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lorenfangor · 3 years

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I heard that #40 was super homophobic :/ so I skipped it. But now your fic is making me want to give it a try. How problematic is it? Are the characters worth it?

Okay.

Let’s talk about #40.

The plot of The Other (a Marco POV) is that Marco sees an Andalite on a video tape sent in to some Unsolved Mysteries-esque TV show, and he assumes it’s Ax and hauls ass to save him from being captured. Ax, being Ax, has videotaped the show, and they pull it up and Tobias uses his hawk eyes to figure out that it’s not Ax, it’s another Andalite - one without a tailblade. Ax is appalled at the presence of this vecol (an Andalite word for a disabled person) and we find out that he and others of his species have deep ingrained prejudices against at least some kinds of disabled people.

Despite this, Marco and Ax go looking for the Andalite in question because he’s been spotted by national TV, and they meet a second one, named Gafinilan-Estrif-Valad. The vecol is Mertil-Iscar-Elmand, a former fighter pilot with a reputation and Gafinilan’s coded-gay life partner. The two of them have been on Earth since book 1; they crashed their fighters on the planet and have been trapped there thanks to the GalaxyTree going down. Gafinilan has adopted a human cover, a physics professor, and they’ve been living in secret ever since.

Thanks to that tape, Mertil has been captured by Visser Three, and he’s not morph-capable so he can’t escape. Gafinilan wants to trade the leader of the “Andalite Bandits” to the Yeerks to get his boyfriend back; he can’t fight to free Mertil because he’s terminally ill with a genetic disorder that will eventually kill him, and (it’s implied that) the Yeerks aren’t interested in disabled hosts, even disabled Andalite ones. Despite Ax’s ableism, the Animorphs agree to work with Gafinilan and free Mertil, and they’re successful. Marco ends the book talking about how there are all kinds of prejudices you’ll have to face and boxes that people will put you in, and you can’t necessarily escape them even if they’re reductive and inaccurate, but you can still live your life with pride.

So now that I’ve explained the plot, I’m gonna come out the gate saying that I love this book. I love it wholeheartedly, I love Marco’s narration, I love Ax having to deal with Andalite society’s ableism, I love these characters, and as a disabled lesbian I don’t find these disabled gays to be inherently Bad Rep.

that’s of course just my opinion and it doesn’t overshadow other issues that people might have? but at the same time, I don’t like the seemingly-common narrative that this book is all bad all the time, and I want to offer up a different read.To that end, I’m going to go point by point through some of the criticisms and common complaints that I’ve seen across the fandom over the years.

“Mertil and Gafinilan were put on a bus after one appearance because they were gay!”

this is one I’m going to have to disagree with hardcore. I talked about this yesterday, but in Animorphs there are a lot of characters or ideas that only get introduced once or twice and then get written off or dropped - in order off the top of my head, #11 (the Amazon trip), #16 (Fenestre and his cannibalism), #17 (the oatmeal), #18 (the hint of Yeerks doing genetic experiments in the hospital basement), #24/#39/#42 (the Helmacrons’ ability to detect morphing tech), #25 (the Venber), #28 (experiments with limiting brain function through drugs), #34 (the Hork-Bajir homeworld being retaken, the Ixcila procedure), #36 (the Nartec), #41 (Jake’s Bad Future Dream), and #44 (the Aboriginal people Cassie meets in Australia) all feature things that either seem to exist just for the sake of having a particular trope explored Animorphs-style or to feature an idea for One Single Book.

This is a series that’s episodic and has a very limited overall story arc because of how children’s literature in the 90s was structured - these books are closer to The Saddle Club, Sweet Valley High, Animal Ark, or The Baby-Sitters’ Club than they are to Harry Potter or A Series of Unfortunate Events. Mertil and Gafinilan don’t get to be in more than one book because they’re not established in the main cast or the supporting cast, I don’t think that it’s solely got anything to do with their being gay.

“Gafinilan has AIDS, this is a book about AIDS, and that’s homophobic!”

Okay, this is… hard. First, yes, Gafinilan does have a terminal illness. Yes, Gafinilan is gay. No, Soola’s Disease is not AIDS.

I have two responses to this, and I’ll attack them in order of their occurrence in my thought. First, there’s coded AIDS diseases all over genre fiction, especially genre fiction from that era, because the AIDS epidemic made a massive impact on public life and fundamentally changed both how the public perceived illness and queerness and how queer people themselves experienced it. I was too young to live through it, but my dad’s college roommate was out, and my dad himself has a lot of friends who he just ceases to talk about if the conversation gets past 1986 or so - this was devastating and it got examined in art for more reasons than “gay people all have AIDS”, and I dislike the implication that the only reason it could ever appear was as a tired stereotype or a message that Being Queer Means Death. Gafinilan is kind, fond of flowers, and fond of children - he’s multifaceted, and he’s got a terminal illness. Those kinds of people really exist, and they aren’t Bad Rep.

Second off, Soola’s Disease? Really isn’t AIDS. It’s a congenital genetic illness that develops over time, cannot be transmitted, and does not carry a serious stigma the way AIDS did. Gafinilan also has access to a cure - he could become a nothlit and no longer be afflicted by it, even if it’s considered somewhat dishonorable to go nothlit to escape that way. That’s not AIDS, and in fact at no point in my read and rereads did I assume that his having a terminal illness was supposed to be a commentary on homosexuality until I found out that other people were assuming it.

“Mertil losing his tail means he’s lost his masculinity, and that’s bad because he’s gay! That’s homophobic!”

so this is another one I’ve gotta hardcore disagree with, because while Mertil is one of two Very Obviously Queer Characters, he’s not the only character who loses something fundamental about himself, or even loses access to sexual and/or romantic capability in ways he was familiar with.

Tobias and Arbron both get ripped out of their ordinary normal lives by going nothlit in bad situations, and while they both wind up finding fulfillment and freedom despite that, it’s still traumatic, even more for Arbron I’d say than for Tobias. And on a psychological level, none of the main cast is left unmarked or free of trauma or free of deep change thanks to the bad things that have happened to them - they’re no less fundamentally altered than Mertil, even if it’s mental rather than physical. And yes, tail loss is equated with castration or emasculation, but that doesn’t automatically mean Mertil suffering it is tied to his homosexuality and therefore the takeaway we’re intended to have is “Being gay is tragic and makes you less of a man”. This is a series where bad shit happens to everyone, and enduring losses that take away things central to one’s self-conception or identity or body is just part of the story.

Also, frankly? Plenty of IRL disabled people have to grapple with a loss of sexual function, and again, they’re not Bad Rep just because they’re messy.

“Andalite society is confusingly written in this book, and the disability aspects are clearly just a coverup for the gay stuff!”

Andalite society is canonically sexist, a bit exceptionalist and prejudiced in their own favor, and pretty contradictory and often challenged internally on its own norms. In essence, it’s a pretty ordinary society, and they’re really realistic as sci-fi races go. It makes sense from that perspective that Andalites would tolerate scarring or a lost stalk eye or a lost skull eye, but not tolerate serious injuries that significantly impact your perceived quality of life. Ableism is like that - it’s not one-size-fits-all. I look at Ax’s reactions and I see a lot of my own family and friends’ behaviors - this vibes with my understanding of prejudice, you know?

“Mertil and Gafinilan have a tragic ending, which means the story is saying that being gay dooms you to tragedy!”

Mertil and Gafinilan have the best possible ending that they could ask for? They are victims of the war, they are suffering because of the war, they get the same cocktail of trauma and damage that every other soldier gets. But unlike Jake and Tobias and Marco, unlike Elfangor, unlike Aximili? Their ending comes in peace, in their own home. Gafinilan isn’t dying alone, he’s got the love of his life with him. Mertil isn’t going to be as isolated anymore, he’s got Marco for a friend. Animorphs is a tragedy, it’s not a happy story, it’s not something that guarantees a beautiful sunshine-and-roses ending for everyone, and I love tragedy, and so I will fight for this story. Yes, it hurts. Yes, it deserved better. But it’s not less meaningful just because it’s sad. Nobody is entitled to anything in this book, and it’s just as true for these two as it is for anyone else.

“It’s not cool that the only canonically gay characters in this series don’t get to be happy and trauma-free and unblemished Good Rep!”

This is one I can kind of understand, and I’ll give some ground to it, because it is sucky. The only thing I’ll say is that I stand by my argument that nothing that happens to Mertil and Gafinilan is unusual compared to what happens to the rest of the cast, and that their ending is way happier than Rachel and Tobias’s, or Jake and Cassie’s. But it’s a legitimate point of frustration, and the one argument I’ll say I agree has validity.

(Though, I also want to point out that I think there are plenty of equally queercoded characters in the story who aren’t Mertil and Gafinilan - Tobias, Rachel, Cassie, and Marco all get at least one or two moments that signal to me that they’re potentially LGBT+, not to mention Mr. Tidwell and Illim in #29 and their long-term domestic partnership. There’s no reason to assume that the only queer people here are those two aliens when Marco’s descriptions of Jake exist.)

“Marco uses slurs and reduces Gafinilan’s whole identity to his illness!”

Technically, yes, this is true, except putting it that way strips the whole passage of its context. Marco is discussing the boxes society puts you into, the ones you don’t have a choice about facing or escaping. He’s talking about negative stereotypes and reductive generalizations, he’s referring to them as bad things that you get inflicted upon you by an outside world or by friends who don’t know the whole story or the real you. The slurs he uses are real slurs that get thrown at people still, and they’re not okay, and the point is that they’re not okay but assholes are going to call you by them anyway. He ends by saying “you just have to learn to live with it”, and since this is coming from a fifteen-year-old Latino kid who we know is picked on by bullies for all sorts of reasons and who faces racism and homophobia? He knows what he’s talking about. He’s bitter about what’s been said and done, he’s not stating it like it’s a good thing.

Yes, absolutely, this speech is a product of its time, but it’s a product of its time that speaks of defiance and says “We aren’t what we’re said to be,” and in the year this was published? That’s a good message.

tl;dr The Other is good, actually, and Mertil and Gafinilan are incredible characters who deserve all the love they could possibly get.

#animorphs #animorphs meta #mertil/gafinilan #mertil #gafinilan #mertil-iscar-elmand #gafinilan-estrif-valad

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lastxviolet · 3 years

Text

The Assistant - CH. 1

Description: Summary - Her sixth year at Hogwarts was supposed to be relatively peaceful but after an incident on the Hogwarts express, Violet Wilkes finds herself the newest target of the Weasley twins. This, combined with a dark family secret, and the Triwizard tournament, makes her first few months back more exciting and stressful than every year before.

pairing: George Weasley x Original Female Character

warnings: pg-13. slow burn, eventual smut hehe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218804/chapters/69148695

The Dark Mark.

Cloaked figures running, burning, torturing.

The threat of a second war.

Screaming.

A sharp train whistle brought Violet Wilkes back into her body on Platform 9 ¾, its sound tearing her mind away from the horrifying morning news in the Daily Prophet just last week. The moving pictures on the papers front page had barely left her thoughts, even now, as she was steps away from saying goodbye to her family for nearly a year, the dark mark burned behind her eyelids with every blink.

She walked ahead of her parents and little sister, weaving through the crowd of fawning mothers and sniffling siblings, towards the very last car in the line, dreading the long journey ahead more and more with every step.

For the past five years, she had seriously considered not returning to Hogwarts, solely because of the egregious train ride from London, and this year was no different, except for the pit in her stomach from the thought of noise, people, and confined space was joined by the fear of her family's hypothetical imminent doom at the hands of Death Eaters. Despite the fact that no one else shared her fears.

She'd told them all week that the events at the Quidditch World Cup weren't a fluke. No one conjured the most fearsome symbol in their world nearly thirteen years after its disappearance, by accident. It meant something.

A terrible something.

And now, she was leaving them. Defenseless.

Her father hadn't picked up his wand in nearly a decade, and her mother had no magical abilities to speak of. Her sister, Olivia, would surely be a powerful witch in the coming years but for now, she remained a timid ten-year-old. They hardly stood a chance without her. That was if the events last week were as dire and fearsome as she believed them to be.

Of all people, she thought her father would understand her worry but he insisted that it wasn't going to be like 'last time.' Even then, she'd made him swear that he would brush up on his spells and hexes just in case you-know-who had returned and picked up where he'd left off, targeting blood traitors and their families.

The train whistle cut through the commotion again and they sped up to make the 11:00 departure. She glanced down at her watch; 10:58.

If they hurried, she'd make it. But if they didn't, the train would mosey on without her. Not that she'd mind.

She looked around at her fellow hustling peers pouring into the train and exhaled sharply. What if she just stopped? Dropped to her knees and refused to move. Missed the train and begged her father to let her go to a muggle school as her mother had. Her fingers gripped the iron handrail in the vestibule of the final car, and she hesitated, ready to throw herself back onto the platform but deep down, she knew it was already too late. There was no avoiding the journey ahead.

Her sister launched into her arms, squeezing tight before her mother's arms replaced them around her neck. She kissed her father's cheek last, lingering on his kind, dark blue eyes, staring at their own mirrored pupils in her head. He pressed one more kiss onto her forehead before stepping back to wrap his arms around the other halves of her heart.

A blood-traitor.

How could anyone call him a blood traitor?

Easy, she thought. It was the same way her housemates called her a half-blood. With condescending smirks and dead eyes.

She turned to enter the car so they couldn't see the tear falling down her cheek and rushed to wipe it away before she came back into view through the last window.

Her sister called out a final time when the train began to slowly move away and a wave of dread constricted her lungs. The sound was too similar to the screams she heard in her nightmares nearly every night. Fog from her breath on the window obscured the final visible moments of her family's smiling faces and wildly waving arms as the platform disappeared from view.

11:00. As one torturous moment ended, another, 8-hour-long one, began. The ruckus of running feet, excited hello's, and sporadic spell work was instantaneous and completely impossible to ignore. She closed her eyes and tried to tune it out.

She couldn't conceive why a wizarding school would trust their unsupervised adolescent students to not blow each other up when muggle schools barely trusted their docile coeds to use the bathroom alone. Other people's happiness didn't normally give her such a headache but the lack of professor supervision provided no perimeters on her peer's ability to run amuck.

She felt her stomach flip with the swaying movement. Bile burned her throat, as the seat underneath her moved back and forth, rocking in a nauseating pattern. The noise, in combination with the repetitive piercing whistle and lurching wheels thudding through London, was dizzying.

Distraction. She needed a distraction.

Calloused leather brushed her hip, reminding her that she'd anticipated this very moment. She thanked her past self profusely and dug through the bag until the pebbly fabric of her favorite muggle book scratched her fingertips.

The deep blue hardcover still precariously clung to its title even after years of wear and tear, reading and rereading. She caressed the carved gold words with a shaky, anxious finger.

The Princess Bride

By William Goldman

It was a pity that the Hogwarts library didn't cater to muggle-born students, she thought. Even in Muggle Studies class, assigned readings were books about muggles, written by the magical beings that walked among them. Wizard writers were wonderful but their ability to write compelling fiction was limited when they can do the unthinkable with the mindless flick of a wand.

She flipped it open and paused to admire her mother's swirly signature on the dedication page before turning to the first chapter.

"I've been saying it so long to you, you just wouldn't listen. Every time you said 'Farm Boy do this' you thought I was answering 'As you wish' but that's only because you were hearing wrong. 'I love you' was what it was, but you never heard, and you never heard."

"I hear you now, and I promise you this: I will never love anyone else. Only Westley. Until I die."

Eventually, the disorienting blur of houses, trees, and cars ceased— replaced by much more appealing, rolling hills and sprawling fields. The speed of the train was barely discernible as the scenery outside the window moved in slow motion, barely changing, monotonous and still, a comfort to her dizzy head.

She glanced towards the glass doors that were protecting her from the chaos throughout the halls and determined that the motion sickness and general discomfort had been suppressed. She took a deep breath and weighed the options for the second half of the trip. Stay, and finish the beloved book that lay open in her lap, or leave, and trade all peace for conversation.

Alone, but also lonely.

She'd probably missed loads of drama on the first half of the ride, and Sadie would surely be furious with her for being absent.

Sadie Baldock had plopped down next to her at the Slytherin table one random morning during her second week at Hogwarts. Happy to have some company, she'd let the energetic girl talk her ear off for the entire meal, not once interrupting or telling her to shut up, even though it would've been warranted. They'd been best friends ever since and she'd been an absolute treasure for the entirety of their past five years.

Despite Sadies strong personality and pension for gossip, she understood and accepted that Violet had no desire to be attached at the hip to anyone and gladly gave her space.

Alone and lonely, was much better than being suffocated, she thought. This had been her preference, even before she arrived at Hogwarts, and was sorted into Slytherin, her supposed 'family' away from home.

She scoffed and shook her head.

Family, yeah right.

Other houses might consider themselves family. Hers, however, felt more like a cage.

Families weren't supposed to be judgmental, at least not to the degree that her peers were. Families didn't shun disgraced peers for impure bloodlines or enforce generational loyalty without question. In recent years, the house had shed any sense of camaraderie left, even between those with pure-blood and ancient ties.

Due to this, tensions ran high and tempers were like time-bombs. It was exhausting to bite her tongue enough to remain cordial with most of the somewhat sane peers in her house and fly under the radar of the rest. She clenched her jaw, remembering Draco Malfoy and crew taunting her half-blood status and muggle mother.

Exhausting, but necessary, for self-preservation and peaceful existence. She occasionally betrayed herself with a viper-quick temper that was always simmering in her chest but most took it for stereotypical Slytherin nastiness, and not a haunting disdain for those who shared her green and silver uniform. This, a knack for potions and a morbidly dark wardrobe were perhaps the only evidence of a correct sorting.

Oh well, she thought. It was a bit late in her career to be considering a house change, besides, the sorting hat was a sod old brute who insisted that he was never wrong.

In actuality though, it wasn't all terrible. At least she had Sadie and the few other perks that came with the snake emblem.

The dungeons provided cool darkness that deprived the senses of any reason for restlessness and anxiety. Although the green uniform occasionally invited disapproving glances, it complimented her dark blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair much better than the blue and white of Ravenclaw, or heaven forbid the bright red Gryffindor insignia. And, she was only a few feet away from the potions classroom, where she'd managed to instate herself as one of the only students their head of house, Professor Severus Snape, did not actively hate. The bond had been painstakingly cultivated over the years the only that way he would allow; speaking when spoken to, correct answers, and perfect potions.

She stared out the window, focusing on the rolling hills, trying to let go of the gnawing feeling in the back of her mind that couldn't help but wonder if the hat had gotten it wrong.

Introspection was one of her biggest flaws. Sadie was constantly telling her to get out of her head and she knew that she was right. But, analysis always felt necessary, even about moments and emotions long gone. Sorting through every feeling, decision, movement; double-checking every second to make sure they were all accounted for, was compulsory.

Even now, six years later, she wondered whether she even truly belonged in Slytherin, and whether or not being sorted into the other houses would've been easier or even different at all. Would it have been better to be sorted into her father's Hufflepuff house?

Maybe, but unfortunately, when considering where to place her, the sorting hat had ignored her father and zeroed in on the countless other Wilkes before him, all in Slytherin, before deciding that she would be forced to pick up the lineage again. Not that any of them would ever know, or care.

She felt a shiver down her spine.

It was for the best that they hadn't any idea of her existence, let alone the continuation of their legacy.

She squeezed her eyes closed and the beautiful scenery outside dissolved into the Dark Mark behind her lids and the memory of photos she'd secretly found amongst her father's old school things. Photos of a boy, a few years older than her father, clad in green standing next to his younger brother in yellow and black.

A legacy, broken. A legacy, reborn.

She felt her heartbeat quicken and tried desperately to conjure the image of her sister, next year, with the sorting hat on her head, yelling any other house's name.

Screams from the next train car over tore her away from her thoughts. She jumped slightly and shook her head, glad for a distraction from the oncoming downward spiral. She'd forgotten where she was for a moment but another chorus of "no's" and laughter bursting through the door at the front of the cabin pulled her back to reality.

Pushing the doors apart slightly, she poked her head into the hall and moved to step out but voices stopped her. Loud, obnoxious, exuberant voices yelled something about "research" to an amused audience.

The Weasley twins.

Maybe the imminent doom she'd been worrying about wouldn't come at the hands of Death Eaters at all, but two idiotic and insufferable redheads instead.

She searched for an escape, eyes moving frantically, but her only option seemed to be a jump from the back door and onto the tracks below. Why hadn't she left to find Sadie when she'd had the chance?

Rolling her eyes as far back into her head as they would go, she sunk back down onto the bench and held her breath, hoping to miraculously turn invisible before the twins could sour her mood further.

"C'mon George, one last try," a voice belonging to Fred Weasley yelled over the last wave of students laughing and telling the twins to get lost.

She groaned, knowing that they were indeed coming for her. She couldn't think of a single time during her years at Hogwarts when she'd enjoyed the terroristic Weasley antics, but this moment was particularly ill-timed. Their talents for pranking were legendary and despite being in the same year, she'd never been a target or victim. But, it seemed as though her time had come.

She screwed her eyes shut, trying to find a single positive about the cursed situation. The nerves twisted her stomach into a knot while she listened to nearing footsteps. Maybe, if she played along and let them get it out of their system, they would leave quicker, and get back to ignoring her.

Another couple of torturous seconds crawled by before the twin who she thought might be George yanked open the cabin door.

She forced herself to breathe and tilted her head to meet them with a perturbed expression glued to her face; brows furrowed, lips pursed, and arms crossed. Every Slytherin instinct whispered in her ear to hex them back to London but the exhaustion from her emotional goodbye a few hours ago overwhelmed any anger left, resigning her to accept this fate without much of a fight.

"Well hello, Violet. Today is your lucky day."

She was right, the one coming in first was George Weasley. She recognized the two moles on the left side of his neck from Herbology last year when she'd fantasized about slashing his jugular when he wouldn't shut up.

He moved her feet from the bench opposite her, and she stared at him, noting that his slightly crooked nose also distinguished him from the brother coming in second. Once seated, they stared at her with intense brown eyes, and eager slack-jaw smiles —incredibly sharp features exaggerated by flowing radioactive red hair, waiting for an answer.

"Is that so?" she growled, conjuring a deadpan stare.

The twins straightened their chests and leaned forward simultaneously. "Yes, indeed," Fred said, the excitement in his face and voice completely unaffected by her cold response. "And we'll tell you why. George?"

"For a limited time only, you have the incredible opportunity to join us on an intellectual exploration," George explained. She shot him a disapproving glance before shifting back to Fred who was nodding fervently at his brother's side. "Groundbreaking research," he added, sensing her apprehension.

"I've never exactly thought of you two as intellectual," she sneered.

"Been thinking about us though?" George teased.

She cursed herself for the blush that formed instantly and shifted her gaze back to Fred who was still waiting anxiously to explain the situation.

"All you need to do is eat this delicious toffee," Fred said, producing a brown lump from his robe.

He shoved it towards her and unsuccessfully tried to hide the mischievous glint in his eye with a sweet smile.

She glared at him, remaining silent, unsure of what to say next. What were they trying to pull? And why did they think that she was going to fall for it this easily? Did they think she was stupid?

She narrowed her eyes and tried to ignore her bruised dignity. "You're joking," she drawled, earning fake looks of concern from both of the twins. "What makes you think I'm going to fall for that?"

Fred's long red hair covered his face slightly as he shook his head. "See this is where everyone keeps misunderstanding us, George."

George leaned across the small space between them. "Indeed Fred —Violet darling, clearly our offer is much too transparent to be a prank," he said, now a little too close for comfort. "This is product research for our business so please try and take it seriously."

She scowled at the pet name and leaned away. Why was he being so familiar with her?

Gryffindors. Always too friendly to be trusted. At least her fellow Slytherins never tried to hide their agenda, no matter how much their bluntness stung.

It was difficult to gauge how to best get rid of them. Their puppy dog eyes didn't seem to be affected by rudeness, if anything, it seemed to egg them on further. She decided to try another route instead, hoping to catch them off guard.

"Fine. In the spirit of transparency, say that I do eat it," she said. "What will happen to me?"

Their coy confidence turned to surprise. "It's only ever been tested on a Muggle so we have no clue," George confessed matter-o-factly. "Hence it being such a great research opportunity."

"You'd be a pioneer," Fred finished, a stupid confident grin returning to his face. "Maybe even a legend."

Violet looked down at Fred's outstretched arm and plucked the brown ball from his hand. She stared at it skeptically and brought it up to her nose. It smelled just like normal toffee, but no way it was that simple.

The twins exchanged a nervous glance and she could tell that they were holding their breath.

They most likely doubted her ability to take a joke and were probably nervous about the outcome of their prank, if she did indeed fall for it.

She couldn't blame them, of course. Last year, Blaise Zabini, one of Malfoy's toadies, joked about her mother being a muggle during the Halloween feast, and nearly the whole school had witnessed her merciless rebuttal. She stifled a smile, remembering the look on his face when she'd stuck her wand in his mouth and said "Langlock." His friends had scrambled and scratched to open his mouth again and Madam Pomfrey had about reached her wits end trying to figure out how to separate his tongue from the roof of his mouth. She wondered if they'd been there for that, but the sudden hesitation in George's smile told her they were well aware of her short fuse.

Lucky for them though, she didn't have enough energy to fly off the handle today.

She slipped her wand out of her bag and touched the tip to the toffee, muttering a revealing charm. "Specialis Revelio."

The twins lunged forward to snatch their sweet back, but she was quicker.

"An engorgement charm?"

"That's cheating," Fred protested.

"What is this?"

They stared at her with a mixture of defeat and annoyance.

"It's a ton-tongue-toffee," George said grimly. "The newest product from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

She remembered him talking about his plans for a joke shop constantly in Herbology, while his gaggle of admiring Gryffindors hung onto every word but she never thought he could be serious about such a stupid career endeavor.

She frowned. "That's idiotic."

"That's the whole point," Fred snapped. "It would've been funny if you hadn't taken the easy way out."

"What would have been funny?" she countered, relishing in their sudden mood shift from smug to perturbed. "Me casting a counter-charm as soon as I felt my tongue swelling? I thought you two were supposed to be good at pranks."

She tried to hide her delight at the ability to get under their skin. Their presence was unwelcome but not as completely intolerable as she had expected, even as their cheerful nature and goofy grins faded, they were almost bearable.

Suddenly, she saw something dark shift over George's gaze. "Well then eat it, if you're so sure."

Violet's eyes widened, unprepared for the confident challenge. Irritation moved swiftly through her chest. She tried to hide her nerves and glanced down at the ball in her hand. It would be easier to tell them to leave, or even get up and walk away but she couldn't let a Weasley best her.

If living inside of her head was her first flaw, then pride was her second.

Her eyes bore holes into George's, and regardless of what happened next, his look of shock was prize enough as she popped the lump into her mouth. The toffee was a little warm and soft but not inedible, she wondered if their mother had made it.

Her mouth was fuzzy before she even swallowed, and as she had suspected, her tongue began to swell profusely. She poked the tip of her wand to her tongue as it flopped out of her mouth, nearly reaching twice its size.

"Reducio."

The twin's mouths dropped open in shock before they exchanged a curious glance. Even though the counter-charm came out with a slight lisp, as quick as it had happened, her mouth closed around her normal-sized tongue, the caramel-like taste of toffee on her lips all that remained of the prank.

She broke her staring contest with George and glanced back to Fred, but neither looked like they were going to say anything.

Arrogance replaced her irritation and she just couldn't hold back.

"Had you not thought of that?" She asked with a smug smile. "I hope none of your other products are so easily reversible. Who would want to buy something so temporary? Faulty merchandise is hardly a way to run a business."

They both stared at her in displeasure, but George looked more enraged than anything, not that she cared about hurting his feelings. This was turning out to be quite fun, she thought.

"Well, you've been a lovely assistant," Fred said, trying to quell the tension and clearly over the situation. "C'mon Georgie, finding someone less capable than Wilkes will be a snap."

George didn't budge. He just stared back at her, his brow furrowed, like he couldn't remember her name anymore. The thoughtful expression was freaking her out. She waited for him to return to the annoying ginger twat who had entered her cabin without permission but his expression didn't change.

His eyes searched hers for something but she couldn't tell what. She chanted 'fuck off' in her head, hoping that he could see the sentiment reflected in her eyes.

How odd, looking at them now, they weren't identical at all. While Fred seemed to operate as their crazy motor, George was something else…steering wheel maybe? Regardless, she was glad their exchange was coming to an end.

"What would you suggest then?" George inquired with a sneer, standing up to follow his brother out the door. "Since you're so smart."

As if she'd help them.

George loomed over her, blocking her view of anything else. She stared up at him defiantly, not letting his size intimidate her. The question lingered in the thick air between them, ringing in her ears over and over. Surprisingly, she did indeed have an answer to his inquiry, not that she was going to say anything. They didn't deserve her help, even if she could mask it as superiority. She waited for him to leave but he seemed just as content sitting in their tension as she was.

He smirked and that threw her over the edge.

Besting him in his expertise would be a satisfying final nail in the coffin and he'd asked for it. She didn't mind him this way, begging her to intellectually best him.

"Potions," she blurted.

She watched his eyes widen. "What?"

"Potions," she repeated wearily. "If you had used Swelling Solution, it wouldn't have been detectable by a revealing charm and no one would take the time to brew its antidote. Victims would be stuck with a fat tongue until the effects wore off, which, apparently, is funny."

It had meant to sound smug but it came out too much like she was tutoring him in earnest. He looked just as surprised at her tone as she was and stood up a little straighter, before reaching for the door. She glanced down at her hands, aware of his eyes still on her, and cursed the sincerity in her voice, hoping he wouldn't take it seriously or respond.

Thankfully, the door clicked shut and his footsteps disappeared down the hall, without another word. She sighed in relief and stuffed the book back into her bag to finally go find Sadie.

Violet shook the strange interaction with the Weasleys from her head and pushed through, packed train car, after packed train car before reaching the self-anointed 'Slytherin Only' door. Out of all the options on the train, her house had managed to claim the worst one. The tables and benches were much more uncomfortable than the stuffy cabins and the openness of the room made every ride a free-for-all.

The window fogged from her breath for a moment but through the sea of green, black, and silver, she could just make out the short, dark-haired girl she'd been looking for.

She wove through the room, focusing on Sadie's scowling face, at the back table. She followed the witch's death glare to a gaggle of girls surrounding Draco Malfoy across the room, holding up some Quidditch pamphlet that was somehow making them squeal. She pushed through a group of large boys lurking around a few older sixth years and successfully made it the length of the train without anyone trying to speak with her, or leer something hurtful, which was prone to happen.

"I was beginning to wonder if you even got on," Sadie said.

"Please, hold your applause," she responded, thankful to hear her friend's voice after months apart.

Sadie smirked knowingly. "Did you yak?"

Violet sat on the bench across from her. "Nope. Almost threw myself out of the window near Manchester though, when the Weasley twins raided my compartment."

She thought about recounting the entirety of the strange interaction but decided against it, as Sadie already seemed perturbed enough.

"Merlin, those spazzy gits never take a day off. We haven't even started the school year yet," she murmured. "Please tell me you unleashed your wrath on them."

Before she could answer, a chorus of ooh's and ahh's erupted from the show going on at the front table.

"Oi get a room or shut the hell up," Sadie yelled, earning her more than a few dirty looks around the room and an especially sour sneer from Malfoy himself.

"Shove off, Baldock," Malfoy sneered.

Normally, Violet would've laughed but she didn't particularly feel like drawing attention to herself today so she turned to avoid his gaze.

"I swear, those girls should be over that albino twat by now," she scowled, staring daggers into Malfoy's back.

"Not everyone has your refined taste Sades."

Her friend fell silent, gazing towards the blond boy dreamily. "Vi, do you think I could kill him? Snap him like a twig or something?"

She laughed and turned slightly, ensuring that Malfoy's ominous gaze was off of them. "Surely he deserves a more painful death than that."

She shifted in her seat to rest the side of her face against the window and smiled at Sadie's hearty, murderous cackle. The cool glass quelled any queasiness left as she watched the sunset over Scotland, signaling that the ride was almost over. Despite her surroundings and previous disposition, it was quite beautiful.

As she has suspected, Sadie recounted the first couple hours of the ride with impeccable detail. Pansy Parkinson had gotten an unfortunate haircut, Theodore Knott had gotten hotter over the summer, and Malfoy wouldn't shut up about the Quidditch World Cup.

Her mind snapped to the dark mark once again. Of course, the Malfoy's had been in attendance.

"He was there?" she whispered across the table.

"Of course he was. As if his family would miss an opportunity to show off to the whole world," Sadie said rolling her eyes.

"What did he say about it?"

"Just the usual. Father this, ministers box that. Gloating twat."

"Did he say anything about the ending…about the Dark Mark?"

Violet's ears rang.

A forgotten picture she'd stumbled upon in her father's abandoned school photo album flashed in her mind once more. Lucious Malfoy swinging his arm around her uncle, clad in Slytherin robes, a year before the war started. Their smiling faces were unburdened from what was yet to come.

The same Lucious Malfoy who was charged with being a Death Eater, but ultimately exonerated.

Sadie shrugged. "Just that he saw Potter running scared like a little girl," she said plainly before launching into the details of her summer. It was the same every year; she fought with her sisters and mother all summer long, and then cried like a baby while saying goodbye to them on the platform.

Violet attempted to tune her out and glanced at the cruel blonde.

This was the closest she'd been to him in nearly two years. Ever since Lucious had recognized her father on the platform, she'd taken every precaution to dodge him in every meal, class, or school event, in order to avoid the things that he knew about her.

The image of both Malfoy's smiles twitching smugly as Lucious recanted the Wilkes family history to his monstrous son on the train platform flashed in her mind. Her father had ushered the family away, uncaring of the secrets that would follow her to school and unwilling to speak about it.

She knew he knew, and even though he had every opportunity to tell the whole school, he didn't. Or rather, hadn't yet, like she knew he would someday. She could tell that he was waiting for the most opportune time by the way he said half-blood, and blood traitor instead of her name and the way his eyes were always just a little too confident when regarding her. The anticipation and fear seemed to be torture enough, for him. Surely though, it was only a matter of time.

His presence suddenly became too much. The thought of sharing a room with someone so amused by the ridicule of anyone who wasn't of pure-blood made the taste of bile claw up her throat.

"Sades," she interrupted her friend who was still animatedly speaking. "Wanna head back to mine and change?"

The dark-haired witch nodded and chattered on.

She led them both back down the train, breathing freely again among less threatening red, blue, and yellow students. She was relieved to have Sadie rambling at her side, yelling at first years in their way, and shoving leering seventh-year boys back into the cabins.

They finally reached the last car, and suddenly, she felt her breath hitch in her throat. A tall redhead was leaning against the wall outside of her cabin. He was staring down at his shoes and muttering something. She couldn't tell which one it was from this angle but had a hunch.

Two times in one day? She must be cursed.

Her stomach tangled itself once more with nerves. Maybe he'd come back to enact some cruel revenge on her, for thwarting his prank. She gripped Sadies hand a little tighter, thankful to have her as a backup if things went south. The sound of her footsteps made him finally lookup. She wasn't expecting the expressionless look on his face, and suddenly she doubted that he wanted to harm her at all.

Sadie saw him not a second later and pushed past her, letting go of her hand and yelling, "Bothering her once wasn't enough, you back for more Weasley?"

George's calm face suddenly contorted into panic as Sadie shoved past him and into the cabin. Violet didn't move, and stared at him from a few paces away, unsure of what he was doing if not pranking her.

She hadn't noticed his height earlier when they were sitting, but now that she stood in front of him, it was a shock to be eye level with his chest. Concealing her nervousness to the best of her ability, she met his eyes.

"What?" She said deadpan, hoping to convey his unwelcomeness as much as Sadie had.

He furrowed his brow and looked down at the ground for a moment, failing to hide a flustered blush.

"Sorry…erm — I thought I forgot something —talk to you later," he mumbled through a forced smile. The sudden change in demeanor was surprising. His attempt at confidence was oddly manufactured and she saw, for the first time, a glimmer of shyness.

Git. He probably needed his brother for backup.

Before she could say anything, he brushed past her and sped down the hall and out the door.

"What the bloody hell was that," Sadie said, scrunching her nose in annoyance. "Freaks, the lot of them."

Violet's stomach detangled itself and she turned to watch the floppy long hair retreat from view. She nodded in agreement but kept her mouth closed.

#george weasley x original female character #george weasley #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley smut #dating george weasley

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cherryblossomtease · 3 years

Text

In The Fairest Season ~ Part 4

18+ only

warnings summary masterlist

Chapter Warnings - mild graphic violence

~LATE AUGUST~

Bird song usually soothes you in the mornings.

Your bed is near the window and when the nurse leaves it open you can feel the cool breeze and hear the sparrows, but this morning you’re in pain and you wish you could quiet the little beasts.

You had a nightmare, that must be what it is. Your dreams have always been vivid, ever since you were a child. So much so that they set the tone for your day.

This one is a replaying of the night you almost died. You’ve had it before, for better or worse it is typically the same, but this time, he was there just watching as the butcher hacked away.

You woke with your pulse racing, scared for a while until the sparrows calmed you, and then the pain kicked in and now you are just angry.

It isn’t true. You know he’s the one paying for your care or else you would have been sent home weeks ago.

Instead you have a private nurse and this beautiful room on this quiet floor far from the chaos below with a doctor who speaks kindly when he comes to do his rounds.

He checks your wound which is a specific form of torment you would not wish on your enemy. It is too hard for you to speak when he asks how you feel, but you write with chalk on the little slate they’ve given you and when he is done prodding, they give you fresh bandages and let you sleep.

Eating slowly becomes easier too— when you have an appetite.

Turning your head from the bright light of day, you look at the vase on the table beside your bed and stare at the single dead rose.

It was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes after your surgery. Someone had placed it on your bed while you slept after they stitched you back together and you’ve kept it, refusing to let them throw it away.

Once, you overheard the doctor say that the assailant was in a hurry. The theatre was a risky place to commit such a crime and get away with it. His careleness and your bouquet which took the impact of his assault kept you alive, but it would take time and rest before you could speak.

You still do not have the heart to ask him about singing.

Baron Zemo likes the hunt.

It’s been a while since he has, but not long enough that he’s forgotten how it’s done, or how much he enjoys it.

Patience and observation are his weapons and he’d spent the past few days using both.

The Baron had stripped away his fine clothes, concealing his wealth with worn shoes, a tattered coat and the hat of a man no one would notice. He left the pretty summer mansions behind, forgetting the charm of street lamps and manicured topiaries that decorate the parks, choosing instead to disappear into the bleak slums, quietly following the man whose name he’d gotten through his first round of cat and mouse which had ended very badly for the mouse.

Down he went over shit covered roads, dodging the beggars and dirty children, slipping in and out of the shadows like a predator that crouches in the tall grass before leaping to bite the neck of its victim.

He had stalked around this way for two nights. Thankfully this man -Karpov- is simple.

It will be over and done before midnight.

Pressing his back to the damp wall, the Baron keeps out of sight as Karpov stops at the entrance of an abandoned warehouse just off the water. He speaks with the old man sitting on a barrel and lights what’s left of a cigarette while they chat, the sound of gulls and gentle waves deceptively tranquil.

Zemo watches him, staring at his plain face. He will never forget it, or the way he feels knowing that you have seen him too, and why.

Their voices fade though his eyes stay trained on his target, just a sliver of his face showing around the corner in the dark, the memory of you onstage coming to him quickly.

He can see you so clearly, with your voice so bright and strong. It fills the music hall with the most beautiful sorrow he has ever heard, just when he needed it most…

Karpov may not have killed you —little bird— you are still alive, you are strong and healing even now. But he tried, and that is enough.

There is a righteous anger burning in the Baron’s heart that drives him—pushing him forward much as it did when he lost his wife and son. He won a war fueled by that rage and it is this same hurt that clears his head and keeps him steady. He is at his best when he is hunting those who deserve to die. This man, he thinks watching Karpov take a long drag, is most deserving.

So Zemo waits.

When Karpov finally goes in and the old man slumps down in a drunken sleep, Zemo slips on the mask he has not worn since the fighting at the borderlands and goes inside, making his way through the dark, his eyes quickly growing accustom to it.

He sticks to the shadows moving in through the fallen beams until he notices the silence. Karpov knows he's here. That’s all right.

“No use for that, I know who you are.” Comes Karpov’s voice in the distance.

The Baron smiles beneath his cover. “Then you also know why I’ve come.”

“I guess you’re mad about your little ingenue” He says the word making it sound crude.

“That is an act, only the role played on stage. She —is anything but.”

“All the same, you’ve got a score to settle with me….same as you did the ones that ripped your country apart. Come on then. Stop hiding.” Karpov says and the Baron hears how his voice wavers with fear.

He must truly knows who has come for him.

“What stories have you heard?” Zemo asks, curious as he walks past the wreckage. “What tales of war have made it all the way to your filthy ears?” He smirks. When he steps into the dim light of a barrel fire, the doomed man backs away.

Through the flames, Karpov catches his first glimpse of the Baron. He sees the long black coat with the white fur collar, similar to what the men wore to stay warm through the long winters of a northern war and the thick gloves to make gripping swords much easier. And finally, the mask that had become the stuff of legend between the fighters. Karpov may not have been there to see first hand, but he'd heard enough on the docks from the ones who traveled through, those few who survived...

Zemo's men rallied behind the mask and his enemies feared it. The entire time, none knew who the man that wore it was, the Baron had managed to keep this identity secret. They only knew that he was fearless and seemed to enjoy the killing when it kept others alive. Now Karpov knew— he did not expect to live long enough to tell the secret.

“You’re Baron Zemo.” He says awed. “The masked swordsman of Sokovia.” He grins with the discovery. “You’re the one who waits, and hunts.” His gold teeth gleam in the firelight. "And falls in love with little stage girls who forget their place." He says with a laugh, but that laugh is not genuine. He is trying very hard to stave off the inevitable.

Zemo squares his shoulders and fixes his eyes on his victim. It’s been a very long time since anyone has looked at him this way, but it is instantly familiar. All cowards make the same face right before they die. Still he is surprised and tilts his head, perhaps a little flattered that his war reputation has reached so far. He gives a single nod. “Yes… the patient man. With experience.” He adds and looks Karpov in the eye, his grin hidden beneath the mask. Why is he still standing here?

“Run.”

The man growls an angry response, he does not usually back down from a fight, but when the Baron steps around the fire, and draws his sword, Karpov forgets his own reputation in the slums and turns, fleeing up a set of crooked stairs, jumping over the places he knows won’t support him as he makes his was along the balcony of the next floor. The Baron stays put to watch; his brain doing the calculations to follow without stepping on a rotted or missing plank.

When the time is right he follows.

“I can smell you from here.” Zemo says into the dark as he climbs, his voice finding Karpov before he does. They say predators can smell fear, perhaps the war has changed him more than he realized. And to think he used to be a peaceful man.“People seem to find joy in taking things from me.” Zemo says stepping onto the second floor. He pauses to listen so happy that the hunt is not over. This may be Karpov’s territory but what is a broken building to a man who has seen the end of the world. “Such careless, stupid ignorance.” Zemo scolds softly. “Better men than you have tried my friend. And I’m sure you know that happened to them. You see it is not what I did during the war that should frighten you. It’s what I did to the ones who caused the deaths of my family after the fact.” Karpov is breathing is too loud. He does know.

Zemo hears and pauses, going left to find him instead of right.

Karpov feels panic, he’s set something off inside of Zemo, something that had been quiet for so long. He should never have done it, but how could he have known that the Baron the little bitch snuck off with was this one!

And then a breeze, like the breath of an angel catches his hair, reminding him of another way out.

Not waiting to test fate, the man scuttles across the floor boards down a short hallway with the broken wall that leads to the water below. He stands gazing down not wanting to jump, but not wanting to die in a fight either.

It isn’t so very far, he thinks watching the gentle waves break on the planks of the warehouse. But those rocks… he is certain he will not be able to miss them. He will have to take a running leap. Gathering his courage he takes a step back.

“Tell me, how long do you think it took your friend to give you up?” Zemo asks, his voice as light as a feather in Karpov’s ear. “Just the threat of my blade and he told me your name. I still killed him of course."

Karpov shuts his eyes, angry that he’s missed his chance. The bastard Baron moves as quiet as a snake in the grass. “You killed Charlie?”

“Yes.” He says and begins to raise his sword.

Furious at being caught, Karpov gives a shout and swings back with an elbow, but Zemo ducks missing the swing, rising with a single attack. His trusted sword delivering silent death. He takes a step or two back and waits. He did not miss.

Karpov stands, his face contorting, he reaches as if the Baron might help. He is confused and then he realizes.

The blood looks black against his dirty shirt blooming like a rotted flower as it seeps from the wound to his heart. The color drains from Karpov's face.

Zemo looks him over and it comes on quickly. Rage and fear are such a powerful combination. As the dying man sputters, the Baron kicks his stomach hard enough to send Karpov through the broken wall.

Pulling the mask from his face, Zemo quickly goes to the edge of the building, leaning over in time to see the way Karpov’s body breaks on the black rocks, ruined and hardly recognizable as a man.

He stares down at the gore for far too long, his only thought being that Karpov’s accomplice Charlie had been shown a mercy when his throat was sliced. Though it was a just end for a man so fond of showing the same -kindness- to innocent women.

Turing away, Zemo sheaths his sword and slips his mask into his coat, sad to put it away, and starts back through the warehouse. Unsure that he’s done what you would want, he questions his actions, but he is certain that his own brand of justice has been served.

The men who would cause you harm are dead. And that is all that matters.

“Throw it out,” You say. It is the first time you’ve tried using your voice. The nurse is shocked that you’ve finally given in but she seems so pleased that you try; you are only angry with what you hear.

It sounds like a crow scratching at a window.

You hate the sound.

It’s never even occurred to you to love or hate your speaking voice, it’s just been there and pleasant enough, sort of soft and unassuming, so different from when you sing.

Everything has changed so quickly.

“Are you sure miss? You’ve kept it all this time.” She says, her kindness punctuated by her hand resting light on your shoulder.

You look up at the ceiling from your pillow in bed refusing to look at that silly rose anymore. It is a symbol of something that has been proven to be untrue.

One week spent with your fate unknown. Three weeks you’ve lain here recovering. In all that time he has not written or come to see you.

It is unexpected, you’re not sure what to make of it, but you assume the worst and try to adjust to living with a broken heart beneath a lost voice.

“I’m sure.”

youtube

#baron zemo x you #zemo x y/n #zemo fanfic #zemo x reader #baron zemo fanfiction #baron helmut zemo #the baron always gets his revenge #with a sword #Youtube

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hello-yue-here · 3 years

Note

About your atla ship songs, I have a couple of questions (sorry if my phrasing comes out wrong, english isn't my first language and I worry it might across as accidentally defensive): how did you end up with the choices for zukka, jetko and yuekka (note: I haven't seen the great comet, so feel free to obsess over it, I'm intrigued now and the hype is appreciated!)? Sidenote: I think the mailee choice is HILARIOUS and the tokka one just make me sad, I didn't expect to be attacked like this😭

kdjfha;s i love you im gonna obsess SO HARD over great comet now. you may regret this

this is gonna be so long so the rest is under the cut whoops

yuekka: no one else from great comet

where do i even begin. WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN

okay so background information on this show: it's based off of a 76 oages excerpt from war and peace and its centered around a woman named natasha (and this guy pierre but he's irrelevant to this song so we wont worry about him) and natasha's bethrothed is off fighting in the war right now. she hasn't seen him in a while but she is in love with him.

every single lyrics of this song SCREAMS yuekka to me. the innocence and purity of their love. the love at first sight. and even the melancholy ending just- i go apeshit for this song. i love this song so much. and denee benton's voice??? kljsdhflwksugf please listen to this song if you haven't already. listen to the whole show. your life will be changed forever.

onto the lyrics (i stg this is ab to be the whole song whoops)

"the moon"

THOSE ARE THE FIRST WORDS ON THE SONG. natasha and andre (her bethrothed) met underneath the moonlight. Sokka and Yue first spoke to eachother at night and always met each other for their most intimate moments under the moonlight. also yue is LITERALLY the moon so like: right of the bat with those two words it's yuekka.

"and i saw your eyes / and i saw your smile / and the world opened wide"

sokka fell in love with yue the moment he saw her in the canal. she literally enchanted this motherfucker. everything about her made his heart go crazy. and 'the world opened wide' to me is from yue's perspective. Yue had never left the north pole and sokka had seen a good chuck of the world at the point. He took her on appa, he told her about his adventures. he saw the world yue wished to see and you know damn well that Sokka would have done anything to give it to her.

"oh the moon /oh the snow in the moonlight / and your childlike eyes and your distant smile / ill never be this happy again / you and i and no one else"

natasha sings fondly about the moon and the snow, seeing as it was where she fell in love with andre. yue and sokka LITERALLY fell in love in the same place: in the snowy nothern water tribe under the light of the moon. childlike eyes: THEYRE CHILDREN!!! distant smile: this is where it gets a little sad. theyre both children with way too many duties during a world that has known nothing but war for the past century. they want to be happy but yeah, theyre smiles are distant and far away because happiness seems out of reach for them most of the time. i'll never be this happy again: the moments yue and sokka shared together were probably the happiest either of them ever were. they were able to ignore the war and the world in the moments they shared together. and with no one else. no one else would be able to give each other this sense of peace and happiness and love.

"joy and life inside our souls / and no body knows just you and me / it's our secret"

Yue and Sokka had to sneak out in secret at night to go and see each other. Yue and Sokka couldn't be together for real because Yue was already engaged, but they were literally in love so she decided to see him anyways in secret. kasdjfhklasjd im losing my mind over them at this point.

"this winer sky / how can anyone sleep / there was never such a night before / i feel like putting my arms around my knees / and squeezing tight as possible / and flying away"

these are my FAVORITE lines in the entire song. yue and sokka had never felt this strongly about anyone before and that's why they are so drawn to each other. they had never experienced love before and they wanted to hold onto it for as long as they could even though they knew they couldnt. Sokka takes yue up on appa and she is wistful and wishes she could live like he does every day: ie flying away. oh my god these two deserved so much better. so much fucking better.

now for the saddes part. the saddest fucking part.

"maybe he'll come today / maybe he came already / and he's sitting in the drawing room / and i simply forgot"

natasha misses andre so intensely at this point. when i first listened to this show and heard this song i was like "wait a min... is andre like... dead?" and im sure i wasnt the only person who assumed that this was why natasha felt so sad by the end of such a beautiful song. (spoiler alert andre is fine)

but this line really exemplifies how sad natasha is, and hints at the fact that andre may never come back. it implies that their relationship is doomed (at least in my opinion) and that's all yuekka. Sokka misses yue intensely when shes gone. Yue accepted her fate almost immediately but sokka was in denial. he thought there had to be another way. but in the end it wasn't meant to be. and sokka will go on, loving yue, wishing for her back, even though it's not possible.

fuck im gonna cry.

zukka: all i've ever known- hadestown

"i was alone so long / i didn't even know that i was lonely / out in the cold so long / i didnt even know that i was cold"

sokka is from the swt so theres where the cold comes in. also in the gaang (initially) it was just him katara and aang. and katara and aang were much closer to each other than sokka was with aang and the two of them were benders so sokka was kind of an outsider with the two of them. He also represses a lot of his emotions and feels the need to do everything himself so i do see a lot of loneliness in sokka. and the fact that so many people in his life have left him (his mom, yue, his dad, suki briefly, etc...) he is known to keep people at an arms length. i see a lot of loneliness in sokka.

zuko's loneliness is a lot more obvious: he has literally been cast out and abandoned by everyone except iroh. and even then he still feels the need to be alone (remember zuko alone? thought so) these boys look after themselves and push others away and revel in their loneliness in order to keep themselves from getting hurt. at least in my opinion on canon and also some fanon because id be a liar if i said fanon didnt influence how i view ALL my ships (not just zukka)

"all ive ever known is how to hold my own / but now I wanna hold you too"

COME ONE MANNNN, they just wanna hold each other. theyre both very big protectors as well and kljhflkasdhg they wanna protect eachother like kljdhfl im gonna lose it rn.

"You take me in your arms / And suddenly there's sunlight all around me / Everything bright and warm / And shining like it never did before / And for a moment I forget / Just how dark and cold it gets"

SUNLIGHT SYMBOLISM. zuko is literally powered by the sun. i don't think i even NEED to elaborate on this one anymore lol. They find comfort in each other away from all of their trauma. when they're together nothing else matters and i personally love that for them. they both deserve love.

"I knew you before we met / And I don't even know you yet / All I know is your someone I have always known"

these two are extremely similar in canon. many parallels. older brothers overshadowed by their prodigy little sisters. longing to make their fathers proud (granted one dad is good and one is fuckin evil), both are pretty bad with emotions. both are seen protecting others before themselves (sokka protecting suki during the serpant's pass, sokka protecting toph on like multiple occassions, zuko protecting katara in the final agni kai), the list goes on. they know who the other is because they see themselves in the other person. they already know each other because they are each other (in a way, not entirely, but the similarities are strong in my opinion)

"I'm gonna hold you forever / The wind will never change on us / Long as we stay with each other / Then it will always be like this"

i just think this line is so cute and sweet (ignoring all the symbolism and foreshadowing that comes with the last line in the musical itself. im gonna pretend this is nothing but happy) and i think these boys deserve happiness so yeah. this song is zukka to me lol.

jetko: thrill of first love- falsettoes

if you've never listened to this song go an do it now. you will know INSTANTLY that it is jetko because of the dynamics alone. marvin and whizzer are pure jetko and i take no crticisms.

marvin and whizzer are both extremely stubborn, and they don't always get along, and they fight a lot, and they get mad at each other a lot, and they are both passionate as hell, and they will bring this passion into everything. they love each other that is without a doubt, but they arent perfect and they are once again stubborn and determined as fuck.

sound familiar? it's literally jetko.

the lyrics aren't what remind me of jetko, but the dynamic itself. the lyrics are too on the nose for a gay couple in 1970's america so that rlly cant apply to jetko all that much. but the way these two characters bounce off of each other and get annoyed with each other and argue with eachother reminds me of jetko. because let's be honest: these two are the most stubborn characters in the whole show. they will fight for what they believe and it will take literally everything to change their minds.

i love jetko but i think they would have petty arguments all the time and get aggravated by one another so easily. and this is even seen in canon: they work so fucking well together but they did not even HESITATE to fight one another after neither of them would give in and let the fight about whether jet was right or wrong about zuko being a firebender. like i cannot say it enough they are stubborn as fuck.

but underneath all that stubborn pettiness and bickering: marvin and whizzer still love each other. and jet and zuko would still love each other. because even though they are stubborn when it comes to arguments, they are even more stubborn and determined when it comes to each other. these two passionate motherfuckers are in love.

(now when i chose this song i decided to ignore the fact that this song literally spells out the fact that marvin and whizzer's relatinoship is doomed because they literally say passion dies. thats the difference between jetko and whizzer and marvin because i dont think passion dies. i chose this song strictly for the bickering lmao)

and i know you didnt ask about tokka but,,,,

i rlly wanna talk about the tokka one

so im going to

tokka: on my own- les mis

look. i KNOW this song is about unrequited love and i love tokka as a couple but,,, the unrequited love in this song just SCREAMS unrequited tokka to me so thats what i went with.

eponine is a girl who has neglectful parents who lives life by her own rules: toph. eponine is shown to be tough and confident and spunky to others but behind all of that she has emotions, she feels love, she hides her vulnerability so much: toph. she is in love with a guy she cant be with because he loves someone else: TOPH

eponine is toph to a t and toph is eponine to a t. this is not up for debate lmao

"without him i feel his arms around me"

toph is always seen grabbing onto someone (and its almost ALWAYS sokka) when she's somewhere where she can't use her feet to see. FEEL and ARMS cmon. look at it.

"and i know / i know that he is blind"

COME ON. IMAGINE TOPH SINGING THIS LINE. this line is already powerful enough in les mis but having toph, a blind character, sing it just makes the symbolism even deeper. toph sees the potential relationship they could have together. toph sees that sokka is oblivious to this. toph is not blind to the truth or the potention, but sokka is blind to her feelings. im about to lose my mind over this line.

"I love him / But every day I'm learning / All my life / I've only been pretending / Without me / His world will go on turning / A world that's full of happiness / That I have never known"

i need to sit down for a moment. toph grew up in a household where her parents did not understand her. she has learned to hide her true emotions and vulnerabilities from everyone. and its the fact that toph knows that she and sokka will never be together and the fact that she still loves him in spite of that is what makes this even more heartbreaking.

"but only on my own"

TOPH AND EPONINE SWEETIES I LOVE YOU

thank you for indulging my theatre kid nonsense. you are very sweet and kind and lovely and awesome and i hope you have a lovely day bestie :) <3

ask me why i think these songs go with these ships

#asks #liv is a theatre nerd #liv is an atla nerd #yuekka #zukka #jetko #tokka #ask me about my ship songs

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rotten-games · 3 years

Note

I'm sorry if this has been asked before, but do you have a list of the gods/godly parents and their names and descriptions? I saw an ask about two of them earlier, but I don't remember seeing their names mentioned in the game. If it's just something I missed I apologize :<

I'm sure I answered this before but oh well, I can't find it. I'll just do the main Gods because they're the most relevant right now and there's been some changes to a few of them recently. Underneath I'll say who they're related to as well because I don't think that's something I've actually done yet, though some Gods mentioned in those sections either haven't been mentioned before or haven't been spoken about at length, and probably still won't for now.

Golding: arguably the 'King' of the Gods, he's typically called the Father God as he represents the sun in most legends. Golding has been said to be the protector of mortals and he is perhaps the most loving and protective of all the Gods, it is also said he gave the power of light for witches to harness as he is the God of Light. He also keeps the peace between the other Gods, ensuring they don't hurt one another or the world they all created together. Typically depicted as a lion or a man made completely of fire.

Father of Orana, Amyrus, and the seasons, currently wed to Lysandr

Lysandr: Father of Dragons and Patron God of Infernals. He is the architect of the earthly shells that all are born in as well as the harbinger of doom and ice. It is said that when he walks the earth he will bring about the destruction of all. He is also the God of darkness and shadow. He is typically depicted as a three-legged dragon, or a man made completely of ice.

Father of Dakla, and the seasons. Currently wed to Golding.

Pyrrha: Mother of the Forest and God of the Hunt, Vengeance, and War. One of the parent options, Pyrrha is God with a penchant for destruction stemming from the day her husband, the previous God of War, was slain in front of her very eyes. She is considered fickle, changing her mind time and time again just because she can and, being one of the main members of the pantheon, there are few who can stop her. She holds control over the animals of the land, and has sway with the tallest of trees and the smallest of ferns; she has ears everywhere. Long ago, it is said in her grief over the death of her husband she threatened to kill all living beings on Aebrex, and caused quite a lot of damage before she was stopped. Typically depicted as a moss-covered deer, or an armoured woman with antlers atop her head.

Sister of Padme and Leske, previously wed to Lysandr. Mother of Anathema.

Anathema: God of Plague, Famine, Rot and Rebirth. One of the parent Gods, Anathema is typically the God responsible for hunger, and for sickness, so much so that some consider him a fourth death God. What is often forgotten is that he also created the Phoenix, he's also responsible for the growth after a forest fire. He is not known to have any children or take spouses, in fact, it is said he prefers a solitary life with all the animals Pyrrha can allow. He is typically depicted as a deathly thin man with an incredibly long beard, a pair of baby birds nested in it.

Orana: Lady of the Moon, Childbirth, and the Tides. One of the parent Gods, Orana is considered a kind God, a deity unmatched in her love for mortals, but that would mean forgetting the countless lost to the seas each year. Though sailing isn't a common practice in Aebrex, it is said that for each mortal born another sailor is lost to sea. Of course, if that were the case no sailor would still live. Usually depicted as the moon, a star-flecked moth, or a woman with blue skin and a starry dress.

Daughter of Golding.

Ren: God of Sexual Attraction and Patron God of the outcast. One of the parent Gods, Ren is a infamously grumpy God who is as likely to aid someone as he is to watch them suffer depending on the time and place. Some have claimed he offers protection to those who need it, but none can definitively say what this God deems as 'need'. He has often clashed with his siblings but none more than Radhel, who is considered his counterpart. Often depicted as a viper or a naked, tattoed man of varying appearance.

Brother of Radhel, Dellios, and Farha

Radhel: God of Romantic Attraction. One of the parent Gods, Radhel is well known for being the God who broke all protocol, fell in love with a mortal, and created the first Godkin. He is a very empathetic man who hates conflict despite clashing often with his brother, Ren. Often depicted as a viper or a cornsnake, and a young man of varying appearance covered in a translucent veil.

Brother of Ren, Dellios, and Farha.

Rune: God of Magic and Patron of Witches. A parent God, Rune is both feared and beloved in equal measure, for all the good they have done as all Gods there is a equally catastrophic consequences for their good. Godkin by Rune are very rare. They are often depicted a being made of fire, earth, water, and air.

Wykk: The Secretkeeper of the Gods and the Thief of Time. One of the parent Gods, Wykk is a mysterious entity known for stealing time from Adeliah after falling in love with a mortal. Not much is known about Wykk other than that they are a shapeshifter and they keep the secrets of all the Gods, and because of such mystery they have often been dubbed the Patron of Criminals. Often depicted as an owl with no eyes or an owl with too many eyes, or a cloaked being with green feathers in their hair.

[REDACTED] of Adeliah.

Adeliah: One of the Three Gods of Death, she is known primarily as The Executioner for her role in severing the cord between mortal body and soul. One of the parent Gods, Adeliah is feared and loved for her parts played in the cycle of life and death; she brings life into this world and snuffs it out mercilessly, meaning she watches over the cycle of reincarnation very carefully. She is most often depicted as a white raven with black eyes or a frail old woman in a cloak with silver hair and completely black eyes.

[REDACTED] of Wykk

Arior: The second of the three Death Gods is Arior, known to ferry dead souls to their judgment. She is often described as calming, often speaking to her charges for the duration of their journey, though calm is often not something that can be found once they realise they're floating on a boat made of their own bones. Not much is actually known about her, only that she has four arms; in one pair holds your skull, in the other cradles her oar. She is depicted as a four-armed, four-eyed elf woman with endlessly black eyes.

Sister of Ataar.

Ataar: Ataar is known as The Judge, and is the final of the three Death Gods. While the concept of judgement in this world of reincarnation may seem strange, that's the only way that it can be described; he stands there with you, watching the events of your life play out and giving commentary when commentary is due, or so the stories tell. His main goal is to ensure all the memories of this life you've led are taken from your soul and placed into his own mind, though as we all know Gods are prone to mischief and sometimes... well, sometimes he keeps little slivers of memory right where they are for when the soul is placed into the next body by Adeliah. Often depicted much like his sister; four eyes, four arms, elf-like, with pitch black eyes.

Brother of Arior.

#anonymous #lore #gods #this was a lot i want to scream #Rott #rott game #regrets of the traitor game #interactive fiction

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moon-in-daylight · 4 years

Text

Read Between The Lines / Count Orlo x reader

Summary: You have been friends with Orlo for years now, even though you have always fantasized about being something more. When Orlo reads some compromising papers, you’re not sure you can keep your infatuation with him a secret anymore.

Words: 5.4k

A/N: I’ve been working on this fic for weeks and now I’ve finally finished it. I’m not sure I’m content with the result, but considering I’ve overcome a really huge writing block to finish this, I’m posting it either way. I haven’t proofread any of this, so sorry for the potential mistakes and typos. Hope it still makes some sense. Also sorry for posting so late at night, but now that I finally have a fic to post, I can’t wait to do it until tomorrow 😂

Surviving in Peter’s court wasn’t an easy task and anyone that had spent more than a few nights between the opulent walls of his palace could confirm that. The competence of the young Emperor could be easily described as inexistent and both the country and the palace were suffering the most absolute misery under his wicked and corrupted hand.

The war with Sweden had lasted too long, killed too many of your own people, but as harsh as it sounded, the front wasn’t the most hostile environment in Russia.

Sooner or later, that war would end. Eventually, things would go back to normal to the few lucky Russian soldiers that survived the unforgivingly cold winter in the battleground. Whatever outcome the dispute would take, the remaining survivors could go home and return to their families, live the rest of their lives in peace despite the atrocities they had been obliged to perform and witness…

The court, on the other hand, was endlessly immersed in a constant, vicious war for power that had started long before you were even born, and most certainly would still go on long after you were gone.

Every single soul living in Peter’s palace cared only for themselves, looked exclusively for their own interests. Winning the Emperor’s favor was vital for survival, and no one seemed to care whose feet they stepped on to get it. You could understand their selfish ways, you weren’t completely innocent either. You often forced yourself to laugh at the terrible jokes Peter made or took advantage of your family’s prosperous situation to get the any whims you could desire, even when in the majority times you actually didn't need most of the things you owned. It was an unfair situation and you were aware of it, but you had to take advantage of the fact that you had been born lucky and privileged.

But you normally tried to stay out of the way of the big political players, of those of the court’s residents that were trying to manipulate Peter into ruling by their beliefs and principles.

It was exhausting to live in a place like that. A place where everyone hid their true intentions and where you couldn’t lower your guard at practically any time of the day.

Much to your disgrace, the situation at court wouldn’t change while Peter was alive and occupying the throne. Even when he was the most incompetent, useless ruler the country had had in centuries – probably ever -, you were doomed to endure his reign with the only hope that you could outlive him and see a better Russia after he passed away.

He was too childish and puerile to run a country, far more worried in the seek for his own pleasure and amusement than meeting the needs of his people.

It was hard to conceive that while thousands of men were dying at the front, the Emperor could be drinking until passing out and making full display of his stupidity and recklessness through humorless jokes. It was evident to everyone’s eyes that he wasn’t qualified to run Russia, but you knew that saying that out loud would more than certainly get you killed.

He came from a long bloodline of rulers and that gave him a full pass on doing anything he wanted, no consequences, all by the divine grace of God. There was absolutely nothing you could do, except watch everyone around you butter up and lick the boots of the man that was destroying your homeland.

Not being able to deal with the hypocrisy of the court, you had soon learnt to ignore the real world and hide yourself up in fantasy ones, the shelves and books of the small library of the palace becoming a shelter for you.

In addition to being meaningfully smaller than the other rooms of the palace, the library was old, outdated and dusty. But it was also the quietest place and most peaceful room you could have access to, the least crowded. Just for that reason, it was the perfect place for you.

Although what you could have initially expected, you weren’t always alone in there, as Count Orlo often visited the library too. He was probably the only soul in the whole court beside you that care the slightest for written words, that enjoyed learning new things just for the pleasure of it.

You were intimidated by him at first, his political career and reputation making him seem cold and ruthless. In your eyes and judging by what you had heard of him, he was nothing but a calculating mind seeking to expand his power and influence, putting up with the Emperor’s constant mocking of him just so he could manipulate him.

That view you had of him immediately changed after the first time you exchanged a few ideas about the philosophy book he had caught you reading, his passionate words allowing you to see the concepts you were reading about from a different and more interesting point of view.

It wasn’t rare for the both of you to coincide in that room and through your encounters you easily familiarized and grew comfortable with each other presence. How could you not? He was always nothing but kind to you.

Whenever he had the chance, he got reunited with you so you could discuss your readings, recommend each other new books or just spend some quality time away from all the court’s madness. He was incredibly friendly and caring, always willing to share with you his knowledge, which you were incredibly thankful for.

Women weren’t supposed to learn the things you were learning. Most of them at court were illiterate, and you would be too had your father not thought it could be useful to teach you how to read when you were a child. You were grateful that he had taken the time to teach you, knowing that most men wanted the women around them to be ignorant and obliging. You were tired of seeing the patronizing way in which your gender was treated. So seeing that Orlo was treating you as an equal and was happy to answer even your most stupid questions was truly relieving.

It didn’t take long for you to grow fond of him, maybe fonder than you would have liked to admit.

Orlo was the only person in court you felt you could rely on, his views and ideas more similar to yours than what you could have ever imagined. Despite what everyone else gossiped about him, you knew he was brave and did the best he could to make a difference in Russia. He couldn’t do much to reason with Peter and talk him into making what was best for everyone, you doubted that anyone could. But at least he tried, unlike all that people who dared to mock him.

You saw in him something you had been looking for your whole life; a ray of hope. A promise that things could change, a reminder that not everything was that bad.

You couldn’t help but to let yourself fall for the feelings you slowly developed for him. It felt too good and tempting to not do so. The way your heart raced whenever you were around him was something thrilling, exciting. Something you had never thought you could ever get to feel while living in that place.

You weren’t willing to act on those feelings and risk losing his friendship, though. It was evident how uncomfortable he felt about that subject whenever Peter and his minions made fun of his lack sexual experience. You could see him clench and cringe under the court’s mockeries, discomfort filling his features every time anyone made a sexual reference in his presence. You assumed he simply wasn’t interested in those matters.

Plus, if he had been interested in you that way, he would have said something, shown some sign of his affection towards you…

It was okay that he didn’t feel the same. Just being able to befriend him was more than you could have asked for, and silently daydream about made up scenarios of you and him usually did the trick when you felt the need of being loved back.

That’s how, during one night in which you couldn’t get Orlo out of your head while reading, you had started writing a ‘book’ of your own.

You had been gathering different fantasies during the last couple of months. Endless reveries about how kissing him for the first time would feel like, what his reaction would be to other men taking an interest of you, or even about how the most quotidian parts of the day, like waking up or having breakfast, would be like with him.

Why should you not write something of your own, for your own consumption? You had always loved reading, and your feelings for Orlo gave you a never ending source of inspiration. So many ideas that you barely could remember them all. By writing them, you could preserve the happiest of your thoughts, go through them after a bad day and have your little stories bring a smile to your face.

It was harmless, so why not doing it? If it brought you joy, it couldn’t be that bad. Plus, Orlo would never have to know about your writings, as he didn’t need to know about your feelings for him either.

You hadn’t been able to write or read anything for the past days, though. Since the arrival of the Empress to the court everything had been even more chaotic than usual, and even when you much have rather stay in your chambers or with Orlo in the library instead, you had been obliged to attend to the wedding and following events.

As soon as you had seen her innocence, the look of hope in her face as she arrived to the palace for the first time, you had pitied her. She was an outsider hoping to find in the Emperor the love of her life, and in Russia a new home. You almost felt inclined to advice her to run away as fast as she could and never look back the second she walked through the palace’s doors. Living in that place was already awful enough without being married to Peter, and you figured that more sooner than later she would be regretting ever having left her home.

It only took a few days for her to realize in what a godforsaken place she had gotten herself into, as you had figured would happen. What you weren’t expecting was for her to start plotting against his husband’s life so she could steal his throne, nor that she would be requesting for your help in the process.

You had of course agreed to help her as soon as she had told you about the coup. You barely knew the woman, but you were already sure she would be making a much better work at running Russia that Peter ever would. Even a monkey could do it better, you suspected.

Because of your implication to her plans, you had found yourself having less time to spend with your own thoughts and writings, but that was compensated by having the chance of spending even more time than before with Orlo, as you had been able to convince him into taking part of the coup too.

It was actually nice to take part in the plotting against Peter, not only because you hated the bastard, but because due to the extra time you spent with Orlo, you could feel the bond between you getting stronger. During coup meetings, you would usually support each other’s ideas, have inside jokes between the two of you… You even defended him against Marial’s rude comments of him.

But as much fun as you were having helping Catherine kill the Emperor, it was also a really exhausting and demanding task, and you soon found that you barely had time to spend by yourself anymore. It had been at least a week since the last time you had been able to sit by your desk and write any of the scenarios you pictured with Orlo. And now that you were spending so much time together, you had a lot to write about.

That night you had arrived to your apartments early, right after dinner. As was tradition every few nights in the court, the Emperor was hosting a party, and you had been fortunate enough to be spared of the torture of attending.

You were hopping you could spend a quiet, peaceful night by yourself for once. To get lost in your thoughts as you imagined Orlo by your side in a new, reformed Russia. But your plans immediately took a different turn when, after searching through the whole room, you couldn’t find your writings anywhere.

After inspecting every drawer and every corner of your room for the second time, you started to get seriously worried.

What if someone had sneaked into your chambers and taken your writings? It was unlikely, as you hadn’t tell anyone about their existence. Why would anyone want to steal those, anyway? What value could they hold to anyone other than you? Of all the items in your quarters, those papers were probably the least valuable thing. If anyone had intended to steal anything from that room, you were sure that would be the last thing they would have taken, and yet, it was the only missing item…

But looking around you, you realized it wasn’t the only thing out of place. In the top of your desk you found a book that wasn’t supposed to be there, the book you had supposedly lent Orlo last week.

Quickly putting all the pieces together, you realized the fatal mistake you had made as your heart practically started to bump in your chest.

You had given him your own writings, instead of the Voltaire pamphlet you had been meaning to share with him.

Mumbling and cursing yourself, you grabbed the book between your hands and rushed out of your chambers and towards Orlo’s.

The Count had been even busier than you with the whole coup situation, so you hoped and prayed for him not to have found a single moment to read in all that time. You knew that in usual conditions, he could and would devour entire books over night, but you held to the hope that he hadn’t seen any of the things you had written about him.

Well, you had seen him exhausting himself from work every day for the past week. His mind seemed to be too focused on planning the next move, on thinking of possible allies for the Empress. It was quite possible he hadn’t even remembered that the book was in his possession.

If he had seen the words you had written, he would have already said something, right? So maybe you could still fix your mistake and act as if nothing had ever happened.

Assuming that he was still at the Emperor’s party, you could sneak into his chambers and switch the books. Prevent the awkwardness that the discovering of your fantasies with him would arouse between the two of you.

You didn’t bother to knock on his door before silently making your way into his chambers, holding the book close to your chest as you tried to ease the pressure that you felt inside.

When you saw that the entrance seemed to be empty, you let out a silent sigh of relieve. Yet, your steps were carefully slow as you got deeper into the room, trying not to make a single noise just in case.

It felt somewhat wrong to be there without his permission, but saving your friendship came before any moral conflict that could arouse within you at the moment.

If everything went okay, he would never have to know about any of it.

You held onto that thought as you kept walking towards the door of his bedchamber, where you knew he kept most of his books. Even when what you were doing felt wrong, it was for a greater good. How uncomfortable would the coup meetings be if he were to discover about your infatuation of him? For the well-being of Russia itself, he should never find out.

Besides, you were just trying to mend a wrong. You had given him your writings in a foolish mistake, by taking them back and leaving the actual book in their place you were just making things right. You convinced yourself it was the righteous thing to do, even when deep down it didn’t feel like it.

Succeeding into making your way to the front door of his bedchamber without any major complication, you pushed the doors open and quickly got inside the room. You didn’t mean to stay too long in there, but you closed the doors behind you in case any guard found them open and got alarmed.

The last thing you wanted right now was for anyone to find you there and having to make up an excuse for your furtive presence in the Count’s apartments.

When you looked up and found him sitting on his desk your body immediately froze, and when he looked up from the papers he was reading to look at you, you felt the cold sweat forming in your forehead.

For a second, you kept your eyes on him, watching surprise taking over his features. You tried to think of something, anything. An excuse to why you were sneaking into his chambers late at night when everyone was supposed to be either sleeping, dancing or completely wasted. You considered the idea of pretending to be drunk, make him think that you had entered his apartments by mistake and let him guide you back to yours. Being the gentleman he had always been, you knew that would be exactly what he would do in that situation.

It would certainly be embarrassing, and you feared he would feel uncomfortable having to deal with a drunk version of you. But you knew it would be far more embarrassing and uncomfortable to tell him the real reason why you were there.

If you were lucky enough and your performance succeeded, maybe you would even be able to ‘drunkenly’ roam through the room in search of your writings and take them with you without him noticing. Maybe you could still fix things.

You were about to ask him what he was doing in your apartments in what you hoped would sound as a drunken tone, but you desisted when you noticed the papers he was holding in his hand.

He had already read them. There was no point in making even more of a fool of yourself.

Neither of you dared to say anything for the following moments. Awkwardly, you looked at each other in what felt like the longest seconds of your life. You no longer knew what to do or say to fix that situation and, judging by the terrified look on his face, you doubted there was anything you could possibly try to make things better.

That was it. Your friendship was officially over. He would probably never want to say another word to you again. Maybe not even be in the same room as you again.

“I-“ You stumbled over your own words, feeling the lump forming in your throat and the pressure in your chest growing stronger, until the point of almost suffocate you. “I’m deeply sorry.”

As you quickly but sincerely said those words, you felt your mouth getting dry and your cheeks blushing, self-hatred taking over every inch of your body. You couldn’t bear the weight of his stare on you. Orlo’s eyes had always seemed the sweetest thing in the world to you, always so expressive and caring whenever he looked in your direction. But right now you felt them hovering over you judgmentally, with a hint of disgust on his face.

You had to look away from him immediately, but you still could notice how his face reddened too with what you assumed was second hand embarrassment.

Closing your eyes, you wished you could magically banish from that room. You wished for a hole to appear in the ground and swallow you, or for the walls to crumble and fall upon you until you were buried deep in the rubbles of the palace and nobody could find you. Literally anything could be better than standing there in front of Orlo.

You had no excuses, no way out. You wanted to properly apologize to him, make him see how truly sorry you were and how much you appreciated his friendship. How desperate you were not to lose him.

But you couldn’t find the right words for it.

“I should go.” You muttered nervously, still hopping that that entire situation was just a bitter nightmare. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Turning to leave his apartments, you wished he hadn’t notice the crack in your voice as you spoke. That whole scenario was already too shameful for you to bear, the last thing you needed was for him to see you crying. All you wanted was to get out of there as fast as you could, lock yourself in your chambers and drink until you forgot about what had happened or just passed out, whatever occurred first.

“Wait.” Orlo’s shaking voice stopped you.

As much as you wanted to run away, a single word from him was enough to stop you.

You were mortified as you stood there, still refusing to turn in his direction. You didn’t dare to. He was probably going to lecture you about how wrong and improper was what you had done, how repulsed he was by it. You didn’t want to go through it, but you owed it to him to face the consequences of your actions.

“I-I didn’t know you write.”

The Count’s tone was surprisingly tender and insecure. You turned to him with wondering eyes, trying to discern whether if he was mad at you or not.

“That’s not-“ You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but your mouth was still dry. “I mean, I don’t.”

“But aren’t these writ-?” He started to question, but you cut him off before he could finish.

“Those don’t count.” Orlo frowned at your words, confused. You made an effort to explain yourself. “They’re rubbish.”

You watched him clench his jaw and avoid your gaze before he spoke again.

“I like-“ He stuttered. “I liked them.”

His words made you blush again. Not with embarrassment, but with flustering this time. He didn’t seem mad at you. In fact, he seemed way more nervous than you. His stammering confession of his liking of your work made you realize how hard he was trying to seem composed.

“I thought you’d be upset.” You tried to state, but your doubtful tone made it sound more like a question.

“I am not.” He was quick to reply, but still refused to meet your eye. “I think the way you… I really enjoyed your descriptions. They’re very detailed and intricated. And the vocabulary is delightfully rich.”

You could see the way Orlo moved around as he spoke, grabbing your writings in one hand and gesticulating with the other one to emphasize his words. He was visibly nervous, but he was doing his best to hide it. He was trying to act as if he was making a simple review of any other book you had shared with him and, as thankful as you were that he was attempting to normalize the situation, this wasn’t just another one of your endless talks about literature.

You hadn’t written those stories with the purpose of discussing them. It felt cold to talk about the use of vocabulary in them when your only intention at the time of writing them had only been to find a way to deal with what you felt for him. You weren’t especially proud of the product of your writing, but you had poured your heart and soul in them. How could he act as if he hadn’t read right through you? Was he really that oblivious that he didn’t realize that you were head over heels about him?

It was literally impossible he didn’t know, he had read about it with his very own eyes. Still, he seemed to be trying to act as if nothing had happened. You had accidentally stripped your feelings, showed him your deepest desires. And all you got from him was nothing.

For a second you thought you would have preferred that he had screamed at you, showed you rage, discomfort, or even disgust. Literally any other feeling that wasn’t the indifference he was giving you. Did he really not care at all?

Confronting him about it felt wrong. You weren’t entitled to it, and you didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was. Instead, you decided to play along.

“And what do you think of the plot?” You asked, hoping he would take it as a cue to address the issue that worried you.

“T-The plot?” He repeated anxiously as he readjusted his glasses. You nodded, hoping for him to say something, but all you got from him was a mumbling mess.

You felt your heart ache for him as he stumbled through stuttered words and unfinished sentences. The Count seemed even more uncomfortable trying to find a right answer for you than what he usually was when being mocked by the court. And considering how awkward he felt under the constant jibes he was put through daily, that was saying something.

“Orlo, I’m sorry you read that.” You cut him off in an attempt to calm him down. Embarrassment was taking over you once again and you felt the urge to leave his apartments immediately, but you first needed to try to calm his nerves. You hated seeing him so unsettled, and you knew that he was going to be torturing himself about that interaction once you left the room, just as you were going to do too. At least, you had to try to find the right words to clear his mind. It had been you the one that had put him in that place after all. “I shouldn’t have written those things about you. It’s okay if you feel uncomfortable about it, you don’t have to pretend you don’t. I understand if you’re upset, even. It’s not your fault. I have no excuse for this, I now realize I should have never-“

“I’m not-“ Orlo’s voice surprised you, making you hush instantly. “It’s not that I’m upset. I just-“

He closed his eyes and sighed, probably still struggling to find the right words to express what was going through his mind. Knowing the man, you realized he was probably beating himself up inside that restless head of his. Cursing himself for not knowing the best way to react to that situation. The man was a perfectionist, always had been. If he said the wrong thing now he wouldn’t be able to think of any other thing for the rest of the week.

“I really can’t tell if you wrote these stories as a joke.” He finally sentenced.

“A joke?” The words left your lips before you could even process them. “Why would you think that?”

“I know I’m not a ladies man.” He stated, discomfort still plaguing his tone. “I’m well aware of all the rumors and jests about me. It’s just… I know I’m not desirable to women.”

You couldn’t help but frown while hearing his words. Your heart broke a little inside your chest, too. How could he think that you would mock him like that? Had he really grown to believe all the mean and hurtful things the evil tongues at Court said about him?

“Orlo, that’s bullshit.” You stepped forward, the embarrassment you had been drowning in suddenly turning into indignation. “You’re not a coward. You’re the bravest, most caring man I know. Not even half of the other men in this palace would be courageous enough to have joined this coup, to fight to make a difference. They can’t say nothing to you and it’s criminal that they have the audacity to mock you.”

The Count stared at you in disbelief of your words, still reluctant to look at you directly in the eye. It hurt you that he couldn’t seem to believe your words were true.

“You aren’t ugly either.” You continued, placing yourself right in front of his desk. “You have the most beautiful and intense eyes I’ve ever seen. I could stare at them for hours, if you let me. And your hair? It looks so soft, I’d love to run my fingers through it.”

Your heart beat increased as you kept listing the things you loved the most about him. It felt weird to just say to his face all the things that you loved about him and that you had kept in secret for years, but you needed him to understand just how wrong he was.

“You’re so intelligent that I sometimes fear you will laugh at me when I say something stupid, but deep down I know you won’t because you’re too kind to ever do that.”

Looking into his eyes, you took a deep breathe, deciding if you should keep on or just cut it off already. Truth was you could have continued like that for hours.

“Orlo, you’re the best person I know, and anyone incapable of seeing the many virtues you have must be completely blind. Including yourself.”

Silence took over the room for the following seconds, and you feared you had made his discomfort grow stronger. Still, you didn’t regret saying those things out loud. You had kept them to yourself for too long, and he needed to know his own value.

The Count simply stared at you, eyes shifting and mouth slightly ajar.

“I never knew you thought such nice things about me.” He finally muttered bashfully, as if he was apologizing.

“Well, I’ve been in love with you for years. That’s the reason I wrote those stories.” You casually added with your newfound confidence. Somehow, it still seemed to get him by surprise. “It has been painfully obvious and I think everyone else has realized already, but since you don’t seem to be able to read between the lines, I’m telling you.”

It felt liberating to finally get it out your chest. For years you had feared his rejection, but now that you witness his own insecurities making a display right in front of you, all you cared about was to make him feel he was worthy of love and respect. You didn’t even care if he didn’t requite your feelings.

“I’m such an idiot.” Count Orlo stood and looked at you, not being able to hide the red color his cheeks had taken.

“Indeed you are.” You smiled at him, touched by his innocent obliviousness. “A very cute one, though.”

Orlo stood in front of you, closer than usual. When you noticed him fidgeting in the spot and nervously running his tongue through his lips, you realized what his new intention was. Not leaving him time to regret his decision, you captured his lips with yours in a chaste but sweet kiss.

You couldn’t help but recall the way you had imagined and described that moment in your writings as you pressed your lips against his. You had always imagined your first kiss to be more passionate and intense, but as you pulled away slowly from the kiss, you thought that the sweetness and tenderness of the actual moment was more fitting than what you could have ever pictured.

“You should have told me earlier about this.” Orlo stated, face inches away from yours.

“I’m not done telling you everything.” You smiled contently. “There are still plenty of things I love about you and that I think you should know.”

“I can think of a few about you myself.” He whispered, more relaxed now. You liked this carefree side of him.

“I’d love to hear them, but they can wait until tomorrow.” Handing him the book you still had between your hands, you stated. “I think you have some Voltaire to catch up on first. And I should go back to my apartments. It’s late and there’s something I want to write about.”

Orlo’s smile was so big that it made your heart race. After leaving the book you had given him on his desk, he gave you back your writings.

“I can’t wait to read it.”

#Count Orlo x reader #Orlo x reader #Hulu's The Great #Hulu's The Great fanfiction #Sacha Dhawan #Count Orlo x you #Orlo x you #The Great #The Great fanfiction #This is basically Orlo discovering you write fanfiction about him

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flying-elliska · 3 years

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Okay, I'm reading Chap18, and I really hope this comment won't hurt your feelings because I love your fic and I really just want to understand why you wrote it this way, but I have to tell you that for the first time I've been disapointed with Diamants AU. I already felt it was going this way with Daphné, Arthur, Vallès, Emma and Alexia being LGBT, but I kind of felt betrayed with the Yann/Alex thing, and now I'm sensing Manon and Daphné will be together at some point too and ...(1)

...I don't understand why you made all your characters LGBT. I get that they are under-represented in most of the books and shows, but with Diamants I'm kind of feeling like being staight is a bad thing, like it's either boring or you're juste an asshole. I've always loved Skam because it shows that very different people can be friends and help each other no matter their religion, sexuality... and this kind of felt like the only reason they stand together is they're all LGBT (2) and I guess this comes from personal experience but that would have been so much more powerful to have straight people being as much invested in this war as the others. Honestly I don't see the point of Yann, Alex, Emma, Manon or Arthur not being straight, for me it doesn't bring more to who they are. This really feels like they would be nothing if they were straight. So I juste wanted to ask you why you decided this? Again, really hope this won't hurt you... (3/3)

hey anon. So, I’m going to assume this comes from a place of good faith and a sincere desire to understand, and explain my choices. That said, I do have to say that even though it didn’t really hurt me (it mostly made me laugh), it did make me a little angry too, because there are a lot of harmful implications in your messages.

1) First of all, about you “not seeing the point” of making certain characters LGBT. This functions under the assumption that there needs to be a reason for people to be gay, bi, trans, etc - and that straight people are the default. That is...really not great. People are gay in real life, for no reason whatsoever. If you don’t go to writers asking why they made their characters straight if there is no reason in the story, you shouldn’t do this either. Characters can be queer without it being a big part of the story - it’s just a part of them, and the idea that they have to ‘deserve a place’ in the narrative through their gayness (often through a deeply tragic arc full of suffering to Educate Straight people) is deeply heteronormative, and fucked up. LGBT people are not in a story to make a point, they’re there because they exist. Yes, some of my characters have arcs that are deeply entangled with their sexuality and struggles with it. Some are not. When it comes to Yann and Alex, I didn’t think too much about it, I thought it would be funny and unexpected and give some good shenanigans. Sometimes that’s all you need.

2) As for turning a majority of the canon straight characters LGBT : listen, in the end, this is my fic, and I do it because I want to. I’m bi and my life is full of queer people. This is my normal, this is what comes naturally to me, and what I find interesting to write about. I set out to write a James Bond parody with some deep character exploration, it’s meant to be a very transformative fic. I have no obligation to stick to any Skam ‘guidelines’. I am also not aiming to write a particularly realistic story, if the secret mobster conspiracy didn’t tick you off already. The ethos of fic is to make canon your playground and to let your imagination go wild. That said, this trope you’re probably used to, of having one or maybe two queer characters and not more in any given story, I would say is the less realistic one. In real life, LGBT people often tend to cluster together, often before they even realize their sexuality, especially as they get older. But a lot of mainstream media is afraid of that because they don’t want to alienate their straight audience, so they don’t show it. I have no such compunctions. Your message seems to imply that there is a limit to how many gay people there should be in a story and I find that deeply offensive. There is incredible relief, peace and power to be found in community, especially after being struggling so much with your sexuality, like Lucas did for instance. I wanted to show that joy in this chapter, and how it plays a part in him slowly letting his walls down.

3) I notice you don’t mention Imane. She’s straight, she’s super invested in this war, she’s neither boring or an asshole, in fact she’s probably the most important character in the fic after Lucas and Eliott. She’s badass and amazing and complex and if you don’t feel she counts as ‘good straight representation’ I find that slightly odd. Is she too ‘other’ for you that you would dismiss her like that ? Also, Basile is straight lmao. There’s plenty of straight people in this fic. And plenty of people who have incredibly different life experiences ; sexuality not being the main one doesn’t change that.

4) I do find it sort of silly that you reduce the characters’ reasons for fighting to being LGBT after I spent like 400k words proving otherwise. Like - Lucas wants to avenge his mother, Eliott wants to take down his father, Imane wants to avenge her father, Daphné wants to steal jewels, Alex and Emma are bored, Alexia’s a good friend (and also bored lol), they’re trying to stop horrible people from doing horrible things, their trajectories are layered and complex and if you tell me that can all be boiled down to ‘they’re gay’ I kind of wonder if you’ve paid attention to what you’ve read at all.

5) All that said, a majority of my characters being LGBT does have a symbolic point. It’s an opposition to the world of the Shadow, which is deeply sexist, heteronormative, homophobic, and macho. It represents how questioning your sexuality can be deeply liberating and often put you at odds with the general structures of power and oppression in society and lead you to question a lot more and find people who want to fight with you. Being LGBT can (but not always) make you more politically conscious and that’s a beautiful thing that deserves to be celebrated. And in general, being a minority makes you more aware of inequality because it’s simply your daily life. So it makes perfect sense that most of these characters who fight against symbols of horrible systemic oppression would be marginalized in some way or other. Straight/cis/white/rich/abled/etc people simply have less reasons to question the status quo. I have sat through so many action movies where all-straight heroes save the day ; I’m sure you can sit through the opposite for once. If you can’t, maybe it’s a failure of empathy or imagination on your part.

6) Imagine growing up and never seeing, around you or on TV or in books or movies, someone who shares your sexuality. Or if you ever see somebody like you, they will be a joke, a punchline, deluded, instable, doomed, or worse, a predator. Imagine the sort of damage that does. Imagine that when you finally find some correct representation, you have to make do with crumbs for years. Imagine it gets slowly better, but it’s still overwhelmingly tragic, or incorrect, or stereotypes, or only told after the story is over, or you’re always the best friend, always the minority, the point of interest there to educate, always there to struggle, never the epic breathtaking romance, never centered, never allowed community and to see yourself as the norm. In the best of cases, your identity is more or less ignored. In the rare cases where you find good representation, shows get cancelled prematurely, or your faves never get as much screen time as the straight ones, or storylines get botched because somehow writers think showing queer characters happy has no value. Imagine then you decide to take matters in your own hands and write the sort of queer utopia that makes you truly happy - the one where you’re surrounded with people like you and you don’t have to constantly feel isolated and otherized and you’re badass and don’t have to take any shit and your love story is the epic one that gets centered and you have friends who understand and share your experience. And then imagine someone, instead of taking a deep breath and going back to like, 99% of all media ever made, randomly comes to you and tells you they feel ‘betrayed’ because in this one paltry little fic you wrote, their mainstream experience is not centered like usual. Tell me, how would that feel ?

Again, I don’t bear you any ill will, but your message comes across as ignorant and very entitled. I am open to feedback and criticism but writing a story full of LGBT people is one thing I will never feel sorry for. There are a shit ton of fics out of there where those characters are straight, not to mention canon. If you feel ‘betrayed’ by the amount of queer characters in my fic, then I’d say you have some biases you need to examine. It reminds me of all the times I’ve heard people say that they ‘like gay people but only if they’re not too in your face’ (lol that was my sister, so fun) - this implication that queer people should know their place, never show their difference too openly, accept being a minority in all spaces, need to ‘deserve’ their spot, center straight people’s needs, etc etc...is deeply harmful and toxic.

If you can’t understand all this, then my writing is probably not for you.

#diamants!au #lgbt #lgbt representation #fandom #queer representation

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hysterialevi · 3 years

Text

Eitr | Chapter 10

Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

Author’s note: Thanks for being patient with me guys. I know I’ve been sucking ass in terms of getting these chapters out at a frequent rate, but I really appreciate you all being so understanding with me. Hope you enjoy this part, and thanks again for the support.

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

ONE WEEK LATER

ELMENHAM, THE LONGHOUSE

Oswald threw an incredulous stare at Eivor upon hearing the news, unable to deny the doubt that was settling into his mind.

“The ealdorman of Wedenscire did this?” He asked. “Are you certain?”

Eivor shrugged, fidgeting with his axe as he relaxed in a chair.

“That’s what Gjuki tells me. There is still much information to be uncovered when it comes to the nature of this ambush, but based on what he has brought to me so far, I think it’s safe to assume that Aegenwulf was involved with the attack at the very least.”

The king placed his hands on his hips and began to pace around the room. “I just... I find it difficult to believe that he would act so brazenly -- especially in the middle of a war, no less. Aegenwulf has never been fond of the Danes, that is true, but he is a man of honor; a man of God. If he truly is behind the attack on Ravensthorpe, why would he do such a thing? What reason could he have to treat your people in such a way?”

Eivor sighed, tracing the edge of his blade. “I do not yet know, but his crimes go beyond what happened at Ravensthorpe. He also has my brother.”

That caught Oswald’s attention. “Aegenwulf has Sigurd? Is he holding him prisoner?”

“Not officially, but he may as well be. I have only heard fragments of the entire situation in Forangal, but Gjuki tells me Sigurd is slowly being brainwashed. He bears their sigil, and raises a blade in the ealdorman’s name. He obeys Aegenwulf’s every word, and apparently, has expressed some hesitation in terms of going along with my plans to assault the fortress. There are even whispers that he might convert to Christianity soon. They are turning him into a thrall.”

The Saxon king shook his head in sympathy, gazing blankly at the floor. “I’m... so sorry, Eivor. You’ve made it quite clear how much Sigurd means to you. I can’t imagine what it’s like watching a loved one lose sense of who they are. I wish I could make all this go away with a snap of my fingers, but we’ll need more men if we are to breach the walls of Forangal Castle.”

Eivor rose from his seat, sliding his axe back into its sheathe. “Have no fear, Oswald. We will have the forces we need soon enough. I have just finished securing an alliance in Eurvicscire. A couple more, and we should be ready to get Sigurd back.”

“Good. In the meantime, I will do all I can to prepare. A fragile peace hangs over East Anglia, but if there’s any chance we can save your brother, I’ll be there when you call for me. So will Valdis.”

“Thank you, Oswald.” Eivor said sincerely. “I know I’m asking a lot, but if we don’t rescue Sigurd from Forangal, he could end up dead. Or worse.”

“I understand. This is not something we can simply let go. If Aegenwulf really is at the heart of all this, we must bring him to justice. He has the blood of many innocents on his hands, and that cannot go unpunished.”

Oswald strolled back to his throne, finally having a seat after a long day of work.

“Carry on with your plans, Eivor. I will inform Valdis of what is to come. In the meantime, do your best to keep your head high. I know these are trying times, but Sigurd is going to need your strength if his situation is truly as bad as Gjuki reports.”

Eivor gave him a nod, making his way out of the longhouse. “I know, Oswald. And I will. I’m not giving up on him yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~

THAT NIGHT

FORANGAL CASTLE, SIGURD’S CHAMBERS

Dragging a small stone along the edge of his sword, Sigurd sharpened the blade underneath the pale moonlight as he sat by the window, continuously checking to see if Gjuki had lit the brazier yet.

It had been about a week or so ever since he began searching for Algar’s hidden crypt, and with no further updates to inform Sigurd of what was going on, the man couldn’t deny that he was starting to grow anxious.

What if something had happened to Gjuki? What if he had been caught? What if all this was for nothing? What would he do?

The last thing Sigurd wanted was to think about the possible outcomes that could arise if their plan was foiled, but the thoughts continued to creep into his mind regardless. There were so many risks at hand and so many lives to consider, that he was beginning to wonder if all their effort was doomed to end in futility.

After all, they were heavily outnumbered in this part of England. Aside from Gjuki and his men, Sigurd really had no one else to rely on in Wedenscire. Of course, he had the support of Aegenwulf’s children to back him up, but in the face of true monarchy, he doubted that their approval of him would mean much to the ealdorman in the end.

Still, he supposed there was no use in worrying until he had a solid reason to believe something was amiss. Gjuki had already proven himself to be a skilled warrior in the past, and with Eivor waiting just beyond the horizon to bring Aegenwulf to justice, Sigurd remained confident in the fact that they would reunite someday.

Though, of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t frightened.

“...Sigurd?” A man suddenly said from behind the door, their gruff voice muffled by its material. “Are you in there?”

The viking placed his sword down and walked over to the entrance, straightening his tunic along the way.

“One moment.”

Swinging the door open with a firm pull, Sigurd paused in surprise when he saw an unexpected face greeting him from the other side, admittedly confused about their presence here.

“Thegn Raedan?” He said. “Is there something you need?”

The nobleman took a moment to observe the Norse in front of him, flicking his eyes up and down.

“So...” Raedan replied quietly, not wanting to wake Forangal’s people, “you’re Sigurd the Lone-Wolf. I apologize for the abrupt visit -- especially at such a late hour -- but I wanted to speak with you face-to-face. After all, I don’t think you and I have had the chance to sit down and have a proper conversation yet, have we?”

“No, we haven’t.”

The Saxon quirked a brow at him. “...May I come in?”

Sigurd stepped to the side, allowing him entry. “Of course, my lord.”

Walking into the dimly-lit chamber, Raedan strolled towards the window and leaned against the wall beside it, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword as Sigurd closed the door behind him.

“So,” the viking said, “what did you wish to speak about?”

Raedan was quiet for a second. “...Well, a few things. But mainly, my wife. Moira. You’ve met her a handful of times by now, haven’t you? I know she’s been giving you some trouble since we first arrived, and I’m sorry about that. She is a good woman, but she’s also very protective. And I fear that the history between our people and yours has been anything but peaceful.”

The viking crossed his arms. “I assume her distrust towards me isn’t without reason.”

The Saxon nodded. “And you’d be correct. I’ll spare you the details, but... just know that she lost her own mother to the vikings. Many years ago. It’s the main reason her father arranged a marriage between the two of us. He wanted to secure an alliance with my family in order to drive the Danes out of their lands. It worked in the end... but at a great cost.”

Sigurd’s tone softened with empathy. “...I’m sorry to hear that. I know how it feels.”

“I imagine we all do, nowadays. Unfortunately. It’s rare to find someone who has evaded the tragedy of this war, and even rarer to find someone who hasn’t been changed by it. But I digress...”

Raedan approached Sigurd, lowering his voice so that it was barely above a whisper.

“May I ask you something, Lone Wolf?”

The Norseman nodded. “Certainly.”

“...From what I understand, you’re quite close to Aegenwulf, aren’t you?”

Sigurd shook his head. “Not particularly, no. In fact, I hardly know anything about him.”

“Is that so? Well, I must admit, that’s somewhat of a surprise. I simply assumed you were friends since he’s allowed you to stay here. Most Danes that cross paths with Aegenwulf end up with a severed head.”

“It was mostly his children who influenced his decision to spare me,” Sigurd explained. “Initially, Aegenwulf was going to have me executed.”

Raedan chuckled softly. “Ah, yes. That’s more what I expected. Still, it doesn’t sound like the Aegenwulf I knew all those years ago. He’s always been a stern bastard, mind you, but... I feel as if he’s changed lately. And not for the better.”

Sigurd recalled what Edric told him. “Well, he did lose one of his sons.”

“Aye. Gareth. I heard about that. Such a horrible death, and one that I fear has left Aegenwulf in a perpetual state of despair. He always puts on a smile when he’s around me, but I can’t help but feel as if it’s no more than a facade.”

The viking picked up on his tone. “You’re worried about him?”

“I am. That’s why I came to you. I hate to talk about a man behind his back, but I thought you might know something that could help. Seems he’s keeping secrets from everyone these days, though.”

Sigurd couldn’t hide the sharpness in his voice. “Not everyone.”

“Oh? You have someone in mind?”

The Norseman sighed out of hesitance, somewhat reluctant to answer the question. Part of him trusted Raedan to handle information like this with an objective mind -- he seemed quite rational, after all -- but the other part regretted saying anything in the first place.

Still, he wondered if it’d be best if someone from outside of Forangal knew the reality of the situation. Sigurd wasn’t willing to open up to Raedan about everything just yet, but... maybe it could’ve helped if one of Aegenwulf’s oldest allies had the gist of what was going on.

He only prayed he wasn’t wrong.

“...It’s Algar.” Sigurd finally confessed.

Raedan furrowed his brow. “Algar? You mean Aegenwulf’s housecarl? What about him? Have you noticed anything strange?”

“Nothing specific,” he lied, “but it doesn’t take much to see that he’s influencing Aegenwulf’s way of thinking -- and not in a good way.”

Strangely enough, the other man didn’t seem too shocked. “Yes... I’ve heard the folks in this castle whispering about him. Edric’s mentioned him a few times as well. I get the impression that no one here is really fond of him, and now I’m starting to suspect there’s more to it than mere speculation.”

“Indeed. Everyone I’ve met so far has called him a snake. Perhaps it’d be worth keeping an eye on him--”

Sigurd came to an abrupt pause, suddenly noticing a lone flame glowing in the distance. It appeared to be coming from the pier just as Gjuki said it would, and he could’ve sworn he saw someone moving around in the shadows.

It must’ve been him.

“Sigurd?” Raedan said, pulling the viking from his thoughts. “Is... everything alright?”

The bodyguard brought his gaze back to the nobleman, quickly conjuring up an excuse.

“Erm, f-forgive me, my lord. I hate to cut our conversation short, but I just remembered I have an important matter to take care of. I’m afraid it can’t wait. If you’ll excuse me...”

Raedan nodded, giving him a casual wave. “Of course, Sigurd. Do what you must, and thank you for lending your ear to this old dog. I’ll keep in mind what you said about Algar, and I think we’d both do best to observe his every move. In the meantime, keep Aegenwulf’s children safe, understand? I don’t know what’s going on with his housecarl, but those little rascals don’t deserve any harm.”

“Understood. You have my word.”

The Saxon began heading for the exit, satisfied with the information he gathered. “Very good. I’ll see myself off, then. Take care of yourself, Lone Wolf. This place is far from safe, and I fear it’ll stay that way for quite some time.” He gave him one last glance.

“Until we meet again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

THE PIER

Tugging his hood further down his face, Sigurd stuck to the path as he navigated his way through the darkness, doing his best to stay concealed in the overwhelming blackness of the night.

So far, he had yet to notice anyone tailing him through the wilderness, and the foliage around him remained calm with inactivity, but he couldn’t seem to fight off the sense of dread that was crawling underneath his skin.

It just felt... ominous out here. There was too much silence; too much stillness. The world was devoid of any life during this time of day, and it didn’t reflect the same atmosphere Sigurd experienced when he went hunting with Edric at all.

Perhaps it was just nerves, he thought. The night always seemed to draw out a certain type of fear from people’s hearts, and the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be out here in the first place certainly didn’t help.

His mind may have been racing with about a thousand different thoughts at the moment, what with all the anxiety that was building up in his chest, but he had to remind himself to stay calm.

Panicking would only make him stand out more after all, and he couldn’t afford to be caught.

“...Gjuki?” Sigurd whispered cautiously, quietly approaching the pier as he stepped into the brazier’s circle of light. “Gjuki, are you there?”

There was no response.

“Gjuki,” He repeated a bit louder, starting to grow concerned. “It’s me, Sigurd. You can come out.”

Still, he received no answer.

Where was that damned bard? He wondered. Had Gjuki been forced to flee prematurely due to some sort of threat? Or had Sigurd simply mistaken this flame as his signal?

He assumed the fire had been lit by Gjuki, considering that this pier was abandoned. No one else had any reason to make use of this place, and the timing of its appearance had to be more than just a coincidence.

Though, in spite of all that, the bard remained nowhere to be seen. There was no trace of Gjuki lying around the vicinity, and if Sigurd looked closely enough at the wooden floor of the pier, he could’ve sworn he saw some type of red liquid staining its surface.

Wait a minute.

Was that...?

“Hello, Lone Wolf.”

Whirling around at the sudden voice, Sigurd barely had any time to react before he felt the sharp sting of an armored fist bashing him in the face, causing him to fall to the ground.

He heard a group of footsteps swarming him as soon as he hit the floor, and within the blink of an eye, a pair of men had grabbed him by the arms, restraining him in their grasp.

“Hold him down!” A familiar voice bellowed over the commotion.

Sigurd struggled violently in their grip and desperately attempted to break free, only to receive a firm kick to the stomach. His head was still spinning from the initial punch, and now, his organs felt as if they were about to climb up his throat too.

“Stay still!” One of the men barked, shoving Sigurd’s face into the ground as he bent the man’s arms behind his back. But the viking wasn’t done fighting yet.

Despite being somewhat dazed from the attack, Sigurd wrestled even harder with the guards and let out an aggressive grunt, trying to weaken their grasp.

Before he could resist their seizure any further however, a metallic scrape suddenly reached his ears, forcing him to bring his attention to the dagger that was now kissing the flesh on his throat.

“Move one more muscle,” his captor hissed, “and I’ll plant this little beauty straight through your eye.”

Sigurd glared at the man on the other side of the blade, instantly recognizing their face.

“...Algar.”

The housecarl grinned widely, leaning in closer to him as he pulled his hood back. “Well, well. If it isn’t the blue-eyed demon. I had a feeling you would turn up sooner or later, Sigurd. I’m so glad to see you again.”

Sigurd ignored the man’s taunts, focused entirely on the absence of his friend. “Where’s Gjuki? What have you done with him?”

Algar raised a brow. “Oh, you mean the bard? There’s no need to worry about him, mate. I assure you, he’s receiving the exact treatment he deserves.”

The viking glowered at the malevolence in his tone, horrified to imagine what Gjuki could’ve been going through at the moment.

“I’ll kill you for this, you dog...!” Sigurd growled through clenched teeth.

The Saxon offered nothing but a chuckle in response. “You’ve certainly got a fire in you, Lone Wolf. There’s no denying that. I almost... respect it in a way. But unfortunately, I doubt you’ll be doing anything in your position.”

Algar grabbed Sigurd by the hair, yanking his head upwards from the ground with a hard tug.

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t figure out what you and your friend were doing? How blind do you think I am? I warned you what would happen if you defied me, Sigurd, but it seems my threats fell on deaf ears. A shame, really, seeing as how you would’ve made a great warrior. All you had to do was follow our fucking orders. Now though, I’m afraid your fate rests in Aegenwulf’s hands.”

Algar let go of the viking’s hair and stood up from the ground, giving his men a series of commands.

“Tie him up, and bring him back to the castle. I’ll inform the ealdorman of what has transpired here. In the meantime, make sure this one stays put in the dungeons. I don’t want him to see even a sliver of sunlight until Aegenwulf permits it.”

“Right away, sir.” They answered in unison.

“Good. Then our business here is concluded. Oh, and Sigurd?” Algar shot a smirk at him. “Have no fear. I’ll personally see to it that your friend Edric hears of this. Can’t wait to see what he thinks.”

Sheathing his weapon, Algar swiftly walked over to his horse and prepared to return to the castle, dousing the brazier’s fire with a splash of water from the river.

Meanwhile, his men wrapped a cloth around Sigurd’s mouth and secured him with an abundance of ropes, ensuring that the man couldn’t move. Afterwards, they hauled him up from the ground and threw him over the back of one of their mounts, rendering him completely defenseless.

Sigurd was terrified right now. He had no idea what Algar intended to do with him, nor if Aegenwulf would spare him a second time -- and considering the fact that Gjuki could’ve been dead, he assumed he had lost his only chance to discover what the housecarl was doing behind closed doors.

Everything was going to hell.

Not only would he be a prisoner of Algar’s now, his identity would also be exposed to everyone in Forangal. They would learn his real name, and finally hear the truth of his cryptic background. Edric would believe that his clan was responsible for the death of his brother, and the trust that they had built thus far would crumble into ash.

Blood of Tyr, Sigurd thought to himself. What on earth had done? Would he even survive this next week?

How was he going to contact Eivor now? Were Gjuki’s people aware of what was happening? Surely, Eivor would realize something was amiss with the bard’s disappearance.

Or perhaps... he would just assume they were dead. Hope was in short supply nowadays due to everything going on in the war, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to believe that Sigurd had been killed whilst in the hands of Saxon enemies. Eivor probably had many other things to worry about at the moment, and the viking could only pray that his brother would be vigilant enough to notice that something had gone wrong.

Otherwise... Sigurd didn’t know what else he would do. There weren’t many chances to escape in a situation like this, and the odds were heavily stacked against him.

Right now, his only option seemed to be compliance. He imagined his stay with Algar would simply worsen if he fought back, and any defiance would’ve surely swayed Aegenwulf towards a less forgiving approach.

Edric was the one person who had any hope of changing the ealdorman’s mind, and just like before, Sigurd had no choice but to rely on the young man’s help.

He was the only one who could’ve saved him now, and unless his view of the viking changed after hearing Algar’s report, Sigurd hoped he would be able to see reason.

There was something deeper connecting the two of them, and now, after all this time, he would finally see for himself if it ever actually meant anything.

#assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #male oc #sigurd x male oc #ac valhalla fanfic #eitr

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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This isn’t really much of a defense as it is just a acknowledgement of the difference: Oz NEVER planned on telling anyone anything, if a way to stop Salem cropped he’d have probably still never told anyone. Ruby, DID plan on telling people, just after they earned her trust. The reason this is still a criticism is because SHE SHOULD FUCKING TRUST IRONWOOD.

Asking this to the fandom as an honest question: when do we learn that Ozpin never planned to tell anyone? To my recollection he doesn’t say that (and I admit completely it’s just my recollection, I could be forgetting something), but rather he says instead:

“Do you really think Leo was the first? That he didn’t say those exact same words to me? I’m sorry, but you have to understand that my behaviors are backed by experience. I’m not saying that I have reason to think you will betray me. I’m saying that I have reasons for the things that I do. The secrets I keep. I--”

(This is a speech that the group - and via them the audience - never has to grapple with because Ozpin realizes in this moment that the relic is gone, moving the conversation away from his defense and towards Ruby’s refusal to give it back/Oscar forcibly taking Jinn’s name.)

Saying, “My experience means that I have good reason not to spill these secrets carelessly” is not the same thing as “I never plan on telling them to anyone.” This is, in fact, the exact same reasoning that Ruby adopts: I plan to tell you things after you’ve earned my trust. Ozpin admits here that Team RWBY doesn’t have his trust yet. Not because they as individuals have done something to lessen that (though I’d argue that the group’s overall attitude makes trusting them justifiably difficult), but rather that platitudes - “You can trust us!” - have proven to be meaningless throughout Ozpin’s lifetime: “Do you really think Leo was the first? That he didn’t say those exact same words to me?” Here, Ozpin is in the same place with Team RWBY as Ruby was with Ironwood for weeks on end. I simply don’t trust you yet and you’ll just have to wait until I do. (Even though, as you say, Color2wheel, Ironwood had actions to prove his trust whereas Team RWBY just has those platitudes...)

The only “proof” I’ve heard in the fandom that Ozpin never intended to tell them about Salem is the fact that Qrow doesn’t know about her yet. The logic goes, “Well if Qrow doesn’t know after years and years of working with Ozpin then obviously he doesn’t plan to ever tell him at all.” It sounds damning on the surface but what this argument fails to take into account is what Ozpin himself points out, that his behaviors are “backed by experience.” Or, to put it more bluntly, this argument fails to take trauma into account.

Ozpin is grappling with trauma that, thus far, no other character has had to try and overcome.

Ruby actually gives us a good baseline. We can think of her trust as akin to an equation:

Being betrayed by one person (Ozpin) + encountering an ally who is doing everything possible to demonstrate trust (Ironwood) = needed a couple weeks in order to trust them.

Ozpin’s equation is more like:

Being betrayed by an unknowable number of people across a thousand years (Raven, Lionheart, and Team RWBY most recently) + encountering allies who do things that demonstrate that trusting them may be quite a risk (Qrow is called out for not being a reliable spy and is emotionally very fragile, Ironwood disagrees with Ozpin’s methods, Team RWBY is constantly pissed at him, etc.) = needing....?

How long does it take to trust again after all that? After a thousand years of people not just hurting you when they learn this secret (abandoning you for Salem, trying to kidnap you, kill you) but also hurting themselves as well (Qrow falls into an alcoholic stupor and only comes out of it when his niece threatens to leave him behind)? If Ruby’s experiences as a 17yo with (at most) two years experience outside the safety of Patch/Beacon means it took her weeks to trust again, how many years does it take someone who has been through as much as Ozpin? Probably the number of years that Qrow has been trustworthy “enough” to learn this secret but hasn’t. Needing more time to trust again because you’ve been traumatized by trusting others isn’t comparable to not trusting because you’re a bad person and you just didn’t want to. “Not now” doesn’t mean “never” and “I currently can’t” is not the same thing as “I won’t.” In addition, none of this takes into account that Ozpin kept silent during a time of peace when telling people (arguably) wasn’t necessary, whereas Ruby kept silent during a time of war when she knew Ironwood was putting time and resources towards a doomed plan. Those are radically different situations, even removing Ozpin’s trauma.

In the interest of boiling complex stuff down into more easily understood examples, let’s talk about another kind of trauma for just a moment. Something simpler, straight forward, and generally more accepted: a fear of dogs.

Ruby: I was bitten by a dog once. I wasn’t the worst bite in the world but it still effected me. Now I’ve met this other dog and he’s... kind of scary. Big. Looks mean. Barks a lot. I get intellectually that the dog isn’t attacking me and is showing that he will sit quietly if I were to approach... but I can’t bring myself to pet the dog yet. I need time.

The Story: Entirely understandable.

Ozpin: I’ve yet to have a good experience with a dog. I’ve been bitten by them throughout my whole life - which is over fifty times the length of Ruby’s. These bites have left scars. I’ve been mauled by dogs before. I’ve had people set their dogs on me. I get intellectually that all dogs aren’t bad, but it’s incredibly hard for me to pet any at this point, even those whose owners insist that they’d never, ever hurt me. I’ve heard those same words right before I was bit again...

The Story: Hmm. Seems suspicious.

Ruby: Okay! I’ve spent weeks with this specific dog now and you know what? I’m ready to pet him. I’m emotionally in that place now. There. I did it! Aren’t you proud of me?

The Story: We are! Wow that was so well done. You are such a good person for petting that dog and I’m sure your ability to do so is based entirely on your morality and has nothing to do with your individual experiences.

Ozpin: No, I still haven’t pet any dogs yet. I’m not ready.

The Story: Well Ruby pet one.

Ozpin: Forgive me, but Ruby had one bad experience with a dog. She’s been surrounded by other supportive, happy, loyal, gentle dogs her whole life! Has any dog ever tried to kill Ruby? I feel like that would have a bearing on how quickly she starts interacting with them again...

The Story: Nope. She’s just better than you.

Now replace all “petting dogs again” with “trusting someone with this secret again.” Before I condemn Ozpin and uphold Ruby, I’d like to see a version of Ruby Rose who went through even a fraction of what Ozpin has been through regarding trust, secrets, and absolutely horrific betrayal. Give me a Ruby who has told people the Salem secret and they leave her, attack her, try to kidnap her, kill her, deny her support, grow to hate her... and then lets see if it still “only” takes a few weeks to spill it again. Give me a Ruby who has to suffer through Blake abandoning her, or Weiss joining up with Salem, or Jaune trying to kidnap her to ensure his own safety and then we can start praising her if she trusts quickly after all that.

For me, it has never been established that Ozpin would have never told his allies this secret, only that his experiences mean he needs more than the average person to take that risk. I actually think having a Salem plan would have made all the difference. Reassuring someone that there won’t be repercussions for the awful thing they just heard is a great way to ensure they aren’t nearly as angry as they might have been:

Person A: I... accidentally left the gate open and the dog got out.

Person B: You what?

Person A: But don’t worry! I’ve already got a plan to get him back. Everything is fine!

Person B: It’s a damn good thing.

vs.

Person A: I... accidentally left the gate open and the dog got out.

Person B: You what? Well how are you getting him back?

Person A: I haven’t figured that out yet...

Person B: What the hell is wrong with you?

People like easy solutions to hard problems. It’s the first thing Ruby asks: We just learned that Salem is immortal and we know you’ve failed to get rid of her for a thousand years...but you have a plan to fix this in our lifetime, right? We don’t have to deal with this awful immortality business because you’ve figured out how to fix everything for us, right? And when Ozpin admits that he doesn’t have that solution fury gets the better of them. He’s punched into that tree. They drive him away. If Ozpin had been able to say, “Don’t worry! It doesn’t matter if Salem is immortal because I’ve found a way to circumvent that immortality! This reveal will have no negative impact on you moving forward,” we would have gotten a very different conversation. And very different actions on Ozpin’s part throughout his life. The whole reason he keeps Salem’s immortality to himself is because he has no way to circumvent it. He doesn’t want to tell people that this fight is (currently) impossible because that is what leads to them giving up/joining Salem/taking their fear out on him. There’s no longer a reason to keep her immortality a secret if the immortality is circumventable. A plan would have removed at least some of Ozpin’s (justified) fears. People aren’t going to attack him if he can easily fix this problem for them. If he can’t fix it? Well, then you’re disposable. We’re going to leave you for someone more powerful (Salem) or just cut you out of our life completely (Team RWBY).

What it comes down to is that Ruby’s experiences and Ozpin’s experiences simply aren’t comparable. It’s something he says outright in the story - “you have to understand that my behaviors are backed by experience” - but moving forward RWBY has chosen to ignore that. The man who has spent a thousand years being traumatized by trust going sideways can’t compare to the teen with just a spattering of experience under her belt trusting for the second time. Ozpin was Ruby at one point. There was a time when he trusted a second time and he didn’t get an Ironwood who sat calmly and accepted the news with such grace. So what proof do we have that without being so lucky (without a narrative that ensures Ruby comes out on top) Ruby wouldn’t have become Ozpin in time? There’s nothing intrinsic in Ruby that makes her a better person who is more able to trust others. It’s entirely that her experiences haven’t (yet) led to trust being a trigger for abandonment and assault. Ruby is just an Ozpin in the making because anyone can struggle due to trauma - even a “simple soul.” It’s a crucial difference and, frankly, I think RWBY has failed not to acknowledge it.

#rwby #rwde #mymetas #color2wheel

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houseofhurricane · 3 years

Text

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (14/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: This may be the most fanfiction-y chapter of Bloom & Bone yet... and I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy reading. You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. If you'd like to get an early peek at chapter 11 and all future chapters, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane. Thank you for reading! ❤️

When Tamlin awakes at the sound of a rip in the fabric of the world, his first thought is that this must be a strange continuation of his dream. There, too, Elain Archeron had been in his bedroom.

His second thought, as she walks toward him, eyes wide in her moonlit face, glowing from more than the light and redolent with a new aura of power, is that she can surely smell his arousal. As soon as she speaks, there will surely be an awkward question about what caused this.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, pulling his blanket around himself in case she looks too closely. In the dream, she had not kept her distance, but Tamlin is never quite sure what the real Elain will do.

“I needed to leave the Night Court,” she says, her teeth chattering around the words. Shock. Exhaustion. “But they will come looking for me here. They think I betrayed them but I was only--”

Her voice hitches and Tamlin expects Elain to cry, but instead her hands ball into fists and she takes a deep, shuddering breath. Her teeth continue to chatter for a moment longer, then fall still.

“Lucien and I are working on a plan to rescue Vassa,” she says, her voice low and calm and yet ringing in his ears. The proximity of her body, her scent wafting around him. He needs to collect himself. If Elain is right, Rhysand will be here in minutes.

“What brought you here, then?”

“I asked -- I wanted to be someplace safe. Isn’t it true that mates can’t harm each other?”

“I will do my best to never hurt you,” he tells her. The words are ragged with meaning. “Which means we cannot stay here.”

“There are places I can go. I think I can take you. When I held the bone, you followed me. I think we will need weapons, though. And gold. And perhaps as much water as we can carry.” Her laugh is a little frantic and Tamlin wants to pull her towards him, this little female who comes up to his shoulder and still has grasped some magic he’s never before detected, but there is no time.

“Turn around,” he tells her, already reaching for his clothes and his armor as her skirts swish on the floor. Within seconds, he’s dressed and lacing his boots, filling a bag with gold and heaving his broadsword into its sheath on his back. In another minute, a dozen knives and daggers are variously strapped and concealed, ready for battle.

Then Tamlin sweeps Elain up in his arms and runs to the kitchens, waiting for the moment when she insists on being put down, but instead she looks around anxiously, as if she’s certain Rhysand will appear.

She does not speak until there is a stone jug in the crook of each of her arms, filled to the brim with water and sealed hastily with leather, and then she says only, “I hope this works,” takes a step, and wraps her hands around Tamlin’s wrists.

Around them is a sound like the ripping of some great tapestry, and his kitchens become a passageway with intricately tiled floors and giant doors filled with elaborate carvings. This place smells like no court or country he has ever known, unknown spices and flowers lightly scenting the air.

Before him, Elain is glowing golden, a sun on the horizon. She turns away from him to look down the passageway as if she knows this landscape and already has a direction in mind.

“You’ve been training,” he says, scanning each side of the passageway for threats. The walls curve off in the distance but all is still except for the low hum of this place, the vibration of Elain’s power in front of him.

“They can still find us here, if they decide to use the bone,” she says, as if he did not speak, then starts walking. Tamlin can’t help but follow, watching door after door pass by them. Finally, she stops and places her hand on a wooden door, closes her eyes, and nods. When she opens her eyes, she turns toward him, holds out her hand, and asks, “Are you ready to see another world?”

Tamlin takes her hands and follows her through the open door and into the dawn of a new world.

Elain has taken them to a marketplace, and though her eyes are alight with recognition, he doubts she knows the language, which is unlike any he’s heard on his short trips to the continent. Despite the early hour, the air is already hot and sticky and scented with the ocean, spices, roasting meat. Around them, people are laughing and arguing. They’re clothed in loose linen, their skin ruddy and golden and brown, and no one seems to be bothered by the fact that two pale strangers have appeared from some strange place they could hardly imagine.

“This world is at peace,” she says, shifting her shoulders to better accommodate the water she’s carrying. He takes a jug from her and holds it at his side, hoping she won’t let go of his other hand. He hopes she’s right about the peace in this world, because he’ll lose precious seconds if he needs his sword. The alley around them seems deserted, but that could change in an instant, especially as the day breaks.

“Tell me about your power,” he says, because of the thousand questions that whirl in his mind, this seems the most pressing, to learn what’s bloomed in her.

“I’m still learning. But I have an awareness of the character of the world. And at first I needed to navigate by going through the passageways, but now, if I concentrate and I know where I’m going, it seems I can move around on my own.”

“You’ve never been in my bedroom before.”

She flushes like a ripe strawberry, so that the pink of her dress looks almost pale.

“I tried to go someplace where I was safe. I’ve never tried to move places in our world before, only between worlds and the passageway. And I’ve communicated with the door, somehow. But I thought, if it were going to work, that the mating bond might act as a tether between us. That it might also let you travel with me.”

“You wanted me to come with you?”

He watches her swallow, the delicate working of her throat. When she looks up at him, the force of her gaze makes his breath hitch. The power concealed inside of her astounds him.

“I could tell you that the Night Court will go to your estate first, though it’s possible they will try to track Lucien instead.” She pauses, hitching the jug of water against her hip, liquid sloshing against her sleeve. Tamlin hardly breathes, worried the moment will be broken, that someone will notice them, that all hell will break loose, the way it always does.

Finally, Elain says, the words barely a whisper on her plump and rosy lips: “But if I am being very honest, I missed you.”

It’s all he can do to keep himself from kissing her. Instead, he feels himself beaming.

“I am very glad you could find me in our world.”

“Even if I interrupted your dream?” In a second, all that shyness has vanished, and she arches an eyebrow, almost flirtatious.

“The reality is better,” he says, taking the invitation in her tone, and is gratified to see her cheeks going pink again. “Would you like to tour the market?”

She nods, striding ahead of him, and Tamlin follows her mutely, not sure if someone overhearing their language would denounce them as strangers. Instead, he watches Elain’s delight at the bolts of embroidered fabrics in rich colors, the cheap jewelry that nonetheless sparkles brightly in the rising sun, the fragrant spices tucked away in glass jars. Tamlin doesn’t think she’s slept, but all signs of tiredness have vanished, as if this world has refreshed her just by its existence.

A group of young boys approaches her, with a platter of pastries, the scents of cooked fruit heavy in the air. When she stops, as generous with them as she always has been with the small and tender beauties she comes across, they begin, all in a rush, to declaim the virtues of pastries. Even if Elain understood their language, he doubts she would understand the force of the five voices that all tangle up in each other. And sure enough, she glances at him ruefully, until he hands the nearest boy a gold mark and they begin to shout and shove the platter toward Tamlin and Elain.

“This is too much for us,” she murmurs, and hands them each a pastry and gives each boy a little smile before the group scampers off, rowdy and joyous.

They manage to navigate the platter through the market without incident, making their way to another quiet alley, shaded by the overhang of the buildings on either side.

Elain settles herself on the ground, her skirt fanning out on either side of her, and holds out a pastry.

The taste of the flaky crust and the apricot and cinnamon inside, blended with spices he’s never tasted and has no name for, washes across Tamlin’s tongue. His stomach growls and Elain actually snorts mid-bite.

“I knew you were hungry,” she says, and he laughs, because he’d never have guessed when she’d arrived in his court that he’d one day be sitting in a universe completely outside of his own, squatting at the edge of a strange marketplace and watching Elain Archeron talk with her mouth full of food.

He wolfs down the remainder of the pastry in his hand and eats three more, pausing to guess at the fruits and spices, and when he looks at her, Elain is contemplating the last pastry on the platter, eyebrows raised.

“You should eat it,” he says, all gallantry.

“It’s my rightful pastry! I’d only eaten two.” Her tongue pokes out from between her teeth, a deep fuschia that makes Tamlin feel his heartbeat in every corner of his body. “I’m just not sure if I have room in my stomach.”

She continues to look at the pastry until he realizes she’s stopped really contemplating the platter and has moved on to thinking about other, more pressing topics.

“Will you tell me why your sister thinks you betrayed her court?” He’s not sure if she wants to talk, but surely this is the safest place to have this conversation, where nobody can understand what they’re saying.

“Lucien and I were working with Helion in secret, by night. Lucien was trying to determine the properties of the spell on Vassa, and Helion was helping to train me.”

“I thought Amren could train you.”

Elain’s lips press into a thin line, all the color draining from them. “Can you imagine what Amren would’ve done, if she’d had these powers? I think that’s all she thought of. I couldn’t get anywhere until Helion helped me, and then I pretended Amren had had some magical solution. Only of course I was too confident and Lucien and I were caught returning from the Day Court.”

��Where is Lucien?”

“I hope he went to Helion.” She pauses, shifting her eyes as if she’s worried about being overheard, though Tamlin could tell her that everyone outside is out of earshot, and the people in their buildings are still fumbling for their breakfast and smell close enough to human to hear their conversation clearly. “I assume you know the stories about Lucien’s parentage.”

“It’s an open secret, one Lucien’s friends do not discuss out of respect for his wishes.”

He hates the way she stiffens at these words and he reaches for her, letting his fingers hang into the air near her skin. He will give her the choice to draw near, in part because he already knows the pain of her rejection will be impossible and also that he will have to find the strength to bear it.

Finally, she leans into his knuckles, so that she can feel the warmth of her shoulder through the fabric of her gown.

“I think that Lucien and I are friends now,” she says. “But I am worried for him. Do you think I should have tried to bring him with me?”

“Helion will protect him. And Lucien is more powerful than he lets most people think.”

“Is there any part of him that isn’t hidden away?”

The question is earnest, and Tamlin’s mind goes to that moment in Hybern, previously unremarkable to him, when Lucien had beheld Elain and called her his mate. The quickness of Lucien’s mind, intent on avoiding disaster even when it meant carrying the burden of that lie for years.

“When he looks at Vassa,” Tamlin says, forcing himself to think of those dinners, which had gone from awkward silence to actual conversations, Vassa laughing and Elain going rosy over double entendres, and Lucien between them, relaxed and delighted as Tamlin had never seen him.

“Do you think they’re mates?” He can tell from the way eyes dart that there are implications to this question, potentially beyond his ability to handle. He reaches for the lone pastry on the platter, worrying the edges with his thumb.

“I don’t know if it’s possible for the High Fae to feel a mating bond with humans or lesser faeries. I have never heard of such a story, though of course among our kind, it is possible that such a bond would be an embarrassment and thought best hidden.”

“In a way, wouldn’t it be romantic if they weren’t?” There’s a harsh note in her voice.

“What do you mean?”

“They have the opportunity to choose each other.”

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Tamlin says, careful to keep his voice even. I hope you will not treat me as you did my sister, she’d said. He cannot force her, even though all of him, body and the ragged remains of his soul, thrills at Elain’s proximity, the softness of her skin and her wide, dark eyes, bright even after a sleepless night. A strand of wavy hair rests on the curve of her cheek, and he catalogues this moment in his mind, so that if she does reject him, he’ll be able to call her image to mind in an instant. He heaves a sigh. “You can reject our bond, if you wish.”

She turns toward him, the early morning light giving her heart-shaped face a glow. He’s not sure if it’s this world or her magic that makes Elain’s beauty almost unbearable.

“What would happen to you, if I rejected it?”

“I have heard that the pain is unbearable for the rejected male,” he says, doing his best to sound at ease, “but it could be that this is just a tale to push reluctant females toward their destiny.”

“And you would never risk the anger of the Night Court by forcing me.”

He extends his hand toward her, looks straight into those eyes that look like the heart of the earth, warm brown shot through with green and gold.

“I would never risk your happiness, Elain. I have ruined every good thing in my life, but Cauldron boil me if I destroy you over this bond between us.”

He’s about to lower his hand, to show her that he means it, when she reaches out for him, threads her fingers around his, and when she smiles, he could swear that nothing in any world could match her brilliance.

They pass the remainder of the day exploring the city, which is walled in by a great desert on every side. They do not speak of the mating bond. They hardly speak at all, worried that their language will mark them as targets to any careful observer, communicating instead through gestures and shared glances, the quirk of Elain’s pink lips that shows she’s amused, the bright flash in her eyes that demonstrates her delight.

As the afternoon stretches toward evening, Tamlin realizes that Elain’s dress is damp where it touches her body, that her face has gone blotchy with the heat. He stops them in the shade of what appears to be a university, if the amount of books in the hands of passerby is to be trusted, and tilts the water jug toward her until she’s drunk her fill.

“We need to find a place to stay the night,” he says, looking around to see if there’s an inn. “Or however long we need to remain here.”

“In three days, I’ll be able to reason with Rhys. We could try the Day Court but I don’t think Helion would form an alliance with your court so quickly, no matter what Lucien says. Especially if Rhys is breathing down his neck.” She lays out all these considerations matter-of-factly, no hesitation in her voice, and he wonders how often Elain has been watching the people around her while they’ve assumed she was only thinking of the garden. “There’s a risk, but we could sleep in the passageway. I think there are cooler places in this world.”

“We have enough gold to find a bed,” he says, feels his face heat when he realizes he didn’t use the plural. The brief fantasy he allows -- Elain in bed next to him, her silky skin against his own -- is exquisite.

He tells himself it is the heat of the day that makes her cheeks even rosier. He can only extend the dream so far.

Within an hour, they have found a shabby yet comfortable inn near the students’ quarters, and between them, they’ve gestured and sketched out what they’re looking for, a room and meals for the next three days. The proprietor mutters Terrasen under his breath as he turns away to fetch a key, and moments later, Tamlin and Elain are alone in the room.

Of course, there’s only one bed.

“I’ll take the floor,” he says, and Elain holds up her hand.

“You’ll take the bed or I’ll sleep on the floor alongside you. Or we could both sleep in the bed. I’m the one who endangered you.”

When he looks at her, Tamlin allows a fraction of what he feels, the heat beneath his skin, to enter into his gaze. Her eyes widen, deep and sparkling even in the fading light, and her long lashes do not so much as flutter with hesitation. There’s desire in her eyes also, the scent of her own arousal in the room.

“It feels like a spell sometimes,” she’s saying, the words almost lost in the heady thrum of his blood, “the way I think of you. The way your touch feels. More than love or desire. As if you’ve occupied my body.”

“Then you feel what I do,” he says, and his boots scrape loud against the tiled floor as he backs away from her. Any closer, and he will reach for Elain Archeron, hold her, claim her. He does not trust himself to do otherwise, alone with her, in a world where nobody knows them or how impossible it is for them to be together.

She presses her face into her hands, her exhale rushing from between her fingers. He swears he can feel it on his skin.

“I keep forgetting about Vassa. I should go back. Maybe I could go to Koschei and--”

He crosses the room without commanding his feet to move, intent on getting his hand on her. Not to hold or caress her, only to follow her wherever she goes, no matter the folly of her plan. His thumb lands on the crook of her elbow, the thrum of her pulse against the skin made rough by battle and the forests of his court.

“I think you need a plan to vanquish Koschei,” he says, “but I will go with you, even if it’s to our death.”

“The stories say that mates cannot allow each other to be harmed,” she says, her face still hidden by her fingers.

“I do not care about the stories. I only care that you are safe.”

He watches as her fingers press into her face, forming pink splotches around each nail. From here, he can see the little band of dirt under each nail, the way the garden has marked her, even a world away.

“All I want is to stay here with you, and let you claim me as your mate. But I am afraid that I would disappear, that I would only be the pretty girl in your gardens. All my life, I was supposed to be that person, and now, I think--”

She moves her hands away, and when Elain meets his gaze, her eyes are so wide and lovely, her face so completely beautiful, even mussed, that Tamlin knows he would give her anything she wanted, so long as she had breath to form the plea. It feels like a spell, she said, and he feels bewitched by her, the world completely shifted by her proximity.

“I do not trust myself,” he forces himself to say, the words raw against his throat, nearly growled, “I do not trust what I’ll become if I allow myself--” He wants to say to love you, but he does not trust those words either. They’ve proved treacherous before.

“I haven’t allowed myself to think of that,” she says, but her scent gives her away, the sweet musk.

“You’re lying.”

Her breath hitches, and his gaze sweeps down her body, the swell of her breasts under the close-fit bodice of her gown, they fall to the dip at her waist, the flare of her hips only partially concealed by the sweep of her skirts. The suggestion of her form enough to drive him wild, to make his cock strain against his pants, so hard it’s nearly painful.

“What would happen if I kissed you?” she asks. “Would that activate the mating bond? Or is it only food?”

“If you kissed me I would try to control myself,” he says, meaning it, even as desire rages in him. He forces himself to think, what was all that playing at war for if not a means of developing his control? He tells her, “I will never take more than you will willingly give. I will not force you to be my mate, whatever happens.”

“I will not force you either.”

He hooks his fingers at the back of her neck, under her hair. It’s damp and dusty from their day of walking, and this only makes him want to pull her closer.

“Why do you imagine you would need to force me?”

“I know you love my sister.” Elain says the words with the clarity of an oracle, and Tamlin wonders for a moment if she’s having a vision, learning some truth he cannot currently detect within his own heart.

“I loved your sister and it nearly split our world in half,” he says, trying to emphasize the past tense. He runs his fingers down the bony knobs of her spine, thrills at her small involuntary shiver even in spite of what he’s confessing. “I do not know if my love will ever be worth seeking. I do not know if you are right to trust me.”

“You abolished the tithe,” she says, and the spark of hope in her words makes him wish he’d always been a better male.

“I only canceled the next one. It takes funds to raise an army. There has to be a way to secure the Spring Court borders, and to compensate those who risk their lives.”

“You are listening to your people.”

“It is not such a grand thing, not to speak.”

“In all the stories I have heard, you’ve never listened to anyone. Not even Feyre.” She pulls away from his hand, replaces her neck with her fingers, which squeeze him in a stronger grip than she ever imagined he possessed. “Maybe we can be new people, Tamlin. But I think I do not want to be your reward for changing for the better. I don’t think either of us deserves it.”

When she lets him go and turns to the washbasin, he tries not to feel stung. Of course she deserves the right to turn away from him and anything he could offer. As much as he would like to believe otherwise, it’s the sensible option.

Still, through dinner and a night spent curled on the floor, he finds himself dreaming of that kiss, the feel of Elain against his body, wholly unique and lovely, the scent of her, the feel of her skin and the dust of another world.

The next day, they sleep late by unspoken agreement, Elain eventually agreeing to the bed. Tamlin had lain awake long into the night, the possibility of danger and the proximity of Elain leaving him alert to every sound.

Their breakfast is simple and delicious, a fragrant porridge thick with dried fruit and honey, and the little sighs Elain makes while eating it affect Tamlin bodily, though the proprietress only grins at them, says something they cannot understand but which approximates happiness at seeing good work recognized. Elain’s bright grin and his sheepish glance only illicit a knowing nod.

“She thinks we’re lovers, doesn’t she?” Elain murmurs as they walk out the door, laden with everything they held when they walked through the door.

“She’s probably never seen a faerie before.”

“There are fae here somewhere. I saw them on the door of this world.”

“How many years did you go without seeing one?”

Instead of answering, Elain bites her lip, considering the street before them, bustling with morning activity. Already, the air around them shimmers with heat.

“There’s something I should try today,” she says. “I need to know the organizational principles of the passageways.”

“How are you going to learn that?” He has a feeling that she’s trying to conceal her plan with the formality of her language, the serenity of her tone. As if he could not wholly pay attention to her at every moment.

“Promise you won’t try and stop me.”

He’s tempted to cross his arms and loom over her, force her to stay in this hot, safe world until they can return to his court. But the thought of fear on her face makes his stomach heave. He tried to contain an Archeron sister, once.

Instead he tells the truth: “I’m worried you’d slip off without me.”

She turns toward him, her hand extended.

“I will never leave you in a strange world,” she says, solemn, clasping his fingers before he even realized he’d reached for her.

His exhale sighs out of him, a weight released, before he realizes that the market is disappearing around them, a sound like the ripping of a tapestry is enveloping them, that they stand in the passageway once again.

Around them everything is the same as before: the carvings on the doors, the design on the tiles beneath their feet, the great arched ceilings lit with candelabras far above. They are the only thing that have changed about this place, more rumpled than they were yesterday, Elain’s dress dusty from a day’s walking and wrinkled from a night of sleep.

“You could have given me a bit of warning,” Tamlin says, when he’s satisfied they are alone in this passageway. His voice echoes enough, though, that anybody tracking them would hear.

“I’m looking for Koschei.” Already she is looking around, reaching out her hands as if to sense the air.

“I know a lake where you can find him,” he says, already frantic in spite of himself, in spite of the mettle he’s seen Elain display, the powers which shine out in her when she’s in this place.

“If I can find the world he came from, Lucien and Helion will be able to learn about his magic. They were beginning to work on a tethering spell before we were caught.”

“You realize that any world that birthed a death-lord is likely full of death-lords, don’t you?”

“Lucky for me, then, that I have a male with a sword at my side.” She bats her eyelashes and widens her smile so that it’s almost a grimace, before relaxing into a more serious expression. “I’m going to try and see if I can locate the world from here, without changing my location in the passageway. Hold on to me if you want to come.”

He grabs her wrist and watches Elain’s face. He wants to see her work the incantation. Instead, her eyelids flutter shut and he watches her eyes dart around below that thing rosy skin, as if Elain is dreaming, seeing the world she seeks. He can feel the effervescence of her magic, the brightness of it like a star inside her. As he wonders how she ever kept this power hidden, he realizes that the passageways have changed, that the carvings on the doors are different, less familiar, with larger figures who look more menacing, with teeth and claws and wings that make his beast form look like a puppy in comparison. His free hand is already halfway to his sword.

Elain walks directly to the door and places her hand on it. He follows her, ready to dive in front of her. But Elain only studies the carvings, presses her fingers into the wood and closes her eyes, then reaches for his free hand and presses it against the wood.

“This feels like Koschei’s power,” she says, “doesn’t it?”

He’s about to say that he feels nothing, only the grain of the wood, when the power of this world pricks at his fingers like tiny flashes of lightning. He did not touch Koschei, couldn’t even get close, but his power caused a similar sensation, a frisson in the air.

“This does not seem to me like a world at peace,” he says, trying to keep the pleading out of his tone. If she will only keep herself safe, he will give her whatever she wants. Including an eternity apart from him.

“Then maybe Koschei was right to escape. I think we should get a better look.”

“And if we’re killed in the attempt?”

“Then we died trying to save Vassa,” she says, and reaches for the doorknob, twists it before he can think of a worthy objection.

The world is flattened of all color, the sky and the hard grass-studded earth blending on the horizon. The clouds are thick and near, blocking the light and clotting the redolent air. But even through the thickness, power sparks. Tamlin cannot detect its origin. As if the world itself is powerful, the air a magical current.

“This reminds you of Koschei, doesn’t it?” Elain says. Her voice is a bell in the barren landscape. He scans the sky for any indication that they’ve been discovered.

“I understand why he would want to leave this place.”

There is no cover in the scrub, only endless wasteland, but Elain begins to walk and so Tamlin follows her. At every step, his instincts tell him to leave, to force her to take them out of this world, but he thinks of the desolate look on Lucien’s face when he stared at the spot where Vassa disappeared, screaming. The lilt in the queen’s voice, her teasing laughter, the recollection of those dinners that were almost comfortable drive him onward, keep him scanning this harsh world for any threat.

After hours of walking, stopping only for quick gulps of their water, Elain stops in her tracks, turns to him.

“What if this world is deserted?” The bleakness in the question matches the landscape.

“Didn’t you say that Helion and Lucien needed to know how Koschei’s magic worked in his home world? I think they could detect it from the atmosphere.”

“I thought if I could--” she says, but there’s a hiss behind her, and Tamlin has his sword in one hand and the other around Elain, pressed close against him as he whirls on the source of the sound.

Only the centuries of warrior’s training keep him steady as he stares at the bared fangs of the scaly creature, which extend above and below its jaw. Borne on wings, the beast is like some giant snake, its bulk writhing in the air. As it descends towards them, the hissing grows louder, becomes a rattle. Tamlin raises his sword and, not knowing whether it will help or harm them, flings out his magic, heaving the creature to another corner of this desolate world.

“Can you let it get a little closer to us?” Elain asks from his side. He realizes that instead of tucking herself into a little package of fright, her hands are out, her fingers working. Magic thrums in the air around her, the only lovely and familiar thing, except for Elain herself.

“Why?”

“I need to get a better sense of its magic,” she snaps at him, the tone unfamiliar and instantly endearing, even now.

Tamlin drops the shield of his magic, and the creature swoops toward them, gives a shriek. A globule of spittle falls from its tongue and lands on the grass with a hiss. He raises his sword higher, readies himself to strike, inhales to fill his lungs. The power emanating from the creature is like and unlike Koschei’s, brute force instead of the cunning precision that makes the death-lord impossible to overcome. But this magic, the breadth and scope of it, will be difficult to fight. Still, Tamlin keeps his sword held high. He will give Elain whatever she needs.

In the face of the talons, the fangs, the bulk and writhing length of the creature, he does not falter, he does not fear. He is a warrior and he will defend his mate, make it possible for her to save her friend.

He watches the slitted eyes of the creature and swears it is calculating. Perhaps there is a strategy in place, veiled by the depths of magic. Perhaps, like Koschei, his world-kin has been waiting for centuries to wreak vengeance on the High Fae.

Tamlin has no cunning plan. The only means of escape is through Elain, and she does not so much as blink as she studies the creature, one hand outstretched, one hand on Tamlin’s shoulder. As if she beckons it, death and danger and whatever answers they might provide.

He will not fail her. He knows this in his bones. He will go on long enough to let her disappear into the passageway, into her own world. There, she will free herself.

The creature swoops, ready for the attack, and the world disappears, reforms to the tiles of the passageway.

And then Elain’s hands are on him, around his neck. She presses her lips to his. Distantly, he hears his sword clatter to the ground.

She is soft against him, impossibly sweet against his mouth, her fingers tangled in his hair as he pulls her closer, his fingers cupping her shoulders, running down her spine to settle on her waist. He does not think she could ever be close enough to him. Something blooms in him with this kiss, green and growing under his skin, entirely new.

“You were ready to save me,” she whispers against his mouth.

“Of course I will always save you.” His arms are banded around her waist, moving with the rise and fall of her breath. He loves the feel of her, safe and alive, the thrum of her pulse below his fingers.

“It was stupid of me to let that thing get so close to you. The second you dropped your shield, I was so afraid you would be killed.”

“I only wanted to give you time,” he says, tucking her head against his shoulder. He wants to keep kissing her, but doesn’t want to startle her. It’s enough to hold her, after the weeks when he thought he’d never even see her again. “Did you learn what you needed to know?”

“That creature had more power than Koschei.” Her voice is terrified and also a little admiring. Part of him wants to shake her. Part of him understands the feeling, the terror that’s almost equal parts wonder. “But does that mean Koschei left because he was weak? Or does it mean that his power diminishes in other worlds?”

“Does your power fluctuate?” he asks.

“I’m more powerful here than anywhere. Even in our world. Sometimes it feels as if I could make a world from nothing, the sense of possibility is so complete.”

Tamlin runs his hand down her back, up and down against the soft fabric of her dress, warm from her skin. Only the slight scrape of her eyelashes against his tunic gives away the fact that her mind is working, the kind of tell that only a dedicated observer would note.

After a few minutes, in which Tamlin has lulled himself into a stupor, Elain springs from his arms, her eyes wide.

“We have to keep the bone from Koschei,” she says. “Can you imagine what he’d do if he could access its power?”

“You have to stay away from him,” he says, and it is an effort to keep his voice level. “All you will be to him is a weapon, Elain.”

“You were willing to defend me so that I could learn how to defeat him. You cannot mean to lock me up now.”

Already, he feels her straining in his arms, calculating the effort required for freedom. He loosens his grip.

“What would you have me promise?”

She looks up at him then, biting her lip, serious and rumpled and lovely, and it takes every ounce of control in Tamlin not to pull her toward him, not to lock his arms around her.

“I want you to promise that you’ll show me you’re worth trusting.”

He sucks in a breath and contemplates the whole of what she implies. That he will control himself, master the rage and the doubt and the self-pity that roar inside of him. That he will rule his court. That he will treat her with respect for her full self, her power and her wrath, her sweetness and beauty and poise and those moments of uncertainty. That he will free her from all that binds, even when doing so will tear at him. That she might leave him anyway, with every good reason.

“I promise,” he says, the words loud enough to echo in the halls.

Then she relaxes in his arms, rests her head against his chest, and Tamlin holds her until her breathing steadies and then slows. How strange it is, to find his mate after half a century, to know he could lose her at any moment, and to find himself somehow contented with that knowledge, to savor the way the light gilds her hair, the way, when her face relaxes in sleep, she looks almost stern, her brows drawn down and her cheekbones more prominent. He tucks her closer against him, savoring the weight, the softness of Elain’s body. At least, he tells himself, there is this moment with her, and then the next one. Put like that, each breath feels miraculous.

He wakes with a start sometime later, slumped on the floor, Elain curled up against his shoulder. She lets out a little moan at the movement, which forces him to slide her off his lap before she can detect the effect of that sound.

“Do you think we can go back to our world?” he asks. Rhysand could be waiting, but he feels ready for that fight.

“As long as there’s a real bed waiting for me,” she murmurs, scrubbing at her eyes. She reaches for him, and then they’re in his bedroom, the bed now perfectly made, sunlight streaming through the windows. Through the window, the garden is beautiful as ever, lush with the intermingling scents of blossoms.

Elain’s command over her power is growing, he thinks. There was hardly a sound at the transport, even fresh from slumber.

Now she’s boneless against him.

“Let me take you to your room,” he says, but she shakes her head.

“Melis tried to cut my throat there. Let me stay with you?”

“I’ll be on the floor.” He’s experienced far worse, in the war bands, then two nights on the floor, making sure Elain’s sleep is undisturbed.

But she reaches for his hand.

“Stay with me,” she says.

“You’re half-asleep. And if we are found--”

“Stay with me.”

Still, she does not open her eyes. He promised to be worthy of her trust, and so, when he lays her gently on his bed and pulls the quilts around her, he does not follow her. He pulls the curtains shut against the light, finds a blanket to pillow his head, and listens for the sound of her soft breathing.

“I will be here in this room with you, Elain,” he says, and lets himself relax.

Once they’re awake, the day passes in an idyll. No one from the Night Court has appeared, and so Elain goes to the garden for the afternoon and Tamlin decides to monitor the woods, with strict instructions to the servants to watch over their honored visitor. He will visit the village tomorrow, complete his rounds of the further towns over the next week. But today, he stretches his legs in his own world, the court he rules. He transforms into the beast and savors the heady forest air as it fills his lungs.

After an hour, he hears footsteps moving through the underbrush. He stops behind a tree and counts the sounds of striding feet, half-climbs the tree to get a better view and spots a familiar livery.

When Tamlin registers the sight before him, only the thought of Elain keeps him from lunging toward those footsteps, snarling and vicious and bent on death and destruction.

An army from the Autumn Court is marching through his lands. A thousand fae soldiers working their way through the trees.

If he rushes them, even with the High Lord’s power inside him, they will rip him to shreds. And so Tamlin slinks through the forest. Where the future should be, there is only a howling blank.

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purplezebraproductions · 3 years

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The Alters: Chapter 3

The Alters is an original romance story I’ve been writing for the past year. Please enjoy Chapter 3!

New Arrival

CW: Lots of swearing, discussions of war, mental illness, death, and gruesome depictions of death.

Donyun was one of Dinn and Creed’s fellow soldiers that almost everyone had been fond of. He was the youngest soldier in the group, which made him both an easy target and a surrogate child for the men who had left their families at home. Those who had children, who had been expecting, and even those who had never gotten around to it treated him like their own.

Donyun was one of the few men who was filled with a lot of hope from the moment he was drafted. He was certain that the war would be over sooner rather than later, and despite the many times that he was proven wrong, he never let his demeanor waver. He was a ray of sunshine in the dull dull world of the barracks.

Creed and Dinn had formed an unlikely trio with the young soldier. Being one of the only secret couples on the field, Donyun felt safe around them, knowing they’d always come back together to help him with whatever he needed.

Despite the harsh conditions everyone suffered, they all loved Donyun, and Donyun loved everyone.

It had been about two years into the war when a tragedy like no other struck Dinn’s battalion. Their leaders had believed they found two major enemy strongholds that held weaponry, battle plans, vehicles, prisoners of war, and soldiers of all ranks. There was a possibility that the war could end if they managed to claim both strongholds. The thought was intoxicating. So many men were already beaten down after years of fighting. They wanted to go home, to their families. So many innocent lives could be spared. The world could start building peace with one another again. The idea of ending the war promised a brave new world after the fact, and that thought was enough to drive the calmest man mad with desire.

So, against their better judgement, their lieutenants decided to split the troops down the middle. Half of them would head towards the stronghold near the ocean, while the other half would head towards the stronghold near a volcano. Even the soldiers were excited at the prospect of leaving this war behind, freeing their fellow men, and finding a new life among the innocent.

That was the last time Dinn had seen Creed the same.

None of the other soldiers knew exactly what went down that day at the volcano stronghold. The soldiers who went to the ocean stronghold realized how badly they had fucked up the moment they arrived. The whole place was not only barren, it was completely abandoned. There were dried oil slicks and tire tracks that led away from the building. The figures in the windows that were once thought to be soldiers from far away, were either random columns or miscellaneous pieces of furniture that had been propped up to look like monitors. The allied forces had realized their grave mistake.

They’d been duped.

They’d essentially led half of their soldiers on a march to their death.

Not only had the volcano stronghold been placed atop a massive active volcano, but it was also filled to the brim with large destructive weapons, bombs, missiles, and soldiers of all kinds. The stronghold had been packed with enough explosives to blow everyone to kingdom come. The allied soldiers had marched in confidently, unaware of what true horrors laid before them, and with no chance against the bombardment they surely faced. If the bombs didn’t kill them on impact, they’d open up large crevices to the lava below. Many soldiers were either blown away or fell to their doom.

Hundreds of soldiers met their untimely demise in the most gruesome ways possible. Among the hooting and hollering of enemy forces, dozens of soldiers were picked off a handful at a time.

The only survivor of this massive battle was Creed.

No one knew how he was able to survive. When they found him he was the farthest away from the stronghold of any man and many bodies lined the pathway to his destination. His body was mangled, burned, and maimed. They almost didn’t recognize that he was still alive with how much blood he’d lost, but coming closer they could hear his short, labored breaths.

Many soldiers questioned how it was Creed had survived. How he could’ve possibly made it past every explosion, and sniper, and missile that was thrown at them, and leave with his horns still intact. However, the worst discovery was that there was a hand wrapped tightly around his leg. With an unbreakable death grip that shielded the area just above his ankle from the barrage of fire; that hand had been proven to belong to Donyun. The young soldier’s body was just a few steps from Creed’s. The lower half of his body trapped within a crevice that had opened up and swallowed him nearly whole.

Rumors began to spread that Creed was a traitor, a war criminal. He’d clearly abandoned not only his entire platoon, but the youngest soldier in the entire army, for his own life. Many soldiers became convinced that he was scum or even that he was working for the enemy and that’s how he got out alive.

Many soldiers began to say that Creed was the one who deserved to die.

To this day Creed asserts that he has no concrete memories of the events of that day. The only man who survived the onslaught that proved to be the battle with the largest number of casualties in the entire war, had nothing to say about it. A convenient lie, or a devastating truth? But it didn’t matter because the other soldiers had already decided what had happened that day.

Dinn wasn’t there to see much of the fallout after Creed was revived, but he could imagine the horror it was being surrounded by soldiers who rather you were dead. Meeting Creed again almost a year later had solidified that something changed, but he could’ve never imagined how much.

After Donyun’s death was the second time Dinn had left Creed.

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You were the one who deserved to die!

Dinn had never played into the other soldier’s hysteria, especially considering they were talking about his partner. But now, those words he said, they were vile. Those words must’ve brought up one of the most painful and disturbing times in Creed’s life. A time where he was painfully alone and treated like a criminal who deserved every bit of Hell he went through. And Dinn had said it just because he was angry?

There was no denying it, he said it to break Creed.

Dinn sprung up from his spot on the ground, a sudden jolt running up his spine. Grabbing his head as the vertigo hit him full force he turned towards their makeshift home. He needed to find Creed! He needed to apologize! Hurriedly, Dinn ran back into the building. Taking every corner sharply he continuously called out for Creed. Hoping beyond hope that Creed hadn’t decided to leave his pathetic ass in the void.

As he ran further inside, he began to hear some muffled voices coming from an odd place in the wall. Getting closer he could swear there was more than one voice talking back and forth. Finding himself right upon the voices he spotted a small crack in the wall that looked like an invisible passageway. Pushing through hurriedly he barged into the room seeing two figures on the other end. His Creed backed into one of the walls and another taller man looming over him. He immediately froze as the two men looked over at him, and his gaze locked with the strangers.

This man had his face.

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Creed stood petrified, staring at the man who had just entered his room. If he’d been thinking straight, he would’ve realized early on that there was a strong possibility this wasn’t Dinn; that the whole point of this place was for other people to eventually arrive. But he’d been so overcome with grief that he didn’t even consider it. When he’d heard that door open, he just assumed it had to be Dinn. But the man before him was much too different to be his ex.

This man stood just a smidge taller than Creed himself, his hair was cut close to his head, and he wore heavy sets of blue clothing. He had a large scar on the side of his cheek that still looked painful even what was likely years later. Those tear marks Dinn had on his face were gone, and his horns were much too small for his head. He still shared Dinn’s five eyes, but only two were open at the moment. Dinn rarely kept his fifth eye on his forehead open as it is, but this man chose to keep his two bottom eyes closed as well. One of them, Creed surmised, he couldn’t open due to the massive scar that overlapped it. He wasn’t Dinn, but he did look similar to him.

Another Dinn from another world.

“Creed, it’s been so long.”

He said, with a small yet mournful smile on his face. Creed had backed himself up against the far wall, despite this man not seeming outwardly threatening, he didn’t know what he was capable of, and that alone was enough to trigger his fight or flight response.

“Who are you?”

Creed repeated a bit more forceful this time. He wasn’t one to like his questions being ignored, let alone from a stranger invading his space.

“It’s me, Dinn.”

The man took a few steps closer holding out his hand carefully as if to reach out and touch Creed. Instinctively Creed flushed himself up against the wall, trying to keep as far away as possible. He did not like to be touched! A small ring of purple fire languidly danced around his feet as the light from his side of the room suddenly began to flare.

“That doesn’t answer my question! I already know a Dinn!”

Creed said turning his head away from the man, noting his nails were almost claw like in appearance, as if he was some animal. The man grimaced a moment, a flash of anger coming across his face before he settled again.

“Was he the one who made you cry?”

Creed almost forgot what he’d been doing just moments ago before the stranger entered the room. The sudden flash of what had taken place just outside between him and Dinn rushed back to him. How far they had gone in their anger towards one another. How willing they were to say things just to hurt the other, without so much as a thought of what it meant. He shed just a few quiet tears as a pang of grief settled in his mind. Though the renewed sadness was unwelcome, it did seem to douse the flames that had sprung up around him and dim the light that haloed him. The man’s expression saddened, and he took a few more steps forward.

“Please, don’t cry.”

He said softly reaching his hand out to wipe away a tear. Instantly Creed stiffened and slapped his hand away from his face. Just like that the flames shot up from the ground once again reaching as high as Creed’s knees. The light emanating around him grew significantly as if it was coming from his hair.

“Don’t touch me!”

He shouted, shocking the stranger as if he hadn’t spent the last few moments trying to step away, showing his clear discomfort with the strangers’ actions. Glaring down at the flames he had been producing Creed tightly shut his eyes and breathed forcefully in an effort to quell them once again. Clenching his jaw he repeated through his strained teeth,

“Calm down. Calm down. Calm down…”

With a sudden spark of insight, the stranger held up his hands in a defensive position and took a step backwards.

“I’m sorry!”

He said.

“I just…I can’t bear to see you cry. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t know how to comfort you.”

His voice was so genuine that it almost hurt Creed to still feel so afraid. He tried to relax just a tad, for his own sake and the strangers. If he kept up like this, he would surely have a panic attack and pass out. Or worse.

“I don’t need your comfort. I just need to know who you are.”

Creed said evenly, trying to regain control over his emotions. He was usually great at that so perhaps focusing on that would help him calm down a bit. The stranger too took a few breaths before continuing.

“My name is Dinn. I come from a world that was once ravaged by a plague that killed many people. It petrified their bodies with either wood or stone over time. Many people had fallen to an untimely demise because of it. Though the plague has since been vanquished I cannot find happiness in the new world it has for me.”

The man fell a bit more somber as he continued, this allowed Creed to relax a bit more. Creed had assumed all the people who came to the Infinity would be troubled in some way. They had to be to abandon their old home for the mere prospect of something else! Not exactly something better, just something different.

“So, where’s your Creed.”

Creed emphasized “your” to make sure this Dinn knew Creed wasn’t here for someone else. Hell, he was barely here for his own Dinn. He thought the Dinn’s and Creed’s of other worlds would pop up together, so either there was a random Creed roaming the halls, or he decided just not to come. Which would certainly not help the anomaly.

The man shut his eyes tightly in a sudden show of grief and sorrow. When he opened them again his eyes glistened with tears not yet spilt.

“He’s gone. He got sick a few years ago and I…I couldn’t save him.”

The sadness was palpable in his voice and permeated the air all around them. Creed almost felt a bit of comfort in knowing that the man also had a sense of grief. It made him feel alright with showing his own, even if it was to a complete stranger.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

He said. Sure, it was a pretty generic response, but above all else he meant it, and the stranger could hear that. He lifted his head back up to meet Creed’s gaze, seeing his sorrow reflected in that face that was so similar to his own late partner. The man chuckled to himself lightly.

“I feel like I’m dreaming. Finding you again in a place like this.”

He said gesturing widely to the room.

“I knew you went to heaven, and for the longest time I just wanted to be there with you.”

Creed tensed once again, putting his guard back up against the stranger. Perhaps it was the strangers sudden outpouring of emotions that made him uneasy; or maybe it was that Creed didn’t feel like he was being listened to. The way he spoke made it seem like Creed wasn’t his own person, just someone this man lost. He couldn’t have that. He didn’t belong to anyone.

“Listen to me.”

He stressed.

“I’m sorry that you lost your partner, but I am not your Creed. I come from a world that was once destroyed by war, but now is trying to build itself back up on pillars of peace. I’m afraid my world has been one of the worlds unaffected by this anomaly. Meaning the Dinn from my world and myself are meant to be there. The only reason we’re here is to guide other souls who’ve lost their way.”

Creed tried to emphasize each word, hoping to get through to the sorrowful man. He needed him to understand that Creed was not only not looking, but that he cannot be swayed. Not due to his own convictions, but due to the fact that any more pressure on the anomaly could destroy the universe. His life is secured in his own world, not in anyone else’s.

The man looked puzzled for a moment, but as the words soaked in Creed saw a sudden panic come across his face.

“This can’t be.”

He said quietly, his hands beginning to tremble.

“Please, tell me you’re joking.”

He begged. Creed shook his head.

“No, I’m sorry, but I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

“But you look so much like him! The resemblance is uncanny! I knew coming here meant that I might see others who look similar to him, but never in a million years did I think someone would just be the spitting image of him. Please, take a look yourself!”

With a sudden jolt the man dug into his pocket and produced a small picture. He held it out steadfastly to Creed which made him shrink back just a tad. The man’s somber demeanor had been replaced with something far less appropriate and it made Creed uneasy. However, cautiously Creed leaned forward and carefully took the picture from the offered hand. He flipped it over to see this man, a bit younger, standing next to what appeared to be his Creed.

Creed admitted that they did look drastically similar, same eyes, very similar markings, even a similar style of hair. The main differences were that their horns were shaped differently, Creed’s were rather round, and the others were sharp, they didn’t have nearly the same scars, and while Creed fancied himself with highlights in his hair and white clothing, this other Creed had plain shorter hair and black clothing. Creed shook his head as he handed the picture back.

“I’m sorry, I know we may look alike, but that is not me.”

Creed said softly, hoping not to anger the man. The stranger took a few breaths as he took the picture back, looking from it to Creed and back. He seemed to be calming down again, as his once nervous nature reverted back to a sorrowful tone.

“I’m sorry, I suppose you’re right. You two do look similar, but not exactly the same—”

The man didn’t get to finish his statement as Dinn burst through the door, a sudden mixture of panic and surprise on his face, as he entered to see Creed talking to someone else. Creed had almost forgotten about Dinn, he assumed he was still outside somewhere and wouldn’t come looking for him, let alone find him in a room he created in secret.

The man’s attention was now taken away from him, and anger boiled on his features as he faced Dinn.

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Tucking his photo away he turned towards Dinn, the other Dinn. The one who must’ve been the one that caused this other Creed to cry. He may have settled with the idea that this Creed was not a reincarnation of his late love, but it didn’t matter. Anyone who hurt him was still a bastard in his book, and he wasn’t willing to let that go. Not even for all the apologies or pleads in the world.

“Who are you?!”

That Dinn asked, almost a mirror of his first interaction with this Creed, but with much more force behind it. He was trying to seem intimidating. Him? This man could barely scare off a squirrel let alone someone like himself.

“I’m guessing you’re this Dinn I’ve heard about.”

The man snarled.

“What’s it to you?”

He shot back. The man wasn’t one for such obvious bravado from someone he already decided was a weak willed pathetic little man.

“Bastard.”

He hissed under his breath, but just loud enough for this other Dinn to hear him. The Dinn’s gaze narrowed, his teeth clenched in anger, but instead of shouting back at the man he looked over his shoulder and addressed Creed.

“Creed, who is this guy? What has he been saying?”

His tone was harsh and direct. The man looked over his shoulder, having not heard a reply from this Creed, and his heart fell. This Creed wouldn’t look at either of them, his eyes were downcast and his body sort of caved in on itself. He didn’t respond to being yelled at once again, especially not to the person who broke him down.

“Creed!”

That Dinn shouted again. The man quickly whipped back around holding his arms out to hide the figure of Creed behind him.

“You don’t talk to him! Your beef is with me!”

He said, trying to match the smaller man’s aggression. How could he dare to yell at him again? After what this man supposedly did. The grief was evident all across Creed’s features, and yet he felt the need to keep pushing him. There was no possible way this Dinn and this Creed were meant for each other.

“What the fuck do you know?!”

This Dinn said, stepping just a tad closer to the larger man.

“Clearly I know more than you—”

“Enough!”

The man wasn’t able to finish his statement as he was interrupted by Creed. His voice had been so quiet before that he almost believed he was incapable of raising it. The Creed stared them both down with shaky determination.

“Just stop it, please.”

And there was the soft faraway voice once again. The man took this opportunity to step closer to this Creed. All he wanted to do was comfort him, but by the Gods he didn’t know how! This Creed hated physical contact and that’s a lot of what he understood.

Carefully the man reached his hand out.

“Maybe it’s best if we go somewhere less closed in.”

He said trying to match this Creed’s quietness. The air in the very small room hung heavy as it was, and he could imagine the thinner man was already feeling tense. Creed considered his offered hand for a moment before stepping toward the man, only to walk around him; rejecting his physical contact, but willing to take the offer of leaving the room. The other Dinn tried to speak to him as he left, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. Creed pulled his body away from him sharply and walked out of the room, not addressing either man as he left.

“What the fuck did you do to him?”

The man said through gritted teeth. This Dinn turned towards him, caught off-guard by his words, but his demeanor quickly resorted back to anger.

“Stay away from our business, stranger. We’re not here for you, so don’t meddle in our shit.”

With that the other Dinn turned and paced out of the room, presumably following this Creed, leaving the man alone in the tiny tiny room.

He’d heard Creed say that his world had not been affected by the anomaly, that the two men in fact were in their correct spots, but that simply couldn’t be! He couldn’t grasp how these two were supposed to ever find comfort and love in one another. Love wasn’t about grief, sorrow, anger, or hatred, yet that’s all he could feel between the two. There must be a misunderstanding, a new anomaly so to speak. And if it took this man the rest of his days, he’d find a way to solve it.

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Dinn found Creed in their makeshift kitchen, chopping what appeared to be a carrot. Back in the cabin Dinn often wondered if Creed escaped to the kitchen for his own amusement but was now starting to believe the kitchen was some sort of haven for him.

“Creed.”

He called out, noting the small jump he gave as he turned to look back at him. Creed seemed to be struggling to come up with a response to seeing Dinn in the kitchen doorway. Was it because of the stranger still lurking the halls? Or was it because of the fight they had moments ago?

“Creed, can we talk?”

“Just leave me alone Dinn.”

He said quietly, his chopping suddenly becoming louder and more uneven as he spoke. He was deeply frustrated, but how does he think Dinn felt? Of course, Dinn was frustrated about what happened and the situation they found themselves in now. But he wasn’t just going to turn his back on it all again, he’d done that one too many times.

“Look Creed, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say what I did. I know that’s stuff difficult for you and—”

Dinn was interrupted by the sudden pounding of the knife on the counter. Creed had slammed it down nearly cutting his fingers in the process as he whipped his head around to glare at Dinn.

“Can you be anymore insincere with your words?”

He spoke harshly, though still quiet and forlorn.

“Just leave me be, I don’t want any more of this from anyone.”

Turning back around he resumed his aggressive chopping, still refusing to talk about anything.

What was Dinn supposed to do now? He’s trying to apologize but Creed just doesn’t want to talk. Even if he did get to apologize, who’s to say Creed would even accept it?

“Hey, at least I’m trying, okay? You know I’m not good at this stuff!”

Dinn replied, trying his best to not raise his voice, but faltering here and there.

“I knew you weren’t good at talking back when we first met. That was years ago Dinn. Some would expect a bit of change over several years.”

Creed said through gritted teeth, still refusing to look back at Dinn as he held his knife with an iron grip.

Sure, Dinn wasn’t good at communication when they were young, but he’d still changed since then! Back then he probably wouldn’t have even bothered apologizing, and now he was. That’s got to count for something, right?

“I’m just trying to apologize, okay?! I know it was unfair of me to bring Donyun into the mix, let alone any of our former soldiers. Do you know how much I miss that kind of camaraderie? But I know it wasn’t great for you especially after his death, so—”

Dinn had realized far too late that Creed had stopped chopping and was now slowly sliding to the floor hyperventilating. Shit! He didn’t mean to cause him to panic again! But there he was, holding his chest and sputtering; desperately trying to catch his breath as his grip on his knife faltered and it clattered to the floor.

Before Dinn could react, the stranger pushed past him and immediately crouched down next to Creed, gripping his shoulders in wide-eyed horror.

“Creed! Creed, settle down! You have to calm down!”

The man said trying to get Creed to look at him.

“Stop! You can’t crowd over him like that!”

Dinn warned, not wanting to step closer in fear of causing Creed more distress. This stranger didn’t know what he was doing; touching Creed, getting in his face, and shouting at him wasn’t going to make the problem go away.

“What the fuck do you know about it?!”

The man shot back, a mixture of anger and confusion written across his face.

“If you cause him to panic any more, he’s going to faint! You need to back away from him!”

Dinn had already done this once when they had first met the odd being that forced them here. He thought warning the man would help him avoid the same fate, but this man was another Dinn, so suffice to say he was just as stubborn.

“Then how do you propose we help him?!”

Dinn didn’t answer, as Creed’s ragged stuttering breaths seemingly fell off, and his body fell limp in the strangers’ arms. His head rolled to the side as it wasn’t supported, and his grip on his chest and stomach loosened until his arms fell limply to his sides. The stranger, shocked that he had suddenly fallen into him, held him close to his chest, trying to support his head in the crook of his arm.

“I tried to warn you.”

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Creed awoke to the fuzzy murmurings of two men. He laid in his makeshift bed in his plain white room, as Dinn and the stranger loomed over him, speaking harshly to each other. He truly didn’t care to know what they were talking about and almost resigned himself to falling back asleep before either of them could notice he was awake. However, the men’s voices would occasionally rise in pitch, giving Creed quite a scathing earful which he audibly groaned at, causing both men to look down at him and take notice.

“Creed, are you alright?”

Creed couldn’t tell which man was talking at the moment and he didn’t care, rather he could feel the beginning of a monstrous headache coming on and he wasn’t too happy. Slowly he sat up still rubbing his temple.

“You have a headache?”

That voice came from his right, looking over Creed locked eyes with the stranger and slightly grimaced.

“Yeah, no shit.”

He said breathlessly, he didn’t care for politeness at the moment. Luckily, this shut the man up for once.

“Creed, I think we need to talk, alone.”

Dinn emphasized from the other side of the bed. Creed glanced in his direction before going back to rubbing his eyes, trying to alleviate some of the pressure that was growing behind them.

“Not now Dinn.”

“Can’t you see he’s in pain?”

The man asked pointedly across the way, with a harsher tone than Creed was ready to handle. Luckily Dinn remained mercifully quiet at the strangers open jabs. This caused Creed to turn back to the stranger upset.

“With all due respect love, I can speak for myself.”

His tone was a bit mocking as the man had acted as if he was some savior or Creed’s hero since the moment he arrived; something Creed wasn’t too keen on. He did not need to be saved, nor did he want to be. The man looked a bit crestfallen.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”

He spoke softly. At this Creed chuckled bitterly; what a farce.

“I bet you consider yourself some sort of fallen hero who has returned to save a dreadful royal. But let me get this through your head, okay? Dinn and I have fought far longer than we’d like to admit, and we are no heroes. Don’t expect yourself to be just because you don’t like negative emotions.”

Creed stared directly into the strangers’ eyes while he spoke, his harsh words seeming to finally break some sort of barrier in the man’s mind. Hopefully this meant he’d stop following Creed like some lost puppy, he could only hope.

With those words Creed went back to holding his head and pointed directly at the door.

“Out. Both of you.”

He commanded, his voice not leaving any room for further talk. Without a word the two men rose from their seats and slowly shuffled out of the room, closing the door softly behind them.

Creed flopped back onto his bed and closed his eyes, desperately willing sleep to come to him.

#The Alters: Original story #original story #writing #writer #writers on tumblr #writblr #original characters #chapter 3

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dangermousie · 5 years

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All the dramas I am watching this month and next

(Not counting the ones that haven’t aired yet or the fact that I want to do a 6 Flying Dragons and Come and Hug Me rewatches.)

This is loooong, so enter at your own peril.

Flower Crew: Joseon Marriage Agency (watched 11/12 aired) - I honestly don’t know why I am keeping up with this one as I tend to watch with one eye and do something else with another. And if it hasn’t grabbed me by ep 11 and it’s not exactly Jumong length, it’s not gonna ever grab me. But it’s so pretty and relaxing even though I wish the story was about the evil ambitious girl and the traumatized womanizer.

Rebel: The Thief Who Stole the People (watched 11/28 complete) - it’s a very very solid drama (though ironically in light of the cap I chose, the romance does nothing for me; luckily it’s secondary.) It’s not going to go on my favorite list but it’s very very well made and I am always down for a period rebel trying to bring down a corrupt government. My favorite take on that trope is likely always going to be 2008 Hong Gil Dong followed closely by the criminally underrated Return of Iljimae, but this is very good.

Just Between Lovers (watched 4/16 complete) - this is so gorgeous and tender and lived in. I am watching it very slowly mainly because I ff so very little. I love the two above with unholy degree of investment and want them to heal each other.

Goodbye My Princess (watched 13/55 complete). Well, these two are not gonna be healing each other any time soon. If you trick your wife in order to kill her grandfather and wipe out his clan, she is unlikely to OK with staying married, just saying. I am looking forward to these two self-destruct and destroy a small galaxy in the process of dealing with their doomed love.

The Tale of Nokdu (12 watched/14 out) - it continues to be funny (though seeing he is the son of the mad king, those are not the genetics our heroine should mix hers with) but I like it, not love it, since comedies are not normally my forte.

Extraordinary You (12 watched/12 out) - I am obsessed - it’s clever and metaish and moving and romantic and funny and I wish to get all the eps and binge like an insane person. Also, Dan Oh x Haru better have a happy ending or I will riot.

One Spring Night (watched 2/16 out) - I am watching it really slowly but it’s a total delight. I slept on the Jung Hae In mania because I wasn’t watching kdramas (we were on a break :P) when he first became a thing, but he is so good and Han Ji Min is always awesome and I root for them so hard. Plus, noona romance is always a plus.

The Great Graftsman (sorry, haven’t seen English subs for this one, watched 6 out of ?) I am a sucker for Wallace Huo and Yang Mi and period stuff. It’s very early days yet so I don’t have a strong impression.

Love and Destiny (watched 10 out of 60) - I was obsessed with this star-crossed supernatural love story when it was aired but it had the most inconsistent sub release I’ve seen in a long time. Now all the subs are on schedule and my interest has moved on but it’s slowly reawakening mainly because the OTP is so slowburn and epic and I want the God of War to be miiiiine! Ahem.

Angel’s Last Mission - Love (watched 4 out of 16). Blame Nalini Singh for giving me a thing for angel fetish. Or something. It’s romantic and lovely and I didn’t watch when it aired because it had tragic ending written all over it (blind bitter ballerina and an angel? Yeah) but now I know the ending and can watch in peace.

Legend of the Phoenix (watched 12 out of 41) - only in a cdrama would you start with goofy physical comedy and transition to terrifying angst and torture. Just how I like it! Also, happy ending, thank God!

Haechi (watched 1 out of 24) - don’t cry, Jung Il Woo! You finally picked a good project! This one is binge territory and he makes the sexiest tortured royal arguably ever.

Her Private Life (watched 0 so far) - I really want to watch it but it’s too close to me watching Secretary Kim and this would be waaaaay too weird to watch two romcoms in a row with the same leading lady.

Search WWW (1 out of 16) - older ladies, younger men; lady friendship, and all the color being leached out. I kid but fondly - this one is fun so far.

My Country: The New Age (6 out of 6 that aired so far) - for God’s sake, someone feed Hwi and give him a comfy bed and a therapist. Physical and shrink. This one is my obsession.

Fates and Furies (4 out of 20) - aka Joo Sang Wook does a complete 180 from his monster character in the Grand Prince. I mean, he gets a gold-digger hired to wreck him to fall in love for real. Smart woman.

The Secret Life of my Secretary (about to start) - heroines of this and Secretary Kim should form a club for secretaries who hook up with their weird hot bosses.

While You Were Sleeping (about to start) - I miss Lee Jong Suk! Not enough to watch Romance is a Bonus Book wince LJS not being tortured in a drama is against the laws of nature.

Still 17/30 But 17 (about to start) - My Country has given me a fixation with Yang Se Jong. Plus the potential for a girl waking up from a coma as a 30 year old woman tingles my spidey angst potential senses.

Deserving of the Name (about to start) - she is a modern doctor, he is an ancient doctor, time travel! It’s like a Faith AU where the heroine hooks up with Lee Philip’s character. Or Bidam lives and studies medicine. Why is Kim Nam Gil not in more things, anyway?

Devilish Joy (1 out 0f 16) - the soft filter annoys the hell out of me, but it’s so sweet and kooky and lovely.

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mrsunderhill678 · 3 years

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Ya girl’s writttttinnnnn’

“My name is written in storm clouds and rainy days, I am the lightning licking the waves and the storm pursuin' the fucking sailor.” - Zafavri Holts

“Look at the truth, how it molds and twists, in this long life I've lived I've learned truth kills the kindest 'a men. You thought lies were damning? Just wait until you see the truth that slinks in the damn shadows.” - Zafavri Holts

“You've heard of Jack the Ripper, Ted Bundy and the Axeman of New Orleans, and you'd think the scariest thing about em would be their killer deeds. But the most horrifyin' thing about the darkest 'a men is, they were once normal, men. They was kids, playin' in the grass, fools runnin' after girls in the fifth grade, dreamin' of sunny days and sunflowers castin' beautiful shade.” - Zafavri Holts

“Your power is in words and hearts, mine is in blood and howls.” - Zafavri Holts

“I was once, just like you, dreamin' of better days, smilin' as my wife walked through the door, tuckin' my kids inta their beds. But the truth took the good man I was in it's stride, and replaced me with a sinister specter 'a all the killers before me. I am Jack the Ripper and Ted Bundy, the Zodiac Killer and the Axeman of New Orleans, but worst of all, I'm Zafavri fucking Holts.” - Zafavri Holts

“My father once said he's one dead dream away from blasphemy, and with a life of screeching dreams and dying nightmares I must confess, I fear I myself am blasphemy.” - Polaris Cougar

“I lost my mind in the confines of my skull.” - Barlo Brick

“I spin this chamber 'gainst my head and wonder why it ain't gone off. Perhaps fate holds her finger against the hammer, daring me to make a move against her.” - Barlo Brick

“I play games with my life, rolling these dice, playing these shitty cards as if they were a good hand. I'm an addict of fate and destiny, playing moves against her so she'll play fatal moves against me. I tease fate with promises of my doom, praying she'll take a lowlife like me.” - Barlo Brick

“I'm a reflection of my father's sins, drowning myself in the lights of the casino.” - Barlo Brick

“I walk, I talk, I breathe like me, but I ain't me.” - Tommy Graves

“Me father once told me, that if ya've got a board full 'a pawns, and the foe's board is full 'a kings, you play a tricky game of Queen's Gambit.” - Tommy Graves

“I'd say I've made friends with my demons, but they've made friends with me shadows, leavin' me an outcast in my own damn mind.” - Tommy Graves

“I'm startin' ta fear that all my thoughts are all my friends, and I'm me only enemy.” - Tommy Graves

“If my mother could see me now, she'd shake 'er damn 'ead. She'd say, "Tommy, with thoughts like these, you'll end up yer last damn name." - Tommy Graves

“Even when you don't seek it, destiny shall arrive all the same.” - Baron Xaverkit

“Karma rewards those who love with destines of joy and valor. Be more than a resistance against the dark, be a war of light and joy, love and heartful karma. Be the blade that spares the king, be the coin that sets the hangman free, and be the man who when stricken by his enemy, offers the other side of his cheek. You shall know no greater joy, other than loving others as life has loved you.” - Baron Xaverkit

“I am a mere flicker of a wolf, an ember of a beast. I am the cold afterglow of the beasts that made me, and thus, I am nuthin' but cinder and the pale spark, strivin' for the darkness 'a the night sky.” - D’Angello Campbell

“Look at these stars gazin' at me, some will for me ta reach em, others gather their rifles and prepare for war.” - D’Angello Campbell

“As I stare my enemies dead in the eye, and watch their smiles flicker like old film, I realize it is a mirror I stand before. Those are my hands grippin' the porcelain sink, and I wonder where the blood drippin' from the faucet came from.” - D’Angello Campbell

“My son has stared me in the eye and declared me the devil, he looks at me with rage in his eyes, the same betrayal the lord must'a felt as the devil swore ta rise above him.” - D’Angello Campbell

“This flicker of a wolf is slowly learnin' how ta fade.” - D’Angello Campbell

“In the hollow cracks of my smile I have found regret so deeply interwoven with my heart that it flows as blood through my veins.” - Bellamy Cooper

“I lie awake in bed, reaching for memories that are not there. Regina, my love, she tasted like home and everything I'd never had... I saw so much when I looked at her... I saw a sheet of twinkling stars, the sun bringing warmth... But most beautifully, I saw that woman dancing under the light of the moon, as if she was drunk off it's pale glow, enjoying the way the world spun. But I don't dance any more, I don't hold her hand in mine, she does not hold my scars. Fate has torn us from each other, and though every night, we star up at the same moon, I have to wonder, do the stars look at the same people?” - Bellamy Cooper

“The stars may gaze upon me and wonder, oh bastard dove in the pale moon glow, who have you become?” - Bellamy Cooper

“I carry this sin on my shoulders as if it was a part of me, as if it was the flecks of white in my hair and the love that once wept in my smile. But these sins were never apart of me, just things I did.” - Bellamy Cooper

“As my love looks to the moon, and knows it is the same moon I gaze upon, I hope she knows, it does not gaze upon the same man.” - Bellamy Cooper

“All my enemies were first my heroes.” - Paviro Le Rouge

“I could murder a drink for all these sins at my back, they've weaved themselves into the fabric of my coat, and though the devil on my shoulder is nothing more than stitches on my jacket, I listen to the whispers of the damned man upon this sinner's coat.” - Paviro Le Rouge

“All the candles have flickered out, the wind ripped the flame from the candle's wick, leaving nothing but the wax to remember the warmth of the flame.” - Paviro Le Rouge

“I once believed my heart held value, but it is my belief that it's only value is the ending of it's beat.” - Paviro Le Rouge

“Do the gods wish to serve me to fate on a silver platter? Am I a toy to destiny? I am a mortal vessel of higher powers, these whispers in my head tell me, "You will defy destiny, she will crawl at your knees and weep," but what of my, destiny? How can I defy destiny yet follow her road?” - Paviro Le Rouge

“To defy destiny is to succumb to eternity.” - Paviro Le Rouge

“A man once asked me, if I ever thought that I'm not myself, that to die would be to finally be me. And I must confess, if the void were to take me now, I'd find peace in that.” - Howdy Woolen

“Everyone thinks they know me better than I do, but if they spent one day in my mind they'd scream, shout and beg that someone would let them out.” - Howdy Woolen

“My demons share my name and my face, but with those crooked smiles, how could they possibly be me?” - Howdy Woolen

“I look to this ash around me, these scorched dreams and ashen nightmares, and I beg my father to forgive me. But how can he forgive me for killing his own son?” - Howdy Woolen

“Chaos is fair in da fact dat it kills all.” - Aggemuth Williamson

“God knelt ta me level and told me dat all men were created equal, in da fact dat all men die.” - Aggemuth Williamson

“Death cares not for who we are, it don't give a bloody fuck whether you're youn' or old, it'll rip through ya and call ye alive.” - Aggemuth Williamson

“I am a wicked wolf who knows chaos is da forest in which I strive. Dese shadows are death, da light flickerin' from da trees is nuffin' but false salvation, for just above da trees lies a wicked beast. Red rain falls from da forest leaves, remindin' us dat in chaos' forest, we are all nuffin' but blood to be spilled and graves ta be fuckin' dug.” - Aggemuth Williamson

“Eden only 'eld me down, da snake in da garden was me, I was da forbidden fruit, I was Eve and Adam. But most wicked 'a all, I am da heavenly father that placed secrets in paradise, and damned innocent men for the fings I did.” - Aggemuth Williamson

“Blood and death for peace will never be true order. We live a lie, believing hate can drive out hate.” - Shaymelina Demablossom

“I am willing to walk a mile in a bad man's boots if it meant I could see the world through his eyes.” - Shaymelina Demablossom

“ We are not creatures of blood and death, we are butterflies soon to soar, cats playing curiously in the field. We are dogs, chasing the cat because we think it wants to play.” - Shaymelina Demablossom

“Evil comes from brokenness, but so does strength, so why choose cruelty?” - Shaymelina Demablossom

“I am a reflection of my enemies, a sinful projection of my fucking vengeance. As I stand before heaven's gates, all that shall be left are three corpses on the floor and two empty fucking six shooters. After all, an empty chamber and blood pooling beneath my feet is the sinful mark of revenge.” - Jake Warden

“This heart beating in my chest is no symbol of love, tear into my ribs and you'll find the pitch black night sky, for the moon crashed hurtling into the Earth, leaving nothing but vengeful stars, mourning for the home they lost.” - Jake Warden

“My sister told me to rebuild my bridges, but how am I to do that when I leave nothing but fire in my wake? I only seek for those behind me to crumble on the ashen bridge. May they follow my footsteps, only to drown in the roaring river below the bridges I fucking burnt.” - Jake Warden

“Oh Roan fucking Scorpio, you are a beast amongst men, a wicked werewolf, but so am I, so am I. My fur has grown more ragged than yours, my coat more blood-stained than yours, yet still I seek this damning vengeance. You are a wolf of family and love, yet I howl of loss. I could drag you through the dark, and still, you'd fight for something less than yourself.” - Jake Warden

“My hands tremble 'pon a dead man's gun, and as I stare down the barrel 'a this rifle, I fear it's me I'm aimin' at. I see them burnin' wings, I recognize them howls as he falls hellbent through the midnight sky, cuz they came from my own fuckin' throat. But all I do is take aim, breathe in, breathe out, and shoot this fallin' angel from the damn sky.” - Roan Scorpio

“My oldest frien' always did say he was Icarus, I wonder if he found solace as he burned? We were both wolves in the field, strappin' wings to our backs, dreamin' 'a sumthin' greater.” - Roan Scorpio

“I'm a child 'a the streets and a warrior 'a the highways, cuz I stalk these forests, boundin' cross the road in hopes the cars will catch me, sendin' me blood-streaked across the damn grass.” - Roan Scorpio

“It's a big world out there, ya got sinners by the dozen and dwindlin' saints, but I spose I'm somewhere between that spectrum.” - Roan Scorpio

“Vengeance kills most men before they evah gain it.” - Roan Scorpio

“I know what it is to be a sheep, there were once pain in my name and tears in my smile, but as I looked through the eyes of me father, and saw his reflection in me own, I learned always was I a wolf, swindled in a sheep's soft fur.” - Bodean Clemegrine

“All who have been within the scope of my rifle have fell in spurts of crimson salvation.” - Bodean Clemegrine

“In death there is mercy, and in mercy there is death.” - Bodean Clemegrine

“If you've known fear, than you've known me, friend. For I carve myself into your darkest memories, and every thought of me shall be followed with shivers up your spine and cracks in your smile.” - Bodean Clemegrine

“I am the wolf in Shepperd's clothing.” - Bodean Clemegrine

“I've learned that monsters don't hide these days, they've too much courage for our own good.” - Terissa Dyste

“My husband wanted me to waste my hate on him, to rot away every moment of my day with crooked thoughts of his haunted bay.” - Terissa Dyste

“I can see regret in my angel's eyes, death flickers in his smile, and blood hides within the cracks of his heart. But I am here to fill them with love.” - Terissa Dyste

“Salvatore is no bloodthirsty beast, he is no wolf, he's the sheep with a heart too large for a single man to handle. He cares so deeply for others, that he would sacrifice himself to rid them of the pain they've been through. He causes his own pain to save others from it. He is no reflection of those he's killed, for they are bad men, and he is the knight in rusted armor, who has had his metal and valor tested again and again.” - Terissa Dyste

“I love him, despite the pieces of himself he calls ugly, I will twirl them between my fingers and call them lovely.” - Terissa Dyste

“I shall not suffer, I shall grow.” - Terissa Dyste

“You know, my brother once told me, in all his grief, that every time he closes his eyes, he can see the flickering of the fire and the sparks of regret, but I told him, that's just his bridges burning.” - Kindle Xaverthin

“We can't dwell on the past, it's where all our pain comes from, but if we push forward into the unknown, we'll find ourselves in bliss, for if we don't finish the race, how do we ever win? It doesn't matter what place we finish at, just that we do.” - Kindle Xaverthin

“I will follow the road less traveled if that's what it takes, but when needed, I will follow the populated road. I will walk in the crowds and find my purpose in the many.” - Kindle Xaverthin

“I refuse to believe that failure exists. Just temporary defeat. So long as we fight, so long as we strive for something greater, we'll survive. I don't care if your goal is to simply breathe another day or to get out of bed in the morning. That in of itself is strength. Set small goals and conquer them, and as time goes on, you'll realize you scaled Everest inch by inch, without breaking a sweat.” - Kindle Xaverthin

“My grief is a hungry wolf, prowling in my mind, dragging the good memories I had through the dark, ensnaring them in his bloodthirsty maw.” - Markain Hallows

“Turn your heart to the trail behind me, and realize they are lost prayers and dying verses. Behind me is a melody of the damned, and ahead of me is the end of it.” - Markain Hallows

“No wolf dragged me off in it's jaw, no beast took me in it's maw, for it was I who looked in the mirror and reaped all he saw.” - Markain Hallows

“I travel through the night sky like a regretful midnight dove, my feather's have been stained the color the of night I prowl.” - Markain Hallows

“You ever flip a coin and watch in horror as it lands on fate?” - Crow Abervith

“Fate has been controlled by the powerful, and though the lord tries to send a message to you and I, those in power turn it into a threat.” - Crow Abervith

“The dogs have been set free from the pound, and though they barked their warnings and bared their teeth, the wolves howled and left their blood to run on the streets.” - Crow Abervith

“The world is fading out, shouting it's final words, and all we can do is picture it's grave.” - Crow Abervith

“What is life but old wallpaper, resold and refurbished, sold as a chipped away dream?” - Shurrick Gray

“I can't stand these roses on the path, cause I'm a pessimist, I can only look at all those damn thorns.” - Shurrick Gray

“Secrets are barrels of guns and chambers, and I suppose the powerful pull the damn trigger.” - Shurrick Gray

“They tell us to think five moves ahead whilst they think ten. They tell us to charge into the smoke, for the battleground is clear, but this smog only ever hid our foes.” - Shurrick Gray

“My mother always told me, "It gets better, son, it gets better," But under these floorboards are where my memories linger, and in these halls are thoughts of home that force tears from my eyes.” - Shurrick Gray

“Look at me, selling my life as a chipped away dream, telling myself it gets better. But it doesn't, because the lights have kicked the stool, and this dream swings from a noose in the spotlight.” - Shurrick Gray

“I’ve spent my life with one foot in the grave. Life is a cruel and relentless teacher, whipping me upon every failure, demanding I give it my all.” - Juno

“My father was, everything to me... Really. He gave me the patience to find myself, he held my hand through the path and when needed... He let go. He's the strongest man I've ever known, he was the pillars to this castle I roam, and without him, I feel as if I am crumbling.” - Juno

“I am the damned savior of the human race, a hero who realized he was a villain all along.” - Cedric Popovici

“I 'ave been exiled from myself, I rattle the bars 'a this cell, shoutin' at the guards to let me the fuck out. But it's me guardin' this cell, I'm my own damn Alcatraz, and as I look at the world through diamond eyes I realize, I ain't the hero, just the terror who called himself such.” - Cedric Popovici

“The way I see it, I shook hands with the devil ta rid the world of a devil, only to realize it's my hand I were shakin.” - Cedric Popovici

“Every night 'a my life I see angels fall from the sky, and as the sun sinks I pray it takes me in her stride.” - Cedric Popovici

“The executioner raises his blade and said, "When I raise this sword, so I wish this poor sinner eternal life." And as my head rolled from my neck, I realized I could blink, I could breathe, I could feel.” - Cedric Popovici

“The remnants 'a my soldier's cape flutters behind me, and it only stays on my shoulders cuz I hold a gun and pull a trigger. I wear this purple heart on my jacket, and I spose the only reason that bastard's purple is cuz'a the bruises I put there. We're all sheep, I's learned, eatin' from the dryer side 'a the pasture.” - Cedric Popovici

“I don't need a million dreams, just this one.” - Maliella Ryder

“Loife 'as beaten me down and shouted ta the 'eavens, "Allelujah! Da bastard's dead!" But as I stand, and raise moi fists, loife sighs, and prepares for anotha round.” - Billy Jenkins

“I dun't look back at failure, mate, I look forward at da success dat will rise from it.” - Billy Jenkins

“I stand by and protect me sister, she's been through a struggle 'a da mind and soul, and I reckon it's da battle fought wifout guns dat 'urt da most. She's strong, fo' bein' 'erself, and I reckon ta be yerself in a world full'a liars is da greatest achievement 'a all.” - Billy Jenkins

“I hold onta my ma's words, cause some days, I see her smoile in mine.” - Billy Jenkins

“Da sun will rise again, wif or wifout me, I cannot tell, but so long as it rises, I bloody smile.” - Billy Jenkins

“I check my vitals and find my heart still beats, and some days... I think that's unfortunate. My secrets will be buried below me, bury me six feet deep, my secrets deeper.” - Laverne Powell

“It's hard to get well when your mind poisons you with thoughts from years ago. Some days I fear my mind is still plagued by those damning thoughts.” - Laverne Powell

“If the past effects the future, then I fear what's to come.” - Laverne Powell

“Either I'm a broken saint, or a very bad man.” - Chad Broker

“I've let go of all I am, wonderin' why, oh why must I be the outcast, the hissin' cat in a room full 'a barkin', hungry dogs?” - Chad Broker

“I'd shatter the mirror with my fist ta kill my damn reflection. Fractures 'a me splittin' my knuckles and breakin' my bones.” - Chad Broker

“I stare at the waves and know they slip away just like me. I stand in this murky sand, watchin as the ripplin' water distorts my vision. Always looks like you're runnin' as ya stand in the ocean, but ya stay stagnant, don't you? I fear I'm damned, runnin' in the ocean, knowin' the hellhounds will catch me cuz I stand still.” - Chad Broker

“Jerome's always said he's my shadow, where once he was my light. He's just a lost boy, and I'm a broken one, and once ya mix the two togethah, ya don't get a man found, ya get broken glass, mixin' itself inta the sand.” - Chad Broker

“The mirror ain't nuthin' but a reflection 'a trouble comin' and my sins in the wind.” - Chad Broker

“I'm a freakshow, who made it ta heaven only ta realize ta higher powers I'm the damn jester.” - Chad Broker

“I live in the trenches, fighting for a better life, but those I love hurtle grenades and flashbangs into this broken soldier's trench, throwing fractured pieces of self hate and tainted love into my chest.” - Saiq A’Badula

“Beauty flees from war, the grass withers, the flowers die, and the birds forget to sing. Instead, the beauty of nature is replaced with our unnatural acts.” - Saiq A’Badula

“They tell me "You're a soldier, boy, weren't you taught how to march on?" All I can do is nod my head, but I was only ever taught to march into the pain, not away from it.” - Saiq A’Badula

“I am a soldier buried alive under the rubble of his soft spoken regrets and wrongly placed anger. Flowers will bloom from this damned soldier's grave, and it leaves me to wonder, is it when I die I'll finally know beauty? Will I find love in the rising of the roses and the daisies? And I wonder, is death a cruel force? Or is she a kind mistress, taking our hand and leading us to peace?” - Saiq A’Badula

“In my presence, the birds forget to sing, the sun forgets to rise. I am the dark that allows the light to exist, I am the shiver up your spine that whispers, "Run, I am the dark." Look at these pitiful gods, thinking they have me enslaved. They bind me but do not control me. I am seen as a children's story, a warning to be good, but as they speak of me I grow stronger, my strength comes from their fear and the shadows that frighten them out of sleep.” - Kragikul

“Long ago, Life told me this world was not meant for the dark, if that was so, then tell me, pitiful goddess, why do the stars shine? Why do you find refuge in the shade when the sun bares down, but fear it at night? Am I the defining factor of your fear?” - Kragikul

“I prowl this shade, I hear every prayer, every thought, I reside in saint's dreams and sinner's nightmares, I am the beast that monster's warn their children of. Have you ever seen the dark flee? As the sun rises it scurries, and if the monsters fear me, does that make me the light?” - Kragikul

“I am the original sin, the gods look upon me in sinking horror as they realize, peace is fading. My chains grow rust, these vines around me slowly wither, and all the dark has begun to flee.” - Kragikul

“You want peace? It cannot exist with violence such as I.” - Kragikul

“Life ain't gonna break me down, I'm a ramblin' man who finds peace in the dusty fields 'a wheat and crop. I live true and loyal like they used ta, the world may'a crashed down 'pon us, and most men may'a turned ta sin, but these morals 'a mine stand strong in the face 'a damnation.” - Timmy Dayfield

“We all one day find ourselves at a crossroads, and the devil tells us ta shake his hand. It's your choice ta stand unshaken or shake the hand 'a the man in the suit and tie. Cause the devil ain't a creature with pointy lil' horns and a pitchfork. He looks like you, frien', he looks like me, and everythin' you ever wanted. But are yer dreams worth the killin' 'a your morals?” - Timmy Dayfield

“I've walked many a mile in these boots 'a mine, and I've walked in the boots 'a others. When ya see the world through another man's eyes, you'll either see that you're right, or you owe the man an apology.” - Timmy Dayfield

“To all the other wayfarin' strangers out there, findin' themselves at the crossroads, I say. May the wind be at your back, may good fortune touch your hand, and may your resolve stay strong in the face of the shake of a hand.” - Timmy Dayfield

“Time isn't my lover, it isn't my friend, it kills me slowly and drags this life of mine through miles of tragedy ending secrets.” - Evangalice Caesar

“I can still see him in my nightmares, he is a conqueror of time and has bent it to his will. It refuses to take him, for he sits upon a throne of humanity's end.” - Evangalice Caesar

“I'm driven by this hate for beasts I cannot possibly kill, I'm mortal, time eats away at me, but it does not eat away at him.” - Evangalice Caesar

“I can hear his laugh by the light of the moon, I can hear is hauntings and warnings in my sleep. My worst fear is not death, it is the sinful beast, dancing in the light of our suffering. He looks at our pain, he looks at these flames ravaging us, and he calls it beautiful.” - Evangalice Caesar

“I will go up in flames and down in history, for my dynasty shall live beyond me.” - Madusius Crudellis

“Tyranny stands strong in the face of revolution.” - Madusius Crudellis

“These men and women killed are a part of my history, in my memory they are immortal, begging for mercy I don't know how to give.” - Madusius Crudellis

“In the thunder I can hear my dynasty, it is it's own entity. It howls and it barks, it rips into all who oppose it. A blood thirsty wolf, my dynasty is.” - Madusius Crudellis

“I, in of myself, am a dynasty, I am of bones-soon-to-be-broken, and flesh-soon-to-be-cut, it is my mortality that shall create my immortality.” - Madusius Crudellis

“I shall go down in history by force.” - Madusius Crudellis

“Darkness was a concept created before God, even he must bow to it.” - Deandra Cross

“My dreams have died to spite me, I am in a cell of nightmares, and the wolf I am stalks the corner. She's such a damned thing, I can see the rage in her eyes and the hurt in her soul, but to survive this world, I must become her. This wolf like mask must become me. I will stitch these threads into my skin until this mask becomes apart of me. I shall forget who I am underneath, for she was not strong enough to survive the world.” - Deandra Colt

“My sister once told me that the weak get by, the broken die off, but the strong survive and bring fear in their stride. And I guess in order ta survive I had ta be the one takin' lives in my stride.” - Hailey Colt

“All the lights that pollute the sky could not bring light ta the dark in my heart.” - Hailey Colt

“Your demons depend on you ta feed dem, so taunt dem and let dem starve on 'ope.” - Celeste Crinklaw

“Me feathers glow with love and rage, regret and joy, I'm a war cry 'a everyfin' I've evah been, and if loife's a war, give me a bloody blade, mate.” - Celeste Crinklaw

“In me dreams I see a pale white 'orse, 'e beckons me ta follow, tells me dat I can be born again, and everytoime I follow 'im, I see a face I've seen before. In dat pale 'orse's eyes I see someone I knew, but I can't place who. 'E beckons me toward da dark, tellin' me dat is where I belong, but I refuse ta rise from the ashes as sumfin' I ain't.” - Celeste Crinklaw

“I look ta dat pale 'orse in da 'orizon, all I ask, is, "Old frien', where's your rider?" A lonely horse, 'e is, da 'orse 'a my dreams, beckonin' me ta nightmares. 'E's lonesome, wearin' the remnants 'a his saddles and the remains 'a his scars on 'is hide. And all I ask, is where 'ave I seen 'im before?” - Celeste Crinklaw

"You cannot come to understand the depths of the world, you believe the shadows to be the darkest thing this world has to offer, but I have seen things darker than the nebula." - The Watcher

"I have seen things no man could ever dream, let along things that he would want to. All my life I have wished to be a hero, but it is gritty work, it drains away at the soul, and I must wonder how much of it I have left these days." - Ickden Harloff

"There are things in this world that we do not understand, sadly, they must be condemned for it is the dark from whence they came." - Ryan Sanzberg

"My vengeance is immortal, but sadly that must mean, as am I." - Warden Wickersford

"My hope left with the beatin' 'a my love's heart." - Travis Vekington

"When ya lose everythin', what're you supposed ta become?" - Travis Vekington

"Went through hell on a Sunday an' cursed the damn pews cause despite it all, they damn me." - King Wardown

"Cowardice kills people, I've learned, but alas, it keeps me alive." - Verez Vagawit

"You can throw me to the wolves, but I imagine I'll be alright. After all, they hunt to live and the blood on their teeth is of survival, not sport." - James Ace

"Most people can't change because they just don't God damn want to. You can't expect life to change if you don't evolve with it." - Darin Zollo

"I am losing myself, I fear. Faith and hope are hard to come by as your heart slowly falters to the shadow and forgets the warmth of light." - Shan'Bellwitz

"I wish to drift away from this place as nothing more than peace and smoke on the wind." - Shan'Bellron

"I was lost out at sea, trying to find me, but all I became was stranded, vying for something better, yet becoming sumthin' worse." - Ben Stilts “Every sinnin’ man fears the devil.” - Ben Stilts

"Scars leave us bettah or worse off. I reckon mine left me wif' glory." - Pugrish the Mountain

"What's belief without sumthin' to worship?" - Shonas Green

"Ya know what they do with broken men, Mortley? They put em all in this box, and they say, "This is all ya are, we ain't confinin' ya, we're just givin' ya a playground ta roam. But as we get older we realize the walls are sky high and they weren't built ta be fuckin' climbed." - Bortley Dekruiful

"It is in pain that we find a new identity, one which lives alongside the tears." - Mortley Dekruiful

"I'm not concerned about my importance to the world, just the fact that I lived in it, and that it was real." - Milton Modayne "My whole life has been screaming in a single pitch tune, yet I sit here and wonder, what point is there to a chorus when there was never a melody? I am plucking broken strings, expecting a soft song, but I suppose it's foolish, expecting music from a hurting soul." - Milton Modayne

"When you're born in the shade you begin to fall into the delusion that the light is something damning." - Natalia Shelvikit

"As humans we have an innate desire to feel something that is not ourselves, to be something other than we were meant to be. We have been trying to defy destiny for so long that we never thought to pick up the quill and write something other than fate within our lives. We seek to conquer destiny, yet it is what lies outside the realm of fate that we fear." - Ramazalo Shelvikit

"He who fights for himself migh' as well lay down his fists and le' the bullets rain down." - Gromkal Batterfist

"It's strange, how we damn those who fight for justice, but never they who we fight against." - Tovil Quinn

"Dreams are only a broken perception of reality, mate... And sometimes, we need ta wake da fuck up." - Jerry Benson

"Ze zing I fear ze most, iz zat death is ze end. And yet I know that it iz." - Thaddaeus Rediger

"Praying is not the solution to all burdens on the soul." - Jonathan Covaks

I's been carryin' a burden for some time now, you know 'ow crosses are heavy on the back, always pushin' ya back inta the graves ya try to dig, always findin' a new way to rip the skeletons from yer closet." - Mike Fausselkoff

"Sins, always catchin' us humans off guard. We tell ourselves we'll never be like Adam, we'll never be like Eve, but then that forbidden fruit comes along and we begin ta wonder. What does it taste like? We wrap ourselves up in all this curiosity, this wonder. We become our own snakes in our own little garden 'a Eden. Well, I spose that fruit came along." - Mike Fausselkoff

"Mr. Stilts, Mr. Skinwalker, karma is at your door." - Cortez Cloves

"A life of killing is better than a life of rotting." - Cortez Cloves

"If I were you, I would not tempt fate so cruelly. Fate is never in the one man's favor, it is always in the favor of the crowd, never he who flips the coin." - Borbasli Orgazi

#writing #dialouge #oneliners #author #characters #characterlines

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azwriting · 4 years

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The Only Hope (Forget Me Please, Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader) - Chapter Two

A/N: FUCKING FINALLY!!! I’m so sorry that this took so long, life got a little crazy and yeah. But I think im back in business so yay! Anyways here’s chapter two, we are still in Rey’s POV but next chapter we will finally start delving into who’s under the mask ;)

Also! I know Ben took his lightsaber and turned it into the cross guard one, but for the sake of my imagination and this story he just made a new one... Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Feedback is always appreciated ;)

Summary: The Resistance Three try to convince the mysterious Jedi ally to aid them in the fight against Palpatine. All while Rey begins to piece together some of the Jedi’s hidden past.

Warning(s): Me retconning TROS, a made up species, angst, a moment that feels like Reylo but its not, Finnpoe rights baby

Word Count: 4658

“The dagger’s translation gave the coordinates for Kef Bir, we informed the General of where we were heading and she insisted we come here, to find you.” Rey finished explaining, her eyes darting across the faded and worn mask in search of any sort of response. All she found were stone cold eyes locked forward, observing the three of them. The woman was not even surprised to hear Palpatine had somehow survived and if she had, she showed no sign of it. If it had not been for the quick and overpowering assaults she had thrown at Rey earlier, the young Resistance fighter would have assumed she was a statue or perhaps a protocol droid.

The four of them sat around a small unlit chamber, in the dead center of all the huts above. There had been small villages on Jakku, ones that were primitive and rural, but this was entirely different. The forest moon of Endor was silent, no one passing through since the end of the old war. No trade, no work, no nothing. The planet appeared deserted in a sense. One would grow to suspect it held a secret, as does every corner of the Galaxy, but Rey suspected this secret was far greater than what her eyes could see.

Finn and Poe sat stiffly unsure of the ally while Rey was just dumbfounded. She had been led to believe that all the Jedi, besides Master Skywalker, had died in the destruction of the new Jedi Order at the hands of Kylo Ren. Yet the woman across from her wielding not one, but two lightsabers proved otherwise.

Had this woman even been present at the Jedi temple? If so, how had she survived? How did General Organa know her? What did the purple kyber crystal represent? Why was her face hidden behind a mask? What was her name? Rey had far too many questions and nowhere enough answers. Nor did they have the time…

“Kef Bir?” The woman inhaled sharply, her posture straightening. Her head dropped down for a moment before the emotionless eyes met their gaze once again. There was a quick gleam of emotion hidden in them, but Rey could not read it. The subtle reaction made her nervous though, what was awaiting them on Kef Bir?

“I don’t know how I’ll be of help there.” She was right, Rey did not know what to expect there or if they would even need the Jedi’s help, but Leia had sent them here. Rey knew this ally was of importance, she could feel it through the Force, and Leia had known this too. The woman in the mask was strong with the Force, it flowed through her like a vivacious stream. It was why the forest moon had felt so utterly rich when she had first arrived, the mask creating it all.

Although Rey could still feel an abundance of energy, that felt far away as if it had been hidden behind a thick black cloak, hidden from plain sight. She was unsure how to describe it, but it felt distant, out of reach, guarded. Despite whatever Rey felt, it was clear that the last Jedi could be of tremendous help in whatever they faced.

“I don’t know either, but General Organa knew we’d need help and she sent us to you, you may be our only hope to prevent Palpatine’s Final Order.” Rey confessed, a gentle plea evident in her tone. She could not defeat the vile Emperor herself, many had tried and failed in doing so. The mask stood abruptly, eyes narrowing down at her.

“I’m nobody’s last hope, I’m sorry but I can’t help.” She moved to leave, but Poe caught her upper arm and roughly yanked her back. Sharp eyes turned back to glare at him in disbelief over his sudden actions, but Poe ignored it.

“Why? Why won’t you help?” The woman tugged her arm free and took a cautious step back, but Rey suspected it was so she did not harm the pilot, not the other way around.

“It’s just an endless cycle. I was born into a Galaxy still healing from the Empire and I’ve lived long enough to see something take its place.” The woman winced inwardly, eyes playing an endless amount of suppressed horrors. “You may defeat Palpatine and his Final Order, but what about the First Order? What about the next ones seeking total power or the ones after that?”

Her questions had them all looking off in thought. The Resistance was barely equipped to stop the First Order, how would they continue to prevent others from attempting to rise and suffocate the remaining freedom out of the Galaxy? It was an easy answer, one that left a bitter aftertaste in their mouths, they would not. “The Galaxy will never know peace, I’ve accepted that.” The somber tone that slipped into the modulated voice caused Rey to question if this woman truly had accepted such a dreary fate. The blank (Y/E/C) skipped across each of their faces before resting on Rey’s. “It’s time you do too.”

The woman spun on her heel and was quick to leave. The three Resistance members watched in silence, in disbelief, a look of stupor on their faces. Why would General Organa send them here if this ally would only refuse to help? There was only so much time before Palpatine released his doomsday upon the Galaxy. Rey’s stomach twisted at the sinking in reality, how was she supposed to save the Galaxy alone? Kylo would only want to assume the position, the vacancy the Emperor would leave behind and the woman refused to help, chalking it up to an already doomed attempt. They would be alone in this fight and they would lose.

Rey was truly as alone as she had been on Jakku.

The peculiar sound of birds chirping broke through the silent forest. The mysterious ally froze mid stride, head snapping up to the thick lush tree coverage. Rey’s eyes followed, searching for the source of the sweet call. The sound reminded her of a much softer, sweeter, musical rendition of the wind chimes constructed from useless scavenged parts that she had had hanging inside her small home on Jakku. When the rare dry breeze of the desert swept through the interior of the fallen AT-AT walker, the rusted parts would clink together and fill her ears with a choppy noise that signified to her that one day she would find her belonging. Her already twisted stomach dropped at the realization that she had not found that belonging yet, not with the Resistance nor with the ways of the Jedi.

The chorus continued on for a moment longer before slowly dying off leaving the forest and the four of them surrounded by an uncanny stillness. With the absence of the melodic sing-song of the birds, Rey pondered if the sound served as the same hopeful reminder to the lonesome Jedi. With the unwavering rigidness of the woman’s stature, Rey began to believe it did.

“Wait-” Poe started before cutting himself off. He hummed the melody of the birds to himself over and over again until his narrowed eyes lifted with confusion. “That was the call of the Dalae.” He announced, head snapping back to look at Rey and Finn.

“Okay and you know this why?” Finn questioned lifting his one eyebrow, unsure where his significant other was heading with such odd information and how he knew it. Rey was curious too, especially as to why the pilot felt compelled to inform them of such a thing now when their only possible assistance was leaving.

The woman was still frozen in place though, but her head now held onto the moist and moss covered ground. The Force swirled around her as she seemed to be focusing inward, her hands clenching and unclenching as she grappled with some internal conflict. Whatever this bird was, the harmony it had emitted greatly unsettled her.

“When I was undercover on Kijimi posing as a Spice Runner to obtain intel on the First Order’s weapon dealings, I had a lot of spare time. Read a lot.” Poe explained stepping closer to the two. Rey was still reeling in the fact that Poe had been a Spice Runner even if it was to help the Resistance. She was even more baffled that he had not told her or Finn about this covert mission. “Educated myself on various species across the Galaxy and the Dalae bird was one of them.”

As he moved closer, Rey did not miss the way the mask discreetly peered over her left shoulder at them. Even in a state of concentration, she still was aware. Although with multiple points to focus on, her once hidden aura started to bleed through, revealing her state of mind to Rey. She was anxious, tense, and something else Rey could not put a finger on. The woman’s body trembled slightly, the thin hairs on the back of her neck stood up, goosebumps erupting across the rest of her skin despite the layers she wore. Her heart was racing and over the quiet hum of the forest, Rey could hear the distorted and labored breaths that escaped the mask.

Fearful… the word bounced around Rey’s already cluttered mind as she came to the conclusion as to what the other emotion that had seeped through to her was. The woman who had single handedly taken her down with an unforeseeable and unparalleled skill was scared? What did she have to be fearful of? Was it them and their uprooting of her life here in this forest? Was it the looming and imminent threat of Palpatine? Or was it the past that was hidden beneath the fading paint of the mask and the barrier of two crossed lightsabers? Rey was not naive, she knew the mask hid more than a face, but she was unsure as to what.

As quick as the Jedi’s aura had slipped through, it disappeared. In an instant, Rey felt the overpowering emotions retract with the simple action of tightening a clenched fist. Besides for her curling fists, the woman was still locked in place fighting her inner turmoil, one Rey could not decipher.

“Okay Babe, this is great that you educated yourself about this stuff, really it is, but I don’t think now is the best time to brief us on all your bird knowledge.” Finn attempted to terminate Poe’s somewhat delirious ranting, something Rey had begun to tune out. Perhaps the injury he had acquired on the Star Destroyer was beginning to get to him.

Poe only shook his head in defiance, he was never one to back down from expressing himself, especially when he believed it to be of dire importance. Whatever he knew of this bird, the Dalae, Poe knew it was essential to share and be heard. No matter how inopportune the timing was…

“The Dalae bird is only native to one place and I’ll give you a hint it’s not the forest moon of Endor…” Poe trailed off, eyes skimming the surrounding trees for the incongruous bird.

“What do you mean? Where is it from?” Finn probed, his thick eyebrows furrowing once again. Rey’s did as well, but she remained silent. Her mind was a whirling disaster filled to the brim with possible catastrophes, her newly illuminated origin, and the hopes of saving a dying religion. She did not have room to digest the curiosity behind a migrating species.

“The Nayli countryside.”

Rey’s eyes snapped up, the stories she had heard over the course of the last year replaying in her mind. The General had told her many stories of how she used to visit the quieter countryside, Nayli, when she could spare time away from the fragile rebuilding of the New Republic. “Of Chandrila?”

Poe nodded reading her visible shock, “Yes. So what is a bird only native to a planet in the Core Worlds doing in the Outer Rim?” Rey and Finn exchanged a look, Poe was right. What was it doing out here? Especially a bird from the former capital of the New Republic. The former home to the General, Han, and their son…

Their internal inquiries were soon brought to a screeching halt though. “Let me get my things and then we can be on our way.” The three Resistance fighters spun to face the direction the modified voice had called to them. The woman now stood tall, hands unclenched, and head locked straight forward on them. She nodded rapidly confirming her words more to herself than to them before she took off back towards the small huts. Three pairs of eyes followed her, neither one fully processing the meaning of her statement. The Jedi would be coming with them Rey realized, she was going to help them. Perhaps Leia had been right to send them here.

Rey watched as the woman launched herself off the dirt ground and landed onto one of the many hovering bridges, only to disappear into a small hut to her right. As the small wooden door closed behind the body of green and brown fabrics, Rey began to ponder why the sudden change in the ally. The woman had been reluctant to help, seemingly accepting the inevitable defeat against Palpatine and his new Empire, but something had changed. As a cool breeze swept through the surrounding woods, the leaves brustling loudly in the trees up above, Rey recalled the terror that had frozen the ally in place… all beginning with the call of the Dalae bird.

Ewoks were… not what Rey expected. As she leaned against the rough bark of a towering tree awaiting for their new companion to return, she finally caught a glimpse of the legendary warriors who fought in the Battle of Endor. Yes the tales had spoken of a small indigenous tribe that had aided the Rebels, but the young scavenger had never realized it referred to their stature. Details like such often disappeared as the stories spread across the Galaxy. For Maker’s sake she had thought Luke Skywalker, the Jedi, and the Force were all a myth. Yet, it was all true and she had become a part of it as she embarked on her own journey.

Rey witnessed as the woman, her face still obscured by the mask, emerged from her small hut up above. Even walking on swaying lumber bridges, the ally moved with an indescribable grace and balance, features that bled through into her fighting style.

The ally bent down before two Ewoks and even though she was beneath them, Rey could still hear bits of dialogue. Although they spoke in Ewokese, a language Rey did not understand, she remained silent and eavesdropped as the three conversed. As she listened Rey could not help but wonder how long the woman had been here and why she was here in the first place. It was clear she was the only human on the moon, but it seemed like that had been a purposeful choice. Rey had been left all alone as a child, sold and abandoned, it was hard for her to imagine someone consciously making the choice to be alone. It was the one thing she never wanted to be…

“Protect.” A single word in Galactic Basic slipped through the cracks in the bridge, a word uttered by the mask. Rey focused back onto the three above and found the Ewoks to be nodding before the woman abruptly stood back to her full height. With one swift jump, the Jedi descended down towards Rey just as she had done when they had first stumbled upon the small village. The ally landed perfectly on her feet just a few steps in front of Rey, (Y/E/C) eyes focused as always.

“Where are the other two?” She alone had stayed to wait, Finn and Poe returning to the Falcon to prepare for the next stop on Kef Bir. Her voice sounded on edge, but it was possible to be just from her descent or the heavy modification of the mask. Although Rey noted the way the eyes bounced around the surrounding bridges in apprehension.

“They went back to ready the ship.” Rey answered and the woman’s chest collapsed as she let out a large exhale. What was she so fearful over? The ally was very guarded, unwillingly to trust anyone. A hand shot out and gestured for Rey to lead the way and silently the two women began their trek back to the Falcon, leaving the Ewok village behind.

The quiet fresh air of the moon encompassed them on their walk as well as total silence, but Rey could not help but glance over at the woman every so often. With such a close proximity, one where they were not attacking each other, she could not assimilate the overwhelming energy that flowed from the other Jedi.

Three words echoed through her mind and Rey shuttered. The three words had been spoken to her once during her attempt to reach out and connect with the Jedi of the past. Now they haunted her mind and plagued her sleep, never leaving her conscience peacefully. As she looked to the Force user beside her, Rey wondered if the woman knew how to help. The idea was quickly squandered, the voice had told her to restore it, it was solely up to her.

A glimmer of light reflected up and into Rey’s eyes, making the young woman wince slightly. Her brown eyes looked down and caught sight of the two lightsabers strapped to the side of the woman’s hip. One hilt was a darker gray durasteel with a black handle and the other was a silver durasteel with blue, purple, and orange coloring near the emitter. It was strangely familiar, the all silver one, something she had seen before in a dream.

Before her voice of reason could object to the impulse that flared up within, Rey’s hand hastily reached forward for the saber. As the tip of her fingers grazed against the cold hilt, flames bloomed behind her eyes and screams flooded her ears.

With a heavy gasp, Rey stumbled back in terror. The high morning sun sunk into the horizon being replaced by the pitch black night sky, full of a plethora of stars. The tall dense trees that surrounded her plunged to the ground revealing an open plain filled with small huts. One hut in front of her had been destroyed, crumbled into just a pile of rubble. Rey’s chest tightened and she felt a wave of nausea overcome her at the sight of it. It deeply unsettled her, made it feel as if something crawled up her cold and damp skin. Deep down she knew where she was, what she was looking at, but she was unwilling to believe it. She had just been on Endor how had she gotten here?

Screams broke through her disorientated state, pulling Rey away from the ruined hut. Off in the distance stood a grand temple surrounded by stone statues and pillars, a large dome in the center of the sacred framework. Her lips parted in shock as she realized the temple was encased with thick tendrils of fire. Even from where she stood Rey could hear the desperate pleas for help. She raced towards the flames before she could even think to command herself to move… it was as if something else entirely controlled her.

Dashing through the tall grass, Rey rushed towards the people in dire need of assistance but her attempt to help was quickly stopped. Long arms hooked around her waist, yanking her back and into a strong hard chest. The lightsaber she had not been aware of slipping through the fingers of her dominant hand.

“No Rey, I can’t lose you too!”

Rey’s blood ran cold, goosebumps erupting across her skin as if she was back on Starkiller base in her scrappy scavenger attire. She knew this voice, knew the desperation woven into the words, it haunted her dreams too. Twisting in the tight embrace, she turned to face her impediment.

Flushed chest to chest, Rey looked up to find frightened watery eyes looking down at her. She knew these brown irises and the hints of green speckles that were hidden in them, she knew the eyes of Ben Solo. They were filled to the brim with sadness, fear, and pain. She had seen these emotions in his eyes before; after he had killed his father, in the hut on Ahch-To, and when he had taken off his mask before her on the Star Destroyer. Yet, she had never seen them like this before; with traces of love interlaced in them.

“I tried to, b-but the fire’s too strong.” He choked out. His breathing was ragged, he was scared, and looking down at her as if she was the only thing that could save him from the torment inside. Fresh tears escaped his eyes and trickled down his ash covered face, his lips trembled as they parted and his whole body shook against hers. He was shaken to core and desperately seeking comfort, her comfort. “I never-” Ben stuttered out but his voice cracked with despair. “I didn’t want this.”

The fire behind felt like an afterthought as Rey reached upward and pressed both of her palms to Ben’s dampened face. Slowly she stroked soft comforting circles onto his skin and he let out a breath of relief. “I know. I know you didn’t but Ben! We need to help them!” The words that slipped from Rey’s mouth were not her own. Her actions were not her own. No, it was as if they were preordained, done by another through her.

The cries for help only seemed to grow and Rey snapped out of the trance that Ben had put her under. She struggled against his secure grip, feeling the undeniable cool durasteel of a saber pressed against her back despite the kiss of heat from the fire that licked up her back. She needed to help, she could not turn her back on them.

Ben’s arms suddenly released her and Rey felt the warmth of one of his palms press against her cheek. Her face was wet, she was crying as well. They were both in agony over something she did not know, something she had never experienced.

With a sharp inhale, the night faded away and the sun of Endor fell back into its rightful place in the sky above. Rey’s gut twisted as she tried to comprehend it all. She knew that she should not have touched the saber, she had learned that on Takodana what felt like a lifetime ago. But, she could not focus on that, not with what she had seen and experienced. Rey had not been there for the fall of the New Jedi Order, she had not been stopped in her attempt to help the other students, but someone else had been.

Rey’s eyes lifted up and away from the silver lightsaber to find the woman watching her intently. Traces of long buried pain surfaced in the tears pooling in the last Jedi’s magnetic eyes. “That lightsaber…” Rey’s voice was no louder than a whisper. “It belonged to someone else.” She did not dare say his name, pain that was not hers seemed to blend into her own making her heart wrench. The ally shuddered in response, tears slipping down into the depths of the mask.

“Why would you have his saber?”

As the question left Rey’s mouth, it dawned on her what she had encountered when touching the lightsaber, his lightsaber. It was a memory, the woman’s memory. She had experienced the heartbreaking night from the woman’s perspective that was why she had had no control over her actions and words. The ally and him had been close, the Force flowing strongly through them both, forging an uncanny connection. It had felt like life itself…

Rey’s eyes widened and her mouth grew dry at the realization, “You’re- you’re his balance.” Their fight only a short while ago came to mind and the familiar movements of the Jedi. She was all confident strikes, agile deflects, her attacks lying somewhere between the cross of a graceful dancer and feral animal. A way she had only seen Kylo Ren move.

The woman’s eyes narrowed swiftly and she stepped forward. Her stature was imposing as she looked down at Rey, making her feel as if she was a young scavenger again who had not brought back satisfactory parts for Unkar. “No, you don’t know anything. Those padawans are dead. There is no balance.” Her words were harsh and brimming with vulnerability just as her (Y/E/C) eyes were. As if her thoughts had been heard, the woman’s hand sprung up and closed her visor, locking away the only window into her soul Rey had. The mask quickly pivoted and stalked away, heading for the Falcon.

Rey stared after her, mentally digesting everything that had just happened. Kylo had said his balance had died and that was why the Force had connected them, her power being the only one to match his. Yet, this woman was very much alive, brimming with Force sensitivity, and hidden away in the forest of Endor. A fact the Supreme Leader did not know and Rey knew that was intentional. The woman and him had been close, she could sense it, could see it in the way he looked at her the night of the fire. Ben had looked at her with such compassion, held onto her with such need, stopped her from running into danger. The memory, the woman’s memory, replayed in Rey’s mind and she could now see that it had not been her hands touching Ben’s face, not her voice speaking to him, not her name that he had called out in fear.

“No (Y/N), I can’t lose you too!”

“Your name, I heard him speak it.” Rey called after the Jedi, the woman who’s name she now knew. She was uncertain as to why she felt compelled to tell her of her insight, maybe because the young Resistance fighter wanted to prove that she did in fact know something. It was an unwise decision though, to provoke such a powerful Force user.

The ally ceased in her steps, swinging back around with such ferocity, Rey gulped. With the visor closed all she could see was her reflection in the mask. The helmet was cold and distant without the small opening, reminding Rey of a Stormtrooper, or a Knight of Ren, or even Kylo himself… an enemy. This woman was not supposed to be her enemy, no they were allies, brought together by the General and perhaps even the Force.

“And if you were wise, you wouldn’t.” The woman instructed, voice nothing but hostile. She turned once again and left, heading towards the direction Rey had appointed.

Touching the saber and revealing a piece of her buried past had struck a nerve in their already defensive ally. Turning her from guarded and reserved to cold and bitter. Rey’s eyebrows furrowed, she had touched Ben’s saber and saw a memory from the woman’s perspective. She had to be the balance Kylo spoke of, Rey could still feel the phantom attachment the two had in the past. A bond…

Like she had been caressed by a ghost, a chill bit up Rey’s neck as her mind began to repeat the three words the Force had spoken to her months ago. The three words the Force had whispered to her as she searched for a balance. Only when she would repair it then balance could be found within the Force. She had believed that the Jedi could help her in restoring what she had to, but what if this woman, (Y/N), was one half of the broken piece?

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