirien or being unable to enact his revenge on High Lady Avaline. (Here's the link to the post where I explain why Bryn is terrified of fire and also explain a bit of his tragic past as well).

How He Copes: (With his fear of fire) He doesn't. Bryn tries to stay as far away from any source of fire as he possibly can, be it a fireplace, a candle, or anything else, even if it means getting cold in the winter. (With his fear of failing his revenge quest) To cope with this, Bryn makes sure he is so deadly that no one can stand in his way and survive, making sure none of his enemies live to tell the tale.

Ansell Kallik -

Fear: Ansell is terrified of failing in his duties as Princess Ellinor's bodyguard and of being unable to protect his friends - he is also afraid of failing as a member of the Gilded Vipers. Also, around the end of Book 1 and the start of Book 2, due to an unfortunate confrontation with a villain, Ansell becomes touch averse and develops a deep phobia of people who can't respect his personal space.

How He Copes: Ansell copes with his fear of failing his duties by always trying to do his best, even going as far as to make sure he takes every hit in battle if it means his friends are unscathed. Even though they tell him he doesn't need to do this and that he shouldn't put himself in danger. He has a dangerous mix of extreme selflessness, lack of self-preservation instincts, and low self-esteem, which makes him rather compromise his safety instead of seeing his friends in peril. As for his touch aversion and fear of people who don't respect his personal space, Ansell slowly gets better at managing his fears, but it never does leave him. To cope with this, he likes spending time with his friends while doing something else so that he isn't left alone with his memories.

Yuna Thyren -

Fear: Yuna constantly struggles with self-blame issues (her family died when her village was raided by the Imperial army, and she managed to survive by sheer luck), as well as past trauma regarding the Morosyn Empire.

How She Copes: Unfortunately Yuna has one of the worst coping mechanisms in the book. After surviving what was meant to kill her, Yuna became well, depressed. She started turning into a very reckless person, especially when it came to her health and safety. She began drinking, gambling, and getting into fights with local thugs and lowlifes. When Ellinor and Ansell met her and gave her a chance to join the team, she decided to turn her life around and start dealing with her problems more sustainably, now that she has people to support her.

Emryc Thorne -

Fear: Illness (the Blood Curse Plague is one of his major childhood traumas, more than he'd like to admit it), as well as insecurity, uncertainty of the future, and being forced to trust people he would never otherwise believe in. Emryc, also has slight thalassophobia, despite literally coming from the seafaring archipelago of the Storm Isles, but not for any specific reason from his past - he just doesn't like the sea, and quite frankly, with the sea creatures and sea monsters that exist in Agrannor, that's a very valid fear.

How He Copes: Emryc tries to avoid any place that he views as unclean - in any way - or where he knows someone sick has been in recently. He doesn't like hugging strangers (though he is a hugger with his friends because he knows they aren't going to get him sick), nor people who talk too close to him, for the same reason as to avoid illness. A simple cough or skin rash is enough to send chills down his spine (at one point in TLW he actually pukes after seeing an infected wound), and he deals with it by getting as far away from it as he can. As for his mild fear of the seas, its nothing debilitating, and he might even agree to enter a ship (that's basically how he escaped the Storm Isles during the height of the Blood Curse Plague), though he stays incredibly still during the entire boat ride - and as far away from the ship's railing as possible - and might even go pale. Due to this fear, he still doesn't know how to swim very well but might do it to survive or to save someone he cares about.

Zephyr Tellian -

Fear: When Zephyr was a young teen, he and his brother witnessed the Fall of Eldon. The entire kingdom was slowly being destroyed and wiped out into nothing. In the midst of the war, they were betrayed by a close friend, who allied himself to the Secret Court out of grief and envy. This "friend" sought to curse/kill Jamie, but Zephyr intervened and ended up being hit with the spell in his place. Because of this, not only is Zephyr plagued by very brutal nightmares and memories (especially now that his curse is getting worse), but he suffers from a lot of trust issues and the fear of being betrayed.

How He Copes: Zephyr mostly tries to pretend that his past doesn't affect him as much as it does. As for his fear of being betrayed, Zephyr has a tendency of pretending he trusts other people and to try and "test" if they're truly on his side or if they mean any harm to him and Jamie.

Jamie Tellian -

Fear: Jamie is terrified of losing Zephyr and of being unable to find a cure for his older brother's curse before it's too late. Growing up, they only had each other - and literally, nothing else - so, even now that they've both grown up, Jamie fears that he will end up alone in the end.

How He Copes: Jamie tries to always be prepared, seeking any solution he can find to try and break the curse, and always being there for his brother, even though Jamie is the youngest. He tries to always find a way to keep them both safe and always tries to excel at anything he has the opportunity to do.

Innara Renfelli -

Fear: Innara's worst fear is her Great-Uncle, Kerwin Illythe (he'd been the husband of her late Great-Aunt Eudora Renfelli). Also known as the man who ruined her life. When she was young, Kerwin never made it a secret that he despised the young girl, seeing her as a bastard and a disgrace to the House Regent (even though she was not), and making as many obstacles as he could in order to derail his young nephew's rule and turn the Council of Houses against him. Recently, Innara discovered that the corrupt nobleman had been working for the Secret Court and was poisoning her father with dark magic. When Innara tried to expose Kerwin, he turned the Council of Houses against her and got her exiled. Even after fleeing her own kingdom and escaping assassins sent to kill her, the trauma never left her.

How She Copes: Innara vowed that she would make things right and find a way to defeat the Secret Court in order to defeat her great-uncle, hopefully in time to save her father's life. However, Innara started struggling with feelings of inadequacy, often thinking "What if she truly isn't enough?", and to cope with them, she started to try and prove her worth, to herself.

Helios Maevel -

Fear: Of being framed and unable to prove the truth about himself. He is also haunted by the death of his childhood best friend, Andreas Raynell, who was murdered by Councilor Viltarin in order to frame Helios (and who died in Helios' arms). Helios developed a strong repulsion to blood after that - feeling like he just couldn't wash away his friend's blood from his hands, even though it was not his fault - a phobia that completely ruined his dreams of becoming a physician in the future). Helios also struggles with some identity issues, especially after discovering his true parentage (something I can't reveal now without spoilers).

How He Copes: Helios tries to make sure he never finds himself backed into a situation he cannot find his way out of and to always have all the facts to everything he is convinced into doing. As for his phobia of blood, Helios has a nervous habit of washing his hands far more than he needs to, and of always wearing thick gloves. He still doesn't know how to cope with his discovery of his parentage and does not know what to do with it.

Cassander Fynn -

Fear: Of losing control of a situation, being unable to read his opponents, or making a bad decision. As a rebel spy, thousands of lives depend on his ability to keep things controlled and to fool his enemies, and if he makes a mistake, other people might pay dearly for it, and that's not something he is willing to let happen. The fear of being wrong or mistaken.

How He Copes: Cassander does his best to plan every situation to the best of his abilities, to always be three steps ahead of his opponents - making them play the game of war by his rules, not the other way around. He can't let himself have moments of doubt and uncertainty, as those could cause his cover to be blown or make him make a bad decision, so he keeps his head clear and his emotions in check.

Luciya Anynth -

Fear: Of losing her freedom, of being trapped, of not being able to act independently, or being forced to follow someone else's orders. She developed this fear after being captured by the Morosyn Empire and forced to be a servant (a handmaid) of the woman who destroyed her life. Luciya is also terrified of being betrayed or left behind, as that is exactly what her half-brother did to her (in her view) when he joined the Morosyn Empire.

How She Copes: Since she can't outright fight against her fear without risking an execution, Luciya makes do by planning her escape every day of her life and working to make the Empire crumble from within, little acts of rebellion that go unnoticed, but stack up on the longer term. As for her fear of being betrayed, she might take a lot of time to start to even remotely trust someone, unless they do something that proves that she can trust them truly, and reacts very ruthlessly to those who dare betray her again.

Quinn Aurellen -

Fear: Quinn fears unpredictability and chaos, though he often uses it to his advantage, but only when it happens to be chaos in the lives of his enemies, not his own. He also deeply fears the Morosyn Empire and the nobles he is forced to entertain, a fear that turned into contempt and disgust over the years. Also, Quinn struggles every day with the dreadful fear of losing his five-year-old son (I mean, he lives literally in the midst of some of the most dangerous people on the continent, and should they wish to do anything to harm them, Quinn would be hopeless to fight back against it, especially since, being a courtesan and a slave, he does not have the status of "free citizen" and thus no legal protection)

How He Copes: Quinn copes by making sure he knows every secret and every hidden weakness of everyone in the royal court. He might not be free, but now neither are they - because he knows enough secrets to destroy them should he wish to speak up. To protect his son, Quinn keeps the boy as far from the court affairs as he possibly can while living in the Imperial Palaces.

Brenwyn Turen/"Revna Venlesh" -

Fear: The fear of being used/manipulated, as well as the debilitating fear of being forgotten, of one day, her name being nothing more than a speck of dust and her life completely ignored in the grand scheme of things, just like her once proud Mageborn House was completely erased, and is now nothing but a forgotten myth.

How She Copes: Brenwyn does everything that she can to ensure that she knows the motivations of those around her, so that she can know if she is being manipulated. As to cope with her fear of being forgotten, Brenwyn strives to do something great and memorable, so that her life was "not for nothing" (in her own words), and so that she might one day even make people remember her lost House.

Fabian Anynth -

Fear: Fabian struggles with a debilitating fear of humiliation and of being treated as someone inferior, something that causes him deep hatred and rage. Growing up, Fabian always knew that the world around him saw him as expendable, as less than dirt - especially for his half-elf status and the fact that he was, for most of his early life, "nothing more than a street kid". Being a very prideful person, having to grow up with his pride being constantly wounded and mocked, caused Fabian to eventually snap - especially after he was forced to beg someone for something as simple as food. Fabian, deep down, struggles with the fear of losing his little half-sister as well, because she was the only person who truly respected him and loved him.

How He Copes: Fabian swore that he would make something of himself, that he would become someone important and powerful enough to make those who had disrespected and mistreated him regret their actions and fear him. Now, as an Imperial Hunter, he can shun the part of his heritage that caused him suffering (though deep down it only makes him feel even more inadequate since as a Hunter he is literally betraying his own kind and working for the enemy) and has become respected by everyone around him, even the Emperor himself. But he wants more. He to bring this corrupted Empire down, and to create a future where no one has to be treated as lesser, and where kids like he once was can have the opportunity to thrive and survive without having to become monsters (like he thinks he became).

Lord Nethen Fahris -

Fear: His worst fear is the executioner (and executions in general), but he also has a deep-seated fear of being unable to destroy his enemies. Nethen is also a perfectionist, and due to a traumatic event in his past, he is mortified of ever making a mistake. (During his childhood, Nethen was raised by a young elf named Elain, whom his family had bought to work as his tutor and nanny. When Nethen accidentally made a mistake that angered the Emperor, his father allowed Elain to be executed and Nethen was forced to watch the execution of the only person who had been like family to him - as his own family didn't care about him. His mother told him that day that "such is the price of making a mistake, boy". Now a young adult, Nethen struggles with PTSD and traumatic visions of that day in his past, which fueled him to try and destroy the system that did this to him.)

How He Copes: Nethen copes with his fears by being calculated and meticulous, always planning everything that he does and knowing every possible outcome - so as not to "allow himself to make a mistake a second time". No one must be more prepared than him, no one must know more than him. Not even the Emperor will stand in his way this time, and he will do whatever it takes to make his vision of the future come to fruition.

Oryon Zyndor -

Fear: Drowning. Despite being half-merfolk, and having once truly enjoyed swimming, after being betrayed and thrown overboard by the captain of the ship he worked for, Oryon developed a strong, unyielding fear of drowning.

How He Copes: He simply doesn't swim anymore and avoids any large bodies of water if he has the option to.

Myrah Faron -

Fear: The fear of death and loss (her past is complicated, but basically her clan was slaughtered by the Radiant Hunt). Myrah is also afraid of being forced to do something she does not want to do, due to her very instinctive personality, preferring to have the option to act freely and on instinct.

How She Copes: Myrah copes with her her fear of death by making sure it doesn't happen to anyone around her, by giving them the means to survive and live their lives. As for her dislike/fear of being controlled or told what to do, Myrah simply ignores any orders and does as she sees fit.

Elyren Tyrvommira -

Fear: Of failing his necromancy spell and being unable to bring his family back to life. Elyren is also afraid of the continent in general, in a very spiteful, bitter, and dangerous way, since he believes that all those lands have done to him was cause him harm, pain, and suffering.

How He Copes: Elyren dedicates himself to studying his spells and spends every day of his life doing all that he can to make sure his plan will work. Obsessed with finding the First Source, which he believes is the key to making his spell work and defeating his enemies, Elyren is willing to do anything to change what happened in the past.

#writing #writers #my wips #character writing #my writing #my characters #writeblr #writerblr #writers on tumblr #asked and answered #blorbo blursday!

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fcb4 · 2 years

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Halloween and the Good News of the Gospel

“No curse can touch Jacob; no magic has any power against Israel.” -Numbers 23:23

"I saw Satan fall from heaven like lightning!” -Jesus (Lk 10:18)

“Laugh at the Enemy” -Martin Luther

Every October 31st, I am reminded to laugh, throw a party, eat too many goodies all in the light of the goodness of the gospel of Jesus that triumphed over devils, dourness and do-betterism.

It's the time of year that I come to the realization that too many Christians still live under the law. I see it clearly in the way people start getting the jitters, begin judging or feel compelled to justify themselves during Halloween. Christians hiding their love of spooky things, the constant rebranding of everything that has a hint of frivolity and frankenstein. The constant plungering of churchianity as it frantically seeks to unclog our culture of anything it perceives to be too worldly or wicked.

There's an underpinning of anxiety and overtheshoulderism that haunts people who are living lives under the all seeing Eye of Sauron instead of the glorious grace of Christ. They are frightened by people without and people within the church having been whackamoled into submission to false ideas of sanctification and God honoring. They are less witnesses of the good news of Jesus and more testimonies of the terrors of hyper-fundi relgiouscity.

It’s a fascinating time to observe the conflicted and the condemning nature of so much of evangelicalism. This amazes me, in light of the fact that the reformation produced evangelicalism and that reform struck a pretty hefty blow to boogieman of superstition, man-pleasing and suffocating legalism. How could the sons and daughters of the likes of reformers like Martin Luther become so thin-skinned, pensively paranoid and hyper-guilty? When did bold and courageous freedom get exchanged for knee-jerk judgmentalism, persnickety piousness and cranky christianity?

One thing that Luther surely helped restore was the gift of satire and laughter to an institution that had grown so pompous and exalted in it’s own eyes, that it took a jolly, jesting, farting Monk to poke holes in its inflated ego. Luther’s antics, extremes and scathing hilarity helped dethrone saintly sourpussness and helped spring saints from their prisons of dead religious tradition and the heat lamp of breathless self-examination and self-loathing.

Martin Luther said: “A poor man, entangled in sin, death and hell, can not hear anything more comforting than this precious, dear message of Christ. His heart must laugh deeply and become joyful about it...Sadness is hereditary to us, and the devil is the spirit of sadness, but God is the spirit of joy, who saves us."

One of the main things that should be celebrated by those who have discovered the gospel is the joy of the defeat of Satan. Believers can be bold in their laughter, because Christ has set us free from the fear of death and evil!

“Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might break the power of him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil— and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.” -Hebrews 2:14-15

We have nothing to fear! Not the devil, Hell, Judgment for our sins or the tribunal of other people’s religious troubles, trifles and tantrums. Christ triumphed over all of them and set us free to live lives full of righteous liberty, festival and frivolity as only people set free from sin and death can.

“And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them through the cross.” -Colossians 2:13-15

Evangelicals always seem to have to find a reason to justify having fun, as if God is not the author of laughter, giggles and the creator of all our toe-tingling endorphin pleasures. At the root of the problem is we don't truly believe the gospel. We believe we are saved by what we do or don't do or ‘how well’ we do it. We claim Jesus is Lord of heaven and earth and that according to Jesus "the prince of this world was cast out" (jn 12:31) but then live in superstitious fear and missional anxiety about days, foods and a host of other things.

Colossians 2: 16,20-21

“So don’t let anyone stand in judgment over you and dictate what you should eat or drink, what festivals you should celebrate, or how you should observe a new moon or Sabbath days...You have died with Christ, and he has set you free from the spiritual powers of this world. So why do you keep on following the rules of the world, such as, “Don’t handle! Don’t taste! Don’t touch!”?

To sum it up, Christ has set us free from the hamster wheel of trying to gain acceptance with God by being good enough or not bad enough. We have died to that way of life and have been born again into an abundant life of pardon, piety and pleasure!

“...if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!" -Galatians 2:21

Such a path leads not to ungodliness but to Godwardness that produces people consumed with the wonders of Christ not swamp of self-introspection of brother bashing.

But unfortunately not everyone really understands the ‘good news’ of the gospel and many are still living in the shadows of a great deliverance, thinking they are still slaves to religious systems, the hammer of a distorted sin consciousness and fear of devils, destinies and diets!

1 Corinthians 8:4-7 “So, what about eating meat that has been offered to idols? Well, we all know that an idol is not really a god and that there is only one God. There may be so-called gods both in heaven and on earth, and some people actually worship many gods and many lords. But for us: There is one God, the Father, by whom all things were created, and for whom we live. And there is one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom all things were created, and through whom we live. 7 However, not all believers know this.

Luther said:

"Laugh at the enemy and find someone to whom you can talk... or drink more, or make a joke, some merriment or any other joyful thing. Sometimes one must drink more, play, make merriment and even risk a sin during all this, in order to show abhorrence and disdain to the devil, so that he is not given any opportunity to make a thing of conscience out of small matters...If only I had something like an obvious sin, just in order to annoy the devil, so that he realises that I do not recognise, and am not conscious of, any sin!"

I know that reading that paragraph almost seemed sacrilegious to some still in the grip of the law and under the heel of a religious spirit that has them pinned to the ground in fear of fragile faith. They still think they are their own saviors and that their right standing with God is based on their own works instead of the grace of God. They think freedom is a licence to sin, which in reality just exposes the false front of righteousness that hides their own lurking lusts inside. The law exposes and punishes sin, it doesn't liberate or loose you from it. Often those who wail the loudest against sin or the dangers of it are the one’s in it’s grip the most. They see evil all around because their religious mindset is rooted in justification by performance and pacification of other people’s courts of conscience instead of the mercy and love of God.

“Don’t let anyone condemn you by insisting on pious self-denial or the worship of angels, saying they have had visions about these things. Their sinful minds have made them proud, and they are not connected to Christ, the head of the body. For he holds the whole body together with its joints and ligaments, and it grows as God nourishes it.” -Colossians 2:18-19

Paul goes on to discuss how to navigate people and their issues, their lack of knowledge about the full freedom of the gospel and how to know what to ‘keep to yourself and God” and what to refuse to ever submit to for the gospel’s sake. (Romans 14:9-10,14,22-23, 1 Corinthians 8:9-12 and Galatians 2:5).

We are called to love other people because love is higher than law, but true love, does it’s best to help others understand the beauty and benefit of the Gospel of Jesus.

That means love might look outrageously obnoxious at times for the sake of the truth. It means freedom may call on you to laugh at the very things that pretend to exert such terror among us. Love may trespass where others cringe in perpetual deference to everyone else's neurotic religiosity.

So this Halloween, let’s dare to laugh at the devil and all his lies. Let the celebration of Christ and His glorious gospel drown out all the barking, clucking and snorting of those who seem to be heralds of humorless holiness and the joyless Jesus of dogooderism.

"If you are moody, you shall remember that the Father now smiles at you.” -Martin Luther

Now go throw the best Halloween or Holywhatchamacallit party your pagan or pious friends have ever experienced and do it all for the glory of God!

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 3 years

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Draw your swords, pt.4

Summary: In his attempt to get to know his wife, the Darkling realizes he might be getting too close.

Warnings: angst, swearing, sexual innuendoes, slightest bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three

=================================

Y/N couldn’t sleep that night. Not only did she agonize over the slightest possibility of his words being true, but the lingering of his lips on hers even hours after they’ve left tormented her mind. Instead of sleeping, she sat outside in the darkness with nothing but stars to keep her company. She shuddered with the cold wind as it chilled her, even the kefta didn’t protect her as well as she thought it would.

Sighing, she smiled up at the night sky, watching the stars in their celestial dance. It’s undeniable, she’s envious of them – their freedom is undisputed, their beauty unmatched by anything earthly. No one can force a star to marriage, no one can dull its brightness.

“Are you alright?” Genya spoke up, startling Y/N into a loud gasp.

Turning around, Y/N giggles in slight panic, a hand resting on her chest. “You scared me!”

“I didn’t mean to”, she chuckles too, coming closer to Y/N who let out a relieved sigh, only to look up once again.

“I couldn’t sleep”, she explains, “So I came here to watch the stars.”

“Most people are afraid of the dark”, Genya raised an eyebrow as she fixed her gaze on Y/N instead. She studied her carefully, unsure if she should invest all her hopes and dreams in her – no matter how striking she is.

“Oh, I’m scared of the dark!” Y/N exclaims, pointing up at the sky, “But the night sky is littered with lanterns, meant to guide you home. My mom always told me to look up whenever I feel lost, because the stars will help me find answers to any worry.”

Pursing her lips, Genya frowned, “Does that mean you doubt your plan?”

“No”, Y/N replied with haste, “I am simply trying to understand some of the chess pieces I thought I had figured out.”

Looking back at the Palace, Y/N’s eyes found the window of her room in an instant. A dark figure passed by it, the candlelight revealing the figure is pacing.

“He’s not a bad man, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Holding her breath, Y/N’s eyes find amber ones, “That’s not what I’ve heard. His deeds have spoken plenty about the strength of his character.”

“He’s fighting a war, not just with the outsiders, not just your father, but those on our side as well.” Pausing, Genya steps before her, “Do you know what they call him?”

“The Darkling”, she states, “A starless saint, a demon, a shadow king.”

“So many of those names are meant to demonize him, to shun him from society simply for the power he was born with”, licking her lips, Genya reaches for Y/N’s hand. “His own people are dying simply for who they’re born as – humans, Shu, Druskelle, they’re all sharpening their swords. If he’s not feared, we’re all dead.”

Nibbling on her lower lip, Y/N closed her eyes. Exhaling, she faced Genya once more.

“Does that mean I should applaud him for the way he’s treated the First army so far? How can you defend him when he’s the one who brought you here…to the emperor?”

Retracting her hand, Genya flashed a smile – one too strained to be believable. “He tried to defend me and got himself punished for it. So I’m here and I’m telling you to give him a chance.” Walking past Y/N, Genya stops just a few paces behind her, “He might surprise you.”

All the things Genya said became faint echoes inside Y/N’s head. When she returned to the room, she was ready for a new quarrel with Kirigan. Despite her readiness, he was sound asleep as she slipped her kefta off. With trembling fingers, she lifted the comforter only to stifle a laugh upon a surprising sight. Not only had there been a pillow to separate them, but three to ensure she wouldn’t accidentally roll on his side during the night. Perhaps she did smother him the night before and for once, she didn’t feel ashamed, rather satisfied. If he’s so insistent on sharing a bed, why would she make it any easier on him?

Tossing the pillows aside, she slid onto his side. Pressing her lips in a thin line, she tried to wrap an arm around his middle, but she couldn’t do it with her heart clenching wildly inside her chest. She drew back, forming tight fists at her side as she glared up at the canopy in frustration. If she’s going to play well and win, she’ll have to swallow her pride and withstand some discomfort.

Staring daggers at the back of his head, Y/N held her breath as she half climbed atop of Kirigan. Waiting to see if he’ll wake, Y/N finally released a shuddered breath. Burying her nose in the crook of his neck, she finally felt herself warm up after being outside for so long.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled his scent – woodsy and clean as if he had just had a bath. She never realized it before, but he smelled the same way on their wedding day…and night. But also earlier when he was pressed against her, devouring her mouth. Just the thought of his arms around her, his tall frame against her and the feverish kiss they’ve shared had caused her heartbeat to quicken with no shame.

And while she drifted off, she failed to realize something else – the Darkling was very much awake.

Instead of moving away when he felt a weight atop of him, he struggled to even his breathing. She smelled like spring, like lilacs and oddly enough, he enjoyed it. Most times, he’d crinkle his nose in disgust for strong, flowery scents made him nauseous, but she didn’t have the heavy, unbearably thick air of perfume cling to her – it felt like it’s her natural scent.

Smiling, the Darkling allowed himself to relax once her breathing calmed down and while her hands and feet felt like icicles, her cold nose brought most of the discomfort. Once she warmed up, by stealing his body heat, the Darkling began to drift away too. After all, he was winning.

A single ray of sunshine came through the window, its heat tickling Y/N’s nose. Sleepily, she brushed at it then tried to turn away, but something blocked her way. She lazily opened her eyes and saw the strange bed canopy overhead. When she remembered where she was and how she fell asleep last night, she felt her face grow hot as blood rushed to her cheeks. Even her body seemed to blush. She moved her head toward the other side of the bed and looked at where her husband’s supposed to be, yet he was gone – only the pillows she could have sworn she removed remained.

There was no way of knowing it, but each morning, the Darkling opened his eyes and looked at her first. No matter if she was drooling or her hair matted on her face, he quite enjoyed his view. She seemed gentle, almost like a saint sent to remind him light can exist along with darkness he’s been shrouded in.

Disgruntled, she sat up and huffed. She wanted to wake up at the same time as he did. One, she wanted to see his reaction and laugh, two, she really wanted to discuss the kiss from before. Then again, she just wanted to see the general at his most vulnerable state – waking up disheveled, just like any human would. His perfectly styled hair unnerved her and she couldn’t help but wonder if Genya used her power on it because she had never once seen a hair out of place, not even after their kiss.

For the rest of the day, Y/N tried to catch him alone. Unfortunately, she barely saw her husband at all. A fleeting glance of acknowledgement was all she received as they passed each other in the hall, both surrounded by others.

At night, she laid awake in hopes of speaking to him before bed. The faint candlelight on the bedside table kept the darkness away, relieving her fear. Would he laugh at her if she admitted to it? After all, isn’t he the one who can create darkness out of thin air? Perhaps he’d shroud her with it and prove he truly is cruel, but she had no way of being sure. He must never know of it and she truly hoped never to see his display of power.

Lost in her thoughts, she blinked and it was morning.

Wide eyed, she sat up and looked to his side. It was unmade, the pillow dented right where his head was and yet she can’t remember hearing him arrive in the night or leave in the morning. She never does.

“Fuck”, she mutters under her breath as she slams a fist in his pillow. Grunting, she buries her face into it, muffling her frustrated scream.

“Are you done?” Genya frowned at her, waiting by the door while Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs into a pillow.

“YOU’VE GOT TO STOP SNEAKING UP ON ME!”

Scoffing, Genya rolled her eyes. “You need to be more perceptive about your surroundings.”

A knock on the door had startled them both, enough for them to both let out a strangled scream. The door opened before either of them gave the permission and once they realized who it was that entered, they didn’t need a reason as to why.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The Darkling grinned at his wife who narrowed her eyes at him immediately.

“Your voice gives me a headache”, Y/N complains.

Squinting at her, the Darkling wondered if a woman could be so infuriating without wielding some mystic power to make her so.

“I believe you agreed to ride with me.”

“Oh”, Genya smirks, “She’ll ride you –“, covering her mouth, Genya giggles as she sees Y/N’s glare is on her, “I meant, with you.”

“I’ve prepared the horses”, he waited for her to respond, to give him reason to dislike her yet she didn’t.

“I will keep my word”, Y/N stood with her formidable gaze on his. She dared not look at his lips for they brought memories and self-loathing she’d rather avoid. After all, what kind of a woman quivers for her enemies touch?

“Wonderful”, he smirks, “I’ll wait for you to dress.”

Remaining in his spot, his hands at his sides, Kirigan raised his eyebrows as both women stared at him.

“Get out”, Y/N waves him off and he clicks his tongue.

“You may not let me touch you, but I can look.”

Angry, she narrowed her eyes at him, “That didn’t stop you from pinning me to a door.”

Genya’s eyes widen, pressing her lips to stop herself from commenting on their little exchange.

Shrugging, he stepped closer. His eyes raked over her body, the nightgown leaving little to imagination. “You didn’t seem to protest”, he leans in, “Especially since you proved you could easily escape me.”

Swallowing thickly, she exhaled through her nose. She couldn’t argue with that, now could she? If she wished, she could have forced him to unhand her. She could have fought him, but she didn’t. She may have been startled when he kissed her but she barely tried to push him away and still, when she had the option to back away, she was the one leaning in for a kiss when he lifted her onto the table. He played a game with her and she lost that day and now he gets to be smug about it.

“As your husband, I promise to protect you from all others. If anyone harms you, they’ll part with their life. For that alone, I deserve an occasional view.”

Winking, he takes a step back and sends a smile in Genya’s direction before turning on his heel and walking out.

“YOU KISSED HIM?!”

Groaning, Y/N throws her head back, “Sort of. It’s more like he kissed me and I didn’t fight him on it.”

“So, does this mean you like him?” Wiggling her eyebrows, Genya squealed in excitement. “Are you bringing him on this plan of yours?”

Holding out her hand, Y/N shook her head, “No, no and no. I don’t trust him one bit and he isn’t exactly a man who’d go along with it.” Exhaling loudly, Y/N decided, “He must be removed along with the emperor.”

When she walked outside, Y/N breath was caught in her throat. The sight of the general on a horse truly felt like a fabrication. Never had she seen a man as majestic as him, as proud and aggravatingly cocky all at once. With his black kefta and the cape, he rode on a black stallion as if he were a mere extension of his will.

She wasted no more time in mounting her white mare, chasing after the Darkling who seemed to only then notice he’s not alone.

Her horse was not above average size, but she was alert and slender-limbed. Her muscles and good nature allowed Y/N to keep up a fairly good pace, never too far behind the black stallion her husband rode. The stallion was clearly riled up, competitive by nature. Anyone else on its back would be a great danger for the rider, but he clearly trusted Kirigan.

The wind blew her hair back and the cold was rather unforgiving on her skin. Passing him narrowly once they entered the woods, she didn’t look back. Instead, she gripped the reigns tighter and continued to breathe as the cold air made her mouth dry and throat scratchy.

Feeling his gaze on her, she relents, looking back at him.

“Where’s your coat?!” He shouted after her and only then did she realize it must have fallen off. Genya made it pretty for a romantic ride, not quite as practical for a race. But that’s not what truly made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. The hint of worry laced in the words of an angry general is what betrayed him and she couldn’t help but wonder – what if it’s more than just lust for him?

“It was slowing me down”, she couldn’t suppress a victorious smile just as he couldn’t suppress an annoyed grunt. Yet they both slowed down, neither of them speaking as they turned around and headed straight to the palace.

“You’re an avid rider.” The general conceded as he dismounted. Before she could blink, he was beside her, his hands on her hips as he pulled her of the horse and effectively stole her breath away.

The rosy colored cheeks left him defenseless as he stared at her too, a little too intently for it to be innocent. Taking her hands in his, he brought them up to his mouth, blowing at them. She kept her gaze at him, undoubtedly in shock as her cold hands started to tingle with the warmth of his breath.

“I’ll have to leave for a few days”, he speaks before she has a chance. “You’ll have the bed all to yourself.”

“Don’t I have to come? If it concerns my peo –“, she began, but he silenced her.

“It’s got nothing to do with the army. I’m merely doing an errand for the emperor.”

Looking at her hands still in his, she pursed her lips. “Doesn’t he have enough servants to do his bidding?”

A breathless chuckle escapes him, “Why? Will you miss me?”

Rolling her eyes, she snorts, “Why? Do you fancy yourself as someone of importance?”

He looked at her like she's the Sun, angrily squinting at every second she spent in his presence. He never looked at her other than in frustration. At least she thought so. It’s how he looked at her a month ago when they first met on a field stained with Druskelle blood. He stood there, alone and victorious as she stepped over the bodies after arriving on this side of the fold with a Sandskiff.

All of their conversations were arguments – she’d narrow her eyes and he’s squint at her, throwing jabs at each other every chance they get, but this felt different. Something changed after the wedding and she wasn’t entirely sure what.

Achingly aware of their closeness, she couldn’t help but ask. "What is this between us?"

Pausing, he looked at her with wonder. If he could put it to words, it wouldn’t make any sense. His mind could hardly fathom what exactly she meant to him other than being a nuisance, but he didn’t exactly hate her as he believed at first when he admittedly hoped she’d find herself eaten by Volcra while crossing the Shadow fold. What he hated was not having a choice. He hated how arrogant she is and how little respect she has for her superiors. He especially hated her mortality, her species and all the atrocities they’ve committed against him and his kind.

He didn’t love her, that he was sure of. He couldn’t possibly care for her either. Lust, winning this game, feeding his ego by having Zlatan’s daughter at his feet is what he longed for. So no, he didn’t love her, but a part of him feared he might love her in time. For the first time in a very, very long time, the Darkling had a fear and it carried her name.

Perhaps that’s why he reacted the way he did when she asked him if there is something between them.

"Nothing." He grabbed the back of her neck, his lips pressing against hers hard.

He was right, she realized. There was nothing between them, nothing between their lips, not even air.

Pulling away, he smirks as she inhales sharply.

"Did you feel a connection?" He looks her in the eye, his lips set in a firm line.

"Yes", she whispers shakily.

His eyes harden as an ache in his chest reminds him of his fear. Someone like him must give up anything he could possibly love for the loss and disappointment are inevitable. She’s mortal, an enemy behind his borders he can never trust. So he will shut his heart out. Love is not an option for the Darkling, he reminds himself. The last time he allowed himself to love was also the day his heart turned to stone. So, he will not love her and she will not love him. He will destroy that possibility, cut any ties that bind them. Lust is the only thing he will let fester.

Leaning in, his lips brush hers softly as he whispers against them, "That's why you're a fool." Stepping back, he heard her gulp. “The connection you feel is lust, that’s all we have and it’s all we will ever have. Accept it.”

“Is that true or are you just afraid?!” Her voice wavers and she instinctively steps toward him, asserting dominance she felt was lost.

“General”, Ivan calls out, just in case Kirigan needed an excuse to leave.

“Afraid?” The Darkling chuckles dryly, averting his gaze to Ivan who waited for him at the entrance. “I’m not afraid of anything”, he remarks as his eyes lock on her lips again, “Certainly not of my wife.”

As he stepped back, the Darkling caught the strangest look in her eyes. It looked like clarity, total and complete sobriety from the ecstasy his presence gave her. She stood proud, despite the self-loathing in her previously warm eyes that slowly turned them back to the ice she held when she first laid her eyes on him.

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Part 5

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #shadow and bone #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #aleksander kirigan #aleksander x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling au #the darkling fanfiction #the Darkling fic

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yourwitchmama · 3 years

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Tarot Card Meanings: The Swords Suit

Ace of Swords

Upright: New ideas, new plans, intellectual ability, victory, success, mental clarity, communication, realizing the truth, vision, force, focus, intensity, stimulating people and environments, new beginnings, new projects, justice, assertiveness, authority, making the correct decision Reversed: Lack of ideas, intellectual inability, failure, hostility, arguments, insults, destruction, confusion, misinformation, memory loss, inability to concentrate, lack of communication, creative blocks, frustration, injustice, hate triumphing over love, lack of assertiveness, making the wrong decision, lack of stimulation

Two of Swords

Upright: Stalemate, truce, sitting on the fence, cross roads, difficult decisions, painful choices, facing your fears, being torn between two relationships, divided loyalty, being caught in the middle, denial, blindness, inability to see the truth, avoidance, blocked emotions Reversed: Indecision, delays, seeing the truth, lies being exposed, overwhelming fears/worry/ anxiety/ stress, information overload, overly cautious, emotional turmoil, holding onto anxiety or resentment, detachment, coldness, guarded

Three of swords

Upright: Heartbreak, betrayal, loneliness, removal, absence, division, depression, separation, sadness, heartache, unhappiness, upheaval, disorder, confusion, alienation, distraction, ill health, conflict, trauma, serious misunderstandings, tears Reversed: Releasing pain, overcoming depression, optimism, forgiveness, overcoming grief/ sorrow/ sadness, recovering from heartbreak, reconciliation, compromise, sharing problems, getting over the worst, repressing emotions, inability to let go of pain, suppressing memories, refusing to let go of emotions

Four of Swords

Upright: Fear, anxiety, stress, feeling overwhelmed, needing solitude, relaxation, rest, peace and quiet, sanctuary, meditation, regrouping, hospitalization, introspection, planning for the future, contemplation, self-protection, spiritual counseling or support, having faith Reversed: Finding mental strength, awakening, re joining the world, coming out of isolation, recovering slowly, healing, mental breakdown/ collapse, burnout, restlessness, not taking care of yourself, lack of self protection, not accepting counseling or support, losing faith

Five of swords

Upright: Defeat, surrender, change, walking away, self sacrifice, self sabotaging behavior, underhanded behavior, deception, lack of communication, aggression, bullying, intimidation, abuse, violence, crime, rape, murder, assault, standing up for yourself, victory, fighting back, overcoming challenges, serious conflict, hostility, stress Reversed: Peaceful resolution, moving on, compromise, communication, ending conflict, releasing stress, overcoming challenge, major sacrifice, risk everything, relentless, revenge, escalating violence, held accountable, arrest, uncovered crime, regret, remorse, humiliation, shame, not heeding warnings , surrendering to challenges

Six of Swords

Upright: Calmer waters, healing, progress, moving on, moving forward, things calming down, calm after a storm, overcoming hardship, relief, stability, escaping, running away, journeys, traveling, travel overseas, going on holiday, feeling deflated, lethargy, holding onto negativity, spirit guides, guidance, Reversed: Trouble coming, out of frying pan into fire, lack of progress, slow healing, trapped, delay, stuck, overwhelmed, causing trouble, rocking the boat, changing/ abandoned plans, standing your ground, nowhere to run, stormy relationships, instability, disrupted/cancelled travel, return from travel, eloping, floods, accidents in the water

Seven of Swords

Upright: Deceit, lies, trickery, cheating, theft, underhanded, scheming, dangerous/risky behavior, enemy masquerading as friend, spying, lack of conscience, strategy, resourceful, flexible, escaping detection, getting away with it, adaptable, courage, daring, sharp wit, mental manipulation, cunning, overly rational Reversed: Confessing, coming clean, turning over new leaf, conscience kicking in, ignoring warnings, pathological liar, serial cheat, slander, dangerously two-faced, malicious, con artist, blackmail, unworkable strategy, being outsmarted, getting caught, running away from consequences, coward, no backbone, stealing credit, military

Eight of Swords

Upright: Feeling trapped, restricted, backed into a corner, hands tied, victimized, paralyzed by fear/terror, anxiety, feeling pressure, hopeless, helpless , powerless, silenced, crisis, dilemma, drama, imprisonment, punishment, slavery, persecution, judgement, trial by jury, consequences, negative attitudes, psychological issues, major weight loss Reversed: Escape, freedom, release , finding solutions/ options, relief, taking control, standing up to abuse, self belief, survivor, facing fears/ truth, releasing anxiety, hopeful, empowered, healing, mental strength, clear mind, overcome obstacles, prison release, end of punishment, severe depression, paralysis, oppression, surrender

Nine of Swords

Upright: Fear, anxiety, terror, negativity, deep unhappiness, stress, burden, overwhelmed, at breaking point, inability to cope or face life, mental anguish, guilt, regret, remorse, focusing on past, subject of gossip, isolation, making mountains out of molehills, joylessness, despair, nightmares, insomnia, hormonal, menopause, migraines Reversed: Light at end of tunnel, recovering, improving, letting go of negativity/stress, learning to cope, facing life, opening up, accepting help, extreme guilt/regret/ remorse/shame, scandal/malicious gossip, night terror, total collapse/breakdown, hallucinations, giving up, depression/ problems/fears escalating, self pity/loathing

Ten of Swords

Upright: Backstabbing, betrayal, enemies, bitching, badmouthing, bitterness, doormat, failure, ruin, collapse/breakdown, exhaustion, inability to cope, curses, rock bottom, hitting a wall, dead end, severing ties, goodbyes, nail in the coffin, exaggeration, overly dramatic, martyr, attention seeker, playing victim, attack, violence Reversed: Rising above problems/haters/bitchiness, over the worst, surviving disaster, being saved, things getting better, NDEs / OBEs, escaping ruin, pulling yourself together, learning from past hardships, fears coming true, being beyond help, worst is yet to come, despair, total ruin, relapse, problems coming back

Knight of Swords

Upright: Big changes/ opportunities, seize the moment, jump in, arrival/departure, assertive, direct, honest, quick wit, talkative, impatient, impulsive, intellectual, daring, rebellious, brave, courageous, focused, single-minded, perfectionist, ambitious, risk-taker, forward-thinking, champion, hero, soldier, go against the flow, leader Reversed: Missed opportunities, out of your depth, out of control, left behind, rude, tactless, hurtful, sarcastic, insincere, forceful, bully, aggressive, vicious, dangerous, know it all, follower, go with the flow, unfocused, coward, criminal, self-obsessed, arrogant, leading others to danger, heading for a fall, inferiority complex

Queen of Swords

Upright: Honest, truthful, candid, protective, independent, chatty, communicative, witty, funny, principled, fair, constructive criticism, strong, quirky, realistic, objective, discerning, problem solver, skeptical, intelligent, sharp wit, self-reliant, open-minded, sophisticated, mother, repressed pain or sadness, divorced, hard knocks Reversed: Overly critical, pessimistic, lack of empathy, rude, malicious gossip, manipulative, harsh, bitter, spiteful, vindictive, nasty, cruel, deceitful, cheater, unforgiving, scatter-brain, mental fogginess, poor communication, dysfunctional, obsessive, dependent, not learning from past, absent mother, repressed trauma, infertile

King of Swords

Upright: Structure, routine, intelligent, rational, logical, power, authority, strength, manners, conversation, discerning, detached, cool, honesty, integrity, ethics, morals, clinical, stern, methodical, self-discipline, head over heart, use your head, military, law enforcement, legal matters, judge, father Reversed: Lack of structure/routine, intelligence used in a bad way, irrational, illogical, power-crazed, dictator, oppressive, inhumane, aggressive, brutal, violent, intimidation, controlling, cynical, cold, ruthless, weak, powerless, rude, dishonest, lack of integrity/morals/discipline, losing your head, judgemental, absent father

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2tired2study · 3 years

Text

hi! i’ve recently finished the picture of dorian gray so let’s go over my favorite quotes (in order from the ones that appear in the book first to last)

if they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat

being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose i know

and as for believing things, i can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible

when our eyes met, i felt that i was growing pale. a curious sensation of terror came over me. i knew that i had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if i allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself

he, too, felt that we were destined to know each other

laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best ending for one

a man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies

i like persons better than principles, and i like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world

every day. i couldn’t be happy if i didn’t see him every day. he is absolutely necessary to me

he is all my art to me now

it is only the intellectually lost who ever argue

and the mind of a thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing

there is no such thing as a good influence, mr gray. all influence is immoral; immoral from the scientific point of view

he becomes an echo of someone else’s music

but the bravest man among us is afraid of himself

nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul

some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires,you will feel it, you will feel it terribly

man is many things, but he is not rational

examinations, sir, are pure humbug from beginning to end. if a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him

behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic

there was something fascinating in this son of love and death

really! and where do bad americans go to when they die?... they go to america

well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth

all i want now is to look at life. you may come and look at it with me, if you care to

punctuality is the thief of time

it is only the sacred things that are worth touching

when one is in love, one always begins by deceiving ones self, and one always ends by deceiving others

there is always something infinitely mean about other peoples tragedies

how different he was now than the shy frightened boy he had met in basil hallwards studio! his nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and desire had come to meet it on the way

it is personalities, not principles, that move the age

people are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves

he lives the poetry that he cannot write. the others write the poetry that they dare not realize

human life—that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating

to note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect—to observe where they had met, and where they separated, at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at discord—there was a delight in that! what matter was the cost? one could never pay too high a price for any sensation

with his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at. it was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. he was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir ones sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red roses

the senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade

all that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sun we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy

it often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves

the joy of a caged bird was in her voice

she was free in her prison of passion

i love him because he is like what love himself should be.

he was like a common gardener walking with a rose

he had the dislike of being stared at, which comes on geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace

to be in love is to surpass ones self

my wonderful lover, my god of graces

i wish i had, for as sure as there is a god in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, i shall kill him

whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives

i don’t want to see dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect

we are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices

and unselfish people are colourless. they lack individuality

you are much better than you pretend to be

of course, it is sudden—all really delightful things are

he is not like other men. he would never bring misery upon any one. his nature is too fine for that

but i am afraid i cannot claim my theory as my own. it belongs to nature, not to me

no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is

there was a gloom over him

he felt that dorian gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past

any one you love must be marvellous

it is not good for ones morals to see bad acting

there are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating—people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing

you taught me what reality really is

you had made me understand what love really is

you are more to me than all art can ever be

there is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love

a faint echo of his love came back to him

we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities

when we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us

i cant bear the idea of my soul being hideous

one can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing

nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner

it is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion

you were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world

of you wish me never to look at your picture again, i am content. i have always you to look at

from the moment i met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. i was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you

i grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. i wanted to have you all to myself. i was only happy when i was with you

i only knew that i had seen perfection face to face

i grew more and more absorbed in you

you are made to be worshipped

in every pleasure, cruelty has its place

but it was to teach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of life that is itself but a moment

out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. we have to resume it where we left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it nat be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance of even joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain

yet, as had been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself

he saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart

art, like nature, has her monsters

is insincerity such a terrible thing? i think not. it is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities

and mind you don’t talk about anything serious. nothing is serious nowadays. at least nothing should be

i am tired of myself tonight. i should like to be someone else

sin is a thing that writes itself across a mans face

you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite

that is the reason why i want you to be fine. you have not been fine

you have a wonderful influence. let it be for good, not for evil

i wonder do i know you? before i could answer that, i should have to see your soul

my god! don’t tell me that you are bad, and corrupt, and shameful

so you think it is only god who sees the soul, basil? draw that curtain back, and you will see mine

each of us has heaven and hell in him, basil

you are the one man who is able to save me

don’t speak about those days, dorian—they are dead... the dead linger sometimes

lord henry, i am not at all surprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked

life is a great disappointment

i like men who have a future and women who have a past

moderation is a fatal thing. enough is as bad as a meal. more than enough is as good as a feast

you always want to know what one has been doing. i always want to forget what i have been doing

his soul, certainly, was sick to death

he was prisoned in thought. memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away

ones days were too brief to take the burden of another’s errors on ones shoulders

it is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things

to define is to limit

to be popular one must be a mediocrity

romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art

i am searching for peace

the appeal to antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists

sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet indifferent to life itself

horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his heart

how terrible it was to think that conscience could raise such fearful phantoms

he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art

when you and he ceased to be great friends, he ceased to be a great artist

if a man treats life artistically, his brain is his heart

art has a soul, but that man had not

the soul is a terrible reality

to get back my youth i would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable

but a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play—i tell you, dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend

life has been your art

the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world it’s own shame

the world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. the curves of your lips rewrite history

it was the living death of his own soul that troubled him

as it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painters work, and all that that meant. it would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free

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sirensumbra · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2 - Impasse

Nothing.

He had found nothing.

A few abandoned camp sites and cold fires was the only evidence that someone had been in the area. He kicked at the ring of coals with the toe of his boot. Small bones, likely from a bird, skittered across the rough stone ground like pebbles across a pond.

From his pocket Azriel pulled a worn, folded piece of paper loose. The handwriting across the page was tight, neat. Bending at the knee, he rubbed a bit of coal against the pad of his thumb. With a single swipe he crossed the last marked location off, the scrawl beneath disappearing.

He’d read Gwyn’s handwritten notes over and over the last few weeks. Unable to sleep, tired of watching the stars, he’d read the lines until they were memorized.

Azriel had missed nothing. Neither had Gwyn. She was concise. He’d found himself drawn to the small footnotes and occasional quick sketches she’d inked in the margins.

There were moments, evident in her scrawl, where she’d taken breaks, or hesitated. He could see it in the varying thickness of her pen strokes. What had she been thinking? What had given her mind pause?

Heaving a deep sigh Azriel tucked the parchment back into his pocket. Wrapped in shadow he left the Illyrian mountains, winnowing through dark umbra until he was far enough from the camps. The rest of the distance he covered in flight, enjoying the sting of rain against his cheeks.

The townhouse was dark, quiet. His mind, however, was restless.

It took only moments for him to drop his things and grab his throwing knives. The archery stalls outside the House of Wind were empty when he arrived moments later. As he knew they would be.

Azriel raised a blade, pulling his arm back. As the knife passed his ear everything around him disappeared, leaving only the flex of powerful muscle, the thin steel against his palm, the air in his lungs.

He relaxed, exhaling, arm extending forward and wrist snapping. The blade shot through the air, then a thud of impact.

“You’re as good as Adir.”

Azriel glanced over his shoulder as he pulled more knives from his holster. His brother crossed the distance from where he’d winnowed in, stopping a few feet away. Dressed in casual attire, he squinted against the light looking toward the target at the far end of the stall and the dagger embedded at its center.

Keeping two blades tucked against his palm, Azriel raised his arm to throw another. His hand barely passed his ear before he loosened the weapon. Flipping the other knives, he pulled back and released, then snapped the last one. All three hit the center with consecutive sound.

“Think I’ll ever surpass him?” Azriel asked, sparing a few moments to think about the old Illyrian who’d first taught him to throw.

Rhys shrugged. To anyone else the question would have sounded self loathing, but Az was genuinely inquiring.

“In throwing, maybe,” his brother answered, starting forward.

Rhys followed him across the stall. Four blades pierced the target, plunging through the red center. Azriel pulled them free, checking their tips for damage.

Rhys watched him as he freed the knives. Azriel didn’t feel like he’d worked off any tension that had driven him here in the first place. He eyed the board, pondering whether he wanted to sling a few more.

“Did you find anything out there?”

“You know I didn’t.”

Rhys nodded, saying, “Do you think this is a waste of time?”

“Probably.” Azriel swung around to face him, leaning against the target. “Your concerns are warranted, though. There were signs of activity around the western edge of Ramiel.”

“We need to learn what Koschei wants.”

The name of the ancient being - arguably a powerful primordial creature - sent a thrill of nerves down Azriel’s spine.

He shook his head. “I know.”

Rhys leaned against the other side of the target, absently picking at the straw. “Why haven’t you been by the River House? Feyre misses seeing you.”

“You know why,” Az snarled.

“It wasn’t my intention to push you out of our lives, brother,” Rhys pleaded, pain slicing through his expression.

Turning the knives over in his hands, Azriel exhaled. He met Rhy’s violet gaze, the intensity there identical to his own.

“What are you not telling us?”

The words were a whisper, floating between them. Despite their shared eye contact, Rhys gave nothing away. He was the one fae Azriel couldn’t read. At least, not well. Partially his own fault, though. He’d sat with Rhys for hours working on controlling his tells.

When he didn’t answer, Azriel opened his mind. Rhysand’s presence was felt immediately - a washing calm, like tranquil night, spilled through him.

Most described the high lord’s power as wrenching claws - but not Azriel. He found comfort surrounded by his brother’s dark presence. Each detail from his search over the last few weeks was plucked and observed.

“What are you afraid of, Rhys?” Azriel tried a different angle, watching the other males expression for anything that might give his inner turmoil away.

“What do you know of the codes the Illyrian war camps use to communicate with one another?” Rhys asked, removing his presence from Azriel’s mind.

“Not much, that’s Amren’s arena, not mine,” he lifted a shoulder in a disinterested shrug. “I overhead some soldiers saying Devlon has been avoiding some lords, while reporting to others.”

Rhys nodded, gazing up at the overcast sky.

“We’ve gotten our hands on correspondence,” he started, eyes dropping to meet Az’s once more. “The letters are coming from Devlon’s camps. They’ve adapted the way they’re coding their messages.”

“How did you get the letters?”

“Balthazar.”

“The boy from the Blood Rite?”

Rhys nodded. “He’s been feeding us information.” He held up a hand as Azriel opened his mouth. “He came to us. After the girls returned from the Blood Rite, the war camps were boiling,” Rhys growled. “Balthazar was concerned about the rhetoric. He’s been handing over information for a couple weeks.”

“And you trust him?”

“Yes, for now.” He smirked. “He’s young - feels passionately. He wants to help.”

Companionable silence settled between them and Azriel was left thinking of their last conversation. He didn’t regret his words, but he regretted his anger. Rhys was the only one who could withstand the brunt of his temper. Even Cassian, for all his battle savvy, waved a white flag a the thought.

“Rhys,“ Azriel started.

His brother waved a hand in the air. Their gazes caught.

“You were right,” Rhys conceded.

The admission stole Azriel’s breath and the two males stared at one another.

“My intentions to protect Feyre were grossly innopropriate,” Rhys went on to explain. “I let my fear cloud my judgement. Again.”

He let loose a drawn out sigh and Azriel’s heart softened at the sound. It wasn’t that Rhys was incapable of being wrong. Frustratingly, he was often always right.

But his High Lord worried. A lot. As any high lord should, but Azriel worried the affects it was having on Rhys. His father had grown paranoid in the last few years leading to the his death - seeing enemies at every turn. Azriel refused to see Rhys head down that same path.

The last few weeks of camping in the wilds that surrounded Mount Ramiel Azriel had spun his brother’s words over and over in his mind. Recalling Solstice, his frustrations, Rhys’ response. Elain.

In the end Azriel knew he was wrong for wanting what he’d planned on taking that night and the regret was festering inside him. He wanted. Ferociously. His entire life he’d been robbed…

“So were you,” Azriel admitted, shame flooding him. A playful smirk hitched Rhys’ lips, pulling them at one side.

“An impasse then,” he questioned smoothly.

“So it seems,” Azriel replied, carrying them into another stretch of silence. “Has Gwyn found anything else? In my absence?”

Something in what he asked made Rhys smile. “She’s rather frustrated trying to break this new code and Amren hasn’t been much help,” he explained, smile growing. Azriel’s shadows pulsed steadily, sensing a trap. “You could, though.”

“I can’t think I’d be much help, Rhys.”

“She could use some guidance with translating some of the Illyrian language-“

“Rhys-“

“And I’ve been told the two of you meet regularly for private training-“ The emphasis on training had Azriel’s shadows twirling. All of which those vivid amethyst eyes didn’t miss.

“Is this an order?”

“You can’t disobey an order if you haven’t received one, yes?” Rhys’ eyes glittered in unrestrained mirth.

“Solid strategy,” Azriel relented, suppressing his own smile. With flourish, he placed his daggers back in the leather holster strapped to his chest. “Then I guess I’d better get it over with,” Az said as he pushed away from the target. “See you later.”

“Will I see you later?” The High Lord teased after him, knowing that Azriel would continue to stay away.

He swung by the townhouse to drop off his throwing knives and wash. Having headed straight to the training rings on his return, he still wore the stink of travel.

Once finished he reluctantly ventured to the library beneath the House of Wind. Despite the quiet, various priestesses hurried about, arms laden with books or papers. None bothered to look his way as he stepped toward Clotho, half hidden behind her desk.

Hello, shadowsinger.

Her note greeted him as he approached.

“Hello, high priestess.”

Gwyneth is upstairs in her workroom. I ask you not to disturb the other priestess as you go up.

“You were expecting me?”

Our High Lord told me days ago to expect you. I’m glad you’ve offered to help. The poor girl is close to pulling her hair out.

Days ago? Azriel bristled. He felt the tickle of shadow over the back of his neck. An image filled his mind, a slender, freckled hand, fingers combing through molten strands.

“I’d best not keep her waiting then,” Azriel forfeited, pushing the strange image from his mind. His earlier frustrations with Rhys bubbled again to the surface.

Leave your anger at the door, lord Azriel. There is no place for it here.

Clotho’s warning was a bucket of snow over his head. She was right, but the rising dark within him was unsettling. He could feel Rhys’ presence, always watching, waiting, to see if this would be when his infamous spymaster would finally crack and his dark umbra spill out across the world.

“I’ll behave,” Azriel said studiously and turned toward the staircase, tucking his wings tightly behind him.

He didn’t belong here. Priestesses passed him, some greeting him politely. He offered them quick nods in return. He would rather happily jump out the nearest window then have to linger amongst their pain.

It was in the way they darted their eyes away, turned their faces. Each of these women had experienced terrors he wished he could say he was unfamiliar with. But he wasn’t. He shared in their trauma not just because he’d witnessed it first hand by his own family - he’d also dealt it out.

A weapon of war. Tool of torture. Filthy, foul magic that hurt, terrified, destroyed. That’s what he was.

As another priestess avoided his gaze, skittering around him, Azriel jammed his hands into his pockets and walked faster. This is why when he usually came here it was during off hours when the stacks were quiet and empty and he didn’t have to resist the urge the paint the world a vengeful red.

He’d spilled so much blood in his long life that he wondered if the killing would ever end. If his search for euphoria was a circling path with no conclusion, then he was doomed.

At Gwyn’s workroom, he paused, realizing he’d gathered enough shadow to almost disappear from sight. He took a moment to reel his emotions in before raising his fist to tap against the door before swinging it open.

The priestess sat against a worn couch, a weathered book held in her hand. Golden light shimmered from the window, spilling down the wall and catching in her shimmering, chestnut hair, which she combed gently with long, slender fingers.

“Why are you upside down?”

Gwyn tilted her head back, peering over the book that hovered barely an inch from her face. Azriel strolled further into her small work room, eyebrows high above glittering bronze eyes.

“You should knock,” Gwyn shot back.

This was her private space, the one place in the tower she could call her own. Across the hall from Merrill, it served as an assitant’s office - not that it looked like one.

She lay upon a plush couch, legs up and off the back, head dangling beyond the seat. Books piled high in every corner. The desk pushed under the window was barely visible for the clutter of papers strewn about.

All the furniture, even the bookshelves that lined the walls all seemed pulled from different places and time, a collection of things no one cared for anymore but Gwyn adored. His shadows purred against him, vibrating in the priestess presence.

“Do you know all the sorts of things you can learn about a person when you walk in on them unexpectedly,” Azriel returned, unapologetic, ignoring the undulating shadows bobbing up and down at his shoulders.

“And what have you learned about me, shadowsinger?” Her eyes caught his, the turquoise depths dark with mischief, before darting to his shadows. She waved her book in the air. To his utter shock, they waved back.

“That looking at something from a different angle helps you think.”

Gwyn sighed and sat up, pulling her legs from the back cushions.

“Am I so transparent to you,” she huffed, tossing the book at him, which he deftly caught with a single scarred hand. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be stalking around Ramiel?”

“I don’t stalk, Gwyn.”

“Yes, you do,” Gwyn remedied. The twist of her lips was daring him to argue with her further.

To emphasize her point, she glanced again at the shadows that had covered him so thouroughly he was barely visible. The light had all but been absorbed, blanketing Azriel in rich, undulating dark. Maybe she had a point…

Azriel ignored her teasing gaze and opened the book she’d thrown, glancing curiously at the pages. “What language is this? It looks like gibberish.”

“It is, unless you know how to read it.”

Azriel snorted. “You’re translating something from this?”

“Trying to figure it out, yes,” she corrected. Moving from the couch she stepped before him, plucking the book from the spymasters hand and dropped it onto a table. “What brings you here? Certainly not to discuss books written in jibberish.”

“Actually that’s exactly why I’m here,” Azriel replied. As he spoke he internally cursed Rhys’ name and he swore he could hear his brother laughing from the River House. “Did Rhys not tell you? I’ll be helping you with… this.” He waved his arm around her very messy room.

Gwyn’s mouth curved in a half smile but her eyes were guarded. Azriel wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“If you’ll have me,” Azriel remedied.

Gwyn blinked in surprise, a blush blooming in her cheeks, then barked a laugh.

“I guess I have no choice.”

He huffed agreeably, reaching for the wood chair at her desk, spinning it so that he could sit down without crushing his wings. Propping his elbows on the back, Azriel braced his chin on his palm.

“This place is a chaotic mess,” he murmured, glancing around. “How do you find anything?”

A shadow darted out, bobbing along his shoulder and then danced above his head, as if fascinated by his hair. Gwyn watched as another fluttered against his cheek. He blew a puff of air at it, sending it scurrying away.

He settled against the chair, the runes covering the knife at his thigh glinted in the glowing light. She had no fireplace. The room was lit with what he would describe as a dangerous amount of candles.

Glancing around as if noticing the state of the room for the first time, Gwyn’s blush darkened further.

“I’ll have you know,” she told him pointedly, “I happen to know exactly where everything is.”

She dropped to the thick rug that covered nearly the entire floor and leaned back on her hands. Azriel peeked at the papers on her desk. She was pretending to ignore his curiosity, busying herself with the way her robes lay across her legs. Yet Azriel didn’t miss the way she nervously bit her lip or the way her heart raced.

“So, show me what you’ve learned so far.”

“Yes, ok.” She answered, picking at the invisible thread on her robes. “Could you hand me that notebook behind you?”

“Sure.”

“Not that one. It’s the red-“

“This?”

“That’s the one.”

He passed the book to her outstretched hand. Pulling her legs beneath her, she thumbed through the pages, her thoughts wandering about the room like lingering ghosts. Before her, Azriel sat studying her features, a dark imposing shadow impossible to ignore.

“Illyrians,” Gwyn began, “have lots of secrets.”

“Yes. That’s the point of this is it not,” Azriel deadpanned.

“Listen,” Gwyn huffed, sitting up straight. Her gaze was sharp, challenging, and Azriel wondered if anyone had every looked at him in such a way.

“Gwyn, I’m-“

“Let me finish.” The command in her tone had Azriel’s shadows snapping to attention. There was no fear tightening her expression. Her chest rose and fell quickly - the only other sign of her agitation. “If you have something to say about this situation, just spit it out. Otherwise, let me explain, which, by the way, you asked me to do.”

“All right, priestess,” Azriel spoke calmly, wary of the crackling power that danced under her skin. His shadows curled against him, warning him of her rising ire, not that it hadn’t been obvious in the way her eyes flashed at his condescending tone. “Tell me about the coded letters.”

The fiery expression she’d garnished faded. With trembling hands she picked up her book and began reading to him various bits of interest she’d discovered during her research.

Azriel was content listening to her. The rise and fall of her voice was smooth as the Sidra. Even her eyes sparkled like water.

In comparison to Rhys, Gwyn was an open book. There was no need to study, examine. She moved with purpose, inflection, sincerity. Even the way her hands clutched at her book as if it were some precious thing worth protecting. Azriel found, for the first time in a very long time, he felt at ease.

His shadows played along her desk. Even so bold as to venture down the rug to where she sat, like attentive children at reading time. Azriel pondered their curiosity. It was if they enjoyed her voice, her presence… He found it utterly baffling.

As Gwyn spoke they whispered to him; wondering at her trembling hands or the way she kept biting her lip. The former was ever present, at least when he was around. Her hands shook during their first few sparring matches after he’d agreed to train her.

Did he make the priestess nervous? Perhaps he should have met her somewhere more public.

“Are you listening,” her voice was shy, soft, as if she were worried about startling him.

“Sorry,” Azriel shook himself. “I am. Just a bit tired.”

Her summer eyes narrowed at his lie but she said nothing of it. Gwyn had so disarmingly accused him of finding her transparent that he worried maybe she saw through him just as easily.

“Oh, I have to show this to you!” Her exclamation sent a wave through his shadows, some jumping into the air - not startled… excited.

Azriel watched as she plucked a piece of paper from her desk, having pushed up from the rug so fast it had rendered him still. As she brushed past him to reach, the smell of rose and amber washed over him. Feminine. Sweet.

“Ok,” Gwyn stood before him, hands held out to him in offering. “Hear me out.”

Her mouth quirked, curling at one end into an appeasing smile. Azriel nodded, gesturing for her to continue. A creeping blush spread across her cheeks as a returning smile graced his lips. He found himself so engrossed that he hadn’t the wherewithal to consciously remove it.

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aregebidan · 3 years

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the nice one

Or: A small (1.6k) pile of angst featuring a darker take on the two eldest Feanorians, based on the popular fanon that Maglor is only known as “nice” because he’s good at propaganda and my own Discord Maglor headcanon.

tw: mentions of blood and torture

“Maglor?”

“Hmm?” he says, never taking his eyes off the worn parchment. The ink has smudged, the corners of the scroll damp and ragged from being carried through the battle, but the writing has somehow managed to survive both the clash of blades and the fell songs of the golden one. Now, safe in Himring, he must copy it down before some other danger strikes the precious notes.

The act also serves to calm him, drawing him into the familiar scratching rhythm of quill and ink, all delicate lines and quiet chords in the air that speak of peace safety honor. He is loath to separate himself from it, this piece of home, and so he does not make any further reply until his brother calls for him again: “Maglor.”

He should have noticed straight away: the way Maedhros stopped just outside the threshold of his new chamber instead of coming in, his awkward stance and slight shuffling, the fact that he called him by his Sindarin name instead of Kano or brother.

But it is past midnight, and they are both exhausted by the loss of the Gap, so he expects nothing out of the ordinary when he turns around and gives Maedhros his full attention. “What is it?”

Maedhros shifts, again, and he finally realizes something is wrong and puts down his quill. “Are they attacking us again?”

“No...”

“Well, then.” Maglor pitches his voice lower, tries to speak as clearly as possible. He hasn’t used his “King-Regent voice,” as the Ambarussa call it, in years, but he senses Maedhros needs someone else to be responsible now. “Tell me what you need me for.”

His brother fairly squirms. The only candle in the room flashes in Maedhros’ eyes, making him flinch, and Maglor reaches over to put it out, pulling back his hair with the other hand. Having it loose in the dark would bring back memories of... well. Suffice it to say it is not an option, especially on the bad days.

“We took some-” Maedhros’ jaw clenches, seemingly involuntarily. Maglor watches, concerned but strangely fascinated with this rare loss of control. For a moment he just looks like Maitimo-Nelyo again, frustrated with his brothers’ antics and able to express it.

That is, until the next words make it past his throat. “We took several of the orcs captive. I need you to make them talk.”

Maglor stills and glances up at his brother again, a tall shadow against the well-lit corridor outside. His brow is twisted in an emotion none would ever expect to see on a kinslayer, and it makes him look young again. Pity.

Make them talk. The others would not put it this way: they would say break them, or question them, or when Maedhros was away break them in, like a new weapon. But break him and question him further, then is what Thauron said in the pits of Angband, as far as Maglor could tell from his brother’s feverish sleep-talk in those dreadful few months after his rescue.

Maedhros, he realizes with a jolt, still considers himself to be in danger of becoming like his captors. The mental image slithers in- Maedhros standing over the orc prisoners, comparing himself to them, seeing some warped reflection of his stupid, beautiful self in them, avoiding the best decisions for their sake- and he is reaching for his swords before he knows it, pausing only at the stricken look on his brother’s face.

“Kano.”

Ah, it’s Kano now, is it, now that you have been reminded of what I am. He pulls back the words- even he has enough sense to keep that particular thought in his head- and smooths down his tunic as calmly as possible, if only to stop making fists.

“You may question them yourself, brother,” he says curtly. “You captured them, therefore they will fear you the more.”

Maedhros lets out a sudden, harsh laugh and takes a few more steps into the chamber. There you are, son of Fëanor. I have missed you. “You of all people should know that can easily be remedied.”

It hurts, how eager his heart becomes at these words. He shoves any more treacherous thoughts aside and lets some of this indignation into his next words, punctuating them with the kind of wild gesture that he thought he had left behind with the rest of his adolescence. “It is not my job to torture these prisoners at your beck and call-”

“So you admit it is torture?” Maedhros’ voice rises. “If you knew what this means for me, why in Arda would you want-”

“You have done plenty worse!”

“Nothing is worse to me.”

“They are the Dark One’s servants, not his foes- they are not as you are! I am trying to help you understand that, Nelyo-”

“And I,” Maedhros snaps, “am trying to do you a favor.”

Maglor freezes mid-gesture. Moonlight streams in through the window, showing the satisfaction and shame mingled on his brother’s face, and he has the absurd urge to slam the door shut, as if someone could be listening in on them at this hour.

“You go too far,” he whispers, hearing the terror in his own voice. It has been centuries since they agreed never to speak of this again; is Maedhros so sympathetic to his captives that he is ready to break his word to his own brother?

“I go this far because I am concerned for you, because you are not the only one who worries,” Maedhros retorts. “I have heard the tales of your fight with the golden beast.”

Maglor spits out a curse and ducks his head; the weight of Maedhros’ most disappointed stare is too much for any single elf to bear, oath-bound and insane or no. “They were not meant to tell you…”

“Your people spoke of darkness and sounds of death.” Maedhros advances in small, careful steps, aiming his words like the Ambarussa aim their arrows. “How long will it be until your veneer breaks again, brother? How many have you convinced that your false face is your true self, now? The kind one, the nice one, the soft one, the only one here with a conscience. What would they say if they could see you for yourself?”

Maglor finds that his eyes are suddenly stinging. “I do have a conscience.”

“And it only comes out at the worst possible moments.” The shadow of Nelyo comes into Maedhros’ face again as he reaches out to push back Maglor’s hair with his left hand, loving and brutally honest in equal measure. “I do not know much of what happened to you at Alqualondë, but I know that it pains you to keep it locked in after a battle. I do not want to see you hurt, brother. I cannot say that is the only reason I avoided speaking to the prisoners, but it is by far the most important.”

Ah, so they are getting to the heart of the matter now. Alqualondë.

Alqualondë, where he had used his music as a weapon for the first time, half mad with the ease with which his voice flowed, his darkest thoughts translating perfectly into the realm of sound. Alqualondë, where the bodies were piled high and the crimson color of the blood on his swords had matched the blood from his own throat, dry and torn up by the first battle-song he had ever dared bring to life.

They had all died and come back in some way during that first battle, but something else had come back with Makalaurë, something cruel and sharp-toothed and hungry that Maedhros couldn’t stand to come near in these first terrible months after Angamandi.

The Discord, he had called it, the song of the enemy. The very essence of him, carried on his own voice.

And Maglor, deep in denial, had built up his reputation, only to ruin it by facing the golden one.

He has to fight to keep himself in the present; the memories have grown too strong now, hissing in his ears, burrowing into the cracks in his mind. “You are trying to distract me.”

His brother’s face is unflinchingly understanding, as frightened by their many hard truths as the Calacirya may be by a summer wind. “I am trying to help.”

It is easy, so easy to yield when he puts it that way. Maglor inhales slowly and feels the walls of his mind come down, letting the beat of fire-blood-ruin and the cold notes of his swords wash away all other thoughts like waves smoothing out the sand of a beach. The moon has hidden itself again; he looks up from the floor and absently notes that his hands have grown paler, and the ache in his throat has disappeared.

“We will speak of this again soon, brother.”

Maedhros tenses at the sound of his real voice, and a last pang of guilt lodges in his heart before it is swept away again. His brother knew that was coming; he is not to blame for his fear.

The prisoners’ fear, on the other hand…

He sighs, thrilled and embarrassed at himself in equal parts, and takes up one of his swords, letting the tip of the blade scrape against the floor as he heads out. “Tell your guards to go to sleep. You don’t need them anymore.”

His brother calls him again, softly, but he refuses to bring Lady Nerdanel into this mess by answering to the name she gave to her son; instead he merely raises his free hand and turns a corner, putting Maedhros and the ink and parchment behind him.

If anything, he means to find out what they call the beast from the Gap. Perhaps he can repay him for his people’s pain if they should ever cross paths again.

#my writing #fanfiction #maglor #maedhros #tolkien #silmarillion #feanorians #discord maglor au #this was written at 11pm and i am sorry #they're both disasters that's all i wanted to say and then it exploded

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spikeface · 3 years

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(consider this more of a writing prompt than a request) I tried to read Theo Raeken's fandom wiki but couldn't get a sense of him. Can you sell him qua OC? Who is he? What does he want? What does he fear? What are the worst things he's done and what internal logic did that run on? In what ways has he been heroic, even if it may have been unrecognizable to others as such? (Concretely I'm hoping to read any answer and launch into reading fic about him)

This is still a sketch. Canon leaves a lot of lacunae around Theo, so I play with them, but this is one version:

Theo’s childhood leaves him a twisted shell of a person. He’s pushed by the evil scientists who kidnap him and make him their servant (for convoluted plot reasons) to commit horrible acts, beginning with the death of his sister when he’s ten years old. His exact involvement in her death is not clear from the canon. He stands over her, very still, and watches her die, but it’s not clear if he coldly killed her or was simply a drugged victim of the scientists, who mess with people’s perception of reality. My headcanon, based on other canon references, is that the scientists, who are obsessed with creating “the perfect evil,” also push him to kill his parents and eat human flesh, and do lots of other awful things that he pretends don’t haunt him so he doesn’t go mad. Theo is very good at pretending, and learns to stifle his feelings to the point that he can really only be honest about them when he’s actively lying about something else. When he lies to the sheriff about witnessing a murder, for instance, he indirectly acts out his grief over the death of his sister as he chokes out, “I didn’t know what to do, so I didn’t do anything.”

After eight years with the evil scientists, he’s a wicked little gremlin. He’s a practiced liar and manipulator, whose speciality is to push people to embrace their darkest urges. When we meet him, he’s trying to turn Scott’s pack as dark as he is, to retroactively justify his own acts to himself, and to make it more certain that the pack will accept him for who he truly is. Theo wants very, very badly to be accepted. Part of it is personal, after a lonely life of being the scientists’ Igor, filled with self-loathing for the things he’s done. Part of it is also pragmatic; as the scientists grow closer to success (resurrecting an evil monster, don’t ask) they have less and less use for him. The scientists kill things they have no use for--failures. Theo isn’t a failure, but he’s not quite a success either, in the scientists’ eyes. Theo is petrified of failure, and the scientists. He wants the safety a powerful pack will provide. The stark difference in power between him and the scientists has led him to equate power and safety.

He works on corrupting all of Scott’s pack members, but focuses his efforts on Malia, Stiles, and Liam. He pushes Malia to try to kill her mother. If she does, no one could judge him for killing his own parents. He pushes Stiles to destroy his friendship with Scott. Stiles looks out for Scott the same way Theo’s sister looked out for him—if he’s actually terrible, deep down, then maybe his sister was too. Then no one could judge him for watching her die. With Liam, his goal is more cathartic. He wants Liam to lash out furiously at Scott for refusing to bite someone, especially when refusing means someone’s death.

Though Theo can pass for a werewolf, he’s actually a weak mockery of one, the result of the scientists’ surgeries rather than being bitten. It’s why his sister needed to die, her heart a necessary organ transplant before the scientists could begin their surgeries (show logic, don’t ask). Theo hates them for it, though he’s suppressed that emotion as a survival tactic while living under their cruel thumb. He tells himself he’s embraced their philosophy of experiments with the supernatural, but deep down is the plaintive question he had as a small, confused child: why didn’t they just make him a real werewolf? He would have been stronger, faster, better in every way than this half-thing they made him. He could have just been bitten, instead of all that surgery.

They wouldn’t have had to kill his sister, if they’d just made him a real werewolf.

Scott is the only one whom Theo can’t corrupt. He’s everything Theo isn’t: powerful, honest, accepted, not only a real werewolf but a special one. Unlike every other Alpha in existence—and Theo—he got his werewolf powers without anyone needing to die for it. Theo is obsessed with him. He needs to destroy him. He does.

Scott uses his dying breath to tell Theo that his pack will never accept him. Infuriatingly, he’s right.

He also comes back from the dead, which complicates Theo’s plans even further.

Theo makes his own pack of people he brings back from the dead. They’re all experiments the scientists no longer had any use for, which Theo hates as a potential reflection of himself, but they seem easy to control. He tries to make them embrace their darkest urges. He’s not quite successful. It doesn’t help that, in a bid for more power, Theo captures an Alpha named Deucalion, who is working to sabotage Theo as a favor to Scott. Deucalion drives some of Theo’s pack away, and shows Theo how to consume others for power. Faced with the choice between a pack and power, Theo chooses power. In the end, he consumes even Tracy, the one person who does actually accept Theo, for who he truly is, lovingly and unconditionally.

Theo is now very powerful. He’s also completely alone, having broken even with the scientists. He’s wretched. He hates Scott more than ever. He tries to kill him and his pack again—and finds himself promptly sent to a hellscape by one of Scott’s pack, where he wakes up to find his sister waiting for him, ready to rip his heart out, again and again and again.

Things get interesting when Liam brings him back from hell, hoping some of the powers he consumed will help them with their current crisis. Over the course of months in hell, however, Theo’s extra powers have been stripped away, along with his smug artifice and his will to live. When Malia starts to beat him to death in a fit of rage, he simply lets her, the same way he eventually simply let his sister take his heart over and over. He recovers from his hell-induced despair enough to try to manipulate and negotiate and generally gremlin his way to safety, but it’s clear he has no idea what to do beyond that. As the one who brought him back from hell, Liam feels responsible for him, which to him means making sure Theo isn’t a threat, bullying him into being helpful, hitting him when he’s being annoying, and offering genuine friendship to Theo if he does actually help. Theo alternates between coldly telling Liam that he’ll leave him for dead the first chance he gets, and almost compulsively saving Liam’s life. He also hits Liam, when he thinks he can get away with it. He’s never had a friend before.

After that crisis is over, Theo languishes. For the first time in his life, no one is telling him what to do. There’s nothing to prompt him to try to find power or a pack, or anything else he once failed at completely. He’s also homeless. And alone. When something creepy and supernatural happens to him in the middle of the night, the only person he can think to call is Scott—but he doesn’t, held back by shame. He remains, in my humble opinion, quite obsessed with Scott. I’m tipping my shipper hand here, but I think what was once the desire to destroy Scott has become the desire to have… something else from him. Not just forgiveness. Theo’s not sure what. It’s been a long time since he was honest with himself about what he feels. He’s working on it.

He chooses to stay in Beacon Hills. Mostly, he continues to lie and push, but he does it to help the pack--particularly Liam, who needs a lot of help with the same anger Theo once exploited. His most redemptive moment is when he chooses to ease a dying enemy’s pain, one of his first completely unselfish acts of kindness. The show ends with him as an “ally.”

#long post #theo raeken #teen wolf headcanon #teen wolf

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fromtheo-withlove · 3 years

Text

Pt. 4 - A Reunion

Finally get to bring in a bit of comfort, I hope you guys enjoy! It’s been such an amazing experience getting to share this story with all of you. Apologies in advance - it’s a bit of a long chapter but I’m hoping it’s worth the read.

TW: prisoner shackled, emotional whump, guilt and self-loathing, mention of injuries

Tag-list: @ihaveacrushonjester @tears-and-lilies @starnight-whump

Masterlist | Previous | Next

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Even before her mother had passed away 4 years ago, Princess Aurelia had always been incredibly close to her father. She treasured the time she got to spend with him and wanted to be like him when she became a ruler herself. Stories of the adventures and bravery of his youth were legendary and he had a way of charming everyone he spoke to. And Aurelia loved him.

But after watching Bennett and Gabriel’s arrival unfold and hearing about her father’s plans for them, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to see him in that light again. He had been different since the war began, quicker to anger, quiet, but she didn’t think he’d do something like this.

He had admitted Gabriel was an innocent in all of this, yet he let him think he was going to die, left him terrified and blindfolded while he played mind games. He had even whispered to her that he wasn’t going to actually let him die, but told her that he’d make it worse for him if she was uncooperative. She just couldn’t forgive him for all of this.

“Well,” she thought, “he may be acting like a stubborn monster, but I inherited every bit of that stubbornness and I’m not backing down either.”

She didn’t have any ideas on how to get Bennett and Gabriel out of this mess, but she was determined to see them at least, take care of them as much as she could.

It ended up being relatively easy to make it happen. She sought out Robert, the head of the castle guard, and he had ultimately agreed to let her visit the dungeons while one of the guards he trusted was on duty. He had known the princes when they were young. He had even given them sword lessons for a time and had been a tough teacher, but had a soft spot for them as well. It appeared he still did.

“Aye, war is war, but those boys were good lads. It’s a shame it’s come to this. I’ve told my guards to take it easy with them, but half this damn castle is hungry for their blood. They could use a friend in this mess.”

The guard’s first shift was that night, just past sundown. She passed the preceding hours pacing her room, gathering food and medical supplies to smuggle in, and trying to mentally steel herself for the reunions she was about to have.

The dungeon was vast, spanning the length of the castle. The king had ordered the princes be kept separately to avoid conspiring, as if they posed any threat in chains, shackled down. She was worried about Gabriel, but she decided to visit Bennett first. She needed answers and she needed a clear head for this conversation.

As the guard let her into Bennett’s cell, he reassured her that the prince would be shacked down and wouldn’t harm her. She almost laughed at the absurdity of the reassurance before remembering the crimes everyone believed Bennett committed. Rather than laugh, she nodded politely and thanked the guard as he closed the door and went back to his post.

It had already grown dark outside and the cell would have been pitch black if not for the glow of the lantern that Aurelia held. Luckily, she thought, there isn’t much here to light. The cell was small – enough space to pace in circles if the prisoner wasn’t shackled and enough room for them to lay down, but not much beyond that. Bennett sat in the corner looking tired and wary, his hands shackled behind him on a chain bolted to the floor.

He was the first to speak up. “Why are you here?” he asked, his eyes mistrustful.

She didn’t blame him for such a blunt greeting under the circumstances.

“I needed to see you, talk to you. Apologize. What happened earlier, the show my father put on…. It… shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.” She slowly walked closer as she spoke, then kneeled down near him.

She raised her hand to place it on his shoulder, confirm to herself that he was real and there, but he flinched and pulled away from her reach.

“I don’t deserve your time or pity, Auri. I wish I did. God, I wish I did. Please just go to Gabriel, he’s the innocent one in all of this. And do you want to know the worst part? He has every reason to hate me and he’s probably more worried about me than himself.” He let out a bitter laugh. “You know how good he is and you’ve already heard how much of a monster I am. Just go.”

Aurelia gave Bennett a hard glance. “Benn, stop it with all the self-loathing and self-sabotage. I’m going to see Gabriel after this. Let’s not waste time with you trying to convince me to leave, unless you truly have no wish to see me.”

In truth, he desperately wanted her company and in that moment he couldn’t bring himself to lie and say otherwise. When he stayed silent for a few seconds, she continued talking.

“I came here because I wanted to see you. I’m a grown woman now, I can make my own decisions.”

He finally spoke up, more quietly than before. “I know you can, I’m sorry… You have every right to stay here, but I don’t know what to say.”

“Well I didn’t come here to throw around accusations, you faced enough of that today, but, please, help me understand how things got to this point. Did you really murder innocents in those villages? I- I just can’t believe that. I need to hear it from you, without an audience. How could the same boy I knew, the one who wouldn’t hurt a fly, ever do something like that?”

She said that she couldn’t believe it, but Bennett noticed her stumble on her words, saw the fear in her eyes at his response. He knew her doubt in him was deserved, but it still somehow hurt.

“That boy you knew was pathetic, weak, naïve. When I returned to Lianhar, I had to see that and grow up. It’s the way the world works, Auri.”

Aurelia shook her head sadly. “Your father really did a number on you.” She stayed silent for a moment before asking quietly, “Do you remember the baby bird?”

“Obviously I do… why?”

“Humor me, what do you remember about that day, Benn?”

He knew what she was trying to do, but it had been so long since he’d been spoken to with compassion and a part of him wanted it to last as long as possible. “Okay… We were probably 11, maybe 12. It was springtime. It was that time of year when it’s finally starting to get warm but the weather keeps changing. There was that crazy wind and rain storm. The day after the storm we were so excited to collect fallen sticks and build our own little fortress.”

“We never did get around to building one,” Aurelia remarked with a small smile.

Bennett paused for a moment at Aurelia’s remark, but didn’t want to dwell on unfinished childhood dreams. It hurt too much to think about. He continued.

“Gabriel was inside, probably reading some textbook. We went down to the old oaks, and there was the baby bird, almost hidden in the tall grass. He was so small, and cute in an ugly way, with his feathers still growing in.”

Aurelia smiled genuinely at the memory. “You were amazed by it, shouting at me to come over. Until you saw its broken wing. I told you there was nothing we could do, tried to comfort you, but you were so upset about it.”

He nodded. “I was sad. I think I named him Momo.” He felt the corner of his mouth creep up in a smirk, the closest thing he’d had to a smile in weeks.

“You weren’t just sad, you were heartbroken. You laid near it crying and talking to it for almost an hour.”

“Auri, I get it, I was an overly dramatic child.”

“No Benn, you were loving and hated to see anyone or anything suffering. That bird would’ve died without you.”

Bennett scoffed. “No, your memory is way off. Gabriel was the one who saved him. I just sat there like a blubbering idiot.”

“I know he mended its wing, but he wouldn’t have even known about the bird if you hadn’t refused to come inside for lunch. He did always have a knack for medicine, but it was your heart that saved the bird.”

Bennett’s slight smirk was gone. He grew silent and leaned against the cell wall, no longer looking at Aurelia. When he spoke again, his voice had hardened.

“Well, regardless, real life isn’t like that bird story. And like I said, I had to grow up.”

“So you’re saying that you did kill them? Those innocent people?”

“No Auri,” Bennett snapped, his tone more annoyed than he intended. “I didn’t myself, but what difference does it make if I held the blade or my soldiers did? I didn’t stop them. That blood is on my hands.” He finally looked back at her, eyes narrowed, “I’m sorry if that gets in the way of you reminiscing on idyllic childhood memories.”

Aurelia raised her eyebrows, but didn’t take the bait. “So was it your idea? A plan to show strength? Did you want to do it?”

“Stop, it doesn’t matter.”

Aurelia stood up. “Just answer the question,” she commanded angrily. The sight of Bennett flinching at her demand was like a bucket of cold water on her anger. She quieted. “Please Benn, I need to know. If you still have any feelings of friendship towards me, tell me the truth.”

“You’re going to play that card?” Bennett said angrily. “What do you want me to say? That I never grew out of my weakness? That I didn’t want to lead a battalion, but conceded after just 10 minutes of pressure from my father? That my men never respected me, that they resented me for not allowing them their fun? That they killed my squire and pretended he died in an enemy attack? That they made veiled threats when Gabriel visited with medical supplies? That they were ready to stab me in the back because they felt my tactics were too passive? And instead of stamping out the disloyalty or, even better, dying for my own morals, that I gave up and handed my second-in-command the reigns?”

As he spoke, the anger in Bennett’s voice began to soften, but the bitterness and pain remained. “It doesn’t matter if I didn’t want them to pillage villages or harm civilians, I took a coward’s way out and convinced myself that what they did was out of my hands. I didn’t think they’d go so far.” His voice started to break.

“I really didn’t think they would, Auri. It will haunt me for any days I have left. But I should’ve known what I was doing. A good leader would’ve avoided that bloodshed. When I was a child, I’d cry about the injustices of the world, but then I actually had the power to change things and I was too much of a goddamn coward.”

Aurelia stood staring at her friend, tears in her eyes. “So, now you know,” he whispered. “You can leave with your answers.”

Instead of turning to the door, the princess knelt down face to face with Bennett and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. The gesture broke down his last barriers, and he began to cry into her shoulder.

“Benn, listen to me. You were forced into an unfair situation from the start. You didn’t ask for any of this. You avoided innocent bloodshed for a long time. They killed someone close to you, threatened you and Gabriel. Put you in an impossible position. You do not deserve this.”

He continued to cry for a few minutes as Aurelia stroked his hair. It was better than he deserved, but he needed comfort more than he ever had and he knew there was a chance this embrace would be the last he ever received. He only regretted not being able to hug her back.

Eventually, he began to breathe more normally and Aurelia let him go.

She looked at him with sadness in her eyes. “I’ve been trying to change things for you both, I swear I’ve been trying, but… my father….”

“Auri, the fact that you even visited is more than I can ask for. I’ve already accepted that I’m not getting out of this mess, don’t anger your father over something impossible.” He paused, then continued, “But my brother…. I know it’s unfair to ask and it’s probably not doable, but if there’s any chance for Gabriel, if you see any way to convince your father to spare him, please try.”

“I promise I’ll keep trying, but I don’t want to give any false hopes about the odds.”

Bennett just nodded.

Aurelia’s eyes suddenly lit up as she remembered what she had smuggled in. “I almost forgot, I brought you some food!”

“I’m not sure I can stomach it right now to be honest.”

Aurelia looked skeptical. “When’s the last time you ate?”

Bennett didn’t even bother to answer the question. He sighed dramatically. “Fine, you’re right, I need food.”

“I knew it! You always hated to eat when you were stressed out, but then you’d end up exhausted and feeling worse.”

“I guess some things never change. Like you acting like a mother hen, trying to take care of me. “Benn, wear your jacket it’s cold. Benn, eat your breakfast. Benn, it’s not a good idea to jump off the stable roof into a tightly compacted bale of hay.” I guess I should’ve listened to you on that last one,” he said with a grin.

“And I guess I should just lean into the mother hen for today – I also brought medical supplies. Your shoulder and head looked injured earlier. Can I see them?”

He nodded. “They’re from the fight when I was captured, but they’re really not bad. I’ve had worse.”

She examined the wounds for a moment. “Okay tough guy, but they’re still pretty bad. I can’t leave anything visible like bandages unfortunately, but I’ll clean them out and apply some ointment to help numb them a bit. I’ll ask Robert if he’s willing to have the guards bandage them before tomorrow night, maybe under the guise of appearances for the banquet or something.”

The mention of the banquet brought Bennett back to reality. “Do you know what your father has planned?”

“No more than you do, I’m sorry. But I do know he plans to keep you both alive for a while, for better or for worse.”

Auri spent some time treating Bennett’s injuries, trying not to think about how many more she’d be caring for over the next few weeks. She needed to take things one day at a time.

When she was finished, she packed up her things and wrapped Bennett in one more hug. “I should go see Gabriel now, I can’t risk wandering around too late and having my father discover I’ve seen either of you. I’ll come back though, as much as I can.”

As she headed to the door, Bennett felt overcome with gratitude that she planned to come back. “Hey Auri?.... Thank you.”

-----

Keep reading: Next

#whump #royalwhump #emotionalwhump #guilt #fear #comfort #bonding

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lotornomiko · 3 years

Text

The Brokenhearted Comfort 16 (Worksafe)

Finally wrote something! Previous chapters can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051705/chapters/9116500

Returning to the celebration, had been among one of the hardest things that Belle has ever had to force herself to do. The reality of facing those knowing eyes, the looks a mix of sympathetic and leering, the crew seeming divided down the line on just who they pitied more. The young woman they had gone through so much trouble to rescue, or that of their captain, the man that had gone so mad for her. There was even a few who might seem angry, or at the very least annoyed, some of the pirates bothered by Belle’s lack of gratitude where their leader was concerned. She blanched paler yet to see it, Kate’s hand on the small of her back, the only comforting presence that the woman had, the strong spirited lass guiding the princess past so many of the openly staring people, towards a smaller cluster of women. These ladies at least seemed more tolerant of the beauty’s situation, if not outright sympathetic.

Kate made the introductions, though try as Belle might, her mind was distracted, casting an uneasy look around the room. She could find no sign of the captain, of Hook, and was able to breathe a bit better with him being gone. It wouldn’t be a lasting reprieve, the ship that they were on, big but only to an extent. The pirate would eventually make his way back, and the beauty had to suppress a shudder at the thoughts of what would follow then.

It was noticed all the same, that haunted look leaking into her expression. Kate shared a frown with the others, and abruptly a mug of some kind was being pushed into Belle’s hands. It was slightly cool to the touch, that amber liquid almost hypnotic as the woman stared down into the stine. She could almost see herself reflected across the surface, and from the strong smell of it, the princess knew it was an intoxicant of some kind, and was the last thing that she truly needed.

“I shouldn’t...” She looked up from the mug, but whoever had handed it to her, had stepped out of reach.

“Some spirit will do you a world of wonders...” Kate advised in a kindly tone. “And not just that of the liquid kind!”

She might have blushed then, Belle starting to lower her gaze once more. “Spirited or not, I doubt that will help me much...”

“It certainly can’t hurt the situation anymore.” Kate retorted. “And you’re less likely to hate YOURSELF if you do something more than just roll over like some broken doormat...!”

“That’s not what I have been doing!” Belle protested with a gasp, but a sharper spike of something, guilt most likely, had then stabbed through her. For hadn’t that been exactly what she had been reduced to? Just rolling over for HIS lustful demands, pawed at and manhandled in front of every last man and women present in this room? Treated with little to no real courtesy as befit a lady, a princess, of her standing? She couldn’t stand what she was becoming, how broken, how beaten she already seemed to think of herself as.

“I really am without spirit, aren’t I...” She muttered it too soft for the others to hear over the roar of the celebrating pirates. There was no missing the frown on her face, or the frustration blooming in those expressive blue eyes, Belle so trampled and defeated by more than just the pirate. Yes, Hook had helped play a small part in it, but Rumplestiltskin and the Evil Queen had done a substantial amount of damage to the princess as well. She didn’t know how to recover from it, from any of them, and that left her smoldering with a kernel of anger from deep inside. A kind of resentment that could become fiercer yet, if only the woman knew how to nurture it.

That little ember inside her could flicker out completely, or be brought to ignite into a blaze, the woman nearly at a defining point. She was so tired, so tired of the pain, the heart ache and the fear, the despair that consumed her near every waking moment. Belle was in fact sick of being without hope, and though THAT wasn’t in any way within her reach, the young lady didn’t want to break any further. Didn’t want to lose anymore of her self or her spirit, some sliver of resolve seeping into the blue of her eyes.

“Oh aye, that’s more like it.” Kate was approving. “That bold blue suits you far better than the cold misery you have thus far been wrapping yourself in.”

She didn’t feel any less miserable, nor did the beauty feel any true empowerment. What Belle felt was that of being fed up, sick of everyone deciding that of her fate but her. It had started not with her captors, but with that of her own father, the man plotting out a suitable if loveless marriage for her. Gaston had been no better, the man pompous and overbearing, content to rule her and any decisions. No wonder she had all but jumped to go off with Rumplestiltskin, thinking a life as his slave would be better than anything back in the kingdom. It hadn’t been, the love she had grown into, deemed nothing more than nuisance at best, and thoroughly unwanted by the Dark One, Belle had been driven out onto the streets. Left broken hearted and loathe to return to her own kingdom, to be a martyr there, she had instead had her life further destroyed by the pirate and then the Evil Queen. There was a real resentment within her there, Belle not having had the chance to properly backlash her own feelings onto any of her tormentors.

Worst was the fact that all three had power over her. Be it of the magical kind, or that of brute physical strength, there was an imbalance to the dynamic between them. There would always be, she realized and recognized this as fact, and the ember inside her started to flicker as though to die. She was left suffocating with it, and then the resentment was burning stronger, Belle angry and hating, and absolutely furious over her situation. Over all of it, every last indignity and hurt that had been done her, and she was drinking down, swallowing down that amber liquid as though it would bolster her nerve sfurther.

She immediately began choking on the strong taste, that amber liquid so thick and burning as it went down her throat.

“Easy does it,” advised Kate. “It goes down rough, but you’ll get used to the taste soon enough!”

Belle just shook her head no, trying to pass the mug off to someone else. It wasn’t for her, this drink, or this life, the princess wanting something better than the hand that fate had tried to deal her. It all still seemed so hopeless, a better life something the beauty was now incapable of truly imagining. There was simply too many targets painted on her back, with little if any chance of evading THAT which was coming for her.

As if brought back by such thoughts, she felt it when he made his presence known. Felt the heavy oppression of his stare boring into her from behind. It made her skin crawl as all the color leeched from it, the weight of his looking almost a tangible thing, Belle feeling as though Hook was stripping her bare with his eyes alone. She braced herself, and pivoted in place, catching sight of the naked hunger of his expression focused unwavering on her. Like a frightened doe, she was caught and staring back, even as she inched closer towards the pirate lass, Kate, seeking a protection that couldn’t truly be given.

“It makes me wish she had knocked him unconscious for a time.” Kate muttered, the she that the woman referred to, being that of the cook.

“Suppose it too small a miracle to hope some sense was instead!” Another pirate wench murmured, her tone almost disapproving. Belle glanced at her, the woman a redheaded lass with a blue gaze that was narrowed towards the captain.

“Honestly Belle, just what did you do to make him lose his head so?” A third inquired, hands on her hips. It wasn’t a truly mean spirited question, and yet Belle shrank from it all the same, the circle of females suddenly all looking at her once more.

“Nothing!” She squeaked out. “I did nothing of the sort!”

“Of the sort?” It was quickly seized upon as a topic of interest, and the princess just wanted to sink down into the floor and disappear.

“Whatever it was...you could make a killing bottling it, that’s for damn sure!” The redhead exclaimed with a laugh. ‘There’s more than a few broken hearts out there, that would have loved to have landed our captain!”

“Tis’ almost a shame...” Another mused. “That such be wasted on the unappreciative.”

“Malabeth!” Kate and several others snapped out the pirate wench’s name. She muttered an apology that was insincere at best, her eyes hardly as friendly as the others were, when looking at Belle.

“You’re more than welcome to him!” Belle exclaimed, her face and tone hot for her anger and embarrassment. Malabath looked to be fuming in response, and even more so when the other ladies began teasing her.

“Malabeth knows when she’s been outclassed.” One said.

“She’s tried and failed for more years than you can imagine!” Another laughed as this Malabaeth’s face soured.

“Pardon me if I fail to see how a...”

“That’s enough...ALL of you!” Kate snapped, cutting off whatever Malabeth had been about to finish saying. “This be a delicate situation, and not one that needs cut ANYONE anymore than they have already been.”

Malabeth still had that look in her eyes, a narrowed eyed focus of such anger and dislike. Belle didn’t want any more, and yet she felt like this woman was on the verge of becoming yet another one of her enemies, jealousy the trigger for such spite and malice. Belle almost let out a nervous laugh then, thinking how insane it was to earn such hate for having the attention of a man she did not even want. She wasn’t even sure how to make an attempt at smoothing things over, nor did he beauty truly feel like she had it in her to TRY.

Her plate full enough without some scorned lover to add to it, Belle could only hope that this wouldn’t become a problem that manifested anytime soon.

To Be Continued...

Short I know...I am just happy to have written something, anything for this story...been stuck on this chapter for a LONG time...Could never get it started to my satisfaction, and still didn’t get it advanced as far as I would like....

Been missing writing for this pairing. Randomly chose to start reading stuff while I was sick for ALL of July...only it was hard to get into this one, cause I was cringing SO hard on the first few chapters. I actually started trying to rewrite chapter one....but glad I didn’t finish the rewrite. While I hate how bad my writing was for the first batch of chapters, I do love how the story develops around nine and up....like I think my writing started to improve, and those are the chapters that made me eager to try and work some more on this story...though I feel so rusty....and maybe this was the wrong story to try when I feel so...meh...unused to writing for them.

Also think I was stuck...cause after looking at my notes for the fic, its like soon I have to make a decision on whether this becomes full non con or not...X_X Tough choice to make too...

---Michelle

#once upon a time #ouat #CaptainBeauty #killian x belle #belle #killian jones #captain hook #fanfic #fanfiction #The Broken Hearted Comfort #Captain Beauty

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queenwitchrowena · 3 years

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☽〇☾ — ROWENA MACLEOD

❝ she wore her scars as her best attire, a stunning dress made of hellfire.❞ ☽〇☾ — AESTHETICS

BELIEFE IN PROPHECY AND MAGIC OLD AS TIME — WINTER SOLSTICE ORGIES — BACKLESS FLOOR LENGTH GOWNS AS CASUAL WEAR — WINGED EYELINER SHARP ENOUGH TO CUT YOU — FINDING REDEMPTION AND MEANING IN UNEXPECTED PLACES

☽〇☾ — CHARACTER INFORMATION

Name: Rowena MacLeod Nickname: Ro (To a few people.) Age: 378 appears mid to late 30’s (spent an additional 190 years in Hell) D.O.B.: 1643 Place of birth: Isle of Skye, Scotland Gender: Cis Female Species: Human/Witch (Natural) Height: 5’2” / 157 cm Weight: 110lbs / 50kg Eye color: Green Hair color: Vivid red copper Relationship Status: It’s always complicated and often fake. Sexuality: Sexually Progressive Powers: Innate magic, learned spell work, ability to create spell work. Weaknesses: Overestimating herself, pride, volatile anger, recklessness Occupation: Witch / Con Artist / Hunter Consultant / Queen of Hell Weapons: Hex Bags, spells, natural magic, Voodoo dolls, crystals, potions, alchemy, manipulation. She is capable of using traditional weapons such as knives and guns when necessary.

Personality: Rowena is intelligent, ambitious, proud, manipulative, Machiavellian, petty, sarcastic, reckless, often self serving, hateful, seductive. She resents anyone who dares to have authority over her. She flirts like mad with people, often for fun, often for her own gain. When she is on someone’s side she can be sweet, calm, warm, and courteous. When she has labeled someone as completely useless, unfortunately in her way, or an enemy, she can be ruthlessly vicious and violent. People that cross her may find themselves in various precarious situations up to and including violent deaths.

Rowena is hard to get to know deeply, she builds walls to keep people from hurting her, not just physically, but emotionally. She is never quite able to be rid of the parts of her that fear and loathe her past. She has always been a dreamer. She is slowly learning to trust and value people and loyalty, even if she might deny it.

Likes: People who can do something for her, knowledge, power, money, magic, Winchesters and their pet angels (though she will not state that out loud), creating her own spells, her son (not that she wants to, she hates him because it’s easier for her), flirting, elegant states of dress, stability, freedom.

Dislikes: Authority over her, being used, baring her feelings, feelings, weakness, abandonment, her own desperation, her past, swallowing her pride, not controlling a situation, being underestimated, being undervalued, people denying their own abilities with magic, most hunters, most other witches, her son lol, most demons, anything that makes her appear unsophisticated, limits.

Appearance: Rowena is a slim petite woman. Pale skin that burns and freckles if she doesn’t stay out of the sun or apply some sort of charm. She keeps her fiery red hair long, with fringe, and alternates between letting it curl naturally or straightening it. She wears it both up and down.

Her clothing choices tend to learn towards the impractical and formal. Long sleeve floor length gowns, dresses, heels, and assorted jewelry. She wears bold winged eyeliner and often bright and shimmery eyeshadow looks, bold red and coral lipsticks. Rowena may occasionally wear something that makes her blend in a bit better, stylish slacks and blouses, sometimes a suit jacket. She never appears not put together if it’s within her control.

Rowena has a number of scars on her body made by the insertion of spell work in the form of hex bags. There is a scar on her outer right thigh, one on the left side above her breast, and one on her left hip above the bone. She also has very faint stretch marks on her belly from pregnancy.

☽〇☾ — BACKSTORY

Rowena MacLeod was born the daughter of a Tanner in 17th century Scotland. She was one of several children born to her parents.

Her mother did not follow witchcraft, her father forbid it, he was a strict man. But she knew that she was born a witch and that magic ran innately through her. She was forced to not speak of it, though she couldn’t always control it. Even without training or knowing the right words, Rowena could speak things into happening given enough passion.

She was different from most of her siblings, the only other one who was capable of magic was an older brother, Fergus, though he too was made to tamp it down. He died when they were still young. A fever took three more of her siblings in childhood, and her mother was often absent or in her own head after that.

When Rowena was 15 she fell in love with a charming wealthy married man. He promised her that he’d take her away and that they would be together. When she was 16 she found herself unwed and pregnant. Her father threw her out in shame, and though her lover housed her in the village after, he did not visit nearly as often after. She knew later his promises were all lies.

He came to see her only once more, on the eve of their son’s birth. It was a long and hard birth and it was said that she wouldn’t make it. Her lover kissed her on the forehead and told her that he loved her. It was his last kindness. He left her there, dying, penniless, and went back to his wife and other children, expecting her death. Though Rowena managed to make it through, weak as she was, with a healthy son to show for it. She named him after the brother that she had been closest to.

Afterwards, baby Fergus’ father denied ever knowing Rowena at all. She was alone, with a child she couldn’t help but desperately love, cast out of her family for her sin of bearing a child outside of marriage, and labeled a whore by everyone else.

She sought to use her magic, thinking it would be what would save them. But what little she could do only earned her a worse reputation. Rowena was forced to take her baby and leave, she thought elsewhere she might be able to tell people that she had been widowed, but it hardly mattered. She had nothing and no one, and a baby to care for. Life was hard for them. Rowena was often unable to provide even the most basic things for her child. With her reputation she couldn’t find any reputable work. Instead, she sold her body to pay for what meager little she could to keep a roof over their heads. And she learned what she could of magic from wherever she could.

She did her best for her son, taught him what she could, and tried to shield him from what she was. Until he grew to look more and more like his father, the man who had broken her heart.

She could barely look at him, the boy she loved, that only served to remind her of what she hated about her life. She wasn’t a good enough mother, he was the reason she was forced to scrape to get by. She couldn’t help but tell herself those things. And she couldn’t help but tell him in fits of anger.

When he was 8 and devoid of all the pretty baby fat of youth, Rowena was caught and about to be tried for her crimes as a witch. Before that could happen, she left her son in the care of a workhouse, unable to keep him with her. She told herself she would be back, but she had nothing to offer him, and he was a painful thing to look at. The personification of a wound never closed. At a certain point she knew that she had been gone too long and made up every reason she could to justify it.

She found the opportunity to study under the great Milanese witch Leticia D’Albioni, and soon after that she finally joined the ranks of the Grand Coven. The Grand Coven were critical of Rowena having a child with a “non-magic”, but they were willing to overlook this because of the great talent she possessed. However, her immense raw skill and recklessness with extreme witchcraft made them wary of her. This eventually led to her being hexed by the coven with a binding spell that restrained her magic, as well as being banned from performing magic, taking on students, or forming her own coven.

Rowena didn’t stop using her then limited powers when possible, still stronger than many witches, but she did fear the Grand Coven and their worldwide reach for centuries. She stayed off their radar as much as possible, learning where she could, and managing to take care of herself in other ways when necessary. She’d dodge the occasional run in with other witches, demons, hunters, The British Men of Letters.

300 years later, Rowena resurfaced, recently run out of the UK by a member of the British men of Letters. And with a goal in mind, intending to reclaim her lost power and start a coven of her own to do so.

It wasn’t until she learned that her son, who should have long been gone and forgotten, was reborn as the demon Crowley and King of Hell, that she was set on a new vicious path.

She reinserted herself into Fergus’ life. (Refusing to call him by his newer chosen name, though she would never explain to him what the name meant to her.) Rowena attempted to use her son for his position of power to help her with the Grand Coven. Aware of her manipulations, her son assisted anyway and captured the head of the Grand Coven, Olivette, for her. Tortured by Rowena, Olivette revealed the Grand Coven was much-diminished in its power because of a concerted campaign against witches by the Men of Letters. After learning this Rowena sought again to put together her own coven, something far greater than what the Grand Coven was, though she was met with either disinterest or thwarted plans. Still, she remained by her sons side in hopes that his power would be useful to her.

This led to frequently recurring encounters with the Winchester brothers and those that surround them. Sometimes on opposite sides, sometimes as allies.

See here for further detailed information.

☽〇☾ — POST SEASON 15 EPISODE 3

Rowena expected to die and have her body eventually deteriorate and release the souls that she carried with her, back to hell where they belonged. Instead she found herself dead, but with an incredible amount of power stored within her from the souls that she absorbed. As she arrived in Hell by her own choice, Rowena is able to take control of Hell’s throne through the use of her still in tact magical abilities, and fear.

She is a powerful soul inhabiting her own body, though technically still dead, and has never become a demon.

As ruler, she immediately shut down all demon deals and overhauled hell to work the way that she wanted it to. Her opinion is that humans do plenty of things to put themselves in Hell, no need to assist the process. People will end up where the ought to.

☽〇☾ — CURRENT

Since her arrival in Lebanon, Kansas, and once again a member of the living, Rowena has returned to reside in the Men of Letters bunker with the Winchester brothers.

#☽〇☾ — Rowena MacLeod #☽〇☾ — character bio #long post cw

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whimperwoods · 4 years

Text

Arms of the Enemy (D&D Whump) - 8

This is Part 8!

Here are part 1, part 2 , part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, and part 7!

Castor is a warlock, in service to the Great Old One and the Dark Emperor, in that order. Ed is a fighter, a knight and battle master in the service of the True King of Lumenea. They have always been enemies. In the space between the Old One and the Emperor, they might be able to become something else.

(Also Ed has emotions and Castor has a plan b.)

tw: panic attack (maybe?), tw: aftermath of torture, tw: feelings of shame and self-loathing, tw: brief suicidal ideation, tw: powerful mood swings, tw: Ed’s general bad time coping,

taglist: @redwingedwhump, @fanastywhump, @insanitywishes @bluebadgerwhump,@burtlederp, @newandfiguringitout, @kawhump

Side note: The d&d mechanics stuff is more a fun challenge for me than necessary for world-building, but I DO feel I should mention I only just realized warlocks get their spell slots back on a short rest and not only a long one? On the one hand I now understand why it’s an actually playable class, on the other hand, I have already established that Castor only gets his back on a long rest, so I’m beefing up all his invocations to compensate.

***************

Castor felt deeply, deeply foolish. He was on the ceiling, but now both of them were visible and Amara was shouting “Hey,” and they were in big trouble. He muttered an invocation under his breath and flung a wave of magic behind him, slowing down everyone on the stairs, and kept running. Hopefully, it would take their pursuers longer to look up than it took him to get out of the line of sight of the stairs and up into some kind of dark corner.

<<Do you trust me?>> he asked Ed.

The other man was silent, his presence a mental weight against the edge of Castor’s awareness, but just as Castor was ducking into an embrasure and trying to keep both of them out of the dim light that seeped through the arrow loop inside, he got an answer.

*****

<<Do you trust me?>>

Ed wanted to vomit. Of course he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t. But of course he did. He had to. He thought, all of a sudden, of his hand in the mage’s, last night. “Squeeze my hand if it’s ok to move you,” as if he’d had any choice then, as if he had any choice now. But he’d done it. He’d done it. A contract. It was done.

Ed was still trying to breathe when they stopped moving and he realized he hadn’t been focusing his eyes, hadn’t seen a thing as they slipped into a tiny space that, he realized a long moment later, was meant for an archer. Did he trust Castor?

<<Yes>> he answered, his voice a whisper even in their minds. His face flushed with shame. He was a disgrace. He was either lying or telling the truth and he didn’t know which was worse. Why had Castor asked him? Why was he pretending Ed got to decide? Ed had decided one thing, and now they were visible and hiding and he didn’t have any more plan than the warlock did.

He realized he was shaking, so hard he was sure Castor could feel it. They were visible. They were visible, and Castor had no plan because Castor was a planless idiot. But he had no plan, either, so apparently he was, too.

He could feel Castor’s presence in his mind even as the man stayed silent, a gentle pressure he could feel even though he suspected he shouldn’t, and it was almost comforting. His breathing eased slightly.

<<Ok>> Castor said, <<So, technically I can be a little bit invisible any time? Only a little bit invisible. And only in shadows. But the problem is it’s only me. So I’m gonna need to uh - well. This is the best place I could think of to leave you. It’s uh - it’s hidden, mostly, and it’s safer than the ground.>>

Ed instinctively tightened his arms around Castor’s neck and shoulders. <<No!>>

He could feel Castor almost-answer, could hear him almost-speak, and anger washed over him. His words came out hollow, ringing empty between their minds because the flood of emotion running through Ed was too big to fit into them.

<<No,>> he told the mage, <<No, you’re the one who brought me out here. You’re the one who started all this. You brought me out here. I could have been - could - have been - >> He knew what he could have been. He could have been dead, or much farther on his way to it, and he didn’t want to be dead, and he didn’t want to be dead, and he was still rambling in Castor’s mind in spite of himself.

<<It’s your fault I’m alive. It’s your fault I’m alive and not in my cell and they’re going to punish me for it. They’re going to punish me for it.>> His stomach felt cold and solid, and he wasn’t sure if he was afraid of his captors or himself, saying things he meant and didn’t mean and couldn’t mean. He was shaking. Oh gods, he was shaking.

<<They won’t.>> Castor’s voice was soft. Gentle. Ed only half heard it. <<They won’t. I have . . . things. There’s more I can do. I’ll be with you the whole time, if you’ll let me in. And I won’t let them hurt you. I’d been planning to hide you here in the fortress, but the game’s up for both of us so now we’re onto plan B and I’m getting you out of here. I just need you to hold on. I just have some things to steal first, and I’m the only one who can be invisible this way. And then I’ll be back. I promise.>>

Ed felt hot where he was angry and cold where he was afraid, and a great sucking tornadic hole in the middle, tearing him apart. Sir Edmond of Lumenea was not this. He was not so small. So afraid. So dependent. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. And he didn’t want to die. He couldn’t want to die. He wanted to be alive. He wanted to be alive.

Castor stood on the side of the wall and rearranged both of them awkwardly, laying Ed down on the tiny patch of floor and tucking his legs in as tightly as they would go. Ed almost cried out at the pain, but forced himself to hold it in, keeping the noise down to a soft grunt he had to hope no one heard under the chaos of low, slowed-down voices shouting several yards away.

Oh. Sounds. That was right. Sounds. Sounds. He hadn’t been listening to the head-sounds, and he had to not make real sounds. At least, he had to not make them here. <<Help me look out,>> he demanded, off topic and with his head still reeling dizzily, <<Help me see, I need to know where we are.>>

*****

Castor’s spine felt electric, prickling with the sense that something was wrong with Ed. He knelt on the wall, making the most of his spider climb as he adjusted himself within the tiny space to lay a hand on Ed’s cheek and turn the man’s face toward him. He looked deeply into the knight’s eyes, trying to pick apart what was fear and what was something else - whatever it was that wasn’t right.

Instead, he suddenly felt awash in a wave of confused emotions, fear and anger and despair flooding out of Ed and almost overwhelming him.

<<No,>> he said gently, trying to keep his voice even and not let on that he’d felt unasked-for reverberations that strong. <<Just stay. It’ll be ok. I promise.>>

The wave of anger that crashed across Castor’s mind was purer and clearly intentional, a mental shove that drove him backward in surprise, making him let go of Castor’s face and sit back into his heels.

<<So that’s it, then,>> Ed said bitterly, <<All that and in the end you think I’m useless. I can’t help. You don’t want me. You’re just going to leave me here with nothing like I’m useless.>>

This was so not the time for a big argument. Especially not when he remembered all the things that weren’t anger that he’d felt before Ed started lashing out.

Castor breathed deeply, centering himself, and then leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Ed’s, pushing as much calm, care, and intent through their mental link as he could. <<Ed, I’m coming back for you. I swear. I - I swear by my master, I’m coming back for you. I just can’t steal things with you on my back.>>

Ed shuddered underneath him, another reverberation from Ed’s mind washing over Castor’s again, the same confusing blend, but with the anger leaking out, leaving a flash of cold and sorrow before it faded away again.

The knight’s hand wrapped around Castor’s wrist. <<Let me help you. I just need a view of what’s below us. And an idea where you’re going.>> His voice was sad, now, thrumming with something that hurt to listen to.

<<Alright,>> he answered, not sure he had any other real option, against that kind of hurt. <<But we have to be careful.>>

<<Alright,>> Ed agreed.

Getting a good peek outward took some doing, but they managed, and Castor was surprised to hear a loud clattering noise a good distance away from their hiding place. Their pursuers were still slowed, but barely, the spell on the edge of running out. It was a relief to hear the people below shout slowly about following the noise. He pulled Ed back into their arrow loop.

<<There.>> Ed sounded exhausted. <<Done.>>

Castor didn’t know what to make of that. He didn’t know what to make of any of this, really. Any time he tried to think it through, things all got tangled, both because this was complicate and because he never seemed to be able to get a bead on Ed’s mind, or perhaps his feelings. <<Thanks,>> he answered, after a moment’s adjusting to what had happened.

<<I'm, uh. I’m a little bit magic.>> Ed was starting to sound more himself, and Castor wasn’t sure if it was because of or in spite of his clear exhaustion. Either way, it was a relief, if a small one.

<> Castor wasn’t sure whether he should ask about it or not, but he was sure he needed to get his supplies and get them out of here, so he saved the question for later.

<<Sorry about not mentioning before,>> Ed added.

<<Well, at least I know you have that trick if something happens. And I can keep an eye on this place while I’m gone, if you’ll let me.>>

<<What do you mean?>>

Castor found himself suddenly unable to look the knight in the eyes. <<If you’ll let me, I can see and hear what you see and hear. As long as we keep the link going, I can blink out of my own senses and into yours. It’s uh - I don’t do it a ton. But I can check in every couple of minutes to make sure you’re still alright.>>

A twinge of surprise pulsed through their mental link and Castor wondered, passively, whether their unusually strong link might mean some day Ed could look through his eyes, too. The surprise backed off into silence, but Castor let Ed think through it, just listening to the footsteps below and waiting for an answer.

<<Yeah, alright,>> the knight finally said, <<How do I know when you turn it back off?>>

<<I dunno. But we both have to be willing for it to work. So if you don’t want me to see what you see, you can shut me out. I just won’t be able to reopen from a distance so if you do that before I get back, I won’t be able to get to you unless you’re still here.>>

<<Got it.>>

<>

The knight’s fingers wrapped around Castor’s wrist again. <<Done.>>

Castor twisted his arm until he could hold Ed’s wrist, too. Then he focused on the half-prayer that would open the link, whispering the invocation under his breath as quietly as he could.

*****

Ed had expected to feel it when the connection between the two of them changed, but instead he was alerted to it working by a deep gasp from Castor. The mage let go of Ed’s arm and slapped his hand over his own mouth to keep from crying out, and when his voice started up in Ed’s head, it sounded tense and pained.

<<I’ve got your skin, too. The senses of it, I mean. Touch. I’ve got your sense of touch. Gods.>>

The hand Castor had against the wall, stabilizing his disorienting sideways kneel, was quaking faintly, and when he moved the other hand away from his mouth, it was shaking much harder, shaking visibly, like Ed was sure his own did, these days.

For a moment, he felt pity for the mage, but then a wave of anger came behind it. Why should he feel bad? Why should he pity a man for suddenly sharing in the pain of what his own people had done? Why should he feel bad for his old enemy when he’d never asked him to climb into his mind and body, when he’d never asked for any of this.

Pity and anger warred in his chest as he listened to Castor’s body take deep, gasping breaths, like he was trying to steady himself against the pain.

<<Sorry,>> the mage gasped again, <<Sorry, I didn’t mean to - fuck. I think while I’m in there - we both have to calm down together. I can feel your heart racing in there. That’s. I’m not. It’s just supposed to be sight and sound. It’s. I hate it. I see me but don’t feel me. That’s new. Fuck.>>

Ed timed his breaths to Castor’s body’s breathing, feeling his tangle of emotions start to fade again, unsustainable. He was tired. Gods, he was tired. They’d only just woken up and come here and he was already so tired. Slowing his breaths just made it harder to fight it, harder to focus on anything but the pain and the exhaustion and his presence in his own body.

<<Ok,>> Castor said, <<Ok. Ok. Back in a moment. Gotta make sure it works.>>

He hadn’t felt Castor get closer before, but now he felt him leave, the feeling of surprise he hadn’t realized was coming from Castor easing and the mage’s voice quieting just slightly as he rambled more <<Ok. Alright. Ok>>s.

Castor’s return was announced by another deep, pained gasp of air from the mage’s body, but this time Ed felt Castor’s presence solidifying in his mind.

He felt no particular sensation that told him Castor was on his left side, but sensed it somehow regardless, moving his right hand almost instinctively to clasp his own left shoulder comfortingly.

<<Oh,>> Castor whispered, right there and so, so quiet, <<Oh, Ed. I’m. I knew, but - I didn’t.>>

Something about this, about holding his own shoulder to touch Castor, about the half-daze of knowing things he couldn’t know, sensing things that weren’t there, cut through him to the core. <> he answered the mage, <>

Castor moved fast this time, out of Ed’s mind and into his own body again before Ed had finished realizing what he’d said. A moment later, Ed had processed the fact that he’d begged and not begged, said what he shouldn’t and meant it and felt nothing bad in the moment of it, and Castor’s hand came down gently to rest over his own, warm and comforting.

<>

Ed couldn’t possibly answer. He couldn’t. Something had broken open again, something real was obvious and aching and right there in the open where Castor couldn’t miss it. He shoved against the other man’s presence in their little arrow loop, but he knew without asking that whatever his mind or heart or soul had managed of a shove hid nothing of the whatever-it-was this extra closeness had cut its way down to.

Castor straightened up, peeked around the edge of the embrasure, and hurried outside and away, into the shadows where he’d be invisible, apparently.

Ed laid where he’d been left, feeling like a crab cracked open, the meat inside exposed to the open air. It ached, but it was a good ache, and he didn’t have the energy to hate it. Tears slipped from his eyes and he didn’t stop them, letting them flow silently down his cheeks and leaving alone the question of where they were coming from. It was dangerous, with him like this. Too dangerous. He breathed, and cried, and wondered when he’d feel Castor’s mind drawing closer again.

*****

Castor’s body ached faintly in all the places Ed hurt, a ghost of the way it felt to look through the man’s eyes. It wouldn’t let Castor go. He moved as fast as he could without alerting anyone, the ache lingering somewhere underneath the skin it didn’t belong to. He moved. Shadow. Shadow. Ache. He planned each move as he made the one before it, hurrying from shadow to shadow, where he’d be invisible, disappearing into the blind spots of the universe. He needed to hurry.

Lost in the shadows, he ached.

#whump #d&d whump #castor and ed #aftermath of torture #suicidal ideation tw #mood swings #shame #self-loathing #psychic links #hurt/comfort #probably? a bit?#they were really supposed to get farther into plan b but ed's more alert today and by alert i mean SO confused and mood swingy #castor steal things quickly and come back challenge #i want to write y'all in safety #pls cooperate #note to readers i cannot guarantee they will cooperate #feel like this installment is a bit melodramatic tbh lads #enjoyed it tho so melodramatic is what u get

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