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pet-genius · 3 years

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A complex and many-layered thing

But Harry’s anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs. . . .

This is the first Occlumency lesson. Harry is right, of course. Feelings don’t go away because you want them to. To let go of them when they’ve not been addressed or validated can be as hard as detaching a leg. And yet, it’s what Dumbledore asked Snape to do, and it’s what Snape had to do to survive the first war as Dumbledore’s spy. You have to ask yourself… how?

Trapped animals chew off their own legs to escape. It’s a sacrifice they make to survive.

If there’s one thing in a fic that turns me off it, it’s the idea that Occlumency shields are a thing, that Severus was so gifted at it because he’s got some power like Second Sight or being a metamorphagus. I always preferred to think of Occlumency and Legilimency as skills that can be learned, even if some have more aptitude for it than others.

Severus entered Hogwarts with the kind of life experience that primed him for developing these skills, and left it with even more. Occlumency is magical dissociation, a post-traumatic coping mechanism, and Severus has C/PTSD. More under the cut; tw: just general angst.

To survive, he would have had to develop a knack for telling how explosive and unpredictable people feel. Over his life, he faced at least two egregious examples of what Pete Walker, author of “Complex PTSD” calls “the Charming Bully”.

Especially devolved fight types can become sociopathic. Sociopathy can range along a continuum that stretches from corrupt politician to vicious criminal. A particularly nasty sociopath, who I call the charming bully, probably falls somewhere around the middle of this continuum. The charming bully behaves in a friendly manner some of the time. He can even occasionally listen and be helpful in small amounts, but he still uses his contempt to overpower and control others. This type typically relies on scapegoats for the dumping of his vitriol. These unfortunate scapegoats are typically weaker than him. […] He generally spares his favorites from this behavior, unless they get out of line. If the charming bully is charismatic enough, those close to him will often fail to register the unconscionable meanness of his scapegoating. The bully’s favorites often slip into denial, relieved that they are not the target. Especially charismatic bullies may even be admired and seen as great.

These would be James Potter and Tom Riddle, who are distantly related, I might add. Harry inherited the tendency to default to the fight response, but since he grew up the scapegoat and not the golden child, he never becomes quite as appalling, and after all, a fight response is normal when they are after you. Even so, Harry, who has both James and Voldemort inside him, triggers Severus to no end. It’s not a coincidence that the memories Harry sees when he is with him are largely horrible, and vice versa. There had to be happy or at least neutral or even boring moments, but these two detest each other, and they know they detest each other. Negative emotions and associated memories are so close to the surface they can’t be contained. This is the purpose of the Pensieve in this context - to contain the emotions. Since Severus knew what was in there when he pulled Harry out, my theory is that you don’t suddenly forget the memories you placed there, but rather you make them less fraught with emotions.

“Get up!” said Snape sharply. “Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!”

Harry stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was. “I — am — making — an — effort,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I told you to empty yourself of emotion!”

“Yeah? Well, I’m finding that hard at the moment,” Harry snarled.

“Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!” said Snape savagely. “Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!”

A lot to unpack here.

“Memories you fear,” “weapons”, “easy prey”.

Fearing your own memories, viewing your own lived experiences as weapons to be used against you, being easy prey… Severus could not be speaking louder of himself here. He is the one whose mind had been penetrated with absurd ease, he is the one who handed weapons to Voldemort, and he is the one who had to do the psychological equivalent of detaching his own leg – again and again – to survive.

I’ll argue that Severus developed a fawn response and a flight response, as fighting had never really worked out for him if it was possible at all. He had at least two more people I’d describe as bullies in his life, Tobias and Lucius.

Again from Pete Walker:

These [fawn] response patterns are so deeply set in the psyche, that as adults, many codependents automatically respond to threat like dogs, symbolically rolling over on their backs, wagging their tails, hoping for a little mercy and an occasional scrap. Webster’s second entry for fawn is: “to show friendliness by licking hands, wagging its tail, etc.: said of a dog.” I find it tragic that some codependents are as loyal as dogs to even the worst “masters”.

Remember what Sirius called him? Lucius’s lapdog. Bellatrix called him Dumbledore’s pet, Dumbledore said he dangles on Voldemort’s arm, the narrative compares Snape to a rabbit in SWM and Harry compares the Half Blood Prince to a beloved pet who had gone feral (yes, this does mean a lot to me on a personal level, yes my username is not a coincidence).

His unconscious fawn response might have been his undoing, drawn as he was to figures like Lucius and Voldemort. As an adult, I think he utilized the skills he had developed to survive in order to stitch these people up, and involuntary dissociation and fawning became Occlumency, which to me, is his signature magic. Harry needed only to banish Voldemort from his mind; Severus could not settle for this. He had to give Voldemort something, and knowing how to fawn meant knowing what to give him and how to draw himself in such a light that Voldemort would believe it. We see how he wanted to be seen by the Death Eaters: a self-serving coward who sought to hide behind Dumbledore’s apron, playing his pet. But that’s Pettigrew, not Snape. Imagine the self-immolation, the self-violation, it must have taken to convince everyone that you’re an ersatz Wormtail! Snape is a man and a prince, and the text recognizes this as Harry calls him, in the end, Dumbledore’s man, the bravest man, and as that chapter is called “The Prince’s Tale”. Voldemort thought Snape was nothing more than a “good and faithful servant,” and that his last words were “My Lord”.

But Severus had an unequaled gift for Occlumency, specifically against Voldemort, because Voldemort could not legilimens what he couldn’t feel; and he couldn’t feel love, grief, guilt, and remorse. This was Severus’s secret weapon, which would not have worked against Harry - who can feel these things, and who is also Lily’s son. I can prove it. The first time Harry gets the hang of Occlumency is after Dobby dies:

His scar burned, but he was master of the pain; he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now, while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out . . . though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love. . . .

Harry learned to dissociate, though fortunately in a healthier way than many of us ever get to.

Of course, Snape was a good and faithful servant… to Dumbledore, which brings us to the flight response. The chapter wherein he escapes after killing Dumbledore is called “Flight of the Prince”. He should be fighting, he had just proven that he can cast a killing curse, and yet he flees. He can literally fly, in fact: He, Lily, and Voldemort are the only ones we see pulling this off.

As a child, we see this too: He copes with his home situation by reminding himself “it won’t be long and I’ll be gone.” He is thrilled when he imagines Hogwarts, his escape; he follows Lily out of the carriage instead of confronting James and Sirius head-on (which might have saved them all a lot of pain eventually). But this doesn’t work out, we see that in terrifying detail. The next attempt at an escape is joining the Death Eaters, but this too doesn’t work out.

He can’t flee anymore.

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it —”

“Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

Shortly thereafter:

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared . . .”

“I am,” said Snape.

He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

He was ready, and he was prepared. He didn’t fly; he walked toward what might well have been his end with open eyes, armed only with the strength of his mind. Before Voldemort killed him, he looked pale, again, and terrified.

“I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore.”

And now Snape looked at Voldemort, and Snape’s face was like a death mask. It was marble white and so still that when he spoke, it was a shock to see that anyone lived behind the blank eyes.

I ask myself if this was the moment he realized he had been betrayed, that by giving Dumbledore a painless death he had secured his own. Maybe he wasn’t pale because he was scared; maybe he was pale because he was shocked. He was at his absolute limit, Occluding with all his might when he could have easily saved himself. The dam is about to break. All the memories he feared, all the weapons, the entire content of his heart is about to spill through - literally.

He fawned for Voldemort, the worst of all possible masters, but in the end, he was Voldemort’s undoing. All the ways in which he was weak and powerless against Tobias, James, Lucius, et al., proved to be part of goodness and source of his power. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Snape is so loved. I’ve never actually seen such love for any other fictional character. He represents a kind of courage that many of us need to get by, lest we simply become evil or give the fuck up (“I wish I was dead”). A kind of courage rarely celebrated. The more time I’ve spent in the fandom in general and in the Snapedom in particular, the more I am convinced of this.

#pro severus snape #snapedom #snape meta #snape love #severus snape #psychology #complex ptsd #I'm not qualified to diagnose anyone #But like #come on #sometimes JKR writes brilliance she doesn't seem to comprehend #snape #occlumency #harry potter

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bisexualwannabewriter · 3 years

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“This is killing me” Part Twelve - Spencer Reid x female reader

Summary : You’re working for the BAU, and Dr Spencer Reid is your best friend on the team. Actually, he’s your best friend, pErIoD. The thing is, you’re not supposed to feel that way about your best friend. He makes you feel some type of way, everyone in the team can see it, except you and him.

In the previous chapter, you put all of your focus on a new case involving a disorganized unsub, with an obsession with conspiracy theories and the existence of “lizard people” within our society. Spencer tried to tell you something about his date with officer Maggie Rowe, and Derek even tried to encourage you to listen to what he had to say. In addition to everything, you overheard a conversation between Spence and Maggie, that left you dubious : the both of them kissed, but it didn’t seem like things were going well between them...

You can find all the previous chapters here.

Chapter Summary : Your hard work has paid off. On the trip back to Quantico though, you and Spencer finally have the most honest conversation you’ve had so far. Your relationship takes a new turn, but things can never go too smoothly between the two of you. Still, after some clarification from Derek, hope starts to creep in...

TW : Violence, death, mental illness, drug use, conspiracy theories, exhaustion, anxiety. It’s fluffy, it’s angsty, it’s romantic, it’s clumsy, the tension is crazy. We’re getting there, people. Slowly but surely.

(Not my GIF)

You caught the unsub in a stupid way, really. He just killed at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Sometimes it happened. You could work as hard as you wanted, know the killer better than yourself... they would just leave one body, in a way that was even more sloppy than the others, and you could catch your man. One mistake, and that was it. It was a good thing, of course, but in situations like this, you never knew what the unsub's next move was going to be. They didn't even know it, until they did it. Your unsub fit in every category of an unorganized killer : below average intelligence, check. Socially inadequate, check. Worked an ungrateful job near the crime scenes, check. Living alone, check. Check, check, check. Your profile, your whole theory on his obsession with lizard people : check. You knew you would have caught him one way or another, as Spencer had managed to narrow down the places where the unsub could have been living, given the places of the last murders. But you caught him thanks to dumb luck. Gabriel Calahan was just a paranoid schizophrenic, whose mental illness had been exacerbated with severe drug use as a teenager. He believed some higher power was ordering him to uncover the truth about those controlling reptilians, who were going to lead us into chaos.

///

On the jet back to Quantico, you sat alone. You needed some peace and quiet. You were exhausted. You really worked your ass off on this case. Derek seemed a bit worried about you, while Hotch and Prentiss were pretty happy with your efforts. Spencer seemed restless, and the bags under his eyes were even darker than usual. His mind was a wonder that worked in mysterious ways, but you could tell he was just really agitated these days. Not telling you what he wanted to tell you, probably took more efforts and energy from him than an average person could possibly understand. You wanted him to go into a peaceful sleep, to forget about what was troubling him. Even in times like this, you just wanted him to be okay. Things were probably complicated for him right now. You somehow managed to get over the fact that he kissed Maggie, and tried to focus on the rest of the chat. It was wrong to listen to people's private conversations, and you lacked context. What they were talking about could mean a hundred different things, and you would know soon enough anyway. The rest of the team was slowly drifting off to sleep, and you were trying to as well, but you could feel Spencer nervously glance at you pretty regularly. At some point, you just gave up, let out a deep sigh, opened your eyes, and motioned him to come join you on the couch.

He sat heavily next to you. You just stayed together in silence for a moment. You didn't want him to start to talk. Because that would be it. You would be having the conversation you had been dreading for a while. Eventually, he had to start talking, and you felt your heart beating like crazy in your chest. "Go ahead Spence, break my heart." was all you could think about. Instead...

"Listen y/n, I know this isn't ideal. But... you have been avoiding me for a while now and... I don't even know if you want me in your life or not anymore. I just... we texted over the holidays and everything, and we hugged like nothing happened when we got back to work but... Things aren't... Things have been weird for a while now, and... I hate it. I hate to see us drift apart like this." You were listening to every single word that was coming out of his mouth as carefully as you could, like someone waiting for their verdict at court. You felt like you were going to get the death penalty somehow. He paused, before starting to talk again. "I don't know what to think anymore. I've been trying to understand, but it seems like my brain... can't function properly when it comes to you." You were going to die from a heart attack, right here and there. On the outside, you tried to put on your best poker face, but hearing Spencer utter those words made your eyes betray you, you were sure of it. You felt exactly like this when it came to him too. How could two people feel things so similarly, and still not understand one another ? He looked so nervous, as he was looking for the right words to say exactly what his heart had been meaning to tell you. " I guess I'm just... I think... Jesus, why is this so complicated ? Just... say something, y/n. Anything."

You honestly didn't know what to say. He said so much and so little at the same time. What was there for you to say ?

"I... I don't know what you want from me Spence... I know things have been weird, and I'm... I'm sorry, okay ? I've been acting strange for the past couple of months, I know it. I just... Of course I want you in my life. And I hate that we don't even know how to talk to each other anymore... You said you wanted to talk about your date ? What does it have to do with anything ?" You tried the innocent card, but Spencer wasn't biting. "Come on y/n... no more mind games. I was trying to get there slowly but... You're not giving me much of an alternative, are you ?" He stared at you, more directly than he had in a while. You hadn't noticed, but he got closer too. You had to fight the urge to drag his face to yours to kiss him feverishly. He was so right, your minds just wouldn't work properly around each other. Something about the way you were looking at him might have given him some newly found determination, because he carried on without letting you out of his sight at any moment, shifting his gaze between your tired eyes and your slightly parted lips. The nervousness was still there, but he was going to say whatever it was he wanted to say, no matter the consequences now.

"As you know, I went on a date with Maggie. It was great. I wanted to have a good time with her. I really did. Everything worked out just fine. It was almost too cliche, how smoothly the evening went." You felt your heart sink in your chest. Yup, there it was, you thought. The end of all hope. "She was wearing this really pretty red dress, and at first, all I could think about was how you have a really pretty red dress too, that you don't put on nearly as often as you should. But then I thought, hey, you're on a date with her, with Maggie. Y/n even seemed happy for you, even though you thought she kind of hated her. So focus on her, focus on Maggie. And I did. I tried." He paused, looking for something in your eyes. Were you supposed to understand where he was getting at with this story ? "I... we kissed. Okay ? I kissed her, after I walked her back home. It was really romantic. The sky was filled with stars, and there was a nice little breeze... I- It was perfect." You couldn't help it, but you wanted to cry. You felt like you couldn't breathe anymore. Why was he telling you this ? It took eveything you had in you to keep listening to him as calmly as possible. "And then... I don't know why, I just... I couldn't... You're not supposed to think so much, when you're kissing someone, are you ? It just makes sense, and you go with the flow. And so... I thought I could kiss her, touch her, and hold her. I wanted to try to take my mind off of... things. But it felt... wrong ? It just felt weird, like something wasn't... what it was supposed to be ?" And then, the hope subtly came back.

You saw how hard it was for him to express himself. What was the point of all of this ? What was he really saying ? You wanted to scream that question, to just demand an answer from him. Your emotions were all over the place. He had a date with Maggie. It was perfect. She was wearing a little red dress, that looked like the one you put on, when you went out of your way to impress him when you went out sometimes. But he had a hard time focusing on the present moment, even as he kissed her, because... ? "What are you saying Spence ?" you murmured as softly as you could, contrasting with the inner turmoil you were facing. He tilted his head to the side, looking almost desperate, silently asking with his eyes why you couldn't understand the true meaning of what he was trying to say.

Behind you, you felt Hotch and JJ move in their seat. The jet was almost back at Quantico. Spencer saw them, and you saw him slouch a little. He looked more exhausted than ever. The determination in his eyes seemed to have abandoned him. "Nothing, y/n. Forget it. I had a date with Maggie, we kissed, but it didn't work out in the end. It's okay. It doesn't matter now." It mattered. You saw how much the whole conversation meant to him. You thought you could understand now. You felt like it was starting to make sense. But you had to hear him say it, otherwise you would never truly believe it. "Spence..." you tried to call, as he stood up. "We're nearly home, and we need some rest. I'm gonna get my things now."

When the jet landed, Spencer barely acknowledged your presence. He went back home as quietly as possible, without letting anyone know he was leaving. Derek helped you with your luggage "You look like you've seen a ghost. I don't understand, didn't he tell you about his date with Maggie ?" You hesitated : "He tried... I don't really know what he was trying to say." He gave you a soft smile and answered "Yes you do y/n. Come on, let me drive you home."

The ride home was pretty quiet. You were both tired. When you got there, Morgan and you sat in silence for a moment, before he told you : "Listen, I know me and Garcia have done enough already when it comes to the two of you. I don't want to overstep on your boundaries. But I feel like you guys just need a little extra push, otherwise it'll take ages." You laughed a little "I thought you said we were going to find our way back to each other at one point or another, no matter how much time it would take ?" He chuckled "Yeah yeah, I know what I said, but listen... what I understood from this entire situation, is that kissing that woman made him realise just how much he wanted you. The only problem with her, no matter how perfect the whole date was, was that she wasn't you. He thought he could be with someone else, he thought he could give her a chance. After all, you showed him you supported his decision, thumbs up and all that bullshit, right ? He kissed her, felt like shit, tried to kiss her some more to get over that weird feeling, started to think about you, got into it, but then she said something, and that threw him off." You were raising your eyebrows at him, questioning what he was reporting. "Hey, me and pretty boy talk a lot, alright ? And what he doesn't tell me, I understand. I see right through him. The rest is just me being good at my job. The only way the kiss kind of worked, was if he was thinking about you. Trust me, I know that. I've been there. You can try and pretend for a little while, until it doesn't work anymore, and you end up feeling like shit because the poor girl doesn't deserve that." You just stayed there, numb with fatigue and the overwhelming nature of what Derek was telling you. You told him about the conversation you overheard between the two of them "I think she was calling him to try and understand why it didn't work out between them, even after that perfect date. Knowing Spencer, he didn't want to hurt her feelings, and he didn't tell her what was really going on." It wasn't like you did either. What WAS really going on ? Morgan answered "Yeah, he vaguely told me about it. My guess ? She knows it's about you. She just needed to hear him say it. Just like you do. But deep down, you know what this all means. You know what's going on." After a little moment, you admitted "You're right. And I knew what he was trying to say, but I just... froze. I can't really... fully comprehend any of it right now. I think I just need some sleep." You paused, before breathing out with a soft smile : "He tried... he really did..." Morgan answered "Now it's your time to try, pretty lady." You smiled at him, not entirely sure whether that whole conversation was a dream or not, and headed back home to get some restorative sleep.

Chapter Thirteen is here !

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

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This is similar to one of my previous posts, but it has some new elements so I’m copying it over. This is the second of my posts on the core themes of each book in The Stormlight Archive. The first, on Rhythm of War, is here.

This post contains Rhythm of War spoilers.

Stormlight Archive Themes - Redemption in Oathbringer

If I pretend I didn’t do those things, it means I can’t have grown to become someone else. It cannot be a journey if it doesn’t have a beginning.

Redemption is a theme running through the entirety of the Stormlight Archive, but it is strongest and most central in Oathbringer- not only in Dalinar’s character arc but also in Szeth’s, in the start of Venli’s redemption arc, and - in a negative manner - in the arcs of Moash and Amaram. Oathbringer also, to my mind, encapsulates the philosophy of the entire series regarding redemption in one scene of striking symbolism.

The idea of redemption is Oathbringer is often paired, in analyses, with that of accepting responsibility for your actions - indeed, I almost titled this essay “redemption and responsibility.” And that is absolutely a necessary element that distinguishes the successful redemption arcs from the failed ones. But in thinking about it I realized that I had things in the wrong order - for both Dalinar and Venli, mercy is is what enables them to take responsibility, not the result of them doing so. They are both able to grapple with their actions and take responsibility for them, and this is what enables their redemption arcs, but in both cases it is a consequence of them already having been shown grace before they exhibited any change in behaviour.

When Dalinar visits the Nightwatcher, he has been a brutal conqueror for 23 years and then a drunk for the last five and a half. His sole redeeming characteristic is that he knows in his soul what he needs and it isn’t power or strength or to return to the man he was before Evi’s death, or the ability to blame someone else for his deed. He knows he’s guilty, and he begs for forgiveness. And what Cultivation gives him is not precisely that, but the chance to become someone better. It is crucial to remember that, while he forgets his actions and forgets Evi, that is not what asked for; his goal was not to be free of the knowledge of what he did, but the chance for it not to be the end of his story; the chance to be something other than the monster he knew he was.

When he rejects Odium’s offer to take his pain, on the battlefield outside Thaylen City, it is without any expectation of forgiveness or of freedom from his crushing guilt. Evi’s forgiveness is not something he has remotely earned or deserved, by that action or any of his actions; it is pure grace. When we talk about redemption arcs, “deserving” has nothing to do with it. Dalinar didn’t remotely deserve his. He knows this, and it’s why he’s ready to hold out the possibility of redemption to Amaram and, in ROW, to Taravangian - because if Dalinar can be redeemed, then the door is not closed to anyone. The difference is not in worthiness of redemption, but willingness to accept it.

And this is also seen in the beginning of Venli’s redemption arc. Timbre finds her and stays with her long before she’s demonstrated any positive qualities that would subgest fitness for being a Radiant. In the context of ROW, knowing that Eshonai bonded Timbre just before her death, I believe it’s because Eshonai asked her spren to look out for her sister. As with Cultivation’s gift to Dalinar, it is Venli’s bond with Timbre that enables her to become a better person, to make herself accountable to her people for her actions, to begin taking personal risks to do what is right.

Something similar is also present in Elhokar’s arc. Kaladin saves him before he’s done anything substantive to change, when Elhokar has only shown the first beginnings of recognition that he is not the person or the king that he should be or wants to be. He is capable of the change he exhibits in Oathbringer, the genuine humility and desire to serve his people, because Kaladin’s rescue gave him the chance to become that person. It’s not truly a failed or prevented redemption arc. He died, but he died trying to be better, and that matters.

The difference with Amaram, that prevents his redemption arc, isn’t that he’s uniquely evil. (Dalinar has also killed his own men, in battle-lust rather than in cold blood.) What prevents it is the rejection of the truth he knows in his soul: that he has done something horrifically evil, that he is in the wrong.

“No, he’ll never forgive me.”

“The bridgeman?”

“Not him.” Amaram tapped his chest. “Him.”

Amaram’s rationalizations during his fight with Kaladin are the consequence of him refusing the knowledge of who he is, or trying to escape from it. Ironically, Amaram previously put up quite a good pretence of willingness to accept responsibility for his own actions - he told Dalinar that after the war was over he’d be willing to stand trial for what he did to Kaladin and his men. I believe he meant it - but what he wanted, like Taravangian, was to be seen as, or see himself as, some kind of martyr, sacrificing his morality for the greater good. Which is a very different thing from the recognition that you’re wrong.

Moash’s arc is also one away from accepting responsibility - in his first chapter in Oathbringer, he feels terribly guilty for betraying Kaladin and recognizes thst he was wrong, and then he moves further and further away from this in every subsequent chapter, until Odium’s whispered lies - What happened at the Shattered Plains wasn’t my fault. I was pushed into it. I can’t be blamed. - begin to take hold. When he gives up his pain to Odium, he remains driven by the desperate need to hide from his guilt, and his campaign in ROW to drive Kaladin to suicide is driven in large part by the need to prove to himself that giving up hus pain was the only possible decision by driving Kaladin to make the same one. As long as Kaladin lives, he is proof of an alternative path. (Yes, a twisted death wish that regards this as mercy is also part of it.)

Moash, like Amaram, and Dalinar, and Venli, does receive an offer of redemption undeserved, not in Oathbringer but in the first part of ROW, in Renarin’s vision of him as someone who protects rather than destroys. He responds with terror - it can’t be possible, it needs to not be possible, because if another course is possible then his actions are not inevitable and he is responsible for them. (I know this vision has been compared to part of the magic system the Mistborn books, but to me it’s far more intuitive for it to be the Surge of Illumination, which we’ve already seen used by Shallan in a similar way in her drawings of Bluth, Gaz, and Elhokar, among others.) He spends the rest of the book trying desperately, and unsuccessfully, to extinguish that possibility.

And finally we have Szeth’s redemption arc. Szeth has never been in doubt that he is morally responsible for his actions, even when he did not concieve of himself as having a choice about them. I see his arc in the prior books as something much more nuanced than “just following orders” - that’s an excuse used by people who want to get out of making hard decisions, who prefer comfort and complacency. Szeth very much did not want to be in his position as assassin - he loathed it, and himself, and was willing to do anything within his power to avoid it; after killing Gavilar, he actively seeks out a life in obscurity as menial slave, concealing his abilities as far as he can, because that means he won’t be used to kill. It’s a life Kaladin spent years trying to escape from, and it’s Szeth’s idea of a best-case scenario. Szeth is in the position of desperately wanting choice, but conceiving of it as a privilege that he no longer possesses. I thimk this is connected to the meaning of Truthless - the underlying concept/rationale for the oathstone seems to be that literally anyone - any random person in the world - is capable of malimg better choices than you, so they, and not you, get to decide what you should do with your life. It’s near the end of his arc in Oathbringer - But it had always been nothing more than a rock - that he at last recognizes that he did have a choice about his actions.

Szeth, in his arc in Oathbringer, is very much motivated by the desire to do what is right and make right decisions, thpugh he is very out of practice at making any decisions at all. In the first test of the Skybreakers, he perceives that there’s something more important going pn that just chasing after wretched criminals, and that the warden’s immiseration of them is the worst crime of all. But it’s the second Skybreaker training session, with the practice fight using the balls of coloured dye, that gives us what I think is the heart of the theme of redemption both in Oathbringer and in the Stormlight Archive as a whole.

The contest feels a little out of place and low-drama - the recruits’ first test is killing criminals, and their second one is a game? But I believe it is absolutely crucial via the metaphor it communicates. Szeth starts out diing very well in the game - no one has hit him yet - and is actually enjoying himself for the first time in many, many years. And then he thinks this: He could not be happy. He was only a tool of retribution. Not redemption, for he dared not believe in such. If he was to be forced to keep living, it should not be a live that anyone should ever envy.

Other characters either accept both responsibility and redemption, or reject both. Szeth accepts responsibility, accepts guilt, tries to do right, even without the belief that redemption is possible.

And immediately after thinking that, he gets hit with the dye for the first time. He was doing well in the game when he was enjoying himself; now, when he rejects the possibility of redemption, he stops doing so well, and ultimately loses. Almost as if the universe were trying to tell him something.

And then, when he is bombarded with dye, runs out of Stormlight, and falls into the Purelake at the end of the exercise, he realizes something. It’s not actually about how many stains you have. He washes them off in the Purelake. And he wins the game.

To me, especially knowing Brandon’s religious background (and being a Christian myself), this is extraordinarily powerful symbolism of baptism, of the washing away of sin and entry into new life. It is stating the theme of redemption for the whole series. How many stains you have, what you’ve done in the past, doesn’t matter for redemption; what matters is whether you’re willing to accept redemption, accept the mercy that is offered, choose to be a new person. There is no such thing as being beyond redemption. The heroes of the story are not some perfect ideal, not the ones who manage to pick up very few stains. They are the ones who are willing to recognize that they have them and to wash them off; to recognize the wrong they have done and to change.

#brandon sanderson #the stormlight archive #rhythm of war #row spoilers #rhythm of war spoilers #dalinar #szeth #venli #moash #elhokar #redemption

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jamestrmtx · 3 years

Text

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Thirteen | Waterfall (Part 2 of 4)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

You keep repeating to yourself this is nothing but a simple and friendly outing, though it's easy to forget with how insistent Frisk and Undyne have been in terms of suggesting the opposite.

The feeling's made worse when you get down from the ride and see how grand and overwhelming the place you've been invited to is. In comparison to the warm and calm ambiance of a regular bakery or a small coffee shop, you're met with people clad in semiformal outfits and a refined atmosphere -- similar to that of a five-star restaurant. What reminds you this is just a place for eating desserts is being greeted at the front by a humbler-dressed, white-furred rabbit monster labeling himself as the second owner of the shop, the name 'Roger' spelled out on his name tag. He greets you and Sans in, and offers you a pamphlet.

"I remember you," he says, facing Sans with a smile. "You're from Snowdin, aren't you? It's nice to see you've found a date up here!" The excitement in his tone warns he's about to ramble. "It's so refreshing to see other people like us! Honestly, we… We made this shop hoping more would show up, but you two are the second couple I've had the knowledge of serving here so far!"

"Like us?" you ask, facing the monster. "Is your partner human?"

"Yes!" he takes your hand while his nose twitches with pent-up energy. "People always come here talking a little, well... mean about it, so I always have to stay on-watch. The first couple that came here got scared off by one of those customers, but now my girlfriend makes sure to keep an eye out!" He lets go, apologizing after. "I get too excited every time I see pairs like you walk in together, but they always tell me they're just friends! And while I get that, really it's... It's such a joy to have you guys here!"

"We're actually not-"

"I get what you mean." In the spur of the moment, you interrupt Sans when he tries to say the truth. Roger's excitement is too bright to rain on, resulting in you wanting to play along. With how he is, you're sure the skeleton's not going to let you live it down, but one look at the hope in the other monster's eyes is enough to make your heart turn to mush. "This is actually our first date, but we're getting there."

Roger smiles, though it soon fades as he looks at the approaching line of customers from afar. Then, he looks to the shop to see the ones who entered in before you have already sat down. "Sorry for holding you back so much," he adds, huffing as an apologetic look makes its way through. "I try really hard not to get too excited about this kind of stuff, but again... It's so nice to have you guys here!" He points over to the counter, smile reappearing. "Go ahead and stop by the counter, alright? You can order to-go, or sit down, if you want to stay!"

"Thank you," you reply, returning his smile.

You make way into the shop with Sans by your side, avoiding eye contact all the way to the counter. You already know he has a comment on the ready, so it's not much of a surprise when you hear him speak up right before making it there. "So," he says, chuckling. "First date, huh?" He walks a little closer to your side, trying to get you to look at him, but failing. "...Was that meant as a lie, or are you hintin' at somethin' else there, pal?"

"I'm not sure what to think of this myself, but…" You stop halfway, not wanting to admit your own wants just yet. "In the end, I only did it 'cause I couldn't bring myself to get his hopes down." A pink-furred bunnywoman takes your order. The reply you'd given Sans by text is then worded out by him, along with his own order and Frisk's favourite dessert to-go. While you have your wallet close by, you're not told to pay yet, and are instead led to an empty table, where you're both left to wait. You thank the monster as she leaves and go back to your conversation with Sans as soon as she's gone from your sight. "But even if this was a date, I still don't think I'd be able to accept having another one after today's."

At that, his curiosity rises, shown by the subtle flicker in his irises. "What do you mean?"

You avoid his gaze by toying with the cutlery left on the table. "I need to focus more on raising Frisk before going anywhere with my love life."

"Why?" There's honest confusion in his question despite how blunt and intrusive it is without any proper context, something he catches onto by using another one to elaborate his meaning better. "So you haven't dated anyone ever since that day?"

You nod while thanking a waiter, this one a brown bear dressed in more formal wear; he sets two drinks down -- one for you and one for your company. "I haven't, and to be honest I'd…" Your chest feels tight as so does your throat, both of these almost trying to distract you away from what you're about to say. "I'd like to keep it that way for as long as it's needed." You try to stop yourself from saying anything else, though the coziness of the shop and Sans's presence give you an entry for letting out what's been kept hidden for as long as that day came around. "I need to be there for Frisk, and I need to be more careful of who I date from now on." You're not sure what else's making you open up so much, but you don't exactly stop yourself from continuing with your thoughts. "You see, I… I really don't want Frisk to grow up in an environment full of constant fights and disagreements."

As soon as you catch yourself, your brain makes a stop, yet your mouth continues to pour out what's making your heart strain as much as it is currently. "There's already enough of that in the world waiting out there for Frisk when they grow up, so the least I can do is make it a little easier for them right now." Your mind hates you at this point, though you can feel the rest of your body grow lighter, tension releasing itself from it. "That's why… why I didn't really try to stop Jerry when he started to drift away; when visits became just once a month, rather than twice a week. We didn't really get along well after we (had/adopted) Frisk, so that's why… That's why I figured it was best to let him go."

When you hear your voice turn weak, you stop, mind sending endless comments of disapproval into your thoughts. You flinch when you have a napkin offered out to you, but you take it when you see Sans nod, still waiting for you. He then pulls back quickly, still avoiding your touch. "So, what I'm gettin' at here's that you feel just as responsible as Frisk did over what happened that day," he says, voice low and tone solemn. "Or at least, that's what it looks like."

Sans stops and looks behind you. The same waiter from before appears next to you and places your dessert first and later his; once more, you thank him and wait until he leaves the table. When he's gone, your companion speaks up again, setting the plate aside to focus on you more. "Don't wanna assume things right off the bat, but…" He takes a pause, picks up a fork, and pierces it through the pastry. Then, he faces you, continuing with, "You kinda feel like you've gotta make up for that? Limiting yourself that much ain't really the best option there is, though."

You hum, face away, and pick up a portion off your dessert to distract yourself from him. "I just don't trust myself enough to make the right decision again." You take the first bite; the sweet's flavour helps you with the situation.

The harmony of cutlery clicking and outside chatter blend into the background as your conversation with him carries on. While you listen, you take another bite off your dessert to make matters less tense. "Y'know, if this helps, most of us think you did a good job raising the kid." He stops again and brings the cup closer to him. "If you look at it this way, you helped with lettin' 'em make their own choices and decide how to approach monsters back then. In a sense, we're all connected one way or the other -- kinda like how you start off as their teacher, and then take them to an actual school where they'll continue to grow as a person." He sways the drink around and looks down at it for a moment. "And even if it's possible for a kid their age to start shapin' their own mindset and decide what's good, what's alright, and what's not, most of it's still based off what they've been taught so far. They're not fully in control of who they are yet, and that's why it's often a huge responsibility to take -- parenting, teaching, and all that."

He stops again to take a swing from his drink. The view of his skull contorting to allow him a sip was one surprising to watch the first time you saw him and Papyrus eating some of Toriel's vegetable stew the day of the blackout, and even more intriguing the time you invited him over for a meal after finishing with your errands at the school supply. Now that you're seeing it for a third time though, you focus far too much on it, yet you try to brush it off and pay more attention to him. There's plenty of questions present in regard to how monsters worked the way they did -- each different in their own way, given how many types there are -- but you're not quite sure if it would be proper to bring them out so suddenly right now.

"Basically," he continues, setting the drink down. "When you're at that young of an age, you don't have a full understanding of who you are, and that's why it's so important for lil' kids to have good, or at least decent examples for them to follow." He faces you. How direct his gaze feels makes you look away, feeling embarrassment burn your face. "And so pretty much based on how Frisk acted during their time at the Underground, I can tell they've been raised well." His gaze drifts off behind you again, though there's a different look to it this time. In contrast to the one he'd given earlier to acknowledge the waiter's arrival, there's caution present in his irises. "What I'm sayin' here is: you're a good parent, (Y/N). And if you feel like you have to restrain yourself from livin' life, you really shouldn't. You're-"

"Hey, Kevin," a man says, voice coming from behind you. "What did the skeleton say to the hog?"

The strangeness behind his gaze makes more sense now; the voice that sounds from behind you's far too annoying for it not to belong to trouble.

You hear laughter and another voice reply with, "I don't know, Brayan. What?"

Brayan fakes a swoon and attempts to mimic what you can only assume is Sans's voice, saying, "Oh, you're the exact opposite of me -- all fat and no bones. What a catch!"

More laughter.

"Wait, wait," Kevin says, voice now heard from closer by. "I've- I've gotta good follow-up to that one." Even more obnoxious laughter's heard from him, and a not-so adorable snort comes from Brayan. "I might be fat, but you're the real pig here -- liking me only because of those weird tastes of yours!"

"What's bothering you, mi chicharrón*? You're my type. I'm only saying the truth!

"And I'm done with you, you bonehead!"

One of the two men emerge next to Sans and attempts to push him off his chair to follow-up to their impromptu play, with enough flamboyance and sass to make Shakespeare proud.

You step in, grabbing by the arm who you assume's Kevin and keeping him from finishing his joke. He freezes, though he soon recovers, a grin replacing his surprise. "Hey look, Brayan," he calls out. "Piggy's all angry now!"

Done too quick for you to react, you feel something cold pour over your chest and look to your left to see Brayan with a grin on his face and with an empty glass left on his hand. "Cool off," he says, laughing.

Before you can process it, something trips his feet and sends his donkey to the ground.

Both your drink and the skeleton's end up thrown on him as a familiar blue aura surrounds both of the glasses.

"Wh- What the hell, man?" he shouts, flustered. "Who did that?!"

The human owner of the establishment appears right behind him and brings him into an arm lock. She's just as formally dressed as the bear waiter; a long red dress matches with her lipstick and does the opposite with her light skin and bright ginger hair. The name ‘Jessica’ is spelled neatly on her name tag. "Sounds to me like you're the one who needs to cool off first," she says, pulling him to his feet. Her teeth are clenched and a frown shapes her mouth. "Tell your friend he needs to follow me if he doesn't want the same treatment." She drags both men along with her, leaving you alone with Sans -- plus an audience too big for your liking.

The brown bear makes his appearance again. A mess of apologies exit his mouth as he rushes over with two new drinks and a towel hung over his shoulder. Sans helps him by taking the latter and approaching your side.

"You okay?" he asks. Carefully, he sets the towel over you, hands moving stiff and awkward when he tries to wrap it around your torso. You bite back a smile at that, his current reticence helping you forget about Brayan and Kevin's actions. Even with how daring he was while flirting, he was inevitably trying his best not to cross unwanted lines with you. "Was it hot?"

Stop.

That word repeats itself over and over in your mind as you use the towel to pull him closer to you, his hands still holding onto it. You take them, let him hold onto your waist, and allow your smile to shine through, heart pounding all the while. "No," you reply, grinning. "But you worrying about me kinda is." You kiss his cheekbone, murmuring a 'thank you, Sans' close to his ear cavity.

The crowd goes wild, whistles and woots being let out as you keep your lips there for a moment, right until you feel his skull turn hot to the touch. When you pull back, his irises are wide, jumpy, and bright, these trying their best to look away from you. He lets go of the towel, steps back, and sits down on his chair while the crowd settles out.

"Uh..." he mutters, short of breath. "No problem, (Y/N)."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

*mi (my) chicharrón = Fried pork belly or rinds; a pork dish/snack originating from Hispanic countries.

In this case, it's used as a nickname, like honey, sugar, dear, and all that!

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

@candle-creeps

#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

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ahtohallan-calling · 4 years

Text

chapter 24 of don’t read the last page is here!

masterpost

[kristanna / m / multichap / modern au with actress!anna and vetstudent!kristoff]

They all crowded around Anna’s shoulder, waiting with bated breath as she finished choosing a filter for the photo. “Wait,” Kristoff said suddenly, “should we check with Lena about this?”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Fuck Lena,” she said cheerfully, and pressed post.

---

It was, all things considered, not a particularly interesting day when it happened; it had been a scorcher of a late-July afternoon, and when Kristoff came home from the clinic he found Anna in the backyard lounging in a beach chair she’d finally caved and bought at Target when she could no longer get comfortable lying on a towel spread over the grass.

“Hi, honey,” she said around a mouthful of an orange push pop; the empty box had fallen over by her chair.

He laughed and leaned down to kiss her, setting his palm against the swell of her stomach. “Good thing I bought another box of those on my way home.

Anna thought nothing of it when the baby kicked in response; he’d done so for a while now at the sound of his father’s voice, but Kristoff froze, his face only an inch away from hers as his eyes widened.

Worried, she tilted her head. “Is everything alright?”

He swallowed hard. “Did you feel that?”

“Well, yeah, I’ve been feeling a lot of-- wait. Did you?”

He nodded, slowly, and as they stared at each other, stunned, another kick came, sharp enough this time that Anna yelped in surprise. “Okay, you had to have felt that one,” she groused.

Kristoff nodded again, faster this time, as a laugh spilled from his lips. “It’s him,” he said, his eyes still wide. “I-- that’s him, Anna.”

Her eyes softened. “You know, we really ought to think of something to call him. I’m worried he’s going to get offended.”

A third kick came in response, and they both took it as a sign of agreement.

---

Sources say Westergaard has spent the past six weeks hiding out in his summer home in the Hamptons. When asked for comment, his representative told Buzzfeed, “Mr. Westergaard’s previous remarks were taken out of context and twisted by the media. He will be starting an anti cyberbullying foundation in his name. He asks that you respect his privacy during this difficult time.”

Sven looked up from the article Kristoff had printed and handed to him. “Shit, how the hell can anybody have a difficult time at a mansion in the Hamptons?”

“Show a little sympathy. The man’s just had to face the consequences of his actions for the first time in his life,” Kristoff said with a smirk.

“Ought to hang out with a pregnant woman more often, he’d learn his lesson really quickly about the consequences of-- oh, hey, Anna,” Sven said with a grimace. “You, uh, you forgiven me yet for getting onions on the pizza?”

She scowled and crossed her arms, her eyes shooting daggers at him across the room, and he sighed and picked up his phone to order a new one.

---

“Anna?”

She yelped in surprise and tugged the shower curtain back, coming face to face with a frowning Kristoff. “Jesus, you scared me. What’s wrong?”

“Sorry-- it’s just…” He frowned and held up his phone. “How does Twitter know I’m a vet?”

The bubbles in her hair forgotten, she leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “What? It’s just a picture of us leaving Chipotle.”

“Huh? Oh-- shit, sorry, let me scroll down to the replies.”

He pushed his glasses further up his nose as he did so before raising the phone screen again. “Look, they’re all sending me hamsters.”

She knew he was genuinely worried, and she was sympathetic, really she was, but Anna burst into laughter. “A hamster eating a banana.”

“Yeah, and they’re not supposed to even eat that much, so the bad pet ownership is bad enough already, but-- anyway, that’s beside the point, I--” He scowled. “Anna, I really don’t think this is funny.”

“It’s just a meme, Kristoff.”

“But I don’t get it.”

“Look at the picture of us again, and then the hamster, and then get back to me,” she said, yanking the shower curtain closed again.

“But--”

“If you still haven’t gotten the joke by the time I figure out how to shave my ankles, then I’ll come explain.”

Twenty minutes later, when she emerged wrapped in a towel, she peered into the bedroom and saw Kristoff sitting on the bed, his face bright red, as he stared down at his phone. “Solve the mystery yet?” she asked drily as she dug through his t-shirt drawer for something to wear.

“My, uh, my little brother, he uh...he knows about memes, so I texted him, and I...uh…”

She laughed again as she finished getting dressed. “Did he laugh at you, too?”

He groaned and ran a hand over his face. “Pretty sure he’s still laughing.”

---

“Anna! Anna! Miss Arendelle!” She rolled her eyes and tightened the drawstring of her hoodie. Kristoff put an arm protectively over her shoulders as they continued hurrying out of the doctor’s office. “Miss Arendelle, please, if I could just--”

“You can not.”

“We just want to know if it’s a boy or a--”

She turned on her heel and said drily, “It’s a mountain troll, obviously.” She gestured irritably at Kristoff. “See? Takes after his father.”

The next morning, she woke up to the ding of a text from Sam. Maybe you really are better off being your own PR person.

A link to another Buzzfeed article was attached. Curious, she tapped it.

Watch Anna Arendelle’s Hilarious Comeback To A Nosy Photographer!

“Would you look at that,” she mumbled under her breath.

Next to her, Kristoff stirred and rolled over. “Look at what?” he mumbled.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep, mountain man.”

---

Anna came home from a meeting one night and caught Kristoff piled up in the recliner reading one of her pregnancy books. To her surprise, his face was ghost-white. “Kris,” she asked, concerned, “what’s wrong? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“Just, you know, reading about the labor part.”

“Is it grossing you out that bad?” She couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re a vet, I’m sure you’ve seen worse. Especially with this stuff.”

He looked up then, and to her surprise, his eyes were solemn behind his glasses. “It’s different when you’re picturing your fiancee.”

All the air in her lungs escaped her in a quiet oh. She crossed quickly to the bed and climbed up, crawling towards him. He set the book on the nightstand and looked up at her, worry still in his eyes, as she settled her knees on either side of his lap. Out of habit, he set one hand on the swell of her stomach, the faintest of smiles appearing on his face when a little foot nudged against his hand.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart,” she said softly, settling her own hands on his shoulders. “It’ll all be fine.”

“Sometimes it’s not, though.”

She winced, and immediately he was apologetic. “I-- shit, sorry, I’m not trying to scare you, it’s just--”

“No, no, you’re right,” she reassured him, gently squeezing his shoulders. “Sometimes it’s not. But it will be. You know me, I’m too stubborn to let anything go wrong.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

She bit her lip; she had never seen him like this, never known him to be so nervous he couldn’t be comforted. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. “What part is scaring you?” she asked, her voice low.

“I don’t want to see you hurting. Especially when I know I can’t do anything to help.”

“You can help. Just having you in there will do so much.”

“But it won’t stop it,” he said, his voice forlorn, and she kissed his cheek, letting her lips linger there as she nuzzled her nose against his temple.

“No. But that’s what epidurals are for.”

“What if--” he said before trailing off, not daring to even give voice to the words.

“Kristoff Bjorgman, you listen to me,” she said, pulling back and waiting to continue until he reluctantly met her gaze. “I have no doubt in my mind that everything will be fine. Okay? I just-- I just won’t let anything bad happen.”

“But you can’t--”

“Have you ever seen anything stop me from doing what I want before?”

She felt him shake his head no.

“So nothing will stop me this time. I’m going to have this baby-- our baby-- and we’re both going to be fine, and you will too, and when we get to hold him, then you’ll forget you were ever worried about this at all.”

---

Anna and the interviewer both threw back their heads with a laugh as Mattias finished telling them both about his first time at the Oscars and how he’d failed to recognize the man who’d just won Best Actor-- twice.

“How about you, Miss Arendelle?” the interviewer asked as Anna finished wiping the last tear of laughter from her eye. “How do you feel about going to your first Oscars next year?”

She felt her cheeks coloring. “Oh, well, we’ll see if we even get there.”

The interviewer laughed. “Modest as always. There’s already lots of Oscar buzz around the movie and your performance in particular.”

Anna shifted awkwardly in her seat. “Um. Sort of like puking, if I’m honest.”

That got them both laughing again. “Speaking of puking, though,” the interviewer said cheerfully, “what’s it like being a first-time mother and a first-time movie star simultaneously?”

“Amazing and terrifying and wonderful and just...so many things all at once,” she admitted. “I really couldn’t do it without my support network, especially my fiance. It’s just...yeah. I can’t thank everybody enough.”

“Speaking of your fiance...are you willing to share your thoughts on where in the world Hans Westergaard has run off to?”

Her lips curled up into a smirk.

---

“Remind me to get more tomato juice at Trader Joe’s today,” Anna called as she pored through another script that had been sent her way-- another period drama, but this one, at least, wouldn’t involve squeezing her recently-pregnant body into a corset.

“We don’t need to,” he replied as he came into the kitchen carrying a basket of freshly dried towels. “You’ve been going through it so fast this week I set up one of those Amazon weekly delivery things. There’ll be three gallons of it on the porch in--” He glanced at his watch. “An hour. Wanna help me fold all this shit and watch HGTV?”

She stared at him for a long moment as he passed her, absentmindedly whistling one of the songs she’d driven him crazy with that winter, and walked into the living room.

It occurred to her, all of a sudden, that some things were worth waiting for-- but that sometimes, there was no longer any worth in waiting.

“Kris?” she said as he set the basket down.

“Yeah, baby?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as she crossed over to him and stood between his knees.

She cupped his face in her hands, studying his expression as he smiled softly and set his own hands on her hips. “Can I say something crazy?”

“You usually don’t bother asking.”

Under normal circumstances, she would have laughed and leaned down to kiss him, but instead she broke into a wide smile. “What if we just got married?”

#olivia this chapter is the reasson me and gabi pisssed ourseslves over your hamster meme hahahahaa #(sorry something is wrong w my s key)#kristanna #drtlp #my fics

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sakuwriteshere · 4 years

Text

Pretty Little Liar: Chapter 3

General warnings (for the whole story): Fluff, comedy, angst, sexual innuedos, roommates AU, Ketch is a douche

Beta reader: Rosaline 💖

Words count: 5001 words

PLL Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: I had so much fun writing this chapter, I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I do. I you want to be tagged just send me an ask ;) And don’t forget, comments are loved! <3

______________________

Chapter 3:

The next morning, a soft light illuminates the room, announcing the first hours of a new day. Slowly, Y/N shifts on the bed, waking up as her ears pick at a distant sound. She can feel something warm against her, her head is turned at a weird angle but the position is somewhat cozy. As her eyelids flutter open, she realizes she’s sleeping on someone’s body, though she doesn’t have the time to freak about that because something else, more important, is about to happen.

“Rise and shine, boy!” A bearded man exclaims loudly as he barges into Dean’s room, the door shaking behind the force he had used.

Dean jumps from his slumber, startled by the intruder while Y/N simply falls on her butt, the impact is quite hard thanks to Dean’s abrupt movement.

“Bobby!” Dean groans angrily, half because he’s been scared- like every freaking time- and half because he’s worried about Y/N. Kneeling on his bed, Dean bends over, searching for Y/N on the other side of his bed.

“You alright?” She nods, wincing as her butt hurts a bit and chuckles when Dean adds “Told you, pretty laid back family.”

“Oh, didn’t know you had company, Dean.” Bobby apologizes as Y/N stands up, waving awkwardly at him while her other hand secures the sheets around her.

“Y/N, this is my uncle Bobby. Bobby, this is Y/N my-” Dean introduces them and sucks in a breath, the last word getting stuck in his throat.

“Girlfriend.” Y/N finishes for him, a cute pink color staining her cheeks. “Hi.”

“Bobby Singer, would you leave those children alone, you grumpy old man.” A woman's voice, one that Y/N has never heard before, booms from the other side of the opened door. A blond woman appears just behind Bobby, pushing him on the side.

“Hi. I’m Ellen, Dean’s aunt. Sorry about that. We’ll talk to you when you won’t be freaking out anymore.” She says, a friendly smile on her face before closing the door, giving Dean and Y/N some privacy.

The both of them fall silent, Y/N wondering what the hell just happened exactly while Dean’s rubbing his tired face, running a hand through his bed head hair, in a failed attempt to tame it. Yep. Pretty laid back people.

Joining the rest of the family in the kitchen for breakfast, Y/N thinks that Dean may have forgotten to tell her that more family members were coming to celebrate the Winchesters’ 40th anniversary, as new faces she hadn’t met the day before are now greeting her.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is everyone.” Mary makes a generic introduction while she puts the last waffle on top of the already huge pile.

“Hi Y/N!” They all cheer, turning their heads to face her. She recognizes Bobby and Ellen from earlier, but there is another one person she doesn’t know...yet.

“Um...H-hi everyone.” She gives them an awkward wave, her other hand taking hold of Dean’s wrist. “Could you excuse us a minute?” She excuses herself, pulling Dean with her and walking into the main hall.

“What the hell, Dean?” She hissed, making sure no one could hear them.

Dean scratches the back of his neck with one hand and sneaks the other one in the front pocket of his jeans. “I told you it was a family thing, right?” He sheepishly smiles at her.

“Tell me it’s the last surprise, please. Lying to your parents and brother is one thing but lying to your whole family…” She trails off, already imagining the worst.

“More are coming later actually.” Dean admits and he’s quick to stop her from running away. “Hey, wait! It’s just for one night, I swear.” Standing in front of her, Dean’s mustering his best puppy look. He knows he’s not Sam’s level, but he had practiced it pretty hard. Seeing she’s not giving in, Dean held both of her hands in his, his thumbs drawing circles on her skin. “Sweetheart, don’t make me beg for it.”

The physical contact brings her back memories from this morning when she had woken up in his arms, the thought making her blush even more than she already does. This is really a stupid and very bad idea, they should tell everyone the truth before it is too late but how can she say no when he’s looking at her like that? It’s the same look that has pushed her into this mess in the beginning. Rolling her eyes she grunts something that sounds like ‘yeah ok whatever’ and Dean is pumping a fist in the air, relieved that she’s still in.

“Yes! You’re the best!” He exclaims, cradling her face with both hands and pressing a kiss on her forehead.

Dean freezes when he realizes what he’s doing, his lips still in contact with her skin nonetheless. They have agreed about doing some PDA on their way here, so it shouldn’t be a problem. They have just held hands until now, nothing too intimate, so this kiss, even if it’s done as a friendly gesture, is still surprising. They’re both thinking they wouldn’t mind doing it more often, and that thought clearly scares them. They part instantly, as if their skin burns under each other's touch.

“I-I’ll um..” Y/N stutters, pushing back a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze lowered so she doesn’t have to look at Dean’s face. Dean does exactly the same by looking at the ceiling, looking for anything that is not Y/N’s face.

“I’ll take Snowball for a walk.” She finally finds a good enough excuse to leave the house. Jessica protests weakly, telling Y/N she doesn’t have to because Sam is going to do it anyway.

“Someone’s talking about me?” Sam asks, coming into the hall, Snowball’s new leash in his hand.

Y/N really needs some air, there are too many people inside at the moment, she needs some time to think and clear her mind. And so, she can only accept to go with Sam, at least it’s not Dean.

The little white ball of fur is running right and left as soon as it’s released. Sam and Y/N watch the little puppy running sometimes in circles and sometimes in a non-defined figure in the grass behind the Winchesters’ house. Sam and Y/N laughing as the little pup seems to have the time of its life.

The yard behind the Winchesters’ house is a decent size. Not too big and not too small. You can easily throw a party in there, and apparently it’s going to happen tonight, Y/N thinks as she watches John and Bobby getting things ready for the party tonight. Seeing the several chairs on display, Y/N knows there’s going to be a lot of people, family, friends, maybe even the neighbors. Is she really ready to lie right to their faces?

“You know, it’s hard to believe that you and Dean are together.” Sam tells her out of the blue, making her sicker than she is already. “But when I see how he’s looking at you, I know it’s for real.”

Oh God, can she open a hole in the ground and hide herself inside? “You’re exaggerating, Sam.”

“No, really. I mean it. I know my brother, Y/N.” Sam stops walking, planting himself in front of her. His tall size dominates her easily, she’s used to lifting her head when she’s speaking with Dean, but thinking Sam as the little brother is quite difficult sometimes.

“He’s nervous when he’s around you. I’ve never seen Dean being nervous with any girls he, er, well you know?” Sam’s suddenly at a loss for words. Speaking about his brother’s previous conquests with his current girlfriend is truly not his best idea.

Y/N lowers her gaze, kicking into a tiny rock at her feet. “I don’t think it means anything.” She says, because it’s the truth, it doesn’t mean anything. They’re faking it, Dean’s only nervous because he’s scared of crossing a line that would ruin their roommate arrangement, that’s all.

“On the contrary,” Sam’s quick to deny, a huge smile stretching his face. “I think it means that Dean really cares about you, Y/N.”

Her head snaps, her eyes searching for Sam’s ones so she can see if he’s joking or not. Sam’s face is clear of any amusement, he seems truly sincere. Y/N doesn’t know what is best, because on both ends it hurts. If Sam’s joking, then it means he knows they’re lying, and he’s making fun of them, laughing at them as he watches them digging their hole a bit more. And if he’s honest, then… A little voice is laughing in the back of her mind as she surprises herself thinking that Dean could feel anything for her. Let’s be realistic, Y/N, there’s no way someone like him could like someone like her. Why does she think about that kind of stuff, right now? Clearly, that fake dating thing is getting to her head. Once the weekend ends everything will be back to normal. Just hang there a little longer, Y/N.

“I’m not giving you the ‘if you hurt my brother’ talk” Sam’s chuckle brings her back to the present. The younger Winchester must think that her silence is a sign of awkwardness, so that’s why he’s throwing a little joke to ease the tension.

“But I’ll give him the ‘if you hurt her, I’ll beat you’ talk. Definitely.” He adds, a warm smile on his lips.

***

Standing in the far corner of the yard, Y/N’s starting to think that Dean forgot to tell her a lot of things. He did tell her to pack a few sport clothes she doesn’t mind getting dirty but failed to tell her why exactly she needed them. Now that she is standing between Mary and Jessica, waiting for one of the brothers to pick her, she understands why. Wearing an old red tank top and a pair of black shorts, she’s looking at Dean menacingly, her arms crossed over her chest and one foot tapping nervously on the ground. The man doesn’t seem to see her as he’s completely focused on a more important mission. Sam and Dean are in hard stare context, one fist resting in their opened palm waiting for Mary’s queue.

“Alright boys, on three. One. Two. Three!” Their mother shouts from her spot and on three both brothers use the sign they had chosen between rock, paper, and scissors.

“Always with the scissors, Dean.” Sam mocks his older brother, he knew from the beginning what his brother would choose, he was so predictable.

Dean shows his discontent by kicking at an invisible rock, mumbling that one day, one freaking day, he will win.

“Alright! Mom!” Sam doesn’t waste his time, starting to pick the members for his team for their little game.

“You chose her already the last time!” Dean whines, the wrinkles on his forehead growing more and more. “Ok, I’ll go with Dad,” Dean calls back.

“I’ll pick Y/N.” Sam’s second choice seems to be you, he’s not even trying to hide the smug look on his face.

Dean is once again bothered by his little brother's choice. “Really, Sam? Then I’ll choose Jess.” He doesn’t really choose her since she’s the last one but Dean needs to show his shitty little brother who's the older one among them and that he always gets the last word.

Jessica and Y/N join their respective captains, standing behind Sam, she glances at Dean who is looking at her strangely. She can’t decipher what he’s thinking but when their eyes meet, Dean licks his dry lips and quickly looks away, clasping in his hands and shouting that it’s time to start the game.

“I don’t know the rules.” Y/N points out, looking around her as the family members take their position.

John comes towards her, pushing a football into her hands. “Keep the ball, run for the opposite goal, and dodge.” John gives her the short rules, a playful smile on his lips, accompanied by a wink.

“D-dodge?” She repeats the words, and she jumps when Mary blows hard into her whistle, informing everyone that the game is starting. As John and Dean are already running towards her, determination written all over their faces, Y/N panics, throwing the ball at Dean.

“Ah, thank you, Sweetheart.” Dean laughs, turning around and running towards the goal.

“Y/N! What the hell?” Sam throws his arms in the air, giving her a dumbfounded look.

“Sorry.” She winces, realizing she has made a mistake. Far from them John and Dean are shouting happily, sharing a high-five as they have just marked their first point.

“Ah! It's so easy. I knew she was madly in love with me.” Dean jokes as they come back in the center, winking and blowing a kiss at her.

Y/N blushes once again but rage boils in her veins. She doesn’t particularly like losing a game. “Wait for it, babe.” She forces a smile. Be prepared, she's seriously on.

One would think that Dean’s team would have the upper hand in the game, having two men out of the three, but the secret weapon in all of this has a name: Mary Winchester. The woman is good, really good. Jumping high to catch the ball in midair, and running towards the goal right after her feet touched the ground.

The current scores are:

Sam’s team: 3

Dean’s team: 1

“Come on gals, only 2 points left!” Sam encourages his team, clasping their hands as they form a circle, getting ready for the next round.

“Mom cheated!” Dean argues, coming closer, checking his steps carefully as he tries to not step on Snowball, the little furball running after him and barking.

“How is that?” Mary asks, her fists resting on her hips.

“I had to dodge Ball!” Dean grumbles, pointing an accusing finger at the dog. He knows her name is Snowball but one, it’s too long and two, Ball suits her better.

“Congratulations, babe, you’ve just understood the rules.” Y/N mocks, winking at him as she held the dog in her arms.

Dean rolls his eyes and gives her a not amused look. She flips her hair with one hand as she turns around, making sure Snowball is safely tucked in a corner before the next round. By doing so, she misses Dean’s pleased look as she walks away. Honestly, she’s having fun, she’s tired and she knows that the next morning her muscles will painfully remind her that she’s not used to running so much, but for the moment it doesn't matter. The Winchesters really are a welcoming family and she doesn’t have to pretend to be someone she’s not. Well, except for the fact that she’s the fake girlfriend of their oldest son, that is.

The next round is finally, finally, her time to shine. She dodges every opponent on her path, bending her body swiftly, jumping to avoid a tackle, or throwing the ball to the nearest free member of her team. After running at lightning speed, she's in the clear zone, waving her arms rapidly and shooting at Sam to give her the ball. Another point for Sam’s team.

“Woohoo! Take that, Winchesters!” The sweet victory is pumping adrenaline into her veins as she makes a little happy dance.

“You didn’t tell me she was good.” John taps his son’s back, a breathless laugh escaping his lips.

“That’s because I didn’t know,” Dean whispers, the sentence not really reaching his father’s ears and Dean doesn’t care actually. He’s more busy watching Y/N dancing happily. She’s clearly having a good time, and Dean is so glad to see this. He’s promising to himself to do whatever he can to make that happen as much as possible.

“Ready to lose?” Sam smirks, nudging his brother at his side. “Remember, the loser gets to give Mom the first dance.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean waves him away, he doesn’t care about the game anymore. The only reason Dean wants for the game to keep going is because it means Y/N can have fun longer.

The ball raises high in the air, Jessica and Mary watching it like an awk, waiting for the perfect moment to catch it. Jessica is good, but Mary is better and she has the upper hand, hitting the ball hard and sending it in Sam’s direction. Sam and Y/N are running side by side, Mary being nowhere in sight. John neither.

“I got him! I got him!” Jessica informs Dean she’s taking care of Sam’s case, both of her arms circling his waist, her face pressed on his stomach as she tries to push him down with all her might. Sam stops running after he has thrown the ball to Y/N and simply looks at his girlfriend giving her best. A fond smile on his lips as Jessica’s feet slip on the grass, repeating to anyone who was listening that ‘she got him.’

Four players down, just two left. Looking in front of her, the land is clear, nothing could stop her from winning the last point. Or that is what she thought, but she’s being pushed down suddenly, the attack coming from her right side. They are both rolling on the grass, Y/N ending on top of Dean and looking at him completely baffled, the ball bouncing twice before stilling next to Dean’s head. They both glance at the ball then at each other.

“Oh no, you’re not!” Dean threatens, holding both of Y/N stretched hands and lifting his pelvis, forcing both of them to roll over.

Now that she’s trapped under him, there is no way for her to run away and Dean makes sure of that by dropping all his weight on her.

“Dean, you’re heavy.” She whines, wiggling her body in hope to free herself, but it’s really no use.

“That’s not very nice, Sweetheart. I need to punish you.” He laughs, holding both of her wrists in one hand and brushing his free one over her side.

“No! Don’t- don’t you dare Dean!” She orders him in vain, she knows he won’t stop and her eyes squeeze shut when she feels the first tickle.

Loud laughters and pleas surround them, Y/N thrashing around in a desperate attempt to free herself, but the more she pleads the more Dean laughs and tortures her.

“Surrender!” Now both of his hands are tickling any surface of her body, he doesn’t remember the last time he had so much fun.

“N-no. Yeah ok!” She can’t take it anymore and gives in.

“Say it,” Dean asks her, he wants a complete and formal surrender from her. He will only stop when she’ll say the words.

“I- I surren-der!” She’s breathless and as soon as the word crosses her lips, the torture stops.

They’re both out of breath, keeping their position and giggling like teenagers as they look at each other. The playful tension around them subsides as they get their breaths back slowly, their heart rate calming down. None of them dare to move, fixing each other’s gaze, and realizing in what position they are at the moment. After a beat, Dean is the first one to move, a hand brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen over her eyes, the touch as light as a feather. He has to be gentle and careful, he doesn’t want to scare her.

Y/N eyes fall on his lips because the tip of his tongue is running over them. It’s not fair really. Does he know what it does to her? The movement is just the sweetest invitation she has ever seen. Slowly Dean leans in, bringing his face closer, his eyes flick into her, checking that she wants it too, leaving a safe distance for her to part if needed. God, he hopes she wants it. She must be a mind reader because she’s now bringing her face closer, crossing the last few inches, hot breaths mixing together as her lips brush his. He’s so close to taste her, so painfully close.

“Game over losers!!” Sam shouts happily, breaking their magical moment.

They both blink, coming back to their senses and both looking like deers in headlights.

“Huh, Dean?” His name never sounded so good before, right? It’s not the first time she’s calling his name so why does it feel different now?

“Yeah?” He asks in a strangled voice.

“You’re heavy…” She whispers, her eyes never leaving his.

“Ah. Sorry.” Dean quickly shuffles on the side, freeing her.

She doesn’t say a word as she stands up and walks towards the house in haste, one hand clamped against her chest. Dean watches her disappearing into the house, his heart acting funny.

“Everything is alright, son?” John asks, coming closer.

After a beat, Dean answers genuinely. “I don’t know.”

***

When he enters his bedroom, Y/N is walking in circles in the middle of the room. If she keeps going like this, she’s going to dig a big hole in the wooden floor.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks as soon as the door is closed.

She stops and looks at him as if he has a second head growing. “What’s wrong?” She repeats his words, scoffing loudly. “This- this thing is going too far Dean! We- your family thinks we’re really together!”

Dean shushes her, reminding Y/N that his family is in the house as well. “That’s good, right? That’s the whole point.”

“Yes but no. This is too big, I can’t…” She trails off, hiding her face in her hands as she’s feeling totally lost.

“Come on, I’m not that bad of a boyfriend, right?” He tries to make her laugh, making girls laugh is always a good thing, right? She’s just nervous, he just needs to calm her down. Everything will be alright.

Uh-oh. The guilty look she gives him doesn't feel right. “We have to tell them the truth, Dean. Now.”

“No, no, no.” Dean cradles her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. ‘Listen, there’s only tonight left. Tomorrow morning we’re leaving, they won’t suspect anything, I promise.”

“That’s not the problem here! They’re too nice people. Your family is wonderful and we’re lying to them. It’s not fair. They truly care for you, Dean. They deserve to know the truth.” She’s looking straight into his eyes, praying silently for him to listen to her. She knows she’s right, it’s the right thing to do.

“I can’t do that to my parents. It’s their big night tonight. It will break their hearts. I promise you I’ll tell them we broke up, just not tonight. Please.”

“There will never be a good time, Dean and you know it. It’s better to make amends now, before your whole family knows we lied.” Once again, she’s the voice of reason and deep down Dean knows it.

“Please. I don’t want to hurt your family more than what I’ve done already.” Her pleading look is going to kill him, he’s sure of that.

Dean closes his eyes and sighs heavily, his hands falling down his sides. “Ok. I’ll tell my mom before the party starts.” He gives in, looking on the side and fighting the angry tears.

“Thank you.” She whispers, her small hand cupping his cheek.

What’s the worst? Telling his mother the truth or losing this? Dean doesn’t know anymore.

***

The weather is particularly nice today, a real chance for the Winchester family as they’re throwing the party outdoors. People are slowly arriving, warm hugs and friendly pats in the back as a greeting. They have invited more than just a couple of close friends. Dean and Y/N are staying in a corner, smiling and waving back at the few people who spot them. They are dressed properly despite the fact they’ll surely leave before the party has really started. Dean’s wearing a three-piece blue suit with a white shirt underneath. He even thought about the blue tie to complete the look. Y/N’s wearing the only black little dress she has, nothing too formal but she likes it.

“Your mother is here.” She whispers in Dean’s ear, spotting the Winchester matriarchy exiting the house.

Dean is fidgety, glancing at Y/N to check if she still wants to tell the truth. The look she gives him means that she still does.

“I can go with you if you want.” She tries to reassure him, showing him her support.

“No, no. I’ll do it. I’m the one who lied first, anyway.” Dean reasons, gathering his courage the best he can, sipping the rest of his champagne before nodding at Y/N. “Ok, wish me good luck.”

“Good luck.” She whispers sincerely.

Dean joins his mother rather quickly. She’s chatting with some family friends and turns around when Dean lightly taps on her right shoulder. Y/N watches from afar the conversation. If only she could read on their lips, but she can only count on her eyes to observe the muted conversation.

Dean’s nervous, she can tell just by how fidgety he is, his hands moving more than usual as he speaks. His mother tilts her head on the side, she certainly senses Dean’s nervousness.

“Hey? Are you feeling better?” Jessica asks, standing in front of her, blocking her vision on Mary and Dean’s serious talk. “You left so suddenly after the game, we were worried. Dean told us you weren’t feeling well.”

“Hum?” She hums, stretching her head slightly so she could keep an eye on Dean. “Oh yeah, yeah. Sorry, must be all the running.” Another lie she thinks.

Jessica keeps on talking but Y/N’s attention is fully on Dean. His mother is now cupping one of his cheeks, surely a motherly gesture to show her son that he can tell her anything. Y/N’s heart beats faster when she sees the sheepish smile he’s giving Mary as he looks her right in the eyes. He told her, Y/N thinks.

Yeah, no doubt he told her. Because Mary’s hand drops from Dean’s cheek as she covers her mouth. Well, she seems to take the news pretty well because she’s wrapping one arm around Dean’s neck, giving her son a side hug as her other hand is still holding her drink. Y/N tilts her head on the side when she sees Mary and Dean turning their faces towards her, Mary giving her a soft smile. Does that mean that she forgives Y/N too? She wouldn’t mind staying friends with the whole family, on the contrary.

“You’re really cute.” Jessica giggles. “You can’t take your eyes off him.” She adds.

“Oh, um well yeah...you know.” Y/N blushes, fortunately for her, Dean’s coming back.

“Hey, Jess.” He brushes against his future sister-in-law as he tries to reach Y/N. Wrapping an arm around Y/N waist and bringing her closer to him. “Would you excuse us a minute?” He forces a smile.

Jessica nods and winks at Y/N before leaving the two love birds alone. Once she is far enough, Y/N checks that no one is around before asking. “How did it go?”

Dean opens his mouth and shakes his head, his hold tightening around her, involuntarily. “Well… pretty good actually.”

Y/N can finally smile and she lets out the breath she was holding. “Really? I’m so happy for you, Dean. See? I knew it was the right thing to do.”

“Yeah, my mom is the best. What do you think we leave before the main event starts, huh?” Dean doesn’t let her the time to respond, his arm letting go of her waist and grabbing her wrist instead, pulling her with him towards the house as people are gathering in the middle of the yard.

“Wait, I should apologize to your mother first, don’t you think?” Y/N pulls back, stopping Dean from going anywhere. A clicking sound resonates behind them, the crowd falling silent as Mary’s going to make her speech.

“Oh no, I don’t think it’s a good idea. You’re not her favorite person at the moment.” Dean says, pulling on her hand once again and motioning with his head to keep moving.

“Really? She didn’t look mad at me a few minutes before.” Y/N wonders before turning around and listening to Mary’s speech.

“And I’m truly happy that each of you came here today. Forty years is a big number, especially when you’re spending so many years with John.” The crowd laughs heartily, John smirking as he kisses Mary’s hand.

“Today has been an important date for us, it was the day we both exchanged our vows, a promise to love each other until the end.” Mary pauses, her eyes flying over the crowd.

“But tonight, this date marks a new milestone in our happy family.”

“Come on, Y/N, let’s go.” Dean hissed nervously, pulling her again but Y/N doesn’t bulge.

“Shh. I want to listen to her speech, it’s beautiful.” She shushes him, pulling harder so she can free her arm from Dean’s grip.

“Today, is the date my oldest son, Dean, chose to ask his girlfriend to marry him and she said yes! I just wish them this date will bring as much joy and love as it does to us. Congratulations to both of you! To Dean and Y/N, cheers!” Mary raises her drink and the crowd cheers as well.

All the faces are now turned towards them, Dean smiling awkwardly and waving at the people looking at them.

“Surprise!” Dean gives her a fake surprised face while Y/N simply watches him, a look of horror written all over her face.

Pour Toujours tags: @drakelover78, @akshi8278

PLL tags: @eliwinchester99, @paiswhite, @vicmc624, @metalfangirl

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #female!reader #roommates au #spn fanfiction #series #pll series #fake dating

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jonathananubian · 4 years

Text

Te Dralyc Kar Ch 4 [Star Wars Fanfic]

Synopsis:

Jango isn’t quite sure how he came to adopt a blonde slave boy after a job on Tatooine went sideways, but he honestly couldn’t complain. The boy is a little genius, brimming with compassion and a willingness to learn. The only hiccup, as far as Jango is concerned, is the fact that his boy is a naturally powerful force user. Someone the jetii would want to get their hands on.

Of course- he’d just like to see them try.

[This story isn’t linear. More like a series of snapshots. At least until later chapters.]

Ch 4: Kir’manir

Setting Anakin down he smirks as the blonde runs excitedly into the room, laughing happily. “Auntie Roz!” The pink Toydarian smiles and lands, opening her arms so the little blonde can give her a welcoming hug. It was nice to see that his treatment by his previous master hadn’t colored his son’s view of all Toydarians. Then again Anakin had a deep capacity to care for others, a compassion that at times made him feel ashamed of his own actions, or inactions.

“Hello again Anakin, have you been a good boy for your buir?” He smiled and nodded, looking back at Jango for confirmation. He couldn’t help but snort in amusement.

“He only got up to the usual amount of osik.” Except for one thing, but that wasn’t really his son’s fault. “An’ika, go put your bag in your room. I need to talk to your aunt.” With a small pout at his greeting being cut off early his son took the duffel bag stuffed full of his things, including his tools and a gutted datapad he’d been trying to get working again. With one last look back at the two of them his son slinked off to the guest room Roz always kept for him.

Stars. He didn’t want to leave his son behind but where he was going it was far too dangerous for a seven year old, little genius or not.

“What happened Jango?” Roz’s voice brought him back from his musings and he sighed. Setting his helmet down on her desk he took a seat and ran a hand through his short, curly, hair.

“Slavers, Roz. They had my boy.” Stiffening, her eyes going wide, Roz looked at him in horror.

“What? How?” He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. A muscle along his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth hard enough to feel them grind.

“Drugs and an accomplice. One minute he was there and the next minute…” He’d been talking to a potential client and warned Anakin not to go far. By now the guilds knew he had a kid and word was spreading fast about Anakin but it seemed that the scum of the galaxy were sorely lacking both information and self preservation instincts. His son had been across the street in a droid shop. He should have been safe! But they’d drugged his son and smuggled him out a back door. Jango felt no remorse for torturing the bastard who’d sat back and let some slavers steal his son.

“They have a whole operation going. Dealing in kids.” His entire body burned with fury as he stared Roz in the eyes. “I’m going to dismantle it.” Roz grinned at him, yellow eyes filled with understanding. “Mando’ad draar digu.” He said with conviction.

A Mandalorian never forgets.

[Anakin]

Anakin liked Auntie Roz. She was very kind, even if she didn’t let him get away with some of the things his dad did. She gave him access to everything on the station except the parts that his dad said were too dangerous, like the fighting pits. He was allowed to watch the swoop races if he went with a bodyguard though so he didn’t mind. He didn’t like the fighting pits anyway, they reminded him of Tatooine.

Looking around at his room he thought back to the first time he’d set foot on the station and just how scared he was. It felt like so long ago, like the Anakin from before was someone else. Well, he guessed he kind of was. Anakin Skywalker was a slave boy from Tatooine with a mom and a master. Anakin Fett was a Mandalorian, the son of a bounty hunter who traveled the stars.

He didn’t remember how he’d been adopted, not completely. It always came in confusing flashes that hurt his head and made him crawl into his father’s lap, shaking. It wasn’t often that he had those moments any more but every once in a while something would happen and he’d just flash back to that moment.

He remembered turning a corner and running right into the man who would become his dad. He’d been carrying some cables… he didn’t remember why. Behind him his mother was struggling a little with a heavy basket and calling for him to slow down. There was a flash and a scream before the air was filled with the sound of blaster bolts. The cables tangled in the man’s legs as Anakin tripped, startled by the sudden noise. An explosion went off behind him and he remembered clapping his hands to his ears as large gloved hands pulled him to an armored chest. The next thing he knew he was scrambling over to his mom, who’d fallen to the ground. She was bleeding heavily but her smile and kind eyes were the same as always. She looked up at the armored man, who had blasters in his hands and was crouched next to him saying… something.

“Please…” His mother had begged, her voice raspy. “Take care of my s-son.” The last thing he remembers from that day was her telling him she loved him and then seeing her soulless eyes. Everything from there was just… blank. Dad didn’t tell him what had happened after that except to make sure he understood that he was free and that he was being adopted.

On Tatooine it wasn’t rare for someone to be adopted. Slaves often had a wide network of people they could call family. But he and his mom had been newly sold and hadn’t earned the trust of the others yet. He’d had no one but his mom. But then Jango called him his son. Said words that Anakin still didn’t quite know the meaning of and taken him far away from Tatooine.

Then he’d met Auntie Roz and she had practically cooed at him when she saw him. Unlike Watto she wasn’t gruff and didn’t yell at him and his dad. She made snappy remarks but his dad just seemed to think they were funny and would roll his eyes.

Speaking of Watto. He wasn’t sure how Roz knew about his old master but she’d said something to Jango that had left Anakin confused. Something about his dad owing her a favor for helping him with Watto. Which made no sense since Auntie Roz hadn’t been on Tatooine to help… unless that was one of the things he couldn’t remember.

“An’ika! I need to leave soon, come say good-bye.” Leaving his bag opened but unpacked on his bed he rushed out into the living room and hurried to give his dad a hug. Jango picked him up with a smile and Anakin threw his arms around his neck. His dad had only ever left him with Auntie Roz when his job was so dangerous that even the ship wasn’t considered safe. Even though Anakin was learning how to pilot it, and his dad called him a natural, he still wasn’t old enough to help. Not yet.

“K’oyacyi!” Jango pressed their foreheads together and Anakin beamed. His dad had told him it was the Mandalorian equivalent to a hug, something that you only do with family and close friends.

“K’oyacyi, ner shu’shu’ika. Don’t cause too much trouble for your ba’vodu.” Although his voice was stern Anakin could see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Lek, buir!” Jango set him down on the floor and grabbed his helmet. They shared one last look before his father was turning and heading out the door. Anakin stood there for long moments, staring at the doorway his father had left through.

“He’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about it, sweetie.” Anakin grinned up at his auntie.

“I know. He’s the best!”

Mando'a Translations:

Osik- Shit K’oyaci- Has a few different meanings depending on context. Anakin is telling his dad to come back safely and Jango is telling Anakin to hang in there while he’s gone. Ner shu’shu’ika- My little disaster. Ba'vodu- Aunt Lek buir- Yes dad.

#fanfic #mandalorian culture #mandalorian anakin #young anakin skywalker #jango fett #parenting #adoption #past slavery #force sensitivity #mando'a #star wars #found family

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ashesarrows · 3 years

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The Girl Who Soared Over Fairyland and Cut the Moon in Two by Catherynne M. Valente- FULL REVIEW

This review is the complete version of its counterpart on GoodReads.

This book really disappointed me. The roughest thing is that it’s right in the middle of the series, so you have to read it if you want to continue. There are bright spots (Ell! Saturday!), and I can sense the incredible book Valente was trying to write, but overall, this was a flop. Would’ve been a DNF if I hadn’t promised myself I’d finish the series.

So, firstly: I’m a longtime fan of Fairyland, and I commonly list the first book and Valente herself as my favorite book and author. I had no negative preconceptions about the book going in. In fact, I know I have an irrational fear of series, and at first I thought my struggles with this book could be chalked up to that.

But I loved the second book. It was entertaining, a good follow-up, and a unique new story to explore. When I picked up the third book and only got a chapter in before forgetting about it, I had a lot of excuses—I was burned out. I didn’t like the Blue Wind, and I didn’t want to read about her. I was busy with school.

As it turns out, having picked the book up three years later and finished it this time, none of that was true. This time, I was yearning for more of Fairyland, I quite liked the Blue Wind, and I had ample time to read in.

It just wasn’t a good book.

I talk about planning/pantsing a lot, and that’s once again relevant. I’ll excerpt from my review of another book:

There are two types of NaNoWriMo writers: the planners, & the pantsers. Planners have an outline ready before they write, and pantsers go "by the seat of their pants"—very few, or even no, plans. Both have pros/cons; here I'll focus on a common pitfall for pantsers.

Almost every Western narrative… follows something akin to the 3-act structure. There is a main conflict which builds to a climax and is then resolved (think Star Wars’s Death Star.) For any good narrative, you need MOTIVATION-GOAL-CONFLICT—and occasionally stakes[.]

This book does not have a conflict.

So where do you find 300+ pages of writing? Just have something happen & see what comes next as a response!

The problem is that this makes an unworkable first draft. Things Happening =/= Satisfying Plot Arc. In editing, you have to take everything you've written and organize it into a plot shape, often cutting things that don't fit. (Planning is the opposite; tons of work upfront/you usually end up UNDERwriting.)

...The most common method of writing on Wattpad is pantsing. 99% of the time, writers write & then post chapters on a set schedule. Can't edit plot structure when you upload one chapter a week.

Now, I knew that Valente was a pantser before I read this book, and that she originally uploaded Fairyland one chapter a week. I was very impressed when I first found out; I don’t recall sensing any of these pitfalls in the two previous books. It is hard to write a book with no editing—it is damn well near impossible. Whether I liked this book or not, the first two are a triumph just for that. Valente has been writing this entire series with both hands tied behind her back and her eyes taped shut, and I have to commend her. Even my feelings of frustration are almost overshadowed by how impressed I am that it took three books for her to fail.

Valente herself acknowledged editing concerns in multiple / interviews. From the latter link:

I remember being at a convention right after it really hit, and somebody in the audience asked, “Well, you realize you can’t go back and change anything, because you’ve already posted it online.” And I said, “Oh, shit.” It had never occurred to me that that was gonna be a problem. I kept a couple weeks ahead of the posting schedule, but again, much like writing The Labyrinth in ten days instead of thirty, I just ran ahead with something without knowing that I couldn’t do it and it worked out incredibly well.

Did it? I feel differently, and this review aims to explain why.

This book lacks plot. Valente is attempting a 3-act structure, which relies heavily on a central conflict. There has to be some big mission; some big goal. First book example: September has to beat the Marquess (goal and conflict) OR ELSE everyone in Fairyland suffers (stakes/motivation). Every moment of the book ties back to this larger goal.

The central conflict of this book appears about halfway through. You know the moon, and the yeti, and splitting things? This comes up over a hundred pages in. September, and the audience, has no idea about any of that for a hundred or so pages, and so for that amount of time, the book is unconscionably boring.

The beginning of the book sees September afraid she’s too old to go back to Fairyland, which is a great central conflict idea for the one chapter in which it exists. Aha! A book about growing up and the associated trials and tribulations. That’s a fantastic theme, and yet I forgot about it entirely until the end, where it briefly awakens again, after an entire book of Not That At All. More on this later.

For now, the book takes September back to Fairyland, which should be wonderful, but Fairyland seems to have become all exposition and no action. A whole chapter of The Blue Wind lecturing September, for example. This is a character we don’t know, have no reason to be attached to, and are being actively hindered by as she relentlessly slows the plot down. And then September gets talked at by an alligator or something, and then another something something… I don’t remember any of this, because it was not relevant.

This isn’t like Fairyland #1, where September might need to befriend someone to gain access to magic which would help her on her quest. In fact, for this first half of the book, September doesn’t even have agency! Someone hands her a MacGuffin (I refuse to recall its name) in the form of a box, and she Must carry it to some city or other on the moon. Why? Who knows. She just must. And she does. And you’re thinking to yourself, why isn’t September making her own ship and leading revels? We know, as an audience, that she’s more than capable. What on Earth has got her seeming so meek? She even sasses characters, but somehow always ends up doing as they ask.

The book also takes all this time to reach any characters we know and love. The readers want Ell and Saturday! We do not care about a horde of lecturing adults with no connection to a central plot or September! Looking back, I can see how Valente may have been hoping to pull off something similar to Alice in Wonderland, but in Alice nobody speaks for a full page. This is just one example:

direct link

I’m hard pressed to even call this exposition, because it tells us nothing about the world we’re in. It’s just a sermon Valente wants us to hear. And worse, because I’ve read the last two books, I know she can pull this off. It doesn’t have to be this way. Many people said many things in Fairyland #1, and it worked because there was a plot that the speeches were part of.

(If you just look at the quotes page for this book, you can see how many there are—and how repetitive they get. X is a Y, okay, alright…)

But this sort of thing reached its peak when it almost ruined Saturday. Don’t worry, he’s generally well-written, but when September meets him and he starts lecturing? It’s just awful to read. Suddenly it’s not Saturday talking but Valente speaking through his mouth, giving those sermons again, and it just makes you want to scream.

This made me recall an old writing rule—“never remind me of the author’s existence.” I want to feel as though real people are really saying these things, and when all of them speak identically, it’s really difficult to believe that. I won’t deny Saturday his right to say poignant things, obviously, but in this case due to the volume of lectures, and the proximity of his to the others, and the obvious preachiness of all of them, it really got in the way of my even enjoying the scenes with Saturday. And come on; that is unforgivable.

But there is a plot. There is an, ahem… other MacGuffin. A paw? A yeti’s paw. Something about time. Look, at this point I just wanted to finish the book. The original MacGuffin had become a new one, which would lead them to the third, and all this because at 100 pages in someone said “hey there’s this yeti we really hate around here,” and September went “sounds awful I’ll go hunt him right now.” And of course she can, because she has been DOING NOTHING FOR THE LAST HUNDRED PAGES. What is she going to do, something else? There IS nothing else to do in Fairyland apparently. Again, what this book does to the world & inhabitants of Fairyland is near criminal.

So the plot starts here, and it’s not great—September takes it up because there’s nothing else to do, and of course her friends come along, but (at least to me) it seems obvious that Valente invented the moon’s political situation and the Yeti just to come up with SOMETHING for this book. It never felt convincing that this had really been happening behind the scenes in the other books. On top of that, since we get very little context (despite the lectures!), it feels less like a vital quest and more like September (again) doing something because someone else told her to. We really don’t get any other perspective on the issue until the very end.

But talking about the end will require a spoiler tag, so I’ll avoid it for now. Let’s take a break to talk about how confusing the book was overall. I often didn’t know where the characters were heading or why, or what role a new character played, or even if they were there or not.

After seeing a GR query about this particular issue, I went back and researched it. The character Candlestick allegedly leaves the party on page 189:

Candlestick had not come with them after all, turning up her peacock tail and refusing to speak further with any of the lot of them.

But then shows up in not one but two lines in the next chapter anyway:

The Tyguerrotype, the thirteen bouncing Glasshobs, the quivering houses—and September and Saturday, A-Through-L and Candlestick—had a little thickness, but no more than a thick sheet of paper. (201)

“Did we see what?” called Candlestick. (204)

I understand why Valente wouldn’t want to make major plot edits to the books after posting them, but why didn’t an editor read through this even once? It would have been easy to fix—delete one line, or even just a word. It seems clear through surrounding context, looking back, that Valente intended to leave Candlestick out of these chapters, so why didn’t anyone confirm that for readers?

It’s just not fair to your audience to leave things like this in. It’s not professional. It makes me look down on the publisher, to be quite honest, because they apparently couldn’t take the few months necessary to re-read the draft and offer Valente edits on these bare minimum issues.

So you can understand why I wasn’t sure what was going on most of the time. Especially in the beginning, when multiple characters existed just to lecture, it was hard to get attached to any one addition to the party because I could expect them to be gone without incident or importance within two chapters.

For example, the Periwig (whose name I refuse to look up) who works with Ell in the library says she has cursed him to stop him from flaming around the books. Yes, Ell is having uncontrollable flaming issues now. As a reader pummeled by random lectures, watching September ferry around MacGuffins, this just felt like an “oh shit we have to come up with a NEW conflict for these characters” ploy, without much thought or logic. And I had no idea what the curse was for over fifty pages, until on page 173 there’s a specific reference to Ell getting smaller after he shoots flame. I’m sure there were more earlier on, but I missed them, and who can blame me after a hundred pages of content that was not relevant to the story.

This plot point is never satisfyingly wrapped up, either. Why did the Periwig think this was a good idea? Could she have undone it? Why did nobody address her about it? And why was it solved the way it was? Nothing made sense.

What’s really frustrating is what could have been. Near the end of the book, I turned to the back cover just to avoid continuing to read, and I looked once again in total bafflement at the two starred reviews of the book pictured there. Booklist’s back cover quote reads as follows:

As usual, Valente enlightens readers with pearly gleams of wisdom about honesty, identity, free will, and growing up. September often worries who she should be and what path she should follow, but the lovely truth, tenderly told, is that it's all up to her.

And, despite having read roughly two hundred pages of this book, it was only once I saw this quote that I understood what Valente was trying to do.

This is a great idea. And there are ELEMENTS of it here, and even elements I quite like. Occasionally, the lectures September hears do in fact correspond to some aspect of this theme (“you become what you are called” is one example of a line I could tell meant something, but needed to be expanded to accomplish anything.) It’s hard, as a reader, to differentiate between lectures addressing a vital theme in the story and lectures that are just talking.

Returning to Ell’s curse, it turns out that [SPOILER] Ell was just flaming for what is essentially dragon puberty, which is a GREAT opportunity to build on this theme! Somehow, though, we don’t get that.. I would have loved to see Ell have to deal with, essentially, a sexual awakening, and that did not happen, and it feels like the cure scene is random and therefore wasted. [END SPOILER]

It doesn’t help that Valente also wastes a scene with FANTASTIC potential where September literally destroys her fate by giving it no prior context, no weight in the plot, no relevance to the conflict, and fifteen tons worth of expositional lecturing to drown in. I want to love these scenes; some of these scenes utilize my favorite tropes! I just can’t get around all the ways Valente is leaving her story out to dry.

Then there’s the clothing September wears, her new designation, Aroostook the car, the attempted blossoming romance between September and Saturday: so many elements which could have made that theme great. It’s like a broken puzzle.

This brings us to the Yeti. I’m just going to go full spoiler, because I’m mad.

[SPOILER]

The Yeti is a reverse twist villain?? Can we stop with this? It’s not interesting & not an engaging surprise & also feels like going “ha ha I fooled you.”

From the moment September set off to beat him, I was wondering—are we really doing this? Based on one random person’s complaint? September has made it very clear that she doesn’t understand the politics of the world she’s inhabiting, and yet: this. Unlike in the first book, where the Marquess’s evil is confirmed by every person she comes across and September ends up fighting her out of personal connection, this just seems like meddling. September has no skin in the game; it’s almost a white savior trope—especially when the history of the Moon parallels colonization!

And then The Gang sees future-Saturday helping the yeti, and instead of thinking “maybe we got this wrong based on one person’s lecture” they think “ah FUCK maybe Saturday is going to be evil” and manufacture totally unnecessary conflict.

But it’s not even that they misunderstood, or that their source was biased; the end result is that the Yeti was seen as evil because he DIDN’T CARE THAT HE WAS. He gives this “none of their business” answer that is fundamentally unsatisfying (and makes no sense—had he explained, THEY WOULD NOT HAVE BOTHERED HIM) because at the end of the day, it means none of September’s actions in Fairyland were necessary. She just showed up and left. Nobody, not even the story, needed her. I guess September and Saturday have now kissed (twice!) which is great for them but not something that makes the whole book worthwhile.

[END SPOILER]

And on top of this, there are typos. I already covered the issue with Candlestick, so here are the others quickly:

“All of us,” September said gently, and held out her hands. “I know what you said, Miss Candlestick, but however you count it, our fates are stuck together and stitched up good.” She paused for a moment, looking down at her flowing black silks and her own small hands. “Closer than shadows, she finished.” (170)

“If you’re not to tired after your cannonades.” (179)

The full moon rose passed the high barn windows, spilling in like milk. (248)

(First sentence ought to have put the end quotation mark after the word “shadows,” but accidentally places it after September’s dialogue tag. The second sentence should use “too” instead of “to”. The final sentence needs to either say that the moon “rose past the high barn windows” or “passed the high barn windows”, likely the former.)

What gets me is that this last sentence is on the last page. Even if Valente and her editors never flipped through most of the book, surely someone would’ve noticed this? It just drives home how little anyone cared. About Fairyland, of all things!

And then Valente, who DID NOT EDIT THIS BOOK, has the audacity to include lines like these.

September reached inside and took out the red book. It was heavy. A girl’s face graced the cover, finely embossed, but it was turned away, gazing at some unseen thing. Perhaps it was her own face, perhaps not. A miniature version of herself, after all. Was it an answer? Was it everything already written? “You can’t argue with something that’s written down,” she said, stroking the red locks of hair on the cover. “If the heart of my fate is a book, there’s nothing for it. Once it’s written, it’s done. All those ancient books always say ‘so it is written’ and that means it’s finished and tidied and you can’t say a thing against it.” Oh, but September, it isn’t so. I ought to know, better than anyone. I have been objective and even-tempered until now, but I cannot let that stand, I simply cannot. Listen, my girl. Just this once I will whisper from far off, like a sigh, like a wind, like a little breeze. So it is written—but so, too, it is crossed out. You can write over it again. You can make notes in the margins. You can cut out the whole page. You can, and you must, edit and rewrite and reshape and pull out the wrong parts like bones and find just the thing and you can forever, forever, write more and more and more, thicker and longer and clearer. Living is a paragraph, constantly rewritten. It is Grown-Up Magic. Children are heartless; their parents hold them still, squirming and shouting, until a heart can get going in their little lawless wilderness. Teenagers crash their hearts into every hard and thrilling thing to see what will give and what will hold. And Grown-Ups, when they are very good, when they are very lucky, and very brave, and their wishes are sharp as scissors, when they are in the fullness of their strength, use their hearts to start their story over again.

(page 184).

Like... all of that, and then she didn’t edit September’s story? I’m appalled.

At this point, you might well say I’m being far too harsh. I understand that. These next five paragraphs are for you.

For the first few months of (re)reading this book, I genuinely felt like I must be a bad reader, or my attention span was gone, or I just didn’t like Valente or her work enough. Looking at all the incredible reviews here, I felt jealous—and frustrated. Why couldn’t I just enjoy this book the way everyone else did?

Obviously, I never want to dislike a book, but this was one that I almost feel betrayed me. I know there’s a significant amount of entitlement there; Valente doesn’t owe me any stories, let alone good ones.

At the same time, I made every effort. I owned all the books, was working hard to read a series despite my long-time struggles with them, and, well, I LOVE Valente! I constantly talk about her work! And even someone like me—someone who’s usually a pretty fast reader, loves the series/author in question, and was determined to finish this book—struggled throughout.

So I’m frustrated that the book made me feel like an idiot. I’m frustrated that, for the apparent crime of being devoted to Valente’s work, I was put through this. This book would be one star if not for the world of Fairyland and the returning cast—if this had not been a Fairyland book, I would not have finished reading it. For that first half, I was bribing myself (with better books) to read one or two pages at a time. Really.

Like I said, it didn’t have to be this way. I know damn well that Valente can do better than this. If Valente had been given the opportunity to edit this draft into a polished book, she could have done it. It’s only because of these restraints that she chose—and she is a grown woman who may choose what she likes—that the book came out this way. It’s genuinely hard to review, because I understand why she wrote the book this way, and I understand why she did not later edit the majority of the text, and I also have the perspective of a disappointed reader. It’s hard to balance all of that.

So two stars it is. I’m a little sad it took so long to review this book, because I was REALLY pumped to review it when I first finished, but I hope that on the contrary letting it sit has allowed me to be more objective and less emotionally upset by it.

I hope to pick up the fourth book soon, but with the combination of it being unrelated to the main cast and the letdown that this book was, it’ll be a while before I feel up to it. Don’t worry, though, because I will come back to update you as to whether the series overall is worth continuing. I have every hope that it will be.

#full review #goodreads #The Girl Who Soared Over Fairyland and Cut the Moon in Two

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laputaindefrenchgirl · 4 years

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reasons why i love Tom Hardy.

All is said in the title.

It’s really funny, because I just found back this screen cap from Tom Hardy iconic myspace era. I did this screen cap in 2015 (yes, I know, wtf do I keep in my files) and already, I was having a tad of a crush on him. But now, it’s 2020 and I’ve been through some growth and just reading this text he wrote today made me fancy him even more.

It’s like I am reading his words for the first time, and understanding them in a brand new light. Definitely, I’m not the same Audrey I was in 2015. I don’t think people do change but my impulsivity n’wisdom did something to me. Anyway, here’s to a pretty long post on WHYs I love Tom Hardy.

First, his talent. As most of his fans, I highly respect his body transformations. He doesn’t do it halfway. It was very striking in Legend, where he plays two twin brothers. It’s him but it’s not. These two roles were very emotionally touching, i mean if you forget my never-ending obsession with gangsters, this was truly one of my favorite movie. Besides the stud apparence he developed, the vulnerability pouring out from Ronnie was heart wrenching. If you haven’t seen this picture, I highly recommend it. I also recommend the soundtrack, full of sixties vibes. Then, I love his crazy. What he does in Peaky Blinders is extraordinary.

What is funny about Tom Hardy is that I’ve seen around 65% of his filmography before developing a crush on him. Like, I really like the directors he worked with, and as I’m a bit obsessed with british everything, well, it’s like I was in the mood before even knowing I am (if that does make sense). From Stuart a Life Backwards, to Lawless, and of course, Inception and The Dark Knight Rises, in the early 2010s I was pretty on point. Funny thing, when I watched Inception in theater I was seventeen, and this movie made me literally speechless, but I was having a crush on J-G Lewitt, and the more I watched this movie as the years went by, I preferred Eames which made me realize how, once again, my growth as a young woman was having a impact on my... tastes?

I remember around that time watching a light action/romance movie called This Means War, and when I first saw him on screen, and I went like “Damn!” and still, the dots didn’t connect in my silly brains.

Then, of course, Mad Max Fury Road came out in 2015 and like thunder, it stroke me. I went INTENSE about the story of this amazing picture (can you hear me scream feminism) and the cast. I mean, Hoult, Kravitz, Theron... This was the dreamboat. Also, it’s all about the context. What I really like here again, is that the previous summer, I watched the Mad Max trilogy with my Dad and as I found it super weird and cool, the themes and plots were very 80s while Fury Road was full of preoccupations we are having right now.

Previously to all of this, I think in 2012 or 2013, I did this Buzzfeed quizz about which Tom actors was a total match for me, and as I was hoping to launch Hiddleston ; I had Hardy and was annoyed. Funny how the internet can be perceptive, sometimes!

Second, his story. I remember being all, “okay so strangely I watched of his movies but who is he really?” and geez, I’m not dumb, I know that we can’t know-know a person, especially a celeb, from only what you learn behind a screen (no offense there) but I was like, I want to read more and see what his motives are. And I wasn’t disappointed. I read interviews, watched interviews. I really loved that he wasn’t just the quite attractive body he is, but that in anything he did, he was genuine. Yet, yet there was more and more to analyze through the way he picked his roles and projects. The fact that he was an addict, hit rock bottom at a moment in his life made sense. I saw an video he did for The Prince’s Trust on youtube, you could see how bad he wanted to give back. I like that the blunt, roughness he exhales was for a reason, and not for play. And I can tell that, even if he ever was or can be some kind of asshole, he’s never sold for the low. Like, he’s the kind of person who would never speak shit about someone else, or be racist or misogynistic, you know?

Third, he’s true. If you read the words from the screen cap I posted, I don’t know. The language he uses is something I can relate to. It’s so hard to open up, to be real and to not expect all at once. “i am often afraid. so I have to share. I want to help, it’s not my business to judge, I made mistakes, I stand corrected, I accept casualties, and walk with hope because I fucking LOVE.” aren’t these the words of a legend? In a world so full of shit and assholes, I just dig people like Tom. This must feels comfortable to be around someone who will tell you what he thinks instead of pretending for whatever motives he might have. Of course, I’m projecting a little here. But it’s cool because I know I do. It’s just kind of freeing to look up to someone who made mistakes but believe and hope and love, but not in pink. Just through his own vision, because he is entitled to. And that makes me feel like that, somehow, I do as well. I’m far from perfect and I love my bad side which makes me even less perfect but eh, just like he said “don’t be boring, that’s the fucking worst!”. Man, I couldn't agree more!

Fourth, he’s kinda pretty. Don’t get me started on the tattoos. I’ll admit, my sexual awakening fitted my crush on him back then. It’s cool. I never had a single crush before being around 22, so to fantasize on men and not little boys was kinda strange at first. It’s like I forgot a step in the manual, but I get around it. I will stop this paragraph here because I know that when I will re-read it tomorrow, I’ll find it embarrassing.

Fifth, I wrote him a letter two years ago. Here’s the funny thing, I don’t expect an answer. Writing him that letter was freeing, and I can’t really tell why. Sending it was like closing chapter full of doubts and hurt I went through in my early twenties. I felt like writing this letter and opening up about experiences and what I went through to a total stranger, and this was one of the best therapy I ever did. For all the reasons I cited above, I felt like he was relatable and so, I went for lashing all my fire into the papers and felt like I could let go of what hurt me all the years before. It’s like I would be heard, not seen, and never judged. This is weird, I am weird. I believe and trust my guts because this is what life gave me best in my entire body. The instinct to know which road I should venture on, no matter what, who and whys.

“I chose the path of spirituality, spirituality seems to me to be for those who’ve been to Hell.” How true is that. I’m very grateful to have humans who inspire me like this, like Tom Hardy.

Thank you reading my nonsense, and if you feel the love, feel the same, just know that you’re not alone. The world can so fucking beautiful when you embrace yourself, ugly tears, powerful truths and lunatic smiles. We’re all bloody together in this whatever!

#audreytheartiste

#reasons why i love tom hardy #I stopped at 5 don't worry #why am i like this #myspace era #screencap #writing positive shit #long post #inspirational people #pretty #it's just a crush #british #true love tho #good vibes #inception #legend #be you

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satonthelotuspier · 4 years

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How Shall We Stop Dreams - Part 8

Been a couple of weeks almost since the last Dreams, finally got C7 finished after raid last night.

4.3k words. The group are starting to connect some dots as their various investigations start to bear fruit.

It’s all over on AO3 or by following the tag below. Hope you enjoy.

He had been walking for a while when he paused in a sunny clearing and drew Sandu. Jiang Cheng decided to try and use the inherent meditation that went hand in hand with sword forms to try and calm his whirling thoughts. He tried, he persevered. But it didn’t work at all.

Damn Lan Xichen, if he hadn’t pursued so fast and so hard Jiang Cheng’s head wouldn’t be floating in all directions now. Sickeningly he knew he had no one to blame but himself; it was Jiang Cheng’s fault for not trusting his initial feelings that Lan Xichen being interested in him just wasn’t possible without some deeper motive.

And it turned out he had been right. The vindication gave him little pleasure though, and he sighed as he sheathed Sandu. It was useless. He was going to brood no matter what, he might as well just give in to it.

Jiang Cheng unsurprisingly hadn’t slept too well the previous evening, so as he settled down in the sunshine and despite the chaos of his thoughts he felt a tug of drowsiness.

He was saved from sleep at the sound of someone rustling through the grasses, approaching his clearing. He could only blame the turbulence of his mind, the cloudiness of sleep and the spider demons Wei Wuxian had encountered the day before for his reaction; he rolled to one knee and, using his spiritual energy, sent several small rocks at the intruder.

The bright sword glare appeared and smashed the missiles to pieces, and Lan Xichen raised his sleeve to protect his face and eyes from the debris of the exploded stones.

Jiang Cheng’s first reaction was to run over and check he was alright, apologise and ask for forgiveness, but half way to his feet he remembered how angry he was at the other and remained rooted to the spot instead.

Lan Xichen continued towards him and Jiang Cheng noticed the scratch on his cheek; the knowledge he’d caused it disappointingly brought him no pleasure at all, in fact he felt the sting of guilt.

Not enough to forget his hurt and anger though.

He pulled his sword out of it’s sheath and pointed it at Lan Xichen as he continued to approach, “Don’t” Jiang Cheng ordered him as he came to a halt at the point of Sandu.

The play of the dappled light through the trees highlighted the other’s jade-like features running through a myriad of expressions, from disbelief, to annoyance, to pain.

Again Jiang Cheng had to harden his soft heart against capitulation; he wouldn’t be a pushover, a thing to be toyed with and kept in the dark like a silly child.

“Wanyin. Can’t we just sit and talk? Do you really have to hold me at sword point?” Lan Xichen asked, a trace of irritation in his voice.

“That depends on whether you can be trusted to keep your distance without my sword at your throat” he was proud at how steady his own tone was. Despite it being a lie.

“I see suddenly you’re buying into your brother’s narrative that I’m a mad seducer” Lan Xichen’s tone became cool and his face lost it’s usual expressive warmth; suddenly looking so much like his icy younger brother Jiang Cheng faltered in surprise.

Lan Xichen backed away then, and went to sit on a nearby rock. “Let me make it easy for you, I’ll stay here” he folded his legs into the lotus position, placed Shuoyue by his side and curled his hands on his knees.

It left Jiang Cheng feeling rather silly to be stood there with his sword extended, so he lowered it slowly, then gave in and sheathed it.

He moved back to his sunny spot and sat down himself, mirroring the other’s position.

“You wanted to talk” he prompted the other. “And I want the truth”

“I haven’t spoken an untruth to you yet” Lan Xichen’s tone was clipped, and Jiang Cheng regretted using that word in that context. He hadn’t meant to insinuate that the other had lied, merely that there were things he’d held back, and that was the truth.

His hurt again made him hold his tongue, however.

“So tell me, your brother’s big mouth notwithstanding, at which point should I have given you chapter and verse, Wanyin? Should I have opened with the Spiritmatch facts? Or tried to proceed like I did, giving us each time to explore our potential relationship before I threw such a weighty complication into the mix?”

And really when he said it like that it made Jiang Cheng feel like a fool for making an issue of it. On reflection, there really wasn’t a good time to be made aware that karma, or destiny, was hanging over them in such a manner. That didn’t change how Jiang Cheng felt about the situation though, at the end of the day he was still the idiot being pursued because karma told Lan Xichen he should.

“Give me the facts now”

Lan Xichen lowered his head; closing his eyes. “A Lan’s Spiritmatch is meant to be the other half of their soul. Most of us know our Spiritmatch ahead of ever meeting them, through the dreams, although it isn’t always the case. If they didn’t I’m lead to believe it’s possible to identify their match through something like a...tugging of the soul?...or perhaps it’s a feeling of displacement, when they meet for the first time” he raised his head again and met Jiang Cheng’s gaze again.

Jiang Cheng successfully fought the urge to ask Lan Xichen which applied to him, instead he asked, “What else are you keeping from me?”

He didn’t pretend not to notice that something flickered in the depths of Lan Xichen’s eyes at the question, and Jiang Cheng felt the flare of his temper again; was Lan Xichen really going to keep hiding things from him despite being given his ultimatum?

His hand clutched Sandu’s scabbard until his knuckles showed white as those dark amber eyes suddenly flared gold.

“What…?” he checked the sunlight, convinced it had to be a trick of the light in the clearing, but Lan Xichen actually sat under the canopy of the trees.

It made him close the distance between them like nothing else could have, “How are you doing that? What is that?” he asked once he was close enough to confirm beyond doubt it wasn’t some effect of the sun.

“My biggest secret. I’m an empath. Rare enough there will likely be no other born for several hundred more years. I can feel every emotion running through you like an extension of my own. Consider me laid bare before you now”

Jiang Cheng reached out to touch him unconsciously, but Lan Xichen actually held up a hand to stall him.

“I beg that you’ll not to touch me at the moment, physical touch magnifies the link and I’ve lowered all my walls to demonstrate, and it can get quite overwhelming even with them fully in place”

Despite what people often seemed to think Jiang Cheng was not a stupid boy, he immediately understood what Lan Xichen hadn’t said.

“Especially near someone as emotionally volatile as I am? Put them back up immediately, I don’t need you to hurt yourself to prove something to me”

Lan Xichen nodded, and the gold of his eyes faded back to their normal dark amber.

Jiang Cheng considered how cruel karma was being to Lan Xichen.

“You would be a hundred times better off without me from what you say” and why did that make him feel so desolate?

“How could that be?” Lan Xichen asked; he did reach out himself now and tucked the fall of Jiang Cheng’s hair behind his ear, “Don’t think too deeply on it, Wanyin, just let it happen and we’ll see” he suggested, and honestly Jiang Cheng wanted to agree, but a lot had happened and it was difficult to follow his own thoughts and know his own mind genuinely. They had come to the Nightless City to solve the issue of their nightmares, and instead they’d fallen into a situation taken straight from an adventure book, or a romance. His eyes flickered back to Lan Xichen’s.

“I need to consider things, to understand my own mind. Give me time” he asked instead.

Lan Xichen held his gaze, “I understand” he said eventually, and lowered his hand. It wasn’t just words, he most certainly did, being privy to Jiang Cheng’s emotions as intimately as he must be.

And Jiang Cheng didn’t find that notion as abhorrent as he thought he might.

“May I ask you a question?” Lan Xichen got to his feet, picking up Shuoyue as Jiang Cheng backed away, nodding at his request. “How were you able to feed your spiritual energy into so many external objects at once as when I walked into the clearing? I counted no less than a dozen reasonably large missiles”

Jiang Cheng stared at him blankly; he hadn’t even realised he had. He genuinely had no answer for Lan Xichen.

***

Wei Wuxian would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t worried that Jiang Cheng hadn’t returned by the time Luo Qingyang came to him that evening; and when they went to collect Lan Wangji the same went for Lan Xichen. Wei Wuxian felt a moment of discontent over the thought of them being together, getting up to who knew what. Although he had acknowledged he didn’t have the right to actively interfere in whatever relationship Jiang Cheng chose to be involved in he wouldn’t be happy about it in his own head until Lan Xichen proved he would protect, love and make Jiang Cheng the happiest man alive. There wasn’t really anything about Lan Xichen to object to, except the fact he had dared to woo Wei Wuxian’s didi, and that was indeed a crime in Wei Wuxian’s mind, but he would no longer interfere outwardly.

“We can’t wait any longer or we’ll be unable to follow the Jin clan disciple” Luo Qingyang informed them and they of course couldn’t disagree.

He had to pause to admire how unusual it was to see Lan er-gongzi in dark robes rather than the usual white before they left, however; it emphasized the fairness of his skin and the pristine whiteness of the headband he still wore.

Luo Qingyang had also dressed in darker robes, and the notion of both of them dressing for subterfuge like it was a child’s adventure book was highly amusing to Wei Wuxian. Especially as, due to his own preferred clothing palette, he didn’t have to.

But the thought what they intended to do soon sobered him; it could be very dangerous if they were discovered. They were in Wen territory, and they were just three cultivators. If the Wens really did intend them harm and the concerned face they had put on for the rest of the cultivational world was merely a front there was no doubt they would deal with obstacles to their intended plans with whatever force was needed to ensure they weren’t threatened.

The mismatched trio slipped out into the night without further delay and made their way through the alleyways formed by the groups of houses and businesses to where the Jin clan were accommodated.

They only had a short time to wait until the Jin clan disciple exited, following a Wen clan retainer.

They followed the pair who, unsurprisingly, travelled to the part of the Nightless City they had all been informed were the private clan areas upon first arrival weeks ago. The enclave was located behind the Palace of the Sun and Flames, Wen Ruohan’s seat. They couldn’t follow the pair directly through the gatewayed entrances in the walls of course, they were too narrow and likely watched, hence it would be too easy to spot anyone trying to gain entry. They had to spirit over the walls away from them, picking up the trail on the other side.

The Jin disciple was lead to a large building with a healer’s sign painted on the side.

Wen Qing’s practice then?

They hugged the shadows against the walls. Lan Wangji indicated himself and pointed at the window where the flicker of candlelight indicated occupancy, then he indicated Luo Qingyang and Wei Wuxian and made a gesture that they should check other windows into other rooms in case the one he intended to check himself wasn’t the one where what they wanted to know would occur.

Wei Wuxian nodded and moved off to the left and Luo Qingyang followed his lead and moved in the opposite direction.

He found nothing but an empty room through the first windows he peered through; he had a little more luck when he came across a small, bare room lit by a single candle. In the room sat a lone Wen retainer, he looked to be virtually falling asleep as he sat on an old crate. The only other feature of the room was a square hole in the floor, obviously deliberately formed due to the perfect shape of the opening. He could just see the top of a rough wooden stairway from his position at the window. Was guarding this entrance to who knew what the retainer’s purpose? There was nothing else that it could possibly be, unless the crate was a secret spiritual treasure!

He watched for a while but nothing noteworthy happened and the retainer just continued to doze on his seat. Wei Wuxian was just about to move on and check the next window when the retainer suddenly shot upright. Wei Wuxian thought he had been seen and prepared to make a dash and warn the others, but he realised in time that it was because Wen Qing entered the room, followed by another retainer who guided the Jin sect disciple who had been blindfolded.

He felt Luo Qingyang arrive at his side as the last head disappeared from view and the alert retainer again went back to dozing.

He indicated they should rejoin Lan Wangji and they moved back around to their original starting point, where Lan Wangji stood, merging into the shadows in his black robes, clearly waiting for them to return.

He unfolded his arms as they arrived, and they all leant in close to each other.

“I saw nothing�� Luo Qingyang reported, her voice so low even pressing their heads together almost wasn’t enough.

“The Jin disciple, Zheng He, was questioned briefly by Wen Qing and submitted to being blindfolded”

“They lead him into the room in the eastern corner of the building. There’s a hole cut into the floor that leads down beneath the house. It’s guarded by a single retainer who isn’t the most alert”

“We have to follow as soon as possible, or we may miss the chance to find out what’s being done” Luo Qingyang urged, “There was no one else in the house that I saw, except the retainer Wei-gongzi reports, and whoever was with Wen Qing”

“The retainer who collected Zheng He left, there was one other man with them, they all three left together”

“And went down the staircase” Wei Wuxian confirmed. “Do we knock the guard unconscious then? It’s dangerous to leave him as a loose end, we don’t know how long we’ll be down there”

“Is he a demon? Is he Wen clan, or an outer disciple?” Lan Wangji asked.

“An outer disciple” Wei Wuxian informed him confidently.

“Then leave that to me” Lan Wangji stepped back and their sub-whispered conversation was done.

***

The wooden staircase led down into the depths of the bedrock the city was built on, into a tunnel system filled with cool air.

They found it wasn’t a straightforward single direction, and they would have to make a best guess of which way to go.

“If we have to make our way out quickly we’re likely to end up running deeper into the system rather than out” Wei Wuxian said in a low voice to protect it from echoing and alerting anyone to their presence. “Should we mark the walls in some way?” he went to draw Suibian, but Luo Qingyang raised her hand.

“It’s likely to make a noise and it will be easy to spot. We don’t want to bring the Wens down on our heads” she turned her back, lifted her outer robe and tore off the hem of her pink under robe.

She tore a smaller piece of the cloth off and placed it on the ground to one side of the tunnel they’d need to follow to get back to the staircase at the first juncture they came too. She weighted it down with a stone. It’s bright colour would mean they’d see it easily in the torchlight if they had to find their way out in a rush but it wouldn’t be too obvious to anyone walking past if they weren’t looking for it because it was such a small scrap.

Wei Wuxian gave her a pat on the shoulder and they carried on deeper into the tunnels.

“How did you do that to the retainer?” Wei Wuxian asked Lan Wangji, “Your eyes actually glowed. What even was that?”

“I promise to give you a full explanation when we’re safely out of the caves, please focus” Lan Wangji ordered and Wei Wuxian pulled a face at his back.

“Whatever is down here is important to whatever they’re doing, or intend to do with us, they deliberately moved Wen Qing’s hospital here recently, the paint of the healer sign is fresh, even thought the rest of the outside is weathered” Wei Wuxian murmured after a few minutes.

Lan Wangji agreed with a soft “Mn”.

“Nothing says evil scheme like a big subterranean cave full of mysteries” Wei Wuxian continued; he’d never liked silence.

Lan Wangji threw him a look.

“What?”

“We are traditionally silent when sneaking into a mysterious subterranean enemy stronghold” he said, an Wei Wuxian was delighted at the element of teasing in his reply.

“Then Lan Zhan, shush, if you say something to me of course I’m going to say something back to you, it’s only manners” his clowning was halted when Luo Qingyang punched him in the arm.

“If you get us caught because you can’t be quiet I’ll gut you myself” she threatened him in annoyance, “And Lan er-gongzi, you absolutely shouldn’t encourage him”

Lan Wangji blinked in surprise at being told off.

They continued onwards through the tunnels, making a best guess at the direction, and leaving more of Luo Qingyang’s under robe behind to guide the way back.

They eventually found themselves on a ledge which could have almost been designed by nature as a viewing platform for the large cavern it looked down into. They couldn’t have picked their destination any better to see what went on in the cavern.

“There are people down there” Wei Wuxian whispered urgently and all three of them dropped to the ground, creeping closer to the edge to get a look at what was going on.

He heard Lan Wangji’s sharp intake of breath and glanced over at him with a questioning look.

“The crystals” was the only explanation he offered, utter disbelief in his voice.

Wei Wuxian looked back at the cavern and saw that one of the walls was indeed fully formed from pale crystals that held a greyish tint.

The torchlight glinted off their smooth crystalline structures providing them with a perfect view of how big the surface area was.

The cavern also contained a large square alter-like chunk of rock that had been hewn from the very wall. Metal rings had been attached to the four corners and ropes were fed through them.

The ropes caused Wei Wuxian’s stomach to churn uncomfortably, immortal-binding ropes that would seal a cultivators ability to use their qi away.

It could mean nothing good.

And Zheng He, the Jin disciple, was already laid out tamely on the alter as Wen Qing talked to him. Of course he couldn’t see the immortal-binding ropes and, although he might think it strange he had been lead down into a cave system blindfolded he had no real reason to suspect he was in danger, Wen Qing could spin a perfectly reasonable excuse for why they had to be here and not on the surface in her hospital.

They watched in tense silence for what happened next; eventually, for Wen Qing had spoken to Zheng He at length, a broad-shouldered man in Wen clan robes entered the cavern carrying something wrapped up carefully in cloth.

Whatever it was it was hateful; Wei Wuxian could feel the resentment exuding from it in roiling waves of power, even from their vantage point as far away as they were.

“Xiongzhang warned me weeks ago, it’s sentient, hungry, wicked”

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian asked, a thrill of apprehension running through him at Lan Wangji’s words, but the other merely shook his head; he didn’t know yet.

The thing was unwrapped carefully by the new arrival, and he lifted a chunk of crystal from the middle of the cloth; it was about the size of a man’s fist and opaque black in colour.

“It’s cultivating, it’s why Xiongzhang could sense it’s sentience. It will eventually become a crystal demon” Lan Wangji breathed quietly.

“What should we do?” Wei Wuxian asked, his hand tightening on Suibian’s hilt.

“We need to warn the others, I suspect it must drain spiritual energy to feed itself and that is why the others appeared sick after visiting Wen Qing, they should regain normal qi flow after some rest and recuperation. I fear what it might do to a core formation cultivator though, trying to break through the core to get at the qi stored there”

The thought sent another shiver down Wei Wuxian’s spine, there weren’t many of the cultivators that had made their way to the Nightless City that had reached the core formation stage yet; he knew the three of them on the ledge had; Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng too, possibly Jin Zixuan; though Wei Wuxian held little respect for the peacock he wasn’t a complete waste of space as a cultivator. Just as a person.

“Do you think we’re the intended focus then?” Luo Qingyang’s voice sounded unsure. It wasn’t fear exactly, more uneasiness.

Lan Wangji shook his head again; obviously as in the dark as the rest of them. He began moving away from the lip of the ledge and the others followed suit.

“We know what the Wens are doing, we don’t know what their purpose is though. If we could just understand that...” Wei Wuxian shook his head; “You’re right though, it’s more important to warn the others. If possible we should get word out to the sects”

They made their way back down the tunnels in the direction they had come.

***

Despite the fact they’d stayed well into the evening in the clearing with Jiang Wanyin trying to form spiritual links with external objects he hadn’t been able to recreate the feat of causing more than a few reasonable sized rocks to react to his control at once.

They were both stymied.

It was well after dark when they gave up and walked back to the Nightless City together. The silence between them was a little awkward, but Lan Xichen felt any effort to fill the silence would appear unnatural and forced.

There was no sign of either Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian when they reached their accommodations so they both retired to the Lans’ house to return to the books they’d procured from the library.

They worked in companionable silence this time, discussed points they found in the texts, drank tea and kept each other company until dawn began to streak the sky.

Jiang Wanyin stretched eventually and Lan Xichen tried hard not to stare too much; it was of utmost important Jiang Wanyin didn’t feel crowded or pushed by him for a while and he was determined to ensure it didn’t happen.

“I have to go, I promised to meet with Wen Qing this morning”

Lan Xichen reached out and took Jiang Wanyin’s hand in his own briefly, “Just...be careful, yes? Don’t let your guard down. And come and see me when you’re back? Please?”

Jiang Wanyin paused briefly as if measuring the risk of such a promise, but he nodded eventually, “I will” he agreed quietly, before a soft flush dusted his cheekbones and he made his escape.

A gentle smile tugged at Lan Xichen’s mouth as he returned his attention to the books.

It was not too long later when he came across something that made him check the notes Jiang Wanyin had been making, his bold, aggressive script set out a point Lan Xichen had hoped he’d misunderstood. Unfortunately Jiang Wanyin was far too intelligent for that to have happened, and the implications made his heart sink.

He now knew what the Wens intended for them all, and he understood that Jiang Wanyin and he were both in grave danger. He leapt to his feet hoping to catch Jiang Wanyin before he delivered himself into the Wens hands but met his brother, Wei Wuxian and Luo Qingyang rushing to meet him; there were smeared with dirt and looked exhausted but he had no time to deal with whatever they had become embroiled in overnight.

“I know what they want, Wangji, the Wen royal bloodline is descended from the Demon Sun Kings, they feed on human emotions. Jiang Wanyin left to meet Wen Qing, I have to stop him”

“We came from our rooms first, he wasn’t there” there was a matching tone of panic in Wei Wuxian’s voice; “He must have already gone”

#How Shall We Stop Dreams AU #Xicheng #Wangxian #Luo Qingyang #mdzs #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #gdc #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #mdzs fic #mdzs fanfic #Alternative AU #Shay's stuff

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 5 years

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Moth Work Intro + False Idol | Writing Update

Hey People of Earth!

Today I thought I’d do a writing update on a project I’ve mentioned a lot in my vlogs but haven’t mentioned as of yet on here! This is a personal ‘passion project’ that I’ve been picking away at since January and have recently taken on as my transition project from Rewired to my next book.

So yee! MOTH WORK (or ‘boys on a boat’ for those who keep up with the vlogs lols) has been my current project for the last few weeks since finishing REWIRED. I didn’t really mean to expand it as much as I have as it simply started off as a spinoff story of my boys Lonan and Harrison which I write every few months when I’m having a breakdown and need something to cheer me up. :-)

I’ve mentioned a few of these stories in the past (like Fishbowl and Mandarin), though this story is a bit different, as I’ve expanded it quite a lot more than I intended to! If you aren’t super caught up with Rewired, I’d definitely scroll through a few of my last updates so this one will make more sense!

What’s it about?

Moth Work is a FOSTERED spinoff story following Lonan and Harrison (dumb+dumber) at the peak of their relationship. I *was saying* that the plot went loosely as follows: after finding a photograph of a woman in Lonan’s father’s dark room, they set out to find her, HOWEVER, because I never stick to plans, I have yet to follow through with this main plot thread, lol. Vaguely, I’d just say the most important part of this story is their relationship at its most fragile because who is plot I don’t know her.

Moth Work follows the events after REWIRED, and is a bit of a bridge between it and the next book. This makes it kind of hard to explain because a) it’s in a different POV, and b) context, but hopefully that makes sense! In essence: Lonan + Harrison’s relationship is big sad and Harrison tries to make it less big sad and it gets even more big sad.

I’ll share a very quick profile of both of the boys so there’s some context for the following excerpts I’ll share!

Harrison

My boy

Generally very outgoing, tho around Lonan this fizzles. Only wants the best for Lonan despite their history. He’s the ‘main’ narrator of the piece (third limited to him though I’m guilty of head hopping lol), so the work has a softer tone than I’m used to. Though Harrison tries to be a Macho Man, around Lonan he’s most himself--mellow, a lil stupidly romantic, and vulnerable.

Lonan

My problematic son/probably should be cancelled

The “issue” in the relationship loool. He’s emotionally immature and lacks accountability, but because of his past, lacks the ability to recognize these faults and work on them. Because of this, he’s fundamentally stayed the same for the last few works he’s been in (if not gotten worse). Lonan requires a lot of emotional assistance, though he isn’t self-aware enough to recognize this. This is often the cause of much conflict.

Conception:

Like I mentioned, I often write short spinoff stories following these boys because it’s a safe happy place for when I’m feeling stressed. This is basically how this piece started, though I’ve continued it for different reasons which I’ll get into. I don’t remember how the first scene was brainstormed, but I do know when I started writing this a few months ago, I wanted it to be a lot longer than my previous stories--a place where I could just dump my writing, even when it wasn’t good. I think I did this to cope with the stress of my writing class honestly, lol, I think I needed a break from ‘serious’ writing AKA a place I could just goof off and have some fun.

The writing bit:

Writing this story has been a bit inconsistent. I’ve been drafting it in little pieces since the beginning of the year, and only recently picked it up as more of a ‘full-time’ work. This is subject to change depending on whether or not I get more of book 7 done. I’ve gone from writing 20 words a day to 0 to 1000--there’s really no consistency with the drafting process here.

I have recently decided that I’ll most likely expand this into either a novella or novel itself because there is literally so much tea left to explore and it’s surpassed 10k words. Drafting Moth Work has been so helpful in easing me back into the world of FOSTERED and piecing together the huge time gap from the end of book 6 to the start of book 7. I’ve been a bit anxious to really dive into book 7 for the fear of the unknown, so inching myself closer to that timeline through this project has been very helpful!

The editing bit:

I recently did an edit around the line level for this entire piece (it’s about 12k words right now) because a) it really needed it b) I was losing steam/starting to get embarrassed and c) I needed a refresher of what had happened because je suis tres forgetful. This edit made me feel so much better about the project. It initially started off as a work where the writing didn’t actually matter and this mentality was working until I got so embarrassed of the prose I found it difficult to read through old scenes to refresh myself and thus couldn’t productively draft.

This project isn’t written exactly in my usual style--it’s pretty stripped back and actually reminds me a lot of how my style would’ve been in book 3 had I been a better writer four years ago lol. I think the looser style works for the voice/the story itself but I def wouldn’t categorize this as litfic (what I usually write). Although the prose isn’t very complex, it took me a really long time to get comfortable enough to edit?? But once I got into the rhythm of it a few days ago, I completed the edit fairly quickly, and I’m 100% feeling better about the project overall! Though the prose is still not my top priority I’m not as embarrassed of it currently lols.

I also divided the project into chapters because it was getting pretty long to just be one mass of text. I currently have 3 chapters. This update will cover chapter 1.

Playlist:

Yo this is literally the best part of writing this project, lol, I get to listen to so much different music?? I’ve made a comprehensive playlist for this story with a character by character breakdown (if anyone wants to see that/highlights, let me know!). This playlist pulls from every song from my library, so we span genres and artists like crazy. Nothing But Thieves has been the primary artist for this story (specifically their self-titled album). These songs (all NBT oop) are the most relevant if you want to get the general tone lol (anything with a star has explicitly inspired the project):

Excuse Me*

Honey Whiskey*

Tempt You (Evocatio)*

If I Get High (II)

Gods

Lover, Please Stay*

I Was Just A Kid*

Get Better

Hell, Yeah*

Afterlife

Reset Me

Particles

Sorry

Number 13

Excerpts:

I don’t have *many* because prose hasn’t really been a top priority for this project, but I’ll try to include at least one per scene.

This is one of the opening paragraphs from chapter one which I’ve titled ‘False Idol’. In short, the chapter follows the boys first attempting to destroy the dark room and then getting distracted and eventually not pulling through after Harrison finds a picture of Ominous Lady.

The chapter’s chronology is wild so we can break it up as follows:

Scene A

The boys enter the dark room with the intention of burning it down

Harrison reaches for his lighter and drops it which prompts him to find the photograph of Ominous Lady

Him and Lonan mildly argue about Ominous Lady until Lonan takes it too seriously and throws a tantrum :-DD

Scene B

Not really a full scene, just a bridge between scene A and C.

Harrison has been waiting for Lonan to return to their campsite for the entire day and he decides to at the very last moment

“hey so i’m unable to apologize for anything but also! cigarette! let’s share it! lungs!”

Scene C

The boys exercising their canoeing skills

This leads us to our first “beat”.

Lonan interrupts Harrison’s peaceful evening by having a mild crisis

This takes place right after the events of Lolita, Lolita (chapter 16 of REWIRED). We then jump back to the fictive present.

This alternates like 5 more times lol then the chapter is done!

The following excerpt describes their entry into the dark room. Don’t know how smart it is to be smoking in a room full of highly flammable material but we out here.

I don’t think she’s particularly special but I also don’t hate her so!! hoping an aesthetic photo will make it read better :’)) I ! don’t ! think ! it does ! but !

Harrison shoulders the door first, traps it open with the clip of his boot. Dust and streaks of light rake behind him as he pushes through cardboard boxes, mountains of photo paper on the ground. Lonan follows silently, still wearing Harrison’s jacket. Trails of smoke from his cigarette catch in the negatives hanging by the clothespins, chemical peel between the layers of ink. In one hand he tends to his cigarette, and in the next, lugs in the canister of gasoline they found in the cabin’s cellar. As Harrison fumbles for his flashlight, Lonan sets it down by the table so it sloshes like the Pacific.

This is a bit of when Harrison finds the photograph of Ominous Lady:

He turns the photograph over, and shines the flashlight on it. It’s scratched and developed wrong, little bits of orange obscuring the woman’s face, but it’s very much a woman. A dark bob and bangs in her eyes, jewelry hanging from her septum. Sunshades enough to reflect the European street behind her. The discreet jet of ink on her skin, blues and greens peeking out from under her sleeve. Izzy, he recognizes. Lonan’s mother.

Nudging Lonan with an elbow, “I didn’t know your mom has tattoos.”

Lonan takes the photograph cautiously, holding it by the corners like it’ll burn him. His brow trembles, but it takes him only seconds to say, “That’s not my mom.” He takes the flashlight from Harrison and examines it closer, fingers nimble and tracing the edges. In the grey light of the dark room, he looks nullified. Just a monochromatic hum of chromosomes and skin.

that’s not my MOM

After the boys find the photograph, Lonan gets triggered at Harrison’s suggestion to find the woman (he presumes her to be someone involved with his father) and promptly has a tantrum and exits. This leads us into the next scene where the boys! actually! get! on! boat! In this scene Lonan tries to say sorry for his tantrum by offering Harrison a cigarette (lol) and because Harrison is hopelessly romantic and also hopelessly dumb, says yeeeees sir! They go for a canoe ride on the water. Thought it was going to be sweet, ended up being a shitstorm but!

This paragraph is kind of toast but:

The canoe isn’t hard to get into the water. After a few nudges from the dock into the slow dip of tide, it stabilizes easily. Harrison is convinced it will capsize but Lonan knows it won’t. They take one ore each, and ignore the life jackets at the back of the shed.

The moon is large and mesmerizing. As Harrison and Lonan take turns pushing the canoe into the water, mast first, then its entire belly, it colours them silver. Lonan’s protected the cigarette in the pocket of his shirt. Harrison stares at its faint outline stretched under the fabric. Lonan steps into the canoe first, rocking with the current, and extends a hand for Harrison. He pulls him in and they row until the cabin is the size of a fingernail, the wave steady and dense. Each cut of the paddle feels like plunging a scalpel into flesh and Harrison watches Lonan do it easily. In the distance, the cabin doesn’t look so menacing. Reeve has left the lamp on by the loft, and it glimmers back like an eyeball, effervescent and tiny. Nothing but a reflective penny in the distance.

Here’s some Harrison being lame:

The water laps at the base of the canoe, and Ris reaches over and touches it like it’s holy. He makes the sign of the cross and it feels perverse, cold water dripping from forehead to chin.

For a while it’s quiet. Just the distant hum of crickets, the slash of the paddle, and the off-chance flash of something in the distance; an animal, a flashlight. Ris tries not to think about Lonan’s dad, like a dead man slithering through the water, following their boat. He picks at a saltine, sucks it between his tongue meditatively. Against the sky, Lonan is backlit and lovely and flecks of his hair peek up from around the jacket’s collar. Harrison wonders if as a child, everyone said he looked just like his father.

On top of lacking accountability, Lonan is also a professional canoeist so he takes over while Harrison eats saltines and reminisces about an encounter they had weeks prior. This leads into the solid chunk of backstory that I weirdly jump in an out of for the entire chapter. :)

Backstory consists of drunk Lonan having a crisis while Harrison tries to have a peaceful evening of taping up his drawings to his bedroom ceiling. The following excerpt describes the moment right after Lonan enters the room.

Harrison’s lips secured around his cigarette, his hand mid-air with packing tape and line drawings of the moon. A tinny country song dribbled through the radio. The minute-meal he’d heat up in the microwave lying forgotten and cold on his desk. Harrison set the pile of drawings down and turned off the music.

“Emily left?” Lonan asked. He kept his face upward, stared clumsily at the ceiling. Harrison watched his eyes trace the new drawings, following the uncalculated pattern.

This paragraph is made up of 5 similes and this is the only reason I’m sharing it :)))):

Lonan has stopped paddling. The canoe sits in the middle of the lake, lifeless, like a bone in the water. He’s turned so Harrison can see him in profile, and Ris can’t tell if it’s relieving or worrying to see his face. Lonan’s jaw is taut, like there are words he wants to say there but can’t. Filling up the hollow bone. He blinks slowly, like he’s trying to re-centre himself, his chest quivering with breaths meant to steady him. The water laps at the base of the canoe, whirling. Dark hair tangles down his cheeks like the fingers of a poltergeist.

I think that’s a pretty good way to end this post lol! How many similes have you put in one paragraph? What’s your record lol this is probably mine!

Hope y’all enjoy the intro to MOTH WORK. I have two other chapters already written which I’ll update on in a separate post! For now I hope you like this more laid back project, let me know what you think!

---Rachel

#writing #writingupdates #writeblr #amwriting #writerblr #fostered #mothwork

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azure-v3 · 5 years

Note

Hey, I really want to hear you talk about Kind Lie because I'm always so impressed at the amount of thought you put into your writing. I wanted to ask what was the most difficult scene to write so far and why ? Can you do a commentary of that scene ? I'm also curious about the chapter titles. How do you chose them ?

Thanks for leaving an ask, and thank you for showing interest in KL as always, even when it’s been almost a year since the last update.

There’s a scene in chapter 3 that popped into my head immediately thanks to a huge mistake I almost made, and looking back at that scene, there were some other tricky parts just before it, so I’ll just commentate that whole part of the story ;D

The context is, Kaito has woken up after (essentially) passing out the previous day because of exhaustion and a minor head injury—and suddenly remembers that he missed his arranged meeting with usotsuki.

(under the cut)

Alright so not much to talk about really, but I do remember having no idea how to describe the frantic spamming of mouse clicks that a person does when impatient.

Again nothing special, but Kokichi’s lack of worry here is notable for two reasons:

First, despite Kokichi always making a lot of assumptions whenever he can, it’s still always based off of some sort of evidence. If there’s no reason for him to assume something, he won’t. He has no reason to think something went wrong, so he has no reason to assume so. Similarly, he has no reason yet to even consider the possibility that he’s talking to Kaito, something a lot of readers don’t seem to realize. Kokichi is just smart, not omnipotent.

Second, it’s just reminding the reader that Kokichi doesn’t know about space_hero’s condition and thus has no reason at this time to worry. That changes quite quickly, however.

Alright, and here we get to one of the two really difficult parts of this scene, and the most difficult part about writing a character who thrives off of denial.

Kaito would never let himself finish the thought of, “what if I had died,” which makes it really hard for me to express what specifically he’s not-thinking about in this scene.

There are plenty of moments in KL where Kaito is an unreliable narrator/POV, and there are so many times where I’m not able to actually talk about what is going on through Kaito’s head because he’s actively avoiding/burying it. Since KL strictly follows his POV, I can’t suddenly jump out with a detached description saying something like, “Kaito refused to even think about dying from his illness” because Kaito is refusing to think about it.

Personally I think this makes for an interesting read, because I have to depend on the reader to fill in the blanks themselves. But that can also make it more confusing. Let’s take a look at what follows:

If the reader can’t understand what Kaito was stopping himself from thinking, they can’t understand why he reacts so dramatically. Kaito is so unwilling to even think about the possibility of his illness being terminal that he has to physically jerk himself out of his thoughts.

I think I played around with this scene a lot, because I was really worried about it being very hard to guess how Kaito was going to finish his sentence. I’m sure there’s some way I could have made it more obvious, but it’s just moments like these that make it really hard being stuck in Kaito’s POV.

Another difficult thing is describing the physical symptoms of his anxiety towards his situation. This is most notable in chapter 4, but it’s something I was concerned about as I reread KL for this ask. For Kaito to start suddenly coughing, hyperventilating, or for him to tense up at a moment’s notice—obviously all of that seems very questionable. However, that’s not what’s happening.

What’s going on is, Kaito is subconsciously and sometimes willingly ignoring himself beginning to tense up, or forgetting to breathe and relax. That leads to the physical stress building up without him noticing, and he only becomes aware of it when something very stressful or shocking happens, which causes that stress to overload and cause a huge physical reaction.

But again, if a reader can’t consider that, then it seems like I’m just dialing Kaito’s physical state to whatever the moment needs it to be.

All of this is mostly just classic Kaito distracting himself from his thoughts. I’m also trying to set up the fact that he and Rantaro actually are friends, that Rantaro travels and skips school a lot, and also that not a lot of people stick around Hope’s Peak Academy during the weekends. It was mentioned earlier in this chapter that Maki, Shuichi, and even Kirumi had somewhere else to be during the weekend. In Chapter 2, Kokichi went on a small rant that everyone, “even Ryouma,” hadn’t stayed at the school that night.

All of that, as well as Kaito knowing who would be around at school during the weekend, as well as “why can’t anyone normal ever sticking around” implying that this is a complaint he’s had before, implies that Kaito, unlike a lot of his peers, doesn’t usually leave HPA, and that that isn’t normal for an Ultimate student. Which might lead the reader to think that maybe Kaito has nowhere/no one else to visit.

Of course, there’s also enough clues to realize Kokichi also doesn’t leave HPA. If the reader knows about Kokichi’s and Kaito’s event where they’re the only two students around during the holidays, than perhaps it’ll be easier for them to go, “oh yeah.”

Alright, here’s the part that made my instantly think of this as the hardest scene in the fic:

It’s just that one line, but it was a pretty big deal to me.

Because originally, that line happened, and then Kaito kind of just wasted the rest of the day doing nothing, and it would be that way until he got a response from usotsuki.

I came back a few hours later to continue writing, reread that part, and it suddenly struck me how completely out of character that was.

Normally I’m pretty confident in my interpretation of Kaito’s character, but in that moment, I had completely lost a part of Kaito—the one that never stops trying.

Because that’s the reason behind Kaito’s entire denial. It’s not that he doesn’t believe he can get sick, or doesn’t acknowledge death as a part of life—Suddenly Kaito is being told that he has no choice but to abandon all of his dreams, and that he should accept the fact that he’s likely going to die, with no control over any of it.

No one is telling him that if he takes really good care of himself he can push through, or that it’s still possible he can recover and go to space. If that were the case, then we’d probably see a very different story, one where Kaito aims to do absolutely everything to ensure his survival and fitness. Instead, it’s a firm, 100% statement of “it’s impossible, there’s nothing you can do, and you need to give up.”

There is no space for him to try. There is no solution to the problem. Kaito is someone who needs to believe that he has control over the situation, believe that he can choose his own fate. Acknowledging the reality of his situation would break him, and thus denial is the only thing keeping him together. If Kaito loses hope, then he can’t go back.

Small little tangent aside, I felt like in that moment, I forgot what the root of this entire story was. And thus, this scene became a moment where I was pulling from my own feelings more than Kaito’s.

Now I’m a lot more careful about it and I’m often checking that Kaito is true to his beliefs, so hopefully there are no other moments like this in the future.

“That’s stupid” is a call out aimed directly at myself, haha. I do want to say that I left one line of Kaito’s inclination to do nothing just as a sort of tease of sorts. Right now Kaito isn’t giving up, but will that always be true?

Another bit of what could be foreshadowing, or maybe an innocent spark of foreboding for the readers.

Space is Kaito’s motivation, the embodiment of his dreams. In the past, looking at the sky gave him hope, but now there’s a sense of fear(—fear that he might not ever get to reach them). Once again, with Kaito hiding his negative thoughts, I really hope readers can put the pieces together and understand what the “sense of dread” is about.

But hey, this time I quite directly imply what it was. I’m quite lucky Kaito is at least vocal about his “positive” thoughts.

And with that, we end the scene with even more of Kaito distracting himself from all his problems!

I hope that this was somewhat interesting!! This might not be an important scene in the overall plot, but I guess it’s a good representation of Kaito’s denial, as well as a good representation of how I sometimes like to hide extra information in unassuming paragraphs.

TLDR, this scene was the hardest to write because my point of view character is preventing me from actually describing what’s going on, and also it’s sometimes hard to separate his attitude from my own.

(I’ll answer your second question in a separate post, just because of how long this got.)

#muzothecat #ask #kaito momota #kind lie #danganronpa v3

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humansunshineao3 · 6 years

Text

Fighting the Good Fight [Ch. 10]

Alec Lightwood just wants to run his Institute in peace.

This is the story that could’ve unfolded if Jace didn’t exist.

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Magnus/Alec, Clary/Izzy

Tags: Jace doesn't exist, transgender alec lightwood, retelling of the TV show, Internalized Transphobia, Panic Attacks, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Lightwood Siblings Feels, Izzy and Alec are parabatai, Family Dynamics, Homophobia, top surgery, Trigger warnings in chapter notes, in depth trigger warnings

AUTHOR’S NOTE: TRIGGER WARNINGS

Invasive behaviour/pushy behaviour?: Lydia tries to get Alec to take off his shirt and binder in front of her. He says no very firmly and shuts her down.

Internalised transphobia: There's a part where world inverted!Alec talks about loving dick and strap ons. (It makes sense in context OKAY) - in this world, Alec grew up as a mundane so was a lot more indoctrinated by the idea that trans people need to do this, this and this in order to be valid. In regular show world, Alec learned about transness on the internet, so doesn't have the same kinds of hang-ups. The point is, in this one little part, Alec infers that his attraction to men hinges on whether they have a dick or like to wear strap-ons (if they're trans men). He's not attracted to women who wear strap-ons, he's just trying not to erase trans men from his sexual orientation, but he is sort of erasing trans men who don't wear packers and strap ons. God dammit, Alec.

Top surgery discussions and results: So for reasons discussed above, Alec in the world inverted had top surgery when he was around 23/24. The normal show world Alec has his top surgery consultation in this chapter, and there's discussion about methods and surgery anxiety. Nothing too graphically gory, but Alec does find it distressing. This ties into:

Depictions of disassociation: Alec zooms the fuck out of his body during his surgery consultation. I don't know that it'll make sense to people who've never disassociated, but it's the best I can depict that feeling with words. It's brief but I don't want to induce it in anyone if they didn't know it was coming.

Miscommunication with sexy times: World inverted Izzy tries to initiate sex with our Clary and Clary spends a minute freaking out about the concept of having sex with world inverted Izzy before asking Izzy to stop. Izzy does so instantly and doesn't demand an explanation.

Previous chapter

EPISODE 10: This World Inverted

“When you get to the other dimension, you will inhabit the body of your counterpart from there. Do not allow yourself to get distracted by the people who care for you in that dimension; if you forget your mission, you’ll also forget your life here, and this dimension’s Clary will cease to exist. You must stay focussed. The only thing that will remind you of this dimension is that portal shard. Once you use it, you must use the portal immediately or risk forgetting everything.” Meliorn instructed, leading her through a forest in the Seelie realm.

Clary nodded, fingering the pendant around her neck as they stepped over loose roots. Meliorn offered her no words of assurance, only facts, and it made Clary uneasy. She couldn’t imagine what his relationship with Izzy must have been like, but then, perhaps he simply didn’t like her, and that was why he was being so unfriendly. Valentine was her father, after all, and she’d basically stolen his lover right out from under him. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a reason.

She almost walked into him as he stopped, suddenly, in the middle of a small clearing. Meliorn looked around slowly, putting his hands palm to palm before twisting them together and then out, magic bursting from his hands and swirling into a vortex to create a huge portal in the middle of the clearing. They stood there for a moment, both staring at the entrance to the portal.

“Well?” Meliorn prompted her, “what in Raziel’s name are you waiting for?”

“Right, right…” Clary nodded, clenching her fists at her sides as she looked into the portal. “Thank you, Meliorn.”

“Your 24 hours have already begun, shadowhunter.” He replied, taking a seat on the grass next to the portal.

Clary nodded, checking her watch, and dashed through the portal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Alec stepped out of Magnus’ portal and into his room, he let out a long sigh, unbuttoning his shirt slowly.

“Is that why you’re not interested in becoming friendly?”

Alec spun around to see Lydia sitting on his bed, her stone cold gaze fixed on where the portal was shrinking away to nothing. “What are you doing in here?!” He demanded, hurriedly buttoning up his shirt.

“I came to see if you were alright. You did say you were injured.” Lydia reminded him. “Now you have some explaining to do. Why are you… Socialising… With a warlock?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Alec replied stiffly, folding his arms.

“I am your fiancee!”

Alec scoffed. “I’m not going to have an affair when we’re married, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“But you’re having an affair now?” Lydia demanded, leaping to her feet.

“Does it look like I just got back from a romantic romp with a lover?” Alec snapped. He was so tired, his ribs were screaming at him, Robert’s words playing over and over in his head. All he wanted was to curl up in bed.

Lydia bristled at that, looking him up and down. “Then what were you doing with him?”

“Talking!” Alec answered, “that’s it! Okay? Now could you please leave so I can get some sleep? I’m exhausted.”

There was silence in the room for a moment, Lydia staring right at him, but Alec kept his gaze fixed on the wall behind her. She looked at him for a long, long moment, her hands knotted together behind her back in the at-ease position that Alec found himself standing in all too often.

“You know, you could talk to me about whatever it is you’re going to Magnus with. I want to help you. I want to be here for you, Alec, I want a relationship. I don’t want to marry a stranger.” She said, her voice almost soft.

Alec tried to sigh, but a hiss came out instead. “I can’t do this right now, I need to change out of my binder.”

“Let me help,” Lydia stepped forward, her hand curling around the hem of his shirt.

“What? No.”

“Alec…” Lydia stubbornly gripped the shirt tighter. “It’s okay.”

Alec raised his eyebrows. “No, it isn’t. I don’t want you to touch me.”

“Why not?” Lydia demanded, her cheeks flaming pink.

“Because I’m gay!” Alec shouted.

Lydia pressed her lips together, and let go of Alec’s shirt. She took a step back, straightening her blouse. “I need you to be relaxed.”

“Well, good job making me more tense than I already was, fuck! Just go away!”

“Isabelle’s going to be arrested in a moment, Alec. I wanted you to hear it from me.” Lydia told him, lifting her chin. “Raj has a mark from her whip on his wrist. We know she was involved in Meliorn’s escape. Don’t-” Lydia held up her pointer finger as Alec opened his mouth to speak, “say anything. I’m trying to protect you from this investigation, because I want to believe that you wouldn’t betray the Clave.”

Alec’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his ears buzzing. “What are the charges?” He asked, his own voice sounding far away.

“Treason.”

Alec made a choked noise of despair, and started running his hands through his hair. “That means a deruning.”

“I’m sorry, Alec, but the charges are just.” Lydia replied.

“Are they?” Alec snarled, his blazing green eyes locking with hers. “Is it just that my sister is being punished for falling for a downworlder and trying to rescue him from a racist, unfair, ridiculous punishment that would have almost certainly resulted in his death? Tell me, Lydia, where is the fucking justice in that?”

Lydia straightened her spine, meeting his eyes with equal ferocity. “The law is hard. But it’s the-”

“GET OUT!” Alec shouted, right in her face. “Get out of my room, get out of my fucking life, you racist, queerphobic, manipulative piece of shit. Get out! NOW!”

Lydia looked shocked, standing there with Alec towering over her like he was. Her eyes flicked down to his panting mouth, and he clenched his teeth against the urge to punch her. “Alec…”

“Either walk out yourself,” Alec stepped back, flexing his fists as he took some deep, calming breaths, “or I will pick you up and toss you out.”

She opened her mouth like she was going to say more, but wisely thought better of it, and stalked past Alec and out the door. The moment the door clicked shut, Alec flew into action, snatching up anything he could get his hands on and hurling it against the wall or floor. When there was nothing left to throw, he stood in the middle of the room, sweating and heaving for breath, and started tearing at his shirt, ripping his binder over his head and hurling that at the floor at his feet.

“FUCK!”

After grabbing a sports bra and a shirt to put on, Alec scrubbed his hands down his face and legged it out the door, catching up to Lydia right outside Izzy’s room, where Raj and a shadowhunter that Alec didn’t recognise were already standing. Ignoring the three of them, Alec pushed past and knocked on Izzy’s door.

“Come in!” She called, and Alec shoved through and shut the door behind him, pressing his back against it. “Alec, are you-?”

“They’re arresting you for treason. Climb out the window.” He told her, straining to keep the door shut against Lydia and the others. “Go!”

Izzy’s eyes went wide, but she made no move to escape. Instead, she walked up to him, and gently tugged on his arm. “Let them come, Alec.”

“They’ll derune you!”

“I know I did the right thing. The just thing.” She said quietly. “Let them come, please.”

Alec shook his head. “I won’t let them take you away. I won’t.”

“Alec,” Izzy smiled, resting her hand on his shoulder. “You can’t protect me from everything, big brother.”

Lydia’s shadowhunter goon managed to dislodge Alec then, and he went stumbling across the room, allowing Lydia and the others to enter the room. Izzy stood up straight and defiant, her eyes fixed on Lydia. Alec recovered his balance and shoved Izzy behind his back, positioning himself between his sister and the people who’d take her away from him.

“It’s okay, big brother.” Izzy insisted, stepping out from behind him. She put her hands on her hips, and shrugged one shoulder. “Arrest me. I don’t care. I’m so beyond done with the Clave, at this point. Do what you like.”

“Izzy,” Alec warned her, “you can’t come back from a deruning.”

Isabelle lifted her chin. “I did what was right. I would die to do the right thing if necessary.”

“Those are some very grandiose ideals you hold there, Miss Lightwood,” Lydia responded, “it’s a shame you’re on the wrong side. Blackthorn, take her.”

“I wish you and the other Clave officials would admit you want Valentine to gain power.” Izzy spat, “all I’ve done, I’ve done to fight against him and his ideology. If the Clave has such an issue with my actions… Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

Alec wrung his hands together behind them, wanting so badly to just throw Izzy over his shoulder and run. She had no idea what she was playing with; Alec had read enough reports of people suffering through the Clave’s punishments to know that Izzy was severely underestimating the consequences of her words.

“Take her away, Blackthorn.” Lydia ordered, not bothering to hide the disgust in her face as Izzy was dragged down towards the elevators. Alec grabbed her arm as she turned to leave, pure hatred blazing in his eyes.

“Just so you know, offically, the engagement’s off.” He informed her coldly, before letting her go and stalking out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Clary felt solid ground beneath her feet again, she realised she was standing in a sunny kitchen. With a quick glance around, she realised that she didn’t recognise it, and her hand flew to her sternum to check that the portal shard had made it through with her. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as her fingers came into contact with the cool stone.

“Morning, sweet pea. Busy day ahead?”

Clary swirled around at the sound of the man’s voice, and her eyes widened when she saw Valentine walking towards her, snatching up a kitchen knife and brandishing it at him. “Where’s my mother?!” She demanded, mind racing.

For a moment, Valentine looked utterly confused, but then his face morphed into a warm smile. “Oh, are you practising for cosplay? That’s cute, sweetie. You’re gonna knock their socks off.” He started setting up the plates on the table, wiping his palms on his trousers. “You should show your mom.”

“Mom?” Clary repeated, her breath catching in her throat as Jocelyn came through the door holding a basket of laundry. “Mom!” She ran towards her, the kitchen knife clattering to the table, and enveloped Jocelyn in a tight hug.

“Whoa!” Jocelyn laughed, raising her eyebrows as she made eye contact with her husband. “You’ve only been gone a couple of days, honey, are you really that homesick? Are you sure the dorms are working out?”

Dorms?

Clary squeezed her eyes shut, his mind racing. When she opened them again, she remembered Meliorn’s words. The shadowhunters no longer existed in this dimension, which meant that neither Valentine nor her mother had ever been shadowhunters. They were just happy, normal people. She smiled at her Mom, shrugging a little.

“Right. Sorry. Just… I’m happy to see you.”

Jocelyn squeezed her hand. “We’re always here if you need us, honey.”

Clary swallowed hard, her eyes darting to Valentine every few moments. It was bizarre to see; this man that had the entire shadow world running scared, was in a kitchen in Brooklyn making french toast. She sat down at the table next to her Mom, and took a moment to centre herself back in her own dimension. Here, she didn’t have Luke as a father, and though this Valentine seemed nice enough, she wouldn’t trade Luke for anything. And in her dimension, she had Izzy waiting for her. She had to stay focussed.

“Izzy called, by the way. She and Alec are going over some last minute details at Simon’s, if you wanna go and see your girlfriend.” Valentine wiggled his eyebrows cheekily at her.

“Val, come on, they’ve been dating for months, when are you going to get bored of teasing her?” Jocelyn groaned.

“I’m just happy for them! Izzy is so smart and so sweet, she’s the best assistant I’ve ever had! And I’m thrilled that Clary has such a lovely partner. Gives me the warm and fuzzies.” Valentine beamed, squeezing Clary’s hand. “You know, if you guys ever broke up, I don’t know which one of you I’d side with.”

Jocelyn playfully smacked him in the arm.

“What? I love Izzy!”

Clary had spent this entire exchange reeling. She not only knew Izzy in this dimension, she was dating her? It forced her to wonder if fate was real, after all. “Thanks, I’ll go and meet up with them after breakfast.” She wondered if Alec and Magnus were together in this dimension, too.

“Oh my God, Clary, you have to check out this commercial, it’s so cheesy, you’ll love it.” Valentine turned the volume up on the TV, and pointed to it.

On the screen was Hodge, the weapons master from the institute, and Clary’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do until Magnus Bane helped me to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.”

Magnus was a… life coach?

“Hi, I’m Magnus Bane, and-” Clary choked on her orange juice.

Magnus looked like a banker. He wore square glasses and a well-cut, plain suit. He didn’t have a hint of make-up on, and his hair was limp against his forehead. Clary couldn’t believe her eyes. In this dimension, Magnus was a psychic?

Clary pushed away from the table, and shook her head. “Actually, you know, I’m not really hungry. I’m gonna go find Izzy.”

Ignoring the way Jocelyn and Valentine were calling after her, Clary rushed out of the house, pulling the phone in her pocket out to check Google maps. She already had a message from Izzy, and she took a deep breath before opening it.

-We moved to the vegan pizza van in the park. It’s at Cherry Hill, come find us xx

That vegan pizza van also existed in her dimensional, so Clary made her way there with little trouble, keeping her mind focussed on Luke and Simon, the werewolf and the vampire who were waiting for her back home. As she neared the van, she noticed Alec first; he was dressed in a salmon pink polo shirt and he was sitting with his arm slung around Simon’s shoulder, talking to him with a fond expression on his face. Izzy was sitting opposite them, with her back to Clary. She had her hair done up in a ponytail, and she was wearing a red t-shirt. Clary tapped her on the back as she approached, since Simon and Alec were caught up in their conversation about suggestive emojis and hadn’t noticed her.

“You made i! You have to try this pizza, babe, it’s amazing.” Izzy beamed, pulling Clary down onto the bench next to her.

“I’m just saying that personally I’m more aroused by the peach emoji,” Simon insisted, giving Clary a nod in greeting as she took a bite of the pizza Izzy had shoved under her nose.

“That’s because you don’t like dicks or strap ons. If you were more phallically inclined, I swear to you that you’d literally salivate at the sight of the eggplant emoji. I would know.” Alec argued.

“Alec, please, stop talking about how much you love phalluses over lunch. We’re supposed to be talking about the party.” Izzy whined, putting her head in her hands.

“This is a scientific conversation!” Alec smirked, giving Clary a wink. “How’s your Dad? Stressed? Chilled? We’ve got everything sorted for tonight. It’s all gonna go off without a hitch, I guarantee it.”

“Uhhhh yeah, he seems fine.” Clary shrugged. “He actually seems really excited.”

“As he should be. Parties thrown by yours truly are infamous for a reason.” Alec pointed out, picking up his iced coffee to take a sip. “Oh shit, I almost forgot! I haven’t shown you my nipple piercings, have I?”

Simon snorted. “He’s been flashing people all day.”

“I paid a lot of money for this chest, excuse me for being proud of it,” Alec sniffed, lifting up his shirt to reveal his flat chest. He had twin pink scars where Clary assumed his breasts had once sat, though they looked like they’d been there for a few years, at least. His nipples were slightly oval shaped, and they both had glinting silver bars through them. “Aren’t they cute?!”

“I still think it’s a bad idea to get scar tissue pierced.” Izzy pursed her lips, “what if you get an infection?”

“I’m like, obsessively cleaning them, Iz, it’ll be fine. You remember how good I was at looking after my scars.”

Izzy hummed, shrugging a little as she nodded. “You’re right.”

“So you decided to get top surgery, huh?” Clary mused without thinking, and all three of them gave her a strange look.

“Uh… Yeah, like… Two and a half years ago?” Simon answered, “remember, we all went with him down to Florida to look after him. He was a total diva.”

Alec grunted, and kicked Simon playfully. “Yeah, Clary, are you feeling alright? You look freaked.”

Clary waved their concern off, biting off a huge chunk of the vegan pizza so she wouldn’t have to answer them verbally. Alec and Simon shrugged and went right back to discussing the fact that Simon would probably sleep with a dude if said dude was very hot, but Izzy’s attention remained on Clary, her dark gaze assessing.

“Help me carry the coffees?” Izzy asked, though she didn’t give her girlfriend a chance to respond, tugging her towards the catering van. “Seriously, are you alright? Are you freaking out because of… You know… The thing?”

“Yes?” Clary answered hesitantly, her breath catching in her throat as Izzy’s face fell. “No, I mean no!”

Izzy squinted at her. “Well, which is it?”

“That… Depends. Are you freaked out about it?”

“Uh, no… I’m the one who said it.”

“Right,” Clary nodded, putting her hands on Izzy’s hips. “Remind me how it went again…”

Izzy’s expression softened, and she put her arms around Clary’s neck. “I love you, Clary Fray.”

Part of Clary was a little unsettled, mostly because she and Izzy had shared precisely two kisses and she’d never been in love before. How was she supposed to know if it was real? The bigger part, however, the artistic soul that had grown up on imagination inhabited with fairytales and happy endings, was breathless with joy, and she pressed her forehead into Izzy’s.

“I love you too, Iz.”

“Really?” Izzy grinned, an endearing little squeak in her voice.

Clary laughed, and hugged her tightly. “Yes. Really.”

“Say it again,” Izzy demanded into her hair.

“I love you.”

Izzy hummed, pulling back just enough to kiss her, cupping her face like it was made of porcelain. Clary sighed and clutched at Izzy’s elbows, her mind drifting away. She thought of nothing but the party that night, the assignment she had to write in the next few days, whether Simon was ever going to just come out as pansexual already. When she and Izzy’s mouths parted, she let out a happy sigh, their cheeks resting together.

The loud ringing of a bike bell from a passing cyclist snapped Clary out of her momentary lapse, and she pulled away from Izzy quickly. “I have to go,” she said quickly, not waiting for Izzy to respond before hurrying away.

Izzy must have been shocked, because she didn’t call after her, and Alec and Simon must have been too involved in their conversation to notice she’d gone. Pulling out her phone, Clary googled Magnus Bane’s office location and started jogging towards the subway before she could get distracted again. Luckily, Magnus lived in the same place in this dimension as he did in hers, so it didn’t take her long to find her way to the loft apartment in Brooklyn.

When Magnus opened the door to her, Clary was once again struck by how different this Magnus was to the one she’d gotten to know in the last couple of weeks. He still had the same quick wit and sass, as shown by the unamused little eyebrow quirk he gave her as she explained that she didn’t have an appointment, but he was dressed like an accountant, and carried himself without any of his usual flair. By some miracle, Magnus had an open slot for a tarot card reading, and he showed her inside. The loft was practically unrecognisable; instead of sleek dark furniture, everything looked vaguely moth-eaten and… Beige.

“Let me tell you the mysteries of the future, Miss Fray,” Magnus said, his eyes wide with intrigue.

“Actually, Magnus, I’m here because I know you’re a warlock. I’m…” Clary pressed her lips together for a moment, before deciding to just come out with it. “I’m from another dimension and I need your help to find an interdimensional portal to get back to my world.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s not April Fools’ Day. Did Ragnor put you up to this?”

“No, Magnus, look…” Clary grabbed a journal and pen from next to him and scribbled a few runes. “Look, I’m a shadowhunter. No-one would know these runes except a shadowhunter, and they haven’t been around for decades.”

“Centuries, actually.” Magnus corrected her, steepling his fingers. “Even if I did believe you, there’s nothing I can do, I’m afraid. My magic has been dormant for years.”

Clary frowned. “You don’t use magic anymore?”

“Well, what use do I have for it?” Magnus snorted, getting up from the table. “Mundane technology makes it basically moot.”

“Magnus, if I don’t get back to my dimension, millions of people are going to die. There’s an evil man, he wants to wipe out the downworlders. I need to use that portal to stop him.” Clary explained, following Magnus as he walked around the room picking up after himself.

“As I said, my magic isn’t working. I’d love to help you, my dear, but I’m afraid I’m useless to you.”

Clary huffed. “Come on, Magnus, you’re the most powerful warlock I know. It’s all in there somewhere. Just give it a shot, try and… Try and move that teacup.” She encouraged, pointing at a half-empty teacup.

Magnus sighed, and held out his hand. The effort he was putting in was obvious; his eye was twitching a little and his fingers trembled. A couple of blue flashes sparked at his fingertips, but the cup didn’t move. After a couple of seconds of strain, he stopped, dropping his hand back to his side. “See?”

“Well, usually… Usually, you do more of a…” Clary waved her hands, wiggling her fingers like she’d seen Magnus do before. “More of a flourish, you know.”

“I do not look like that,” Magnus sniffed, “not in any universe.”

Clary put her hands on her hips. “Just try.”

After a long-suffering look, Magnus waved his arms around a little more, but the teacup stayed stubbornly still. The two of them groaned, and Magnus pushed his hair back from his eyes.

“What I need is a spark, a burst of energy, to get my magic pumping again. I need to touch some kind of magical artefact.”

“Like a portal shard?” Clary asked.

Magnus nodded, pointing at her thoughtfully. “Yes, exactly like that. Is…?” He tilted his head to the side as Clary tugged the necklace from her clavicle and held it up to him. “Is that a portal shard?”

“An interdimensional portal shard,” Clary told him, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Excellent. May I?” He checked, reached forward once Clary had nodded. The moment his fingers brushed the surface of the portal shard, Magnus jolted, brief glimpses of magic sparking across his skin. “That’ll do it!”

Clary grinned. “So where’s the portal?”

Holding up a hand for her to wait, Magnus closed his eyes for a moment, his fingers still touching the shard. “Hmmm… That’s not going to be easy.”

“Why?” Clary demanded, “where is it?”

Magnus let the portal shard drop back to Clary’s chest. “The basement of the New York institute.”

“Oh, piece of cake,” Clary snorted, waving away his concern. “There’s a party there tonight. I’ll get you on the guest list, and you can reopen the portal and send me home.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Clary promised. “Oh, also… Are you seeing anyone?”

Magnus narrowed his eyes at her. “I have six cats and I’m a 400 year old psychic. What do you think?”

Clary smiled, folding her arms. “Then dress nice, because I have someone I’d like to introduce you to tonight.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I figured out what you’re doing, Lydia.” Alec insisted, storming into the ops centre. “You’re holding Izzy hostage because you think Clary Fray has the cup.”

Lydia didn’t look at him, her eyes trained sternly on the screen in front of her. The shadowhunters working near where they were standing scattered; they’d been here longer than Lydia, and knew better than to come between the Lightwood siblings. For a moment, Alec just stared at the side of Lydia’s face, shoulders heaving, ready for a fight. Lydia realised that he wasn’t going away until she responded, so she sighed and turned to face him.

“The Clave wants the cup above all else. If Isabelle has a hand in returning the cup to the Clave, then her crimes will be forgiven.” She answered, “I was going to put this to her in the morning once she’d had the chance to calm down.”

Alec put his hands on his hips. “You want the cup? Fine. I know where it is.” He told her, a wave of satisfaction passing down his spine at the way Lydia’s mouth popped open, shock in the wideness of her eyes.

“You have been hiding the cup this whole time?! I should have you arrested.”

“Do you want the cup or not, Lydia?” Alec asked coolly, lifting his chin.

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Hand it over, Mr Lightwood.”

“Not until you guarantee the safety of me, Izzy and Clary.”

“I guarantee the safety of you and your little band of traitors,” Lydia snarled, without a moment of hesitation. “Now give me the cup!”

Alec turned on his heel, fishing his stele out of his pocket as he walked over to the cabinet hidden in the floor. With a flick of his stele, he opened it, standing to cross his arms as it lifted out of the ground. The smugness he felt was almost overwhelming as he watched Lydia’s face bloom into… Confusion? He glanced down into the cabinet, his breath dying in his throat as he realised that the tarot card hiding the cup was gone, along with Clary’s portal shard necklace.

She’d taken it with her to the other dimension.

“Well?” Lydia pressed, “where is it?!”

Alec’s mouth opened and shut a few times, his brain struggling to reconcile the fact that Izzy and Clary had lied to him about this, or at least concealed the truth. “I-I… I think Clary took it.”

“And where is she?” Lydia gritted out.

Alec didn’t answer her, making a beeline for Izzy’s room. His little sister had some explaining to do. Lydia watched him go for a moment, irritable at the sight of him, before turning to a shadowhunter who was there to hand her a report.

Upon seeing Izzy sitting alone in her glass cell, Alec paused. The last thing she needed right now was for Alec to go off ranting and raving at her, but… She lifted her head to flick her hair out of her face and spotted him hovering across the room, standing up. The hope in her face made guilt twist hotly in Alec’s stomach, and he walked quickly to the door. Redglass was on guard duty, and Alec didn’t have to argue why he should be let in, the young recruit just unlocked the door and allowed him entry.

Izzy hugged him the moment the door swung shut behind Alec, burying her face in his shoulder. “Any news?”

“Yeah, Iz. Lydia was going to offer you a plea bargain; your freedom for the cup. So imagine my surprise when I figured out it was gone.” Alec pulled back to look her in the eye. “Please tell me you gave it to Magnus to hide. Please.”

“Clary needs it, Alec. She has a plan, you know it’ll work. She’ll stop Valentine and when she does, the Clave will fall over themselves to drop the charges. We’ll be fine.” Izzy soothed, rubbing his arm.

“How could you make that call without asking me?!” Alec hissed, stepping out of her reach. “I thought the three of us were in this together, why would you shut me out?”

Izzy gestured at the walls around them. “Hello? I wanted to protect you from ending up like this?”

“That wasn’t your decision to make.”

“Says you, Mr ‘I’m going to throw my life away for my sister’s sake without bothering to ask’. Where was your team spirit when you decided to sacrifice yourself for me? Maybe I just wanted to repay you, did you think of that?!” Izzy asked.

Alec swallowed hard. “This is different. My decision to get surgery and marry a woman only affects me. The mortal cup could be lost forever in another goddamn dimension, Izzy. This affects everybody.”

“I have faith in Clary.”

Alec ran his hands through his hair. “I want to have faith in her, Iz, I do, but we’re talking about her going up against Valentine by herself. That is a huge risk. If he gets a hold of that tarot card, we’re done for.”

Izzy nodded, putting her hands on her hips. “It’s all or nothing, Alec, I know. But you know as well as I do that Lydia and the Clave have no intention of stopping Valentine until he starts killing high ranking shadowhunters.”

“You’re right. The Clave don’t give a shit, but the mortal cup…”

“Alec, whatever either of us did in the past can’t be changed. There’s no point standing here going back and forth. Clary has the cup and neither of us can reach her. I’m going to go on trial and hopefully, if I have a good advocate, it’ll be drawn out long enough for Clary to get back with Valentine and the cup. If not…”

“You’ll be deruned,” Alec reminded her.

Izzy nodded, sighing. “I’m willing to risk that.”

Alec looked at the blank white wall behind Izzy, his lips pursed. “Alright,” he relented, scratching his forehead. “Alright. Who’s going to be your advocate?”

“I want Magnus to do it.” Izzy insisted.

“But downworlders can’t get involved in Clave business…”

Izzy shrugged. “There’s no harm in asking, is there?”

Alec narrowed his eyes at her. “You just want me to go and see him so I’ll change my mind about Lydia. Who, by the way, I dumped.”

“You dumped her?!” Izzy looked happier than she had in a week, and she clutched at Alec’s arms, staring up at him with pride. “Really?”

“Uh, of course I did, are you kidding me? She’s trying to have you deruned. I’m not about to marry anyone who messes with my dumbass kid sister.”

Izzy hugged him again, squeezing him so tightly he thought his eyes might pop out of his head. “So you cancelled the surgery too, right?”

“No…” Alec admitted, pressing his face into her hair. “I’ve got the consultation in about an hour. I managed to convince Mom and Dad to let me go alone, thank God. The last thing I need is their over enthusiasm. It’ll just be me and Cat and the surgeon, talking about my options.”

“Are you sure that this is what you want? 100%?” Izzy asked, pushing him back half a step to meet his eyes.

Alec swallowed hard, running his hand through his hair. “I’m not sure what my feelings are about it. I hope this appointment is going to make me feel a little less… Terrified.”

Izzy frowned sympathetically at him. “I’d give anything to be coming with you for support.”

“Anything except the mortal cup, apparently,” Alec grumbled, smirking as Izzy shoved him.

As Alec made his way to the hospital, he tried to think about absolutely anything except the conversation he was about to have. Cat had gotten his number from Magnus, and the two of them had texted a little that morning, but her insistences that everything was going to be his decision didn’t make him feel any better. He had an overwhelming fear that he had no idea what the fuck he was doing in any part of his life. And for something like this? Major surgery? Alec felt like he should be sure, and he just…

Wasn’t.

Cat said it was normal to feel nervous, and that he shouldn’t pay attention to people who insisted that they were always 100% sure about surgery, because everyone experienced at least a little anxiety about it. Alec thought she was probably right, but he was also skeptical that any of those people felt the overwhelming terror of being put under anaesthetic that he did. Luckily, Cat was waiting for him near the doors, looking uncharacteristically perturbed.

“Hey, Alec. How are you feeling?” She asked, squeezing his shoulder.

“Uhhh…”

Cat smiled reassuringly. “Overwhelmed?”

“As overwhelmed as anyone’s ever been, yeah.” Alec agreed, shoving his hands in his pockets as they started walking through the hospital. “I didn’t expect any of this to happen so quickly.”

“That’s understandable.” Cat nodded. “I just want to apologise for being so… I really had no idea you were a shadowhunter. If I did I wouldn’t have made you feel so pressured to strike out on your own, I know how hard that is for your kind.”

Alec waved it away, shrugging. “Not your fault, Cat. I didn’t think for a second that you were a warlock, it never occured to me. Honestly I didn’t think downworlders had mundane jobs.”

“Most don’t,” Cat snorted, her eyes on the patients passing them, nodding and smiling at the ones she knew. “I guess I’m just a masochist, huh?”

“Must be,” Alec hummed, “though I’m guessing it must be nice to spend time with people who aren’t constantly on alert that the world is going to end.”

Cat chuckled. “Actually a surprising number of mundanes convince themselves the world is going to end every other week.”

“Oh yeah, that gross guy’s President now, right?”

“Alec, do you even know his name?” Cat teased, glancing over at him.

Alec shrugged, smirking a bit. “All I know is he looks like an angry cheeto.”

“How on Earth did I ever think you were a mundane?” Cat laughed, elbowing Alec in the ribs. “Alright, kid, here we are. So before we go in, I’m just going to let you know what’s about to happen, since I have a feeling you’ve done basically no prep for this, right?”

“I’ve only known about it for 16 hours… And it’s been a busy 16 hours…” Alec admitted.

“No problem. So when we go in, the surgeon will introduce himself. His sister was turned into a werewolf so he knows that the supernatural exists, but he doesn’t know specifics. I just told him that you had non-human blood, so he’s leaving the transfusions to me. Everything else is going to be basically the same. So he’ll ask you to take off your shirt and binder and he’ll take a look at your chest, take a couple of pictures for reference, and then he’ll be able to tell you which method is best. Then he’ll ask if you have any questions.”

“What if I don’t know what questions I should ask?” Alec asked, adjusting his shirt.

Cat patted his shoulder. “I’ve got you covered. I watched a couple of videos of these consultations last night so I’ll just ask him the things that they asked in the videos, okay?”

Alec melted a little, looking at her with pure gratitude. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Hey,” Cat said, pointing in his face, “your very existence fucks the Clave’s mind so much, kid, I love you for it. You’re a good boy, and I’m gonna do everything I can for you, alright?”

“Alright,” Alec smiled, wringing his hands together. “Alright, let’s do it.”

In the consultation room, the man who Alec assumed was the surgeon was already sat down at the desk, looking at the computer screen in front of him. At the sound of them entering the room, he turned, and Alec almost blushed. He wasn’t a doddery old man with thinning hair, like Alec had expected, but a fit Latino with kind eyes in his mid thirties. He rose and held out his hand to Alec, a friendly smile on his face.

“Hi, you must be Alec. I’m Doctor Camarena, it’s nice to meet you.” He said, and God, his voice was dreamy, too.

Alec swallowed hard, and nodded. “Hi.”

Cat patted him on the back, realising she probably should have warned Alec in advance that his surgeon was rather nice to look at. “Do you want me to leave the room while you show the doctor what he’s working with?”

“No!” Alec blurted out grabbing her arm. “No, no… You’re good.”

Doctor Camarena chuckled, turning to pick up a camera from the desk. “Alright, Alec, I’m guessing that Catarina’s already told you that I need to take a look at your chest?”

Alec nodded, and started unbuttoning his shirt with shaking fingers. God, why didn’t he ask for a female surgeon? He hoped that his face didn’t look as hot as it felt as he put his shirt down on the sofa behind him, swallowing hard as he started to peel his binder up and over his head. He kept his eyes down, tangling his hands together behind his back as Doctor Camarena clicked the digital camera on, the whirring sound of it powering up making Alec suck his lower lip into his mouth. This was not how he figured his first nude pictures would go.

“Great. Am I alright to take some pictures for reference?” He checked.

“Yes, do what you need to.” Alec replied, squeezing his eyes shut.

Doctor Camarena hummed thoughtfully as he snapped the pictures. “Alec, you’re going to have really good results. You have excellent muscle structure underneath the breast tissue, so healing will be a piece of cake for you. You work out a lot?”

“Uhhhh, yeah, kinda. I keep active.” Alec explained, glancing over his shoulder at Cat, who gave him a thumbs up.

“That’s excellent news.” Camarena smiled, picking up Alec’s binder to give it back to him. “Right, all done. Now I just need to ask you some questions. Take a seat.”

Alec was wriggling into his binder, wheezing a little as his chest was crushed. He turned away from the doctor and Cat to rearrange his breasts, making sure they were placed properly before grabbing his shirt to put it back on. “Right, cool… Shoot.”

“So first of all, I am going to have to do the double incision method. Your Mom mentioned that keyhole would be preferable, but there’s just too much breast tissue for that.” Doctor Camarena explained, picking up a pen to twirl between his fingers.

“Fair enough,” Alec shrugged. He’d assumed that was going to be the case. “I’m just… The thought of having two big cuts…”

“I understand that it’s not a pleasant thought, but I do literally five hundred of these procedures a year, so the odds of complications are very slim. I have a less than 1% revision rate. And with muscles like yours? I can promise that you’re going to have a very uniform flat contour of the chest, well placed nipples. It’ll look a million times better than any other chest procedure someone could do.” He insisted, “and that’s not just me tooting my own horn. I would heavily recommend double incision. Of course, you’re free to go to somewhere like Mexico, where they’ll do keyhole, but they won’t be able to guarantee the same results.”

Alec nodded, wringing his hands together. “I get it. I know that the results will be good, but I’m… I’m feeling anxious about the surgery itself. The thought of being put under and cut up is, uh… As you said, unpleasant. Is there anything I can do to stop feeling like this?”

“I wish there was some kind of magic wand I could wave to keep you from feeling anxious, Alec, but unfortunately, I am a mere mortal.” Doctor Camarena chuckled, leaning forward so his elbows were on his knees. “But I can’t stress enough. You’re young, fit, and from what your file says, pretty damn healthy. You’re going to be fine.”

“Right, right.” Alec sighed, scratching the back of his head. “Right.”

“I would recommend watching some vlogs on YouTube of some of the guys I’ve worked on in the past, let me write you a list.” He held up a finger for a moment, turning to grab his notebook. “These men and enbies all had the same procedure as you, and they documented their recovery. Maybe it’ll help to see what you’ll be going through in the weeks after surgery?”

Alec looked at Cat out of the corner of his eye and mouthed ‘youtube?’, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “Yeah, thanks, Doctor Camarena. I’ll check them out.”

“I hope that eases your nerves a little. Remember, you can call all of this off at any time; you’re paying afterwards anyway.” Camarena assured him. “So, let’s get through these questions. Some of them are silly, but I have to ask them, alright? Alright. So first, have you been seeing a therapist or medical professional who recommends you get chest surgery?”

“Uh, yeah… Cat’s my nurse but my family doctor also recommended it in my treatment plan a few years ago…” Alec answered.

Camarena nodded, jotting it down. “Do you identify as male?”

“Yeah, uh… Obviously.” Alec shrugged, the question making him a little insecure.

“Sometimes I get non binary people coming for surgery too,” he reminded Alec, not looking up from his notes, “so I have to ask.”

Alec made a little ‘ah’ sound, jamming his hands between his knees. “Right, right.”

“Who’s going to be looking after you after your surgery?”

“Oh, um…” He’d counted on Izzy being there, but now that she was on trial… “Uhh… My Mom, I guess?”

Cat cut in. “Alec’s seeing one of my friends, who’ll be happy to help out if Alec’s Mom needs to go to work or whatever.”

“I am?! He will?!” Alec asked, a little alarmed. Cat just snorted at him. “He will,” he nodded, looking back at the doctor.

“That’s great news; the support of family and friends is absolutely integral to your recovery,” Camarena smiled, “and I’m glad to hear you have a supportive boyfriend, as well.”

Alec’s face was definitely red, now. “I wouldn’t call him that…”

“It’s all very new,” Cat agreed, patting Alec’s knee. “But he’ll have all the support he needs, I know that much.”

Camarena pursed his lips as he checked the computer screen for details about Alec’s medical history, the scratch of his pen on the paper the only sound in the room. Alec squirmed, tamping down on the panic building in his stomach. He hadn’t thought about who was going to be there after the surgery. His parents had been sent back to Idris, and Izzy was either going to be locked up or deruned by then, unless Clary made it back with the cup, by some miracle.

“Alright, so do you have any questions, Alec?” The doctor asked, turning in his chair to face him again, and Alec swallowed hard, feeling clammy.

“I have a list passed on from his parents, if I could just take some notes about your answers…” Cat volunteered, tugging a small flip-pad out of her top pocket.

It felt like Alec’s soul had left his body as Cat and Doctor Camarena talked about scars and revisions and costs; he could have sworn he was floating in the air above the hospital, his eyes staring unseeingly into space. He could barely hear anything, just the rumble of voices, and his body tingled all over.

It felt like he’d only blinked twice when Cat gently touched his hand, and he jumped out of his skin, snapping back to the room. “Alec, we’re done.” She told him, and he coughed, nodding.

“Alright then, Alec, your surgery is scheduled a week from today. Any problems or worries, call my secretary and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible, alright?” Doctor Camarena held out his hand, and Alec shook it vigorously, making eye contact for a moment before looking away again.

“Yeah, got it. Thanks.” He mumbled, blinking a few times to try and centre himself back in his body.

“See you, Doc,” Cat waved as she led Alec from the room, putting her arm around his shoulders the moment they got back out into the corridor. “Alec, are you alright? Do you need a moment?”

Alec let out a long breath, scratching his forehead. “Izzy’s in trouble and it just sort of hit me that I’m going to lose her,” he admitted, letting Cat pull him along. “I don’t know what to do. All this is happening at the same time, I-”

“It’s going to be alright, sweetie, just breathe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Clary got back to her Mom and Dad’s house, Izzy was already there, having a cup of tea with Valentine in the kitchen. “Hey! You ran off earlier!”

“Oh, uh… Yeah, sorry, had some inspiration, had to draw.” Clary smiled apologetically, rubbing Izzy’s back as she hugged her.

“Izzy was just telling me that Alec’s got everything absolutely perfect. I’m excited to see everyone’s hard work pay off.” Valentine clapped his hands, and stood from the table. “Right, I have to go and start getting ready. I’ll see you both at the Institute.”

“See you later, Mr Morgenstern!” Izzy shot back over her shoulder, her eyes still on Clary. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Clary smiled, nodding. “Of course. Just a little nervous for the party. Did you bring your clothes?”

“Yeah, they’re already hanging up in your room. But um…” Izzy glanced meaningfully at Valentine’s closed bedroom door. “We have some time before we have to get ready.”

“Uhhh… Yeah, probably, I don’t know what time it is,” Clary admitted, though she made no move to stop Izzy from pulling her towards her own bedroom.

Izzy giggled, wrapping her arms around Clary’s neck and kissing her soundly. “Who cares? We haven’t been alone in days.”

Clary hummed, her mind racing. How was she going to explain to Izzy that she didn’t want to have sex with her because they’d barely touched in her dimension and she didn’t want to have sex for the first time with a girl who technically was her girlfriend but who didn’t really feel like her? Izzy turned to close the bedroom door, before peeling her shirt up over her head.

“Alec will kill us if we’re late,” Clary pointed out weakly, her eyes drawn to Izzy’s black lacy bra. Oh God, Clary realised, nerdy Izzy had planned all of this out.

“I’m a little offended that you’re thinking of my brother at a time like this, Clary Fray,” Izzy purred, pushing Clary back towards the bed.

Clary gulped. “Actually, um… I don’t really feel like it right now, Iz.”

“Oh.” Izzy let go of her waist, putting her hands behind her back sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“No, no, it’s me. I just feel a little stressed, it’s… You know.” Clary explained, waving her hands around like that could explain her nonsense.

Izzy smiled, and leaned in to kiss Clary on the nose. “You don’t have to explain.”

Clary sighed in relief. “Thanks. Let’s get ready, hmm?”

“Yeah, I was going to ask actually, could I borrow your nude stilettos?” Izzy asked, turning to pick up her dress.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Clary and Izzy got to the party, there were already quite a few people milling around, and Alec was barking orders, holding a teacup between his ringed fingers. He smiled at the sight of them, and downed whatever was in the cup before handing it off to a waiter and hurrying over to them. “What do you think?”

The decor made the halls of the institute unrecognisable, and Clary struggled to remember where exactly the elevators were. The walls and ceilings were draped with pink and yellow gossamer, and there were dozens of oval looking glasses set up, all with different distorting effects to make the people who looked into them perceive themselves as all kinds of weird and wonderful shapes. Valentine himself was in the middle of the party with his arm around Jocelyn’s waist, wearing a huge blue top hat.

“Your Dad’s Mad Hatter costume came out great!” Izzy enthused, and Alec tutted, muttering under his breath about his genius going unrecognised yet again. Clary laughed, watching as Alec stalked away to check on something or other. “Hey, come and dance with me.”

Maybe it was the way Izzy was looking at her, without a care in the world, or maybe it was the warm, innocent, supportive atmosphere of the party, but Clary drifted again, her mind clearing of anxieties about the realm she was from. Her focus zeroed into Izzy’s body close to hers, their foreheads touching, their hands twined together at their sides.

Magnus Bane adjusted his bowtie nervously as he walked up to the bouncer at the door to the party, feeling a little twitchy with the feeling of his magic rushing through his veins once more. It had been decades since he’d felt it, and he’d forgotten how invigorating it was. “Uhh, my name should be on the guest list. Magnus Bane.”

With a click of his tongue, the bouncer slipped his finger down the list, looking for his name. “Sorry, buddy, no Magnus Bane here.”

“Maybe I’m just Clary Fray’s plus one?” Magnus tried, and again the bouncer’s finger slid down the page.

“Nope, she doesn’t have one.”

Magnus bit his lower lip. “Listen, she promised that she’d get me in, she’s right there, you can ask her-”

“I’ll vouch for this one,” insisted a man that Magnus had never seen before. He was a couple of inches taller than Magnus, with a slight wave to his slicked back dark hair and the pinkest lips Magnus had ever seen on a man.

“Uhhh… Thanks,” Magnus smiled, stepping around the bouncer.

“I’m sure that I’d remember you if we’d met before. Alec Lightwood.” He smiled, handing Magnus a teacup with pink liquid inside it.

“Magnus Bane,” he replied, sipping the sickly sweet cocktail Alec handed him.

Alec tilted his head to the side coyly. “So how do you know the happy couple?”

“Oh, I don’t. I’m a friend of Clary’s.”

“Is that so? I’m Izzy’s brother. I’m surprised she’s never tried to set us up, she introduces me to all her friends from art school.” Alec shrugged, looking Magnus up and down as he drank from his own teacup.

Magnus laughed nervously, glancing over at Clary and realising that she’d forgotten that she didn’t belong in this dimension. “Well, yes, anyway, better be going. See you around, Alec.” He hurried over to where Clary was dancing with a cute brunette. As he went, he vaguely caught Alec muttered something about a challenge, but that could be dealt with later.

“Clary,” Magnus hissed, taking her by the elbow as he reached the dancefloor, “we don’t have much time.”

“Let go of me!” Clary snapped, eyes going wide as a stranger grabbed her out of nowhere. He just held onto her tighter, looking directly into her eyes. She vaguely recognised him, and her eyes narrowed as she tried to place him.

“Hey, get off her!” Izzy demanded, shoving weakly at the stranger’s shoulder.

“Clary, it’s me, Magnus. Remember your mission. Remember this?” He pressed, lifting the portal shard necklace up into her line of sight.

All of a sudden it came rushing back, and rather than pushing Magnus away, she gripped him securely. “We have to do this now, I don’t know how much longer I can keep a hold of myself.”

“What are you talking about?” Izzy asked, looking between the two of them with confusion.

“Sorry, Iz, I just didn’t recognise him in the suit. This is my psychic, Magnus. We have to go and do an emergency palm reading, be right back!” Clary explained hurriedly, already pulling Magnus towards the elevators that would take them down into the basement.

“I don’t think she bought that,” Magnus warned her, and Clary sighed.

“That’s a problem for the other me to handle.” She said, running her hand through her hair as the elevator doors closed.

Magnus nodded, wringing his hands together. “I’m going to tell them that you were allergic to some incense in my loft, and it made you act erratically and forget the last 24 hours.”

“That’s genius, Magnus, thank you,” Clary smiled, tugging off the portal shard necklace and handing it to Magnus as the doors opened onto the basement. “Alright, can you find it?”

“Over here,” Magnus beckoned her, following the vibrations of dormant magic pulsing through the room. “Ah!”

There was a crack in the wall, in the middle of which was a chip just the right size and shape for the portal shard to fit into. Magnus placed the gem into the wall and magic erupted from the crack, Magnus catching and manipulating it just in time to create a purple interdimensional portal. Clary looked at him with a question in her eyes, and he nodded.

“Clary, what the hell is that thing?” Izzy gasped from behind her, her glasses reflecting the purple light from the portal.

“You have to go, Clary, I’ll deal with the fallout. Go!” Magnus pressed, and Clary gave Izzy one last glance before pushing through the portal and tumbling out on the other side.

She had the same clothes and weapons on her that she’d had when she entered Meliorn’s portal, and she drew her seraph blade as she ducked to take in her surroundings. Magnus’ portal had opened out into what seemed to be an abandoned factory that had been turned into a laboratory. There was a huge table pushed up against some old, rusted machinery which held lots of different kinds of chemistry apparatus, and Clary had heard Izzy talk about forensics enough to know that the green liquid dripping through the tubes closest to her was Seelie blood.

There was plenty of equipment scattered around, tables and cages and cabinets, but there were no people. Clary activated her enhanced hearing rune and listened, closing her eyes. There were no voices in the factory, but she could hear a faint pained whimpering. With fears of finding her mother injured, Clary ran towards the source of the noise, seraph blade poised and ready just in case someone tried to surprise her.

The noise had been coming from a narrow cabinet, the door fastened with a padlock. Clary opened it using her stele and yanked the door open, her eyes widening at what she saw.

Dot, her skin smeared with blood and grime, blinked unseeingly against the daylight that flooded into her prison. She held up her shaking hands defensively, as if expecting to be beaten. Clary fell to her knees next to her, and reached out a tentative hand, tears of relief prickling her eyes. Magnus had seemed so sure that Dot had passed, and here she was, bruised and beaten, but alive.

“Dot, it’s me. It’s Clary. I’m here to rescue you.”

#transgender alec lightwood #shadowhunters fanfic #shadowhunters fanfiction #fighting the good fight #ftgf verse #content #writing

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fae-fucker · 7 years

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Shatter Me: Chapter 10-11

Chapter 10

Last time we were in this heck hole of a book, Adam had been revealed to be a soldier and we were introduced to Warner Bros., the resident sexy bad boy who has offered Juliette a job as his personal weapon.

Adam leads Juliette through some hallways and she’s like totally hot for him still.

I feel him shift in the darkness and soon his body is too close so disarmingly close to mine. His hand is on my lower back and he’s guiding me through the corridors toward an unknown destination. Every inch of my skin is blushing. I have to hold myself upright to keep from falling backward into his arms.

“I’m 100% convinced this man wants to kill me but hotdamn I’d still tap that.”

I can’t even start explaining how much sense this all just makes, you know?

I’m painfully excited but I haven’t felt natural light on my skin in so long I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it.

This is why people hate first person narration. Fucking look at this garbage.

The air hits me first.

It’s my phantom fist.

Juliette is in awe of all the outside that she’s feeling right now before Adam stuffs her into a tank. A TANK. She also mentions soldiers looking at them and I have to wonder what kind of facility this actually is.

They drive off and Juliette angsts about how shitty everything is and how the world is dead. We also get more information -- if you can call it that -- about how the Reestablishment came into power and became the Establishment, if you will.

I remember there were rules. No more dangerous imaginations, no more prescription medications. A new generation comprised of only healthy individuals would sustain us. The sick must be locked away. The old must be discarded. The troubled must be given up to the asylums. Only the strong should survive.

Ok, so this sounds like good ole fascism right there, so this could theoretically be a thing (because it kind of is right now). It’s got that proper us-vs-them mentality that’s at the core of most authoritarian governments. But then Tahereh gets greedy:

No more stupid languages and stupid stories and stupid paintings placed above stupid mantels. No more Christmas, no more Hanukkah, no more Ramadan and Diwali. No talk of religion, of belief, of personal convictions. Personal convictions were what nearly killed us all, is what they said.

This is just dumb. People in power often use religion to justify their toxic views, and I’m having a hard time seeing humanity (which has gone to war over religion over and over again) giving up all of their religions just because some dingdongs claimed it would help.

Now, I’m not shitting on religious people here, I’m just stating the facts that I do not see humanity accepting this new hardcore atheist government that says that being a person with beliefs and convictions is bad.

Usually dictatorships and authoritarian governments are based on an us-vs-them mentality. The people in power pick a target that they label as “other” and create propaganda to “unite” the people against a common “threat”. “Our” group is presented as strong, righteous, and good to reinforce the love for their own group while strengthening the hate for the “other”.

Forcing the population to war against ... itself? Convincing a population that they’re all terrible to the point where they’ll all just go “yeah I guess we are, please control us”? I don’t see it. Many YA dystopias are based on this idea and I honestly don’t see how this could ever work.

A potential leader telling you that you’re the best, better than that guy over there, let’s go kill him? That clearly works on a population. A potential leader telling you that you suck and that you should give them the power over you so they can fix you? That’s suspicious as fuck. This sounds more like a cult than a government, and sure, cult tactics do work, but cults target very specific individuals that they slowly groom into accepting their views, and they’re often small as a result of this and the fact that they isolate their members from society. Doing this to a whole population? Nah.

I think this kind of is a side-effect of YA authors being afraid of taking a side? You don’t wanna write about a nasty white dude taking power and making everyone believe that everyone other than a white dude is a piece of dirt because that might upset the white dudes, so you just kind of write governments that are weirdly diverse but are “evil” because they hate ... humanity in general? And we’re all humans, so clearly we’ll think they’re evil! Easy!

This is also why YA dystopias often create worlds that are super hardcore and oppressive, but conveniently never racist or misogynistic or homophobic, so they’re somehow more advanced than we are when it comes to equality but also more barbaric. *insert I’m not [thing], I hate everyone equally joke here*

And I get it. Writing about real-life oppression mirrored in a fake world is hard and icky and uncomfortable. But if you’ve set out to write a proper dystopia and you end up with this, you do kind of cheapen it all by making your dark-haired white girl oppressed because of her cool superpower/rebel spirit while the government is made up of a diverse cast of bad guys who are all bad because the narrative said so.

I think I went off on a tangent. What I’m trying to say is: people take elements from 1984 even though the parts they take from it don’t make any dingdang sense in the context of their worlds.

Anyway, Juliette tells us that there is, in fact, an underground rebel movement that’s waiting for the right moment to strike. I don’t know how she knows that and I don’t know why they’re waiting, but whatever.

We pull up to a structure 10 times larger than the asylum and suspiciously central to civilization. From the outside it looks like a bland building, inconspicuous in every way but its size, gray steel slabs comprising 4 flat walls, windows cracked and slammed into the 15 stories. It’s bleak and bears no marking, no insignia, no proof of its true identity.

Political headquarters camouflaged among the masses.

How bad is this camouflage that Juliette, who presumably has never been inside, is able to figure out what it is? I can’t accept the idea that she’s supposed to be super insightful, for obvious reasons.

Chapter 11

Dirty money is dripping from the walls, a year’s supply of food wasted on marble floors, hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical aid poured into fancy furniture and Persian rugs. I feel the artificial heat pouring in through air vents and think of children screaming for clean water. I squint through crystal chandeliers and hear mothers begging for mercy. I see a superficial world existing in the midst of a terrorizing reality and I can’t move.

[...]

They filled our world with weapons aimed at our foreheads and smiled as they shot 16 candles right through our future. They killed those strong enough to fight back and locked up the freaks who failed to live up to their utopian expectations.

Ok so um. I see the point you’re trying to make here and I agree that rich people are the devil and that we should eat them, but in this world that you’ve created, this kind of makes no sense.

How ... How exactly are they “stealing” or “wasting” money if they’re in charge of the economy and the production of everything? Who exactly are they stealing from if they’ve murdered most of the population anyway? Are they paying people to have those Persian rugs made? Isn’t it more logical to assume they’ve just taken stuff that has already existed, since nobody else was using it?

Like, you have real-life examples of how politicians and corporations get rich, and this ... this isn’t one of those ways. You don’t blast a population to death and then start producing wealth out of nowhere. New wealth doesn’t just magically appear once you’ve stolen “everything” from the population.

You know for someone who was complaining about how evil the eestablishment are for taking away art and fancy things, she sure doesn’t want any of this art or fancy things. The Reestablishment was also established (hueh) to promote a “simple” lifestyle, and yeah, usually dictatorships do that to the population while they live like kings, but Juliette hasn’t noted this hypocrisy yet, she’s just cringing at the fancy things so far.

Let’s hope she does.

Whatever. Juliette is all disgusted with the luxury around her and sees blood all over (See because she thinks people have been sacrificed to Big Corporate for all this fancy stuff. It’s poetic you see because poor people have uuuuh died for all this stuff and all that.), so much so that she has a breakdown.

I’m in the air. I’m a bag of feathers in [Adam’s] arms and he’s breaking through soldiers crowding around for a glimpse of the commotion and for a moment I don’t want to care that I shouldn’t want this so much. I want to forget that I’m supposed to hate him, that he betrayed me, that he’s working for the same people who are trying to destroy the very little that’s left of humanity and my face is buried in the soft material of his shirt and my cheek is pressed against his chest and he smells like strength and courage and the world drowning in rain. I don’t want him to ever ever ever ever let go of my body. I wish I could touch his skin, I wish there were no barriers between us.

Ok so first you get all upset over how these guys are evil for having all this stuff, and the next second you’re creaming yourself about how you totally wanna bang this dude you don’t know and who you’re convinced wants to kill or otherwise hurt you?

Makes that whole previous freakout seem a bit cheap now, dontcha think?

Juliette begs Adam to kill her because she just can’t handle how horny she is for him how rich and evil these people are, but he’s like naw dawg, can’t kill the protagonist in a trilogy this early.

Adam takes her to a room and Juliette complains about how pretty and luxurious it is.

Listen. I don’t care how strong her ess-joo spirit is. Girl has been locked up in a cell all alone for 200+ days. Justice for the poor should be at the very back of her head, not her main concern. She should be shitting herself with joy right now.

“Please don’t let go of me put me down,” I tell him.

Tahereh ... sweetie. You can’t do this in dialogue. That’s not ... that’s not how anything works. Did she actually say this and then quickly correct herself? I should be enchanted by this riveting dialogue, not be taken out of the experience trying to figure out if this girl has two voices like she’s possessed by Pazuzu.

Juliette asks Adam to leave her alone, which he says isn’t an option, since Warner Bros. considers her a threat and has thus decided that Adam must watch her at all times. Which means he’ll be moving in.

Yikes. I know it’s all a (rather fanfiction-y) setup for their “romance”, but still, how creepy and uncomfortable is that?

I want to hate him and judge him and scream forever but I’m failing because all I see is an 8-year-old boy who doesn’t remember that he used to be the kindest person I ever knew.

Yeah, can’t wait until he’s suddenly written to be super evil so Warner Bros. can swoop in and save you.

And, really? “I know he’ll be invading my privacy for who knows how long and I’m pretty sure he wants me harm or at least wouldn’t mind inflicting it if ordered, but he was a nice kid back in school, so I can’t bring myself to hate him!” Great.

Adam tells her that she has to change into less icky clothes and says that there’s a bathroom.

I see a door connected to the room and I’m suddenly curious. I’ve heard stories about people with bathrooms in their bedrooms. I guess they’re not exactly in the bedroom, but they’re close enough.

1) This narration is completely OOC for Juliette, and also really dumb.

2) So we went from “fuck all this rich people crap!!” to “ooh, my own bathroom? sweet!!” Consistency who?

Adam says that there are no cameras in the bathroom, which means that there are cameras in the bedroom. Juliette is only mildly concerned with this.

Adam says that Warner Bros. will be expecting her for dinner, and then goes to show her how the stuff in the bathroom works.

He then acts a bit weird, looking around and putting his finger to his lips to tell her to be quiet, and Juliette assumes he’s about to rape her and wishes she could kill herself.

He of course isn’t and leaves when he realizes why she’s freaking out.

So uh. This suddenly got dark.

#eff reads: shatter me #book rants

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nxtherold · 4 years

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Daughter of Darkness

CHAPTER II : A HEART AS BLACK AS THE VOID

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Full work can be found here. Chapter: 2/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Genre: Angst, Drama, Suspense, Action/Adventure, Romance, Canon Rewrite Chapter Summary:

Daeris has completed her biggest contract yet and assassinated one of the most powerful figures in Cyrodiil. The reward? Information on the Black Dragon, the mysterious agent hunting down her fellow assassins. Daeris has been chosen to follow this lead. However, Matron Astara's decision to give Daeris this mission was met with rage by one member of the Sanctuary: Mirabelle Motierre. Mirabelle is Daeris's closest ally, but Mirabelle is convinced that she should be the one to pursue the killer of killers and get revenge for her fallen lover, Cimbar. Daeris has no choice but to obey her orders, but can she do her job without also shattering her friendship with Mirabelle? As desperate as Mirabelle has become for revenge, there may be more at stake than their friendship.

"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live." -Norman Cousins

Daeris tapped a nervous finger on her lip, her arms crossed defensively over her chest as she listened to Mirabelle and Astara argue in the next room. She knew Mirabelle would be disappointed that she wasn't being allowed to participate in the hunt for the Black Dragon, but there was no way she could have foreseen the bubbling fury that erupted from the Breton.

"This is my kill, Astara! You know that!" Mirabelle screamed at the matron.

"And you know better than to question me!" Astara responded in her cool tones, her voice pitched as it tried to withhold her annoyance at Mirabelle's insubordination. "Daeris was the one placed on this path by the Black Hand. It was her contract that earned this information; she will be the one to follow the lead."

"I was a part of that, too! I was vital in Fortunata's demise!"

"And you have been rewarded appropriately."

"Gold is nothing to me, Astara. You know I what I want, what I deserve!"

"You deserve nothing more than what's been given to you. If you want blood spilled so badly, go take a contract. Preferably one in a region far enough away that I don't have to hear you bitching to me about the Black Dragon anymore. You're getting far too emotional to tolerate. Find an outlet to release your rage, but know that no matter what you think you deserve, it will not be the Black Dragon."

"Astara, please!" Mirabelle cried out, her voice lowering. "You know why I've been so...unlike myself. You know that Cimbar....Cimbar and I..."

"I'm well aware. So is everyone else in this Sanctuary that had to listen to you two whenever you decided to enjoy each other's company," Astara groaned, looking up from her logbook on the table to stare Mirabelle directly in the eyes. "You knew better, Mirabelle. You knew that attachments are worthless in the eyes of Sithis. I thought you were smarter than that, and yet here you are, crying like some doe-eyed maiden, wasting extra tears on a man who briefly gave you a good time while you could be doing something productive."

"That's low of you, Astara," Mirabelle growled. "You know I-"

"Don't even say it. You weren't in love. Love isn't meant for people like us. We are tools of Sithis. We are death. You swore away love the moment you donned the shrouded armor that marked you as a born murderer. Trying to fall in love when death in your trade is like stabbing your dagger into the dirt; it does no good for anyone, dulls your blade, and eventually you're going to catch the broadside of a rock that snaps the tarnished metal like a toothpick."

Mirabelle grew quiet, save for the enraged huffs that swelled in her breath.

"You're mad at me now, but you know deep in your heart that it's the truth. The sooner you let go of the fanciful idea that you were in love and get over it, the better. It's okay to mourn that we lost a member of our family, but it is not okay to root yourself in your despair and endanger yourself and the family we have left," Astara said. Her voice held it's hard edge, but her anger had notably subsided. "So, I'll say it once more: Get. Over. It."

Daeris peeked inside the room to see Mirabelle's reaction. She could see the Breton's hands clench into fists as her feet shuffled on the floor and her head lowered. She expected Mirabelle to shout at Astara again, but instead she grunted and stomped a boot hard on the cobbled floor. Her hands rushed to the desk Astara's logbook rested upon and flipped it on it's side, sending all of it's content crashing to the ground. She turned and pushed past Daeris, her swollen eyes briefly meeting Daeris's lightless grey hues as she marched down the hall.

Astara sighed in her wake and reached down to set the toppled table upright. Daeris stepped in and began to collect items from the ground to help the Matron, cleaning silently as she reached for her voice.

"I'm hoping that eventually after all of this has been dealt with, she'll see that I'm just trying to save her life," Astara spoke softly. "She forgets that I've been in this organization long enough to see people make the same mistakes that she has. If she ends up a corpse because of this, I won't be surprised."

The harshness of Astara's words startled Daeris. She faltered as she picked up the fallen logbook, clutching it in her arms as she looked to see if Astara's face gave a better context to the statement. Astara noticed how the words sunk into Daeris and heaved another sigh. These younger girls were not as hardened as she, and she forgot this often.

"Do not take that as me wanting her to die. Wanting someone to learn a lesson at the cost of their life is as useless and foolish as drinking argonian piss like it could make you feel the Hist," Astara explained. "I only mean that I know how these things end. If this does cost Mirabelle her life, I will still promise her vengeance, the same as all others that have been lost to the Black Dragon's blade."

"I understand, Matron," Daeris nodded and closed the logbook, dusting it off before placing it back on the table. "So, Grazda said you needed to speak with me. I assume this is about the Black Dragon?"

"You probably gleaned enough from Mirabelle's shouting to piece it together," Astara snorted, "but, yes, it's time to collect the information Count Carolus promised us in return for his special request. Carolus's runners sent a meeting location earlier today, and Speaker Terenus decided that you should be the one to follow the lead. Go to Desek Moor, a quaint little ruin south of Kvatch. Follow up on whatever the count tells you. If it's a good lead, pursue it. If it's garbage, kill him in a way that those who lie to us deserve to die."

"Hm, organ-melting poison, or cripple him and toss him to the wildlife? Which do you think screams 'I betrayed the Dark Brotherhood' more?" Daeris mused, but judging by the deadpan glare she was receiving, Astara was not entertained by her casual jesting. Nothing new. Daeris cleared her throat and veered back to the serious nature of the conversation. "I'll, uh, cross that bridge when I get to it, I guess. Anyway, is there anything else I need to know before I set out?"

"Well, you could ask Mirabelle for information since she's been scouting Carolus, but I'm not sure if it's even worth broaching the subject with her at this point. Odds are she'll just scream at you. Best case scenario is that she plainly refuses."

Daeris could feel Astara's tenseness as she spoke. Astara did not tolerate behavior like this, but she was being uncharacteristically patient with Mirabelle's insubordination. With the turmoil in the Sanctuary, more patience was required for the flaring tempers and emotional outbursts, but Astara's patience was wearing thinner by the hour. When the Matron was on edge, everyone felt it.

"Thank you, Matron. I'll set out momentarily."

"Do not dawdle, assassin. We're missing something. The longer we wait, the more the pieces of the puzzle elude us."

Her response was but a nod as she turned on her heels and exited to the hallway. Astara may have been convinced that talking to Mirabelle would be fruitless, but Daeris didn't care for whatever information she had. Rather, she wanted to make sure the woman was okay. Regardless of her intent, she wouldn't be able to avoid a conversation with Mirabelle anyhow, as the moment she entered the circular room that all the hallways intersected with, Mirabelle stepped out in front of her. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and while she still held anger in her expression, the feelings weren't pointed at Daeris. Not directly.

"It should have been my mission. You understand that, I know you do."

Daeris nervously pushed loose strands of hair behind her ears. What was she supposed to say?

"What am I supposed to do about it, Mirabelle?" she said. "You know I can't go against them."

"Of course you can't," Mirabelle spat sarcastically. "You're their little golden girl. You disobey them all the time, and I'll give you credit: you get away with it because you're damn good. But you're really choosing now to be an obedient little servant? When you could be helping me?"

Mirabelle's accusations jabbed into Daeris like a knife. It was unspeakably uncomfortable, like ice on her back.

"We're done here."

Daeris started to walk away, her expression contorted in disbelief. Mirabelle's eyes widened as she realized what she'd said, and she grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Wait! I'm sorry, Daeris. I...I didn't mean it," she croaked. "Ever since Cimbar died, I've just been angry. And now with everything else that's happened, I feel so frustrated and-"

"Don't worry about it," Daeris quelled and looked her in the eye. "I know you're upset. I'm here for you, Mirabelle, but I have to do what's been asked of me. This is to protect our family, and we all have our part to play; we can't afford to divide ourselves further over decisions we don't agree with."

"I know." It was little more than a squeak on Mirabelle's part. So drained of conviction, Daeris wasn't quite sure she could believe it.

"I'll be back sooner than you know it," Daeris placed a hand on her shoulder. "And I'll tell you everything I find out. I promise. You deserve to be involved, but I also don't want you to get yourself killed."

"You give me less credit than I deserve," Mirabelle replied. A dour statement that could not be recovered from despite her efforts to lighten what she said afterward. "Don't worry about me. I just...need to cool off. I'll be waiting for you."

Mirabelle waved weakly and walked around Daeris, turning towards the barracks. She looked back with a fragile smile; yet another attempt to ease Daeris's mind that failed. Nothing Mirabelle could do would ease the growing terror that was forming in Daeris's chest. It was like the calm before a devastating storm. Daeris couldn't explain it, but she felt it.

Something was about to go very, very wrong.

Dasek Moor was pathetic in terms of ruins. No sprawling network of exposed passages or sunken secrets to explore. Maybe somewhere deep beneath the land there were some remains of the ruin's former glory, but it was unseen to the assassin. It was rubble; the bones of a structure long dead. A mighty fort, worn down to a tiny speck of architectural destruction protruding from the hillside. As miniscule and disappointing as it was in appearance, it was unobtrusive enough to provide good cover for a clandestine meeting. Good choice, Carolus.

The count sat fireside with his back turned to the darkness, though he constantly peeked over his shoulders, watching for those who prowled the dark. Daeris observed him for a moment. His fear was amusing. He was the one who reached out to her organization in the first place, and yet he still behaved like a rat in a cage. It made her uncomfortable, how she liked Carolus’s fear. She knew the origin of that horrid, yet inescapable feeling of pride, and she did all she could to not claim it as her own. She didn’t want to feel that way. She didn’t want to revel in apathy. She would disown the call of her nature as strongly as she could, but the call would never leave her. Not entirely.

The daedric blood that flowed through her veins felt most foreign at times. She was human. She lived among them for so long, being human was all she knew. And yet, she always knew she wasn't. She could pretend for as long as she liked, but at the end of the day, there would always be a darkness inside her veins that pulled at her endlessly. Sometimes it was welcomed. Sometimes embraced. Most often, though, the inhuman blood felt unreal. It was like a tattoo she hadn't meant to receive; there was no way to be rid of it.

We can't choose our parents, after all, nor our upbringing. How mismatched the two were for Daeris. Her mother, a deity from the darkest realms of Oblivion. She, an assassin, dirt of the earth that might as well not have a name. That was all she cared to be, but still she found herself a prisoner of her own blood. Not that her heritage did not have its benefits. She'd be dead if not for the cursed gift she had. It was a double-edged sword, and despite all of her complaining and desire to live as the nothing she saw herself as, she obeyed her higher calling. A higher calling that had long been predestined for her, yet hidden from her knowledge. What this purpose was, she did not know. But whenever her mother called on her, even for the smallest of tasks, all other things were put aside.

This is why she couldn't bring herself to listen to the raven. Daeris knew that her mother had a task to ask of her. She would give in eventually, of course, but for now, she could not risk interrupting her focus. Someone was hunting her family, the family that she gave to her. There was no way in Oblivion that she would surrender their lives just to fetch a trinket for a daedra. She told herself that, but she knew that if she was asked directly by her mother rather than her messengers, she would do it in a heartbeat. To serve her mother had become a compulsion rather than a choice. She was weak in that way. Loyalty was rarely a burden to assassins, but Daeris found herself possessed by it nonetheless. Loyalty. Servitude. If not to the Dark Brotherhood, then to her mother.

It's not like her mother was completely absent. She contacted her daughter enough to maintain a relationship with her. Daeris felt connected enough to her to still see her as her mother. Enough to love her and feel loved in return. But all the same, there were times when Daeris felt her loyalty was more valued than their shared blood. It was as if there was an invisible switch that flickered in her mother's mind; a lens that dictated whether Daeris would be seen as a daughter or a servant for the moment. Daeris attributed it to the nature of the daedra. There were times when she too found herself unable to care about things that she should, an irreverence that wasn't always intentional. How odd it was that the unfavorable experiences gave her more patience when dealing with her mother than the better ones. Many of their flaws were shared, after all.

When she was bored of her watching and contemplation, Daeris pulled a small dagger from her pouch and began to toss it in the air. The bird-like chirp of the metal cutting through the air tickled at Carolus's ear. Startled, he turned to find the source of the sound and locked eyes with the glint of moonlight that clung to the tossed blade. “Who goes there?” he croaked and rushed to his feet.

Daeris stepped forward out of the darkness, catching the blade for a final time. She slipped it back into her pouch after a few twirls around her fingers; the finesse intended to taunt the count. He sighed heavily enough for her to hear it and all of the annoyance that weighed his breath. His hands found his hips, and his creased brow displayed distaste rather than the intimidation Daeris tried to invoke. No, Carolus was much too jaded at this point to be curtailed by the bleating of an impetuous child wishing to see him cower. His lips parted with a sneer and groaned, “If you like theatrics so much you should join the circus. Melodramatic assassins don't have a lot of longevity.”

“Bold words from a man who almost pissed himself at the sight of a dagger,” Daeris giggled and grinned at the man. Carolus might have been too boring to care, but she was perfectly happy being her own audience. She leaned against the wall behind her and crossed her arms. “Scaring the piss out of you has been admittedly fun, Carolus, but we have business to conduct. Start talking; I've got someone to hunt.”

“I've already done my part,” the count said and turned his attention back to the fire. “Stop pestering me, assassin. I owe you nothing.”

The smile faded from Daeris's face. Her arms dropped to her sides and her head lowered. Was he serious? He owed a debt to the Brotherhood, and he was going to repay it. Daeris marched forward and pulled the count up from his crouched position. A jerk of his arm turned him to face her.

“Are you trying to go back on your word? We had a deal. One bound in blood. Have you forgotten what you owe to us, Carolus?”

“I've given you what you asked for,” the count pulled his arm away from Daeris, his opposite hand clinging to the hilt of the sword at his side. “I didn't lie. My information is good. I checked it out myself. If you and your organization can't make use of it, then that's your problem, not mine.”

“Don't treat me like a fool! You didn't give us the information,” Daeris raised her voice. The count was an idiot if he intended to try and trick the Dark Brotherhood. Daeris was ready to draw her blade and punish him for his lies as commanded by Astara, but as she looked into his eyes, she didn't see the face of a liar. His hand quivered around his sword's hilt, and his expression was wrought with confusion. Daeris relaxed her agitated shoulders and took a step back. “But you're telling the truth, aren't you? You passed on your info?”

“I did. I gave it to one of your associates.” Carolus's sword hand relaxed, but it did not move from the hilt. “I told them everything I found out.”

“It couldn't have been one of us. I'm the one who was sent to make contact with you. No one else from my organization should even be in the same vicinity.”

“It was one of your people, alright. Wore the same armor as you,” the count said and plucked a piece of parchment and an ebony dagger from the ground. The parchment bore the black hand symbol of the Dark Brotherhood, and the dagger's unique form marked it as Brotherhood craftsmanship. “They fancied their knife tricks, too. Pinned this to the wall by my head in lieu of a greeting.”

The assassin narrowed her eyes as she saw the insignia and dagger. Either an outsider was playing a very convincing game of pretend, or someone inside the Brotherhood had disobeyed orders. The latter seemed most likely.

“Was there anything distinguishing about the person that approached you?

“Very feminine, both in voice and physique. She got right to business, and as soon as I finished telling her everything, she said 'thanks darling' and left.”

“Darling? She called you darling?” Daeris's head shot up to look at the count. Alarm spread across her face. There was only one assassin she knew that went around referring to people as 'darling'.

“She did. But she was gone so quickly. I don't know what else to tell you.”

“Tell me everything you were meant to. After that, consider your debt paid,” Daeris spoke, taking the dagger and parchment from Carolus and stuffing them into a spare pouch. “I'll track down the other assassin and deal with her properly. I know exactly where she's going.”

“Go to the Order of the Hour's stronghold, the Enclave of the Hourglass. They're amassing an army, most likely so Primate Artorius can one day take Kvatch by force. But that's my problem, not yours. What you want is what lies inside. The Black Dragon takes refuge there. She's the First Sword of the order, after all; their top operative, and the primate's personal errand girl. If you have any hope of catching her off-guard, I suggest you infiltrate the enclave before she decides to pick off another one of your associates.”

The count's instructions replayed inside Daeris's head as she studied the enclave's exterior from her hillside perch. There was very little activity outside, but the flickering torchlight and accompanying shadows that were visible through the slots of the gate signalled that the interior was far more lively. But that was not her concern, for the moment. Instead, her eyes locked on a single figure prowling just outside the gate; a woman clad in dark leathers.

Mirabelle.

Daeris descended down the hill and faded into the shadows to cover her angry march to the rogue assassin. As soon as she reached her, she thrust a blade from the shadows and held it next to Mirabelle's neck to halt her. “We need to talk,” Daeris said, her voice a low growl. “There's cover in these hedges. Come with me.”

Mirabelle complied and ducked into the bushes without a word. When Daeris joined her, she turned to her with a smile. “Ah, here you are, darling. I've been waiting.”

“What in the hell do you think you're doing, Mirabelle?” Daeris questioned.

“Astara sent me to scout the fortress. The Order has been moving in a lot of siege weaponry the past few days. We should get a proper assessment of the threat they pose.”

Daeris response was silence. She pulled the dagger and paper from her pouch and threw it on the ground before Mirabelle, whose smile immediately disappeared.

“Explain, Mirabelle.”

“I don't have to explain myself to you. I believe I've said enough.”

“You're not stupid, Mirabelle. You know what you're doing. You know what you're about to throw away.”

“I'm not throwing anything away. So long as you don't tell Astara, that is.”

“I should tell her! If you keep pulling shit like this, you're going to get yourself killed.”

“Dying might be better than what I already have to deal with,” Mirabelle dourly chimed. As she continued, tears brimmed at the edges of her eyes, but they did not betray her. “You don't understand, Daeris. I loved Cimbar. She took him from me. Every day I hear the Black Dragon's voice in my head, laughing. Every day I remember what I saw when we went to retrieve Cimbar's body. I remember the moment I realized he'd never hold me again. I remember waking from my sleep the next morning and looking over at his empty bed. And through it all, what did everyone tell me? Get over it. Get over it, Mirabelle. Go sweep Fortunata's floors and forget him. But I can't. I can't forget him. My soul craves vengeance. You were the only one that didn't push me, so I thought that you of all people could understand, but I was wrong. Here you are, and you've turned against me, too. I'm dead inside, Daeris, and I can't live again unless I plunge my dagger into that bitch's heart!”

Daeris’s lips quivered as she tried to hold her snarl, but it could not stay. It twisted with sadness and despair and the realization that she could not stop Mirabelle. Did she not understand that she was bound to die from her recklessness? That she was in no mindset to confront the Black Dragon? No, she knew. Mirabelle knew what was at stake, yet she chose to put her life on the line anyhow. All for a dead man. All for Cimbar.

Daeris could never understand how she felt; she’d never been in love. Those closest to her were her fellow assassins, Mirabelle herself counting among that number. And yet, she didn’t have to understand how Mirabelle felt in that moment to empathize with her. She may not have understood what it was like to lose her beloved or to live every day starved for revenge, but she didn’t need to. She could feel the pain; it was so strong that it almost radiated from her friend. She could see it in her eyes. She felt it in her words. And because of their friendship, her heart wept for a loss she could not comprehend.

Eyes squeeze tightly together as Daeris sucks in a breath. She was going to regret this. She knew she would. But what else could she do? Mirabelle was going to destroy herself if she continued alone, but if Daeris turned her in, that might destroy her in a different way. The best she could do would be to work with her so that she could simultaneously work to protect her. But what would come later? Would she turn her into Astara once they got back to the Sanctuary? It would be a betrayal. Mirabelle would never forgive her, but it might be what’s best for her safety.

“You can’t face her alone,” Daeris says quietly.

“I have to face her, Daeris. Are you going to try and stop me?”

“No. I’m coming with you.”

“Coming with me?” Mirabelle was puzzled. Daeris was her friend, but could she trust her intentions? Especially when up to this point she had so thoroughly sided with Astara? “You’re lying. You’re just going to wait until my back is turned and then incapacitate me. You’re going to stop me.”

“I can’t stop you. If I turned on you now, you’d just do something even more foolish than this later. You’re determined to confront her, and no one can change your mind. So, I’d rather be there to help you than have you charge in alone.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” A smile of relief sweeps across the Breton’s face. It felt good to not be treated like an impatient child. Mirabelle was just as capable as any other assassin in the guild; just because she was driven by grief didn’t mean that her skills had waned in any capacity. She knew she could do it if only one of her Dark Brothers or Sisters would take her side and work with her. Even if Daeris didn’t truly believe they had any chance against the Black Dragon, surely she could convince her. This was all she needed: a little faith and the opportunity to prove everyone else wrong. “In that case, I’m glad you’re coming. Two dashing rogues like us, who could stand a chance? We’ll bring the Order to its knees.”

“There’s an army around the corner that would laugh at that statement, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Daeris concedes, her eyes returning to the towering fortress gates. “You’ve been here scouting a while. What have you learned? What’s our best approach?”

“The Black Dragon isn’t our only concern, that’s the best I’ve gleaned. The siege weaponry amassed in the courtyard could easily decimate our Sanctuaries when the time comes for the Order of the Hour to wage war against the Brotherhood. They might even be able to take Kvatch. No wonder the count was desperate enough to turn to assassins.” Back to business so quickly. They were both professionals, after all; neither had become elite figures in the Dark Brotherhood through sheer accident. “But they can be easily dealt with while we still have surprise on our side. We should take the equipment out before it can be put to use.”

“All of that dry wood? Nothing a little fire can’t fix.”

“I’ve got that covered,” Mirabelle affirms then stretches her index towards the main entrance of the fortress. “The only entrance I’ve found is the main one, but you don’t have much to worry about. They think they’re safe and secluded here; there’s no one guarding the entryway from the interior. I’ll burn the equipment and cause a scene to distract the guard at the exterior while you slip in. When the panic is in full bloom, I’ll take advantage and sneak away to come find you.”

“You’re recommending we split up? Mirabelle, I just said I wasn’t going to let you face this alone.”

“I said I’ll meet up with you again. This will give you the perfect opportunity to scout ahead. Besides; with one entrance, I doubt I’ll be able to outpace you within the fortress, so I won’t go after the Black Dragon without you.”

Daeris crinkles her nose, bottom lip catching between her teeth in a chew as she ponders the path laid before her. Mirabelle wasn’t wrong; she wouldn’t be able to get ahead of Daeris without an alternative entrance. Moreso, Daeris was tired of doubting Mirabelle. She was tired of questioning the people she was meant to trust. But was it so wrong to mistrust her when she had lied to Daeris before? Daeris was no fool, but she wasn’t so willing to throw away the idea that someone she considers her friend would be honest with her.

“Okay,” she nods, gripping the daggers at her sides. “Come find me as soon as you get inside.”

“I will,” Mirabelle smiles; a far more hopeful expression than the one she’d used to fool Daeris before. “I promise. Together, we’ll bring the Black Dragon to her knees.”

As deep into the fortress as she was, Daeris could still smell the embers of the burning siege equipment. Mirabelle had done fine work; it was only a matter of time before she found her within the halls of the enclave. Daeris’s efforts saw less results, however. Through gossiping chatters, official reports, and the writings in the Order’s archives, the only knowledge she could glean of the Black Dragon were largely insignificant factoids and things she already knew. There weren’t even any signs of the Black Dragon’s presence. Was this really where she operated from?

Half of the fortress was still rubble on the inside. Dusty remains of old architecture toppled over beneath blankets of cobwebs. The Order of the Hour was rebuilding it, that was certain, but their incursion was so recent that the innermost halls remained largely unattended in favor of rebuilding the outer defenses, likely to protect the siege weapons they housed in the courtyard. It was hard to step without the clash of broken stones crunching beneath the soles of Daeris’s boots. She had managed to stay as quiet as she could throughout her exploration, but only through great effort on her part. Lengthy steps prowl the castle, balancing her weight to press slowly against the grinding rock rather than crunch through the weak remnants. The pace is arduous, but it is her best way to protect herself from unwelcome exposure.

Then, an abrupt crackle taints the quiet atmosphere she’s engulfed herself in. She looks to her feet in surprise, but she finds the ground beneath solid. The misstep was not hers, but that of another; another whose presence she hadn’t noticed. She tries to listen, but her heart beats loudly within her chest and drowns her ears in the sound of an invisible drum. Surely this was just Mirabelle coming to join her. Who else could sneak up on an assassin so well? She’d made a habit of it too. But as Daeris turns, it is not Mirabelle that she sees. Rather, it was an unrecognized face; a plain woman with dark hair in servant’s clothing, arms raised in surprise as if she hadn’t intended to stumble upon an assassin. No one ever does.

A blade raises but is stayed by a quiet plea. “Wait!” the woman calls out before Daeris could silence her. “I can help you! Just, please, put your weapon down.”

Daeris tilts her brow at the strange woman. She was unarmed as far as the assassin could tell. She didn’t seem to pose a threat. Still, Daeris keeps her blade raised. What was to stop the woman from giving away her position and alerting her superiors? Her offer of help was most definitely born from a desire not to meet her end at an assassin’s blade, but could she actually provide assistance, or was it merely a desperate attempt to leverage an empty promise for her life?

“You want to help? Tell me what you know about the Black Dragon.”

“The Black Dragon?” The woman’s face twists in concern, not for the Black Dragon, but rather in fear of her. Eyes turn in their sockets, peering over her shoulders in watch for an unseen boogeyman. “She was once one of you, you know. She was part of the Brotherhood.”

“She was one of us? Then why does she hunt us?”

“I don’t know. No one knows. There are many whispers about her. Some say she was tired of being commanded by her superiors. I’ve heard others say that something happened that pushed her too far. Something horrible that made her hate the Dark Brotherhood more than anything.”

“That’s not enough,” Daeris pushes the blade against the woman’s throat. “What’s her name? Where can we find her?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know any of that! But I do know how you can find out!”

The woman’s hands press against the dagger softly, silently begging for the weapon to be put away. She was being compliant, and so Daeris acquiesced and pulled the blade away, though she knew better than to sheath it.

“Her chambers are just beyond here. Perhaps you will find your answers in there? I can take you there, if you promise you’ll let me go afterward.”

Dark silver hues scour the woman’s form. Her skin, a fair shade tinged with the gloss of copper, bore faint white scars all across the surface. Were these from the abuses of her liege-lords? Daeris couldn’t blame her for being so eager to trade away the Black Dragon’s secrets; especially not since her life was on the line. “Fine,” Daeris agrees. “Take me there, and you can live.”

The woman steps cautiously around Daeris and proceeds to guide her down the corridor. She is watched at every step by the assassin, prepared for treachery from an individual that would otherwise be unassuming. It doesn’t take long before she stops before a particular door, peeking inside to make sure it was unoccupied before inviting Daeris to enter. The room past the threshold was large and lined with shelves that contained scores of books. The ceiling was at least two stories up, and on the opposite wall there was a stone alcove with an inscribed insignia representing the Order of the Hour. Before she examines the room further, Daeris takes note of a leather-bound journal laying on a desk in the center of the room.

“This is the Black Dragon’s private study,” the woman states. “Surely you can find something of use to you here.”

Daeris pays no mind to the servant woman; she’s already found something of use. A tactful thumb pries the bindings loose from the journal and splays the contents out before her. She had not the time to pry through every entry in the book, but one recent entry caught her attention more than others. The servant -whoever she was- was right; the Black Dragon was once part of the Dark Brotherhood, and she now blames them for turning her against them. But why? What did the Brotherhood do to drive this woman to kill the people she’d once sworn to be family to?

A rustle from above startles Daeris from her reading. She turns in search of the noise and locks her eyes upon the engraved alcove. Mirabelle stood upon the ledge, looking down at her fellow assassin.

“Daeris? Thank Sithis you’re here!” Mirabelle proclaims. “This chamber supposedly belongs to the Black Dragon; here, we can lay in wait for her return and strike when she thinks she’s safe.”

Mirabelle’s mouth opens as if to continue, but the figure behind Daeris steals her attention. “Daeris, who’s that with you?”

“It’s a servant that-” Just as she was going to explain to Mirabelle how she’d found the chambers, she looked behind her to find that her guide had vanished in a cloud of sinister red magic. In the slick motion it takes for her to return her gaze to Mirabelle, she sees that the servant was now standing behind Mirabelle on the ledge. Neither assassin can utter a word before a blade thrusts into Mirabelle’s back and out through the center of her chest. The action is so decidedly quick that it leaves no room for either to scream; Mirabelle, choked on the blood that began to swell within her throat, and Daeris, choked by fear.

“Who am I?” the woman laughs in visceral, disgustingly gleeful bloodlust. “I am death, you stupid little girls. You never should have come here. And now? One of you is never going to leave.”

The blade is ripped from Mirabelle’s body, and a cruel kick sends her crashing from the ledge down onto the floor below. Daeris rushes to her by mere instinct and cradles her head in her lap as if she could somehow still protect her from death. Angry, yet fear-filled eyes look up to the ledge in terror.

“You,” she spits. “You’re the Black Dragon.”

“Figure that one out for yourself, blondie?”

“Why are you doing this? The Dark Brotherhood used to be your family!”

“Family means nothing to the Brotherhood, little girl. They always go on and on about how important family is, but they would throw away the lives of every last one of you --of us-- without batting an eye. You’re a tool to the Night Mother, nothing more.”

“If you think that, then you’re the one who never cared about family.”

“They made me kill my family; all of my Sanctuary. A Purification. They made me do it. Every last one of them, people that I lived with and loved, dead by my blade all by the Black Hand’s orders. They shouldn’t be so shocked that I’ve taken a blade to my ex-Brothers and Sisters when they are the ones who aimed me at them.”

Daeris could not respond to her claims. She couldn’t say they were true, but also could not say they were a lie. If that was the truth, then it was horrifying. What if Daeris had been put against Mirabelle? Or Kor and Hildegard? What about her home Sanctuary in the Imperial City; could she kill the people she was raised with? Her head dips into a fallen drape, ash locks cascading over her face.

“Your silence tells me that you understand now. You understand why I do this. The Dark Brotherhood is no family. It is a group of monsters that long to be holy and will cling to whatever fake righteousness they can find. The Order of the Hour is no different, but at least they haven’t told me to kill my comrades yet.” The Black Dragon cleans her blade, sliding it back into its sheath. “Leave here today knowing that I only left you alive so that you can send a message to the Black Hand. Tell them that Lyra Viria remembers what they made her do. And she won’t stop until every last one of them is dead.”

The Black Dragon turns to leave through the secret door hidden in the alcove. As her hands presses against the mechanism, she is stalled by a simple response.

“Wait.”

If only for the amusement of the assassin’s fruitless efforts, the Black Dragon half turns to look upon the desperate face that called to her.

“Your name is Lyra Viria?” Daeris calls out, her head bowed as she looked upon Mirabelle’s lifeless body. Tears pour from her cheeks and drip onto her dead companion’s skin in a downpour. “Lyra Viria….my name is Daeris Urzara.”

“You think I would even care to know your name?” the Black Dragon chuckles.

“I want you to know my name. I want you to engrave it into your memory.” The assassin raises her chin to look upon the face that killed her fellow assassin. Her friend. The shape of her features burned into her mind as rage boiled within her blood and spilled through her tears. Her body shook in response to the fire lit within her soul, and she bit the inside of her cheek until it spilled blood into her mouth. “Remember my name. Remember my face. Because I am going to be the last thing you see before you die. I am going to fucking kill you.”

She could belittle the assassin. She could chide her for being so bold, even as she was destined to share the same fate as her newly-deceased associate. Instead, Lyra likes the challenge she finds in her eyes. This one was different; she didn’t cower. An assassin with a backbone? Or just a fool? Nonetheless, her declaration intrigues the Black Dragon enough to offer a response.

“Daeris Urzara,” the Black Dragon repeats, stepping through the alcove to depart. “Come find me, then. If you have the gall to stare death herself in the eye.”

Two steps, then a final pause before the darkness of the tunnel consumes her.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

#[daeris ; fics]#[daughter of darkness]#[fanfic]

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