#I feel like all of us who are still here have forged a warriors bond that can never be broken after surviving some of the Recent Nonsense | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theostrophywife · 2 years

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the song of the phoenix.

masterlist (azriel x reader) request: @carlotawelshshit could you do one where the reader is the second oldest archeron sister and she has been with the ic for a very long time now but it's just now when the mate bond appears to az and then to her? author's note: writing this was so much fun. thank you for the request. i got a little carried away, but i hope you like it anyways. feel free to send more! summary: as the second eldest archeron sister, you've always felt invisible, but a song from the shadows confirms that azriel has seen you all along.

All your life, you felt invisible.

Nesta was the fearless warrior. Elain was the gentle beauty. Feyre was the huntress with a heart of gold.

As the second eldest Archeron, you were the overlooked sister. Quiet and shy, the wallflower who preferred to use her voice to sing rather than speak. It was a cruel twist of fate when the Cauldron took the one thing you loved and twisted it into a weapon to harm others.

Now every time you sang, your voice had the ability to shake the seas and crumble mountains. Amren said that with proper practice, your power could desecrate entire villages. It was a gift, she said. It felt like a curse.

Still, you needed to learn how to master it if you wanted to help your friends fight against Koschei. So here you were, sitting on the balcony at the House of Wind while balancing an empty goblet in your hand. The assignment that Amren tasked you with seemed simple enough. Shatter the glass using your voice.

The day had come and gone as the sunset painted Velaris with its pink and golden hue and yet the glass remained intact. You draped a leg over the edge of the balcony, sighing. A huge contributor to your failed attempts was your own fear. You were afraid of this strange power within you. A year had passed since you were turned into High Fae, months had dredged on after the war with Hybern, and yet you hadn’t deigned to sing again since the Cauldron forged you into a harbinger of destruction.

Anger coiled around your heart like a dark beast, clawing its way to the surface as you wrapped your fingers around the goblet. You gripped it so tightly that it began to hurt. Unaccustomed to your newfound Fae strength, shards of glass shattered in your hand and sliced opened your palm. Crimson droplets snaked down your wrist, leaving trails of blood on your cotton dress.

“That’s one way to complete Amren’s assignment.”

You turned abruptly, nearly falling out of the balustrade before strong arms wrapped around your waist. Shadows cast its net of darkness to keep you from careening over the edge while came face to face with the shadowsinger. A flash of concern flickered through Azriel’s hazel eyes before he set you down on the marble floor.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Heat flared through your cheeks as you shook your head. “It’s alright. I probably shouldn’t be sitting this high up with my track record of clumsiness.”

Azriel studied you, his gaze drifting down to the cut on your right hand. An overwhelming sense of embarrassment washes over you when you realize that he witnessed your angry outburst. Instinctively, you slipped your hand into the pockets of your dress to hide them from view. The shadowsinger catches your wrist, a frown settling over his handsome face as he examines the blood.

“We should get you cleaned up.”

You waved away his concern. You hated causing anyone worry. “It’s fine, really. I can do it myself.”

A hard expression settles over his features. “Do you know how to properly bandage a wound?”

He raised a brow, knowing how squeamish you were when it came to injuries of any sort. When you shook your head slowly, Azriel smiled. “It’s alright. Given my line of work, I’ve picked up a thing or two from Madja. I can show you, if you’d like. You may be High Fae now, but you still have to make sure it heals properly.”

You eventually concede, finding yourself sitting on Azriel’s bed as he prepares the necessary items. Though you’ve been living at the House of Wind for awhile, you’ve never seen the inside of his room. It was darkly furnished, but not unwelcoming. As was standard, there was a bed, a desk, and a dresser. The door to the right connected to the shared space leading to Cassian’s old room, which you now occupied. On the left side, there was a bathing room that contained a tub large enough to accommodate Illyrian wings. The thought of Azriel soaking in the hot water and washing his wings after a long day instantly had your entire body heating up.

It felt wrong to think of your friend that way, especially given his interest in your younger sister. You shook the thought away, quietly watching as Azriel strode back into the room with a basin of water in his hands. He set it down on his dresser, soaking a cloth while he settled beside you. Azriel wrung the towel and turned to face you.

He seemed hesitant, looking down at his own scarred hands for a brief moment. You knew of Azriel’s insecurity as well as the story behind the burns. When he told you during one of your late night conversations in your shared living space, it took everything within you to not hunt his step-brothers down and make them pay for their cruelty. Instead, you thanked Azriel for trusting you with the painful memory.

You told him that his hands were beautiful, because it was the truth. On that night, you saw Azriel smile for the first time. The look on his face was the most breathtaking sight you’ve ever seen.

As doubt flickered through his eyes now, you wish you had the courage to tell the shadowsinger how you felt. The same way that you’ve been feeling since that night, but that would only serve to complicate things. It was painfully clear that Azriel only saw you as a friend and you didn’t want to ruin that, so instead you remained quiet. Like you always did.

“May I?” Azriel asks with a tone of uncertainty. You gave him a small nod of encouragement, rolling up the sleeve of your dress.

Ever so gently, Azriel cleans the blood from your cut with careful concentration. The setting sun cast a warm, golden glow over his face, hitting his hazel eyes at just the right angle to bring out the golden flecks within them. His dark brows furrowed with focus as he pulled out a small vial from his dresser. A clear liquid glowed within as he pinched it between his fingers.

“This might sting a bit, but it’ll help sterilize the wound.”

“Okay,” you say.

Azriel places a drop onto your cut and you wince as the liquid burns your palm. His fingers curl around your wrist, tracing soothing patterns onto your skin. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

The shadowsinger’s eyes flickered up to your face, but you averted his gaze, afraid of what he might find there if he looked hard enough. It was a miracle in itself that he hadn’t deciphered your feelings by now. Azriel was keen and observant, which is why you avoided being alone with him as much as possible. Some days you couldn’t avoid it, given that you lived across the hall from one another, but with your constant visits to the River House and Azriel being away on missions, the late night talks had been kept to a minimum.

It was probably for the best because the more you got to know him, the more you valued Azriel’s friendship and you didn’t want to do or say anything that might jeopardize it.

Azriel finished cleaning your wound and began to wrap gauze around your hand. Once he secured it safely, his shadows swirled through your arm and placed soothing kisses over your skin. You smiled, chuckling softly.

“Sorry,” Azriel says sheepishly. “They seem to have a mind of their own today.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

He shifts on the bed, facing you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You place your hand in your lap, sighing. “I just…feel so frustrated. It’s been nearly two years since the Cauldron gave me this power and I still don’t know how to wield it. My sisters, our friends, they’re all doing their part to prepare for what’s to come and I can’t even manage this one task. I hate feeling useless.”

Azriel surveys you carefully, a frown forming on his face. “You’re not useless. It’s completely understandable that you haven’t been able to master your power given all that you’ve been through. These things take time.”

“We don’t have time,” you reply. “Feyre learned how to wield all of the High Lord’s powers before the War. Nesta has her Valkyrie training. Even Elain has sought to understand more about her seer abilities, but I’m still stuck in this place. Still terrified of this destructive power that the Cauldron gave to me.”

“Your sisters have dealt with their powers in their own ways and while they did, you supported them every step of the way. You encouraged them to have patience with themselves. I just wish that you’d extend that same grace to yourself.”

Azriel stares up at you in earnest. There was nothing but sincerity in his eyes. The more he looked at you like that, the harder it became to remind yourself that you were only friends.

“It’s hard to see everyone else adjusting to their lives here while I remain stagnant,” your voice cracked as panic rose up in your throat. “The Cauldron gave my sisters abilities, but it took what I loved most and warped it into something monstrous.”

You curled your left hand into a fist, nails digging crescent shapes into the surface of your skin. The anger was bubbling up in you again, laced with frustration and grief and a million other emotions that you were so exhausted of feeling. A single tear slid down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away, ashamed that such a simple thing could reduce you to tears.

To your surprise, Azriel lifted your chin up with his fingers. The action was full of uncertainty as though he expected you to recoil from his touch. He wiped the tear away with his thumb, caressing your cheek tenderly.

“Is that why you haven’t sang since that day in Hybern?” You nod silently as Azriel beheld the pain and anguish written all over your face. “I thought so. When I first met Feyre, she told me about you. About how beautiful your voice was. How much you loved to sing. Then she took us to visit you and I heard it for myself. You were always humming under your breath. Singing in the garden when you thought no one else could hear. Even with the looming war, I found myself listening for your voice.”

Your heart felt hollow and empty. The song had been entirely ripped out of it. Azriel brushed your cheek again, holding you so gently as though he was afraid you might break. “But then, Hybern happened. When you and your sisters first came here, I thought that I might hear you sing again. I waited and listened every night. But I only heard silence.”

“I can’t,” you cry out. “I can’t sing knowing what my voice can do.”

“I know you think that the Cauldron made you into a weapon, but even weapons can be wielded to protect others. You tried it once and failed, but it doesn’t mean you should give up.”

Tears pricked the back of your eyes. The restraint you had was barely holding and the dam of your emotions was threatening to flood your heart. “How many people will I hurt in the process? How much will I destroy because of this power I carry? How long until everyone else realizes that this monstrosity has always been inside me and the Cauldron only brought it to the surface?”

Your chest heaved as tears fell down your cheeks. The questions that have been eating away at you since that fateful day finally hung in the air like a noose tightening around your neck with every breath.

“You’re not a monster, dove,” Azriel whispers softly.

The burden of carrying everything alone crashed down on you all at once. In five simple words, Azriel had voiced the thing you feared the most. His reassurance should’ve brought relief, but instead it only served to remind you of the complexity of your own feelings when it came to the shadowsinger.

“I-I can’t talk about this with you.”

Hurt marred his beautiful face. Your heart crumbled in your chest, hating that you were the cause of such a devastating sight. But for your own sake, you had to put an end to this conversation and distance yourself from the shadowsinger before it was too late.

Azriel stared at you while you wiped your tears away. The intensity of his gaze burned as he examined every tell of emotion in your body language. Finally, he released a shaky breath.

With a voice of uncertainty, Azriel turns to you. “Did I do something wrong?”

The ice thawed in your veins. You shook your head vehemently, eyes welling with tears once more. “No, it’s not like that. You didn’t do anything wrong, Az.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?” You tensed at his words, freezing in place. He clocked the shift in your posture and frowned.

“I haven’t…I haven’t been avoiding you. We do plenty of things together all the time.” Even as the words slipped out of your mouth, they sounded entirely unconvincing.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed. “But never alone. Not since the night I told you about my hands. Something changed between us then." There was such anguish in his voice as though the thought had kept him up at night. "I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what I broke.”

The walls felt like they were caving in, your chest caving deeper and deeper into the hollow space of your heart. All this time, you didn’t think Azriel would notice you slowly pulling away. Putting up a barrier between you so you wouldn’t get hurt. “It’s not about you, Az. It’s about me. I…I just don’t think spending time alone together is the best idea.”

“Why not? I thought we were becoming friends. I thought I was slowly getting through the wall you put up around yourself. I thought that you were finally letting me see past the armor of fake smiles and hollow laughs.”

“That’s the problem, Az. I don’t want you to see all of me.”

Azriel blinked, never balking. Entirely unfazed by your stubborn effort. “I am your friend, dove. Don’t push me away.”

“I know, Azriel. You are my friend and that’s precisely why I’ve stayed away. I know how you feel about Elain and I respect that, but please don’t expect me to stand by and watch while you pine after my sister.”

“Felt,” Azriel emphasizes. “How I felt about Elain. Those emotions were a manifestation of my jealousy towards my brothers finding their own mates. I care for Elain as a friend, but nothing more."

Azriel pauses, weighing his words. "There is another who has completely bewitched me mind, body, and soul. Even while she was human, even when she thought she was invisible to those around her, I heard her call.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look at the male before you. “Do not say things you do not mean. It’s cruel.”

Azriel inhaled sharply. “You know that every word I’ve ever uttered to you has been true. You can fortify that steel wall of yours as much as you want, but I will rip it apart inch by inch if that's what it takes to make you see yourself the way that I see you.”

A sob clawed its way up to your throat. Didn’t he understand that the steel wall you’d put around yourself was the only thing keeping you from falling apart? The only thing protecting the rest of your family and your friends from the darkness threatening to swallow you whole?

Silent tears fell on your lap as you held back the floodgate threatening to spill over. “If I let my guard down, then you’d see me for who I really am. All the dark and ugly parts that I try so hard to bury because deep down I have always known that I - I am broken.”

The tenderness in his eyes held nothing but understanding. “I was broken once too, but my brothers, my friends, you - you helped me put the pieces back together. You convinced me that I can be whole again and I’ll do the same for you. However long it takes.” Azriel held your face in his hands, determination blazing through those hazel eyes of his. “Because I love you.”

The steel wall around your heart collapsed at his words. You sobbed, clutching at Azriel’s chest while you completely fell apart. Strong arms wrapped around you, enveloping you in the familiar scent of night chilled mist and cedar. With the flap of his powerful wings, Azriel cocooned you in the safety of night.

“It’s alright, dove.” Azriel whispers, rubbing soothing circles onto your back. “You can rage. You can scream. You can cry. You can fall apart and I’ll be right here to pick up the pieces.”

“I love you, dove.” You curled into his chest, weeping and weeping until your voice was hoarse and your head throbbed. Azriel stroked your hair, pressing kisses on the side of your head. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” he repeated in your ear like a lullaby.

Shadows swirled through your form, placing a million, tiny little kisses on your skin. One swept over your cheek, curling through your ear to hum a familiar tune that you haven’t heard since you were a child. The song was soothing, reminding you of the time before your family lost your fortune, when you would play the grand piano in the music room, singing into the late hours of the night. Your mother had always scolded you for it, but your sisters would oftentimes curl up on the carpet to listen to your voice.

Despite yourself, you hummed along softly. In the darkness of Azriel’s wings, a golden bright light glowed from your chest as though the music was coming alive from within you. He unfurled them slowly as shadow and light danced together until the thread formed a bridge between you. When you looked up, the shadowsinger's eyes were lined with silver.

“It was you,” Azriel whispered. “In my father’s dungeons. I heard you.”

Beneath your palm, Azriel’s heart thundered in his chest. You could feel it as though it were your own. It echoed in your ears, thrumming to the beat of your own heart as though yours and Azriel’s were one and the same.

“What do you mean, Az?”

Tears flooded his eyes and it knocked the very air out of your lungs. A protective instinct awakened inside of you as Azriel released a shaky breath. “When I was stuck in the darkness, I heard my shadows sing that same song. I’d been in that cell for so long that I was ready to lose hope, but then your song pierced through the silence.”

An ache formed in your chest as Azriel recalled the painful memory. You reached out to touch him, wiping the tears streaming down his face. Golden bursts of light thread through your fingers and into his hair and Azriel’s shadows intertwined themselves in its gleam.

“How is that possible?” you asked.

“The bond,” Azriel says. “I heard you through the bond. I felt you and you saved me.”

A memory floated through the surface. You were alone in the night, sitting in that same music room with your fingers hovering over the keys of the grand piano. An overwhelming sense of hopelessness and despair washed over you in waves, knocking into you again and again until you felt like you were drowning in it. The loneliness felt like a sentient being. A beast clawing to be released. You understood its pain and anger and fear because you’ve felt it all your life. The darkness didn’t scare you. It just needed a friend and you recognized that longing more than anyone, so you sang. A harmonious melody to soothe the feeling of isolation you both shared.

You’d felt its pull all your life. That darkness - it wasn’t the same one that suffocated you when you were plunged into the Cauldron. It wasn’t evil or malevolent. The veil of shadow you’d felt that night had become a part of you and you’d carried it all along without truly knowing what it was.

“I- I felt you too,” you confirm. “That night. You needed a friend and so did I. When I reached out, I could feel the pain, the grief, the sorrow, the love, the joy. I think it’s been here all along.” You clutch at your chest.

“What does that mean, Az?” you asked softly, but you already knew. The word was ingrained in every fiber of your being. Echoing in the depths of all that you were, are, and would be.

Mate.

The bond of shadow and light snapped taut between you and it felt as though your very soul aligned to his.

Azriel placed your hand over his heart. “You’re - you’re my mate.”

You couldn’t breathe. A mix of emotions welled up in your chest again. “Are you - is that okay with you?”

He cupped your cheek in his hand. “Of course it is. I meant what I said, dove. I love you. Not because the Cauldron chose us to be mates, but because I chose you and I will do so every day for the rest of my life.”

“I choose you too, Azriel. I think I’ve loved you longer than I realized,” the tension fell from your shoulders as you finally allowed yourself to say the words. “You saw me when no one else really ever has.”

Azriel wrapped his wings around you. In the cocoon of night, your skin glowed golden. His shadows twirled and danced with your light, weaving through your wrists and into your hair. The pure look of adoration on Azriel’s face made your heart melt.

“I told you that I wouldn’t stop until you saw yourself as I saw you. Well, this is exactly what I’ve always seen. You are pure light, dove. Bright and burning, just for me.”

You looked up at him and felt the love traveling down that bond of yours. When you leaned in to cup his face, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Azriel’s eyes fluttered closed as he pressed his forehead against yours. His nose brushed against yours and in the most gentle manner possible, he closed the gap between you and kissed you.

The moment your lips met, you felt the light pulse within you. It bathed the both of you in its warmth, soft and golden like the rising sun. You felt complete in Azriel’s arms like all those years of feeling out of place and invisible were washed away with that one action. He felt like home.

“All my life, it’s been nothing but dusk,” Azriel whispers. “But then you came and brought the dawn with your light.”

This beautiful male would never stop taking your breath away. “You are my moon and stars, Azriel. I only learned to appreciate the darkness because of you.”

Azriel kissed you again, soft and sweet as though he was putting the broken pieces back together just like he promised. His shadows twined around you, their gentle caress a loving reminder of the bond you now shared.

“They like you,” Azriel says with a smile.

“I like them, too.” You chuckled as one of his shadows danced with your light. “But I like my mate most of all.”

You kissed the tip of his nose, making Azriel beam. “Mate. I like the sound of that.”

“Why are we only feeling it now?”

Azriel blinked, tilting his head in thought. “I think it’s because you finally let me in. You allowed yourself to be vulnerable enough to truly feel the bond.”

With that, you felt a loving tug on the bond of shadow and light. The golden beams shimmered on your skin and Azriel reached out to caress one. “I think I know what you are, dove.”

“What am I?”

Azriel tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re a phoenix. The Cauldron tried to snuff out your light, but you rose from the ashes.”

You didn’t know what it meant or even what being a phoenix entailed, but you didn’t feel worried. Instead, you felt relief. “Thank you, Az.”

“For what?”

You smiled. “For seeing me.”

Azriel wrapped you in his arms once more and you melted into him. Whatever came next, you knew that he would be by your side to help figure it out.

For now, you were just content to feel safe in your mate’s embrace.

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grokebaby · 2 years

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"Pexton is.. A bit different"

A commonly echoed sentiment amongst the smaller circles of Xerxes' army, usually the foot soldiers since that's what Pexton herself is. Sometimes she catches the attention of some higher ups. Not for any particularly skilled fighting, it's hard to stand out for that in the Wrath district - but her divergence in socializing.

See what's usual in the Wrath district, in terms of social interaction and bonding, is the sort of warriorly comradery that's forged through fists. Wrestling is like getting to know someone. Of course, what better way to introduce yourself to another warrior than a duel, right? You can tell alot from the person through how they fight, and more notably, how they win or lose. If you impress someone by defeating them, well you've got yourself the beginning of a beautiful budding friendship. Granted that that's what you were going for. Those who only fight to win are a more hard to please crowd. But even those snobs still have their own, selectively picked friend groups. A tie between two opponents is possibly one of the juiciest things that can happen. Two people, matching equally in combat often means a rematch - several even. Regardless of if the outcome is negative or positive, that sort of thing is, socially speaking, A Big Deal. It has connotations and meaning that vary based on context and individual, you know?

Now, Pexton of course engages in the usual friendly combat same as anyone else. She doesn't walk away from a loss with any bitterness or grudge. In fact she doesn't walk away from a loss with anything at all. Good game, bye. She's usually pretty indifferent to any rematches as well. This leads people to assume she's more of a Winner type person, but no not really. Upon winning a match she - get this, comforts her losing opponent. Obviously it's completely normal to give a few words of gratitude for the battle, maybe even a little encouragement for the next duel. But the way she does it would be seen as really condescending, or confusing at best. Being overly complimentary is seen as Off, it gives the Wrath district inhabitants a feeling that you're trying to trick them. This is why Wrath district people don't really get along with anyone from the Pride district.

As an addendum: In turn for Pride district folk, being overly aggressive in social encounters leads to either passive aggressive avoidance or open complaining behind the disliked individual's back. Now becoming enemies like this would potentially be seen as bonding by a Wrath warrior but your typical Pride office worker considers it the opposite of friendship, obviously.

Back to Pexton. It's not just about fighting habits, it's also the everything else, when she's out of the arena. She's not disingenuously kind, nor coming off too strong really, but her attempts at flirting (or befriending) tend to go over people's heads. She's open and lenient, a kind of "No worries I get it!" person, which is unusual. People see her as uninterested. She's not, though. She just doesn't feel Passionately™ about combat the same way. It's just achievements, a hobby, a work, exercise, fun, you know? She doesn't build relationships based on it.

This would be seen as normal probably everywhere else, but not here. Now she does use her combat achievements to show off every now and then - flirting, you know? But she doesn't engage the target of admiration, but someone else instead to impress them. It comes across as tacky. It kinda feels the same as being sweet with someone else to make your crush jealous. She doesn't intend this, but it just happens. Unfortunately she's still a tad clueless as to why her people of interest are upset with her. She's all ready to try and make up for it but her idea of that is different from theirs.

She's doing her best

#my ocs #Character notes #(more like fucking. Character essay)#Pexton #Demon oc #Lore #Oc building #Aka me starting out with wanting to develop a random bg character #And ending up with a lore post #You're welcome #Throughout writing this all I was constantly like #Autism vibes.......

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vierandancer · 1 year

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My reasons for joining the Scions of the Seventh Dawn were selfish. There was no hiding that, from Minfilia or the others. If anything, there was a part of me that harboured suspicion, and maybe even a bit of contempt for them:

Who could possibly ask a boy, barely nineteen, to take on the burdens that they had asked of A’kihiko? They didn’t know him, couldn’t care for him as his family did. And if he died in their struggle, would they not just find another kid with such blessings? No. I would not stand for it; if my brother insisted on this endeavor, then I at least would be there with him.

Of course I would get satisfaction from helping others – it wasn’t a position that I hated. But if I would ever speak plainly, if I were ever to be honest with myself, I would say that I didn’t owe the Scions anything. I didn’t owe Eorzea, or even Limsa Lominsa anything. I was there to protect my own. That was all.

Feelings would change. Bonds would be forged, however fragile. Some better with others, but still at arm’s length. It was to relieve loneliness, or in the hopes of making future operations smoother. But they intimidated me, because I knew that they knew that I did not belong. That vulnerability ran through my mind on loop, and so I kept my mouth shut and did as I was told. They were simply allowing me to be there, and I could not afford to be discarded. So I did my best, even if I felt like they all saw through me.

When we fled from the Bloody Banquet, the Scions sacrificed themselves so that we could get away. Rather, it was so that A’kihiko could get away. He was the important one, and I was glad for that – yet, I still felt guilty as we made our way to Ishgard with Alphinaud and Tataru. I was the least important of the Scions, yet I was still here. Minfilia would have been a better choice to survive, or Y’shtola or – literally any of them. Any of them would have accomplished more at A’kihiko’s side.

Yet it was me who had made it out of that cave with him. Me, with little more to offer than that of a common sellsword. But at the same time, I knew I wouldn’t have changed the outcome even if I had the chance. Selfish, even now.

The Scions saved him, and then so did Haurchefant. Ishgard permitted us entry, if only because of our connections to the Warrior of Light. It made perfect sense to me, and yet …

Yet as I passed through the Gates of Judgment and into the dominion of the Holy See, my feeling of unwantedness only intensified. Ishgard was already known for its wariness of outsiders, but I must have been the first Viera most of them had seen. Their gazes lingered, some incredulous, some spattered with lust; out of defiance, I did not cover up or try to make myself smaller. I was used to this sort of thing, after all. At least – that was what I thought.

But it weighed on me. Our situation was perilous, precarious, and A’kihiko had asked me specifically not to start any fights. I was offended, but knew he had warned me aware that I would be the one most likely to do so. Especially after seeing the state of the Brume.

Still, this did not exclude me from our missions. Together, we began to tackle the complicated matters of the Holy See. But if Tataru and Alphinaud’s temporary arrest was any indication of the corruption here, it was clear that we really really needed to be careful. It was because of my win as Tataru’s champion in the ensuing Trial by Combat that I was asked to lay low a bit, again, and I did as I was told.

This was when I met Fray. Sort of.

I had overheard someone fretting, knickers in a twist about some heretic being slain by Temple Knights, body dropped in the Brume. I had been tired of sitting in time out; I wanted to do something more helpful than just kill things. I wanted – I wanted to be able to bring information back.

When I found the corpse, something caught my eye. A stone. Again, seeking a clue, I reached out to it – and —

And I woke up on the steps, with that corpse I had been examining now looming over me. It was strange; the whispers earlier had been about a man’s body, but this one – Fray – was clearly a woman. Or rather, she sounded like a woman. It didn’t matter and I wasn’t about to rudely ask, though, and as I tried to clear my head, a scream erupted from deep within the Brume.

I investigated, as did Fray, and it turned out that Temple Knights had stolen a young girl who had defied them in her grandmother’s defense. The implications of her fate made me sick, but when Fray bid I go after them, I hesitated. I wasn’t supposed to start anything.

But the girl needed help.

But what if I got us kicked out of Ishgard?

Fray grew frustrated with my hesitation and offered me a spare armor set that would cover up my identity. I was curious as to why and how she had that on hand, but there wasn’t time. I accepted it, and changed into the armor – heavier than I anticipated, but it was her own. As we ran to catch up with them, Fray handed me her blade; I tried to protest that this wouldn’t suit my style, but she insisted that it was what I needed.

And somehow, some way – I knew she was right. We rescued the girl, but with my face hidden by the full coverage helm I had borrowed, my ensured anonymity lent to my vicious nature. I tore through them, which was especially easy with a sword that size, and…soon there was no one left but us. Us and the girl, who thanked us desperately before heading back.

It was here that Fray proposed they teach me the path of the so-called Dark Knight. Honestly, the title made me snort-laugh – so dramatic. I declined, and returned her armor and sword. I didn’t need them, and I certainly shouldn’t have been doing things…like this.

But even then, I knew I’d return. And so did Fray.

I had gone back and forth between the Brume and House Fortemps for Scion business several times after that, but I didn’t see Fray again. I assumed she must have moved on, even though I knew deep down that that wasn’t the case.

It was shortly after the Sultana had been “revived” and restored to power. I remember because of how angry I was. No one was satisfied with the fact that Lolorito remained where he was, upholding the status quo – but it was better than Adeledji’s plan to actually kill the Sultana. Just – it didn’t feel right to me. I still wanted to break his godsdamned neck for giving us so much grief, for chasing us out, for forcing the others to endanger themselves –!!!

I had found that lady-in-waiting first, you know. I found her before A’kihiko and Alphinaud and even Yugiri. She tried to play dumb, but I didn’t allow it. I picked her up by her throat and something inside urged me to squeeze. And so I did. I did and I felt her brittle windpipe begin to constrict beneath my bare hands, watched as she gasped and clawed for air …

And then the others came in and I dropped her, muttering that she had tried to get away. Whether they believed me or not (I doubt they did) didn’t matter, because Raubahn arrived shortly after to interrogate her proper. And I sank back into the background, as always. As was my role.

But something gnawed at me inside, and it had been building momentum since Ysayle had told the true history of Nidhogg’s wrath. I knew very well it could all be a lie, but something about it rang true to me (despite how Estinien raged in offense). More importantly, it was after that tale had been told that I began to feel strange.

If not for A’kihiko’s sudden stagger, perhaps Alphinaud and Estinien would have noticed that I, too, had been hit with a wave of – of something. That when my vision cleared, I could see six crystals spread out around my brother, translucent yet vibrant in the snow. Light spilled forth from him, and one crystal in the path of its radiance lit up bright and blue. I didn’t know what I was seeing, so I had ignored it. Perhaps, I later reasoned, it was a side effect from being around him whenever he had these… visions.

But as soon it as it had appeared, it was gone. A’kihiko was moving on, as was the rest of us. We returned and didn’t speak on the matter.

Then it happened again. As we defeated Tioman and ascended to the Churning Mists. Again, a vision of crystals, surrounding my brother, restoring one’s golden earthy light. I knew I should have asked him about it, especially seeing as how I seemed to be the only one who noticed, but again – I did not.

It was fear, but I don’t know of what. There was already too much on everyone’s minds.

But it was these emotions that sent me back to the Brume, looking for Fray. And this time I found her.

“I had a feeling you’d come by tonight.” I tried to apologize, but she silenced me with a look. “What are you blubbering for? I don’t want to hear that. You have questions, don’t you? Speak those, and naught else!”

I was intimidated yet again. I didn’t want to bore her with unrelated things about crystals and light, especially if it was related to private Scion matters. So instead, I explained about the voice I had heard – no, felt when I confronted the Lady-in-waiting. I kept the details vague, of course, but Fray didn’t seem bothered by it.

She went on to explain that the voice was difficult to describe; a beacon guiding the dark knight to her true calling. Again, I tried to argue that I had no intention of becoming a Dark Knight, but she said that I would have to walk the path if I wanted to discover the source of that voice. In any other situation, I would have walked away, but…I did not.

I did not commit, but I said I was willing to learn more. She seemed satisfied with that, if not still a bit offended, and bid we travel to Little Ala Mihgo to perform a communion. It still sounded silly and dramatic (and heretic-like) to me, but I did as she beckoned.

She needed me to kill something for her. It was a simple task, and yet the way she said it made my heart pound. Maybe it was the whole ritual thing. Regardless, I was directed to speak with a previous acquaintance – Gundobald. I remembered him vaguely, and he… remembered my brother. Just my brother. But he couldn’t forget a pair of rabbit ears and knew I was his sister.

“Her name is Meiko,” Fray intoned sharply. “Meiko Mochikoko. More than just the damned Warrior of Light’s sister. Remember it well.”

Her defense caught me off-guard. I didn’t expect that from her at all; in fact, I was pretty sure she didn’t even really like me. In my daze she took control of the conversation, and needled out the information we needed. Peistes were being pests, and we would be welcome to slay more than a few. Gundobald provided us with the bait, which Fray shoved into my arms in passing.

“Don’t stand there bloody gooey-eyed like a lovesick child,” she scolded. “I shouldn’t have to demand respect for you.”

“R–Right.” Now I was embarrassed again, but I managed to swallow my desire to apologize. All we had to do was set the bait now. Or, rather, that was all I had to do. Fray stood apart while I tried to spread out the aldgoat carcass in an appealing (?) manner.

“I know you have your reasons for not wanting to stir trouble in Ishghard,” she continued. “But you don’t have to worry about that here, right?”

“Right,” I repeated, and stood back to observe my bloody handiwork. “All right. I think this should attract at least one of them.”

“Let’s hope for more than one.” Fray moved beside me, offering her greatsword once again. “I can tell you really need to let loose.”

I looked at the weapon and frowned, “I need to be quick if I’m takin’ on multiple enemies. That’ll slow me down, I don’t–”

“This is the weapon of a Dark Knight,” Fray barked, and shoved it into my hands again. “You don’t need to be quick. You just need to swing and cause as much damage as possible. Don’t whine, it’s not as if you lack the strength to lift it. You started with your father’s axe, didn’t you?”

At the time, I didn’t realize that Fray had commented on something she couldn’t have known. She bullied me into forsaking my chakrams again, and I accepted the heavy great sword with some reluctance.

As I predicted, my lack of experience with the weapon showed when the beasts were lured by the scent of fresh meat. But although I was knocked aside, Fray didn’t let me fall; she healed me, albeit from a distance, and I powered through. Once I built up the momentum of my swings, there was actually a rhythm to it; maybe it was just my dancer tendencies bleeding across melee styles, but once I figured out the balance, it felt so much easier.

And I slaughtered them. I slaughtered every peiste in the area – and also all the other beasts, too. When I was finally spent, I collapsed, covered in a mess of blood and sinew that was not my own. Fray helped me stand, or tried to. I just looked up at her, adrenaline pumping through my veins – and wholly satisfied. I didn’t hold anything back, didn’t worry about how others might perceive me or those associated with me. I was the daughter of pirates, vicious and violent and free and it felt bloody great.

“…You sure you don’t fancy me?” Fray tsked. “You keep looking at me like–”

I shoved her over.

A little while later, we stood face-to-face, and she commended me for my efforts. The communion ritual that I had killed so much for was simple. Almost laughably so. Much like I did with aetheryte crystals, I had to try and attune myself to her. So I closed my eyes and followed her instructions, slowing my breathing, trying to hear that voice again…

It was almost like falling asleep. The voice echoed in the back of my head, then slowly moved to the front. It spoke in a chant of moving forward, onward and endlessly – and then it was gone.

Fray said that it was progress, but not very helpful. That she would see me back in Ishgard when I was ready to chase the voice once more. Then she was gone, and … I couldn’t remember whether or not she had teleported then and there. But it didn’t matter. I still had to finish this quest.

When I returned to Little Ala Mihgo, my clothes had been stained so deeply that Gundobald paled when I first appeared. It was kind of disappointing. After all, he had asked me to cull their beasts. Was this not the look of a successful hunt? It didn’t bother me too much. With that task done, I headed back to Ul’dah – to clean up – and then returned to Ishgard.

I would seek her out again soon.

I left House Fortemps and went straight to the Brume. I didn’t even tell anyone where I was going. I didn’t even care.

I just had to leave Ishgard.

“Fray,” I found her where she always was. Was it wrong to use her as a distraction? Probably. But I knew Fray wouldn’t care if it meant progress. “What do I have to do next? I don’t care what it is, as long as it’s away from here. Please.”

The Dark Knight turned towards me, and I could see pity reflected in her eyes. I figured she must have heard what happened, but looking back, that didn’t make any sense. How could she have known what had transpired at the Vault this quickly?

But again – I didn’t care. I couldn’t think about it. This dark knight stuff thrived on pain, right? Well gods be damned, I was full of it. Pain and anger and frustration – it filled me up so much that I couldn’t breathe.

“Let’s return to Thanalan,” she said finally. “The Burning Wall.”

When I arrived at our destination, I took the great sword she offered me without another word. I didn’t even pause to listen for instructions. Again, like before, I tore through everything in my wake. I couldn’t stop. It was only when fatigue overpowered the adrenaline rush that I slid to the ground. Fray approached.

“Meiko.”

“I can keep goin’ – “ I waved Fray off. “I can –”

“You’ve already done it. More than enough. Again.” She settled down on the ground beside me. “And you don’t have to blame yourself for this. You know who to blame.”

Who to blame? Of course I did. The damned Heavensward, the Archbishop, the Ascians could be tossed in there for good measure, too! It was all their fault – so why, why did I feel responsible? Was it because I had watched the light fade from his eyes?

Outwardly, I didn’t respond. My chest hurt too much and now my head was spinning. I wanted to scream and thrash and just – just keep swinging this stupid oversized sword until there was nothing left but red. But I also wanted to close my eyes and sleep. Forever.

I put my head in my hands.

“It hurts. Everything hurts.”

“I know. But you need to get used to it. Whether you embrace the path of the Dark Knight or not, this road you set yourself on will be wrought with pain and death and naught else.“ She spoke the truth, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

I knew that wasn’t her goal, though.

"But really – better him than you. Right?”

I looked up slowly. “What?”

“Better Haurchefant be the one that took that lethal blow for A'kihiko. If you had jumped in, unshielded, you both would have died. It was an unfortunate sacrifice, but a good one.”

“Wh–” I was so enraged, I couldn’t even complete a coherent thought. I could only stare at her, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. Words could barely form: “How – how dare you–"

"You know it’s the truth. The truth of how you feel.” Fray tilted her head. “There’s nothing shameful about self-preservation, Meiko. You need–”

“Shut your bloody–!!!’ I finally moved to grab her, but Fray was already up and walking away.

"Let’s head to Camp Drybone. Well do the next communion there.”

I was seething, reeling as though I had been socked in th gut. How – How could she just spit such sewage so nonchalantly?! She didn’t know Haurchefant! She didn’t – she didn’t know anything!

….Except for me. She knew me, and that was the only thing that kept me from telling her to fuck off. My feelings were not quite so cold, and I would have given anything for Haurchefant to still be alive.

But I was glad…that I had survived.

–

We hadn’t even made it to Drybone when we caught sight of a panicked man running for his life. I knew Fray wanted to reach the settlement as soon as possible – so I stopped to assist him. I could feel her irritated gaze on my back as he explained his narrow escape from Amalj'aa. He had been among several pilgrims who… ah, it didn’t matter. I agreed to help, as always. I wanted to help! I did! But even I couldn’t help but wonder why people would still go unarmed into Amalj'aa territory.

“You’re the one that stopped to listen,” Fray reminded me, mocking my visible discontent as we headed in that direction. “It would do you well not to forget that there is an infinite supply of victims in this world, Meiko. Infinite. We cannot always be there to save them all.”

I didn’t want a lecture from Fray. She spoke common sense as though it were a revelation. Instead I muttered, “Let’s just focus on killin’, all right?” And that earned a laugh from her.

I had been outraged at her before, but…it felt like we were back on good terms. Well, I was still a bit mad at her – but we couldn’t bicker going into battle like this. Even if it was a battle easily won.

We freed the prisoners. It wasn’t anything special. Nobody but the Amalj'aa died, and when we were through, they pleaded with me to escort them to Camp Drybone. Fray, tired of the babysitting, elected to stay behind. She would meet with me when I finished, and so I agreed.

My clothes had been soaked thoroughly with blood yet again. I didn’t even really notice this time until I stepped into Drybone and realized more people were staring than usual. I didn’t have the energy to rent out an inn room to wash; I just found a public fountain to sit at, and dipped my hands into the water to scrub my limbs and face clean.

And it was then that I heard the whispers. They weren’t bad whispers, just stories.

Stories of my brother.

I tried not to pay too much attention to what was said; a lot of it was exaggerated anyway. But I couldn’t help but catch a few phrases, a few words – praising him, and him alone, for accomplishments that we had achieved together. Side-by-side! Then again, why was I so surprised? I did this on purpose. I sank into the background because that was my place. I didn’t want the responsibility of being well-known. So, why did hearing all of it make me feel so sick inside? Why was I so angry?

I thought about Ishgard. I thought about how we had fought against Nidhogg in the Aery together. That had been terrifying and difficult and … and the only ones names would surface at the end of day would be my brother’s and Estinien’s. The Warrior of Light and the Azure Dragoon. Although, perhaps not even the Dragoon’s, depending on whether or not we could–

“Meiko.”

I looked up from the edge of the fountain. Fray must have gotten impatient.

“We’re not done yet.”

“What?”

“I’ve decided. We’ve one more stop before we complete your communion. But this will be the last one,” she nodded down at me. “You’re close to hearing the voice, clear as day. I can feel it.”

I shut my eyes and sighed. I should have been getting back to Ishgard by now. They’d be wondering where I’d gone. But…I just wasn’t ready yet.

“All right. Where next?”

Fray had bid I meet her at Moraby Drydocks. I wasn’t sure if taking me to La Noscea had been intended as a kindness or not, but it was. I missed home. I always missed home.

Unfortunately, we could barely speak of the requirements of the next communion before I was approached. This time, however, it was by a fellow member of the Maelstrom. She knew me, and so I felt obligated to assist. A merchant was having a fit over stolen goods, and I agreed to retrieve them.

Fray was irritated, I knew, but she only grumbled a little. We went to the designated location and, as I had before, slaughtered the beasts so that I could complete my goal. Wielding the greatsword was like second nature now, and after yet another satisfying bloodbath, we returned with the goods.

But the client wasn’t satisfied. He opened his box of items and gasped in horror at the status of the items inside. For a moment, I was dumbfounded as he shouted at me, demanding recompense. Honestly, was this a joke? I looked to the woman who had asked me for help, and she wore the same expression. She wasn’t going to step in and calm him down. She…wasn’t going to do anything to defend me.

I shouldn’t have to demand respect for you.

Fray was right. Of course Fray was right. Frays was always fucking right! Always!

“You have a lot of swivin’ nerve to speak that way to me,” I seized the man – less than a man – by his collar and picked him up. The Maelstrom woman let out a panicked gasp behind me, but of course she did nothing. What a fucking surprise. “I risk my life and limb for you – for so many ungrateful little bastards like you, who can barely wipe their arse without demandin’ aid from the bloody Scions! I did what you asked of me, you entitled shite!”

Of course, now he had changed his tune. Now he was a whimpering, teary-eyed mess! Ha! Good. If that was what it took to gain respect, then so be it. He pleaded and apologized and begged for mercy.

I threw him off the pier. Then I kicked the crate of goods he’d claimed were ruined in after him.

“M-Mochikoko!” Finally the Maelstrom woman spoke up. She stared at me, visibly shocked – “I-I know he was bein’ a bastard, but that was goin’ too far!”

“Then fish him out and do your godsdamned job yourself,” I snapped. No, I would not be shamed for losing my temper. I would not take this back! I would not!

I left Moraby Drydocks. Fray was already outside.

“You did the right thing,” she confirmed. Pleased. Of course she was pleased, she was a proper arsehole. “He deserved that, and so did that spineless bitch. They’ll think twice before shoving their responsibilities off onto others, for sure.”

“Shall we do the communion?” I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I ignored her comments. I…didn’t know how I felt about them. About all of this. But I did know that I wanted to hear that voice again. Maybe it would give me an idea of what the fuck I should be doing.

Fray accepted this. “Yes. Hold out your hand, just as before.”

Just before. Just like before, I shut my eyes and concentrated. Just like before, it was like falling asleep. Comforting, cradling in that darkness. And this time, the words were clearer:

Serve. Save. Slave. Slay.

The words reverberated in my very bones and I could feel my throat start to close up. I could feel it – I could feel the contempt and disgust and the frustration I felt just minutes ago, not just for the selfish merchant, but for everyone. For everyone around me.

Serve without question, the people of Eorzea.

Save the realm in the name of Hydaelyn, or the Light, or whatever it was we were fighting for.

Slave away beneath the expectations and the dreams and lives of those depending on you.

Slay everything in your path, because at the end of the day, you are not more than a glorified weapon. A tool for others’ happiness.

But I knew that already, didn’t I?

When I regained my consciousness, I didn’t know where I was. It was still La Noscea, but the sun had set, and we were in the middle of nowhere. We. Fray was there, looming over me as she had when we had first met. But something had shifted in her and dread pitted in my stomach.

“Fray,” I started slowly, pushing myself to sit up.. “You should have woke me earlier. I need to get back to –”

“To Coerthas?” She finished sharply. “Why, Meiko? Why go back at all?”

“What do you mean why go back at all?” I frowned up at her. “I have things to do! Ser Aymeric needs–”

“None of that is your responsibility, Meiko. Perhaps it is your brother’s, but that was the path he chose. You didn’t choose this. You don’t need any of what you’ve been living for the past two years,” She gestured to something out in the distance. “Don’t you want to go home?”

“What?” I looked in the direction she had gestured, and indeed, the outline of Wadewick Landing could be seen not too far. But I shook my head and pushed myself to stand. “What are you goin’ on about!? I have responsibilities! I can’t just ditch my brother and the –”

“Why not? Haven’t you done enough?” Fray demanded. “Haven’t we suffered enough, Meiko? How many more friends do we need to see fall? How many more times do we need to see Hiko risk his life? Do you really want to be there when he inevitably–”

I didn’t let her finish that godsdamned sentence. I tackled her to the floor, but after a roll, she tossed me off.

“Stop spoutin’ that shite!” I hissed, scrambling to my feet. “Even if I wasn’t what I planned to be doin’ with my life right now, it’s the path I’m on! Isn’t that like the Dark Knight garbage you’ve been blabberin’ on about?! Isn’t that–”

“I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE!”

Fray’s voice had changed. Or, maybe it didn’t. But suddenly I was met by what sounded like –

Me. Fray no longer stood there, but a reflection of myself, swaddled in darkness. Desperate, tear-stained, bruised – like she had been fighting everyone and everything all the time.

And suddenly everything made sense.

“I can’t do this.” She stood there, shaking her head. “I’m tired of curlin’ up in Hiko’s shadow, tryin’ to make myself smaller for everyone’s convenience. M’tired of bein’ used and given’ everythin’ I could possibly think of, bleedin’ myself dry for a world that can’t give less of a godsdamned fuck about who I am!”

Our greatsword now materialized in her hands, and as it did, armor black as pitch began to spread across her skin, cloaking her in complete shadow.

“I will not stay silent anymore. I will be heard. And when I’m done with you,” Her expression twisted into something akin to madness just as the armor enclosed her head in a pointed helm. “I’ll be in complete control.”

–

Considering that it is me writing these memoirs, it should be no surprise that I managed to defeat…well, myself. I can’t tell you quite what happened, but if anyone had ever questioned whether or not chakrams could overpower greatswords, the answer is definitely no. Not alone, at least. Stubbornness and a refusal to roll over and die played a very strong part in my victory.

That and spite.

If I am being honest – and I am, or at least I am trying to as I write this – I was disappointed to learn that Fray was some sort of mix between spirit haunting the Crystal I had picked up off his course, and an amalgamation of my own darkest desires. Desires that I had to come to accept, or at least subdue, upon defeating my mirror counterpart.

In all honesty, I had come to think of Fray as a friend. Someone who understood me without really having to ask. Someone who didn’t judge me for thriving in violence or being rough ‘round the edges. But that’s too much to hope for, isn’t it?

In the end, I accepted Fray. I accepted myself, and the darkness that would live within me forever as a result of the choices I have made. But that didn’t mean that I was ready to throw everything away solely for my own benefit. Fray accepted that after I defeated them.

“If this is how it must be, then so be it. But know that when you tire of this charade, I shall be here, waiting to take the reins. You need only ask.”

Ask. I would not like to know the situation in which I would ask for Fray to speak or act for me, but I also can’t completely dismiss the possibility of such a thing happening. Maybe one day.

For now, I had to return to Ishgard. To support my brother. To mourn Haurchefant. To end the Dragonsong War, whether my name be sung too or not. That was the path I chose.

It wasn’t the first time I had been ambushed, and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Considering what had happened with Ser Aymeric, however, I had expected it to be too good to be true. Each of us had split up to try and discern who had been starting trouble in Ishgard – from the assasination attempt, to the fires being set all over the city. A temple knight had approached me, stating he wanted to speak with me privately in the Behemoth’s Dominion about who was behind everything.

I suppose I could have invited others along with me, but I didn’t want to draw them away from their own investigations. I prepared for myself for the worst case scenario – and was promptly met with it. After I had killed his lackeys, he stood strong in defiance, declaring… whatever bullshit he felt about Aymeric and his supporters. It was at this point that I paused to consider what was the best choice of action. I needed him alive, didn’t I? But would he even bother to tell me anything?

– And the man was still raving: “We’ll fight you forever! Even if it costs us our lives!”

“Shall we oblige him then?” Another voice spoke, and I turned to see who it was.

I will admit that I stared at first. I had not seen an Au Ra before – at least, not a male one. But being a rare sight myself, I tried to shake it off quickly. More than anything, upon seeing this man, I knew, innately: he was a Dark Knight. Another one.

“Well?” he prompted. “Are you going to kill him, or shall I?”

“Uh.” I probably should have expected that question. “Was thinkin’ of takin’ him in for interrogation, actually.”

But beside us, the temple knight gasped and pointed. “You–you’re one of them! Heretic! Dravanian!”

I looked at him. “Well, now you’re just bein’ rude.” And sort of leaning me in the direction of just outright getting rid of him. “And wrong, to boot. There any chance of me gettin’ a word out of you at all?”

“Never! I’ll sooner die!” he declared, defiant – although he had started to back up.

“Well.” I looked to the ‘Dravanian’, then shrugged. Something in my heart seemed to sing with excitement as I turned and thrust one ring blade into his chest. The chain mail was hard when it came to slashing, but piercing weapons – or motions did nicely; and these chakrams just happened to have nice pointy arrows on its ends.

Once the body had dropped to the ground, so did I, and started to rifle through his belongings for clues. As I did, the Au Ra said, “I pray you do not make a habit of following men plotting to kill you into secluded areas.”

“Well, I never say never.” I started to pull things out of the man’s belt, but there was nothing of value. With a sigh, I stood up and looked at him again. He seemed somewhat amused. Maybe. It was hard to tell with that stoic expression of his.

“Did you learn nothing from Fray?” he asked finally.

Ah. So that confirmed it – although, I wasn’t sure what it was.

“I learned plenty from him.” Or what was left of him? I still wasn’t completely sure what Fray was. “You a friend or a sworn enemy?”

A friend.

“We trained together,” came the noncommittal answer. “But I had heard he had fallen at a trial. Then, a woman with rabbit ears was seen wielding his sword.” His gaze drifted to my chakrams. “You do not fit that description perfectly, and yet I can tell you, too, walk the path.” Eyes moved back to mine. “Tell me. What became of him? How did you learn the arts?”

“… Uh.” I hesitated. This wasn’t really an appropriate way to deliver the death of one’s comrade, but I had a feeling he might already have guessed it. I told him an abridged version of what I could – how I had found Fray’s body, the Soul Crystal he’d held, and how he had sort of found a home in my mind, more or less. I half expected him to look at me like I was a lunatic, but his expression merely portrayed surprise.

“By the gods,” he muttered when I was done. But then he shook his head, “Though, now that I think on it, ‘tis not the first time I have heard such a tale.”

“It isn’t?” I folded my arms. “Would love to know what tales you’re hearin’, friend.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, “We who consort with the darkness are never truly whole. There will ever be a part of us yearning to be free.”

“…Is that what you think the Fray I know is?” Never truly whole. It was impossible for me not to think of the Warriors of Darkness now, but I had to put it out of my mind. One group of dark-themed combatants at a time, Mei.

“It is possible,” he confessed. “As I said, Fray and I trained together. His was a strength that was beyond reckoning. But alas, it was not enough. That being said, it warms my heart to see that you carry on his legacy. Even if you do not wield the traditional weapon of a Dark Knight, it is clear you have learned much with only his soul crystal as your guide.”

Ah, yes. It was time to return to this.

“I wouldn’t give myself that much credit,” I shook my head. “But… I do try and take his teachings to heart.” Or at least recognize them when I have to set them aside. “I have a lot on my plate, though. So sometimes he gets mad when I ignore him.”

I couldn’t help but tease and grin; perhaps it was Fray’s lingering feelings, but I felt comfortable enough to do so.

I was right, though. The Au Ra let out at least a snort of a surprised laugh, albeit a short one. “Yes, that sounds like him. In any case, whether you consider yourself creditable or no, there is a matter I would discuss with you – but not here.” He turned away. “My name is Sidurgu. Pray look for me in the Forgotten Knight at Ishgard, miss…?”

“Meiko,” I supplied. “And I’ll be sure to do so. Just,” gestured to the body of the temple knight I had slain. “Need to clean up here first.”

“Understandable. Until we meet again, then.” And off he went.

I watched him leave, pondering the interaction and reviewing it in my mind. It was an unexpected encounter, but I didn’t dislike it. And although I did have so much to worry about – so much – I did want to see him again.

My. So any Dark Knight will do, is that it? Fray’s voice knocked at the door to my mind, mocking.

Excuse me?!

I mean, that just seems to be the type you stare after for a bit too long.

What? No! Shut it, you disembodied arse!

#dark knight.#relationships.#fray.#sidurgu.#heavensward.#// written first person journal style in honor of the questlogs~#// despite the fact that mei would never keep a journal

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Enigmatic Feelings II

Characters: Beidou, Childe, Eula, gn!reader

Word Count: 5,402

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: In which the reader’s s/o is jealous

Author’s Note: Decided to tack on two characters to the request. This is my first time writing for Eula, and I think this prompt really fit her. She really reminds me of Kaguya Shinomiya in mindset, which is kinda hilarious. I hope I wrote her well!

In case you’re wondering, I kept all the NPCs gender neutral so that the reader might interpret them as they wish.

Beidou

Beidou and her crew tended to get drunk. Like, a lot. Rowdy parties soaked in alcohol, audible from Guyun Stone Forest to Qingce Village were simply part of ship culture. Though they might’ve been loud and somewhat disorganized, there was never any sense of overstepping boundaries, and things never ended up going too far.

Or at least that’s what Beidou would’ve liked to think. Watching you and another shipmate moseying up to one another was a surprisingly unpleasant experience, and Beidou took another swig of her flask to wash out the acidic taste in the back of her mouth.

What did it even matter if someone was flirting with you? It was the end of a long haul, emotions were running high, and everyone knew that you were the captain’s partner. Everyone knew that nothing serious would come of a little flirting, and the occasional compliment or teasing remark towards you here and there had never really bothered Beidou before. She wasn’t about to be jealous of a few flirty shipmates; after all, the ability to sweet talk should probably be a requirement for signing up for piracy anyways.

Maybe it was just how blatant the flirting was, so different than the usual passing, good-natured banter. Beidou knew how well each of her shipmates could hold their liquor. She also knew how quickly norms and rules tended to be thrown out the window the moment one got plastered. Even if the shipmate meant nothing truly malicious or devious in their words, Beidou couldn’t rule out the fact that they were probably genuinely flirting.

Neither could she ignore the fact that you were distinctly flirting back. Beidou wasn’t really surprised by this turn of events, after all you’d always responded with a good natured tease at the remarks flown you way and even engaged in some meaningless flirting yourself towards the other members of the ship. It was part of ship culture after all, to be so open and careless. The sea was never calm or placid, why should her voyagers be so? Still, Beidou couldn’t deny the fact that she was uncomfortable by the current situation, protocol be damned.

A part of her wanted to go up and tell you right out; you were her partner, and she was sure that you’d be able to understand what she was feeling. Yet pride kept her at her seat, downing more liquor to distract herself from her conundrum. After all, it’d be kind of hypocritical of her to cultivate a familiar ship culture and then turn around and revoke it at the drop of a hat, wouldn’t it? Nor would it feel right to enforce rules upon others that she herself didn’t follow. It’s not like Beidou hadn’t ever flirted with or teased someone else without thinking too much about it. How could she blame her crew for following her example?

Still the sight of you and your shipmate danced in front of her eyes, urging her to do something she’d surely regret. Beidou let out a loud sigh, something that wasn’t ignored by the people around her.

“You alright captain?” Juza eyed Beidou worriedly. One of the other hard drinkers on the ship, Beidou knew that she couldn’t rely on alcohol to allay her Chief Mate’s worries.

“I’m fine!” She spoke loudly, plastering a large grin upon her face. “I was just thinking about how proud I am of all of you! How much of a tight-knit crew we are!”

Beidou could tell that she was garnering the attention of the rest of the shipmates and stood up. She had neglected to make a speech so far, so wrapped up was she in the scene playing out before her eyes. Clearing her throat Beidou held up her flask, the eager anticipation of her crewmates combining with the liquid fire in her system, causing a wave of rash confidence to run through her. At least she was an entertaining speechmaker.

“I look out upon the faces of warriors now! We may be somewhat irregular, an anomaly of the seas. However, that doesn’t change our bond, our fierce loyalty, our capabilities. I look out upon a group of people closer than family! Perhaps you’ve had brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles, but tell me this! Could any of those members of your previous lives fight back to back with you? No! They could not! We are a special breed, and there will never be anyone who can understand us as we can understand each other! And we ought to never forget this! Do not forget the brotherhood forged by fire. I know that I never will!”

Cheers erupted from every corner as sailors drank gleefully. A few of the more out of commission crewmates were sobbing uglily, hugging whoever was in their vicinity and making slightly incomprehensible statements of affection and loyalty. Beidou sat down, smiling at the chaos in front of her. Yes, she really was part of a band of brothers, and there was no reason to forget or doubt that. Why was it then that she felt as if she’d been somewhat deceitful? And why was it then that her eyes once more drifted towards you and the sailor who was now enthusiastically slapping you on the back?

The rest of the night passed in a haze of alcohol, as Beidou downed drink after drink. She didn’t walk up to you, didn’t try to acknowledge the source of her unease. Why should she? It was a party after all, and there were other things to do. Passing out just as the sun was beginning its ascent once more into the sky Beidou wondered if she was always going to feel this way when anyone got slightly flirty with you. If so, well, she was in for a rough time.

The next day was greeted by a pounding headache. The sun was much too bright, and Beidou let out an annoyed yelp as she stumbled towards her window, trying to not fall flat on her face as she grasped for the curtains. Yanking on them awkwardly she had just managed to get them somewhat closed before there was a knock on her door. Cursing the captain drew herself up as much as she possibly could in her current state, hoping that her clothes didn’t look too much like she’d simply slept in them.

“Come in.”

“I thought you might want a pitcher of water.”

Your voice was soft and slightly apologetic. Letting out a sigh of relief Beidou nodded, allowing herself to stumble back towards her hammock and flop onto the blanket. Wow she had drank a lot last night. You walked over to her desk, steps too steady to be that of a hungover person. Pouring a glass of water you stared at Beidou as she drank, a question in your eyes.

“What is it? You seem to want to ask me a question.”

“Are you sure you’re up to answering?”

“Well now I won’t be able to rest until you tell me it.”

“Fair enough,” you smiled. “Was something wrong last night?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“I mean you didn’t even walk over to me once. I was kind of surprised, to be honest.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, I just want to know why you were avoiding me.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you.” Beidou wrinkled her nose. Her head throbbed in protest and she quickly dropped the expression, sighing before taking another drink of water. “Well, perhaps I was slightly avoiding; but it’s wasn’t your fault.”

“Whose fault was it then?”

Beidou paused, trying to gather her thoughts as she searched for an answer. “You know that I don’t mind some familiarity on this ship.”

“Yes, as you so eloquently put last night,” you giggled slightly. Ignoring the subtle tease Beidou continued on.

“Well, I mean it; but it seems like I’m not very good at following my own rules. That shipmate you were flirting with last night? I just, I don’t know. Normally I don’t mind, y’know? But this time, well, it couldn’t stop bothering me. Even though you didn’t seem to mind it at all.”

“I didn’t mind it because he was drunk off his ass.” You pointed out, voice still soft and understanding. Taking one of Beidou’s hands in yours you leaned over to press a quick kiss on your partner’s forehead. “I’m sorry to hear it was bothering you though.”

“It’s not just that,” Beidou admitted. It seemed the floodgates of her thoughts had opened, and now she felt the need to tell you everything. “It’s that I couldn’t even follow my own rules, that I couldn’t stop myself from feeling… almost resentful. A captain, a good leader, they follow their own rules. It’s the only way to whip all the idiots into shape. But I couldn’t do that, I failed last night; I failed as a leader, I failed as a partner. I couldn’t follow my own example. Some leader.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” you murmured. Squeezing Beidou’s hand you shook your head slightly. “I know that the people on this ship sort of see you as a goddess, which you are, to me at least. Still, even goddesses can sometimes have flaws. Besides, if a shipmate ever came to you with these fears you’d absolutely laugh it off, give them a pat on the back, and send them on their way. So maybe you should follow your own example in that way. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Beidou’s gut reaction was to contradict you, to point out once more how she had failed. However she was too tired, and your point was making a suspicious amount of sense. “Very well,” she smiled slightly, “you have a way with words darling. You sure you haven’t missed a career as a siren?”

“I already have a lovely sailor, thank you very much,” you giggled. Pressing soft kisses across Beidou’s cheeks you stood up. “Now drink a lot of water and get some rest. We can’t have our captain out of commission.”

“I trust I’m not the only one sleeping in today?”

“Oh definitely not! It’ll probably take a week before we’re in any shape to treasure hunt again.”

“Pity.”

“So greedy!” You gasped in fake surprise.

“As if you didn’t know that when you signed up.”

“I don’t know I never pegged you as the jealous type,” you said in a sing-song voice. Beidou felt her cheeks redden.

“Shaddup.”

Your laughter filled the cabin, bright and rejuvenating. Beidou couldn’t help but crack a small smile herself. How had she ever gotten so lucky in regards to her partner? Regardless of how, she wasn’t about to take you for granted.

Childe

Childe liked to think of himself as one of the “good ones” when it came to Harbingers to work under. Was he somewhat demanding and only expected the best when it came to combat? Well, yes. Did he regularly debase his coworkers and underlings? No, he wasn’t Scaramouche after all. As long as you were passionate in your drive to serve the Tsaritsa and as long as you never missed out on your training, well Childe was sure that he could never have a problem with you.

That was, in fact, not true.

One of the Fatui messengers had been talking to you for almost twenty minutes now, though about what Childe hadn’t the slightest idea. After all, he’d already gotten the message that he needed, and the messenger surely had no business with you – you didn’t even work for the Fatui. Still there the messenger stood and there you stood next to him, a small smile on your face as you let out a soft laugh in regards to whatever they were saying.

Childe knew that he had no reason to feel as he did, but that didn’t stop irritation from rising inside him, and a sudden urge to flaunt his superiority that he usually reserved for the field of battle rose up inside of him. He didn’t quite understand why he was suddenly struggling against the urge to run up to you and throw his arms around you, but the urge was certainly there. What in Teyvat were you talking to that messenger about? What could possibly take up so much of your time? Considering the small fragments of conversation that made it to his ears Childe ruled that it was nothing truly of importance.

Letting himself lounge even more across his office chair Childe let out a slight sound of annoyance. Weren’t the two of you doing something before the nuisance came along? Sure, it wasn’t necessarily the most important thing, but discovering the best place in Liyue to study the stars was hardly worthless. After all, being somewhere high up and with a good view meant a better survey of the land around you. Who knew when some pesky Millelith or intrepid adventurer might try to attack the Fatui members scattered across the plains and mountains in Liyue? It was imperative to have eyes on everything, certainly more important than whatever this was!

Finally giving into his rising irritation Childe walked over to the two of you. Slinging an arm around your shoulder, Childe tried to give the messenger a smile that didn’t convey ‘scram or I’m kicking you out’. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but my partner and I have business to do and I’m sure that your other messages won’t deliver themselves. To the Tsaritsa information is everything and all that, so you should probably make sure people actually get said information.”

“Oh, uh, yes my lord. I’m sorry.”

The messenger pulled himself up straighter, giving an awkward bow. Turning to go the messenger didn’t fail to turn back around to give you one last smile. Accentuating his smile once more Childe finally detached himself from you as the messenger walked out of the office, shutting the door softly behind him.

After that the messenger seemed to be showing up everywhere. Childe could’ve sworn he was getting more mail in a week than he had in all his previous months in Liyue. Not to mention how awkward the timing of the deliveries seemed to seemed to be. What was the point of getting “important” mail right before the Bank ostensibly closed? What was Childe supposed to do with the information now? Never mind the fact that the letters and notes he was getting seemed to be getting more and more mundane, even nonsensical. A shipment of weaponry to be picked up, that might be important. But specifications on the renovations Dottore was making on his lair? Why would Childe ever need to know something like that?

Nor did it escape Childe’s notice that these messages always seemed to come with at least twenty minutes of conversation with you. How was the Harbinger supposed to concentrate when someone was yakking away in his office? Besides, what did it matter to you what this person’s favorite flowers were? Childe knew that the Tsaritsa was often quite ingenious in her schemes, but he truly couldn’t see what relaying someone’s favorite flowers could do? Had he mentioned before that you weren’t even a member of the Fatui?

Every day the messenger would endlessly chat with you about the stupidest things, and every day Childe would end up interrupting the two of you. What started with slinging an arm around your shoulder was slowly escalating. First it was an arm, then two, then an arm around your waist, then a head on your shoulder. One time he’d even pulled you right against him, smiling slightly as you let out a squeak of surprise.

Of course Childe knew what he was experiencing, was not necessarily unfamiliar with the concept of jealousy. Still, he wasn’t about to tell you about it. After all jealousy was a shallow, grasping sort of emotion; something that caused generals to fight against one another to approach him or the Harbingers instead of tending to their own troops. Jealousy was a useless sort of emotion, and not one that a warrior such as himself ought to feel. Besides, did he really need to feel jealous about an annoyingly persistent messenger? They were hardly above a weed in the hierarchy of things.

Still, Childe couldn’t exactly deny that he was feeling jealous. Avoidance was one thing, deceit was another. Even if he didn’t want to tell you about what he was feeling, he would never lie to you about it. Which is why at the end of another tedious twenty minute conversation when the messenger had finally left and you turned around to ask him if something was wrong Childe found himself frozen, stuck between quite the rock and a hard place.

“Why would you ask such a question darling? Does something seem wrong to you?”

“Childe, please. You’ve been clingier than barnacle recently. Are you even supposed to be at the office today; weren’t you supposed to inspect an outpost in Dragonspine today?”

“I just wanted to spend some time with my wonderful, amazing partner! Is there something wrong with that?”

“For you? Yes, there absolutely is. Childe, are, are you upset about something?”

Childe stared at you for a moment, crumbling under your persistent gaze. He could tell that you were worried, could tell in the slant of your mouth and the furrow of your brow. He couldn’t very well say no. That would be lying after all. He was upset about something, even if it was something utterly beneath him. He was still upset.

“That messenger has been annoying me.”

“The one that just left?” You turned to look at the closed door behind you, a puzzled expression on your face. “But why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? They’re flirting with you.”

“They’re not!” Your expression was incredulous, but you paused for a moment, obviously thinking about something very seriously. “At least, I don’t think they are. Are they?”

“Yes,” Childe let out a snort. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice. Why else would they be delivering the most worthless information before chatting with you when they should be somewhere else?”

“I guess you’re right,” you admitted. “But Childe, it’s not like I’d ever be interested in them. I mean, I can see how it’d be kind of annoying to have someone invade your personal space, but why the clinginess?”

Childe stared at you for a moment. “You’re kinda dense you know.”

“I’m not!”

“Oh you absolutely are. How else would you not realize that I’m jealous?”

“Well, well because I don’t know. You just don’t seem the jealous type. Besides, it’s not like I’d ever have interest in anyone other than you. I don’t know, I just don’t see the point.”

“You really are dense.” Childe smiled a small, frustrated smile. Letting his head drop into the crook of your neck he let out sigh. “I know that there’s no reason that I should’ve be jealous. I just, am. I don’t know why, but seeing that messenger flirting with you for days on end, I couldn’t help it.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Your tone shifted slightly as you reached up to card gentle fingers through Childe’s orange locks. “Sometimes we’re just weird like that. Just as long as you know that you never have reason to be jealous, then you can be jealous sometimes. Alright?”

“Alright.” Childe whispered, finally letting himself relax a bit.

Raising his head he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You let out a small purr of happiness, gladly reciprocating. The weight on the Harbinger’s chest lightened, and he was finally met with the feeling of lazy contentment.

“Now, don’t you have an inspection to attend?” You smiled indulgently. “Go on, I’ve got errands to do anyways. As much as I appreciate the attention, you have to lessen the clinginess, okay?”

“Can’t make any promises darling.”

The sound of your indignant squawk, combined with Childe’s laughter, chased him out of the room and down the staircase.

Eula

As a member of the esteemed Lawrence family Eula was confident in the fact that such base emotions as jealousy were utterly beneath her. What did people take her for? A commoner? What a presumptuous line of thought!

No, it was certainly not jealousy that Eula was feeling right now. What a preposterous notion. She was simply irritated that a Guild member had forgotten all respect due to the Knights of Favonius. After all, you were a part of Mondstadt’s frontline protectors, a far cry from those poor fools who relied only upon commission to prove their worth. Yes, it was simply how presumptuous that lowly Guild member was being, taking up your time on your patrol across the parapet of the wall surrounding Monstadt, to engage in such a frivolous act as flirting.

Surely there was nothing more to it? No, it was not even worth it to pose such a stupid question. After all, what was a lowly adventurer to Eula? A nuisance, perhaps, but nothing more. Certainly nothing to be worried about. There was no reason to pause at the tower door, no reason not to simply walk over to you, her partner and coworker. Your time on patrol was done, it was time to come in. Why then was she hesitating?

“You must love the view up here,” the adventurer smiled widely.

“Yes, it’s very nice!” You were all smiles.

“I’m sure it’s made all the more beautiful by your presence,” the adventurer pressed on.

“Ah, t-thanks,” you replied, smiling again and reaching to grasp the back of your neck. “Really, you’re too kind.”

“Not at all!”

The adventurer appeared to want to say something else, but Eula had long ago decided that things had gone too far. Who did this mere Guild member think they were?

“Your time is up soldier, you are needed in the afternoon meeting.”

Eula tried to keep her posture as correct as possible, looking straight past the interloper to you. You seemed to brighten, rushing over to Eula and nodding enthusiastically.

“Eula! Of course! I’ll be down, right this instant.”

“Good,” Eula replied, giving a curt not. Glancing over towards the adventurer she crossed her arms. “As for you, layawaying a knight of Favonius is a blemish upon the Adventurer’s Guild. Such a discretion surely must be paid with vengeance. Mark my words, I will not let this deed go unpunished.”

The adventurer stiffed. Taking a step towards Eula their face contorted into a snarl. “Listen here you Lawrence –”

“We’ll be going now!” You jumped in, glancing at you Eula nodded. Turning around she kept her features neutral. However she noticed the way you gestured apologetically at the fool before going to follow Eula, expression one of undeniable embarrassment.

Perhaps it was too much to hope that the adventurer might’ve learned their lesson. There they were the next day, standing right in front of you, acting as if yesterday’s squabble had never happened. Talking your ear off just as before Eula couldn’t help but frown at how they were to you, how they always seemed just about to brush their fingers against yours. How crude to do such a thing to a perfect stranger.

“Dear, is everything alright?”

Your voice snapped Eula out of her reverie. The two of you were walking towards Headquarters to grab your extra equipment before heading home. Normally Eula cherished such quiet moments, feeling like they were the few times when she could be utterly confident, utterly herself. This time however she found the events of the week pressing on her. Only managing to nod Eula quickened her pace slightly, as if to outrun the feelings that were growing inside her.

“Hey, is something wrong?”

Eula lifted her gaze away from the papers she’d been halfheartedly scanning, her eyes meeting Amber’s. Eula would be the first person to admit that she wasn’t exactly sure how she had become friends with the eccentric Outrider. Indeed most of the things about Amber on paper grated Eula quite a bit. Still Amber was probably Eula’s closest coworker – other than you – and closest thing to a best friend that Eula had. It was perhaps unsurprising that Amber should notice something was wrong, and Eula was almost pleased by the fact that Amber was concerned about her.

“Nothing of great importance,” the knight replied. “There is only a nuisance which has been taking up a great deal of time and seems to still be interfering, despite all my efforts.”

“What kind of nuisance?” Amber tilted her head. Eula looked away, staring at the shelves that lined her office. She didn’t really want to look her coworker in the eyes.

“A, human nuisance. There has been an adventurer from the Guild who has been taking up a great deal too much of my partner’s time. They are utterly too presumptive in familiarity, and I feel that they are jeopardizing the Knights of Favonius with their irresponsible actions. Yet, despite all my efforts, they refuse to rethink their devious ways. It is no small problem.”

“That does sound very unpleasant.”

“Indeed, and yet I know not what to do. My reprimands have fallen on deaf ears.”

“Have you thought of maybe telling your partner.”

“Why would I ever reveal such feelings to my partner?!” Eula whipped her head around to look at Amber. The smile on her face was somewhat self-congratulatory.

“Eula, can I ask if you’ve considered something?”

“What is that?” Whatever Amber was about to say, it wasn’t going to be good.

“Have you considered the possibility that you might be jealous?”

“What, what nonsense! As if I should ever fall prey to such, to such base sensibilities!” Eula felt her face redden. Finding a particularly dirty spot upon the ground Eula stared intently past her friend. No, surely Amber was wrong.

“If you say so,” Amber shrugged. “But you might want to think about it. I mean, if I were feeling jealous I’d want to tell my partner. Besides, isn’t it the duty of a knight of Favonius to be honest and true?”

“You’re taking this awfully seriously,” Eula mumbled.

“Maybe,” Amber smiled, “but I do care about you. Remember that.”

With that the Outrider grabbed the paper she’d presumably been looking for and walked out the door before Eula could think of any sort of comeback. Turning her gaze back to her work Eula let out an exasperated sigh. Vengeance would be required against her coworker for such a ridiculous suggestion.

It was beginning to get on evening as Eula raced towards your regular guard spot. She’d worked later than usual today, probably spurned on by irritation at Amber’s ridiculous suggestions, and now Eula hoped that you hadn’t given up waiting for her and decided to go home. Climbing up the stairs her mind drifted once more to what Amber had said. Jealous? A member of the Lawrence clan was jealous? No, it was surely ridiculous. I mean, sure, she found the majority of her family members repulsive and vain and lazy to a fault, but surely she had to take something out of all the time she had spent within their midst. Besides, appearances had to be kept up, if only for the song and dance that the other people of Liyue insisted on continuing, long after it had stopped being of any use.

And yet, if she really was jealous, which of course she wasn’t, wouldn’t it be right to tell you? It was these thoughts that chased Eula. As she reached the top of the stairs to the opening of the parapet she decided that, if Amber’s theory were somehow proved right, she would tell you. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the familiar silhouette of an adventurer meant it was the perfect time to figure this question out.

“It’s pretty late, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” you smiled. “Still, Monstadt must be guarded day and night, mustn’t it?”

“Ah yes, the Knights must do all they can to protect our glorious city. Still, would there not be another reason for you staying up here so late?”

“Not particularly,” you shook your head.

“Are you sure about that?” The adventurer leaned towards you. Eula once more felt her heart seize up with that now all too common emotion. Was this jealousy?

“Uhm, I’m pretty sure.” The more that Eula had watched this song and danse the more she had realized how awkward you seemed around this person.

“Oh come on, a lonely figure looking out from on a wall, it’s sounds pretty story-like doesn’t it? Then again, you are straight out of a fairytale.”

“Thanks,” you replied, laughing somewhat awkwardly.

At this point Eula had come to a decision. Regardless of what this emotion was, and she was becoming increasingly worried it was, in fact, jealousy, you still seemed to be somewhat uncomfortable. Walking out onto the parapet she took your hand, glaring at the adventurer which stood across from you.

“I see you are once more distracting one of the Knights.”

“They didn’t mind, did you?” The adventurer’s mouth screwed up into something resembling a sneer. When you said nothing they shook their head. “You just had to come and make everything awkward; typical of a Lawrence member to be such a pain in the ass.”

“And now you insult one of the Knights! Indeed, the punishment will surely be great; and, until I decide what punishment is to be meted out, I suggest you take your leave.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” The adventurer sputtered, but Eula merely smiled.

“Indeed I can. If I find you harassing one of our Knights one more time, know that I will not be so lenient as to merely give you a warning.”

“I wasn’t harassing anyone!”

“Distracting them then, making them unable to perform their duties, being a public nuisance. Do any of these serve you better?” Eula waved her hand. “Not that the terminology matters at this point. What matters is that you stop your current behavior.”

“Please just listen to what Eula says,” you piped up. Smiling a small smile you walked over to the adventurer. “I know that you were just trying to flirt, but I think that you should shoot your shot elsewhere now. Okay?”

The adventurer looked slightly red in the face, though whether it was embarrassment or anger was anyone’s guess. Slinking away, grumbling something under their breath, the Guild member was soon down the stairs and out of sight.

Sighing loudly you turned to Eula.

“Thanks for that. I mean, really! I don’t think they were trying to be actively malicious, but really sometimes you just have to read a room! I’m just glad I didn’t have to break it to them by myself.”

Staring at the stones under her feet Eula found herself mumbling something.

“What?”

“It, it wasn’t for your sake.”

“Ah yes, I know, it was for the honor and glory of the Knights of Favonius! Still, thank you.”

“No, I didn’t mean that. It was that, well, Amber’s been talking to me.”

“Amber?” You tilted your head, evidently confused by the sudden turn of the conversation. “What was she talking to you about?”

“About a very foolish emotion, one that I would never dream of feeling myself. And yet, I, I do believe that maybe, just maybe mind you, it had a factor in, in my actions.” Unwilling to come right out with it Eula found herself frowning. “The audacity of her really, to imply that a member of the Lawrence family might experience something as base as jealousy!”

Looking up towards you Eula saw recognition pass over your features. For a moment you did nothing, then suddenly a small, soft smile broke out on your face. Walking over to Eula, you gently enclosed your partner’s hands in yours.

“Thank you for telling me Eula, I’m sure it must’ve been difficult.”

“I-I’m not sure about it yet!” Eula stammered. “Only Amber wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“That does sound like Amber,” you let out a soft laugh. “Still, thank you for telling me. It means a lot to me, okay?”

“A-alright.”

“I’m glad.”

You leaned over to give Eula a quick peck, before turning to walk down the stairs. Eula followed, one of her hands still intertwined firmly with yours. Suddenly her heart felt lighter than it had all week.

#Genshin Impact fanfiction #beidou x reader #childe x reader #eula x reader #genshin impact #genshin beidou #genshin childe #genshin eula #requested #scenarios #my writing

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jennana501 · 4 years

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A Case for Rexsoka

I’ve been around the block when it comes to ships. I’ve seen people obsess over them, and I too have been driven mad by obsession. I was a hardcore original avatar fan and I was OBSESSED with shipping Toph and Sokka together. Any time they so much as made an interaction I over analyzed it and picked it apart looking for clues that somehow would prove that my hunches were correct. It was because I related with both characters, and I loved their chemistry. I wanted them to have a romantic relationship because it would feel like some sort of personal validation.

I’m an adult now and nothing has changed. But it has been a while since I’ve desperately shipped two characters together that are not obviously romantically involved with one another, or who could be romantic behind the scenes or beyond the story shown.

Until Rex and Ahsoka.

And I’ve seen people be adamantly against it.

“No no no it’s just a brother/sister relationship.”

“No it’s gross she is a child”.

And of course being disagreed with on the internet can drive a person crazy, and instead of individually arguing with dozens of people online, I’m making this post once and for all to explain why I think Rex and Ahsoka have romantic feelings for each other. Especially Rex.

The argument I’ve seen, that their deep passion, commitment, love, admiration, and respect for one another (which are all so obvious you’d have to be...silly to not see it) are felt in a platonic fashion. Which, for the first 6 seasons and 8 episodes, I would totally agree.

But then Ahsoka comes back. And let’s face it. She is a woman. Age wise, she’s around 17, but everything from the maturity of her Lekku (which weirdly don’t get all that longer, especially compared to other Tagrutan women) to her poise and confidence, to her prowess as a warrior, a user of the force, and her ability to command soldiers as well as control her emotions points to her being an adult woman. She’s no Snips anymore; she’s no child. She’s grown up. And how her peers react to her illustrates how they now view her as an adult.

First there is Obi-wan. Obi-wan has always been a mentor to her, a sort of second Master. Obi-wan never hesitated to guide and Ahsoka or offer his council. He is proud of her when she succeeds, and will admonish her when she makes mistakes. When she returns and he sees her as a woman, he changes the way he treats her. He acknowledges her maturity by addressing her as an equal. He doesn’t admonish her. Instead he discusses with her, challenging her ideas and letting her offer an argument for them instead of putting them down and telling her how she should think or act. He also comes to her in his time of need, trusting her to help him with Anakin.

Then there is Anakin. We all know of Anisoka shippers, and they are perfectly able to ship and enjoy said ship, but we can all acknowledge that it is a crack pairing with no basis in the canon. Anakin portrays the perfect kind of brotherly love. He is excited to see Ahsoka, and is stunned by her unexpected reappearance. Things are harder for Anakin because he is used to their fun banter and sibling-like companionship. He’s constantly shut down with her business like manner and he struggles with coming to terms with the fact that she isn’t a little kid sister anymore. She is an adult with a mission and a plan. When he looks at her, he is endearing. He loves her. Admires her. And he can’t wait to pick up where they left off. There’s joy and adoration in his face. He is proud of her and what she has become, but he also feels alienated and even hurt because of how her adulthood has changed their dynamic.

Then there is Rex. When he first sees her, he wants nothing more than to reassure her that she still belongs. The clones had accepted her into their family. As far as they were concerned, she was one of them. When he looks at her for the first time, he’s beaming with the same adoration as he had had for her before, but also with a solemn awe at what she has become and what she has grown into. He welcomes her back into his life without hesitation.

But then there is a moment things shift so drastically that I paused the show and re-watched it half a dozen times. We all know it and love it. This face he gives Ahsoka. The Look.

What we see here is something we have never, EVER seen in Rex for 7 whole seasons. And it is my opinion that this is the first time Rex has been able to feel and express that he is attracted to Ahsoka. In other words, Rex has a sexual awakening.

Up until this point, Rex has been a sexless character. Nothing he does is flirtatious, sexy, or at all suggestive that he has those feelings inside him at all. Every sexual being has a moment where they are first animalistically drawn to another being. Characters who have already had this moment are easy to pick out. Obi wan. Anakin. Ventress. These characters have already experienced their sexual awakening. Ahsoka has too. Lux was her first object of attraction.

But Rex has never had this moment. Until this reaction.

I know some of you might be thinking “but Ahsoka gives a very similar look to Anakin, does that mean she is sexually attracted to HIM?” It’s a very good point. Ahsoka and Anakin share some cheeky playful looks during “Old Friends Not Forgotten”. We see many characters give similar looks to other characters, but does this mean it means the same thing as when Rex does it? The short answer is no.

When animators design a character, they establish the “range of emotion” for that character. You can easily see this when you look back at how many times you see Rex break from his stoic, captain’s face. He rarely laughs, smiles, or emotes in any way. This is why when we see him emote it is exciting to us as an audience. A character like Ahsoka or Anakin commonly show a wide variety of expressions. Ahsoka is much more likely to give a cheeky look than Rex is. So “the look” for Rex, means a lot more when he is doing than it does when another character does it, say Fives or even Obi-Wan.

Which means the writers are trying to tell us something about this moment.

This moment has changed Rex’s and Ahsoka’s relationship.

Now does this mean that they are going to go bang each other immediately? Does this mean the second they are alone after “Victory and Death” they start an intense, sexual relationship? Of course not. That’s not what this ship is about at this time. But the reason many of us ship it is because suddenly they don’t feel like brother and sister anymore. It isn’t entirely platonic. And the show does a good job to further emphasize this as they come closer and closer both emotionally, and physically during the finale.

Blocking is a huge factor in visual storytelling. During the finale, Rex and Ahsoka are blocked in a way that makes them as close as physically possible on the screen. This communicates to the audience that they are closer now than they have ever been. As Jedi and Clone Trooper. As friends, and as companions, their bond forged in the fires of war, struggling to find meaning in life as soldiers.

In contrast, look how Ahsoka and Anakin are blocked in their scenes. There is nearly always a gap between them, illustrating that they are distanced from each other emotionally. Rex is even visually inserted into the gap between them in several instances. Anakin and Ahsoka are growing apart, but she and Rex are growing closer.

We get to experience Rex and Ahsoka engaging in actions and conversations that we had rarely seen before. From casual banter, to moments of intense intimacy, to emotional peaks, Rex and Ahsoka interact more in these four episodes than in the previous six seasons. Part of this is because their maturity gap has closed. Ahsoka is finally Rex’s equal in experience and maturity. It is also in part because it is a unique dynamic. No Obi-wan. No Anakin. Rex and Ahsoka are equal leaders of the 332nd. There’s also the fact that they are put into life threatening situations and have no one else but each other.

But there is that “look” that is given at the beginning of all this that suggests something else, that as their bond undoubtedly becomes strong as beskar, there is an element of it that takes their relationship from the platonic to the romantic.

I feel every detail, moment, and piece of dialogue in the finale tells the story of this bond.

Many instances of their strong emotional bond have been spread throughout the internet, with most ready to acknowledge that they have a connection unlike any other, one that may even be described as a “force” connection. These last four episodes are so exciting because we see two friends reunited, but then we get to watch as their relationship transforms.

Even disregarding their implied attraction to each other physically, they dive into each other and hold on tight. Ahsoka shares deep personal worries with Rex, and Rex and her are shown opening up to each other in ways they have never opened up before.

We were all floored and dumbfounded at scenes such as these that show these characters at their most vulnerable. But they decide to be vulnerable together. Is it because they are all that is left of their 501st family? It part, this is definitely true. But by being this vulnerable they transform their relationship into something very different from what they had before. It will never be the same again, and it will be near impossible to back out of the emotional intimacy that these two have participated in. Once you have formed that kind of an attachment with someone, there is no going back, and as is seen in rebels, these two maintain that strong connection even after years of being apart.

This goes beyond their sexual desires or needs. They’ve forged a bond that cannot be broken. They have shared minds, shared pain and agony that only the other can understand. They’ve been isolated from the world, and all they have left is each other.

And at the end of the series, when we have Rex and Ahsoka broken, their world flip upside down and everything they ever valued or cared about lies in ruins before them, the idea that they still have each other is that beautiful seed of hope Star Wars is so good at preserving. Those of us who believe that their relationship could be romantic want good things for Rex and Ahsoka. We want them to have that love and share it with each other. Maybe only for a few moments, but having known it would be better than both of them living and dying without having that experience.

When we see the two in Rebels, for me it confirms that these two love each other deeply. But their lives can never be lived in a normal fashion. They cannot even be together as partners in life. The Empire has stolen this from them. The tragedy of this ship is that it can never be the way we want it to be. Rex will age and die long before Ahsoka is even halfway through her own life. They cannot live with one another. They cannot wake each morning with each other, at least not at the point we see them in rebels.

But they continue to love each other. Even over distance, even knowing that mortality will claim them with only a fraction of the memories that they deserve with one another.

So please, the next time you see some art or a fic, or a post like this, think of what I had to say. Rexsoka is about two adults, their lives destroyed at the hands of Sidious, but in defiance they still forge a bond that he could never break or take from them. And that to me is beautiful and something to celebrate.

Side note: I spent a ton of time making gifs but they never would work and so I had to use screenshots instead :(

EDIT: At the request of the OG poster of a few gifs, I have replaced them have also made some grammatical changes.

#ahsoka #captain rex #rexsoka #rexsoka week #the clone wars #star wars

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aspoonofsugar · 3 years

Text

Jaune: Zero to Hero

Pyrrha: It's not about why; it's about knowing. Understanding dark and light helps us manifest our Aura. Everyone has some of both.

Knowledge, Creation and Destruction all lead up to Aura. This is just another way to say that they lead up to individuality, which is something Grimms lack:

Pyrrha: They are creatures of Grimm, the manifestation of anonymity.

Individuality is conveyed through Choice. This is why Choice is the most important and final gift. It is symbolic of self-actualization, which is what our characters are pursuing in their coming of age story.

Jaune’s personal arc comments the group’s collective journey and marks each stage very clearly.

In which way does it happen? And what do these stages mean for Jaune’s growth as an individual?

THE IGNORANT WARRIOR

Pyrrha: Jaune, do you... know what Aura is?

Jaune: Psch! Of course I do! Do you know what Aura is?

Jaune is introduced as inexperienced and ignorant. He lacks combat experience and knows nothing about key concepts like Aura, Landing Strategy or Semblances.

His journey starts because Pyrrha shares her knowledge with him:

She awakens his aura, his very soul and later on trains him, so she helps his body get stronger:

In other words, Pyrrha is the one who puts Jaune on the right path to become a true “hero” and a “warrior”.

This is Jaune’s objective since the beginning, but he initially pursues it in the wrong way:

Jaune: I don't want help! I don't want to be the damsel in distress! I want to be the hero!

He is fixated on an idea of hero which is outdated and has its root in toxic masculinity:

Jaune: Cause this is always what I've wanted to be! My father, my grandfather, and his father before him were all warriors! They were all heroes! I wanted to be one, too. I was just never good enough.

This is why symbolically Jaune wants to be like his male ancestors. He wants to grow into “a real man”:

Cardin: Let's see how much of a man you really are...

And this is conveyed also through his Weapon:

Jaune: It's a hand-me-down. My great-great-grandfather used it to fight in the war.

Jaune did not forge his own Weapon, but he inherited it. Crocea Mors initially represents the legacy he wants to live up to. However, this legacy, instead of driving him, slows him down because he can’t grow until he remains in his ancestors’ shadow. Jaune needs to develop his own individuality instead.

In order to do so, he needs to grow not only as a figther, but as a person too.

As a matter of fact, Jaune’s ignorance is not only limited to the world he has stepped into, but also to the people around him:

Jaune: That's easy for you to say. You've probably got guys clamoring over each other just to ask you out.

Pyrrha: You'd be surprised.

He is so self-focused that he does not notice others’ feelings and hurts them unintentionally.

However, Pyrrha teaches him once again:

Pyrrha:Tell her exactly what you said. No ridiculous schemes, no pick-up lines. Just... be honest.

It is thanks to her that Jaune manages to become a better man:

He is even able to call Neptune out the way Pyrrha did with him:

Jaune: Then just go talk to her. No pickup lines, no suave moves, just be yourself. I've heard that's the way to go.

And as a result, even Jaune’s relationship with Weiss gets better:

Weiss: You said you were embarrassed at first. What made you come talk to me?

Neptune: You're looking at him. You got some good friends looking out for ya.

Because the girl realizes Jaune is not only after her money or her romantic attention:

Weiss: All my life, boys have only cared about the perks of my last name.

But wants to genuinely be a good friend to her.

In short, Jaune starts the story as immature both as a fighter and as a person to the point that he is considered unfit and annoying by other characters:

Glynda: I don't care what his transcripts say. That Jaune fellow is not ready for this level of combat.

However, thanks to Pyrrha, he is given the chance to mature.

Not only that, but while other characters see a weakness and a nuisance in Jaune’s ignorance and inexperience, Pyrrha sees it as a possibility:

Weiss: Jaune, is it? Do you have any idea who you're talking to?

Jaune: Not in the slightest, snow angel.

Weiss: This is Pyrrha.

It is specifically because Jaune is new to Pyrrha’s world that he is free from bias:

Pyrrha: That's what I like about you. When we met, you didn't even know my name. You treated me just like anyone else. And thanks to you, I've made friendships that will last a lifetime. I guess, you're the kind of guy I wish I was here with. Someone who just saw me for me.

This is why Pyrrha feels she can forge a genuine bond with Jaune. What is more, the girl has faith in his potential:

Pyrrha: It's all right. I used my Aura to unlock yours, but the energy that protects you now is your own. You have a lot of it.

She sees in him what others do not and helps him develop both as a man and as a warrior.

This is well highlighted by the metal motif the two characters share.

As @hamliet explains here Rwby has several characters linked to the seven metals of alchemy.

The goal of alchemy is to create gold thanks to a process of refiniment that purifies the metal and has it go through several transformations.

The seven metals are nothing, but a scale that goes from the heaviest and most raw metal (lead) to the most purified (gold) passing through the others (tin, iron, copper, mercury, silver).

For a story, it simply means that a character goes through a process of change that leads to self-actualization.

In Rwby this idea is conveyed through specific characters embodying a metal (Ironwood, Penny, Mercury) or even thanks to metal motifs commenting a specific part of a character arc.

For example, Yang is associated with gold:

I am the golden one Who burns just like the sun

But Adam takes her arm away and has her regress in the scale of metals to iron. This regression is not simply physical, but psychological as well:

However, Yang re-affirms herself and moves forward. The first step of this process is to symbolically make her new arm “gold” again:

When it comes to Jaune, I think that he may be the character associated with lead aka the “prima materia” that needs to be molded into gold. Even if this is not true, metal is at least definately still a motif in his arc, as it is in Pyrrha’s. This is why both characters wear metal armors, differently from others.

Pyrrha is already close to her self-actualization and she reaches it in the climax of the Vale arc, where she completes her (tragic) arc and dies a Maiden.

This is why her armor is gold, while Jaune’s is white and gray. Pyrrha is at the top of the metal scale and close to the end of her journey, while Jaune is respectively at the very bottom and at the very beginning.

He is the embodyment of the prima materia that has potential for greatness, but only if he is rightly guided and if he himself works hard.

Pyrrha takes over herself the duty to help Jaune mold himself.

This is underlined also by Pyrrha’s semblance:

Pyrrha: Well, Ruby has her speed, you have your glyphs. My Semblance is polarity.

Pyrrha can control and bend metals and she shows her power for the first time when she helps Jaune against the Ursa, so that he can overcome his self-issues.

So, Jaune starts the story as the lead and is going through a path of self-refinement which will lead him to become gold, so more similar to Pyrrha herself.

Pyrrha offers him the basic knowledge to start this journey, but unluckily leaves him too soon and now Jaune has to move forward on his own.

THE CREATIVE AVENGER

Pyrrha: I want you to know that I'm just happy to be a part of your life. I'll always be here for you, Jaune.

Even after Pyrrha’s death, this stays true:

Blacksmith: That was some fine metal you brought me. Accents the white nicely. Where'd you get it from?

Pyrrha has become a part of Jaune.

This is a recurring motif in Rwby:

Penny: I won’t be gone, I’ll be part of you.

It is the idea that grieving is a process that leads to acceptance, but also to integration with a lost one. It is a way to have the deceased keep on living through the survivors.

In Jaune and Pyrrha’s case, this is conveyed through Pyrrha’s metal being used to enrich Jaune’s Weapon.

As stated by Ruby:

Ruby: Just weapons? They're an extension of ourselves! They're a part of us! Oh, they're so cool.

Weapons are symbolic of the self, just like Semblances.

What is more, Weapons and Semblances are also a declination of the dychotomy of body and soul, presented by the series.

Weapons are wielded by bodies, while Semblances are a materialization of the soul.

In other words, Pyrrha’s gold becoming a part of Jaune’s Weapon is symbolic of Jaune’s first step in a painful process that will lead him to overcome his partner’s death and to inherit Pyrrha’s legacy.

Jaune must keep on learning from Pyrrha and become more like her. As noted by @hamliet, this is symbolized also by Jaune’s design aquiring more golden details as he goes on in his journey:

Jaune: Guess I was going to grow out of it eventually.

Ren: A sign of progress.

Jaune: Progress.

That said, grieving is not easy and Jaune must struggle with much pain and negative feelings.

This is why the changes he makes to Crocea Mors are finalized to increase its attack power:

It is because Jaune feels anger over Pyrrha’s death and wants revenge.

In the Battle of Haven he gives in to his fury and tries to kill Cinder. He is trying to superficially imitate Pyrrha’s sacrifice:

Jaune: If I die buying them time, then it's worth it. They're the ones that matter.

However, he is not doing it out of bravery or necessity, but out of recklessness and self-hate. This is why his actions lead to this:

Once again, Jaune risks to lose another loved one:

Jaune: No, no, no, no, not again! Weiss, c'mon, please!!

However, this time he is able to save Weiss thanks to his Semblance:

Jaune: My Semblance?

Nora: How else do you think you're healing her, dummy?

Jaune gives up on using his Weapon to fight and chooses to use his Semblance to cure. He chooses soul over body and Creation over Destruction.

At the same time, Jaune’s activation of his Semblance is meaningful on two levels:

Jaune: No. I don't think I'm healing her. Our Aura heals our bodies. It feels... it feels more like I'm using my Aura to amplify hers!

Nora: Wait, aren't you worried about running out?

Jaune: Pyrrha once told me I've got a lot of it. I still believe her.

First of all, Jaune’s Semblance is rooted in the idea that people heal themselves. His power is not to cure others, but to amplify others’ auras, so that they can become stronger and can heal. It is about bringing out the best in others. It is a power fit for a leader, but also an ability symbolic of Jaune’s own process of healing. He can heal himself through helping others to heal.

Secondly, Jaune’s Semblance is in itself a nod to Pyrrha. Pyrrha used her own aura to awake his and Aura Amp is simply an evolution of this idea. It is not about activating others’ auras, but it is a power that lets Jaune share his. It also makes good use of something Pyrrha noticed immediately aka Jaune’s huge quantity of aura.

In other words, Jaune ends up acting like Pyrrha in the Battle of Haven, but not because he fights Cinder, but because he shares his gift with others, just like Pyrrha did with hers.

Pyrrha is a part of Jaune both in body (Crocea Mors) and soul (Aura Amp), but Jaune must still truly understand what this means.

He makes progress in Lost:

Red-Haired Woman: She understood that she had a responsibility... to try. I don't think she would regret her choice, because a Huntress would understand that there really wasn't a choice to make. And a Huntress is what she always wanted to be.

This is the essence of Pyrrha’s sacrifice. Jaune comes to understand it and chooses to make a similar choice together with his team:

Jaune: I think... I think she knew she wasn't going to win. That she might not come out alive. But... she also knew she was the only one that could try.

Ren: So she did.

Nora: Maybe we should too.

Jaune: Yeah, we should.

In this way, it will be as if Pyrrha were fighting together with them:

Nora: Pyrrha may not be by our side anymore, but we can fight like she is.

Jaune: And in a way... she will be.

Jaune tries to overcome his anger and his sadness for Pyrrha’s death in order to keep fighting like she did.

So, once again he chooses this:

Ruby: I wanted to protect my friends.

Maria: Precisely! It is the desire to preserve life which fuels the light inside you. And to make no mistake, it is light. Preservation is an extension of creation, or, at the very least, an enemy of destruction. The Creatures of Grimm were made by the God of Darkness, but your light comes from his brother.

He chooses to protect life and this is the essence of Creation.

Once he confirms this choice, he is free to explore Creation’s potential and he does so in the land of Creation itself, Atlas.

He strengthens his shield instead of his sword:

And he trains his Semblance:

Oscar: Nice, your recovery is getting faster.

This all leads him to become stronger psychologically:

Ren: Him on the other hand... There's no fear at all. I can see it, he believes we're going to get this done.

That said, Jaune starts meeting limits to his new found strength rooted in Creation:

Jaune: Ah, sorry. No matter how much I boost you, they won’t go away.

Jaune: Did... I stop the virus?

Penny: No. It’s still there.

Jaune’s way to move forward is to heal himself through healing others. Still, what to do when this is not possible?

THE DESTRUCTIVE HEALER

Penny: No… there’s not enough time to heal me…

Penny: But there is something you can do…

What happens in Atlas is an inversion of Haven.

Penny pushes Jaune’s Semblance away and touches Crocea Mors.

Jaune is asked to give up on healing her and to speed up her death instead. He is asked to choose his Weapon (body) over his Semblance (soul) and Destruction over Creation.

This marks the characters entering the Destruction phase:

Leaving Creation (Penny) behind.

For Jaune, this means that his own self image that he has worked so much to build and to make his own:

And that has been enriched in Anima thanks to Pyrrha...is shattered:

At the same time, he is once again put in a similar spot as Pyrrha:

They both become unwilling agents of Penny’s death because of Cinder (and Emerald and Mercury in the first case):

Pyrrha: Ruby, I... I'm so sorry.

Ruby: Me too. But it wasn't your fault.

Jaune: She's right. Whoever was on that microphone... they're the ones that did this. And we have to make sure they don't take anyone else.

So Jaune’s journey to integrate with Pyrrha, to understand her and her struggle continues.

What now?

It is too soon to say because we have yet to properly start our journey through Destruction and what it is about.

That said, there are two things that are worth highlighting. The first is a motif Rwby is following, while the second is a general theme found in many stories.

1) As @hamliet has stated in many metas and as I have written here, Rwby is an alchemical story. Alchemical stories are usually marked by three important deaths. Each death is symbolically linked to a color. They are usually black, white and red. However, sometimes there can be yellow instead of the white or the red. This is the case here, where a resonant death is the yellow death aka Penny’s.

It is a death that happens while the characters are surrounded by yellow:

And it happens through a weapon called “Yellow Death” (Crocea Mors’s meaning). So, it is really not subtle. Penny’s death is meant to mark an important passage for our protagonists, just like Pyrrha’s one (the black death).

2) It is common in stories that deal with healers to explore the concept of death as well.

The basic idea is that a healer is a person meant to cure. That said, they will meet people impossible to cure and that will die on their watch. This is an unescapable truth a true healer must live with.

Let’s highlight this theme is found in works very different for genre and culture.

Let’s have two examples.

Scrubs aka an American comedy about doctors deals with this theme multiple times. In many episodes the characters must simply accept they can’t save a life, but must still not lose hope and keep on living themselves.

Yosano from the manga BSD says so:

Her backstory explores the link bewteen life and death further since it is shown that a power that cures fatal wounds can be used to cheapen life itself:

It is too soon to say if Rwby will explore a similar theme, but the fact that Jaune, (the healer) is the one that has to speed up Penny’s death might be a very powerful and poignant choice. This is true especially because Rwby does not refuse Destruction (and so does not refuse death), but presents it as a principle equal to Creation (so as a part of life).

THE CHOOSING HERO

Jaune’s arc is about living Pyrrha’s death over and over again with different scenarios and outcomes. This happens so that in the end he can finally overcome it.

So far, it has happened three times and each time has been in the climax of an important battle.

The Battle of Beacon has him witness powerlessly to Pyrrha’s death (lack of knowledge and passivity).

The Battle of Haven has him saving Weiss (creation).

The Battle of Atlas has him killing Penny (destruction).

What is more, every time Jaune becomes more proactive and conscious of what he is doing.

In Beacon he has no idea of what is happening. He works with little information and things happen to him without him being able to do anything.

In Haven his actions lead to Weiss being in danger, but he manages to save her. That said, he does not do it consciously. He unlocks his Semblance because of emotional stress. It is an unconscious choice and not a conscious one.

In Atlas he makes a specific conscious choice, but it is a choice that is forced on him because of external circumstances. It is also a choice that is meant to challenge and temporally break him.

In other words, he is slowly and painfully approaching Choice aka self-actualization. Right now, he has to face the consequences of Penny’s death, but this will probably lead him to finally enter the Choice stage and to complete his arc by becoming a “hero” aka gold (probably).

At the same time, this final choice will also be about healing and overcoming grief. It will be the final integration with Pyrrha and him being able to honor her legacy.

After all, we have been told from the beginning what Pyrrha’s fate would have been. We’ve just failed to notice:

Pyrrha: For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death. I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee.

June and Pyrrha’s bond is eternal and she is meant to be the key character in Jaune’s arc. It is only through confronting and finally overcoming her loss that Jaune can finally self actualize and become the person Pyrrha has always known he could be. Pyrrha will symbolically be with him in this struggle. Her memory will protect and inspire him.

#rwby #rwby meta #jaune arc #arkos #rwby arkos #pyrrha nikos #tw: penny's death #jaune x pyrrha #my meta

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 3 years

Text

Kar’taylir Darasuum

AN ESSAY ON LOVE IN MANDALORIAN CULTURE

A/N: This post has been a long time coming and I am SORRY for that. The lovely @darkmist111 wanted to know more about courtship and romance as it pertains to the world of Resol’nare, and well... I sort of got carried away with research and head cannons and... well, you’ll see.

Quick links: Resol’nare // Hokan’yc // Mando’a Dictionary

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of violence, death - they are a culture of warriors, my friends, it’s unavoidable.

thank you so much for this ask and for your patience while i worked on it! oh boy buckle up here we go:

Courtship

Courtship in Mandalorian culture is often a very short time period. Relationships move quickly from one stage to the next, because Mandalorians know better than many cultures that tomorrow is never promised. That being said, they don’t just pair off indiscriminately, and while physical appearance holds little to no weight in terms of attraction, there are other things that do certainly tip the scales.

For someone like Din, brought up in an extremely strict covert with an adherence to The Way of the Mandalore that leaves very little room for interpretation, the most attractive trait a person can have is skill as a fighter. Knowing that the person they are pledging their soul to is capable of not only watching their six in battle, but protecting themselves and any children that might be in the family (foundlings or otherwise) is extremely important to Mandalorians. As such, many courtships begin while Mandos are in the final stages of training, when they begin to leave the covert to go on missions. (See Hokan’yc for Din’s story of young love at this stage in his life, and meet Aashi Zurn, the Mando who bested him in the sparring chamber and won his heart in the process.)

Trust and loyalty are extremely important to Mandalorians when seeking a partner. Marriage in Mandalorian culture is meant to be forever- eternal- as Mandalorians believe that their souls live on after death, and remain connected to their loved ones until the end of time. Depending on the level of anonymity the individuals in question choose as a lifestyle (i.e. helmets on at all times or removed in front of others, names known or unknown), Mandalorians might show their trust in a partner by telling them something personal about themselves, something that they would normally keep a secret either out of pride or protection. This is usually returned in kind, a sort of exchanging of secrets that begins the binding of their two souls together that will continue throughout their relationship so that if/when they choose to marry, they are speaking the truth when they say that they know one another- in a way that no one else ever will.

Some small ways that Mandalorians will show affection or appreciation for one another during their courtship and long into their relationship (because Mandalorians don’t just fall in love and settle, they keep falling deeper into it, letting it grow stronger) include: helping them clean their armor or weapons, tending to any aches and pains from old injuries- most Mandalorians make their own herbal salves that they use to soothe inflammation or to help heal scarring, and sharing from your own personal blend to provide comfort for your partner goes a long way. (This will come up in more than one way in Resol’nare, so look out for that in the future.) sharing or preparing a favorite meal, and in the event that they really want to emphasize their feelings, they will give a piece of their own armor to their partner, showing that they are ready to view them as a part of themselves, ready to protect them with their own life if necessary.

The tradition of wearing the armor of their beloved comes from ancient times, when a Mandalorian fell in love with another who was a member of an enemy clan and had been captured by her people. To protect her lover from those who would kill them on sight just based on the sigil or coloring of their armor, she traded some of her plates with some of theirs so that they could escape unnoticed. Once two Mandalorians are wed, not even blood feuds between clans can come between them, so the exchanging of armor became seen as a sort of intention to marry for many Mandalorians.

Because Mandalorian culture takes root in various other cultures, some traditions from those other cultures cross over into theirs. For example, while no Mandalorian would ever make the mistake of asking a woman’s father for her hand in marriage and Mandalorian women are seen as complete equals and therefore able to make their own choices when it comes to their partners, some clans will still partake in common practices like introducing their intended to their family or announcing their engagement to their families and loved ones before making it known to others in the community. While jewlery is extremely uncommon in Mandalorian culture (unless it is functional, such as a beskar collar style necklace) engagement tokens like pendants engraved with the two names or rings either without stones, or rings with low profile stones inlaid into the bands- in some cases a gemstone will be embedded within the metal on the underside of the band, where it makes contact with the finger- are considered standard in most other cultures, so they are sometimes still exchanged but are in no way necessary to solidify an engagement or an intent to marry.

Marriage

The actual vows exchanged between Mandalorians are short and to the point, and there is no required ceremony, no officiant or witness needed, no record keeping of any sort, so the actual wedding is usually done just between the two individuals in private. Traditionally they are as follows:

"Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde" which translates to "We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors."

Once the vows are said, the marriage is official and the Riduurok bond is forged and must be acknowledged and respected by all Mandalorians.

Newlyweds will lift the helmet of their spouse once the vows have been sworn so that they may be sealed more intimately. In the case of Mandalorians who keep their faces hidden, this may be the first time that one or both of them sees the other without their helmet. In other cases, the removal of their riduur’s armor is merely symbolic.

Although there are no formalities that need to happen in order to legitimize a marriage, there are of course some traditions and rituals that are completed which Mandalorians believe safeguard and strengthen their bond with their spouse. These include getting specific tattoos, and adding each other’s sigil to armor or weapons.

Riduurok Tattoos

Tattooing is an important part of Mandalorian culture. Regardless of their culture of origin, where they come from, or how they choose to interpret the Creed, it is rare to come across an adult Mandalorian with no tattoos. Even the New Mandalorians under Satine’s pacifist regime continued to carry on tattooing, though not as extensively or ritualistically as the more orthodox communities like the one that Din, Paz and The Armorer come from. For them it was done more for decorative purposes. Though their designs still pay homage to shapes and motifs that are meaningful to all Mandalorians, they also include more aesthetic design elements such as florals, vines or stars.

Typically a Warrior will receive their first tattoo when they complete their training at thirteen; a thick black chevron shaped cuff on their left bicep. This symbolizes that they are part of the larger Tribe of Mandalorians outside of their own clans, and serves to remind them of the duty that they have to protect all Mandalorians. They have to look at it each time they don or remove their armor, and in the abhorrent event that they are stripped of their armor in defeat, the ink serves as symbolic beskar so that they remain protected in the afterlife. Bands and chevrons are added to symbolize achievements in battle or heroic action to protect their covert.(Din has five bands on his left arm, the latest one just below his elbow- his first when he completed mandatory training at 13, his second when he completed additional elite training, his third when helped relocate the covert to Nevarro- see Hokan’yc- his original covert was located on Dantooine- his fourth when he was injured protecting a group of foundlings, and the fifth after claiming the Darksaber. He would absolutely have more bands had he not spent so much time away from the covert. He absolutely will have more bands by the time Resol’nare ends.) For Mandalorians who live a long life or are extremely skilled fighters, it is not uncommon for these bands to cover the entire arm from mid bicep to wrist. If more space is needed, another chain of bands is added to the left thigh ranging downwards. It is said that no Mandalorian has ever completely covered their entire left side, simply because in a war-based culture, life expectancy is cut short.

Mythosaur skulls, clan signets, troop affiliations and words or short phrases in Mando’a are also typical designs that Mandalorians may choose to have done. The Mythosaur is usually tattooed on the back while the right bicep is where Mandalorians will honor their families in their chosen way. Usually it is by adding their clan signet, names of loved ones or parents, or even symbols or patterns that are significant to their culture of origin. ( Navina has a tattoo on her right arm to pay tribute to her mother’s- who was a foundling- culture. It will be revealed in an upcoming chapter so that is all that I can say about that! Din also has the Mythosaur skull inside of a triangle on the right side of his chest, and his Mudhorn signet on his right shoulder.)

Riduurok tattoos are placed on the left side or center of the chest, over the individual’s heart, and are done as soon as possible after marriage vows are sworn. Taking the shape of the Kar'ta Beskar, Mandalorians personalize them by adding their spouse’s name in Mando’a in the empty space in the middle of the design. Like the arm bands, these are also meant to symbolize armor of sorts. They represent the way that married couples remain connected no matter if they are together or apart; that they are one, an integral part of the other, even in death. They also signify the strength gained through marriage, as well as the protection a Mandalorian vows to provide for their partner. Love is seen as something that fortifies, never weakens, and that is represented in this tattoo as well.

(Terrible graphic made with love by me)

This particular tattoo comes directly from a Mandalorian myth predating modern record keeping. Legend has it that long ago, a Mandalorian warrior returned home from battle, eager to see his riduur after so much time away. When he arrived, however, he found only her lifeless form, the soul of the one he had tied himself to no longer inhabiting the flesh and bone of her body. She had been slain, taken from him and from their life together, and it opened in him a new capacity for rage, something far more fierce than fire. It is said that in the moment that the Mandalorian warrior saw what had happened in his absence, vengeance itself was unleashed into existence.

The warrior, fueled by this new urge, this extreme desire to avenge the death of his wife, tracked down the marauders who were responsible for her death and killed them one by one. The last of them, as he watched the Mandalorian take his accomplices’ lives, did not beg or grovel. He could see that it would do no good. Instead, he confessed that he did not think that Mandalorians had the capacity to love so deeply as to inspire such retaliation, that he did not think Mandalorians were open to things that could make them weak, things like love.

“Only fools like you would think that love makes one weak.” he spat at the man. “True love is power, it is strength- it is the joining of two into one and nothing, not even death can diminish it. But you? Death will erase your soul and before long you will be forgotten.”

The Mandalorian warrior killed the final marauder then, and as he did the pure rage that he felt upon discovering the death of his riduur quieted. Instead, he felt her presence, as though she were there to wrap her arms around him. He felt her strength enter his heart, and though he would mourn her loss immensely, he knew that she would never truly be gone, that he would always carry her and that they would reunite when his journey came to an end. As a tribute to his riduur and what she would always mean to him, the warrior etched her name over his heart in ink, encasing it in the oblong diamond shape of the Kar'ta Beskar, symbolizing that she is the source of his strength, a kind of armor that protected him from facing eternity alone. From then on, Mandalorians added the Riduurok Tattoo into their marriage rituals.

Clan Sigils

In the case that both Mandalorians have already been assigned sigils, or if they have sigils that they inherited from their own clans, they will either combine both symbols into one new one, or they will add their spouse’s sigil right beside their own on their armor and/or weapons. (In Resol’nare, Navina’s beskar kal that she inherited from her father- thanks of course to Firo- displayed the sigils of both of her parents, as well as her own name)

If only one of the two can claim a sigil as their own distinct mark, they will extend it to their spouse as they extend every part of themselves through marriage, and if neither one has been assigned a sigil, they will both take the sigil of the first one who is assigned one.

It is completely up to the individuals regarding whether or not they will choose to take their spouse’s name- the important thing is that they are under the same sign, as their sigils are yet another bond that they carry into the afterlife that helps them reunite once both have rejoined the Manda.

THANK YOU AGAIN TO @darkmist111 for this request. I had a lot of fun thinking about and writing this, and it was a great way for me to finally dive back into the world of Resol’nare. :)

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek @fific7 @becs-bunker @commanderlola @greatcircle79 @cannedsoupsucks @dihra-vesa @marauderskeeper @disgruntledspacedad

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #head canon #the mandalorian HCs #resol'nare #din djarin #oc: navina harsa #din djarin x navina harsa #din x navina #mando'a #courtship marriage and romance in mandalorian culture #this is an essay #with some made up myths #and some hastily made graphics thrown in for good measure #i just really love mando culture #i would swear the creed right now if given the chance #anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk #sorry not sorry for the length of one section in particular

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author-morgan · 3 years

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I really love your Eivor stories! If you’re thank requests would you be able to do an arranged marriage story - where Eivor and a Anglo Saxon princess have to marry to unite their clans and at first their not happy about but when they meet they get along, especially on the wedding night 😉 - thank you! x

♥ Here you are! I hope you like it (sorry for the wait).

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

EIVOR AND HIS brother, Sigurd, stand before Ceolmund —a powerful Saxon king crowned with the aid of the Norsemen standing before him. Now King Ceolmund of Lothian wishes to secure a lasting alliance with the Raven Clan, one that would not fade at the hands of time. It is marriage the new king speaks of. A marriage between his only beloved daughter and one of the men who laid a crown and kingdom at his feet.

Ceolmund looks to Sigurd to accept, but he shakes his head and dips his shoulders forward in a display of genuflection. “I cannot accept this gracious offer, lord, for I am bound to another already–” Sigurd’s gaze falls upon Eivor “–but my brother…”

He is cut off by Eivor, pulling harshly on the baldric securing his greatsword. “What are you doing?” Eivor hisses under his breath. He had come to secure an alliance and crown another Saxon king who’d look upon the Danes and Norse in favor —not to marry a stranger with no forewarning and on his brother’s whim.

Sigurd turns, his gaze sharp. A curt reminder that he is Jarl of the Raven Clan, not Eivor. “Calm yourself, brother,” he snaps. There’s a pause, heavy with silence, and Sigurd’s smile turns into that of a serpent’s. “It’s past time you wed anyway. Don’t you think?” Eivor glares at his brother, but Sigurd ignores the harsh look and turns back to King Ceolmund. “My brother,” he starts, motioning to the warrior standing to his right, “the honorable Eivor Wolf-kissed, will accept.”

Ceolmund rises from his throne, stepping onto the short dais —arms outstretched toward Eivor. “I should hear it from thine own lips,” he says, meeting Eivor’s uneasy gaze. What he is asking is no small task, but with Sigurd’s hasty acceptance, he has hope Eivor will follow his Jarl’s wishes. In truth, a piece of him is relieved it is Eivor Wolfsmal and not Sigurd. “Will you forge the bonds of an alliance and lasting friendship between our peoples through marriage to my daughter?”

“You honor me, lord,” Eivor tells Ceolmund with a knot forming in his throat, making it hard to speak. He bows his head. “I accept your offer of an alliance through marriage.”

MARRIAGE, THE WORD sits bitterly on your tongue after your father, King Ceolmund of Lothian, comes to visit your chambers in a decaying Roman fortress. “Mother would be ashamed!” You spit, fraught with the sudden news of your impending marriage to a heathen —a matter in which you had no say. “Using me as a bartering piece. A pawn in your games.” You’d trusted your father.

“He’s a good man,” your father refutes. Throughout three moons, he felt he had come to know the man who would marry his daughter —an honest man who wished to do right by his people and protect them even if it meant shedding blood and sweat for quarrels that were not his own. Ceolmund could not ask for a better man —Christian or pagan— to marry his daughter.

You would rather be sworn to the likes of King Aelfred than one of the godless invaders crawling over England. “He’s a heathen!” You cry. “A barbarian!”

Ceolmund pinches the bridge of his nose, drawing in a long breath. There will be a feast tonight to celebrate his coronation, where he will make the announcement and begin wedding preparations. He will not ask you to feign happiness, only civility. “Please,” Ceolmund says, holding your shaking hands, “all I ask is that you do not insult our new position or friends tonight.” But even that seemed to be a hefty request now.

“Princess,” Eivor greets, his clear blue gaze kind and voice softened by a cup of ale. “If I may have a word?” Across the table, your father nods, imploring you to take leave of the feast to speak with the man you’d be marrying in less than a fortnight. You lay your hand in Eivor’s as you rise and follow him from the keep, into the cool air of a spring night to a bench facing a northern vista with snowcapped hills far off in the distance. A frown purses his lips as he sees despair mingled with fear overtake your expression —like a newly caged bird who lost her song. “I know you are not happy with this arrangement,” he starts, gaining your attention. From his tone, you can tell he is not particularly happy either, “but know I will not harm you, and I will protect you until the Valkyries summon me home.”

You trace the sharp features of his face, lingering on the deep scar across his cheek. In your contemplative silence, Eivor reaches for one of your hands —gently holding it within his own, a soft assurance that his words had been sincere. His fingers are rough from long years of work and fighting, and when he folds them around your hand, it makes you feel small —feeble, even. “You are not what I expected, Eivor,” you note, adverting your gaze.

“What did you expect?” Eivor asks, curious to know if he and his people had been the monsters in the bedtime tales your mother used to tell. It seemed a common thing across England for Norse and Danes to be made out as devils, or worse.

“I would spare you from my initial thoughts,” you note, quietly with the color of shame on your cheeks, “for now they feel foolish.” Indeed, you were told stories of the Northmen as a child —that they were bloodthirsty, godless barbarians who raped and pillaged across the countryside. While every story had a grain of truth, Eivor Wolfsmal only desires what is best for his people —strong alliances, good friends, fertile land, and a place to rest his head. You lay your hand atop his, offering a reserved smile. “Know you have eased my mind and heart this night.”

EIVOR STEALS YOU away in the afternoon from your loom and threads, leading you to the edge of the mark and a field of wildflowers. A quiet place compared to the bustling streets of Edinburgh —the seat of Lothian— amid celebrations and preparations. Eivor speaks of his childhood with Sigurd, laughing at the foolish things he’d done as a boy. Eivor’s laugh is charming —a low rumble from deep in his chest— and his smile contagious.

You tell of the time you and a dear friend used boiled wine for an awful prank on your poor mother. Even on her deathbed, you wondered if she ever forgave you for using the wine as fake blood when you stumbled into her solar, holding the hilt of a broken sword against your stomach.

He spins the stem of a yellow wildflower between his thumb and forefinger as he tells you of his gods. Curiosity had won over you after hearing brief stories from people in the markets about Thor, Loki, and Odin. Eivor leans forward, tucking the flower behind your ear, finishing the tale of Odin’s sacrifice for knowledge after consulting with the embalmed head of Mímir. “He gave his eye?” Eivor nods, and you cringe at the thought of having to pluck your own eye out.

From above, a raven swoops down, landing on Eivor’s shoulder. His name is Sýnin, and he has been Eivor’s companion for many years. You reach to stroke his oil-slick feathers and are rewarded with a low, gurgling croak before he takes flight again in the light of the setting sun.

Eivor reclines, arms folded behind his head —looking up at the sky. You lay back too and compelled by a moment of boldness you rest your head on his chest. The fading blue linen tunic he wears in lieu of his leather armor is soft against your cheek. Eivor stiffens at first, then relaxes though a part of him wonders if you can hear his heart beating faster. After a moment of passing silence, he drapes one of his arms across your middle. Above, the sky begins to shift from the soft orange and pinks of sunset to deep indigo. “What do your gods tell you of the stars?”

EIVOR TAKES THE piece of linen from your hands, shaking his head. “You should not have to tend my wounds, princess,” he notes, wiping away the blood running down his arm from a cut near his shoulder. He returned from a hunt with your father, hiding the bloody wound from a skirmish with bandits. It was not grievous, though it bled heavily. Still, even warriors need to have small injuries tended. Even a soured scratch could send the strongest of men to the grave.

You’ve grown up in an age of continuous small wars between petty kingdoms and Danes alike and have seen the aftermath of missing limbs and burning flesh. Shying away from blood is not in your nature after aiding physicians in infirmaries after battle —especially when it is your future husband who bleeds. “We are to be wed, Eivor,” you remind him, taking the piece of linen back from him, “and so long as your wounds are not beyond my skill, I shall tend them.” He does not protest again.

He watches a flush of warmth creep up your neck and into your cheeks as your eyes dart over his bare chest —he is broad of shoulders and chest with thick and strong arms to match. Clearing your throat, you dapple away the last drops of blood and move to mix a paste of yarrow powder and water in a small mortar. Eivor winces at the initial sting of the paste on the cut, but it stems any new blood from welling as quick as a hot iron.

You sit next to him on the straw bed, reaching for one of his hands. Ceolmund had been right. Eivor is a good man. Yet for all the fondness that has grown in your heart, you remain unsure about marriage and what will happen when you must leave the only home you’ve known. The worries gnaw at your mind and heart. Even if you have started to believe you could love Eivor in time —that there is a chance of contentment in this union. His fingers curl around yours, squeezing gently, as though he can sense your trepidations. “Do you think we can be happy with this arrangement?” You ask, voice trembling and gaze focused on your entwined hands.

Eivor cups your cheek, and you meet his clear blue gaze. At first, he’d been uncertain, upset even with his brother for forcing his hand, but now, after the long days you’ve spent with one another, Eivor has no doubts. “I do,” he replies —echoing the vows he will soon take. “I’ve enjoyed our time together,” he says with a fleeting smile. Preparations for the wedding had taken longer than anticipated, giving you and Eivor a full month to become acquainted with one another.

“As have I,” you admit. The days you’ve spent with him have been some of the best in recent memory. His thumb absently strokes your cheek, and you smile, leaning into his touch. “Eivor?” He raises his brow in question, letting his hand fall away from your face. A warmth blossoms in your chest, spurring the same type of boldness you felt that evening in the meadow. “May I kiss you?”

“We are to be wed,” he echoes, smiling —lifting both his hands to cup your cheeks. “You need not ask.” Eivor’s close-cropped golden beard tickles and scratches your cheek when you lean forward, closing what distance remains and placing your lips on his. He leads you, parting your lips with a soft sigh. It takes but a moment for you to fall in rhythm and meld against him. You can feel his lips twitch into a smile when one of your hands slides up his chest, the other resting over the mottled patch of skin on his neck.

THE DOORS SHUT, and you jump, suddenly feeling skittish. The wedding ceremony had come to pass, as had the feast and festivities though now you stand in the center of your bedchambers looking upon your blessed marital bed and knowing what is expected of you. Your husband stands before an open window, barefooted and stripped of the pale embroidered tunic from earlier. He complained during the feast about how scratchy it was. “Eivor?” He turns, stepping toward you —brows furrowed. “It is our wedding night,” you note, voice betraying a veneer of strength.

Eivor grips onto your shoulders, then lets his hands glide up your neck to cup your cheeks, lifting your gaze to his. He does not wish to see fear and doubt in his wife’s eyes. “I promised I would not hurt you–” he kisses your forehead then returns his kindly gaze to you “–I meant that.” You let out a shaky breath, smiling as he runs his thumbs over your cheeks. “My gods can wait,” he tells you, “so can your God and priests.” Eivor moves one of his hands to your waist, resting his forehead on yours. “We are bound by oath, which should be enough.” Before gods and men alike, you took one another as husband and wife in sickness and health.

You catch his wrist, sliding his hand up from your neck —peppering his fingertips with gentle kisses. He watches you, lips parted and heart aching. Eivor did not think he gave his heart away so freely, but the knot in his throat as he catches your fleeting smile tells him he had. Loving you was not a difficult feat.

Closing your eyes, you draw in a slow breath, and the streak of bravado returns. With a final kiss to his palm, you guide his hand to rest on one of your clothed breasts. “Eivor.” You speak his name as though it is a quiet prayer, a soft plead to have you as a husband should have his wife. He pulls on the string at the neck of your shift, loosening it until he can push the thin material off your shoulders. It puddles around your ankles, and though bare, you still hold Eivor’s gaze. He draws in a sharp breath as his eyes dart over the length of your body —it does not escape him that he is the first to see you like this. His eyes darken, though, through the lust, there is a plethora of adoration.

Calloused fingers caress your sides and stomach, tracing random patterns into your flesh, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He kisses a path along your jaw, a strong hand coming to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place when you shy away from the tickle of his beard. His other hand skims across your waist before settling on your hip, securing you in his hold.

“Princess–” Eivor breathes, worried one more kiss will make it nigh impossible for him to stop, but you quieten him with your lips, chasing away any hesitance lingering between the two of you of what lies in store for the night.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer till he sweeps your feet out from under you —laughing at your surprised squeak as he carries you to bed. Eivor lays you on the soft pelts of fur, his weight hovering above you, braced on his forearms. Cupping his face in your hands, you ignore the prickly bite of his beard as you kiss him again, your knees bracketing his hips, brushing against the patched linen and leather of his britches. “You’re sweeter than Freyja, wife,” he muses, kissing the soft swell of your breast —the lingering scent of roses and raspberries tickling his nose.

Kissing his way down your chest, he drags his teeth across one of your nipples, giving the other a quick tweak. Chills spread across your flesh as you arch into his mouth —hands slipping into his hair. Hands gripping your thighs, Eivor urges you to part your legs wider for him. Doing as instructed, you watch, breathlessly, as he moves across your stomach, leaving open mouth kisses in his wake. Eivor drags his beard against your hip, nipping at the skin there. The warmth in your belly turns to flames.

Twitching in his hold, you clutch the pelts beneath your hands —heart pounding in anticipation. Eivor in no rush, for there are many hours until the crows sing. He kisses your inner thighs, hot breath fanning against you. The first brush of his tongue has you sighing his name, eyes sliding shut as he laps at your slick folds. Holding your legs open, he makes love to you with his mouth alone. Eivor relishes in the small, obscene noises you make while trembling above him —his cock twitches, but he ignores his desires a moment longer. He leaves no part of you left untouched, his mouth finding every nook and crevice, laving and suckling to his heart's content.

You burn, the fire in your belly demanding more, cunt fluttering around his tongue, aching for relief. “Eivor,” you whimper, chest heaving as your tug at his golden hair, fingers clutching at his unbound strands. He grunts, huffing a ragged chuckle when your hips move of their own accord —thighs fighting his iron grip. Eivor nuzzles at you, spreading you open with his thumbs. You cry out at the first touch of his tongue to your clit, but then he wraps his lips around the swollen bundle, tongue flicking out. Your body bends to his will, as though you are but wet clay in the hands of a skilled potter.

Enraptured, you barely notice when he eases one finger into your warmth and then a second —slowly thrusting and stroking. The flames in your belly flood your veins, and with a wordless moan, you give in to the hedonistic haze —it feels as though nothing matters beyond this with the waves and sparks fizzing through your blood.

Eivor wheedles you down from the high, gradually, murmuring words of praise between your thighs —how beautiful you looked in the throes of passion, how sweet you tasted, finer than sweet honey mead. He eases his fingers from you and crawls back up your body, retracing a similar path with kisses and soft nips. When he kisses you, you can taste your essence of his lips and tongue and feel the hard length pressing against your inner thigh through his pants. It makes you ache with need and want.

Fumbling with the ties of his pants and underpants, Eivor hurriedly pushes them down his legs and tossing them to the side, wedging himself back between your thighs. You feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your folds, his hips rocking back-and-forth as he coats himself in your slick. Heart racing, your body cries out at his languid teasing. Eivor lowers his mouth to your shoulder, worrying the skin between his teeth, his eyes never leaving yours.

One of his hands moves slips between the bed and your back, moving further to cradle the back of your head as he guides himself with his free hand into your warmth. You grip onto his shoulder, nails digging into his back as he presses forward, slowly, giving you time to adjust to his girth until he is fully seated —hips flush against yours. With only a thin line dividing pleasure from pain, you understand why the act could be sacrilege in the eyes of God, nothing should make a man or woman feel so divine.

He braces his weight on bent forearms, one of his hands cupping your cheek as he skims your expression for pain or discomfort. He finds none, only a soft smile and hazy, lust-darkened eyes. You guide him down, kissing him —draping one of your legs across the back of his thigh. “Eivor?” A low hum resounds his acknowledgment, though he busies himself leaving a soft line of kisses from the corner of your lips to your temple. “You can move now,” you tell him —pushing your hips up into his.

Eivor kisses you, his tongue parting your lips as he rocks his hips back and presses forward —swallowing a soft gasp and then another as he draws back further. It’s a slow rhythm of long and deep strokes that lets you feel the slow drag of his cock with each thrust. He hovers above you, punctuating some thrusts with a kiss and others with a raspy curse to the gods. You draw your legs up his sides, spreading them wider —welcoming Eivor to claim you as he desires.

Every push and pull of his hips brings him deeper inside you. Eivor pants at your ear, his breathing ragged and strained as his pace falters —thrusts growing quicker and rougher as he seeks his release. Beneath your palms, the muscles in his back and shoulders ripple, contracting with each thrust.

The hand tangled in your hair disappears —rough fingers sliding between your breasts and across your stomach, down to where your body is joined with his. He presses his thumb against your clit, stroking and rubbing circles, and smiles against your neck at his reward —soft cries of his name mingled with breathy moans and the feel of your walls fluttering around his cock.

A low hiss escapes him when your nails scrap over the skin of his back and shoulders, seeking purchase as you tremble and writhe —tilting your head back into a pillow, back arching from the bed. The flames from earlier return, taking hold of you and spreading through your veins in a hot wave. Eivor’s name topples from your lips like a prayer as you cling to him, body shaking and driving him closer to his end.

You squeeze him with your thighs and grip onto his biceps, thrumming with pleasure as he ruts into you, grunting. With another thrust, his body shudders, and his hips still as his cock twitches deep inside your warmth. Eivor’s lips part as he lets out a string of curses and praises —moaning. You cup his face, smoothing the furrow in his brows and tracing the deep scar on his cheek. Shaking, he rolls his hips into yours thrice more and accepts your kiss when you guide him down to your lips again.

Spent, Eivor lays his head on your breast and memorizes the feel of your sweat slicken bodies flush against one another. You drape an arm around his shoulders, stroking back his golden hair. A good arrangement, he thinks to himself, kissing the soft skin next to his lips. “I am proud and happy to call you my wife,” he breathes, turning his clear blue gaze up to you. He hadn’t a true choice in this marriage, but given the chance, he would still choose you a hundred times over.

His words make your heart swell with warmth and bring tears to your eyes. “I feel the same, husband,” you note —fingers combing through his beard. Only a short time has passed, but it seems as if the two of you were always meant to find one another —heresy be damned. It had not taken long, but you are certain you already love him.

Lying there in each other’s arms, time slows to an eternity. You whine when he slides his softening cock out of you —leaving an empty feeling as his warm seed trickles down your thighs. He chuckles as he moves from the bed and gathers up a linen towel. He thinks you a sight to behold lying atop the furs with wild hair and a debauched smile. Eivor cleans the mess between your legs and soothes the few red marks on your hips and thighs with quick kisses before rejoining you beneath the covers.

He lays on his side, and you pillow your head on his outstretched arm, nuzzling close against his chest and threading one of your legs through his. Eivor presses his cheek to the crown of your head and strokes your hair. “Rest, princess,” he breathes, knowing the gods had been good to lead him to a woman like you.

THE LONGSHIP COMES to dock before a bustling borough in the heart of Mercia. Eivor offers his hand, helping you onto the wharf. After spending the majority of a week on the river, it is good to feel solid ground beneath your feet for more than a hasty meal or uneasy rest on the riverbanks. “Princess-” Eivor smiles, motioning toward the people and the wooden storefronts and homes set before the longhouse rising from a hill “–Ravensthorpe.” Love and pride fill his heart, spilling over into a bright smile and voice. You glance the settlement and back to your husband, placing a quick kiss on his scarred cheek before taking the well-trodden path to the longhouse.

A band of excited children races toward the docks with a white-and-grey wolf cub nipping at their heels, shouting with glee at Eivor’s return. It’s been months since Eivor last helped with their lessons or played with them by the waterfall. They take him by storm and force. At the bottom pile, you can make out his deep laughter among the excited cries. You cannot help but smile. Eivor Wolfsmal is loved, not just by you, but his people.

He rises from the ground, smiling as he brushes off the dirt from his tunic, having whispered something to the rowdy group that sent them running for the longhouse. “Felled by children and a wolf pup. Are you sure you’re a drengr?” You ask, laughing as you pluck a small clot of grass from his hair and wipe away the streak of mud on his unmarred cheek.

Eivor’s eyes narrow, lips kinking into a taunting smirk. “Are you mocking me, wife?” He challenges.

You clutch your heart, feigning offense at his accusation. “The mighty Eivor?” He raises a brow at the moniker. Mighty, it is a title he could get used to, just as he had grown used to hearing you call him husband in a sweet, singsong voice. “Never,” you smile.

Word of his return spreads quickly, and before the merchant’s tent, most of the settlement gathers, smiling as they welcome Eivor home and are equally as quick to embrace you as one of their own. All doubts are chased away when Eivor wraps his arm around your waist and kisses your temple, smiling. “Welcome home,” he breathes —it is good to be back in Ravensthorpe, but even better to have you at his side.

[taglist: @kvitravn @vanillabeanlattes @nemo-my-name-forevermore @withered-poppies @ananriel @britishhotassassin @maximalblaze @khaoskrossed @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling]

if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

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attllhak · 3 years

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So, I got two people asking about my thoughts on the Master Sword, so I’m talking about the Master Sword.

So, to begin, I guess I should start by pointing out something we already know: only the Hero can wield her. This is because Sky went out of his way to forge the Master Sword, and himself alongside her.

So, if she can only be wielded by the Hero, who can she tell when it’s her twink that’s trying to pull her?

Simply put, I think that Fi is bound to the Hero’s Spirit, and that’s what she uses to figure out whether or not it’s the Hero coming back. And once she’s identified Link as the Hero, she sort of, latches on.

I want to reference another theory I saw about Fi being bound to the Hero’s Spirit and something something she also died in the Downfall Timeline, but I can’t find it. If anyone knows what theory I’m talking about I would appreciate help locating it.

But here’s the thing, this sort of bond runs deep. Like, these are two beings with separate spirits but who’s very souls have become intertwined, which helps them act as one, but does come with a downside.

So, this was in reference to ACIF, so I’ll use examples from there for the next bit.

When you pull the Master Sword, she ties herself to you. Once she’s recognized the Hero she intertwines their souls and binds them together. They act as one, each an extension of the other. And some Heroes notice this more clearly than others.

Knight (and kinda Wild) are pretty magically inept. They don’t use magic in their games, not really. So when Knight pulls the Master Sword in Chapter 10, all he feels is this thrumming. He can feel the magic as Fi reaches out to him, but he doesn’t recognize it. Contrast to, say, Warriors, who isn’t great at magic but isn’t magically inept (he does use some magic in his game), who did recognize the magic as he pulled the sword, but maybe didn’t realize what it meant. And then Hyrule, who is very magic comparatively, and the scene were he pulled the sword in the canon comic, he knew exactly what was happening.

So, in the chapter I just posted (Chapter 12), what is Warriors talking about with a sense of longing for the sword?

Simply put, he’s not longing for the sword, he’s longing for the piece of himself that resides within it.

This is what I meant by downside. While the Hero wields the sword the two are one. Their souls are intertwined together and connected. So putting her back means you have to separate the two souls back into separate souls. And, I don’t think they always succeed.

Basically, when a Hero puts the Master Sword back, they don’t separate cleanly from her. There is a part of the Hero that remains with Fi. (And a part of Fi that remains with the Hero.) I think this also connects kind of to the sort of, listlessness in some of the sequels where the Hero keeps adventuring without Fi. In Majora’s Mask we don’t really get to see it much since Time is still a little messed up with other stuff, and Wind is too young to have noticed yet. But in Hyrule Warriors there is the Great Sea DLC, where Warriors doesn’t even hesitate to throw himself back into the fight.

It’s also why I don’t think Sky likes using any other sword. Being the first Hero, and the one to forge the Master Sword, he’d have a stronger connection with her than the others. Which means two things: 1. He gives up slightly more of himself than the others when Fi went he put her back, and 2. He can’t make the same kind of connection with another sword like he does with Fi, and so he doesn’t want to use them.

So for the person asking if Warriors is the only one to notice this, no. Every Hero who wielded the Master Sword notices that something is off or missing. That being said, most Heroes don’t know why this is. Sky knows, and I think Time has figured it out. Hyrule absolutely knows. But most of the rest of them don’t. Warriors knows it has some connection to the sword based on the longing, but Twilight has probably sorted it into the ‘I miss Midna’ explanation.

So, TL;DR I suppose: The Master Sword is bound to the Hero’s soul and they don’t separate when the Hero puts the sword back, so a part of the Hero remains with the sword, leading to a sense of longing and listlessness when they don’t fully understand what happened.

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mcmactictac · 3 years

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Pt. 3! This one is slightly different, but here’s some songs that remind me of different groups/friendships from the DreamSMP! (These are all character based, not the actual CC’s!)

Wilbur and Tommy: No children by the Mountain Goats

This is one of my top Wilbur songs, especially during the Pogtopia era. Wilbur is just a shell of the person he was before and Tommy is forced to sit and watch as Wilbur crumbles. Both of them desperately need each other, but it just isn’t enough this time.

“I hope it stays dark forever, I hope the worst isn’t over. And I hope you blink before I do, and I hope I never get sober. And I hope when you think of me years down the line, you can’t find one good thing to say. And I’d hope that if I found the strength to walk out, you’d stay the hell out of my way”

An alternate, somewhat happier option is Two Birds by Regina Spektor. It’s looking at Tommy and Wilbur as two birds, and one wants to let go and move on, and the other one is stuck in the same place they’ve always been. I personally interpret Wilbur as the bird who stays on the wire, as it reminds me of how attached he is to his country and the idea of ultimately destroying it. He lies to Tommy and says he wants to “fly” too, but he is inevitably always going to end up in that button room.

“Two birds on a wire. One tries to fly away, and the other. Watches him close from that wire. He says he wants to as well, but he is a liar.”

Tommy and Tubbo: Things we Lost in the Fire by Bastille

After all the war and constant destruction Tommy and Tubbo have sat through; having died multiple times and watching the nation they built get destroyed? They have a bond forged where they have watched everything they love get destroyed, and had to move on and keep going even when it felt impossible. This specific song reminds me of the aftermath of losing their home for the final time, and having to find something new to fight for. It also covers both of their guilt over what has happened between the two of them, and how they both blame themselves for how things have gone.

“I was the match and you were the rock, maybe we started this fire. We sat apart and watched, all we had burn on a pyre. We were born with nothing, and we sure as hell have nothing now. You said, we were born with nothing and we sure as hell have nothing now”

Bench trio: Who we are by Imagine Dragons

What I like about this song is that it addresses their struggles and problems, but doesn’t make them seem helpless and incapable. They grow out of the trauma and force themselves to become stronger because of it, resulting in many other problems, but they certainly aren’t weak. They’re just kids dealing with problems the only way they know how.

“We were never welcome here, we were never welcome here at all. No. It’s who we are, doesn’t matter if we’ve gone too far. Doesn’t matter if it’s all ok, doesn’t matter if it’s not our day. Oh save us, what we are. Don’t look clear, it’s all uphill from here”

Tommy and Techno: Welcome home son by Radical Face

Listen I like to live in a world where this ended well so I will be picking a happy song for this first BUT I have included an angstier option below too. I saw a beautiful piece of fanart to this song months ago, and it’s reminded me of Tommy and Techno ever since. In a post Logsted time where Tommy is still recovering from his trauma, and him and Techno are learning how to be friends again. Neither of them are great with expressing their emotions in canon, and they demonstrate their feelings through actions (Techno giving Tommy a new disc as a present since he knows he loves them) This song is less about the lyrics and more about the energy it has going on, it makes sense when you hear it.

“All my nightmares escaped my head. Bar the door, please don’t let them in. You were never supposed to leave. Now my heads splitting at the seams, and i don’t know if I can-“

And an angsty option for the hurt no comfort enjoyers, Goodbye my Danish Sweetheart by Mitski.

This would take place in the middle of doomsday, with the fight between Tommy and Techno arguing about who betrayed who. We know now that Tommy blames himself for betraying Techno, which makes this fit even better. It’s the sharp pain of feeling like you are not the person you used to be, and not in a good way. You sit there and mourn the loss of who you were, and how you are not the person who other people love anymore.

“Now I lay as I study a blank wall, would you spare me your voice if I call? Cause you waited and watered my heart till it grew, you just grew a little smarter too. And I don’t blame you in you want to bury me in your memory, I’m not the girl I ought to be, but maybe when you tell your friends you can tell them what you saw in me and not how I turned out to be.”

Early L’manberg crew: Born for This by the Score

This song still has the passion, optimism and hope of a united group who believes they are fighting for what’s right. It has that sense of unity heavily tied in with passion that was there with early L’manberg.

“I believe, I believe we can write our story. I believe, I believe we can be an army. We are the warriors, who learned to love the pain, we come from different places, but have the same name. Cause we were born for this”

I might circle back to some of the characters from part one, as I have a ton of songs that fit them, and there are lots of members who have lore I am behind on so I don’t have an accurate idea of where their character is at! I have a playlist right now with all of the songs I’ve used so far, so once I stop doing these I’ll post a list with all of the songs on here, and maybe include some of my favourites I never got around to writing explanations for!

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quendis · 3 years

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(writing this as its own post and tagging @ibrithir-was-here instead of sending an ask because this got way too long)

I’m supposed to be studying for finals right now, which naturally means that the Numenor version of the Ring Babies AU is all I can think about. More specifically, I keep thinking about how the fall of Numenor would’ve happened in this universe. So I accidentally outlined a fic?

Annatar still has no particular love for the Valar in this ‘verse, but neither does he particularly want to get back on their bad side. Still, when weighing the pros and cons of manipulating Ar Pharazon into attacking Valinor… he probably still does it. It’s not like he’d be successful, after all. Pharazon attacks Valinor, the Valar squash him and his fleet like a bug, and suddenly the Numenorian problem is solved. Easy peasy.

...At least until, in the later stages of Annatar’s pitch and Ar Pharazon’s preparations for war, the king of Numenor states his intention to bring Narya with him on the flagship. As an honored guest, of course. (He’s not completely stupid, after all.)

Mairon panics. In all his machinations, somehow he hadn’t planned for this. He dissembles, at first — argues that Narya is neither warrior nor sailor, that he would be of far more use to the king if left on the island to aid in the forging of weapons and the administration of the war effort. Ar Pharazon is unswayed.

So what’s a Maia to do?

He breaks character, for the first time since his capture. This is an alternate version of the scenario in this post, where Mairon goes apeshit is pushed over the line and reveals himself as Sauron, revealing in the process that the idea of storming Valinor was entirely a plot to get Ar Pharazon killed. Even though he expected some amount of treachery, Ar Pharazon is livid. He gives Mairon an ultimatum: either surrender the true secret to eternal life, or watch as Ar Pharazon sends a war party to Valinor anyway — with Narya on board — to die.

Mairon doesn’t have the secret to eternal life. During his time as Morgoth’s lieutenant he learned how to extend life, and how to distort it, but to truly take away the Gift of Men is beyond his power. Still, there’s an idea that sparked in the back of his mind, back when they first began creating the Rings, back before he had wholly thrown his lot in with Tyelpe…

He tells Ar Pharazon of nine rings (non-sentient, unlike the later Three) designed for Men, and distributed as gifts among them. He tells him of how they might be altered, to extend the lives of their bearers near the point of eternity. He vows to collect them, and to make them into fountains of youth for Ar Pharazon and his most loyal followers.

(There are a few things he doesn’t mention. He doesn’t mention that, in order to create this facsimile of eternal life, he would bind the bearers of the rings to his will. He doesn’t mention that, although some of the rings are on the mainland as he mentioned, three are already on this island. And he doesn’t mention that one, a plain, unassuming steel band, rests even now on the finger of Tar Miriel, the rightful successor of that ring’s initial recipient.)

And so Annatar is sent beyond the blockade to find and steal the rings for Pharazon’s use, accompanied by a guard of several of the king’s strongest warriors, and with Narya left behind on Numenor, still, as an “honored guest.” He supposes it would’ve been too much to hope for that Narya would be sent with him, and that they could find some way to escape together. All he can do now is stall for time while he tries to think of a better way to escape — with Narya — upon his return to the island. And how to explain his past to his son, who he was never given a chance to speak with after that final confrontation.

Meanwhile on the Isle of Numenor, Narya is conflicted, to say the least. But he also doesn’t have much time to think about his father’s identity, since between “audiences” with the king and his generals, he and Miriel have found themselves roped into the Faithful’s rebellion. With dwindling power in court and no military force to match Pharazon’s, I think it’s at this point in the AU that they start preparing to “abandon ship”, as it were: gathering provisions and any refugees they can reach, building or stealing boats to ferry them to the mainland, and saving any relics of the kingdom they can get their hands on — including stealing Nimloth’s fruit, which is how Narya first meets Isildur and starts spying for the Faithful.

Annatar, at this point, is playing out the world’s shittiest heist movie — sent from kingdom to kingdom among the mainland’s realms of men, disguised and collecting in secret the rings that he and his husband had given as gifts not so long ago, and all the while watched by Ar Pharazon’s men with the threat of harm to Narya looming over his shoulder should they catch him trying any more tricks. Narya, who he feels he failed. Who he almost got killed, who could be killed in truth if Pharazon discovers this plot-

He tries not to think about it. But he also keeps an eye out for any friendly faces on the road. He’s in survival mode right now, and survival mode for Mairon usually coincides with the hard-learned lesson of relying on himself, and himself alone. But he isn’t just Mairon anymore; he’s Annatar, and Annatar has friends, a family, and a loving husband who he would trust with more than his life. Maybe if he can get a message out to Tyelpe in secret, he might be able to do something.

Tyelpe is not able to do something. Or rather, he doesn’t know what to do. Since Annatar and Narya were captured — nearly half a century ago at this point — he, Vilya, and Nenya have been trying in vain to find a way through the Numenorian blockade to rescue their family. And between comforting his remaining children don’t phrase it like that, he still has three children, Narya has to be alive and he will not consider any alternatives, his own stress at losing his husband and son, and trying to both run and defend the city on his own, Tyelpe is… not doing especially well.

After he hears word of the sinking of Numenor, he’s doing even worse.

See, Ar Pharazon is willing to wait and see how Annatar’s new proposal pans out, but he also doesn’t intend to leave all of his eggs in one basket. He starts trying other methods. Maybe he sends scouts towards Valinor anyway. Maybe he begins making human sacrifices, as in canon. Either way, he manages to piss Eru off magnificently. And as in canon, Eru changes the shape of the world, and Numenor is drowned, Pharazon along with it.

What Tyelpe doesn’t know is that Annatar is already on the mainland. What neither of them know is that Narya, along with his new friends Miriel and Isildur, had boarded one of the last ships to escape the island, and is currently safe on the coast of what will one day be known as Gondor.

Annatar kills his Numenorian watchers. With Narya dead, there’s no point in playing Pharazon’s games any longer. He can’t bear the thought of returning to Ost-in-Edhil and facing his husband and children, after he killed his son failed. He starts to wander, and for the first time in his very long life, wishes he were an elf. At least an elf can fade.

Tyelpe had always heard that elves would feel something, when their marriage bond broke, when their partner died. That the sundering of a love strong enough to bond souls would take part of the survivor with it. He doesn’t know what it means, that he feels nothing. Maybe it’s some quirk of the unique bond between elf and maia. Maybe it’s his punishment, for not loving Annatar enough to drop everything and ride out of Ost-in-Edhil in a glorious charge (and a less glorious boat ride, he supposes) to save him. It’s what Fingon did. It’s what Luthien did. Why couldn’t he?

Tyelpe can’t save his husband, and he can’t save his son. But there are already reports of bodies washing ashore, and if he can’t save them, he can at least grant them rest. He gathers his other children, leaves the city in the care of one of his most trusted advisors (what he should have done, he thinks, half a century ago), and rides out to bury his husband and son.

Since this AU wasn’t dramatic enough already, naturally all three parties (Narya and the Faithful; Celebrimbor, Vilya, and Nenya; and Annatar on his own) meet at the same time. I’m sure there’s a lot of questions, a lot of shouting, a lot of crying. There are probably some difficult conversations, as Annatar and Narya address their fraught parting, and as Annatar comes clean to his children about his past. But that can all wait for another time, and another tale. Right now the Ringmakers and the Rings are together again and holding each other for the first time in fifty-seven years, and for a moment, at least, that’s all that matters.

#ring babies au #silvergifting #boy this turned into a doozy #i'm supposed to be getting ready to finish my degree and instead i write an entire fic at two in the morning #is this a fic? idk #time to tag 1000 characters ig #mairon #annatar #celebrimbor #narya #ar pharazon #numenor #tolkien #silmarillion #and last but not least #ibrithir-was-here

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abbysfrenchbraid · 3 years

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Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 10

Masterlist

The Yuletide begins and the reader is in awe at the traditions and celebrations. They finally speak to Eda again. A terrible incident occurs.

Thank you all for your support, I wish you all the best for 2021!

CW for alcohol and food consumption, blood, death/loss, open wounds, animal sacrifice.

Inspo pic by @classicnovaproductions

You woke up sore and cold the next morning, each muscle screaming at you as soon as you moved under the covers to feel around for Eivor. She was not next to you anymore. You sat up.

The room was empty, but there was a small note at the foot of the bed next to the curled up white cat. Birna rolled herself to the side when you reached out, expecting belly rubs, and you humbly obliged before finally grabbing the small piece of parchment. Next to it lay the small branch with dark red buds you had brought back from your walk yesterday.

My beautiful heather, my delicate dove, my strong, skilled warrior.

I received urgent message from a nearby village early this morning - they have been overrun by bandits and need our help. I took my men and hope to be back in time for the feast.

May the sun shine brightly on your face today and illuminate your spirit as the solstice blesses us all. Find Valka and join her in preparing the celebrations, she will take care of you. I leave my heart in your hands, keep it safe for me until I return.

Yours forever,

Eivor

You pressed the note and the branch to your chest. This was a love letter. A love letter from your rescuer, your suitor, your drengr , the woman who had devoted herself to you. No one had ever carried you the way Eivor did, literally and figuratively. You were sure now; she was the one for you. Tonight you would tell her. Tonight you would let her have you.

Energized and enthusiastic, you jumped out of bed and got dressed. You chose the beautiful dresses Eivor had bought you for your welcoming ceremony, the fabric a soft caress for your skin after days in prickly tunics and dirty pants on the training grounds. You combed out your hair, an easy task after Eivor had helped you detangle it in the bath.

Your thoughts wandered back to that evening in Valka’s warm tub, Eivor kneeling behind you and her soft fingers on your scalp. Her shaky breath on your forehead as you let your head fall backward, her quiet apologies for pulling on your hair, the water she poured over your head before stroking it with her big, warm hand.

Birna called you back to the present, giving you a judging look as you quickly put the comb down. You really were a lost case if a cat could make you all flustered and embarrassed about your feelings. Head over heels.

When you stepped outside, the sun really was shining down on you. The air was crisp and clear, the snow was glittering like tiny diamonds and everyone was already up and working. There was a gigantic pile of wood in front of the longhouse, people were hanging up decorations and candles everywhere, every house smelled like a different delicacy and you could hear singing in the longhouse.

You turned your back to the bustling village and made your way up to Valka’s cottage. She was crushing herbs in her mortar when you entered and let out a delighted sigh at your appearance.

“Y/N! You’re already dressed up, how wonderful! Will you help me today?”

“Good morning Valka. I am all yours.”

She shooed you around for the next few hours, binding together branches of pine and heather, making little bundles of incense and flowers, preparing things for the offering, and trying to teach you the songs that would be sung tonight.

“The winter solstice is my favorite day of the year,” she said, excitement in her eyes. “Everything that was dark will lighten up, everything that seemed dreadful and sad will show its good side, the days will get longer, the sun will shine brighter, we will feast and sing and laugh and forgive.”

“Forgive?”

“Yes, it is common in our clan to make your peace with the people you have quarreled with over the year, to give each other a new chance and let the returning sun melt away any resentment or hate.” She paused for a moment, then she gave you a side glance. “I think this could be an opportunity for you to speak to Randvi. Or to your friend, the lord’s daughter.”

You finished tying a knot around a bundle of herbs and wiped your hands on a rag.

“Do you think I need to? Randvi and I haven’t spoken in days, but there is no resentment left between us. And Eda seems to want to be without company.”

“No one truly wants to be alone. Besides, I do not think she was alone those last few days.”

You turned to her in surprise.

“What do you know?”

“Not much.” She smiled. “Randvi seemed less grey lately, less lonely and stone-faced. She is the one who gave Eda her freedom. I feel like they might have spent some time together.”

You had not thought of that, but she was right. Of course she was. Randvi had vanished for hours on end, leaving people asking for her all over the village since Eda was free, and she really did seem more cheerful. After all, they had a lot in common. Both instruments to their fathers’ politics, disregarded and to be married off for alliances. Both suddenly distanced from those they loved.

“I think you would do well to speak to Randvi and clear the air if you want to openly be with Eivor from now on.” The seeress gave you a knowing look and nodded. “Tonight is a perfect time to commit to this relationship.”

She took your hands into hers.

“I truly believe that you and Eivor are the perfect match. It would make me very happy to see you together.” She ran a hand through your hair. “Now, let me tame this mane for you, will you?”

You sat down obediently and Valka began to braid your hair, beginning with two small braids starting at your temple and running down and back along your hairline. A second braid on either side above the first one ran back the side of your head so only the top part of your hair was still free. Valka took some rosehip oil and massaged it into your scalp, then she took a wooden hairclip with a beautiful wolf carving and fastened it at the top of your head so your hair fell freely down your back without getting in your face.

Then she took some of the red powder she had used on you once already and dabbed it on your cheeks and lips.

“You look beautiful. Eivor will not be able to control herself.” Valka chuckled. You had to laugh, too. She had been so wise and mysterious, strange and stern when you had met her. Now you were joking and telling each other your secrets like actual close friends. It was so refreshing to not think about your every word and its consequences.

“Do you think so? Did you know she kissed me once already?” You looked down at your hands.

“I guessed it, but I knew you were still hurting after seeing her and Randvi together. You were right to make her wait. This way she knows you are serious about this and she can’t make any more mistakes.” She sighed and stared into the flames in the fireplace. “But I can assure you that Eivor would never hurt you or anyone purposely. She has a pure heart and by the way she looks at you, I can tell she will love and protect you until she takes her last breath.”

You folded your hands in your lap, your eyes still fixed on your fingers. How could anyone love someone this much? How did you deserve this, to be adored and cherished so purely and strongly?

“I will tell her tonight." Your voice was strong and unwavering now. "I am giving myself to her completely, no more hesitation and distance and uncertainty. I want to be hers.”

It felt like your heart was tearing itself apart in longing for Eivor. Now that she was gone, you could not wait to see her again, to feel her touch and hear her voice. Why had you waited so long? If only she was here right now, the things you would say and do…

“This night, the solstice, it has a special meaning. Special powers,” Valka interrupted your thoughts, “that can steer the course of the future.”

You shot her a questioning look. What was she hinting at? She gave you a smug smile.

“All I am saying is that a bond sealed during the solstice is charged with strength, luck, and resilience. Not only will the forging of the bond be… ecstatic, but it will have a lasting impact.”

Oh. She was talking about more than just telling Eivor you were hers. Your cheeks were burning now. Valka patted your hand and started looking for something on her large, cluttered table. Then she found a small tin and opened it to reveal the red paste that had stained your skin the night of your welcoming ceremony.

“Free your back for me, will you?”

You slipped out of your dress and crossed your arms to cover yourself. Valka dipped her digit into the mixture and gently began drawing on your warm skin. She seemed to write sigils, beginning at the back of your neck and then wandering down your spine, leaving a straight line of runes all the way from your head to your hips. Then she stepped in front of you and you lowered your arms so she could draw another rune between your breasts. She let the paint dry on your skin while she made some tea and handed you a jug, then she took a wet cloth and rubbed off the remainders, leaving behind perfect shapes on your skin.

“There. Now you are more than prepared for tonight. This will set everything in place.” Valka looked very satisfied. You got dressed and finished your tea.

“You were right. I should speak to Randvi.”

Valka nodded, then she handed you the gigantic linen sack filled with branches and decorations.

“Carry these to the longhouse for me, dear. They will know what to do with them. It is a good thing, burying your grievances and forgiving. A wise move.” She squeezed your hand, then you heaved the sack over your shoulder and set out for the longhouse.

The way down was slippery and you almost danced with death a few times, but you always managed to catch yourself and finally arrived at the longhouse unharmed. A woman at the entrance took the sack from you and ordered a few children to start hanging up the branches. You walked over to the map room, but it was deserted.

When you turned around, Norvid was standing before you. You instinctively threw your hands up in fright.

“Oh God, you scared me!” You pressed a hand to your chest and let out a shaky laugh.

“No need, my lady. I will not harass you like I did the other night. I just wanted to express my sincere apologies for bothering you like that. Eivor certainly taught me a lesson.” He looked seriously ashamed. You nodded.

“Thank you, Norvid. I appreciate you telling me. I have to admit, I was worried about the next time we might cross paths.”

He slapped his forehead dramatically and fell to one knee. You had to fight down a laugh.

“Please forgive me for my terrible demeanor. I will never lay so much as a finger on you again.” He looked up, batting his eyelashes at you. “Unless you want me to.”

You snorted.

“No need, thank you. Now get up, you sly dog.”

He stood up and wiped the dust from his trousers, then he grinned at you and gave you another small bow before excusing himself. You shook your head at so much boldness.

When you asked the woman at the front where Randvi was, she just gestured vaguely into the distance. You followed the direction of her finger and tried not to get run over by all the eager people preparing for tonight. It was already afternoon and soon the feast would begin. There was still no sign of Eivor.

Suddenly you heard bright laughter coming from between two huts to your right. It sounded very familiar. As you rounded the corner, you saw two women with their backs to you, cutting branches with dark thorny leaves and red berries from a tall bush. One had auburn hair and one dark brown. A branch cracked beneath your foot and Eda and Randvi turned around, the laughter leaving their faces.

You pressed your hands to your stomach, trying to keep your composure. Forgiveness. New beginnings. Solstice.

“Eda. Randvi. I was looking for you both. I wanted to speak to you.”

Eda furrowed her brows.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

“Oh yes, I’m fine, wonderful actually. But we… our relationship, it is still strained from what happened in the last few weeks. Yuletide begins today and I… I thought maybe we could… find an understanding? Not just me and you, but also me and Randvi.”

You looked at the woman in blue and were relieved to find no anger or hatred in her eyes. There was actually a hint of a smile on her lips.

“As you may have guessed already, Eda and I have had some time to get to know each other,” she said and stepped forward. “Whatever you say to me, she can hear, too.”

Eda nodded. “The same goes for me.”

You took a deep breath and tried to still your shaky fingers.

“Well, Randvi, I just want to say that I am deeply sorry for all the pain my arrival here has caused you. Please know that I never intended to make things difficult for you. I had no idea what I was getting into. But now…”

Randvi came closer and placed a hand on your shoulder. She gave you a slightly pained smile.

“I know, Y/N. It is not your fault, neither is it Eivor’s or mine. I will heal, as we all do.” She quickly glanced over to Eda before sighing and putting her other hand on your shoulder as well. “I have seen the way she looks at you. I dream that one day someone will love me so fiercely, so unconditionally. Do you love her, too?”

“Yes, I do.” You just noticed now that tears had welled up in your eyes and quickly tried to wipe them away. “I really do.”

“Then it is only right that you two found your way into each other’s arms. I would be foolish to stand between you.”

Randvi lowered her gaze and stepped back. You turned to Eda, but before you could say anything, she took your hands in hers and spoke.

“Y/N, if there is an apology waiting on your tongue, spare it for the unlikely case you ever really wrong someone. I know I have put the weight of all my blame and resentment on you, but I was wrong. It was not your fault we were attacked and you had every right to try and start a better life here. I see that now.”

She squeezed your hands, smiling at you through tears.

“Randvi has shown me her world and even though she has walked a similar path to mine, she has the freedom to live as she pleases, she has power here and friends. I wish to have the same one day. The solstice shall be a new beginning for us all, and a chance for me to grow and open myself for new people, opportunities, and a new happiness.”

She wiped her cheek with her upper arm.

“It is what my mother would have wanted. It is what I want for Delia and Henry. It is only fair that I give you and myself the same chance.”

You pulled her in for a hug, the weight of a thousand stones falling off your shoulders. The pain of being hated by your closest friend had been unbearable. Thank God she had turned around and decided to give this life a try. You probably also had to thank Randvi, the countless hours she had spent with Eda and her endless patience and belief in the good.

“Thank you, Eda, thank you both for allowing me to reconcile with you. I do not want to quarrel with anyone here, no bad blood. This is my clan now, too.”

Randvi nodded and smiled, wrapping an arm around Eda’s shoulders as the dark-haired woman stepped back to her side.

“It is. You are both part of the family now.”

“You too?” you asked Eda, surprised. There had been no welcoming ritual for her yet. She gave you a shy smile.

“We had the ceremony last night. It was private.” She held out her arm with a golden bangle for you to see. Randvi pressed her lips together to stifle a grin.

Well, that was a surprise. A few weeks ago, Eda had cursed you for your interest in Eivor and now she was flirting with Randvi, a married woman? She really had turned around. Eda seemed to guess what you were thinking.

“Y/N, I apologize for my horrid comments when you first visited me. I understand now that things are different here, different than I was taught growing up. I’d be happy to talk about it with you later at the feast. I wronged you, and I am sincerely sorry. I wish you and Eivor all the best of luck.”

You could see pain flicker over Randvi’s face, but Eda tightened her grip around the auburn-haired woman’s waist and held your gaze. You nodded.

“Thank you.” You looked over to Randvi. “Is there any indication when they might be back?”

She sighed. “I hope they return before the celebrations begin. Yule can’t wait, but the ceremony will not be right without our drengrs . We’re just collecting some more decorations, but we will be back at the longhouse shortly. If you are idle, you could see if Sfáva needs help.”

As you walked back through the village, you noticed it was already getting darker. When would your drengr return to you? God forbid she was actually hurt or - no. You said a quick prayer, then you clapped your hands to shoo away your dark thoughts and focused on the path before you.

Just as you were about to cross the open space in front of the longhouse, making your way through the children admiring the gigantic woodpile for the bonfire, a horn sounded loudly from the docks. A wave of excitement went through the people in front of you and the children dropped everything to run to the docks and see the ship that had returned.

Looking behind you, you saw Valka rush down the hill with a big basket, looking worried. Did she sense a calamity? God, no. Please let Eivor be unharmed. Please, please return to me safely, my drengr.

You lifted your skirts and made your way down to the shore, surrounded by other women rushing to greet their husbands. The first warriors were already on solid ground.

They carried a wooden stretcher. Someone was lying on it, completely still. Your heart dropped.

You fought your way through the small crowd, craning your neck to try and find Eivor's blonde mane among the other men on the ship, but you could not see any specks of gold on the ship. The person on the stretcher however had light hair, long braids drenched in blood covering their face.

Someone let out a blood-curdling scream, loud enough to get through the rush of blood in your ears. A woman with flaming red hair stumbled forward. It was the Viking wife you had seen with Valka a while ago, the woman she had been infatuated with for a long time.

Even though you knew this was terrible, a tiny glimpse of hope sparked inside of you. Was it not Eivor after all on the stretcher? You finally made your way to the front when Valka pushed you aside and dropped her basket on the ground next to you before rushing to the woman’s side. The redhead had pushed the hair from the injured person’s face and revealed empty, staring eyes, a handsome, bearded face, and a terrible slash from his forehead down to his jaw.

Valka reached her just as she started wailing, wrapping her arms around the grieving woman and trying to soothe her. The men carrying the stretcher stood still, their eyes blank. The woman fell to her knees, cradling the dead man’s face and calling his name over and over again.

“He fought bravely and died a glorious death.” A loud, rough voice pierced the cacophony of chatter and crying and everyone immediately went quiet. You looked up to see Eivor standing at the foot of the stretcher. Her hair and most of her face were blackened with soot. Her eyes were full of sorrow.

“We sent him off to Valhalla and he shall wait there for all of us. Let us dedicate this solstice, this Yuletide to Alfarr and the glory he brought this clan. He will be dearly missed, never forgotten, and joyfully embraced when we join him in Valhalla.”

She nodded to the bearers of the stretcher and they set off toward the longhouse. Valka grabbed one arm of the woman that was still slumped on the ground and Eivor took the other, then they gently lifted her up and helped her walk behind the procession. It was quiet now, only a few sobs sounded through the clear night as the moon lit your path.

Eivor was alive. She had returned to you. You took a deep breath. Sigurd and Randvi were coming your way from the longhouse, followed by Eda. Randvi’s eyes widened at the sight before her and she dug her fingers into Sigurd’s arm, but the jarl kept his composure and just exchanged a silent nod with Eivor.

When you had reached the longhouse, a few younger men had already erected a table in one of the alcoves and put down linen sheets on it. Alfarr was lifted off the stretcher and placed on the table, his axe still fixed in his grip and laid down on his chest. Someone put down a tree stump on the ground next to his head and Valka and Eivor set his wife down on it. She was silent now, staring at her dead husband in disbelief.

It was curious. You knew she had been mistreated horribly by him, beaten and insulted until she had fled into Valka’s arms. Why was she so grief-stricken at his passing if she was in love with someone else and he had wronged her so terribly?

Valka looked up at you and gave you a knowing look. She would have answers for you later. Eivor’s gaze was fixed to the axe on Alfarr’s chest. She had not so much as glanced at you since her arrival. Did she even know you were here? You did not dare to go up to her and so you quietly retreated into the big hall where you sat down on one of the benches and put your hands into your head.

The childlike enthusiasm and excitement you had felt this morning had vanished. How was this evening going to play out now?

The wood of the bench creaked as someone sat down next to you. You looked up distractedly and found Norvid looking at you with a worried smile.

“How are you, my lady? Did you know Alfarr well?”

You rubbed your thighs and stared at the floor in front of you.

“No, I had never even seen him before. It’s just… I am not used to seeing this kind of violence. I witnessed it once, the night Williamsburg was raided. This is the first time since then.”

“I understand. It takes you back, does it not?” His hand hovered in the air between you, then he placed it on his knee. You nodded.

“You are a tough fighter,” he argued. “I have rarely seen someone learn so quickly and take to arms so well. If you wish to use those skills in the future, you must be prepared to see much more blood and death in the course of your life.”

You wanted to object, but then you realized that he was speaking the truth. If you were to become a warrior and fight at Eivor’s side, you would not only see violence, you would inflict it. That was the path you had chosen for yourself. You looked up at him and smiled.

“You’re right. Thank you for checking on me, I will be alright.” You touched his arm in a gesture of gratefulness and were just about to get up and look for Sfáva when you noticed a large figure in the corner of your eye.

Eivor was leaning against the wall next to the alcove, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed amidst the black paint. Her mouth was a straight line. When she caught your gaze, she pushed herself off the wall and strode to the entrance of the longhouse, vanishing before you could say anything. You jumped up and rushed after her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

You remembered the basket Valka had dropped down at the dock and made your way down to the water in hopes of retrieving it. As you came closer, you saw a dark-haired woman crouched over the spot, gathering items scattered on the snow and putting them back in the basket.

It was Eda, smiling when she noticed you coming toward her. You helped her pick up the last few strips of linen and leather sachets with herbs, then you offered to carry the basket, breaking the silence.

“What a terrible thing. Today, of all days.”

“Oh yes, a dreadful night for his poor wife,” Eda said. “I felt like all the blood in my veins froze when I saw him lying there, his wife sobbing for her dear beloved.”

Dear beloved? You were not so sure of that, but you dropped the thought.

“I felt the same. For a moment, I thought it was Eivor. My heart�� it felt like the tiniest touch would make it shatter into a thousand pieces.”

“Now you know.” You could hear the pain in Eda’s voice. There was no bitterness or blame, only grief. “That’s what I felt that night.”

You took her hand and wove your fingers into hers.

“I still say a prayer for your mother every day. I am sure she is in a better place now, someone far away from all those who attempted to hold her prisoner. You will meet again one day and finally have peace together.”

“Thank you, Y/N.” Eda squeezed your hand.

You separated at the longhouse and you went up to your hut. Maybe Eivor would be there. Your heart was beating hard against your ribcage and you had to force yourself to breathe steadily, not sure what to expect from her.

You knocked on the door and waited for a response, but there was none. When you entered, the hut was dark apart from a few smoldering coals in the fireplace. Birna was laying on a bundle of clothes on the floor, clothes you recognized as the ones Eivor had been wearing. You gave the cat a few light scratches under her chin, then you wrapped yourself in your fur coat and went back outside.

People were now coming to the longhouse from all directions and the windows were lit brightly. A few men could be heard singing a bittersweet song and someone was putting final touches on the woodpile outside. When you entered, most people were standing in small groups, talking, and drinking ale or mead. There was a big fire in the middle of the room, ready for the ox that was to be slaughtered. You saw Randvi, Eivor, and Valka huddled together next to the alcove entrance where Alfarr was lying. They were speaking in hushed voices, mixed emotions on their faces.

Eivor was clean again, her face bare except for a red rune on her forehead, definitely Valka’s work. You desperately wanted to go over to them and join the conversation, but you could not bring yourself to do it. The fear of rejection or being excluded was too great.

Suddenly Sigurd stood up on a table.

“My dear ravens, my drengrs , my family! Tonight, in the shortest night of the year, we experience the darkness, we are encased by it and it threatens to leak into our hearts. Today we have lost a great man to the darkness, but what keeps us hopeful is the certainty that he is in Valhalla now. Alfarr fought bravely and gloriously, he was welcomed by Odin with open arms!”

The other warriors cheered and raised their drinking horns.

“Let us now follow the lead of our wonderful seeress, our guide through the darkness, Valka! We shall make a sacrifice to the gods that will propitiate them and grant us light, warmth, and good fortune for the coming year. And then we shall feast, in tribute to all the drengrs that fought for this clan and in memory of Alfarr!”

Everyone started to make their way outside and you let the crowd carry you to the bonfire. A few men had led the village’s strongest, most prized ox to the open space. They had fastened the rope on its holster to a large metal nail which they had then hammered into the frozen ground right at the edge of the woodpile.

Valka stepped into the circle that the people had formed around the stacked wood. She looked glorious in the light of the torches, her golden headdress and her jewelry gleaming in the flames. She carried a large copper bowl and a beautiful, embezzled dagger. Sigurd stepped to her side and they stood at the head of the ox.

First, Valka sang a hauntingly beautiful song in Norwegian and Sigurd joined in for the last verse. He held another small speech in his mother tongue before taking the dagger from Valka. She held her hands over the ox’s head and blessed the animal. You made out the names of Odin and Freya, of Sigurd and Eivor, and some of the other drengrs .

Finally, Sigurd drew the dagger over the throat of the animal and you could see its eyes widening, but it could not cry out. Sigurd had made the perfect cut. Blood started spilling from its throat and Valka held her bowl under the thick read stream until she had filled the vessel. Then she stepped back and watched the blood run over the frozen ground, into the woodpile, and toward the longhouse.

She started singing another song and this time almost all of the Vikings joined in, lifting their hands over their heads and building a beautiful choir while the ox started to stagger. His front legs gave in first and he slowly fell to his knees, then he lay down completely, his ragged breaths making a gurgling sound as his body bled out.

The singing slowly got quieter and finally died along with the animal’s last breath. Valka called out Sigurd, Randvi and Eivor and they stood next to each other, holding out their open palms as the seeress dipped her finger in the steaming blood and drew a different rune onto every one of them. Then she called out another name.

“Yngvor! Step forward and cleanse yourself of sorrow and grief. Begin this Yuletide with hope for the future, drenched in the glory of your husband and the blood of this sacrifice.”

The red-haired woman, her face still puffy and pale from crying, stood in front of Valka. The seeress gave her a sincere smile, then she wet her finger with blood again and drew a vertical line on each of Yngvor’s cheeks, resembling the streams of tears she had cried earlier. Then Valka drew a circle on her forehead and put a dot in the middle.

She stepped back and nodded. Randvi stretched out a hand and put it on the woman’s shoulder in support. Everyone sang another short song, then the ceremony seemed to be over. Everyone spread out, most people heading for the longhouse as Lewin and a few other men knelt next to the ox and started skinning and disemboweling it.

Inside everyone sat down along the long tables a first course of food was passed around, mead and ale were poured out and the first songs of praise sounded through the hall. You sat with Aelfric, Hal, and Eda. They were all excitedly debating the meaning of the ritual and its different components, the runes, and what might still come in this long night. In the meantime, the ox was carried in on a long spit by eight men and hung over the fire to roast.

You were distracted by your strange reunion with Eivor - you had not even spoken a word after being so close during the last weeks. Of course, she had lost one of her men and if you knew her at all, she probably blamed herself for his death. But then the interaction with Norvid and her reaction to it - what was that? Was she jealous? There was no reason for that. You were hers and hers only. She should know that.

You risked a look to her table and your heart cramped up in your chest. Eivor was not eating, her fists were balled up next to her plate and her eyes fixed on the table. Her face was a stony mask, no emotion breaking the surface. Sigurd and Randvi were deep in conversation and you could hear two of her men at her side speaking about Alfarr and how well he had fought today. All you wanted was to go up to Eivor, take her hand and hold her tight. But you feared that she would reject you after everything you had seen of her today.

Hal pulled out his dice game and immediately declared that he would never play against you again. Instead, you taught the game to Eda who had great fun but went down without a single win. She was a hopeless case.

“Mind if I join you?”

You looked up to see Norvid standing next to you, a plate of dried fruit in his hand.

“They are going to make the first cut on the beast soon, but I figured that if all the drengrs get their meat first, we still have some time to spare. At least three rounds.” He grinned and the others eagerly invited him to sit. Soon they were laughing and bickering about their wagers.

When the meat was cut, everyone was patiently waiting in line for their share. Norvid stood behind you.

“How are you liking your first Yule so far?” he asked, a friendly twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, it’s very impressive. I have never seen an animal being sacrificed in that manner. It seemed very peaceful. I can hardly wait for the bonfire later.” You smiled at the thought of the gigantic pile of wood that would be ablaze soon - the biggest fire you had ever seen.

The meat was delicious and there were sides of roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and pickled cabbage. When it was finally time for the fire, everyone flocked outside again. The ox’s blood had seeped into the ground, leaving frozen red streaks around and leading into the woodpile.

You stood next to Eda as Sigurd and Valka joined together for another speech, then a young, blonde Viking woman with beautiful, intricate braids carried a great torch from the longhouse and handed it to Sigurd. Their eyes met and their gazes stayed locked for just a moment too long. You looked over to Randvi; she had seen it, too. She looked just the slightest bit surprised, but not affronted or disappointed at all. Interesting. Eivor stood next to her, her face still completely devoid of emotion. She stared at the woodpile, or rather through it into the distance.

Sigurd said another few words in Norwegian, then he went around the pile and set fire to the wood in different places. Finally, he pushed the torch into the bottom of the pile and everyone watched in awe as the stack ignited, the wood cracking and shifting as sparks flew in all directions.

You turned to Eda to joke about her bad luck in the dice game earlier when you noticed her dreamy gaze into the distance, her expression languorous and enchanted as the light of the flames danced over her face. You followed her eyes and landed on Randvi, who showed the exact same countenance.

“Eda?” you asked and she snapped out of her reverie immediately, trying to look innocent.

“Yes, dear?”

“What is happening between you and Randvi?”

She grabbed your arm and shushed you even though you had barely mumbled the question. Then she pulled you back a few steps, out of the circle, and got closer to you.

“I do not know what nature the bond between us will turn out to be. But she is the reason I smile again, the reason I eat and speak, the reason I yet stand before you. Something about her is so… gentle, so kind and caring. I have never met someone as selfless as her.”

You fought down a bitter laugh. Randvi was many things, but endlessly selfless was not one of them. You left it up for Eda to learn that herself. Reminding yourself of Valka's words and your reconciliation with Randvi earlier, you hoped that maybe Randvi had really changed. You did not want Eda to go through any more pain. Sighing, you put an arm around your friend’s shoulders.

“I hope you find peace and happiness here. I know I am still searching for it.”

Eda raised her eyebrows at you.

“I thought you had Eivor?”

“Well, yes. I had her. But I was not yet ready to commit to her and now that I am…” Your eyes wandered over to the beautiful blonde standing next to Sigurd like a statue. “I am not sure she wants me anymore.”

“I refuse to believe that. Everyone who ever laid eyes on you two knows you are madly in love.” You looked at Eda in surprise and she laughed. “Oh Y/N, you are destined to be together. You will make all our lives hell if you don’t finally find your way into each other’s arms.”

She giggled, a sound you had last heard when you were but young girls sharing secrets hidden in the stables of Williamsburg.

“Maybe the reason Eivor acts strangely is because she cannot control herself around you any longer. Maybe it is your touch that will give her peace.”

“Eda!” you whispered and slapped her hand, trying to contain your own laughter. You could feel yourself blushing at her proposition.

People were spreading out now, some staying at the fire, some going back to the longhouse or vanishing into the dark to do God knew what. Eda hooked her arm under yours and you were joining the others that were going back in when Norvid came up from behind.

“Good evening, my ladies!” He was fairly drunk again, but before you could say anything, Eda had let go of you and pulled him between you. She linked arms with him and he followed her example on your side, tucking your arm under his. The three of you stumbled along the path together and maybe it was the ale you had had, or the wonderfully clear night, or how unbelievable all this seemed to you, but you threw your head back and laughed, deeply and heartily. You had found your place here.

Just as you were about to enter the longhouse, you saw Eivor standing on the side, beckoning you over. You felt a jump in your stomach and took a deep breath.

“Go ahead, I won’t be long,” you told the others, secretly hoping the opposite. Eda and Norvid went without asking why, and for a moment you stood still, watching them enter the brightly lit room. They both tripped over a fir branch on the floor and struggled to untangle their arms, but while Norvid hit the floor with a loud thump and more laughter, Eda fell right into Randvi’s arms. You smiled to yourself. She was in good hands.

You turned to Eivor and she rounded the corner of the longhouse, motioning for you to follow her. It was the same spot where you had once found Valka and Yngvor, the red-haired woman, in loving embrace. Your heartbeat quickened and you were just about to ask Eivor what she planned to do with you when she whirled around and pushed you against the wall, her pupils blown and hot wrath burning behind them.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” she snarled, “little dove?”

Author’s note: this just keeps getting longer and longer - I hope you aren't bored of me yet. I promise you a lot of smut for the next chapter. Please do let me know what you think if you're still reading!

#eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed #eivor #eivor x reader #eivor wolfsmal x reader #eivor wolfkissed x reader #lady eivor #lady eivor x reader #ac valhalla #assassins creed valhalla #assassinscreedvalhalla

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

Text

All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 2 ~It’s Her Cue~

Previously in Sparks Will Fly ...

A slap on his back tore his gaze away from Claire. "Easy now lad," Willie said in a low, amused voice. "Ye look like ye could use the same drink as her."

Jamie glanced back at the subject of their conversation. "Aye, but make mine a double," he whispered.

"On it," Willie replied, laughing as he walked off.

What the bloody hell? He should be withdrawing himself away from this attraction because this mad instant bond between them was like an overloaded electrical fuse, capable of incinerating him alive. He'd already learnt his lesson from his last relationship. He'd been there and done that, but yet he didn't have the will to stop himself from finding out how their connection would play out.

Oh, Christ, this is bad. So, so bad, I'm in so much big trouble. Taking a huge sigh, he found himself a stool nearest to the pool table and watched Claire steal the show from the best snooker player in Broch Mordha.

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"Just polishing my balls for the lovely lass, here."

The people around her howled with good-natured laughter.

Claire kept her head down as she sat on the edge of the stool, chalking her stick, waiting for Hugh to stop showing off and blathering with his mates, and to finally break. She felt eyes on her, and when she looked up, she met Jamie's gaze where he sat with his brother at the high table.

Annalise leaned in from behind her and whispered, "Ginger can't stop looking at you."

Claire drew in substantial deep breaths. She'd watched Jamie play shinty earlier, and she thought he looked impressive then. Tall, strong, lithe, covered in mud and the epitome of a Highland warrior. Not that she had any idea what a Highland warrior would have looked like. After all, she only had the movie, Braveheart to go by. But who would have thought he'd show any interest in her. Perhaps, because she'd probably looked like she was about to climb him. Who could blame her, though? The moment he'd looked into her eyes, he stirred something inside her, which no man had ever done before him. And by some feat of willpower, she wondered how she'd succeeded not breaking into song right then and there. Up close earlier and now, sat only a few feet away, Jamie looked even better. Wavy auburn hair touched the collar of his plaid flannel shirt and the way his jeans hung low on hips, it shouldn't be even allowed.

"He probably thinks I'm easy. You know how some rural folks think city people like us have loose morals."

Annalise gasped. "Why do you think he would think that?"

"I think I came on too strong and flirty," she confided in a low voice. "He's a man, so of course, he'd respond, and it probably works a treat for him too since I'm only here for a holiday. But my God, he's one fine specimen of a man, isn't he? I'm even getting butterflies, and the last time I had them ...goodness, I can't even remember."

"Don't be daft ...you don't even know what he's thinking. Besides, you're single, and you're allowed to show interest if you fancy someone." The ice in Annalise's vodka and tonic clinked behind her. "This is the twenty-first century, and you're welcome to it. Flirt away and get butterflies. Let yourself go a little. I don't know if it applies here, but I'll say it anyway ...what goes on in the Highlands, stay in the Highlands."

Aww, bless her.

Claire was grateful for her friend's presence in her life. If Annalise hadn't been there to constantly coax her out of her self-consciousness and to confide in to, she'd probably still be living a secluded life, and London would have eventually eaten her whole. Now here she was, openly flirting with a handsome stranger and she'd agreed to let him take her out.

Claire smiled. "How about you? What's happening with you and Willie?"

Annalise made an exaggerated sighing sound behind her, making her laugh. What a tart!

"Hey, by the way, Jamie asked me out. So I guess, after this game and a round of drink, we're going to split. He wants to take me on a Christmas night tour. Will you be alright with Willie?" Claire asked. She had to make sure as this was their holiday together and she didn't want Annalise feeling abandoned.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. The boys seem like decent blokes, but as a precaution, I took photos of their driving licences and sent them to Geillis. She'll have them thoroughly checked out. Really handy to know someone whose boyfriend works with the police."

Claire's eyes widened, and she turned around to face her friend. "You didn't! I told Jamie I trust him." Geillis Duncan was their mutual friend they'd met in London at a party. After hitting it off, they'd forged a tight friendship, and the three of them became close until Geillis had to move back to her home city of Glasgow when she met the love of her life. Claire and Annalise were going to visit her before flying back to London.

"Of course, I did, silly. We're both on our own. Just because we're on our holidays and having fun doesn't mean we have to be lax when it comes to precaution. Don't worry, it'll be fine." Annalise reassuringly squeezed her arm. "Speaking of protection ...do you have condoms?"

What!?! Sex was the furthest thing from her mind. But she didn't have time to reply as she saw at the corner of her eye, Hugh finally, leaned across the pool table and broke. As Claire stood up to take her turn, their audience cheered and whooped.

Ignoring the hoots and whistles, she watched in concentration as the colourful balls rolled, not one of them dropping into a pocket. She began to walk around the pool table, taking in each position of the balls as she tapped her chin. Alrighty Beauchamp, let's have a look, shall we? This should be easy-peasy, lemon squeezy. We'll go for stripes.

"Ye ken how to play, hen?" Hugh teased, extracting laughter from his friends. "If not, I promise to go easy with my shaft." Another round of loud laughter ensued.

Claire ignored the innuendo, and the sally going on and focused.

First, I'll down that nine-ball hanging over the pocket and use the rail to tap out the eleven, crammed against the twelve. That'll leave open the six, thirteen, and fifteen. Once I drop the fifteen, using a little side spin, that should bring me to the other end of the table. Then I'll sink the eleven and the fourteen into the same corner pocket, gently hitting the ten off the rail in the process, so I don't get stuck later having to bank shot it. Knock in the eight, then I'm clear to finish it off. Good God, Beauchamp, you're so good.

Satisfied with her strategy, Claire leaned over the green felt and positioned herself. Although Hugh's loud wisecrack didn't rattle her, the intensity of Jamie's stare was another matter. Taking a deep breath, she redirected her concentration on her game plan and took her first shot and then another, working clinically and accurately. Unfortunately, their encounter earlier kept creeping back into her consciousness and playing in loops in her head. It didn't help that his scent stuck on to her when he'd caught her after the fall. He smelled of forest and fresh laundry. None of that heavy musky expensive perfumes London yuppies liked to bathe in. It made her want to lean in, bury her face in the crook of his neck and take a deep breath.

Bent at the waist, Claire stretched over the edge of the table and focused on the fifteen-ball and tried not to wince at the memory of openly flirting with Jamie. In her defence, it wasn't every day she was rescued by a very manly bloke who stared at her like he didn't want to let her out of his sight. She wondered if she'd appeared too eager and was totally misunderstanding the look he was giving her. There had been a hint of wariness lurking behind those beautiful translucent blue eyes when she'd agreed to go out with him. Had she said something to cause him to throw up his guard?

Having gone to a Catholic, all-girls, boarding school, her experience with the opposite sex was limited to the ones she read in romance novels. Orphaned at a young age, her guardian uncle Lamb didn't believe, dragging her across the globe with him was an ideal way to raise a girl, especially when he worked mostly with men in archaeological sites. So he'd decided the best place for her upbringing was with the nuns, right through college.

So when it finally came for her to start adulting and dating in a big, bad city like London, she'd been like a deer caught in the headlights. But she quickly found her feet with the help of her friend and flatmate, Annalise, a Parisienne by birth and a Londoner at heart. The French girl had been a mentor to her, initiating her to the trappings of singlehood and city life. Though the dating and getting-to-know-a-guy part was also an exciting discovery, she quickly realised every date she'd been to, after having gone through a handful of them, was a recycled version of the last. Same lines, same latest fashion, exaggerated backstories and trying too hard to impress instead of being themselves. So at the ripe age of twenty-five, she still had to experience what it was like to have a boyfriend. Annalise accused her of being too picky, but Claire always reasoned she just hadn't met the right one. She'd envisioned her first boyfriend to be someone endearingly awkward, not too loud and maybe a little shy. But Jamie was the least awkward man she'd ever met. He was easy on the eyes, and he lived inside his skin like a well-worn pair of jeans. He was far from a starter boyfriend she'd envision - definitely, not a boy anything.

"Go, Claire! You can do it!" Annalise shouted at the sidelines.

As she marked her shot on the eight-ball, she glanced up at Jamie and felt her focus wobble a bit. When one of the lads emitted a low whistle as she moved her hips to settle herself at a conducive angle, he didn't have a smidgen of amusement on his face. More than anything, he looked liked he was about to knock the front teeth off of the offender.

She didn't want a pub brawl to start in her honour, even if it sounded romantic in movies or books.

Straightening up from her position, she gave Jamie what she thought was a sexy smile. "Hey, Jamie," she called to him. "You got that single malt ready for me? This shouldn't take long." She tried not to blanch for sounding overconfident and cocky. It seemed cheeky for presuming she'd finished this game in a jiffy, but the pleasure of seeing his piercing blue eyes creased at the corners was definitely worth the minor discomfort her behaviour had caused her. Oh, Lordy! There were hushed oohs, followed by a round of testosterone-laced jests, making Jamie shake his head in amusement. At least, to her relief, he stopped looking like he's about to wallop anyone. Trouble averted in the knick of time!

As Jamie turned to get the attention of the bartender, she quickly lowered herself back over the table in the same position and sunk in the remaining balls. When she finished, her opponent, Hugh looked, well …not the least bit pleased about it. It probably didn't help she'd earlier acted cocksure about winning the game and might have dented his macho ego in front of his mates.

Claire watched Hugh purposely marched towards her as their audience clapped, cheered and teased him for losing to a lassie.

"Ye got me at a disadvantage. I must admit I went easy on you since ye're new around here," he said loud enough for everyone near the pool table to hear.

Claire gave him a charming smile, even though she felt like throttling him for not being man enough to congratulate her. "I know. Too bad, you assumed I couldn't play because I have a pair of boobs."

Hugh's eyes dropped down to her breast, and his cheek twitched, as he openly leered at her. "I must admit, ye have a lovely pair, and it might have distracted me from playing a good game, now that I come to think about it. Ye ken what ye need? Ye need a good ..."

"Stiff drink?" Jamie interrupted as he handed Claire a glass of single malt. "That's what ye were about to say, aye?"

Jamie's words were mildly pleasant, but she detected the underlying warning in his tone. Hugh didn't look like one to back-off, but when Jamie took a small step forward, he eyed the height and breadth before him and thought better of it. Splitting a forced smile between her and Jamie, Hugh raised both his hands as a sign of truce and slowly walked back to his mates.

With a sigh, she placed her cue stick on the pool table and faced Jamie. "This is fast becoming a habit of yours, isn't it?"

"What?" he asked, taking a step inside her personal space. It was another one of his moves to add to that growing habit list of his. Her old fashion side, the side influenced by her upbringing in the boarding school, wanted her to take a step back. But the side, that suspiciously sounded like Annalise, was shouting at her to hold her ground.

So she held her ground and arched an eyebrow at him. "You coming to my rescue. Again!"

When his mouth expanded into a smile, she couldn't help noticing his full, beautiful lips. With a cleanly shaven angular jaw, they made him looked like an angel who'd spent time in hell. Her breath caught in her throat, and she quickly looked back up, hoping he hadn't noticed her wandering eyes.

His amused expression told her he had. "Ye could say, rescuing ye is one past time that's beginning to grow on me."

She laughed out loud. It was something she did whenever she was nervous or when shyness overtook, and the most annoying part of it, it was almost always accompanied by a snort. She quickly sobered up. Acting like a loon was definitely beginning to be her nervous signature move.

As if sensing her unease, Jamie quickly changed the subject. "By the way, that was some show ye put on. Ye'll be the topic of everyone's conversation for the next few days. And Hugh the butt of jokes."

"I didn't realise I was playing with a sore loser," she said, taking a sip of her whisky. When the heat slid down her throat, she tried not to flinch. Acting cool wasn't her forte, but she was determined to work on it. "If I'd known, I would have given up my slot."

"Dinnae fash. Hugh's all mouth and no trousers, but he's harmless. So where did ye learn to play like that?" His eyes scanned her face, and he cocked his head a little like he was committing each of her features to memory.

"My uncle taught me. We'd play for hours whenever we get time to spend together."

"Ye're close to yer uncle. That's nice. I hope I'd be that type of uncle one day."

She beamed. Jamie looked like the type of uncle who would have boundless of energy playing with children. "My uncle's for the most part, both a father and mother to me when I wasn't in the boarding school. My parents died when I was young."

His face turned serious. "Sorry to hear that. My parents have always been part of my life, so I can't begin to imagine what it was like for you growing up without them."

Claire gave him a grateful smile as she pulled a vibrating phone from her pocket. "Oh, bummer," she whispered, glancing down at the screen. "I have about fifteen missed text messages. I didn't feel it going off. I must have been caught up with all the excitement of the game."

He ran a hand along his jaw. "Some lad missing ye back home?"

She hesitated, glancing up at him. "No." She shook her head, vigorously. "It's my friend, Geillis." She skimmed through the messages wondering why there were so many of them. Annalise had sent the photos of the brothers' driving licences to Geillis, and probably something had come up.

"Is everything alright?" he asked as she continued to read the messages.

"It's fine," she squeaked, looking for any incriminating data Geillis might have found. She found none. Instead, what she was reading was making her face heat up.

"Are ye sure? Ye have a troubling frown forming on yer face. Maybe I can help."

She sighed and rolled her head. "Annalise sent the photos of your driving licences to my friend Geillis. And a selfie she took with you and your brother earlier. You know ...to have you check out and see if you're legit. Geillis' boyfriend works with the police you see."

He arched an eyebrow. "And?"

Is he upset? "Don't look at me like that. I told you I trust you."

He laughed. "Like what? Ye're the one who's giving me an odd look. I told ye I was alright with it. So what did she say? Do I get her seal of approval?"

She winced. "Yeah, Geillis says it's all good."

He picked up his whisky from the nearby table. "Geillis sounds like a verra nice friend. I think I like her already. What else did she say?"

She felt the colour drain from her face. "I swear you wouldn't want to hear the rest of it. Geillis is raving mad."

"Try me."

"I think we should leave it ..."

"Come on, Sassenach. It cannae be that bad."

"I'd rather not."

"Go on, humour me." His blue eyes danced, and she marvelled for the umpteenth time at how handsome he was.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you." She shut her eyes for a few heartbeats and puffed out a breath. "Well, she said if you're the same bloke who competed against her boyfriend at caber toss last spring and won ..." Oh dear, God. "...I ...um ...I should let you ground my corn."

He practically choked on his whisky.

She grimaced and wondered if she should thump him on the back. "I'm sorry. Geillis has an odd sense of humour. I'm afraid it's just her way of saying that her boyfriend thinks you're ace ...well, that's if you're really the bloke who he thinks you are."

He recovered quickly and grinned. "How about ye? What do ye think of me?"

She ignored the question. "You haven't confirmed anything to me yet," she said, speaking into her whisky glass. "Did you really win the caber toss competition?"

He looked smugly amused, and the smile that spread across his face already answered her question.

"So you're a tree surgeon who plays shinty and tosses poles in your spare time ...whatever next."

He nodded at her phone when it lit up again. "What else is your friend saying?"

She put her drink down and glanced at the screen. "'She said, the men who participated in this year's caber toss, including you, posed with nothing on but their kilt for a charity calendar."

He smiled. "Aye, that's right."

"And she asked me to ask you if you're wearing anything underneath the kilt because I'm getting the calendar as a stocking filler."

His booming laughter made a few heads turn their way.

"See I told you, she's raving mad." She took another sip from her glass and realised it was empty. Ah, fiddlesticks! "I thought her boyfriend would have mellowed her down a bit, but I have a feeling, she's worse than ever."

He eyed her glass and grinned. "I definitely have to meet this friend of yours."

She felt a twinge of ache in her heart, which took her by surprise. "Annalise and I are stopping at her place in Glasgow before we fly back to London on Three Kings. So you won't be seeing her."

He leaned in closer. "I ken we've only just met. Ye think ye're going to miss me when you go back?" His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Even though she was a right bumbling mess around him, she had to admit she was having too much fun in his company. So much so, she didn't really want to think about leaving yet. Her mind was already racing and wondering if Annalise would agree to celebrate Hogmanay here instead of in Edinburgh. "Well, that depends ..."

"Depends on what?"

Her curiosity to explore the dynamic between them made it difficult to keep her guard up. It was useless trying to fight whatever this was when she was so drawn to Jamie. Surely he must be feeling this too. She swallowed hard and decided to be brave. "If I'll have a reason to miss you," she blurted out before she could change her mind.

A tiny fraction of the playfulness displayed on his face was replaced by uncertainty ...and Claire's stomach coiled at the proof he wasn't prepared to act on the attraction between them. Whatever his reason was, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know as her guard began to scramble back into place. Oh, God, how could I be so dim? Maybe he's got a girlfriend or a wife ...

"Arbroath Smokies."

Stunned, she looked at him. "Wot?"

"Have ye eaten?"

"Uh, um ...not since midday."

"Weel, hard to fall in love with ..." He took a huge deep breath. "...Broch Mordha on an empty stomach."

"Huh?"

That playful smile was back on his face. "Have ye tried Arbroath Smokies?"

"No. I don't even know what that is."

"Ye have to try it. I know just the place." Jamie glanced over his shoulder. "Come on, let's have a quick drink with Willie and Annalise so we can get out of here."

And then just like that, he wove his fingers through hers and tugged her towards the bar.

#melodyheart #all I want for christmas is you #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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beggingwolf · 3 years

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an anon just submitted basically an entire fic to me on my main pens blog (@rimouskis) and I absolutely must share it all with you. thus:

with all of this talk about “Malkin’s legendary loyalty to Sid” and people trying to undermine Sid’s captaincy from within... how badly do I want a medieval AU of “Crown Prince/young King Sidney and his knight protector Geno”? so badly. they meet when Geno (son of a blacksmith from a far-off land, already making his living as a travelling swordsman-for-hire among grown men despite being barely nineteen) is hired to be the bodyguard of Prince Sidney (the very serious and very babyfaced eighteen-year-old ward of King Lemieux, actually the son of peasants who was chosen by prophecy to be heir to the kingdom when he pulled a sword from a stone as a child or whatever). there is some initial tension because Sid is sulking over what he sees as the insinuation that he can’t take care of himself in hiring a bodyguard, so he misjudges Geno as just some simple hunk of muscle at first and in turn Geno is like “well this guy is obviously a pompous brat”, so there’s friction between them until something happens where Sid realizes how keen and smart Geno actually is and Geno realizes that Sid is actually kind and humble but just takes himself very seriously, and suddenly they’re best friends. Sid appreciates that Geno isn’t afraid to rib and tease him and treat him like a normal person which is refreshing, and Geno appreciates how Sid treats him like an equal and doesn’t boss him around or look down on him like others do. Sid opens up about how he misses his parents and his sister but he has to be here because it’s his destiny to be a part of something bigger than himself; this is a bonding moment in which Geno talks about missing his family but choosing to leave his homeland because he wanted more adventure and opportunity than a place like that could provide. They do everything together. Sid asks Geno to teach him advanced swordsmanship and archery stuff because he wants to be more than just a figurehead king someday, and offers in exchange to help Geno develop his under-practiced writing skills so he can send letters home to his family — this leads to long combat practice sessions in the afternoon sun and late-night lessons huddled together in the castle library by candlelight. Sid ends up demanding that Geno be knighted after his quick-thinking and bravery in the midst of some accident saves the life of Sid’s sister Taylor when she is visiting — King Lemieux agrees, on the condition that Sid do the knighting ceremony himself “as practice for when you are king” and the tension of THAT whole sequence is off the charts, Geno kneeling and pledging his loyalty as Sid taps his shoulders with his sword and bestows this upon him. But they never do anything about this tension because they’re best friends, and besides with their stations in life and everything else there’s just nothing that would be possible, surely.... Anyway when Sid is like 22-23 the King dies (or is somehow incapacitated) and he suddenly has to ascend to the throne. Not everyone thinks he’s ready for it (he feels so unsure himself, inside) and there are those within the court who don’t believe in the prophecy or still see him as a weak and naïve boy, who seek to undermine or usurp him and put themselves on the throne. He has a small circle of trusted knights (Tanger, Flower, Duper, other assorted Pens cast members of the author’s choosing), and he makes Geno his right-hand advisor/chief tactician and de-facto second in command, but beyond that it’s so hard to know who to trust.

The kingdom has been going through some rough years and there are troubles and tensions with other nearby lands, and the crown and the expectations of destiny feel heavy on his head... but even after all these years some things never waver, and one of those is the steady presence of Geno standing beside him or at his back, wearing his colours, ready to personally go to war against any threat that comes Sid’s way, physical or otherwise — not to mention the fact that their relationship is one of those rare parts of his life where he feels like he can be Just Sid and be valued for that, rather than having to rise to his destiny. Meanwhile Geno has long since accepted that he has devoted every part of his heart to his king, his Sidney, who has over the years only grown more regally handsome (rather than boyishly pretty like he was at the start), more proudly sure of himself and defiant of all expectations. They both wonder if there might be something more to how they each feel about the other, but will they be brave enough to risk their friendship and that vital loyalty to try for something more, in the midst of such a dangerous world where so many people are looking for anything they can find to bring down the king? That’s for the author to figure out.... ([Sponsor statement] This pitch brought to you by: the idea of how incredibly sexy it would be to see Geno go beast mode swinging around a big ol broadsword)

anon... you marvelous creature, you.

we LOVE a medieval/fantasy AU. also, because I need to make everything about wolves: consider Geno being from a race of werewolves, where he can shift into a wolf to protect king and country.

maybe, too, there’s some bias in the Lemieux kingdom (or even in the Russian kingdom) about werewolves, and Geno expects to never really be given his due in life, treated as lesser than.

but Sid looks at him differently. sid sees him, even through their language barrier, even through their differences, and it forges a trust and loyalty in Geno that will never waver. Sid looked at him like someone worthy, and Geno will always remember it.

I LOVE a good power imbalance and I love the idea of both of them having a leg up on the other; Sid thinks it would be an abuse of his power as Geno’s liege to openly covet him, to ask Geno to be his. and Geno, as a powerful (perhaps werewolf) warrior who’s pledged to protect Sid’s life, thinks it would be an abuse of his raw physical power to want someone like Sid.

(better yet if Sid keeps having to court other nobility because the kingdom wants to find him a match and we get some Jealous Geno content. delicious.)

of course we’d need some absolutely wonderful battle scenes of Geno protecting Sid with that broadsword or, when it REALLY gets serious, shifting into a wolf with terrible teeth and claws that prowls around Sid threateningly.

and, then, Sid tending to the (superficial) wounds Geno earns during fights, where the tension between the sparks dangerously like a flame near dry brush.

better yet... a scene where Geno is incapacitated or captured, and SID comes to his rescue, using the techniques Geno taught him and he then perfected. Sid gripping Geno roughly, hauling him away to safety, growling—like HE’S the wolf—that he’ll never let Geno be taken again.

#ficlet

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ariars-art · 4 years

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First post of the new name/direction of this blog with my Linked Universe Percy Jackson AU! Meet the Demi-God boys!

After cleaning out my room a couple of weeks ago I found my old PJO & HoO books and my old obsession clashed with my new one along with my passion for mythology! I have a lot of stuff thought up about this AU and I’m going to keep riding the self indulgence juices for as long as I can!

Some info on the boys/the AU can be found below! Not everything is below, I would like to keep some secret/for the future ;) And feel free to ask/send questions about the AU, I would die of happiness if you did!

Wind -Son of Poseidon (God of the Sea, Storms, Earthquakes, Droughts, Floods and Horses) Counselor of Cabin 3. -14 years old. 3 years at camp. -He is a summer camper, and lives with his Grandma and younger sister Aryll when not at camp, they are unsure if his sister is a Demi-God as well. -Has gone on a few of quests so far, mainly ones that involved the sea including one to the sea of monster with his best friend/best rival Tetra. -Really excited about all his new cousins and family. -Hates being underestimated due to his age, he’s been on quests, he's a son of Poseidon, he’s just as capable as the rest of them! -Favourite part of his powers is his ability to talk to fish and horses. Horses don’t like him back though. Wild -Son of Hypnos? (God of Sleep and the Personification of Sleep) -Doesn’t even know his age, let alone his birthday. -A year round camper, well he’s got no where else to go. First year at CHB -All he remembers is being inside a nice plush cabin with lots of pillows a tree growing in the middle that leaked a milky colored sap that was dripping over his hands and lips. -Slept for a really long time and he guesses now he has no memory? At least that’s what Chiron told him. But why does he feel so guilty? -No quests just yet, he likes practicing archery trick-shots with the Apollo kids. -A daughter of Athena keeps trying to get him to eat frogs and bugs. Some of them make him feel funny. Twilight -Son of Lupercus (God of Shepherds and Wader against Wolves), Champion of Lupa (Wolf Goddess). Centurion of Cohort 3. -19 years old. 4 Years at Camp. -Summer Camper, goes home despite it being uncommon for Romans to do so. -Wasn’t found until he was 15, his father was too minor of a god to really draw any attention to Twilight. He liked it that way. He trained himself and it was enough to protect himself for a couple of years. -When he was 15, one of his mortal friends was killed the crossfire of one of the few monster attacks, afterwards he was taken to Camp Jupiter. -Whilst completing his training in the Wolf House under Lupa the wolf Goddess, the she-wolf took a liking to him and agreed to train him further than other Demi-gods and eventually took him on as her champion. -On a quest met someone and they teamed up and he fell in love with her despite knowing that she could never love him back. -Talk shit you get the stick Sky -Son of Zeus (God of the Sky, Lightning and Thunder. King of the Gods) Counselor of Cabin 1. -19 years old. 3 years at Camp. -Year round camper, but wishes he could be a summer camper like his girlfriend. -Very in love with his girlfriend who is a Daughter of Apollo, they knew each other as kids but never knew they were both Demi-Gods. -Has been on only two or three quests but they were very big/very important and needed the power of a son Zeus. Doesn’t like to think about his first quest. -Prefers to use his Wind powers over his Lightning Powers. -Feels quite bad due to the fact ever since he and his younger cousin (Wind) showed up at camp the number of monster attacks have only increased. -Jealous of Wind’s ability to talk to some animal, he wishes he could communicate with his bird.

Four -Son of Hephaestus (God of Fire, the Forge, Metalworking, Technology and Blacksmiths) Co-counselor of Cabin 9. -18 years old. 4 years at camp. -Summer Camper, goes home to his Grandfather during the year. -Quite small for an child of Hephaestus but that doesn’t put him down. -Known for stealing extra end of year beads from the Big House. -Sometimes seen talking to himself. -Is most skilled in weapons but has dabbled in creating automatons but all he ended up with was a cranky bird who likes to sit on his head, he named him E.Z.L.O. -”Yes I did flex and my sleeves fell off, shut up Legend!”

Hyrule -Son of Hecate (Goddess of Magic, Crossroads, Sorcery, Necromany and Light) -16 years old. 2 years at Camp. -Year round camper -Still quite new at all this Half-blood Demi-God stuff . -His Saytr guide got killed while escorting him to camp, managed to make the rest of the journey by himself. -His magic goes a bit haywire when he is stressed, last time he turned 3 members of the Hebe cabin in an acorn, plank of wood and a toaster for a few hours. -A little scared cause he feels unworthy next to all his siblings and all the other heroes in camp, but knows deep down he might be stronger than most of them. -Keeps taking the new Hypnos kid into the forest around the camp and sometimes they don’t show up again for a few days.

Time -Son of Janus (God of Beginnings, Transitions, Time, Duality, Doorways, Passages, and Endings) Former Praetor of Camp Jupiter, Former Centurion of the First Cohort. -Age unknown, but he’s quite old for a Demi-god. -Gave up the Demi-God life and his Praetor position years ago to go and live with his mortal wife. -Due to his powers he sometimes ends up walking through doorways through time and space. Thats how he ended up here. Not his first rodeo in this time though. -Was raised by a group of forest Dryads for the first years of his life before moving to Camp Jupiter. -Been on many quests, including one which ended up with him having to battle against the primordial moon goddess Luna. After winning the fight he took her sword. - “Look, I didn’t ask to be a half-blood.” Legend -Son of Hermes (God of Roads, Travel, Athletes, Diplomacy, Thieves, Commerce and Trade. Messenger of the Gods) Counselor of Cabin 10. -17 years old. 7 years at Camp. -Year round/Summer Camper, it kinda changes every year. -Currently holds onto the record for the most quests at Camp Half-Blood. Kinda proud but also kinda over it. -Hoarder of all sorts of items, unknown where he gets all these items from. -Bonded with Hyrule while he was holed up in Cabin 10 before his claiming by Hecate. -He sees a possible opportunity in the son of Poseidon to help him return to the mysterious island he wash up on years ago. An island where he fell in love with a goddess who could never leave. But he is going to find a way, he will. -Stole a pair of his dad’s flying shoes, but turns out they were kinda a dud. Can’t fly but can run really fast. Warriors -Son of Mars (God of War and Destruction) & Legacy of Venus (Goddess of Love, Beauty, Desire, Prosperity and Victory). Praetor of the 12th Legion. Former Centurion of Cohort 5. -18 years old. 4 years at Camp. -Year round camper. He’s in charge so he’s got to stay. -At first thought to be another child of Mars with a pretty face he was placed in Cohort 5. He was quickly made centurion of the ragtag group of Demi-Gods and quickly the cohort was competing with the best of them. -He caught the eye of the current female Preator and when her colleague failed to return from a quest, she promoted Warriors to Preator, despite him not having completed the minimum 5 years of service to be eligible for the position. -Most well known for helping defend Camp Jupiter during a war a year ago, which helped solidify his new position as Praetor. But he feels guilty for every life lost in each of the battles. -A bit of a heartthrob who can't help but flaunt his double legacy sometimes.

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