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nerdraging4point0 · 4 months ago

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Blood of Eden // Bad Omens Urban Fantasy AU (Chapter Seventeen)

Tropes and Tags: MM, MF, MFM, MFM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed men, polyverse, shapeshifters.

CW: 18+ only minors DNI. Urban Fantasy romance, Smut. Angst. Fluff (ish), Story includes D/S themes, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of drug use and distribution, mentions of prostitution, unprotected sex, male receiving oral sex, female receiving oral sex, cuckolding, P/A sex, P/V sex.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Rosa's eyes fluttered open, her vision hazy and unfocused as she blinked away the remnants of a deep slumber. Pale, ethereal light poured in from the trio of windows to her right, its gentle rays barely illuminating the cold, gray stone walls of the unfamiliar chamber. Across the room, a fireplace crackled and popped, the only sound piercing the heavy silence. Sitting up with a start, Rosa felt a jolt of panic course through her veins, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of her foreign surroundings. But as her mind cleared, a wave of realization washed over her - she was safe, nestled in a bed that felt both strange and familiar. The sheets, made of rough, scratchy linen and piled high with warm blankets and soft animal hides, enveloped her naked body. Lost between the worlds of dream and reality, Rosa's consciousness felt split in two, torn between her true self and this surreal existence.

Suddenly, she sensed the gentle brush of a hand against her bare shoulder and instinctively tensed, a part of her screaming to recoil, to flee, to fight. Yet she remained still as she turned to face the man lying beside her, his dark hair tumbling over soft, handsome features. Lean and tall, his body was etched with the perfect balance of muscle and scars - jagged marks that ran from his right shoulder down across his chest, telling tales of hard-fought battles and untold bravery.

She falls back into bed with him, his arms instinctively wrapping around her slender frame as she nestles into the warmth and security of his broad chest. As their bodies meld together, she could feel the familiar tug, their minds intertwining and blurring into one shared consciousness, each basking in the sensations and emotions of the other. It was a tranquil, almost meditative bliss, their souls dancing in perfect unison, oblivious to the world beyond their own. But the serenity was fleeting, the sanctuary of their private reverie soon to be invaded and shattered.

Without warning, the door to her chamber flew open with a startling bang, and three men in formal attire strode in, their purposeful steps halting abruptly as they took in the surprising scene before them. She instantly recognized the intruders as distinguished members of the grand council, powerful governors who tolerated her. But she made no move to disentangle herself or spring from the bed, nor did a single word escape her lips. She simply fixed them with an unwavering stare, her eyes smoldering with the annoyance and resentment bubbling up from deep within her chest at the brazen interruption.

Their mouths moved, but whatever message they had come to deliver fell on deaf ears. She was unable to process their words, the meaning escaping her as her mind remained locked in the fading tendrils of her telepathic bond, the two having their own private conversation as the governors continued to rant.

Rosa struggles to focus on the heated conversation unfolding before her, the stern voices of the men blending with the intimate whispers of her lover echoing in her mind. It's a battle for clarity, her consciousness torn between the external confrontation and her own inner turmoil.

A familiar voice emerges from the haze of her thoughts, faint yet recognizable - "You're not strong enough yet." She strains to identify its source, but the connection fades, lost in the tumult. Another voice, soothing and reassuring, reaches out to her - "I'm here, relax." Drawing a slow, deliberate breath, Rosa seeks to center herself amidst the chaos.

The men's disapproval is palpable, their judgment bearing down on her. Her engagement to a mage had once seemed a path to stability and status, but her own exploration of the arcane arts had led her astray, into the arms of the man now sharing her bed - her loyal bodyguard and secret lover. As if sensing the tension, her companion slips from beneath the sheets, his form hunched and contorted as he slinks onto the floor. In a fluid motion, his body shifts and morphs, skin rippling and bones realigning, until a dark green, four-legged creature stands in his place. The beast takes up a defensive position, haunches tensed, positioned strategically between the agitated men, the chamber door, and his mistress, poised to protect her from any threat. Rosa watches, both awed and unnerved by the primal display of loyalty and the raw power of transformation, as she faces the consequences of her forbidden desires.

Rosa’s mind became a playback of memories, one right after the next, snippets logging her history. As she sat there stunned, memories of their journey together flashed through her mind - in the beginning, the guardians had been mere loyal beasts, powerful but subservient, silently accompanying their mages as stalwart protectors and companions. But as time passed, she began to confide in her guardian in ways she never had with even her closest friends, pouring out her hopes and fears, her triumphs and struggles, secretly wishing he could communicate back. That yearning sparked an idea, and calling upon her most potent magic, granted him the ability to shift between beast and human form, opening up a world of interaction and understanding between them.

She shared this gift with other mages, hoping they too would know the joy of a guardian who was more than just a servile creature, but while the rest callously exploited their guardians as little more than tools and servants, Rosa and her soulmate forged an unbreakable bond, their love transcending the boundaries between human and guardian - until now, as the council sought to shatter the very foundation of everything they had built together.

Her mind was a whirlwind of fading memories and blurred images, the voices echoing in her head growing louder and more insistent. She strained to focus on the sound, desperately trying to find something solid to grasp onto, some anchor to reality amidst the swirling chaos of her thoughts. The pain was becoming unbearable, her head feeling like it would split open from the pressure building inside. She wanted to scream for it to stop, to plead for mercy, but she was paralyzed, trapped in the prison of her own mind.

Through the haze of agony, she could make out muffled voices, cold and clinical. "We have to dig deeper," they said. "We need her to channel what she's lost." They seemed oblivious to her suffering, fixated only on their goal of forcibly extracting the buried secrets of her past, no matter the cost to her. She felt like she was being torn apart from the inside, her very essence violated and laid bare.

How much more could she endure before she shattered completely? She teetered on the brink of madness, the fragile boundary between reality and oblivion wearing thinner with each passing moment. The voices continued their relentless probing, pushing her closer to the edge. A scream welled up inside her, a primal cry of anguish and despair, but remained trapped behind her lips.

The searing pain shot through her skull as the memories flooded back, each one a disorienting flash of another life lived long ago. She gritted her teeth, trying to form the words to beg for a reprieve, but her voice wouldn't cooperate. It felt as though her head might burst from the pressure building inside it. The incessant ringing in her ears drowned out all other sound, trapping her alone with the onslaught of visions. Though they claimed each memory held the key to unlocking dormant magical abilities, the agony of the process left her reeling and gasping for breath. She struggled to make sense of what she saw, the lives playing out like discordant fragments of an unfinished puzzle. In one she wore a lavish Victorian gown, in the next tattered rags. Regal banquet halls faded into filthy city streets. The magic itself seemed to shift - healing powers, arcane rituals, elemental forces - the sheer scope of it dizzied her. Only two constants remained: the mysterious man always at her side, his face tantalizingly familiar, and the chilling scene of her own demise that inevitably followed. No matter the time or place, a violent end awaited her. The deeper they delved into her past incarnations, the greater the anguish as she was wrenched back to the present, trembling and soaked in sweat, with only more questions and a bone-deep weariness.

With every ounce of strength she can muster, she wills her ghostly, nearly numb limbs to move. It's a herculean effort, as if she's attempting to lift leaden weights rather than her own arms. Slowly, agonizingly, she raises her hands toward her head, fighting against the paralyzing heaviness that threatens to drag them back down. As she struggles, she senses the presence of two other hands hovering just above her, tantalizingly close. Desperation floods through her and with a final surge of willpower, she forces her fingers to close around the wrists of those phantom hands. Clinging to them like a lifeline, she pulls with all her might, the strain evident in every tensed muscle and trembling sinew. She knows instinctively that if she can just hold on, if she can just draw those hands to her, everything will change. Reality itself seems to waver as the moment hangs suspended, stretched taut, until at last, with a cry that is equal parts effort and exultation, she makes contact and the universe shifts around her.

The memories snap out of her head, the dreamlike feeling instantly falling away as her own adrenaline rushes through her veins. It's like she's been treading water for hours; everything is sore and achy, but nothing worse than the headache currently splitting her scalp open. The grip she has on the person's wrists falls off as they retreat their hands and she takes several slow breaths, centering herself.

"Where were you?" the voice of Sonya, the celestial she'd been with during her imprisonment, inquires.

"Some crappy stone room, it was cold, the sheets were scratchy, it was old." Her voice raspy and barely audible to her own ears.

"England..." Sonya and Josh say in unison. Josh presses further, making her head seethe more, "What do you remember?"

"I was in bed, some men barged in, something about my engagement and my fraternization." Rosa rubs her temples as the recall burns inside her.

Sonya's tone is matter-of-fact as she shifts on her feet, "That's the one. You have to keep going, what else was there?"

The way the next words fall over her tongue, she's not sure they're hers, "Nothing that was your damn business." This happens a lot after the memories, something always comes back with her. The first time, she wept for hours; the second time, she'd been in shock, eyes wide open staring at the ceiling unfocused. For this one, her first time around, she felt absolute rage. When she'd come to, she'd swung her fist and cracked Ollie in the side of the jaw. She felt guilty for it later, but he didn't blame her. And now, she can almost detect the slight hint of an English accent in her words, a lingering remnant of the vivid memory that had overtaken her senses just moments before.

Rosa sighs deeply as she sits up from the floor, her body still trembling from the vivid memories that have just flooded her mind. A gentle hand softly caresses her back, and she leans into the comforting touch, knowing it is Jolly offering his unwavering support. Though his curiosity often gets the better of him, peppering her with questions about the things she has seen and felt in her other lives when they are alone together, Rosa knows his intentions are pure. But sometimes she has to remind him, as adorable as his inquisitiveness may be, that for her, these experiences were all too real.

She can still feel the sharp, searing pain of every blade that pierced her flesh, the crushing pressure of hands wrapping around her throat as the air slowly left her lungs, and the relentless torture that would mercifully numb her senses before the final, fatal blow in each death. And it wasn't just her own demise she was forced to endure, but the agonizing last moments of the two men she had been inextricably linked to in each existence. Though she refused to share the grim details with Sonja, and only sparingly confided in Jolly, there was one who bore witness to it all - Noah.

Always close by, he made sure to observe every memory that flashed through Rosa's mind, ensuring no detail would be forgotten. The faces may have changed from one life to the next, but the souls remained constant. In that moment, the realization struck Noah like a thunderbolt - this was why he had acted so impulsively when he first encountered Rosa, why the rules meant nothing in the face of their connection, and why he felt compelled to pursue her even when ordered to retreat. It was the very reason they were all so powerfully drawn to one another, and why his own bond with Rosa ran so unfathomably deep.

Rosa turns to gaze at Noah, who stands across the room, leaning against the wall with one ankle crossed over the other and his arms folded across his chest. She knows he has seen the memory too, felt every sensation just as she did. But his expression is inscrutable - a mix of anger, resentment, and guilt that she cannot quite decipher. Just like her, with each return from the memory wipe, a piece of something foreign and unknown comes back to haunt him.

"No more today," he growls, his fangs glinting in the light as his lips curl around the words. All eyes in the room turn to him, but no one dares to utter a word in response. Sonja, her tone low but certain, insists, "She needs to keep going." But Noah's resolve is unwavering.

"And I said, no more."

Rosa steadies herself as she rises to her feet, crossing the room to fall into Noah’s chest, his arms wrapping around her as he kisses the crown of her hair. He doesn’t say a word but rotates her in his grasp to move her outside. The safe house they’d found now was further from the city borders, but when the night fell you could see the metropolis in the distance. The sun was now barely setting, the days were longer now but the cold still nipped at night. She curled into his chest inhaling his scent, his arms around her shoulder tightening as if she were going to slip away.

Rosa looked out at the sparkling lights, barely able to hear the noise over the cool wind as it danced through her hair, cooling the sweat at her scalp. Memory dragging was hard work, Maria and Oli were diligent about having her eat extra calories in the morning before the drag and keeping herself adequately hydrated. She once tried to do it without nutrients one morning and spent the remaining week throwing up and her head throbbing.

“I don’t like reliving them with you,” he says barely above a whisper. Their ability to read each other was getting stronger with each passing day, sometimes even hard to keep him out. She could feel everything from him, the worry, his happiness, and even a deep…need. Sometimes she would catch him watching her from across the room and it would hit her like a wave, hot and steamy, thick, taking all of her energy to keep from falling to her knees.

The cool wind whipped through her hair, providing a momentary respite from the sweat that clung to her scalp after another grueling session of memory dragging. It was exhausting work, reliving and extracting people's memories, but Maria and Oli were always careful to make sure Rosa consumed extra calories beforehand and stayed well hydrated. She had learned the hard way what happened if she tried to drag on an empty stomach - a week of vomiting and skull-splitting headaches had drilled that lesson home.

As she stood there catching her breath, she sensed his worry before he spoke. "I don't like reliving them with you," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.

Their bond was growing stronger each day, to the point where it was becoming difficult to block him out entirely. His emotions washed over her - the constant undercurrent of worry, the flickers of happiness, and beneath it all, a profound, aching need that sometimes caught her off guard. In stolen moments when he thought she wasn't looking, she would feel his gaze on her from across the room, the heat of his desire hitting her like a physical force that threatened to bring her to her knees.

She glared at him, her eyes flashing with frustration and barely contained anger. Her voice was sharp as a knife's edge as she snapped back, "No one said you had too."

But his demeanor remained unruffled, his expression placid as a tranquil pond on a still day. "Hard not too," he replied, his words measured and even. No matter how turbulent her emotions became, no matter what kind of stormy mood overtook her, he was always her port in the storm - calm, collected, steadfast. A pillar of composure she could count on.

Her shoulders slumped slightly as the fire drained out of her. "I know," she admitted with a sigh. And she did know, deep down, that his unshakable equanimity was exactly what she needed, even if part of her resented needing it at times. He had a gift for keeping her grounded, for being the soothing balm that could quell her temper and quiet her restless spirit. In moments like these, even when a stubborn part of her wanted to keep raging against him, she couldn't help but be grateful that he could weather her squalls and help guide her back to stillness again.

Josh's words reverberated in her mind - the recurrence was inescapable, an unavoidable consequence of some enigmatic sacrifice made in a previous existence. Yet even as the weight of this revelation pressed down upon her, a niggling sense of doubt persisted. During the intense sessions of fragmented memories, she could always perceive the tangible presence of those on the periphery - Noah's steadfast existence within her and the indistinct, shadowy figure that lurked at the edges of her consciousness, maddeningly elusive and dissolving into nothingness whenever she tried to focus on it directly. The mysteries swirled and multiplied, leaving her grasping for clarity in a labyrinth of unanswered questions.

The sound of the door to their base opened and closed as Oli moved with quiet grace across the twilight-drenched landscape, his muted footsteps barely disturbing the eerie stillness that had settled over the base. In his hands, he carefully balanced two steaming mugs of fragrant herbal tea, their curling tendrils of vapor dancing and intertwining in the rapidly cooling evening air. As he drew closer, his keen eyes flicked up to meet Noah's steady gaze.

The night was deepening, the violet sky darkening to an inky black as the last vestiges of daylight faded over the horizon. In the distance, the sparkling city lights flickered and danced, a mesmerizing display that drew her gaze like a moth to a flame. She sat transfixed, barely registering Oli’s words as he murmured, "The night watch needs you, I'll take care of her."

Noah's muscular frame unfolded slowly as he rose to his feet, his movements deliberate and almost reverent as he grasped the soft fabric of his well-worn hooded jacket, gently pulling the garment over his head. With a tender gesture, he placed the still-warm hoodie in her lap, his rough knuckles grazing her soft cheek with the lightest of touches, a silent promise to return soon. Then he was off, powerful legs carrying him swiftly across the expansive yard, his long strides eating up the distance. Suddenly, in a breathtaking display of raw power and primal grace, his towering six-foot form began to change - back curving, limbs contracting, hands and feet becoming paws until he was no longer a man but a magnificent beast, loping on all fours towards the waiting pack.

A sharp, piercing bark rang out, echoing across the vast landscape, a rallying cry to his brethren. She felt their bond stretch thin, like an elastic band pulled taut, as he raced away, the miles between them growing with every passing second . Instinctively, she reached for the hoodie, still carrying the lingering warmth of his body, and slipped it over her head, inhaling deeply. The scent of him, all woodsmoke and spice, enveloped her, offering a modicum of comfort in his absence. A mug appeared in her peripheral vision, and she glanced up to see Oli settling beside her, understanding etched in the lines of his weathered face as he pressed the steaming cup into her hands.

Chamomile.

The soothing aroma wafted up, promising a small measure of peace amidst the turmoil of watching her love run towards danger, and all she could do was wait for his return.The warm liquid slid down her throat as she sipped the tea with deliberate slowness, savoring the momentary tranquility it provided.

In the stillness of the night, her thoughts were finally her own, unshackled from the constant intrusions and prying minds that usually bombarded her. She relished this rare chance for introspection, her mind venturing into unexplored depths, searching for elusive answers that lingered just out of reach. A gnawing sense of incompleteness pervaded her being, an unshakable feeling that some crucial piece of the puzzle remained hidden from her understanding. Instinctively, she knew that unraveling this mystery would require delving deeper into herself than ever before. Her gaze drifted towards the inky darkness that had swallowed Noah's retreating form, and a flicker of determination sparked within her. If there was ever a time to confront the unknown, to brave the shadows of her own psyche, this was it.

Gathering her resolve, she called out softly, her voice trembling slightly as it pierced the heavy silence: "Oli, I need your help."

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fanficapologist · 10 months ago

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Ninety-Five

Aemond’s fury was palpable, simmering just below the surface, and understandably so. The news that his wife had been disrespected so publicly by a mere rat of a peasant enraged him beyond measure. His posture was tense, his fists clenched at his sides, as he stalked back and forth across her chambers. His silver hair swayed with every agitated step, catching the light streaming in through the tall windows. The ruby on the Conqueror’s crown atop his head glinted ominously, reflecting the storm brewing within him.

His eye, blazing with barely controlled anger, fixed on Maera for a moment before he turned away, his voice a growl as he summoned Ser Alfred Broome, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The knight entered the room swiftly, his expression stoic, but Maera could see the flicker of apprehension in his eyes as he faced the furious king.

“Find him,” Aemond ordered, his voice cold and sharp. “Set a number of guards to the task. I want that street urchin found and killed in the most torturous way possible. Flog him, flay him—I care not, just so long as he dies screaming. And when it’s done, hang his body on the gates as a warning to any who dare to defy the crown.”

Maera’s heart sank as she listened to her husband’s dark commands, her mind racing. She couldn’t let this escalate further. The violence he was so eager to unleash would only sow more fear and hatred, and she knew this wasn’t the answer. Aemond was ever the dragon, fierce and unyielding, but she had to be the one to temper his fire.

Without hesitation, Maera crossed the room and grabbed Aemond by the arm, her touch firm yet gentle. He stopped mid-sentence, turning to look at her with a mixture of surprise and anger. But as he met her gaze, the sternness in her green eyes halted his rant, the fire in him flickering uncertainly.

“Enough,” she said quietly, yet with a firmness that brooked no argument. She brought his hand to her cheek, holding it there as if to ground him. “I am fine. There is no need for further violence. This will only bring more unrest, more anger.”

For a moment, Aemond simply stared at her, his fury gradually giving way to something else—concern, perhaps, or the realization that she was right. The tension in his body slowly ebbed, his posture relaxing just a fraction. He looked at her, really looked at her, and the sight of her unharmed, her gentle reassurance, was enough to douse the worst of his rage.

Aemond exhaled slowly, his hand still cradling her cheek as he nodded reluctantly. “As you wish,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. He glanced at Ser Alfred, who had been waiting silently for his king’s final command. “You are dismissed, Ser Alfred. There will be no hunt today.”

The knight bowed slightly and left the room without a word, leaving the two of them alone. The Queen’s words were gentle but firm as she tried to soothe her husband’s anger. “It was only one man out of a thousand attendants, Aemond,” she began, her tone calm, almost pleading. But her attempt at reassurance was met with a sharp growl as Aemond pulled away from her grip. His eye flashed with fury, his lips curling into a snarl.

“It only takes one man to do enough damage!” he snapped, his voice edged with frustration and fear. The thought of Maera being harmed, even by a single peasant, was enough to rekindle the fire in him, the dragon within raging against any threat to his queen.

Maera’s gaze softened as she watched him, understanding the depths of his fear. She approached him once more, her steps deliberate, her expression resolute. “Aemond,” she said, her voice unwavering, “I watched the majority of them turn on the man who attacked me. One of their own.” She paused, noting how Aemond’s gaze flickered towards her, the anger in his eye giving way to something more thoughtful. “What happened today showed that the people are with us. They see your claim as legitimate.”

Aemond’s eye met hers fully now, the harsh lines of his face softening ever so slightly. He reached out, taking her hand in his, their right hands still bandaged from the ritual of the night before. The connection between them was palpable, their bond forged in blood and fire, deeper than any crown or title. “Being King is harder than I anticipated,” he muttered, his voice low, almost as if he were speaking to himself more than to her.

Maera furrowed her brow, her eyes searching his face, silently urging him to continue. Aemond exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders still visible as he spoke. “In moments like these, when my family is at risk,” he admitted, his voice thick with frustration, “I don’t wish to act with diplomacy and dignity. I want to act with dragon fire and vengeance.” His grip on her hand tightened, his expression darkening. “I feel useless, cooped up on this fucking island while the pretender sits upon our throne. And holds my sister and mother as prisoners.”

Maera listened intently, her heart aching for him. She knew the weight he carried, the burden of his crown and the constant threat to their family. Whilst the war waged on in the background, there had not been any ground-breaking progress for a while. Minor battles won and lost but nothing that brought them closer to retaking the Capital.

His desire for retribution, for decisive action, was understandable, even if it was dangerous. She squeezed his hand, her voice soft but firm. “You are not useless, Aemond. You are a king, and your time will come. But until then, we must be patient.”

He looked at her, the conflict in his eye clear. But as he held her gaze, his anger slowly subsided as he nodded in defeat. She sighed, recognising his frustration. She reached out and grabbed his hand, her grip firm yet gentle, as if to anchor him. A small smile curved her lips, a mixture of empathy and affection. “Come, my King,” she said in a lighthearted tone, trying to lift the weight from his shoulders. “Join me in the nursery to see our daughter.”

Aemond’s tense expression softened at her words. He allowed a smile to break through, a genuine, albeit weary, one. “As you command, my Queen,” he replied, the edge in his voice replaced by warmth. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it to lead the way.

A few more moons passed, and Aemara was nearing six months old. She had become a bright and cheerful baby whose radiant smile could light up any room. Maera often found herself marveling at how much Aemara reminded her of Aemond when he was a child, with the same mischievous spark in her eyes and the infectious joy she brought to those around her. Though Aemara loved being with her mother, it was clear she held a special place in her heart for her father. The moment Aemond entered the room, Aemara would gurgle and babble with delight, her little arms reaching out until he scooped her up.

Aemond didn’t mind the child’s playful tugging on his hair or her curious fingers grabbing at his eye patch. He would smile, his stern demeanor melting away as he spoke to her in High Valyrian, determined that her first word would be "Kepa," the Valyrian word for "father." Maera had teased him, reminding him that it would be some time before Aemara would speak, but Aemond was unwavering in his intent.

All seemed better between the King and Queen as the days went by. Aemond, who had once been so distant out of respect, began spending a few nights in Maera’s bed. At first, it was only occasionally, but gradually, those nights turned into every night. His appetite for her was unquenchable, but it was not purely for passion that he sought her company. More often than not, Aemond simply enjoyed being with his wife and daughter, finding a rare peace in the simplicity of their family life.

Eventually, his possessions were moved permanently into Maera’s chambers. It was an unspoken acknowledgment that this was where he belonged, with his wife and child. They started and ended each day together, and the bond between the family only grew.

Sȳndor, Aemara’s dragon, was growing at an extraordinary rate, much faster than anyone had anticipated. Within a few short moons, the dark-scaled beast had reached the size of a fully grown dog, a sight that left the dragon keepers in awe. They marveled at the rapid growth, whispering amongst themselves about the creature's exceptional lineage. Maera, observing Sȳndor’s development, put it down to the powerful bloodlines of its parentage- Vhagar and Ēbrion.

The dragon keepers, concerned for the young dragon's development, insisted that Sȳndor should be housed in the Dragonmount with the other beasts. They argued that the mountain was better suited to accommodate a growing dragon, where it could learn to interact with its kin and develop its natural instincts. However, both the King and Queen knew that the connection between dragon and rider was sacred, especially in the formative years, and they wanted to preserve it as much as possible.

After much discussion, a compromise was reached. By day, Sȳndor would spend her time in the Dragonmount under the watchful eyes of the keepers, who would train her to respond to commands and nurture her instincts so that one day, she might become an exceptional mount. But at night, Sȳndor would return to Aemara. The beast, though too large to share her crib, was content to curl up at the foot of it, vigilantly guarding her as she slept.

Despite the peacefulness that had settled over Dragonstone, Maera could sense that her husband was restless. Aemond, ever the warrior, was struggling with the quiet. He was the rider of the world’s largest dragon, a man forged in the heat of battle and tempered by fire. The simple act of waiting did not suit him. His nature was impulsive, his temper quick to ignite.

She could see the tension in his eye, the frustration in his every movement. He was a dragon tethered to the ground, yearning to unleash his fire but held back by the need for patience. Maera knew that managing his restlessness was crucial; they had to wait for the right time to strike, no matter how much it grated against Aemond’s instincts.

The opportunity for action soon presented itself, though not in the way Aemond had anticipated. Small boats began arriving in the dozens, each carrying weary and frightened people from the Capital. Their clothes were ragged, their faces lined with fear and uncertainty.

At first, Aemond was suspicious of their arrival. He did not allow them entry into the island after Maera had been attacked, choosing instead to keep them camped on the beach below, their fires flickering like distant stars in the night. Maera, ever the compassionate Queen, organized parcels of food and medicine to be delivered to them, ensuring they were cared for while her husband investigated the reason for their sudden appearance.

Ravens soon arrived bearing messages from across the continent. Reports trickled in that people weren’t just fleeing to Dragonstone, but also to the Stormlands and Riverlands. Aemond’s wariness grew—why would so many abandon King’s Landing, the heart of the realm? The answer soon became chillingly clear: Rhaenyra was beginning to lose her grip on the Iron Throne.

The betrayal of two of her dragonseeds, Ulf and Hugh, had struck a severe blow to the Black Queen's reign. These once-loyal dragonriders had defected to the Greens, and their treachery had sown seeds of paranoia within Rhaenyra's court. She began to doubt everyone around her, suspecting betrayal at every turn. Her Small Council, once unified in its purpose, had splintered, with factions forming, each vying for influence over the increasingly erratic Queen.

Rumors spread that the gates of King’s Landing would be shut tight, with no one allowed to enter or leave the city. The atmosphere within the capital had grown tense, a powder keg ready to explode. Larys Strong’s network of spies had done their job well, stoking the flames of panic among the smallfolk. The fear that whatever horrors had occurred in Tumbleton would be repeated in King’s Landing drove people to abandon their homes and seek refuge elsewhere.

Maera had heard whispers of what had transpired in Tumbleton—Ulf and Hugh had seized the town for the Greens, but the details were murky. What she did know was that the smallfolk were terrified, haunted by the specter of death and destruction. As the reality of the situation sank in, Maera and Aemond knew that the time for action was near. Rhaenyra’s hold on the throne was weakening, and with it, the stability of the realm. The smallfolk’s exodus to Dragonstone was a sign—a clear indication that the tide was turning.

The one-eyed King called for a Council meeting, his voice ringing with the authority of a dragonlord. Maera entered the chamber at his side, her presence as commanding as his. The room was already alive with murmurs and whispers, the members of the small council conversing in low tones. There was a palpable buzz in the air—a mix of anticipation, eagerness, and a thread of trepidation running through the room. All eyes turned toward the couple as they approached the head of the table, the council members rising briefly out of respect before resuming their seats.

Aemond took his place in the high-backed chair at the table’s head, his posture rigid, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror perched upon his silver hair, the ruby glinting ominously in the candlelight. Maera sat beside him, her demeanor poised yet alert, her presence lending an air of calm authority to the room.

The Hand, Ser Criston Cole, leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table as he addressed the council. “Now is the perfect time to strike,” he declared, his voice carrying the weight of conviction. “Rhaenyra’s power wanes with each passing day. The smallfolk’s loyalty is shifting to our side. If we act swiftly, our attack will not be seen as aggressive but as a rightful assertion of your claim, my King. The Greens will be seen not as conquerors but as liberators, reclaiming what is yours by right.”

A few nods of agreement circled the room, but the tension did not dissipate. Before the murmurs could rise again, Lord Lyonel, the young Master of Coin and Aemond’s cousin, abruptly interjected. His voice was sharp, cutting through the Hand’s confident tone like a blade. “Are you aware, Lord Hand, of the vile atrocities taking place in Tumbleton?” His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken horrors.

Criston Cole’s brow furrowed, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. “Atrocities?” he echoed, the word laced with skepticism. “War is never without its dark deeds, Lord Lyonel. We cannot shy away from what must be done.”

Maera’s brow furrowed as she turned to Lyonel, her green eyes narrowing in concern. “What exactly are you talking about, cousin?” she asked, her voice steady but edged with the need for clarity.

Lyonel turned to her, his expression softening slightly, though the horror in his eyes remained. The Master of Coin, usually calm and composed, leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the table’s edge.

“Your Grace,” he began, his tone now more measured but no less urgent. “These are not mere dark deeds. The smallfolk who fled King’s Landing fear a fate worse than death. Tumbleton was razed—raped, pillaged, burned. This is what the smallfolk fear—this is why they flee King’s Landing. They fear that we will bring the same devastation to their doorstep.”

The Queen, visibly taken aback by the utter disgusting news she had just head, glanced at her husband, who was listening intently, his face a mask of controlled fury. His hands, resting on the arms of his chair, clenched tightly, the knuckles whitening under the strain.

Criston Cole’s expression darkened, but he held his ground. “These are the harsh realities of war, my lord,” he said, though there was a note of uncertainty now creeping into his voice. “We cannot allow these fears to paralyze us. If we do not act soon, we may lose the momentum that is finally swinging in our favor.”

Maera, sensing the tension rising between the Hand and the Master of Coin, placed a calming hand on Aemond’s arm, subtly signaling him to maintain his composure. She knew that while Criston’s pragmatism was necessary, Lyonel’s concerns could not be dismissed lightly. She addressed the Hand directly, her voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of tension.

“How can we not be seen as conquerors when such vile acts are committed in our King’s name? How do we differentiate ourselves from the very monsters we seek to defeat?” Her question hung in the air, a sharp challenge that demanded an answer.

Before Criston could formulate a response, Lord Lyonel interjected, his voice resonating with the urgency of his message. “The Queen speaks wisely,” he said, his tone firm. “I have received word from my father—messages that the soldiers in our army share the same concerns. Men are deserting the cause. They cannot stand by and watch these heinous acts committed daily in the name of King Aemond.”

Maera’s heart sank at this revelation, the weight of it settling in her chest like a stone. If soldiers were deserting, it meant their forces were weakening. The Reach, a crucial stronghold, would be left vulnerable to a counterattack from the Blacks. The thought twisted her stomach into knots. She turned to Aemond, her voice laced with quiet but palpable urgency. “This cannot go on any longer, my King. Tumbleton is won; there is no need for such savagery.”

Aemond’s single eye remained fixed on the painted table before him, where the map of Westeros was laid out. He nodded slowly, but his response was measured, almost reluctant. “They will be stopped,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “in time.”

She frowned, her eyes searching his face. Why was he so hesitant to act, to put an end to this unnecessary bloodshed? There was a disquieting tension between them, a silent question she did not voice but that lingered in the space between them.

Sensing the need to assert his authority, Aemond abruptly rose from his chair, his stature commanding the room’s attention. “I agree with my Hand,” he declared, his voice firm and unyielding. “Now is the time to strike.”

He moved to the painted table, his eye fixed on King’s Landing, the capital that had once been his home. His finger traced the path along the Crownlands, and he continued with calculated precision. “The odds are now evenly matched. Rhaenyra is losing the support of the common people. The fear that grips the city is our advantage.”

Aemond’s gaze swept across the room, his tone becoming more assured as he outlined the dragons each side possessed. “The Blacks have five dragons: Syrax, Caraxes, Sheepstealer, Moondancer, and Seasmoke. We have Tessarion, Vermithor, Silverwing, and the two largest dragons in the world: Vhagar and Ēbrion.”

As he spoke, his eye seemed to glint with the prospect of the battle ahead, a warrior’s anticipation simmering beneath the surface. The council members listened intently, their own thoughts undoubtedly swirling with the implications of the King’s words.

Maera watched him closely, her frown deepening. While she understood his eagerness to capitalize on their advantage, she could not shake the sense of unease that crept into her thoughts. The hesitation in his earlier words, the reluctance to stop the savagery—this was not the way it should be.

The King began moving pieces across the painted table, his fingers deftly guiding the dragon figurines and tiny soldier markers as he outlined his strategy. His eye was sharp and focused, his voice resonating with the authority of a king as he described the battle plan.

“We will divide our forces,” Aemond declared, positioning a dragon figure on the northern border of the Crownlands. “I will lead an assault on King’s Landing from the Riverlands, attacking from the north.” His hand slid the dragon piece from Dragonstone to the northern edge of the map, his intention clear in the decisive movement.

He continued without pause, picking up another dragon figure and placing it alongside a group of soldier markers on the southern border of the Crownlands. “Daeron will fly to the Stormlands and bring the Baratheon forces to bear from the south.”

The Queen’s eyes flickered with unease as Aemond next spoke of the Dragonseeds. He moved another dragon piece to the map near Tumbleton, aligning it with a large Hightower host. “The Dragonseeds will attack from Tumbleton, backed by the forces of House Hightower.” He flicked his eye up to his wife. “Their loyalty will ensure the Black Queen’s downfall. Which is why, for now, they must be appeased.”

At this, Maera couldn’t help but roll her eyes and shake her head slightly. She held her tongue, though, knowing now was not the time to challenge her husband in front of his council. Still, the idea of relying on the Dragonseeds, known for their recent debauchery, troubled her deeply.

Aemond then shifted his focus to the eastern approach, placing a dragon piece and several ship markers in Blackwater Bay. He looked up at Maera, his gaze intense. “You, my Queen, will attack from the east with Ēbrion, supported by the fleet of Morne. Together, you will match the Velaryon fleet and prevent any escape by sea.”

Maera took a deep breath, steadying herself as she felt the weight of the room’s eyes upon her. She knew she had to choose her words carefully. Her husband was a proud man, impulsive and headstrong, and she needed to approach him with diplomacy and respect—especially in front of his council.

She clasped her hands in front of her and spoke calmly, her voice measured. “My King, if we bring the full force of our dragons and armies to King’s Landing, there will be nothing left for you to rule except ash and bone.” Her words were spoken with care, but the underlying warning was clear.

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable. Lord Bryndemere, the older Master of Ships, finally broke the silence, his tone even but firm. “Your Grace, this may be our only chance to eradicate Rhaenyra and her cause once and for all. The city will endure.”

Maera��s gaze shifted to Lord Bryndemere, her expression unreadable. She knew the council’s eagerness to rid the realm of Rhaenyra, but the thought of unleashing such destruction on the capital weighed heavily on her. Aemond remained silent for a moment, his eye flickering between Maera and the map before him.

The Queen’s eyes then swept across the room, taking in the faces of each councilman seated around the table. She could see eagerness in some, wariness in others, but all were silent as they awaited her next words. Her gaze lingered on each man before she finally spoke, her voice firm but tinged with concern.

“And what of the people who have already fled?” she asked, her tone carrying the weight of her worry. “What of those who arrived at Dragonstone seeking our protection from the pretender? Will they not see us as they see Rhaenyra if we do this?” Her words hung in the air, resonating with a mixture of compassion and pragmatism.

She turned her attention to Aemond, her eyes searching his face. “What of those who remain in the city? Whether they are loyal to Rhaenyra or not, they will see us as invaders, turning King’s Landing into another Tumbleton. Is that what we want? To be seen as condoning the chaos wrought by the Dragonseeds while they remain unchecked?”

The council remained silent, absorbing her words. The tension was almost palpable, thickening the air as the implications of her questions sank in.

Lord Larys, the Master of Whispers, finally broke the silence with a sigh. “I admire your tender heart, Queen Maera,” he began, his voice oily with false sympathy.

Maera’s eyes flashed, and she cut him off immediately, her tone sharp. “Do not patronize me, Lord Larys.” Her voice was steely, brooking no argument. “This is not about a womanly mind that cannot stand the idea of hurting the innocent,” she continued, though in truth, part of her did recoil at the thought of more innocents suffering. “This is about the possibility that if the smallfolk do not back us, they could rise against us. Should they decide they are tired of being casualties in a war they did not start, they could put all our heads on spikes.”

A hushed murmur rippled through the room as Maera’s words struck a chord. She turned back to Aemond, her gaze almost pleading now. “It was not only the Gods and our dragons that put House Targaryen on the throne,” she said, her voice softer but insistent. “It was the people, and the love they had for our House. We must not lose sight of that.”

“The Queen is right.” Another voice broke the silence, agreeing with her. Maera turned to see Grand Maester Vaegon, her estranged grandfather, sitting up straighter in his seat. His face, lined with age and wisdom, bore a contemplative expression as he nodded slightly, acknowledging her point.

“It would be unwise,” Vaegon began, his voice measured and thoughtful, “to disregard the sentiments of the smallfolk. The hearts of the people are fickle, and once lost, they are difficult to regain.” He paused, his eyes meeting Maera’s. Despite their estrangement, she could see the respect he held for her argument. Maera nodded in return, granting him permission to continue. The room fell silent once more, all eyes now on Vaegon as the gravity of the situation settled over them.

“Whilst most of you are too young to remember, it was not that long ago when another powerful king ruled Westeros,” Vaegon began, his tone measured. “Before the reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator.”

Maera’s eyes flicked around the room, noticing the councilmen exchanging puzzled glances, their murmurs of confusion barely concealed. But when she turned to her husband, she saw something different. Aemond’s face was rapt with attention, his single eye locked onto the Grand Maester as if he were hanging on every word.

Vaegon continued, his voice growing more somber. “This King, too, felt his birthright had been stolen from him, and when the time was right, he arrived in the capital on the back of the world’s largest dragon to claim it. His ambition was as fiery as his dragon, and he believed that power alone would secure his rule.”

The murmuring among the council grew louder, many of them clearly unsure where this was leading. But Maera noticed that Aemond remained silent, his mind clearly racing with the implications of Vaegon’s story.

The Grand Maester’s gaze grew darker as he went on, his voice lowering as if recounting a grim tale from a time most would rather forget. “This King was not remembered fondly. He brought war to the city he sought to rule, burning not only his enemies but also those who were unfortunate enough to be caught in his path. He was hot-tempered, impulsive, and his commoners lived in fear of his wrath, for they had already seen firsthand the destruction he was capable of unleashing upon the city. And this does not even touch upon the horrors that occurred within his own castle walls.”

Vaegon’s eyes shifted toward Aemond, his expression now one of pointed inquiry. “Tell me, Your Grace, do you know of which King I speak?”

Maera turned her gaze to Aemond, her heart beating faster as she awaited his response. Without hesitation, Aemond’s voice rang out, strong and certain. “Maegor the Cruel.”

A hush fell over the room, the councilmen’s murmurs ceasing entirely. The weight of Aemond’s words hung in the air, and Maera could see the realization dawn on the faces of those gathered around the table. Vaegon’s comparison was not lost on them, nor on Aemond, who stared intently at the painted table before him.

The Grand Maester nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Aemond’s. “Yes, Maegor the Cruel,” he confirmed, his voice now tinged with a warning that resonated through the chamber. “A ruler who believed in power above all else, but who left behind a legacy of fear and ruin.”

The Queen watched Aemond carefully, her own heart heavy with the implications of Vaegon’s tale. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence profound as each man considered the lesson that had just been imparted.

Vaegon held the King’s gaze, his voice firm yet carrying an underlying warmth of a mentor speaking to a student. "Your wife, the Queen, is wise in recognizing that it will take more than power to secure the Iron Throne. Power alone may win battles, but it is not what sustains a rule, nor is it what builds a legacy worth remembering.

“Are you suggesting our King is comparable to Maegor, Grand Maester?” The Hand asked with an accusing tone

“I am suggesting our King has a choice to make,” Vaegon replied calmly. “How do you wish your own rule to be remembered, King Aemond? Will you be the King who ruled through fear and fire, or will you be something greater, something more?"

The room seemed to hold its breath as Aemond absorbed the Maester’s words. Maera watched her husband intently, seeing the subtle flickers of thought playing across his sharp features. The Conqueror’s crown upon his head caught the light, its ruby glinting like a drop of blood—a stark reminder of the path he could choose to take. His expression was unreadable, but Maera could see the depth of his contemplation, the weight of the decision before him pressing down like a storm cloud on the horizon.

Aemond’s fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the painted table, his single eye focused on the map of Westeros spread out before him. His jaw clenched, and Maera could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the internal struggle between his instincts as a warrior and the wisdom his advisors were offering him.

Finally, Aemond spoke, his voice measured. "What else can be done before we strike King’s Landing?" His question was directed at the room, the words laced with the desire to explore all options before committing to the course of action that could define his reign.

The council exchanged glances, the tension in the room slightly easing as Aemond opened the floor to discussion. It was Lord Unwin Peake, the Master of Laws, who stepped forward, a gleam of determination in his eye. "Your Grace, if I may," he began, his voice steady and confident. "I volunteer to journey to Tumbleton. Prince Daeron and Lord Hobert Hightower need support in managing the Hightower host and ensuring the Dragonseeds remain in their place."

Maera turned her attention to her old friend from Harrenhall, her brow furrowing slightly with concern. "Are you certain, Lord Unwin?" she asked, her voice tinged with a note of worry. The idea of sending any of their key supporters into the chaos of Tumbleton, especially with the Dragonseeds’ brutality fresh in everyone's mind, seemed risky.

Lord Unwin nodded with a small, confident smile. "Your Grace, I assure you, I have ample experience in keeping power-hungry young men to heel. I will ensure that the forces there are disciplined and that any further… excesses are curbed. With proper leadership, the situation in Tumbleton can be brought under control, and our forces there can be better prepared for the final push towards King’s Landing."

Maera studied the Master of Laws for a moment longer before nodding slowly, accepting his offer. She glanced back at Aemond, who was listening intently, his expression contemplative. The King’s silence spoke volumes; he was weighing every word, every suggestion, against the immense responsibility that rested upon his shoulders. Eventually, Aemond agreed, and ordered preparations be made for Lord Unwin’s journey.

As the council continued to discuss the details of the plan, Maera couldn't help but feel a deep sense of relief that Aemond had not yet succumbed to the rage and impulse that had driven many of their ancestors to ruin. But the tension remained, a tightrope they all walked, and Maera knew that in the end, it would be Aemond who would decide which way they would fall.

When the meeting drew to a close and the councilmen began to rise, Maera remained seated, her gaze thoughtful, her posture poised. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts, and then stood, her movement deliberate and commanding attention. “If I may, I have one more matter to present before the council,” she said, her voice calm but firm, cutting through the murmurs of the departing men.

The councilmen paused, glancing at one another before looking to Aemond for his response. Aemond met his wife’s eyes, his brow slightly raised in curiosity. With a small nod, he gestured for the men to resume their seats. The room fell silent again, the anticipation palpable.

Maera stepped closer to the painted table, her gaze sweeping across the faces of the men around her before settling on her husband. “I do not need to remind you, Aemond, of your duties as King,” she began, her tone respectful but resolute. “You know as well as I do that your responsibilities lie in uniting and defending the Realm, ensuring peace and prosperity for our people.” She watched as Aemond raised a brow, intrigued by where she was leading the conversation, but he remained silent, allowing her to continue.

“Rhaenyra is now in a precarious position, weaker than she has ever been,” Maera continued, her voice growing more intense. “She has lost two of her sons already, and another remains our hostage. Despite her stubbornness, she is a mother at heart, and she will want to protect those she has left. Her position has changed since this war began. Her losses have made her more vulnerable.”

Maera’s mind briefly wandered back to the day of the Festival of the Mother, remembering how Rhaenyra had intruded upon her thoughts as she prayed in the Sept. It had felt like a strange and inexplicable moment, one that she had tried to dismiss at the time. But now, as she stood before the council, it all seemed to make sense, as though the gods themselves had planted that thought in her mind.

Her gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on the faces of the councilmen, her lips pressed into a thin line. She knew that what she was about to say might not sit well with some of them.

“I am fully aware,” she began, her voice calm but edged with a steely resolve, “that some of you may see my words as a sign of womanly weakness.” Her eyes darted briefly to Larys, the unspoken accusation hanging in the air between them. She let the moment linger, letting them know that she would not be easily dismissed or patronized.

“But I believe,” she continued, her tone unwavering, “that another path must be treaded before we resort to brutality. We are not conquerors seeking to destroy; we are rulers who must think beyond the battlefield. We must consider what kind of world we will be left to rule once the fires have burned out.”

She turned then to Aemond, her expression softening slightly as she met his gaze. “With your permission, Your Grace, I would like to write to the Black Queen and offer her one last chance to bend the knee before we launch an attack. Woman to woman.” Her words were careful, respectful, but there was an underlying firmness, a determination that could not be easily swayed.

As she spoke, she could sense the tension thickening in the room, the unease of the councilmen as they weighed her proposal. Maera had no doubt that many of them, perhaps most, preferred the decisiveness of a military victory. They were men of war, after all, and they had been conditioned to see strength only in the form of conquest. But she also knew Aemond, her husband, a man who balanced on the edge of rage and reason. She hoped, beneath the bloodlust that often drove him, he would recognize the wisdom in her words.

“If Rhaenyra replies and rejects the terms,” Maera added, her voice firm but tinged with a reluctant acceptance, “or if no reply is received at all, I agree that an attack must be made. But we must give her this one last chance. Not just for her, but for us, for what we hope to build after the war is won.”

She looked into Aemond’s eye, searching for any sign of understanding, of that keen mind she knew lay beneath his warrior’s exterior. His expression remained inscrutable, his sharp features betraying little of the thoughts swirling in his mind. But she knew him well enough to recognize that flicker of contemplation in his eye—a small, almost imperceptible glimmer that told her he was considering her words, weighing them against the fiery instincts that often drove him. The room was silent, the tension palpable as they awaited the King’s response.

Feeling uneasy, Maera reached for his hand under the table, her fingers brushing against his in a gesture that was both tender and desperate. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice and switching to High Valyrian, her tone laced with emotion that she rarely allowed herself to show in public.

“Kostilus valzȳrys,” Please, husband, she whispered, her words carrying the full weight of her plea. “Īlva tala nūmo syt.” For the sake of our daughter.

She watched his single eye, searching for any sign of softness, of understanding. For a moment, Aemond’s gaze remained hard, his thoughts hidden behind the cold mask he often wore in council. But then, slowly, she saw it—the faintest flicker of something gentler, almost imperceptible, but enough for her to know she had reached him. He understood, she realized, why this mattered so much to her.

This wasn’t just about mercy for Rhaenyra or about proving herself to the council; this was about their daughter, about making the world a little better than it was before, so Aemara could grow up in a realm that wasn’t built on the ashes of their enemies.

Aemond gave a short nod, his expression softening just a fraction. “I will review your letter before it is sent,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Rhaenyra has until the turn of the moon to reply. If no response comes, or if she rejects our terms, then the attack will proceed as planned.”

Maera nodded, a wave of relief washing over her. “Thank you, husband,” she said sincerely, her gratitude clear in her tone. She squeezed his hand gently before releasing it, returning to her composed posture as she addressed the room once more.

The King straightened in his seat, his gaze sweeping over the councilmen who were still watching intently. “You have your orders,” he declared, his voice commanding, leaving no room for dissent. The men nodded in unison, the tension in the room beginning to dissipate as they rose from their seats, murmuring amongst themselves as they prepared to depart.

As the councilmen left the chamber, Maera rose from her seat, a determined look on her face. She leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Aemond’s scarred cheek, her lips barely brushing his skin. He turned slightly toward her, his expression softening, but before he could say anything, she was already moving away. Time was against her, and she knew she needed to begin drafting her letter to Rhaenyra as soon as possible. Every moment mattered, and though she held little hope that a peaceful resolution could be reached, the Greens had to be seen as offering a path to peace. It was a necessary step, however unlikely success might be.

The Queen hurried down the corridor, her thoughts racing as she considered how best to word the letter. As she turned a corner, she noticed a familiar figure slowly making his way toward his chambers. It was Grand Maester Vaegon, moving with the deliberate pace of someone who had long since abandoned the rush of youth. Maera hesitated, her footsteps faltering. She had done her best to avoid him, to pretend that he was just another advisor in the court and not what he truly was to her. But today, she couldn’t ignore the way he had supported her, the wisdom he had shared that had so clearly influenced Aemond.

Taking a deep breath, Maera increased her speed, her heart pounding for reasons she couldn’t quite name. “Grand Maester,” she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the stone corridor.

The old man stopped, turning to face her with a look of mild confusion. It was clear he hadn’t expected her to address him, especially not so directly. When she reached his side, Maera paused, catching her breath. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. “For supporting me during the meeting.”

Vaegon shook his head, his expression as unreadable as ever. “I was merely reciting the histories, Your Grace,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Maera nodded, a small, almost sad smile touching her lips. “It is important for everyone to remember the histories,” she said, “if Aemond’s rule is to be a great one.”

The old man looked at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were searching for something in her face. Finally, he nodded, the barest hint of approval in his gaze. Maera dipped her head in acknowledgment, then quickly turned and continued down the corridor, eager to reach her chambers and put her thoughts to paper. She could still feel his gaze on her back as she walked away, but she pushed it from her mind. There was no time for lingering thoughts of the past. She had a letter to write, one that could change the course of the war—and the future of their house.

Notes: I know what you’re thinking. “Why is Blue posting so much?” Well my husband is sick, I haven’t gotten the D in a while, so I’m throwing all my energy into writing 🤣

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

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mins-fins · 2 years ago

Text

CHAMBER OF REFLECTION (Z.HAO)

SUMMARY . . . it's hard to grieve the death of your loved ones, especially when you continue seeing that person, even after their death.

PAIRING . . . zhang hao x male!reader

GENRE . . . heavy heavy angst, little to no fluff

WARNINGS . . . descriptions of death, allusions to suicide, mentions of depression and psychosis

WORD COUNT . . . 2.9k

NOTES . . . we're here with the sad stuff!! dw everyone, stuff will get happy soon :)

grief is difficult to deal with.

y/n grew up hating the idea that eventually he'd have to go through grief, that he'd have to deal with one of his loved ones dying. he remembers telling his mom he would do everything in his power to make sure no one that he loved would end up dead before his very eyes.

it seems that he jinxed himself with those words..

when y/n met zhang hao, for some reason, he felt something. he can't exactly describe it, zhang hao was just such a beautiful, talented, enamoring, amazing, and humorous person, it was kinda like he was perfect.

the two of them just.. fit. they seemed made for each other in every way. their hands fit together when they intertwined them, y/n always seemed to fit perfectly into zhang hao's arms whenever they hugged, their personalities were so similar, and they could never be seen without each other.

not to mention, they were born on the same day, in the same year, at the exact same time.

it seemed that the universe was trying to tell the two of them something, that they were meant for each other.

it didn't take long for the two of them to become friends, then they became 'friends who kiss', then they became lovers.

they were just meant to be.

everyone told them that, their friends, family, even strangers agreed, they seemed to be the perfect pair.

everything was going great. they loved each other endlessly, had support, had friends who they loved dearly, and they knew that even with how many hardships they went through, they'd get through it.

at least, that's what they thought.

everything was okay, everything was fine. y/n would wake up everyday, and zhang hao would be there, whenever he had an issue, zhang hao would be there, if there was something bothering him, zhang hao would be there.

he was always there.

and just like that— in a split second, he was gone.

y/n feels like he blinked, and suddenly, his life had become an absolute trainwreck. if he could do anything in his past life that meant this event would be prevented, he would.

he'd do anything to bring him back, he'd do anything to simply wake up and for this to just be a very bad dream.

but unfortunately, fate had other plans for him.

the morning before he left forever was as normal as every morning was. y/n was his usual cheesy self, going on a rant about how much he loves zhang hao as said boy simply admires him, silent as usual.

y/n remembers what he was wearing, because that outfit haunts him every time his mind wanders back to the memory.

the light blue fabric with the white undershirt, his collar perched just perfectly around his neck.

"you flatter me too much, y/n" he remembers his soft voice telling him, zhang hao gave him one of the most genuine smiles y/n thinks he's ever seen on a person.

he looked so pretty like that, y/n thought..

"you deserve to be flattered" he commented as he reaches over to caress his cheek, watching as his eyes fluttered shut at the touch. "you deserve everything".

"please" zhang hao pushed his hands away, his face turned overwhelmingly red at the sweet words told to him by his boyfriend. "you need to stop before i melt from your compliments".

"then your gonna melt pretty soon".

zhang hao giggles at his words, and y/n rested his palm onto his cheek as he admired him and how pretty he looked at that very moment.

but after that— after zhang hao said goodbye, giving him a kiss on the cheek and then walking out of the door, something he does every single day, y/n's life was never truly the same.

no ones life was really ever the same.

when y/n got the call, that horrible, live changing call stating that zhang hao, the one person he loved more than anything, was gone?

it's clear to see why he was never the same.

in the span of a second, zhang hao simply became a memory.

everything seemed to go by in a blur.

y/n went from everything being okay, to his life falling apart. the love of his life was gone, and now all he could do was remember. he would never be able to hug him again, hold him again, kiss him again, be around him again.

he was gone, gone just like that.

y/n was a mess.

just like how anyone would be after the love of his life died, disappeared forever. for the first few days, he sobbed, he cried, he broke down in his room and spiraled into one of the worst depressive episodes he's ever had.

if zhang hao was here, he'd help him, like all the other times he did.

he's had bad depressive episodes before, and zhang hao always helped. he always listened to y/n's rants, let him cry into his shoulder, helped him swallow pills because it always made him uncomfortable to do so, helped him begin to take care of himself and manage his sleep schedule.

but now he was gone.

and y/n barely had any support.

after he simply cried, sobbed, and turned over almost every single picture of zhang hao in the house as to not see him anymore, y/n simply became numb.

he simply just existed, it had almost been a month since zhang hao died, yet he still couldn't get over it. he felt like the world was crushing him, punishing him for a mistake he must have made before.

zhang hao didn't deserve this. he was amazing, so talented, so understanding, so caring, and he had to suffer such a cruel fate.

he shouldn't have died.

everyone tries, they do, but y/n is just crashing further and further down.

he can't be helped.

everyone got it at first, they did, but with the way things are heading, they all know which direction this is gonna lead to soon enough.

they don't want to lose another person.

but y/n just wants to be alone.

he makes that very clear by the way he locks himself in his room every single day and with how refuses to talk to everyone even with how much they want to talk to him.

"y/n hyung" ollie calls out, softly knocking on the door. yujin is nervously picking his nails behind him, his mind wandering to horrible thoughts, thoughts that y/n might not even be alive behind that door.

"please open the door, hyung" ollie sounds like he's about to cry, but ricky and gyuvin aren't here, so it's just the three of them. "we don't, we don't want you to stay in your room all the time, we care about you and we can't stand seeing you like this".

yujin hears his distinct mumbling, and it's the same thing as all the other times.

"why did it have to be him? why couldn't it be me? he didn't deserve this, he didn't.."

surprisingly, for the first time since before zhang hao died, the door unexpectedly unlocks, and y/n peaks his head out.

he doesn't look as bad as expected. "sorry".

ollie pauses, and so does yujin. the two of them don't know what to say, they just stare with so much sympathy in their eyes. y/n sighs, looking down at the floor.

y/n trembles for a moment, and ollie opens his arms for a hug. "i just miss him so much".

he's clearly trying his best to not cry, but he fails because he immediately bursts into tears upon feeling ollie's arms wrap around him.

"it's okay hyung, we all do".

this is the first time y/n's cried in forever, and it seems he's becoming less and less able to keep in contact of his emotions, even with how empty he is these days.

ollie lets him cry into his shoulder, and yujin watches in sympathy.

everything has been tough for y/n.

y/n can usually never sleep these days.

he's always had trouble with sleeping, he was diagnosed with insomnia when he was six, and he remembers all the sleepless nights he had before zhang hao came into his life. every night, zhang hao would tell him stupid stories and coax him to sleep, wrapping his arms around him and always giving him a kiss on the forehead before they both drifted to sleep.

now, with all of that gone, it's even more difficult to go to sleep.

he lays in bed for three hours, simply staring at the ceiling, which didn't change at all.

he wasn't getting any more tired, eyes just fixated on the blank ceiling.

until, he hears a voice.

"having trouble sleeping?"

the room was dark, and y/n could barely hear the person speaking due to how quietly they said those words. he assumed it was ricky, or yujin, he didn't think it was gyuvin because that boy was always loud.

"yujin? how'd you get into my room?"

"you think i'm yujin? that's new".

y/n pauses.

he recognizes that voice, frankly, he could recognize it anywhere.

zhang hao.

"gosh" y/n covers his face with his hands. "my mind is playing tricks on me again".

"is it really your mind y/n?" he questions, and when y/n sits up to turn on his lamp, simply expecting to not see anything, he stops once again.

there, standing before him, is zhang hao, in the same outside y/n remembers clearly. light blue fabric, white undershirt, collar just perfectly perched around his neck.

but there's a difference, he's glowing, and he smiles as he sees y/n's look of surprise. "you can finally see me, right y/n?"

his voice is so soft, so simple, and it makes y/n want to breakdown into tears. in a split second, a tear slips down as zhang hao sighs.

"why are you crying y/n?"

"because your here".

zhang hao frowns, and he looks beautiful, like a piece of art that should be displayed in a museum. it makes y/n want to cry more, as he brings his knees to chest.

"i'm sorry, love" zhang hao states, he stares at y/n, and his eyes are the same, shining with that particularly loving look. "that wasn't my intention, i just miss you".

y/n doesn't want to think he's going crazy, he wants this to be real, he wants zhang hao to actually be here, but he knows that this is probably the result of his psychosis, even though zhang hao looked so real.

after all, ghosts don't exist..

"i miss you too" he mumbles, more tears falling down his face as he continues to stare the ghostly apparition of his true love.

"it's three am, darling" zhang hao tells him, moving closer and pressing his thumb against y/n's face and wipe his tears away. "why are you still awake?"

y/n hiccups, catching his breath. "can't sleep".

"ah" zhang hao simply says, he runs his hands through y/n's hair, humming. he uses his free hand to turn off y/n's lamp, not even having to look at it. "i'm sorry, i haven't been around to help you".

y/n stares at his figure, listens to the sounds in the room. everything about him feels real, the hand caressing his hair, the smile zhang hao is giving him, zhang hao in general.

"it's okay".

"oh y/n" he frowns once again, he lays y/n down, continuing to play with his hair. "your gonna be okay, yeah? just trust me".

"but your not gonna be here when i wake up" y/n whispers, because he knows this isn't real, and it breaks his heart because he wishes that this was real.

zhang hao gives a small laugh, staying silent. he doesn't say anything more, and neither does y/n. he leans down and places a soft kiss on his forehead, like he always used to do.

without saying anything more, y/n fell asleep.

"so how have you been these days?"

"huh?" y/n looks up, having zoned out a while ago. he continues picking his nails as he stares at the professional in front of him, his leg goes up and down as recognition colors his face. "oh, um, i've been fine".

"have you been sleeping okay?" his therapist asks, and y/n gives a okay answer.

"i mean, it's gotten better" he mutters. "before i used to stay awake for three hours, but now it's sort of become easier to sleep".

that isn't exactly a lie, ever since that first night, y/n has been able to sleep easier, now that zhang hao simply likes appearing out of nowhere. he's the only one that can see him, which still makes him believe that he's going crazy, but zhang hao always just laughs.

seeing your dead boyfriends spirit is.. well— crazy, that's why y/n keeps his mouth shut. "and how are you coping with your loss?"

y/n swears he can hear zhang hao snicker in the silence that envelopes the room. "i am.. well— i've been much better, um.. it's become easier for me to leave my room now, i don't constantly hide myself in there as much as i used to".

"are you taking your medication?"

"yeah" that's a lie.

y/n usually dislikes therapy, he hates talking about his feelings and the constant questions like he's being interrogated, giving short answers has become his whole thing, because it wastes less time.

after his first appearance, things begin getting weird. gyuvin wakes him up complaining that the lights in the kitchen are flickering, yujin tells him that he caught the bathroom sink turning on by itself multiple times, and ricky tells him that he hears weird music at night, sounding like a violin.

and it hits y/n.

zhang hao's actual ghost is roaming around the house, and only y/n can see him and hear what he says.

it should be creepy, it should scare him,

but he feels somewhat content about that idea.

"you have got to be kidding me" y/n states, staring at zhang hao. "playing the violin in the middle of the night? really? your gonna scare the shit out of ricky".

zhang hao chuckles, placing down his bombay cat, runa, down onto the floor. "i was reliving my old hobby, the only way i can do it is by being here".

zhang hao looks normal, he's wearing an oversized sweater and sweatpants, simply normal. it kind of scares y/n how runa can still see zhang hao, how she isn't bothered by his presence at all.

"still, they already think i'm crazy, no need to make them think they are too".

y/n remembers the first two weeks he saw zhang hao walking around, he tried to hide from him in the most idiotic way possible. runa jumps onto his bed, and y/n stares at himself in the mirror, sighing.

zhang hao walks up to him, gently placing his head onto his shoulder as his arms circle around his waist. y/n can't see him in the reflection of the mirror, as expected, but he feels so real, and his ghostly presence is oddly comforting.

"it's midnight, love" he mutters, and y/n nods. "are you not gonna sleep now?"

"can't".

zhang hao hums, nodding. y/n turns to look at him, the two of them now face to face. he looks so real, he feels so real, y/n can literally hear him breathing, and that's absurd, because he's dead.

his hand moves up to graze zhang hao's exposed collarbone, tracing the scar that's placed there. "does it still hurt?" he inquires, biting his bottom lip.

"not anymore" his lover replies. "i don't remember the last time it actually hurt".

"uh huh".

"love" zhang hao calls out, but y/n is still fixated on the now stitched scar on his collarbone. "you really need to sleep now, you have a recital in the morning".

"i don't wanna sleep yet".

"well your going to".

y/n feels himself dragged to bed, and though he tried to resist, zhang hao's grip was much too strong for him. "hao".

"y/n" zhang hao grits his teeth, a prominent glare in his gaze as he stares at his lover. "you will go to sleep".

why are you even doing this? your gone.. why are you still taking care of me?

it's like zhang hao can read his mind, because he lays him down and simply gives him that familiar yet painful smile. "i have to take care of you, love, you need to stop asking that".

runa curls up beside him, and y/n shivers as zhang hao's cold hands lace with his, and he leans down to press a kiss onto his forehead.

"hao".

"yeah?"

"where do you go?" y/n asks, feeling stupid with the words escaping his lips. "where do you go when i'm not here?"

zhang hao chuckles, as if his question was humorous, he scoots beside y/n, staring at him longingly.

"so silly y/n" he says, and said boy sighs as the older just nudges him lightly. "i'm always with you, it's only at certain times you notice i'm here".

y/n stares at him, and zhang hao just laughs again, running his finger up and down his arm.

"my other half.."

y/n would fall asleep again.

and when he woke up, zhang hao was gone.

as always.

#zhang hao #zerobaseone #zerobaseone zhang hao #zb1 zhang hao #zb1 imagines #zb1 scenarios #zb1 drabbles #boys planet #zhang hao boys planet #boys planet imagines #zhang hao x reader #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

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monstermaster13 · 26 days ago

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Werebelushi:

Today's rant is about the whole 'grooming' thing in general...like almost anything these days that seems to involve interaction with someone else gets labelled as grooming even if it's online. Getting presents from your friend that were on your Amazon wishlist? Grooming. Having a loving relationship with someone who you consider a surrogate family member? Grooming. Roleplaying online with someone who may be younger than you, even if just fictional? Grooming. Which brings me to the Hessian Hex mini-series Nathan used to do, for the sake of context I am going to explain the context of this mini-series this was a reflecting elements from the Tim Burton movie 'Sleepy Hollow' in particular the Hessian Horseman who is a character he likes. The plot - Nathan's counterpart in this universe is with an exchangable sidekick character who has the appearance of a human who is younger than him but is actually from another planet and very much only exists for the purpose of being the companion character, and he gets cursed to become the Hessian in a manner akin to a werecreature movie or show. And throughout he has to deal with the fact his transformation acts up when he sees blood because there are vampire parallels, it is kind of like vampirism but not really.

So keep in mind this is the original version of the mini-series that got spun off into the Walken saga series and out of the two of them the former very much ended on a cliffhanger anyway since it was uncertain if he turned back to normal or not, and the latter still exists and it's just a separate series now. The original version of the mini-series was written and concieved during a time in which Nathan was heavily going through a dark time in his life due to being targetted by an internet cult at the time and going through his 'humanity sucks' phase which is why he made so many fics of that nature and so many monsters with MC powers. He had to retire the original Hessian Hex mini-series at the end as well as the Tim Burton transformations, with the latter he had others planned but he couldn't find time to work on them. Why on earth these people just come out and act like 'don't trust Nathan, block him or delete is comments because he is a g-r-o-o-m-e-r' (you don't need to spell it out, we know you hate Nathan based on something that happened ages ago based on a fictional mini-series, we know you think he gives people in your very niche community a bad name, stop trying to convince your friends to be your personal army), in recent years of all things when nothing was said about it before then? Even if they could provide evidence, the only evidence was a discord conversation from servers who made up the rumors about him themselves, one he got kicked out of before he could even try to defend himself and one coming from a server he didn't even know existed. It's just fiction, not real life, it wasn't like he was doing it with a little kid in real life or something. Those rumors just are all the same thing, telling your friends to block him when they can decide for themselves how to judge him is just forcing them to be your echo chamber, yeah there are bad artists on here, so fucking what? Why is it always they wait until it's way too late to make assumptions about supposed groomers on here anyway?

He has to deal with this curse with the help of the exchangable female sidekick character who very much has been following him without, the curse was placed upon him by a witch (who was based on Helena Bonham Carter because this is a Burton related mini-series after all), and he defeats her...unfortunately he is still cursed, but he gains a mentor in the form of Christopher Walken (which is awesome) and Walken reveals himself to be the original victim of the curse and in context it happened while making the movie, and he offers to teach Nathan everything he knows. Nathan of course agrees to this, and a loving teacher and student relationship happens.

But there is a problem, the original supporting character could not show up for the rest of the season and in a twist of events actually turned out to be an alien posing as a female and isn't really younger than Nathan and they only stay with him but two new characters get introduced to the cast, Jon (who has hypno powers and loves vampires, so he uses this to his advantage and befriends and conditions Nathan, helping him to embrace his inner 'Walken' so to speak, and thus the Walken saga is born! Now as this supernatural version of Christopher Walken he can hypnotize people and turn them into vampiric Hessian-esque beings with his powers and he is embodying the role of a master of evil. Several years later, Chris is married and has his own clan!

So they got scrapped or recast with a different character and then went back to their home world because they had to go back home so they left for no specific reason other than their home planet needed them, we got a new female supporting character who was more fascinating and more complex than she was! And what an improvement over the original character she was, she had a backstory and her own cool universe.

However this new character had plans for him, she offered to help him with his problem and she did by making him purely vampiric and erasing his human aspects, however in a twist of fate she turns out to have used him and then after she got killed off, she got reincarnated as another form and in this form she despised him, often considers him an enemy! She then dies as this form and comes back...this time the gimmick is that she is now 'he', she has been reincarnated as a male and is vengeful and psychotic, she/he dies and comes back again, this time back to being human and this time there is a whole war subplot. Then there's a seperate storyline in which his Walken-esque vampire alter-ego tries to turn them only for 'dictatorship' accusations to happen (uhhh you are supposed to mindlessly obey what someone says when they hypnotize you! That's how hypnosis supposedly works!) and then after all that...we do not get any closure about the original exchangable female sidekick character. Since at this point, she no longer exists.

The twist is here...that even though it was this very series that got Nathan accused of 'grooming', he had been groomed himself in roleplays with people with odd fetishes and yet those people never got found out? Horndogs frequently groom kids into having fetishes on roblox just by uploading mods that are basically just Changed variants and everyone knows that Changed is NOT a game for kids, it's a game for horny weirdos in the TF community to supposedly jack off to. How is any of what I discovered considered grooming if there was nothing sexual about iy? It is fictional and it can be just be viewed as such. And anyway, isn't volunteering to be involved in a roleplay with someone based on consent? I mean if you say yes to roleplaying them or ask someone else for consent on a roleplay, and they say yes, then they are consenting.

The problem is...how can things that are not even remotely sexual be considered grooming? Also why is that whenever one of these incidents happens on here it's based on actions that happened in the past for no specific reason other 'this person was terrible in the past and we need to bring it up now', when they could have just done it at the time these alledged things were happening?

#monstermaster13 #addressing rumors about me #tw: grooming

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savantofthesilly · 5 months ago

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Kittytopia – Chapter 3: Silly Willy the Daydreamer

---

Daydreaming and Drive-Thrus

Silly Willy gripped the steering wheel of his short-bed Chevy Y2K, his mind somewhere between reality and a tuna-fueled fever dream. The radio crackled, stuck between static and some underground feline conspiracy theorist ranting about how the Dog Cartel was smuggling synthetic kibble into the city.

"I’m tellin’ ya, it’s all rigged! The tuna shortage ain’t real! It’s psychological warfare, man!"

Willy barely heard it. His thoughts were elsewhere—specifically, lost in the eyes of Snow Summers.

“Bro,” he muttered to himself, squinting at the sunset like it held answers. “How you gon’ be a whole ecosystem? Spring eyes, summer eyes, winter eyes? Pick a lane, ma.” He sighed, drumming his fingers on the dashboard. “But nah, I get it. You a celestial being. Me? I’m just a fool with half a sandwich and a tank on E.”

His stomach growled. He pulled up to a Kitty Burger drive-thru. A staticky speaker crackled to life.

"Welcome to Kitty Burger, home of the ‘Meow Meal.’ What you want?"

“Lemme get a Number Three, extra fries, and—uhh—hold up.” He glanced at his reflection in the rearview. His fur was a mess. “Yo, real quick, you ever think about fate?”

Silence. Then the employee sighed. "Sir. It’s 10 PM. You want the burger or not?"

“Nah, nah, for real,” Willy insisted. “Like, what if we just livin’ out a script? What if my whole future got sold off in some back-alley deal for three sirens and a gold donkey?”

"Bro."

“I’m serious!” Willy waved his paw dramatically. “What if I ain't even supposed to be here right now? What if my destiny was stolen? What if—”

"Sir, you want curly fries or regular?"

He exhaled. “Regular. And a milkshake.”

"We out of milkshakes."

“Damn. See? That’s what I’m talking about. Rigged system.”

---

The System and the Snow Bunny

As he pulled off with his bag of lukewarm disappointment, his mind wandered back to Snow Summers. Her winter eyes, those glacial blue orbs of divine judgment, haunted him.

She belonged to someone else. She was wrapped up in Kittytopia’s system—one of those respectable families, the kind with actual turf, clean money, and access to premium-grade, imported salmon.

Willy? He was a glitch. An algorithmic anomaly, as the Rainbow Mafia called him. He knew what they whispered behind his back.

"Ain’t got no role in the system. Just a loose thread. Won’t amount to nothin’."

He smirked, biting into a fry. “Yeah? Well, neither did the first cat to discover lasers, and look how that turned out.”

His radio crackled again.

"The moon is a hologram, y’all. I got the documents! The Kitty Mafia and Dog Cartel been using it to control tides and milk production—"

Click. Willy turned the dial. Even he had limits.

---

A Fate Already Sold

What Willy didn’t know—what he might never know—was that his fate had been decided long ago. Somewhere in a dimly lit chamber, over a game of high-stakes poker, the merchants of the Rainbow Mafia had tossed his destiny into the pot.

Three sirens and a jackass. That was his worth.

And no, not a real jackass—a gold one, a symbol of irony and wealth. It sat on some crime lord’s mantle, gathering dust, a silent mockery of the fool who never knew he had been pawned off like a used scratching post.

Had he been born into a different system, maybe the Alternative King Daddy Mafia would’ve picked him up, trained him, made him into something great. But fate had other plans.

Instead, he was just… Willy.

A half-eaten sandwich of a cat.

A rebel without a cause, or even the energy to finish his food.

---

Chaos in a World of Order

The thing about Kittytopia? It wasn’t built for guys like him.

It was a well-oiled machine of crime and commerce—structured, hierarchical, predictable. Willy? He was not predictable. He was the kind of guy who got caught slashing a teacher’s tires not out of revenge, but because he wanted to see what would happen.

(Spoiler: what happened was a firm smack from the Handler and a month of cleaning litter boxes at the Academy.)

Still, he walked through life with a grin, as if he wasn’t some cosmic joke. As if he didn’t know the world was stacked against him.

Why?

Because, at the end of the day, he had one thing the system couldn’t take.

Dreams.

(And also a Y2K Chevy that was, somehow, still running despite sounding like it was held together by duct tape and prayer.)

He turned onto a long, empty road, the Kittytopia skyline glowing behind him. The stars blinked above, looking down at him like an audience waiting for the next act.

“One day,” he muttered. “One day, I’mma be something.”

And as if answering him, the radio flickered back to life.

"Breaking news: The Dog Cartel’s latest operation exposed—turns out they’ve been inflating the price of tuna through offshore shell companies!"

Willy smirked. “Called it.”

He turned up the volume, cranked the engine, and kept driving into the night—just another silly little Willy in a city that never made sense.

And somehow, that was enough.

#writing

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airsoftaction · 11 months ago

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AIRSOFT ACTION IS LEAVING FACEBOOK!

Airsoft Action magazine has had a presence on Facebook pretty much since the day the original paper magazine was launched 13 years ago, and over those same years has built up a loyal and genuine following with many thousands of airsofters around the world. Our daily and weekly posts initially achieved substantial amounts of "likes" and "shares", with many of our industry partners providing us with complementary news, often weeks ahead of our other publishing platforms out there. Since our move to digital publishing we have seen the magazine grow again, with tens of thousands of reads each and every month! However, as many of you will already be aware, we have watched our “Facebook reach” curtailed time and again, and our interaction with the airsoft community globally has inevitably been degraded on Facebook to the point it is hardly worth us posting. We know that we are not alone in this as many of our airsoft media colleagues have suffered the same censure. Facebook/Meta have decided that airsoft no longer fits their (very narrow-minded) narrative, and their opinion of what is "acceptable to the community standards" of their platform. We have also watched as airsoft companies, individuals, fan pages, news feeds, publications and blogs, all have had their presence on Facebook either severely curtailed or, like Airsoft Action, "unpublished". In other words, banned by woke puritans trying to control what we see and read, because, of course, they know what's best for the rest of the world, and this has been reflected in the the way airsofters use Facebook as a valid and trusted information source. We could, of course, continue to ask Facebok/Meta for review after review of their decision but, just like in-game when you realise the way forward is blocked, you have to hold for a moment, regroup and find another way through, and that is exactly what we are doing at Airsoft Action. With this in mind we have taken the decision to not recreate/renew our news page on Facebook. As far as Airsoft Action goes we are quitting the platform entirely as it has become less than useless as a viable communication tool for friends and community, and in fact appears to solely glorify all that is worst in human nature as an echo-chamber for dissatisfaction and vitriolic ranting. That doesn't mean we are going to disappear from "social media" altogether and we will continue to post direct to our friends in the fabulous airsoft groups around the world, and across all the other platforms we currently appear on. For example, we will amplify our output on Discord, so watch out for more info on that as it happens. We will also continue to work closely with the excellent media teams out there, and especially with the team at https://airsofter.world/ as we believe they have the passion, like us, to create a meaningful, open and positive airsoft community. We will update our content output there more regularly as we feel very strongly it is time for the airsoft community globally to have a "homespace" where we can talk openly about airsoft in all its forms without the threat of arbitrary censure! Airsoft Action is produced and published here in the UK by Calibre Publishing Limited, who have a small company presence on Facebook and so we will be using that for any general, or business-related news. We have big plans for 2025, especially in terms of how readers can communicate directly with the magazine and its contributors, so please do subscribe to notifications direct from the AA website (www.airsoftaction.net) for regular updates. Thanks to you all for continuing to be part of our journey! The last 13 years have been fun and massively rewarding, but we are very aware that without you we would not even be in the position to “quit Facebook”; we hope that you will continue to travel with us as we move forward again, be a part of sharing airsoft adventures from all over the world, and enjoy the very best of what our thriving global airsoft community can REALLY offer! Read the full article

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rabbitechoes · 1 year ago

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it kinda felt like april was a less busy month than usual, but i also feel like i ended up writing way more than i usually do. there were quite a few great albums this month, one that has a strong case for being my album of the year!! there were a few bad and/or disappointing ones though and u can hear me rant and rave about them in this post!!! to check out my thoughts on some of the songs that dropped this month click here!!! also feel free to follow me on rate your music and twitter <3

Only God Was Above Us - Vampire Weekend

🥇 BEST ALBUM OF THE MONTH

◇ genres: indie rock, chamber pop

Vampire Weekend is one of my favorite bands of all time. As a loser Pitchfork reader throughout high school, this band spoke to me in ways few could. In my eyes, at the time, they had the worldliness I craved desperately. They were city boys, connected to some great world that was beyond me as a gay kid who felt trapped in the southern countryside. The influences from African music and the lyrical references to things like kefir and keffiyehs, it was all new to me. I now know what kefir and keffiyehs are and since then I’ve taken the agency to connect with the world outside of my own without the help of these New York Ivy League kids, but I can’t deny that they helped open a door for me that seemed unopenable up to that point. Hindsight has recontextualized the band’s catalog for me. I still enjoy, even love, their older albums in a lot of the same ways I did back then, but I don’t take them at their word. I’m a lot more critical of the aesthetics of the band, especially given some potential allegations against Ezra Koenig. That easy-going, intellectual, soft vibe has proven to be a red herring many times now in the music world. With all of that being said, I was still very excited for Only God Was Above Us. The singles were excellent and they saw the band tackling new sounds with more mature lyricism. This record has the band meditating on generational problems both interpersonally and intrapersonally. About history, love, art, and the earth itself. The band doesn’t, nor are they in any position, to offer some sort of solution to these problems, but it captures the density of the topic extremely well. Despite some of my trepidations, this album is excellent. One of the best I’ve heard in a long time.

It sounds like the perfect culmination of everything they’ve done up to this. It’s both forward-thinking and introspective. It could very well be their peak or it could be a new beginning. This album was recorded with all three members of the band, as opposed to Father of the Bride, which was practically a Koenig solo album and this was definitely the direction they needed to go. They incorporate subtle musical callbacks to their past material to great effect, it feels like the band is also using this record to reflect on their journey up to this point. The opener “Ice Cream Piano” is playful, but also serious in the right ways and sets up the themes of the album very well. It also introduces the sounds of this album very well. A little jagged, psychedelic, and very layered. The lyric, “We're all the sons and daughters of vampires who drained the old world's necks,” could maybe only be pulled off right in a Vampire Weekend song. They’ve always had this playful edge to them despite being labeled as staunch Ivy League elitists throughout their careers, whether that criticism was warranted or not. “Classical” and “Capricorn” were two of the singles, both are absolutely excellent. The former growing on me so much in the context of the record that it’s now one of my favorite songs of theirs. It’s one of Koenig’s most incredibly well-written songs as it has him ruminating on what would remain after a supposed revolution. What would become classical? Massive shoutout to the saxophone part, it rules. The latter was one of my favorite singles from the get-go and it showed the band getting a little folky with it to great effect. It feels like something that would fit on their last album, Father of the Bride, but it sounds so much more organic than the bulk of that record.

“Connect” is one of their more robotic songs, but it’s also one of their most touching. The little drum parts throughout, reminiscent of “Mansard Roof,” add so much. So does that beautiful sprawling piano.“Prep-School Gangsters” sort of flew under my radar on my first few listens, but it’s one of my favorites now. That weird violin-infused breakdown at the end works so well. “The Surfer” and “Gen-X Cops” are also some of the band’s best. Both cuts are like extremely fuzzy surf music and it’s so cool. The line in the latter’s chorus, “Each generation makes its own apology” is also poignant and greatly summarizes the album’s themes. “Mary Boone” is another incredible track. A sparse ballad that eventually blooms into something baggy, not unlike what you might hear on a George Clanton record. I never expected to hear something like this from them, but I’m so glad I did. “Pravda” is probably the most like their older material, but it’s a nice addition. It has the band utilizing a lot of the soukous elements that were present on their debut album. This track also has one of the best choruses here on a record filled with amazing choruses. “Hope” is an anthemic closer, a song that was made to be played live. It’s such an optimistic way to end the album too and while the sentiment can potentially fall flat, I still enjoy it. I imagine the feeling this song gives me is the same feeling rednecks get when they listen to Uncle Kracker. I’m just enamored by the instrumentation of the record. The entire album sounds fuzzy and a bit rough around the edges, especially for them, but the instrumentation is simultaneously so dense and layered. Tackling new sounds, paying homage to the old ones. It sort of sounds like the album art. It’s an incredible experience. This is without a doubt their most mature album to date and it makes a strong case for being their best. I don’t know if it overtakes Modern Vampires of the City for me, but it certainly stands right alongside it. Time will tell if my opinion changes though.

As a longtime fan of Vampire Weekend, this album hit me pretty hard. It’s everything I could’ve wanted from the band at this stage musically. I’ve grown since I first became a fan and it seems like they have too. I believe Only God Was Above Us is one of the strongest indie rock records of the decade thus far. Every time I revisit this record, I find something new about it that I hadn’t noticed on previous listens, which is another testament to how they’ve progressed artistically, but also annoying when you’re trying to write an analysis of it. There are still some reservations I have surrounding the band, but I can’t deny that the music scratches an itch that only Vampire Weekend can do for me. I’m not as uncritical as I once was, but this album is really brilliant.

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All Born Screaming - St. Vincent

◇ genres: art rock, neo-psychedelia

I’ve enjoyed St. Vincent’s albums over the years, but most of them haven’t earned the “I really love this” distinction. Strange Mercy is probably the only exception. Granted, most of her stuff is well overdue for a relisten, but I digress. The singles leading up to this album had me very intrigued. They were sharp, industrial, and kind of funky in the case of “Big Time Nothing.” It was the most exciting she had sounded in years. My expectations for All Born Screaming were high and the album ended up exceeding them greatly. This might be Annie Clark’s strongest record to date, it’s my favorite at least. It’s an incredibly well-crafted, immersive experience with some of the strongest songwriting of her career.

Many people, myself included, expected this album to be full-blown industrial noise rock, but that isn’t the case. Some songs fully embrace it like “Big Time Nothing” and “Flea” to an extent, but that industrial-ness mainly acts as a backdrop to this sonically diverse record. Some might view this as one of the album’s weaknesses. An indication that Clark might be restraining herself, but I disagree. As a creative, she’s on fire here. Her melodies and vocal style here are like watching someone paint an intricate, very dynamic painting on a massive easel. Her vocals complement the vivid lyricism of the album as well. She embodies every word she sings. From the bittersweet loss of “Reckless” to the sinister, almost hedonistic nature of “Flea,” Clark explores every nook and cranny of these songs.

Musically, this album also shines. Clark enlists many notable guest musicians like Dave Grohl and Cate le Bon to help flesh this album’s sound out. Grohl’s drumming on “Broken Man” and “Flea” helps crank things up to another level, giving the songs a bit of an extra bite. Cate le Bon plays bass on my favorite song on the whole album, and maybe my favorite song of Clark’s period, “The Power’s Out.” That thunderous basslines towards the end were what sealed the deal for me, just an overwhelmingly amazing experience. “Violent Times” is another one of the best tracks here and has one of my favorite arrangements on the record with those guitar flares and horns which wouldn’t sound out of place on a Julee Cruise album. I also get very heavy Bowie vibes from it. The weirdest detours here are “Big Time Nothing” and “Sweetest Fruit” which are considerably quirker than the rest of the material here. The latter features a poorly executed, very parasocial tribute to the late SOPHIE which does kind of detract from the otherwise fun song. One of the rare misfires on the record, despite her good intentions. The album ends with the heavy title track which feels like such a colossal final statement. The vocals and the ascending instrumentation are just so striking, a great way to bring this album to a close.

All Born Screaming is perhaps the most well-crafted and fully realized album of Clark’s career thus far. There are very few missteps and I find myself loving it more after each listen. It also makes me want to go back and give her other albums another shot. This is one of my favorites of the year so far, don’t let this slip past you.

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Silence Is Loud - Nia Archives

◇ genres: liquid drum and bass, jungle

Nia Archives wasn’t on my radar at all, but I saw this record getting hyped up on Twitter so I decided to give it a shot. I was blown away. This is an amazing debut album from one of Britain’s most talented producers. She utilizes the jungle/drum and bass sound throughout this project to incredible results. Usually, I find myself getting tired of those skittering beats after a while, but I was fully engaged throughout the album’s 35-minute runtime. A lot of that is a testament to her strengths as a producer, but her energy as a performer and songwriter on this record is a very important part of what makes Silence Is Loud so great.

The title track kicks off the record in explosive fashion. It sounds so mesmerizing, it creates such a distinct vibe. The melody is also just infectious. The kind of track that’s firing on all cylinders. A great way to open your debut. “Cards On The Table” calms things down a bit, but not at the expense of the record’s energy. She blends in some folktronica into the jungle sound and it works so well. Another very strong chorus on this track too. There’s very rarely a dull moment throughout the first half. Just an onslaught of amazing R&B-infused drum and bass cuts that are so easy to get lost in. Much of this album’s lyrical content isn’t as dance-worthy or carefree as the music would lead you to believe. There’s longing, heartbreak, and frustration. “Tell Me What It’s Like?” is one of the few tracks here that adds some darker elements into the mix to fit the underlying meaning of the song. I do enjoy that juxtaposition of frantic, party-like beats and more melancholy lyricism, but the way that track sort of embraced it instead of running from it was so well done. It’s yet another great example of her abilities as a producer. The album’s closer, “So Tell Me…,” also does this. It sounds like a breath of fresh air, it helps you decompress from the journey the album has taken you on without killing the vibe completely. Such a great track. Silence Is Loud is an incredibly impressive debut album. This record is packed with memorable hooks and melodies to go alongside the great production. There’s such a heart to this album that makes it stick out among other drum and bass stuff I’ve heard. Nia Archives is definitely, firmly on my radar now and I can’t wait to hear whatever she does next.

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Triple Digits (112) - RiTchie

◇ genres: experimental hip hop, abstract hip hop

This was one of my most anticipated projects of the year. Ever since Injury Reserve disbanded officially last July, I’ve been patiently awaiting what both RiTchie and Parker Corey would do next. The final Injury Reserve album, By the Time I Get to Phoenix, still stands as one of the most harrowing releases of the decade. Full of great writing and production with plenty of emotion behind it to take it to the next level. I figured the first post-Injury Reserve project would come from By Storm, the new duo formed by RiTchie and Corey, but that wasn’t the case. RiTchie began dropping some incredible singles recently and Triple Digits (112), his first solo album, wasn’t too far behind.

This is a great debut for RiTchie. It strikes a nice balance between the humorous and the surreal. He branches out and works with a plethora of different producers throughout the album, even Corey on the last two tracks, and it rarely ever feels too disjointed. “WYTD?!?!” and the lead single “RiTchie Valens” are some playful, boastful moments early on in the album. They have an underlying concern to them though, like on the latter with the subtle “I’m worried about you Ritchie” lines at the start and finish, but it’s juxtaposed with this almost delusionally optimistic delivery from RiTchie. Those lines appear throughout the album too and it gives the album so much more depth than it initially lets on. The title track gets a little glitchy with it and I love it. “Dizzy” and “Looping” were my favorite singles and being placed one after the other is really interesting. It’s a drastic tonal shift, “Dizzy” is a quirky banger that has an incredible hook, and “Looping” is this atmospheric somber cut. Bold move, but it pays off very well. As I said earlier, the last two tracks have Corey on production duties and they have an undeniable chemistry. Things get dark and almost ambient. Closes the album on a much different note than it began. The posturing is over and he just gets real with the listener. Triple Digits (112) is a very impressive debut. Not every track is a hit, but the majority of the material here is pretty great. It feels like the project he needed to make in a lot of ways. Despite the somber tone at the end of the project, the future looks bright for RiTchie as an artist. I feel like he’s destined to make even more great albums whether they be solo or with By Storm or whoever.

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Connla's Well - Maruja

◇ genres: post-punk, post-rock, art-punk

Maruja’s Knockarea EP from last year took online music communities by storm. It was an exhilarating EP that showed off this band’s talents and potential extremely well. They’ve been dropping some great singles in the time since that continues to show the band’s promise. Those singles, along with some new cuts, are featured on this new EP Connla’s Well. The UK band’s saxophone-infused post-punk/post-rock gains new layers here. The songs I was familiar with going into the EP sound even better here. “The Invisible Man” is a great showcase of the band’s storytelling capabilities both lyrically and musically. The frantic drumming, the crazy saxophone parts, the underlying bass, and the sinister guitar flourishes. It’s one of the most fully realized tracks in the band’s catalog thus far. Still wows me even having heard it long before the EP was announced. Likewise with “Zeitgeist” which has the band leaning further into the art-punk of their last EP. The two new tracks here are instrumentals which might be disappointing to some, but they’re both pretty great. Especially the closer, “Resisting Resistance.” It’s very atmospheric, very post-rock. Every band member shines here and the track leaves room for everything to breathe. Excellent stuff. I have to say, I really hope we get a debut studio album from Maruja soon. Connla’s Well is wonderful, but they’re ready to take that next step. They have all the tools necessary to do so.

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This Could Be Texas - English Teacher

◇ genres: indie rock, art rock

The UK Windmill scene has birthed plenty of exciting new artists over the last few years. Bands like Black Country, New Road, Squid, black midi, and Maruja all have ties to the scene. So do English Teacher and with this debut album, I think they are going to be mentioned alongside those other exciting bands in due time. This Could Be Texas is one of those debut albums that perfectly sets the stage for the band to reach even greater heights. The musicianship here is great, some of the most eclectic and rhythmic instrumentation from the scene. From the dreamy sound of the opener “Albatross,” to the lush vibrant guitars of “The World’s Biggest Paving Slab,” and to the chamber folk of “Mastermind Specialism,” this album is full of surprises and shows off the band’s range very well. They have an exciting, young, and hungry energy to their sound that just gets you into it even through some of the weaker cuts.

The instrumentation is consistently great here, but the glue that holds this record together is Lily Fontaine. She provides the lead vocals and some of the guitars (maybe synths too) throughout the record and she absolutely nails it. The band’s vivid lyricism is fully realized through her performance. A great example of this is on “R&B” where Fontaine sings that she’s been writing sweet R&B songs for someone despite knowing that she should be writing songs for herself instead. It all explodes during the outro where the instrumentation and her vocals intensify as she continues to try to settle that inner conflict. It’s a great moment that showcases the band’s chemistry very well. This song segues nicely into “Nearly Daffodils” which has this pulsating rhythm underneath it that drives the song. It keeps you hanging on until the song’s more explosive moments. “Sideboob” is another one of my favorite tracks here. It provides a synth-heavy and welcome change of pace to the record. There’s no shortage of great songs here, but there are some weaker cuts in both the first and last half. This Could Be Texas is not without its flaws, but it’s an exciting and promising debut for an energetic new band that deserves your full attention. I expect nothing but great things from them!

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Harbour Century - Eunuchs

◇ genres: symphonic prog, avant-prog

There’s a lot to love about Australian avant-prog band Eunuchs’ sophomore album. Harbour Century is an ambitious and dense record filled with masterful instrumentation and rich, world-building lyricism that can’t be unwound on a single listen. They’re delivered through the manic, unpredictable vocals of Linus Hilton who does a great job commanding the record. Acting as some kind of twisted captain of a dingy ship or aloof storyteller in a dimly lit bar. Not to play the comparison game, but many similarities can be drawn between this album’s sound and that of black midi, although Eunuchs are significantly more symphonic. Despite all of these wonderful qualities, the record is hampered by one crucial flaw in particular—the mixing.

These songs are intense, but that intensity is lessened significantly across multiple cuts because it just isn’t loud enough, the vocals in particular. Take the opener, “Magic Death Sea Nemesis,” a layered, chaotic piece with a dynamic vocal performance. The vocals are fighting for your attention alongside the horns and the drums throughout the first portion of the song. It sort of takes me out of it because it feels like a massive oversight or an ill-advised intentional choice. Pretty much every song here, no matter how great it is, has an asterisk beside it noting that the mixing could be way better. It’s frustrating because the songs here are generally pretty great! I love the intense lyricism on “Pat a Dragon,” the uncomfortable elegance of “Gnome and Fortune,” and the subversive song structure of “Hierophant.” They show a band that has something special to them. My favorite track here is the almost 18-minute closer, “The Heroin King.” It actually benefits from the mixing in certain ways, it makes it a bit more mysterious. Harbour Century is a great record and an impressive sophomore release with limited potential due to the mixing choices. Eunuchs sound neutered here. If this album got a remix, I would sing its praises to the high heavens. I still encourage everyone to give it a shot though. Eunuchs are definitely a band that deserves your attention.

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Kabutomushi - Mei Semones

◇ genres: jazz pop, chamber pop

Similarly to the Nia Archives album from this month, I saw this EP getting some buzz on Twitter so I gave it a listen. I’m so glad I did! Jazz pop artist Mei Semones has crafted a nice, concise EP with high replay value. Kabutomushi is filled with tasteful jazzy instrumentation and really strong hooks. Semones’ guitar playing is a massive highlight here in particular. It’s so light and breezy, but so skillful. Displayed perfectly on “Wakare No Kotoba” where her guitar just dances alongside her vocals. The strings across this album are also a great touch. My favorite track here is “Inaka” which is a song for the real yearners out there. The chorus is just so bittersweet and earnest, I love it so much. Also showcases the musicianship on this record perfectly. One of my favorite tracks of the year so far. This EP is only five tracks and that’s a damn shame. By the time it was over, I wanted so much more. I plan on going through her previous EPs soon, but I can’t wait for a full project from her. I also highly recommend watching her show at Brooklyn’s Public Records, it’s such a nice performance.

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If I don't make it, I love u - Still House Plants

◇ genres: experimental rock, post-rock, math rock

Everything on If I don’t make it, I love u feels a bit off. It’s an album that’s impossible to get comfortable with. There is no groove you can settle into and no expectations to carry you through the album besides, I guess, expect that discomfort. All of that is by design though. The sound of this album consists of only guitar, drums, and vocals. It’s just a raw rhythm section with likewise raw vocals ringing out alongside it. “Experimental” is a broad descriptor, but I would say this album fits the bill pretty well. The band says that they rehearsed this album “relentlessly” which makes sense with how confident they sound. Each member’s contributions certainly stand out and they all elevate each other in unorthodox ways. The best representation of the band’s sound comes with the opening track “M M M.” The dissonant instrumentation paired with the drawn-out vocals from Jess Hickie-Kallenbach make for such a unique pairing. It’s uncomfortable and even anxiety-inducing on a first listen, but you just get swallowed in it. It’s an uncompromising record on the whole, at times for better and others for worse, but there is a lot to love here if you’re willing to be patient with it.

The dissonance ramps up even further on “Pant” where David Kennedy’s drums feel like little splashes of water, like there’s a circle of people aggressively spraying water from those mist spray bottles at you. Finlay Clark’s guitar sounds like it’s on fire too, it sounds out of this world. “MORE BOY” has a bit of a slower pace to start, but it’s one of the best-paced tracks here. When the band does ramp things up, it hits so hard. Speaking of pacing, that is one of the album’s weak points. The band’s utilization of all things unconventional wears a bit thin on the ears, at least for me, after a certain point. I can’t really say the band falters because there’s no shortage of interesting ideas in the later stages of the record, this is most certainly just a me thing. I do love the skittering drum beats and the noisy guitar on “Silver Grit Passes Thru My Teeth,” one of the most exhilarating moments here. “No Sleep Deep Risk” has the band diving into slowcore territory and it yields some great results, showing the band in a bit of a different light. Again, lots of highlights despite me feeling a bit exhausted by the end.

This is a really interesting record and I can see how it could prove to be polarizing for some, but it’s definitely worth a listen. I think I would’ve loved the record more if it was trimmed down just a bit, but it’s clear the band was brimming with inspiration so who am I to try to edit them down?

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Twice Around the Sun - Ugly

◇ genres: art rock, indie rock

Twice Around the Sun is an EP that showcases an up-and-coming band with a ton of potential. The musicianship here is absolutely incredible and there are a ton of standout tracks, but also a few missteps that I feel will be ironed out by the band on future projects. There is a heavy choir influence on the vocals throughout the project. “The Wheel” opens the EP with some acapella verses and, I’ll be honest, it doesn’t do much for me. It’s very well done, but it wears thin for me pretty quickly. Things pick up though with the second half of the song which adds some instrumentation to it all. Samuel Goater’s vocals throughout sort of remind me of Jon Anderson from Yes, except this time the prog-rock feels more renaissance faire than cosmic and otherworldly. “Sha” is a massive step up from the opener and has lead vocal duties passed on to Jasmine Miller-Sauchella. It has this sort of alt-country feel to it. Probably my favorite track here. “Icy Windy Sky” is a bit of a step down in comparison and again, I find some of the vocals a little grating, but the fingerpicking guitar work really shines across this cut. I also love the big breakdown towards the end.

The final three tracks are a great run and really make this EP worth checking out. “Shepherd’s Carol” has some of the coolest instrumentation I’ve heard so far this year and the vocals are very tasteful. “Hands of Man” is considerably more somber than the rest of the project, but it works so well. Each twist and turn the music takes just hits so hard. It also has the most clever lyricism on the project, a lot of personality here. “I’m Happy You’re Here” closes the album on a very high note. It continues that more melancholic sound set by the previous track, but it has this grandiosity to it that makes for an interesting listen. I didn’t absolutely adore this EP like I was hoping I would, but Ugly are certainly on my radar now. Can’t wait to hear what they do next!

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Don't Forget Me - Maggie Rogers

◇ genres: pop rock, singer-songwriter, country pop

Maggie Rogers is an artist I’ve always wanted to like more than I do. I tried giving Heard It in a Past Life a chance around the time it came out, but it didn’t grab my interest so I never got around to listening to the whole thing. I gave her last album, Surrender, a shot and while I did finish that one, I wasn’t exactly blown away by it. She certainly has a few good tracks, but she often fails to make a consistently great record. Don’t Forget Me is no exception, unfortunately, but this is probably my favorite release of hers thus far. This album has Rogers shifting away from a lot of the alternative aspects of her sound in favor of some country-tinged singer-songwriter and this style really suits her.

“Drunk” feels like a slightly stripped-back country hit from the mid-2000s. This is one of Rogers’ vocal performances that just hits for me. It has one of those roll the window down while cruising down the road on a warm summer day choruses. The next track “So Sick of Dreaming” expands the instrumentation and it’s also one of her best. This album is at its strongest when it leans heavily into that country sound. “The Kill” is another favorite, but at this point, you run into one of the biggest problems with the album. The structure of pretty much every song here is so unadventurous. By the midpoint of the album, you can largely predict where a song is going to go. Sometimes the instrumentation may shake things up a bit. Like the sparse piano ballad “I Still Do” and the funky rhythms of “On & On & On,” but they just don’t offer many surprises beyond that. I did really enjoy the title track though. This is probably Rogers’ finest moment as a writer. There’s so much character and personality to her writing here, I believe every word she says. Overall, Don’t Forget Me is Rogers’ strongest album to date and I think it sets her on the right track, but it still has a decent amount of underwhelming cuts.

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Found Heaven - Conan Gray

◇ genres: synthpop, pop rock, new wave

Conan Gray’s last two albums didn’t do much for me in the slightest, especially Superache. I listened to one single leading up to this album, “Alley Rose,” and wasn’t a big fan of that either. Something is suffocating about Gray’s music at least in how it’s produced. It restricts the emotion that I know is present in these songs from bursting out. I figured this album would just be indicative of the single and I would be wasting my time, but I had some free time so I decided to give it a listen. Shockingly, I found a lot to enjoy in this record, but it still has a lot of the shortcomings present throughout his previous work. Gray teams up with all-star producers like Max Martin and Shawn Everett for this album and incorporates a lot of synthpop and new wave elements into his sound as well. The best moments on Found Heaven are the ones that fully embrace the glam and the danceability and move away from the sad, balladeering he made a name for himself on. The title track is one of his best, which I understand isn’t a high bar to cross, but still. Fully embracing this sound in every aspect. It sounds like a spruced-up 80s new wave hit with lyrics about queer acceptance. It’s certainly one of Gray’s strongest moments as a lyricist. “Never Ending Song” is a sleek synthpop cut that plays into his strengths very well. It’s probably also the most I’ve been impressed with a Max Martin song in a while. “The Final Fight” veers a bit too close to adult contemporary, but if you just tell yourself it’s sophisti-pop instead you can have a good time with it. The first half of this album is pretty good, but by the halfway point you can tell a lot of these ideas have unfortunately been exhausted. The hooks get weaker, the production gets more tired, the lyricism falls flat more often than not, and we get a few more of those ballads. This would’ve been a very solid EP if it consisted of just the first half or so. Nothing revolutionary, but still his finest project to date. As it stands, Found Heaven is still Gray’s best, but it’s hampered by too many cliche and boring ideas. This is a step in the right direction, I just wish Gray would stop playing it so safe musically.

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Hyperdrama - Justice

◇ genres: french electro, synthwave

I’ve been covering the singles leading up to French electro duo Justice’s new album for the last few months now. I’ve enjoyed them, but I rarely ever found myself going back to them. They were fine, just not interesting enough to keep me coming back for more. Despite that, I still wanted to give Hyperdrama a shot. I was hoping that as a full album, these songs would fully click with me and I would have a great time with it, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Most of the singles somehow got worse in the context of the album. There’s such a lifeless energy to these songs that makes this a tough album to get through. Nothing here is atrociously bad, but it’s just such a tiring experience.

This is a frustrating album to write about because these songs don’t leave me with much to say. I can’t say they’re bad, but there are very few things I can rave about. Some exceptions are “Generator” which actually has some bite to it and “The End” featuring Thundercat which has a pretty good melody. The collaborations with Tame Impala are fine too, but they’re lacking the punch that would elevate them way further. “Incognito,” and a good portion of the tracks here, have all the right tools, but they don’t really come together to make something compelling. I guess Justice just wanted to have an album out in time for festival season and maybe these songs will come alive there, but as an album, Hyperdrama left me pretty cold. The only other Justice album I’d heard before this was † so I don’t know how this album ranks among their discography. I’ve heard Justice fans say this is a step in the right direction, but if that’s the case they need to take quite a few more steps in said direction. Maybe a leap.

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THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT: THE ANTHOLOGY - Taylor Swift

◇ genres: alt-pop, synthpop, singer-songwriter

The Tortured Poets Department is the sound of an artist exhausted. An artist spread far too thin, yet still receiving unadulterated praise and adoration despite it all. As soon as midnight struck on April 19th, the red carpet rolled out. Rolling Stone gave this album a perfect score, lauding it as an “instant classic” as they did with her previous studio effort. Music publications, of the nonserious variety, and of which there are many, did a deep dive into sycophancy and they will do it again the next time the megastar releases a new record. Taylor Swift has become too big to fail. There’s no time to process the art in any way. It’s immediately an “instant classic.” An important, seminal work whether it deserves that distinction or not. Let me make it clear, I don’t hate Taylor Swift. I enjoy a decent amount of her music and I’ll defend her from wrongful criticism like the kind she faced throughout the 2010s for crimes such as simply being a woman and writing break-up songs. However, this complete 180 at the turn of the decade where Swift instantly became an untouchable, revolutionary artist in the eyes of many just feels so forced. I liked folklore and evermore. I respect her for re-recording her old albums so she can fully profit off of her work, every artist deserves that (even though she is a billionaire and is running promotional ad campaigns with Spotify who are anti-art to their very core and want musicians to live off table scraps for the foreseeable future).

This distinction is uncomfortable and it seems as though, at points in the album, Swift feels the same way. She’s drowning in her own fame, losing her individuality, yet she simultaneously keeps feeding into it. This is an album less about pushing her artistry forward and instead building her own mythos, her own lore if you will, so her stans can have a field day and pick it apart until the next one comes out. This album’s central focus is Swift’s “tortured poetry” and that becomes glaringly apparent as the album rolls on. The musical ideas here are so by the numbers for her, hardly any surprises to be found. The arrangements and production are all competent, but it stays far too within a comfort zone that just makes the album feel so sterile. So is Swift’s writing here good? Not particularly, there are a few clever lines, but it’s trying way too hard to be just that. You can definitely tell she’s been spending time around Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus, but she adds her own millennial charm to it. Simply put, this album is not for someone who isn’t deeply ingrained in the Swift Extended Universe, which seems like a dwindling number of people.

Getting through the first half of this surprise double album wasn’t very enjoyable. “Guilty as Sin?” and “Clara Bow” were my favorite tracks from the first “disc,” the latter actually revealing some interesting depth to her writing that wasn’t present before, but besides that, I was predominantly either apathetic or actively disliking a lot of it. The second half is largely produced with The National’s Aaron Dessner and it’s a very welcome change of pace. It is significantly better, that or maybe I’m having a case of Stockholm syndrome. One of my favorites is “The Albatross” which is pretty well-written and the arrangement is so much more tangible than anything in the first half. Her lyricism on this half still isn’t perfect and it even makes me laugh at certain points, but I would say it’s stronger overall. “I Hate It Here” is rough though. The second verse has Swift singing “My friends used to play a game where / We would pick a decade / We wished we could live in instead of this /I'd say the 1830s but without all the racists / And getting married off for the highest bid.” There are a handful of embarrassing lyrics across this album that I decided not to cover, but I couldn’t ignore that one. Swift pining for the Jacksonian Era.

Neither The Tortured Poets Department, nor the extended THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT: THE ANTHOLOGY, are going to convert any Swift haters, but it will certainly keep the Swift enjoyers happy until the next Taylor’s Version. As for those with relative Swift fatigue, like myself, this didn’t do much for me either. I find it overall to be musically unadventurous with lyrics that often insist upon themselves, but there are a few decent songs here. Regardless, you might as well buckle up because this album will be inescapable.

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I'M DOING IT AGAIN BABY! - girl in red

◇ genres: pop rock, indie pop

I haven’t been the biggest fan of girl in red over the years. Her songwriting is mediocre and uninteresting on pretty much every level, at least to my ears. Despite that, I still decided to give I’M DOING IT AGAIN BABY! a fair shot, maybe she would wow me this time! That was not the case. If anything, this record is somehow a step further down from her already middling previous material. She dives pretty heavily into this overly confident pop rock and this sound shows off her weaknesses more than her bedroom pop stuff. There are some bad moments on the record for sure, one being the opener “I’m Back” which falls flat on its face despite the earnestness and the melody sounds like it’s ripped from Eiffel 65’s “Blue (Da Ba Dee),” but most of the album is just painfully uninteresting. She brings the confidence throughout the album, but it’s like a child showing off the crayon drawing they did at school.

“DOING IT AGAIN BABY” sounds like it would fit perfectly in an Old Navy commercial. The lyrics in the chorus are triumphant, but it just feels so disingenuous almost like an obligation. “Phantom Pain” is pretty enjoyable, but I couldn’t see myself going back to it regularly at all. It’s a perfect filler alternative radio track. On the flip side, “Ugly Side” is the kind of alternative radio track that would make me change the station immediately. Something about those bouncy choruses in a lot of the modern alt. hits really just rubs me the wrong way. “★★★★★” closes the album on a weird note and it has this weird glitchy alt-pop sound that clashes strangely with the lyrics about being at the Chelsea Hotel studying music history and the struggles of working in the music “biz.” Strangely, as rough as this track is, I want her to go in this direction more. Please get weird with it, shake things up, and set yourself apart. The final track in a lot of ways delegitimizes a lot of this record talking about “making magnificent trash” and “writing hits at the factory.” I don’t know, it’s an interesting juxtaposition I guess, but it doesn’t save this record from being largely unworthy of your attention.

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Might Delete Later - J. Cole

◇ genres: trap, southern hip hop

I think the concept of a “big 3” of 2010s rap is very silly, especially because of how vast the genre was during that decade and beyond, but few artists are as undeserving of being included in that conversation as J. Cole. Chart success, sure, I guess. However, Cole has consistently been a feckless writer. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. He parades himself as an intellectual, but his pen game doesn’t display that at all. His music is for people who crave the aesthetics of something intelligent but don’t actually hold any meaningful beliefs. Kendrick Lamar made a quick snipe at J. Cole in a diss that was largely about Drake in his feature on “Like That” from the Future & Metro Boomin album from last month. Seemingly in response, Cole drops Might Delete Later, an embarrassing mixtape that in a perfect world should disqualify him from being mentioned alongside his much greater contemporaries.

This tape is full of embarrassing bars and uneventful production. In Cole’s first verse on the first track, “Pricey,” he makes a reference to Rick & Morty and in his second he shouts out Louis Farrakhan which is just so groan-inducing. He proclaims he’s “hungrier than all the newcomers” on the second track “Crocodile Tearz” and I guess confidence is key, but even he has to know that’s not true. He’s sleepwalking his way through this thing. “Pi” has Jermaine delving into transphobia for a cheap punchline and a dig at cancel culture and “tough guys” on the internet. It’s just humiliating. It exposes him as a hack. The only other track worth mentioning is “7 Minute Drill” which is THE Kendrick diss track. How does he fire back at him? He tells him he has great albums, classics even. He tries to insinuate that he’s boring and like ok? He closes out the tape by teasing his next album right after he says that he “can drop two classics right now.” Yeah, sure man. This is a fucking mess. To make matters worse, a few days after the tape’s release Cole apologized for the diss track and says they’re working on removing it from streaming services. Might Delete Later is a hilariously appropriate title. He should delete this now.

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Fireworks & Rollerblades - Benson Boone

◇ genres: adult contemporary, pop rock

My introduction to Benson Boone was through his big TikTok hit “Beautiful Things” which has one of the most horrible pre-choruses in music history. I thought surely this is someone doing a cover of a terrible early 2000s Aerosmith song, but no this is a Boone original! Not long after I was exposed to that song, I learned he had an album on the way. Oh, joy! I’ll be honest, I did a hate listen. I’m the kind of guy who isn’t going to hate on an artist or a project without giving it a fair listen. This one tested me. It was tough to get through. Every boring or wrong decision that could be made in music history is made here. This dude is a little under a year older than me and he’s already stuck making boring adult contemporary, pop-rock schlock. Music for church youth groups. It reeks of label decisions, no artistic freedom to be found. Not saying Boone has any worthwhile ideas, he sounds like a total bore, but this feels like Walmart exclusive colored vinyl pressing bait. “Slow It Down” is one of the worst offenders here. It feels like music written to fit a specific mood rather than music born about genuine emotion. A lot of the album has that feel. “Forever and a Day” is music made for a photo compilation of the bride and groom at a wedding. The lyrics don’t matter, it’s just the feeling. The royalty-free arrangements do nothing to help either. This is just abysmal, my worst nightmare.

The music is so apathetic that it actually made me angry. 49 minutes of some of the most grueling, agonizing music I’ve ever heard. After trudging through this album I felt like I needed to listen to some really abrasive harsh noise to cleanse my palette. Horrible experience. Also baffled at how someone could be a little under a year older than me and decide to make music like this. Have you no ambition whatsoever?

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chamber-without-reflection · 4 years ago

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I’m so sorry for being inactive, I’m not gone I just haven’t had much motivation to write in this app. I’m going to go on Hiatus so I won’t really be active on here but I will be active on my wattpad! I’ll be back soon.

Wattpad: @ -AFTERDARKK

#haitus #see you soon #inactive #wattpad #chamber-without-reflection #chamber without reflection rants

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whenyouhearthedoorcreak · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on the fact that when Arthur learned Merlin was a sorcerer in the finale, he was also learning that Merlin was the man who (he thinks) killed his father?

One) aaaah, thank you so much!! I love talking about arthur and the reveal and this relationship, so please!! if anyone has a merlin thing they want to rant about, I beg you do send!!

Two) sorry this took so long, I've been mulling it over since you sent it and only had this epiphany now as I was talking to someone in the replies of one of my other posts lol

I think there are a lot of things that would have taken more time for arthur to make the connection to, merlin being the one he thought killed his father being one of them. But I think this ties into a larger thought I have about the reveal and why arthur reacts the way he does.

Merlins "betrayal" holds a lot of feelings for arthur as he learns that one of the most important relationships of his life is sitting on an entirely different foundation than he thought.

In Arthur's mind his and Merlin's relationship is based on both of them largely ignoring their difference in station to form a bond of great trust and friendship, in telling arthur that he not only has magic but also stays with arthur because of a massive prophecy and fate is earth shattering. I talked about this in a reblog once, how arthur loves merlin in a distinctly normal and non-destined way, he views this relationship without any great fate attached but rather as a bond of pure love and devotion. so to hear that merlin is a great sorcerer who has been placed here by fate and stays to ensure a certain outcome and has done all of this in secret. It makes it all feel a little less personal right?

This is why I think the "I also do this, because you're my friend and I don't want to lose you" line is so important, why the conversation that finally turns arthurs mind around is merlin saying "I didn't want to put you in that position". These statements make it so incredibly clear that merlin didn't keep things from arthur to avoid him, but rather because he valued arthurs peace of mind, wanted to remain as something sure and easy in Arthur's life. He still wishes he knew sooner, wishes that merlin had felt safe enough to know that he could tell him, guilty for unknowingly hurting his friend all these years, angry that merlin never told him that merlin never tried to correct him, that merlin never trusted him enough to share this particular view. but mostly he understands, that merlin valued this relationship too much to risk it, just wanted to keep this the same way arthur did.

but to get back on track with what you asked. How does all of this reflect onto his possible feelings around realizing that merlin is the sorcerer who healed/killed his dad?

I think arthur spends his last day trying to reconcile the merlin he knows with the new power he now realizes merlin holds. He's probably thinking about a lot of things and moments in the ten years they spent together.

Arthur goes to Merlin and Gaius for a way to heal his father, and is led to Dragoon(aka merlin) and this old sorcerer tells him so many things about how magic can be used for good, about how all any sorcerer in camelot truly wants is to be free, and how he has faith in arthur to deliver that.

then his father dies, seemingly at Dragoon's hand, (because once again people needlessly keep things from arthur and no one tells him about morgana's enchanted amulet) and arthur is left with this rageful guilt over his hand in all this. and he vows to never forgive that old sorcerer or magic itself.

but then merlin is there, as Gaius announces Uther's death, and hes crying, and that night he tries to comfort him in his chambers, tells him maybe it is merely the cruelty of fate, maybe no one is to blame but the man with the knife. But what happens next? only one of the most iconic merthur devotion scenes of all time. Merlin spends the night on a cold stone floor waiting for arthur to come out of the grieving chambers. Merlin shows such deep loyalty to Arthur and to this relationship (however you define it), and that stays with arthur I think. It's one of those moments, like when they first met, or when they fight the dragon, or when he pulls the sword from the stone, that arthur is so certain of this, of them.

so when Arthur learns that Merlin has magic, and that Merlin and Dragoon are one in the same. and learns that merlin is fated to be in his life, but also loves being there, and remembers merlin's great loyalty, and sees how humble and kind and caring he is. I think he remembers what merlin said "maybe the spell went wrong, I'm sure that old sorcerer meant no harm" and remember tired eyes in the early morning light saying "I did not want you to feel that you were alone" how despite all the tyranny of Uther's reign, despite how much he hurt merlin, he had still tried to save him for arthur's sake. For the sake of maybe one day being able to tell Arthur the truth in a land where magic is free.

I think, like a lot of things with merlin's lies, arthur regrets his part in it, and hates that it happened, hates how merlin felt alone and he felt alone, and how the guilt they thought isolated them was more shared than he knew.

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citrusdarling7 · 4 years ago

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Dumbledore's Villainhood

description- an essay i wrote when i should have been doing actual course work

warnings- mentions of abusive households, spoilers for the HP series, mentions of death, and dumbledore slander. (duh)

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I have read the Harry Potter books around twenty times, along with dozens of fanfictions based off of the series. My friends and family have suffered through hour-long rants on subjects such as Snape being the worst character, racism in the writing, and how characters such as Fleur and Lavender are a projection of Rowling’s own internalized misogyny. (Warning: spoilers for the Harry Potter series below!)

The Harry Potter series by J.K Rowling is arguably one of the most well known book series in modern times. With over 500 million copies sold worldwide, these books have been read by millions of people. The story follows orphaned main character Harry Potter as he learns he is a wizard and has a mortal enemy that he will consequently face every book. Harry begins to study at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which is presided over by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore was written to represent the Mentor character that is so commonly found in any Hero’s Journey type of story; however I do not believe Dumbledore deserves any praise. I believe that Albus Dumbledore was the true villain of Harry’s story.

Before I dive into the prompt, I would like to first clarify that this is actually not how Rowling had intended for her character to be interpreted. Although she has to be accredited with the fascinating world-building of her series, I don’t like to provide her with any unnecessary praise. Rowling has shown through her social media that she is transphobic, homophobic, anti-Semitic, and racist. Her judgment is incredibly flawed and therefore reflected in her work; Rowling truly believes that Dumbledore should be praised.

In the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, young Harry is sent to live with his non-magical Aunt and Uncle proceeding the murder of his parents. While standing on the end of the street and conversing with Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore says, “It’s the best place for him— His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he’s older. I’ve written them a letter.” (pg 14.) The Dursley’s were incredibly neglectful towards Harry, border lining on the edge of abuse. Harry often went days without meals and spent weeks locked inside the cupboard under the stairs. In Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, book number six, Dumbledore finally explains why he allowed a child to grow up in such horrible conditions. Since Lily Potter sacrificed herself to protect Harry, that protection would continue as long as he spent at least one day a year with her blood relatives. Dumbledore could have easily found a magical family to take Harry in, and have the boy visit his aunt and uncle once a year. It was completely unnecessary for him to be raised by them, yet Dumbledore simply did not care.

Throughout the series, Dumbledore manipulated nearly everyone around him in a variety of ways. One example of this was his relationship with Rubeus Hagrid. In the year 1945, the Chamber of Secrets was opened by Tom Riddle, (young Voldemort.) During a flashback scene, a suspicious Dumbledore has a conversation with Tom Riddle and asks, “Is there anything that you wish to tell me?” (pg. 245) regarding the Chamber. Dumbledore already knew that Riddle was the one to open in, yet he stood aside and did nothing when Hagrid was later blamed. Once Dumbledore was appointed as Headmaster of Hogwarts, he allowed Hagrid to become a gamekeeper for the school. Poor Hagrid views Dumbledore as his savior, which the old man uses to his advantage. Dumbledore was constantly having Hagrid risk his life and freedom by running errands for him. On page 59 of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Hagrid performs magic after Uncle Vernon insults Dumbledore. After his expulsion from Hogwarts, Hagrid was banned from doing magic. He is so blindly devoted to Dumbledore that he is willing to break laws to “defend his honor.” When the Chamber of Secrets is opened again in book two, Dumbledore stands aside and allows Hagrid to be taken to Azkaban, the wizard prison, even though he knows Hagrid could not have opened the Chamber.

Dumbledore is consistently described as a great and powerful wizard. Readers are meant to believe that there is nothing the man can not do. It is true that Dumbledore was extremely talented. We know this because of his part in defeating Grindelwald in the 1940’s, the various awards given to him by the Ministry, and him being appointed Headmaster of the school. Yet Dumbledore did very little to help defeat Voldemort, instead opting to use two generations of child soldiers. The Order of the Phoenix was an organization that he started in the 1970’s, which was made up of mostly 18-20 year old's that were fresh out of Hogwarts, Harry’s parents included. During the May 2nd 1998 Battle of Hogwarts, the majority of the fighters were teenagers. And where was Dumbledore? Well, he was conveniently dead by then, after plotting with Snape in the previous book to have him be “murdered.” Dumbledore was selfish and careless when he essentially raised Harry to be a sacrificial lamb, knowing that he was Voldemort’s 7th horcrux all along.

“Help will always be given at Hogwarts, Harry, to those who ask for it.” Dumbledore loves to emphasize how Hogwarts can essentially be a home and family for those who do not have one. That is, if they are in Gryffindor. Although Rowling paints members of Slytherin house to all be evil and conniving, that is not at all true. (Not that Rowling considers Snape to be the only redeemable Slytherin, which I completely disagree with.) Horace Slughorn and Regulus Black are examples of Slytherin characters who bravely fought against evil in their own special ways. In Regulus’ case, he sacrificed his life to further hide one of Voldemort’s horcruxes. Slughorn was able to put past his sense of pride and divulge vital information to Harry, even though it embarrassed him. But Dumbledore believes that being sorted into Slytherin House is like having the world EVIL branded across your forehead. When a young Tom Riddle was sorted into Slytherin, Dumbledore no longer made any attempts to help the boy. Much like Harry, he was a half-blooded orphan who had no idea of his heritage before coming to Hogwarts. Seeing as Harry was a Gryffindor, he was given extra favors and help from Dumbledore that prevented him from becoming evil, which was a very real possibility. Even after his time as a student at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle returned to the castle seeking out a job as a teacher. Dumbledore refused him the job, which would have been an excellent opportunity to keep Riddle in check and prevent him from becoming the monster that is Lord Voldemort. But Dumbledore turned him away, and is therefore responsible for the man he later became.

Although the Harry Potter series is marketed towards elementary school children, I have realized that as you mature, there is so much more that you will take away from the book series. Rowling’s intended themes are one of love, death, and friendship. Looking deeper, you realize that the story is essentially the story of two boys. By the neglect and manipulation of Dumbledore, one became the greatest villain, and the other the greatest hero.

#harry potter #dumbledore slander #anti dumbledore #anti jkr #tom marvolo riddle #harry potter analysis #character analysis #fanfic writing #writing #albus dumbledore #slytherin #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #gryffindor

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erosofthepen · 4 years ago

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Letters From Amad pt.2

After about five months of not knowing how to continue it, i have finished part 2!! There will be a third part, not nearly as long, and i already have most of it written, so it should be out a lot sooner lol. BUT, i hope you enjoy it, and thanks for putting up with me lol.

-Part 1

-Words: 4,898

-Warnings: blizzard/storm, injury, hypothermia, some swearing

-Tags: @grunid, @elvish-sky, @sassyscribbler, @whore4fictionalhoes11, @smaugs-guardian, @bitter-sweet-farmgirl, @jotink78, @marvel-ous-hobbit, @anjhope1, (if i forgot you, im sorry, i have trouble keeping track sometimes)

It was moments like this that reflected Thorin’s terrible decision making. In actuality, his decision to not put anymore lives at risk was very wise. But still, it was Fili who was out there. And Kili. And since Thorin would not send a search party out, it was time to take matters into your own hands.

First things first, you went back to your chambers and put on your warmest, fluffiest, most wind-resistant coat. Rabbit fur covered the insides (the hides were hunted and tanned by Fili, a courting gift to you), and thick leather made up the outside, keeping the cold out and the warmth in. Next, you pulled on your winter boots (you had actually just had them made last week, and there were three little pockets perfect for concealing knives in), as well as a hat, gloves, and a scarf, all knitted by Ori, his way to show gratitude after your help in the libraries. You then proceeded to gather up some salted meat and cram, walk down to the entrance of the mountain, and enter the stables.

You choose a faithful companion to keep you company, namely, Daisy. The Mare had a thick wooly mane, and an extreme proclivity towards sweets. This was not to be your first venture with the pony, and now you knew better to bring him anywhere within five leagues of a bakery. You had not been amused when he had eaten an entire box of pastries meant for you and the scholars, though Kili and Fili had thought it to be the most hilarious of stories. However, despite his tendency to devour pastries, Daisy was reliable and resilient, and you hardly rode any other steed.

Several stableboys tried to dissuade you from leaving in the storm, but you brushed off their remarks as you tacked up Daisy. Thankfully, they didn’t try to block your path as you left, though they did warn you to be careful. You weren’t too concerned, for the storm had grown tamer in the day, and the frost was not biting your face. Yet, that is.

You reached Dale in about an hour. It took much longer than expected, with Daisy being nearly up to his belly in the fallen snow. Dale was practically devoid of men and women, most of them having the brains to stay inside during the storm. The only exceptions were some watchmen and one or two passersby.

“Oi, it’s a bit too cold for a morning ride lady, have you lost all sense?” A guard asked as you were leaving the gate on the other side of town.

“No my good fellow, I'm just looking for my friends. Have you seen two dwarrow come this way?”

“Can’t say that I have, but Maurice said he saw a pair last night, a few hours before the snow started.”

“Did Maurice mention where they were headed?”

“To the caravan, where else? It’s about fifteen miles from here, I would guess. You’re not considering going out there, are you?”

“I’m afraid that I must. Good day to you sir,”

“And a very cold day to you, lassie. Best of travels.”

“And to you as well.”

You quickly left and mentally cursed yourself for wishing him best of travels in return. He wasn’t traveling, you idiot!

The embarrassment faded as the wind began to pick up. The blizzard was steadily getting thicker, the puffy snowflakes turning more compact and icy. The city of Dale had long disappeared behind you in the snow, and you could only hope you were headed in the right direction.

However adventurous and bold it sounds, riding bare-back on a pony in the middle of a freezing cold snow storm was not at all an easy task. Your scarf had been moved to cover most of your face, and your hood was tied tightly ‘round your head, yet the flakes still stung your flesh. You were definitely starting to rethink your whole “making sure the brothers were alright in a storm idea.” Especially since it was pointless to look for them in between the caravan and Dale, as you couldn’t even see ten feet in front of you. Your goal now was to simply make it to the caravan without frostbite.

Around noon, you tried eating a bit of the bread you had packed, only to find it frozen. As well as the cheese. And the dried meat. It wouldn’t do good to gnaw on it either, as that would just make your innards cold as well, so you just went with your stomach protesting.

It was starting to get quite dark when you finally saw what seemed to be a glow in the distance. As you drew closer, it grew apparent that it was the caravan, and you sighed in great relief.

The dwarrow on watch were very suspicious. Of course, once you explained your purpose, they grew less so.

“I come from Erebor, in search of the Princes. Prince Fili and Kili left last night with the intention to travel here, have they arrived?”

The guards started to look a bit nervous.

“No my lady, no one’s seen anything of them.”

Your heart dropped to your feet.

“Are you sure?”

“Aye, the whole group would have known.”

You might’ve cried, but your eyes felt nearly frozen. You turned your pony, with full intent to head back out into the blizzard and look for your love, when one of the watchdwarrow stopped you.

“You’ll freeze out there my lady, as will your pony. Stay and get warm.”

“Aye lass” another said, “Besides, if the Prince’s are out there, her Lady Dís should be informed.”

Ah, that’s right. Dís.

One of the guards led Daisy off to get warm with other animals, while the other led you to Her Ladyship’s tent. He announced your presence, awaited approval, and then lifted the flap of the tent, beckoning you inside before letting it fall behind you.

Dís was a truly stunning Dwarrow, even for her age, with long black raven hair and a beard to match. Some strands were turning silver, much like Thorin’s, and her blue eyes were more piercing than an orc’s. She looked incredibly confused when you walked into her tent.

“Good Mahal lass, what the hell were you doing out in that storm? You must be senseless.” She said, looking up from a book she had been reading and furrowing her brows.

“I was looking for the Prince’s. I should introduce myself, my name is (Y/N).”

Dís’s eyes widened and she stood, showing off quite an impressive height.

“Why would you be looking for my sons out in this storm, (Y/N)?”

“They… Fili left a note this morning, he and Kili were coming to the caravan to see you. The watchdwarrow said they hadn’t arrived.”

The Dwarrowdams jaw went slack for a moment, and then she cursed, banging her hand on a small table that held a bottle of whiskey.

“Foolish boys! Have they no sense? I was to be seeing them in only a few more days, but they could not wait, could they? Och, the beasts!” Dís continued her rant for a while longer, before she turned her gaze back on you.

“And you journeyed out here in the storm?”

“Aye. I could not rest well knowing that they were out in this foul weather. I will be going to head back out to look for them as soon as I’ve warmed up a bit,” you replied, very conscious of the Mother’s piercing stare. She was quiet, until she breathed a worried sigh.

“It’s no use to search out in this weather, lass. Especially at night. Rest here with me, we’ll go searching first thing on the morrow. I must talk with the guards for now, make yourself comfortable, I will return soon.”

And, just like that, Dís left the tent. Her talk was brief, and left you standing dumb in the center of the tent. For some time, you debated on whether or not to go out searching anyways, but the fire was surely inviting, and something in you knew Dís wouldn’t take kindly to you leaving against her wishes.

Your travel bag, heavy and frozen from being exposed to the elements for so long, left your shoulders as you set it down by the entrance. Next came your gloves, and then the outer coat, snow and ice caked on it making your fingers fumble whilst trying to unbutton it. Eventually, it joined your bag, as well as your boots (if you had thought the coat was difficult to get off, the frozen buckles on your boots were torture). After you had stripped the burdensome clothing off, you simply stood in the center of the room, close to the fire. There were blankets nearby, piled near a bedroll, but you dared not touch them, seeing as they belonged to Dís. It was rather awkward, simply sitting in a stranger's (of sorts) quarters, and weren’t sure what to do.

Your eyes did some exploring for you, falling first on the book that Dís had been reading. ‘The Heart of Hrund’. Huh. You recognized the title, from the Great Library, but you knew very little about it. You’d have to read it now. Your eyes then fell to the whiskey bottle. ‘Breaker’s’. Ah. Memories you shared with Kili at the beginning of the journey returned, however hazed they were due to your drunken state. Strong stuff, Breaker’s was. Bofur managed to get his hands on a few bottles from a merchant, and you and Kili had stolen one from him, much to Thorin’s disappointment and Fili’s annoyance (he was upset to be left out of the fun). Your eyes then drifted to a leather-fitted box, beautiful khuzdul runes and designs etched into it, however, before you could get a closer look, footsteps crunched through the snow outside the tent.

Dís and a young dwarrow entered, carrying stew, bread, and a plethora of blankets and pillows.

“Mahal,” Dís started, placing the tray of food down on the little table and grabbing a quilt from the other dwarrow, “Have you just been sitting here freezing? You could have taken a blanket, you know.” She said, wrapping the quilt around your shoulders and moving you to sit down.

“I, er, I didn't want to be rude.” You replied, now sitting cross-legged on the floor. Dís screwed her face at you.

“Lass, it is never considered rude to take a blanket in the cold. Only exception is if someone is already using it.”

You didn’t reply, feeling very uncomfortable social-wise, despite finally starting to warm up physically. Dís grabbed the rest of the supplies from the other dwarrow and nodded at him to leave. As he left the tent, Dís set the other blankets down and started making a bedspace for you near the fire.

“I can help with that,” you said, starting to get up to help.

“Nonsense lass, you get yourself warm.” Dis stood and grabbed the food tray once more. “However, I do request that you eat.” she set the tray down in front of you, and you thanked her, feeling a bit guilty as you started on the stew.

“Uh, have you eaten yet, My Lady?”

Dís scoffed, resuming her work on your bed roll. “Don’t call me that child, call me Amad. I can hardly stand to be addressed in that way by servants, let alone my sons One. But yes, I’ve had my fill.”

Her words shocked you, having only ever heard Fili refer to you as his One. You hardly expected Dís to accept you as Fili’s lover, let alone his One.

“Alright.” You replied, once more feeling dumb and without anything to contribute. So you sat in silence, trying hard not to slurp and watching Dís make up your bed. Eventually, She moved up and away, surveying her work.

“Thank you, that was very kind.” you said. D��s sighed and nodded, sitting down on the other side of the fire. You were quiet once more, and were now re-considering going out to search for Fili and Kili, if only to avoid the discomfort of the situation.

“I hope you are only not talking because of the storm. I expected a much more chatty lass, if i’m being honest.” Dís remarked, eyeing you carefully.

Panic flashed through your eyes as you tried to think of something to say, but Dís let out a soft chuckle before you could make a fool of yourself.

“I’m only joking, child. You needn't be nervous here. Tell me, how was your journey from the mountain to here?”

“Cold,” You blurted out, shuddering as you imagined the wind biting your face. Dís smiled at your bluntness.

“Indeed, I imagine it would be, especially if you’ve been out all day. Tell me, was there any sign of them as you came over?”

You shook your head. “Unfortunately no, I could hardly see past my nose once the snow grew thicker.”

“I swear, those boys will be the death of me,” she muttered.

“Just be glad you weren’t Thorin trying to deal with all three of us,” you said without thinking. Dís locked eyes with you, and then started chuckling.

“I do not envy him, based on what I've read of you three. It seems that you made it your entire purpose to create trouble for my brother dear.”

“Well, we tried to. For the first half of the journey, at least. He was much more willing to withstand our meddling before we crossed the Misty Mountains. Then came the orcs, and goblins, and Mirkwood, Laketown, the dragon… and the battle too.” Your face had fallen whilst you spoke, and Dis reached out her hand to comfort you.

“You mustn't dwell on the hardships of the past, child. It does nothing but cause trouble for the mind. Believe me, I know.”

At that moment, Dís seemed to age very quickly, and the wisdom and experience that this dwarrowdam had became clearer. You knew her story well-enough, from nights Fili had needed to find comfort in you, telling you about his childhood and family. Dís had wed Víli Heptifilissøn, and twelve years after Kili had been born, he had fallen ill from the Black Lung*, and had spent months growing weaker and weaker until he perished. Fili was able to remember the wretched coughing, and his Adad’s ragged breaths, as clearly as the day it happened. It was the reason he refused to go deep into coal mines, or else made up excuses. If those memories still hung onto Fili, you could only imagine how horrible it must have been for Dís, who had to watch her husband suffer such a death. Looking at her now, you never felt more in awe of a single person.

“You speak truly, my Lady-”

She looked at you sharply, but with a twinkle in her eyes.

“-I mean, Amad.”

That satisfied her, and she relaxed her hand away. “I do indeed, child. Never has a lie crossed my lips. Except when I told Thorin that he had a mighty spider in his beard.” You chuckled at that, but it quickly turned to a yawn. Dís raised a brow.

“It’s time for sleep then,” she commented, “I’ll leave you in peace to finish eating, and then it’s straight to bed.” Dís stood and went back to her chair, and resumed her book, leaving you to scoop that last of the stew in your mouth. It was not long before you were warm and cozy in your makeshift bed, and Dís bid you goodnight before blowing out the lanterns.

You woke to shouting. In your groggy state, you couldn’t make out the words, and you blinked in the dim light of the fire.

“What new madness arises?” You heard Dís murmur, followed by the sounds of her fumbling about. The shouting grew nearer. “Are you awake, (Y/N)?”

“Only partly,” you replied, trying to untangle the covers from your legs. You shuddered as the extra warmth left, but hurried to your feet, only stumbling slightly. The noise was becoming considerably louder, and your ears could start to make out the words being yelled.

“Get a healer, lads!”

“He looks frozen stiff!”

“SHOVE OFF! WHERE IS AMAD?” Kili’s furious shout snapped you into alertness. At that moment, Dís was able to find a lantern, and finally the tent’s interior was more visible. The flap in front of the tent lifted, and Kili stumbled in, hair frozen with bits of ice and face bright red. With horror, you realized he was supporting another dwarf who was barely conscious. Fili.

You jumped to your feet and rushed towards your betrothed, supporting his other side and lifting his head. Fili’s lips were tinged blue, and his teeth were chattering bitterly, clacking together in a terrible rhythm. Dís was there not a second after you, and she helped guide you all to lay Fili down in the space you had slept just moments before.

“Strip him down,” Dís commanded, starting to work on his boots. You followed her orders without hesitation, helping Kili with Fee’s coat. It didn’t take too long for the three of you to undress him to his underclothes, and you winced when you saw his shoulder looked… definitely not normal. Dís pressed on it gently, and Fili made a weak groan that twisted at your heart.

“He fell off his pony,” Kili said.

“Of course he did. Kili, fetch a healer.” The younger prince sprang up, filled with energy even after being out in a blizzard for nearly an entire day. But he was hardly at the entrance when a grizzled old dwarrow entered, a satchel in hand and a hard look set in his features.

‘‘Hanarr,” Dís welcomed, nodding her head. The old dwarf grunted in acknowledgement before kneeling down by Fili’s shoulder, feeling along the bone. He grunted once more, before looking up at Kili.

“Hold down right here lad,” Hanarr instructed, moving Kili’s hands to rest on Fili’s other shoulder and chest. “Right, hold it firm.”

Hanarr outstretched Fili’s other arm, and began to move it towards his head. A click sounded, and Fili called out, however weakly. His shoulder looked back to normal again, and Hanarr quickly folded his arm against his chest, before searching through his medical pack and pulling out a sling.

“Sit him up, lad.” the healer instructed Kili. He propped Fili up against his side, and this time, Fili held his own head up, his gaze landing on you. Confusion flitted across his nearly-frostbitten features, and he mumbled your name despite of his state.

But Hanarr was upon him again, and soon the sling was fastened to his arm, and the Healer was moving his legs so that they were tucked against his chest. He addressed Kili once more, “Get rid of yer tunic, and stay close to yer brother” and then turned towards you, “do the same, but mind his shoulder lassie.” Without hesitation, you followed his command and soon Fili was sandwiched between yourself and Kili. Dís (with the permission of Hanarr), wrapped several blankets around the three of you, and soon set to work on making some tea. Hanarr presented her with a root of ginger, and, after seeing that all that could be done was done, decided to take his leave.

“He should be fine in a few hours, I'll come back to check on him soon. Keep him awake.” were his final words before departing.

The silence that followed his departure was intense, interrupted only by the sound of the fire, the kettle, and a knife. Dís was the first to speak.

“I would have your hides, if I was not so glad to see you again.” She said in a low voice as she shredded the ginger.

“I’m sorry Amad,” Kili said, eyeing the movement of his Amad’s knife, “Patience has never been my strong suit.” Beside you, Fili shifted and rested his forehead against your temple.

“Indeed not,” Dís replied, her voice heating like the water she was boiling, “How did you convince your brother to join you in this endeavor?” Fili moved again, this time nuzzling his face into your neck and hair, his nose startlingly cold.

“Who said it was my idea?” Kili argued. However, Dís turned her glare on him, and He flushed and murmured, “he wanted to see you too, it didn’t take much to convince him.”

“(Y/N)” Fili said, drawing the attention away from arguing. “ ‘m tired.” He let his head rest heavy against your shoulder, and you (reluctantly) moved him away.

“You must wait to sleep, Kidhuzel,” You said, bringing your hand up to brush his hair away from his face. He opened his eyes wider, in sheer betrayal. You could have smiled, knowing Fili’s tendency to become unreasonably cross when denied sleep, but instead you kissed his cheek.

“Your Amad is making tea for you, and when you drink it, you’ll warm right up.” The blond prince’s eyes dropped once more and he tried moving back to the crook of your neck, only to be refused a second time.

“ I’d prefer Ale,” He muttered bitterly. At this, you did allow yourself to smile.

“Not a chance. Your heart might stop.” He grumbled and detached his uninjured arm from Kili, taking your hand and squeezing it with what feeble strength that had returned to his veins.

“It won’ stop as long as you’re ‘ere.”

Kili snorted, but was silenced as Dís sent him another glare, and you laughed softly, shaking your head and squeezing his hand back.

“If it worked that way, then I would gladly give you the finest Ale, however, I do believe tea would be a better option.”

When the tea was ready, you helped Fili to drink it. At first, the prince had winced at the heat, but soon he drank it gladly, becoming more alive with each sip. You sensed Dís watching you and Fili carefully, but brushed it off, telling yourself she was only concerned for Fili, not observing how you interacted. A small part of you that wouldn’t be silenced said it was both. Soon the mug was empty, and it had apparently helped Fili along much more than you anticipated, and soon he had detached himself completely from his brother and was pulling you closer.

“Careful of your shoulder,” you reminded him.

“ ‘s fine.” He replied, pressing flush against you. His skin had already warmed, thus proving the hardiness and hot blood of dwarrow. Kili scooted away, seeing that he was no longer needed, readjusted the furs covering yourself and his brother, and pulled his tunic back on. Dís immediately walked over and threw another fur across his shoulders, and pulled him into a tight hug, which he returned just as tightly. You averted your eyes when Kili started to sniff and tremble.

“I missed you,” he said.

“And I as well, inùdoy” Mother and son stayed in once another’s embrace, until she drew away and made him drink his fill of ginger tea as well.

A half hour later, you were struggling to keep Fili’s eyes open, and Kili had already crashed on Dís’s bedroll. The dwarrowdam herself grew impatient for Hanarr’s return, and had gone out searching for him. She reentered the tent with him not ten minutes later, and Hanarr (as grumpy and irritable as he was, he was an excellent healer), inspected Fili. Truly, your prince was proof that dwarves were nothing more than portable furnaces, and his temperature was more or less back to normal. He still was a bit out of it, but it was nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix. Soon Hanarr declared that it was safe for Fili to sleep, and almost immediately, the blond sank into your bedroll and began to snore.

Diís left after Hanarr, telling you to rest and call her if need be. You didn’t question where she was going, and she did not share it with you.

However tired and exhausted you were, sleep would not come. You sat in front of the fire for hours, feeding it and stoking it, keeping your mind entertained with the images dancing in the flames.

You had just finished adding another log to the fire, when a hand lightly gripped your wrist.

“Ghivashel” Fili said faintly. Your head turned towards him, and you smiled despite all things; for while Fili’s face was still red, his hair undone, and his eyes bleary, he was alive and conscious.

“Khuzd allakhul” you scolded, bending down to lean your forehead against his, “What sort of prince are you, to go out in the snow and frighten your lover?” You kissed his lips softly before drawing away just enough to wait for his answer.

“A very foolish prince indeed,” He murmured, his hand on your wrist pulling you back towards him. “But what sort of lover are you, to worry so greatly and come after me in the snow?”

“A very devoted lover, who has half a mind to leave now that you’ve insulted my care of you.” Fili’s eyes widened and he summoned his strength to pull you down, nestled in his side.

“Forgive me, I was not thinking of insulting you, amrâlimê. I just don’t want to see you suffer for my sake. Menu Tessu.” He said, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. The beads on his mustache braids still felt frozen, but his lips were warm. You smiled and took his hand, entwining your fingers together.

“All is forgiven. So long as you won’t do anything as stupid as that ever again.” you replied. Fili sighed and kissed the side of your mouth.

“I shall try my very hardest not to.”

“That isn’t very reassuring.”

“Then you must forgive me once more, for I cannot make such bold promises whilst Kili remains my brother.”

You both chuckled at this, before settling into comfortable silence. Slowly, your eyes began to drop, the crackling of the fire and the steady rhythm of Fili’s breath making it harder and harder to evade sleep. The fact that the lion prince had begun to rub circles into your shoulder with his thumb wasn’t helping. After the third time you startled yourself awake, Fili’s voice was near your ear.

“You can sleep now, Amralime. I won’t be going anywhere.”

His words were nothing short of a spell, and in less than a minute, your eyes closed and sleep overtook you, a comforting, dreamless sleep, the best kind.

When next you woke, indeed, Fili was still right next to you, awake, but only just. He was blinking the sleep away, and you suspected that his movements had been what had woken yourself. Cold winter light was shining through the tent flaps, cutting like a blade through the warm glow that filled the inside, and a conversation was taking place.

“We left in the wee hours, m’lady, just before dawn. You can imagine the state Thorin was in when he heard that the entire future of Erebor was out in the snow.” The voice of Dwalin more than successfully brought you to awakeness, and you sat up, looking around for the source of his voice.

“Indeed, I imagine he would be weathering the floors with pacing. I expect we’ll be leaving soon, no?” Now Dís spoke, and by this point, you and Fili had turned behind you to see the pair talking over mugs of mulled wine. Kili was also there, however, he was still dreaming on Dís’s previous sleeping roll, limbs sprawled out wide and mouth hung open almost comically.

“Aye, as soon as these three are dressed and ready.” Dwalin said, turning his gaze onto you and Fili, brow raised and the slightest of smiles on his warrior face. “What a lot of worry you and your brother had us in,” he continued, addressing Fili specifically, “I swear to Mahal, you’ve no idea what sort of panic you caused. Course, when yeh come back with your shoulder like that, everyone’ll be doting on yeh. ‘The poor heir who got caught in a blizzard trying to see his Amad’, not ‘the fucking idiot who didn’t have any patience and went out in the night despite knowing there was a storm brewin’.” But all while saying this, there was humor and relief in the warrior's voice, betraying how glad he felt that the boys were not frozen under three feet of ice and snow.

“Both versions are correct,” Fili pointed out, his voice still croaky from sleep.

“Aye, but only the first version will get told.” Dwalin replied, to which you laughed. He turned his focus to you now. “Don’t think you’re innocent lass, Thorin nearly had a heart-attack when we couldn’t find you. Both the heirs missin’ was bad enough, but the lady who’ll be adding to the heirs disappearing made it all worse.”

“Och, Dwalin, she had a noble cause to come out in the snow, you needn’t blame her for anything.” Dís said, coming to your aid.

“Was our cause not noble and justified?” Kili’s voice piped up. The Prince's eyes were hardly opened, but he was more than ready to defend himself from accusations.

“Not when you were to be seeing me in less than a week. If I was able to refrain myself from going out into a blizzard in the late hours, you should have been able to as well.” Dís retorted. A sour expression crossed Kili’s face, but he dared not argue with his Amad.

“Right then,” Dwalin said, “Get yourselves up an’ ready, we’ve not much daylight left to get back to Erebor.”

*Black Lung: Coal miner’s pneumonia.

Kidhuzel: Gold of Gold

Inùdoy: Son

Ghivashel: Treasure of Treasures

Khuzd allakhul: Stupid Dwarf

Menu Tessu: You mean everything to me

(part three will be out soon)

183 notes · View notes

celiabowens · 5 years ago

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underrated SFF books (YA and Adult)

So uhm, since I keep seeing the same books on my dash all the time (and I like them too, just...there’s more! to read!) here’s a list of less popular SFF books, divided into YA and Adult. I’ve tried to mention when there is lgbt rep and the trigger warnings. Also, books written by poc will be in bold. Please point out any typo or mistake or if I’ve forgotten specific rep/tw mentions.

All of these are books that I’ve read and enjoyed (by enjoyed I mean anything from 3 stars and above), but if anyone wants to add titles please feel free to do so!!

YA:

The Star-Touched Queen by Roshani Chokshi: beautifully written, fairytale-like story rich in mythology (inspired by several Hindu myths. There’s a full list on goodreads indicated by the author herself). Roshani’s prose is gorgeous.

A Crown of Wishes by Roshani Chokshi: it’s a companion novel to The Star-Touched Queen, but both can be read as a standalone. I liked this one more than its companion and I particularly loved how the romance was written (slow burn, but specifically, the author really highlights the mutual respect between the characters, we love to see it).

The Young Elites by Marie Lu: fantasy trilogy set in a world inspired by Renaissance Italy, in which children who survived a mysterious and deadly illness ended up with strange and dangerous powers. Secret societies and a female villain!

The Kingdom of Back by Marie Lu: historical fantasy following Mozart’s sister, Nannerl, a girl as talented as her brother, but afraid of being forgotten because of the lack of opportunities she has to be seen and heard. Nuanced sibling relationship, no romance.

The Midnight Lie by Marie Rutkoski: fantasy f/f romance! Both a coming of age story set in a society with a rigid class system and a slow burn f/f romance with a lot of banter. TW: abuse.

The Weight of Feathers by Anna-Marie McLemore: magical realism. The book follows two families of traveling performers that have been locked in a feud for over a generation. This was the author’s debut and I remember getting an arc of it and being impressed by both the prose and how the forbidden love trope was handled.

When the Moon was Ours by Anna-Marie McLemore: another magical realism novel. One of the main characters is a trans boy and the book focuses on issues of racism and gender. One of my favorite YA!

Strange Grace by Tessa Gratton: fantasy romance set in a village that periodically sacrifices a young man in order to keep a deal with the devil that ensures their prosperity. Also, polyamorous and non-binary rep.

The Rise of Kyoshi by F.C. Yee: first book in a duology following avatar Kyoshi’s life. It explores the political and cultural aspect of the Earth Kingdom and Kyoshi’s past. Bisexual rep.

Descendant of the Crane by Joan He: sort of a murder mystery fantasy, as the main character finds herself suddenly thrust into power once her father has been murdered. The story has a slow build up to a last part full of twists and machinations and it features lots of court intrigue. Warning: the ending is quite open and afaik there isn’t a sequel planned as of now.

The Bone Houses by Emily Lloyd-Jones: a quite unique take on zombies influenced by Welsh mythology (it’s super cool). The novel follows Ryn and their siblings, as they try to get by after their parents’ death by working as gravediggers. Only well, the dead don’t always stay dead. The characters read a bit younger than they are imo. There is chronic pain rep.

The Magnolia Sword by Sherry Thomas: retelling of the original ballad of Mulan. The book follows Mulan, who’s trained her whole life to win a duel for a priceless heirloom, as she joins the army. There’s a lot of political and historical details, which I really appreciated. Do not go into it expecting a fun adventure though. The descriptions of war aren’t extremely graphic, but be aware of the fact that most of the book is set during a conflict.

The Candle and The Flame by Nafiza Azad: standalone fantasy set in a city on the Silk Road! It’s a quite slow-paced tale about love, family and politics. It has lush descriptions of landscapes and cultures (and FOOD, there are some really great descriptions of food). It’s a very atmospheric book and while I struggled a bit with the pace I’d still recommend it.

Forest of a Thousand Lanters by Julie C. Dao: sort of an East Asian inspired retelling of Snow White, but following the Evil Queen before she became Snow White’s stepmother. I honestly haven’t read its sequel (which should focus on Snow White herself), but I do think this can be read and enjoyed as a standalone too.

The Queen’s Thief series by Megan Whalen Turner: it’s hard to point out exactly what this series is about because it has evolved so much with time. It starts out as classic quest/adventure series with The Thief (which may seem a classic and simple book, but is actually full of foreshadowing and has a really clever set up), but develops into a complex and intriguing political fantasy in The Queen of Attolia and The King of Attolia (and then goes back to the quest theme in book 5, Thick as Thieves).

Adult:

A Fist of Permutations in Lightning and Wildflowers by Alyssa Wong: I’m cheating with this one because it’s technically a short story but I love Alyssa Wong’s stories so I’m putting it here anyway. It can be read for free and you should just...read it.

The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang: grimdark fantasy (TW: abuse, self harm, rape, drug abuse), inspired by Chinese history. It’s adult, but follows younger MCs and the unique blend of different historical periods/inspirations makes it extremely interesting. The characters are extremely fucked up in the best possible way, plus the use of shamanism is awesome. Please make sure you check all the TW before reading.

The Sword of Kaigen by M.L. Wang: a Japanese-inspired militaristic fantasy, with elemental magic, a badass housewife dealing with her past and hiding a sword in her kitchen’s floor. It has interesting and nuanced family dynamics and a great reflection on propaganda and the use of narratives.

Empire of Sand by Tasha Suri: first book in an epic fantasy duology inspired by Mughal India (TW: abuse, slavery). I really liked both Empire of Sand and its companion and I find them pretty underrated. Both books have great slow burn romance (with a focus on mutual trust and respect) and focus on culture, religion, self acceptance and politics.

Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia: a fantasy bildungsroman set in Mexico during the Jazz age. It’s a great approach to adult SFF as it follows a young girl on a life changing adventure. It features Mayan mythology and a god slowly becoming human (this trope is everything!).

The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden: a coming of age story inspired by Russian folklore. The trilogy as a whole has one of the best arcs I’ve ever seen: each book is perfectly self-contained and has its own arc, but also fits perfectly in the bigger picture of the trilogy. The atmosphere is amazing, the cast of characters is extremely well developed. Also frost demons are better than men.

The Binding by Bridget Collins: historical fantasy, but with very minimal fantasy elements. It’s set in a world vaguely reminiscent of 19th century England. I’d say this book is about humans and self discovery. It’s about cowardice and the lies we tell ourselves and those we wish we could tell ourselves. Gay rep. (TW: abuse, sexual assault, pretty graphic suicide scene).

The Divine Cities trilogy by Robert Jackson Bennett: starting with City of Stairs, it follows a female diplomat and spymaster(!!). The whole trilogy features an interesting discussion about godhood, religion, fanatism, politics, without ever being boring or preachy. It has complex and rich world building and a pretty compelling mystery.

Foundryside by Robert Jackson Bennett: heist fantasy following a thief as she’s hired to steal a powerful artifact that may change magical technology as she knows it. Set in a Venice-like merchant city. Also, slow burn f/f romance.

Jade City by Fonda Lee: sort of a gangster urban fantasy, heavily inspired by wuxia and set in an Asian-inspired metropolis. It follows a pretty big cast of characters, each with their own journey and development. It features nuanced family dynamics and a lot of political and economical subplots. Not extremely prominent, but book 2 features m/m side rep.

Trail of Lightning by Rebecca Roanhorse: inspired by Native American culture and specifically by the idea of subsequent worlds. It has a kickass MC and a good mix of original elements and typical UF tropes. TW: the book isn’t extremely violent but there is death and some gore.

A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine: space opera inspired by the Mexica and middle period Byzantium. It focuses on topics like colonialism and the power of narratives and language. It has one of the best descriptions of what it’s like to live in between spaces I’ve ever read. Also very interesting political intrigue and has a slow burn f/f romance (and a poly relationship recalled through flashbacks). I ranted a lot about it already.

Ninefox Gambit by Yoon Ha Lee: a Korean-inspired space opera with a magic system based on math. It’s honestly quite convoluted and difficult to follow, but it also features some of the best political intrigue I’ve ever read. Plenty of lying, backstabbing and mind games. It also features lesbian and bisexual rep and an aroace side character (TW: mass shooting, sexual assault, abuse). I also really recommend Yoon Ha Lee’s short-story collection Conservation of Shadows.

The long way to a small angry planet by Becky Chambers: character driven space opera featuring a found family journeying through space. A fun read, that also deals with topics such as sexuality and race. Quite easy to go through, as the world building and plot aren’t particularly complex themselves. f/f romance.

The Empress of Salt and Fortune by Nghi Vo: an Asian-inspired fantasy novella that gives a voice to people usually silenced by history. It follows a cleric (non binary rep) as they chronicle the story of the late empress, retold through objects that she used in her life. It focuses on bonds between women and the power that lies in being unnoticed. f/f side rep.

The Black God’s Drums by P. Djèlí Clark: an urban fantasy novella, based on Orisha mythology and set in an alternate, sort of steampunk, New Orleans. I really like how creative Clark’s worlds are and how good he is at writing female characters (which rarely happens with male authors).

The haunting of tram car 015 by P. Djèlí Clark: novella set in an alternate steampunk Cairo populated by supernatural entities. It’s set in the same world of a Dead Djinn in Cairo, which is a short story you can read for free.

This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone: epistolary novella set during a time-travel war. It has gorgeous writing and an amazing f/f romance. As a novella, it’s quite short but it’s beautifully crafted and so complex for such a short book!

The Citadel of Weeping Pearls by Aliette de Bodard: a novella set in the Xuya universe (a series of novellas/short stories set in a timeline where Asia became dominant, and where the space age has empires of Vietnamese and Chinese inspiration), but can be read as a standalone. It’s a space opera featuring a disappeared citadel and the complex relationship between the empress and her daughter as war threatens her empire.

One for My Enemy by Olivie Blake: self-published urban fantasy following two rival families in New York. Sort of a Romeo and Juliette retelling but with gangster families and magic. Honestly recommend all of her books, I love how Olivie writes and especially how she writes female characters.

#book recs #book recommendations #adult sff #ya literature #lgbt fiction #litblr #listen this doesn't show in tags i'm DONE #done with this tagging system lol #also if there are mistakes please tell me!!#book rec

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caffernnn · 4 years ago

Note

Final stroke spoilers: ⚠️‼️

I just saw a post on Twitter about the Haru and Rin scene and how they didn’t feel that it was that ooc of Haru. I thought I was the only one who felt that it was kind of justified on Haru’s end. Because both Rin and Ikuya put Haru and their friends through so much when they were lost and wanted to swim with Haru again. And I get that professional swimming is entirely different than what they’re used to, but it really sucks that as soon as the competition got a little hard they decided to just drop free and only swim their preferred styles. That’s got to be a slap in the face to Haru, because what was all of that other stuff about? Like Rin wanted for YEARS for Haru to swim on the world stage and after the first race is like “you’re on your own.” He honestly deserves it to be honest even if Haru would’ve never said anything to protect their friendship he was clearly thinking or thought these thoughts. For a show where Haru is the mc we rarely get to see how he feels about things. I wish we can see the movie soon, cause I really wanna see how that whole sequence takes place.

⚠️ Talking about Free! Final Stroke spoilers below the cut ⚠️

It’s wild to me (it probably shouldn’t be surprising; idk) how even going off of just spoilers, there is a clear divide in the reactions people are having to Haru’s actions in the movie, especially in reference to the sudden shift leading up to the fight with Rin. I can see why people are surprised by it on a base level because so much of his successes in DttF, paired with the camaraderie everyone seems to have for a majority of the movie, leads you to believe Haru has emotionally matured and stabilized since high school, which is true! He’s more open to change and examining his emotions, especially as he starts to grapple with a high-stakes long-term goal for what feels like the first time. With that said, all of this can be true at the same time Haru is going through a steady breakdown that can/will likely lead to burnout. So many people who’ve been put through rigorous academic programs or career training or anything else equally as intensive can attest to the frustration of feeling like every few steps forward (gaining experiential knowledge, making connections, learning more about your identity in reference to x goal, etc) are followed by a step back (exhaustion, plateaus, expectations you can’t meet, mistakes spilling out when you can’t keep repressing the negatives in the name of “productivity”). Haru was able to make it this far because he has grown and started to heal some of the cracks in his support group, but the sheer amount of pressure makes it easier for him to break, and old wounds that never fully healed have time to fester.

I probably sound like a broken record in these movie-related posts when talking about Haru getting obsessed with becoming stronger and not knowing what to do with that fairly new and overwhelming drive. I can’t be mad at Haru completely for his choices here (can’t wait to be called a Haru apologist when the movie comes out in more places jfjdjd) because he partially fell victim to circumstance. This is one of the first times Haru takes the expectations of him being a “hero” or “prodigy” into consideration, and now he’s trying to navigate the expectations of success that come with those titles while not being sure 1) what exactly they are beyond winning, and 2) not being sure if they’re actually attainable for him. Along with that, he’s putting faith in Ryuuji’s instruction and guidance because he needs someone with any sort of credibility or experience with the pro circuit to show him how to get to the top. Even though from an outside standpoint it’s easier to discredit and reject Ryuuji’s assertion that everyone at the top has to give something up to get there, there are a number of reasons Haru reconsiders the notion with everything he’s seeing. He’s seeing his newest rivals reach crazy success and strength through isolation, and Ryuuji is dangling a golden opportunity in front of his face by going to Haru in the moments where he’s most vulnerable and saying “yes, that strength you crave is possible for you, but only if you pay this specific price for it.” Nobody should bear the weight of “saving” Haru from his circumstances (especially not his friends on their own journeys… Ryuuji and other mentors watching this trainwreck can eat my shorts tho), but dealing with this ultimatum while his core support group is pushing forward through their own challenges and/or busy in another country, I can’t be too surprised when he starts to overextend himself and burst at the seams.

As far as the blow-up with Rin, I won’t say it’s fully justified, but it’s understandable. The way Haru has had to make peace with his hardships with Ikuya and Rin has largely been by atoning for his own involvement in those rifts and trying to turn over a new leaf without expecting much in return. He took the opportunities of swimming with both of them again to replace any apologies on their parts and largely made peace with it. As much as it’s going to hurt to watch, I’m interested to see this fight play out because it sounds like it addresses a problem we bring up a lot in meta analyses posts: there needs to be more explicit conversations and apologies between characters, or the closure feels flimsy and temporary at best. This fight isn’t about closure (it’s about a lot of things both involving and excluding Rin, but I ranted about that in the other spoiler post) but it’s acknowledgement after all of this time that there’s still a need for it. Having Rin back in his life as a rival and friend has held the caveat in the back of his mind that Rin will leave his side again if Haru’s friendship/rivalry stops serving all of his interests. Haru’s ultimate fear of being abandoned by people, of people using him without understanding him and then throwing him aside for someone/something else, is drastically coming back to the surface in all of his stress. Rin and Ikuya choosing to continue their pro careers with strokes that better suit their strengths isn’t abandonment, just like Makoto choosing a university in Tokyo wasn’t, but Haru is so lost in his own stress and despair that he can’t see these choices as anything but personal attacks in the moment. These choices don’t have to do with Haru and we’re never meant to hurt him (which he comes to realize by the end of each fight), but the unresolved issues mixed with his fears make him explode.

It’s not a black and white situation where only one side is in the right, and I hope whatever resolution comes in the second movie acknowledges that. Rin didn’t deserve Haru’s taunting and wrath in that moment, but I do want him to reflect on the whole mess and recognize that Haru’s in a desperate place not unlike the one he was in when he first went to Australia and seemingly cut everyone off. I want them both to consider that avoiding airing out those insecurities because it’d be uncomfortable or embarrassing ultimately led them back here, unsure how to talk about changes and concerns without first having one of them explode or hit rock bottom. They can be friends outside of swimming, I’d want them to be friends outside of swimming, but I think Haru isn’t blind to how much of their connection is reliant on intrigue in the water, and a part of him is scared that Rin won’t have a reason to stick around if they aren’t rivaling each other in the same stroke anymore.

All of this can make for a great chance of resolution in the second movie, if done well. There’s opportunity for Haru to realize that the trajectory of dreams can change, and just like Rin changing his stroke or Makoto changing his training emphasis, you can honor the parts of the dream that first inspired you while finding a path that honors the person you’ve become. There’s opportunity for Haru to break from the dangerous echo chamber he’s currently in telling him he has to do this all alone in a few ways. Maybe he’ll have a moment where he’s like “I gave up everything and still couldn’t get stronger, so now I need to get back to finding what gives me strength personally.” Maybe he’ll have a moment where he’s like “if my only option is a path paved in loneliness, I need to find a new dream.” There are so many directions the story can go in at this point, and I’m excited to see what happens next (and maybe write about the paths they don’t choose lol).

#spoilers #final stroke spoilers #once again turning crumbs into a feast #I’ll get back to non-spoiler convos soon dw #the Haru brainrot is real though #thanks for sending!#anonymous

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whats-rambled-rambled · 4 years ago

Text

Long Nights - part 4

Neil x Reader

Chapter 4: World gone mad

(see chapter 3, 2, 1)

summary: inverted heist calls for inverted training

warnings: 18+, explicit language, gun mention, crackheadery, and possible whiplash

author’s note: Hi, yes, I know, took me ages, but hey, I hope it's worth the wait! 5.2k words, how even--

Anyway.

The song for this part is Bastille - World Gone Mad

Enjoy! All feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you think?

——————

Tag list: @cxnnienikas @neutron-stars-collision @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway @mellifluous-cosmos @wonderwoman292 @buckysgoldenheart @townmoondaltwistle @theriverbeneaththeriver (please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list)

-----

The fact that you knew how to handle guns wasn’t equal to you being very good at it. Or enjoying it, for that matter. Sure, you could more or less hit the target, especially with some useful tips you got from Neil regarding a trigger finger discipline, but still - you’d rather avoid reaching for a pistol altogether.

You put back the weapon you’d been training with and Neil handed you another one. You couldn’t really tell the difference, at least until you checked the magazine. The lack of ammo meant you finally got to the fun bit that Neil teased in The Protagonist’s office and you smiled, looking back at your companion. He grinned at you, the gaze sparkling behind yellow-tinted safety glasses as he pointed at the wall next to the targets you used for practice.

“Just aim and pull the trigger. ” Seeing your nod, he added, “Okay now, be careful, it might feel--”

The bullet whizzed back into the chamber of your pistol and your eyes widened.

“Oh fuck me sideways,” you hissed under your breath.

“-- a bit weird, yeah.” Neil chuckled at the shock painted on your face. “All right?”

“Yeah, just processing.” Trying to blink the consternation away, you asked, “How do you make these? You put it into that...turnstile and voilà?”

Neil shook his head. “No, it’s not that simple. We receive a stash every now and then, we don’t know how to manufacture those,” - he smirked - “at least not yet. I do have a few theories I’m working on in my spare time, but...” hesitating for a moment, he raked a hand through his hair and sent you a nervous smile. “Wouldn’t want to bore you to death, though.”

“Dude, come on, with that smooth and soothing voice of yours? You could read the yellow pages to me and I’d still listen like that--” you mocked a dreamy heart-eyes expression, watching with satisfaction as that remark pushed Neil further into a flustered state.

Apparently, when explicit teasing got a little-to-no reaction now, you could still make him blush with a more wholesome compliment. As you started laughing, he rolled his eyes and scrunched the nose slightly, joining you with a stifled giggle. Grinning, you continued a little softer, “I’m not gonna lie - I probably wouldn’t understand a majority of the physics jargon, but I’d still want to hear all about that.”

A thankful look you got in return made your chest clench painfully, and your mind wandered off to those breaks near the river, and Neil’s animated rants. You knew one thing. Anyone who had ever ridiculed him for his passion for even the nerdiest things could rot in hell, and you’d gladly see to it personally.

A disgruntled huff coming from behind made you both snap out of the moment.

“Oi, lovebirds, I’d appreciate it if you could leave all that to after I prep you for the mission.”

Bottling down your annoyance, you batted your lashes at the commander, who’d just come back with keys to one of the conference rooms near the range.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, you have my full attention now.”

Ives nodded, waving at you to follow him. Meanwhile, Neil’s small smirk let you know that he noticed that faint undertone in your voice, but he said nothing, patiently waiting for the events to unfold.

Another person was waiting for you at the door. You recognized the woman who’d driven you to that abandoned factory on your very first day - you’d never gotten properly introduced, but you remember asking Neil about her once and he called her Wheeler. To be honest, with these guys you never knew if they used their real names, nicknames, codenames, or whatever. Not that you cared, quite used to it in your own line of business. You exchanged a court nod with her and went into the room.

As you sat down at the big table and Ives booted a projector, your eyes bore into the man. Definitely one of those types who enjoyed his beret and the paramilitary structure of the field branch of the organization. Probably a bit too much. You bit back a smug grin.

Those were particularly fun to mess with.

Ives caught your piercing stare and stopped the brief of the location.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you said, propping the chin on your palm, a polite smile on your lips. “It’s fascinating.”

He furrowed his brows, perplexed.

“What is?”

“How your commanding presence literally adds you inches,” you said, using all your willpower to keep a serious face. “I wonder if it works only for your height or--”

Neil’d futile attempts at masking an amused snort with a cough didn’t go unnoticed. Ives shot him daggers and then glared at you. “For fuck’s sake, would you focus?”

Your eyes flared up at the threat in his voice and you pouted, taunting him further.

“Or what, you’re gonna spank me?”

“No, I’m gonna shoot you,” he deadpanned.

You raised a brow.

“Kinky.”

Ives groaned, turning to Neil.

“How you survived this long without choking her is beyond me.”

Neil puffed his cheeks and gestured vaguely, but as he opened the mouth to answer, you chimed in, with a shit-eating grin plastered on your face.

“Oh, he very much did so, all right.”

The awkward silence that followed was pretty satisfying.

“Can we keep her?” asked Wheeler casually, leaned back in her chair, fiddling with a bullpen.

Ives gaped at you all, then slumped his shoulders in defeat, sliding a hand through his features. He was so done you could almost hear The Sound of Silence playing in the distance, but apparently, his sense of duty was stronger than the urge to leave you without finishing the briefing, so he just drew a deep breath and continued.

“...anyway…”

You caught Neil’s glance and you couldn’t help but poke the tip of your tongue out at him. The mischievous sparks in his eyes reflected your own as he shook his head, tugging the bottom lip between the teeth. Wheeler’s curious gaze flitted between you two, and as you didn’t feel like drawing too much unnecessary attention to yourself anymore, you focused on the plan that Ives was persistently going through.

Time frames. Blueprints. Entry points. Exit routes (you spotted at least one additional way he left out, but you weren’t sure if you could drag Neil through there, judging by that alley performance, so you didn’t bother to mention it out loud). Everything seemed clear enough. You still had no idea how being inverted would affect the lockpicking, but when you voiced that, Ives promised you some time to figure it out before the mission.

The mission. Huh. It wasn’t that much different from your usual assignments - at least if you forgot about that tiny insignificant detail like moving backwards in time - but something in this paramilitary and/or espionage vibe made your heart beat faster with excitement.

It had been quite a long time since you had company at the job. Working alone had its perks, but you wouldn’t mind a trusted partner in crime having your six for a change.

Another thing that you certainly wouldn’t mind - seeing Neil in tactical gear. Not that either of you would need one, but the image got planted in your head and suddenly you wished you’d had a bottle of water.

You realized that everyone was looking at you expectantly. Shit, was there a question or…?

“I’m good,” you said, shooting in the dark, hoping that would be enough to cover your distracted ass.

Ives squinted, but fortunately, that was an acceptable answer.

“Well, as you two can proceed straight from here - Wheeler, they’re all yours.’

“Okay,” - she smiled and stood up - “we don’t have any turnstiles on-site, but there’s one in the base outside the city, I’ll talk you through the basics on the way.”

So that little daydream cost you a chance to come back home to prepare? Grand. The problem was - you needed your heavy-duty tools, but you’d rather eat rocks than back away in front of Ives. Luckily, he called on Neil to wait for a moment, so that was your chance.

“Umm, Wheeler?” you asked quietly, following her outside.

She glanced at you curiously.

“What’s up?”

“I know I said I’m good, but could we stop by my apartment for a second, please?” An awkward grimace ran through your face. “I gotta pick up my tools. You know, just in case.”

She wasn’t surprised by your request. Moreover, she sent you a knowing smile.

“Sure thing,” she said and winked, and then it was your turn to present a slightly flushed face. “I’ve got you.”

----

You didn’t know what to expect from the whole inversion process.

The first time your brain stuttered was when Wheeler pointed at something she called the proving window, just in time for you to see the three of you coming out on the other side. You caught inverted-you glancing back at your present self; the schooled expression, but with the gaze shining with anticipation.

The second time was when it was you on the other side, looking at your wide-eyed past self. Feeling the incoming headache, you took a deep breath and followed Wheeler and Neil to the stand with oxygen masks.

“How are you feeling?” asked Neil, handing you the equipment.

“Weirdly normal.” You shrugged. “Or maybe not more backwards than usual, if that makes any sense.”

He smiled lightly.

“It’s the airlock. When you see the outside, you’ll get a whole new perspective.”

Wheeler nodded. “What he said. And to recap: you’re inverted, the world is not - all forces will be pushing back on you. Besides gravity.” She double-checked the oxygen bottle secured to your belt. “Just mind things that might be rising instead of falling.”

You furrowed the brows.

“Wait, didn’t Ives mention the rain?”

Neil smirked from behind the mask.

“Afraid of getting wet?”

“Never.” You grinned, meeting the sparkling blue eyes. “Should know that by now.”

Wheeler snorted and shook her head, walking to the panel near the exit.

“You’ll have plenty of time to finish the job before you move far enough to catch up on that. Although, if you ever find yourself in the inverted rain, here’s a tip: pop your collar.”

“Why would you--” Oh. The sole thought of the water going up from the ground to the sky made you nauseous. You swallowed with effort, leveling your breath in the mask. “...right.”

Wheeler opened the door and you almost gasped at the view. The golden rays of sunset (...or was it technically a sunrise now?) flickered on the training grounds’ equipment as the sky painted the scarce pools of muddy water with greyish violets and reddening oranges. Leaves shuffled in the wind, their dance almost satirical with that inverted spin.

Wheeler’s voice stopped your mind from wandering further into the landscape.

“Okay, ready? Ives asked me to remind you not to try any cowboy shit, you need to be in one piece at the end of the training.”

“Yes ma’am,” you mocked a salute and stepped outside, stretching your limbs, readjusting to the reality being slightly off. Neil stood right beside you watching you warming up, ready to take you to the obstacles section.

But as soon as the airlock’s doors closed behind you, you spun around, tapping his shoulder - “Tag, you’re it!” - and without waiting for his reaction, you leaped towards the assault course.

Surely that turned out overly optimistic. You counted on the element of surprise and a head start, but Neil had an experience with running while being inverted, while you… well. You tried.

“B+ for effort,” laughed Neil, catching up on you even before you reached the first obstacle and tapping you back. “But you can do better than that.”

“Just you wait!” you retorted and vaulted over a low hurdle, the mild confusion caused by the dumbfounded senses slowly eased up as you tuned out the brain and let the muscle memory guide your movements. Because hey, in the end? Yes, the natural forces were acting up against you. Yes, Neil had years of inverted training behind him. But you’d been challenging different obstacles your whole life, and courses like this one were your favourite playgrounds.

You caught on him by the next wall, playing dirty and tugging at his leg, pulling him down before he could jump to the other side. The exasperated huff he gave you in protest got lost in the squelch of mud under your feet, the sound more like a suction instead of the much-expected splash. Shuddering with disgust at such abomination, you rushed to the set of monkey bars, hearing Neil following up closely. You gritted your teeth, swinging your body to help yourself get through the part, and that’s when you felt a light tap on your foot.

You glared to your left, where Neil was gaining an advantage over you.

“Damn you and your infinite legs, man! It doesn’t count!”

“Losing looks good on you,” he said, landing and then instantly ducking under your reached out hand.

“Too bad it’s not gonna stick,” you scoffed as you ran after him to jump on one of the parallel logs. Balancing was easy enough, even with inversion; it gave you the perfect opportunity to plan ahead, while Neil had to maintain full focus. “Must say - all that sass definitely makes you like... ten percent hotter.”

But you’d taught him well, apparently, and instead of losing his pace, he only shot you a quick glance accompanied by an arched brow.

“Only ten?”

“Dunno, come over here and let me take a closer look,” you teased, getting a short chuckle in response. “No?” - you sighed - “Alrighty then.” And you leaped to the side straight into Neil, pushing him off the log. He yelped and grabbed you by the shirt, the momentum sending you both straight into the mud. You landed on top of Neil, collapsing into his arms for a moment to catch a breath and to stop laughing.

You leaned back to look him in the eyes.

“Okay, maaaybe fifteen,” you panted, booping his mask as you would do to his nose.

Neil snickered and nodded.

“I’ll take it.”

When your gazes met, his features softened, and he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear gently. You smiled behind the mask and sat up, straddling his waist. Neil was studying you closely, his hands grazed your sides and rested on your hips. Nibbling at your bottom lip, you leaned over him again and slowly reached out, and--

“Simba…” you choked out with reverence, brushing a muddy thumb across his forehead.

Tears from the held-back laughter threatened to spill any second as you observed Neil blanking out in utter confusion. The five stages of grief ran through his expression and then he closed his eyes and sighed theatrically.

“The fate of the world is in the hands of a complete madwoman.”

...the what now?

You tilted your head, grinning.

“Aren’t you a little dramatic?”

Then, without a warning, Neil shifted under you, rolling you off him and pinning you down.

“Birds of a feather and all that,” he said, clearly enjoying the way you squealed and squirmed as the mud got under your shirt. “You think you got a hang of the inverted movement already?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. Neil realized your intentions a second too late. A handful of mud splashed on his face and you chuckled with satisfaction. “Yeah, now I think I’m ready to go.”

You turned up at the airlock soon after, looking like something that cat dragged in, but beaming widely. Dreaming of a hot shower and a clean set of clothes, you put down the mask and the oxygen container and headed to the turnstile.

Wheeler was waiting for you near the machine, and seeing the state you were in, she just gaped at you both, trying to come up with an adequate question.

As you noticed her quizzical look, you gave her a thumbs up and smiled.

“If you ain't dirty, you ain't here to party! Wooo!” you whooped, throwing your hands up and trotting past her straight into the turnstile.

Right before reverting yourself back to your original state, you heard Wheeler’s hushed question.

“You two all right?”

And then Neil’s answer.

“Don’t worry, we’re good.”

--------

The truck’s engine hummed steadily, which could only mean you were on some sort of highway. At least the container stopped wobbling, so you could practice in peace.

No wobbles meant no excuses, though. You sighed, readjusting your grip on the tools.

Neil had fallen asleep some time ago, after making sure you figured out the locks and hearing your solemn promise that you would follow him soon.

One day after that eventful night, then inverting and going straight back without proper sleep. You knew he was right and you needed at least a nap. But you couldn’t. Not before you were absolutely sure you got it. The usual locks weren’t that bad. The inverted ones were a whole other story.

It’d taken you long enough to crack them in the safety of your own apartment, without the weird physics, ever-present even within the air-locked container. Without the pressure.

The fate of the world.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

You didn’t even know what was that thing you were supposed to retrieve soon. It was okay, you didn’t need to. It was a quite common situation in your work history. That kind of knowledge could be dangerous, after all.

The pin clicked and you sighed again, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the burning sensation even for a moment.

Besides, you were doing it for Neil. The memory of that panicked look on his face when he’d seen the documents was enough to keep you going.

But did he have to say that?

You had to do it. Not only because you felt responsible for him, in a way. What you’d told the boss was true and you weren’t the only one at fault for Neil not being fully ready for that assignment. He was your friend, wasn’t he? And there was no way you’d leave a friend in need.

You pressed your lips together, forcing yourself to breathe.

Probably a stupid joke, nothing more.

But what if he was being serious? What if that thing out there was really that important? And you were about to fuck everything up because you couldn’t get your shit together fast enough to figure out the bloody inverted mechanism again. And with every minute wasted and not spent on resting there was a higher chance of messing up at the actual location.

Hell of a locksmith you were, huh?

The feedback from the tools came with a final warning like a sobering slap. If you were to continue, they would snap any second now.

You let out a shaky breath and retraced from the lock, hiding your face in the palms.

A gentle touch on your shoulder almost made you flinch. Of course, he had to wake up in the middle of your breakdown.

“Go back to sleep, we still have a few hours left,” you muttered into your hands, trying to collect yourself.

“Not before you talk to me,” said Neil as his fingers slid down your arm. He was crouching right beside you, the blue eyes boring into you with concern. “What is it?”

You sighed and shifted in your seat to face him.

“Wanna make sure I got it, that’s all.”

Neil’s brows knitted together.

“But I saw you open that lock once, why--”

“Once! And that’s exactly the problem!” you fumed and glared at the table. “I can’t crack it again, I--” your voice wavered and you gritted the teeth in frustration. “What if it was a stroke of dumb luck? Should I start praying for another one to happen there?”

Another delicate touch, this time on your knees, was enough to make you look back at Neil. A shade of smile tainted his lips as he searched your gaze.

“Someone used to tell me all the time that if you did it once, you can do it again.”

You hung your head and huffed, “Maybe that someone was full of shit.’

“I know for a fact that she wasn’t,” he chuckled, taking the tools out of your clenched fists and putting them back at the table. “She was utterly brilliant,” he continued, reaching for your cramping, trembling hands and taking them in his, ”and always reminded me to take a break instead of agonizing over a stubborn lock.”

That you did, all right. Your laugh sounded awfully close to a sob. God, if you weren’t exhausted.

Mustering enough strength to look him in the eyes, you squeezed his hands, trying to convey all the gratitude in the gesture. And hide that bit of embarrassment, too.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said and his thumbs brushed over your knuckles. “Scoot over.”

You moved back on the provisional bench, making enough space for him to sit next to you. And so he did, not letting go of your hands even for a second. He started rubbing small circles into them and you grunted softly. Neil gave you a knowing smile and soon enough, his fingers glided between your forearms and fingertips, applying pressure to the tensest places, careful strokes and precise moves bringing a much-needed release. You couldn’t help small groans escaping your mouth, every one of them adding to the self-satisfied grin hiding in the corner of Neil’s mouth. But then, instead of teasing you, his features softened and you caught his glance, warm and sheepish.

“I don’t think I properly thanked you for offering to help me with this mission.”

“I couldn’t let you have all the fun,” you laughed and winced as Neil’s thumbs worked on your wrists. “Don’t thank me yet, we still need to pull it off first.”

“Well, maybe we already have, from the typical point of view,” - he pondered, lighting up - “seeing that we are moving back--”

“Neil, please, I’m all for discussing it later, but right now it’s about to give me a pounding headache.”

When you met his eyes, you noted with relief that he didn’t mind you cutting him off like that. He knew that you were tired, nothing more.

“Right, sorry.” Then he looked at you with determination, suddenly serious. “Whatever happens… thank you. It means a lot.”

“Of course,” you said quietly as your heart ached with unexpected fondness.

Neil smiled, shaking off the sentimental moment. His hands cupped yours and gave them a light squeeze.

“Now would you please get some rest?”

“Will you tuck me in?” you grinned and batted your lashes at him, earning an amused snort in return.

“I can even sing you a lullaby if that means you’ll fall asleep faster,” he said, standing up and tugging at your hand.

“Ah, I’m afraid I’m gonna crash too fast to properly appreciate it,” you giggled as he kited you all the way to the resting area at the front of the container. “But I’m definitely taking a rain check on that.”

“Sure.” One final brush of his thumb over your fingers and he let go of your hand, smirking. “Now sleep, I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

-------

Neil proved to be an excellent companion.

You disabled the alarms simultaneously, paying attention to all the possible silent traps. Forcing the main locks went smoothly, almost surprisingly so. For having something of such importance hidden there, the owners of the place seemed strangely old-fashioned; it shone through the antique decor of the lofty apartment as well as the security choices. Too easy. Tuning out an intrusive thought rattling in the back of your head, you scouted the dark rooms, careful not to leave any traces of your presence.

There.

The office you saw in the photos.

...but they’d redecorated.

“That’s one fancy safe they got there,” you said nonchalantly, eyeing the ornament piece of metal lit by your flashlight, “Too bad it somehow got left out at the briefing.”

Neil’s face dropped when he followed you inside the room.

“Christ, and what now?”

Good question. You’d worked with safes before, hell, you’d cracked a fair share of them using simply manipulation. But never going bloody backwards in time. How would that even work? Was it normal or inverted?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

“I’ve got this.” And that’s how you felt, despite the initial panic. There was a method to it, and you had most of the things you needed with you. Perks of overpreparing. The only issue was-- ... “It might take a while, though.”

Neil nodded.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“Keep an eye on the time for me, I gotta focus,” you said, reaching into your backpack and accidentally pulling on the thin tube. Right. “...and maybe on the oxygen levels as well?”

“Will do.”

Your brain switched into the challenge mode, and your fingers tingled to give it a try. Armed with a sound amplifier and a little notepad, you sat down next to the safe and got to work.

Figuring out your way in was meant to be a hit and miss, doubly so with the goddamn inversion. But minute after minute, click by click, you determined the first contact points, and the years of experience took you from there. You scribbled numbers and variations in the notepad, fully focused on the task. Almost there.

Another combination. Inhale. Exhale. Pull.

Gotcha.

“Neil?” you called out in the hushed voice as the beam from the flashlight landed on a small metal box of a peculiar shape.

He was next to you in no time.

“That’s it,” he said, kneeling down. He reached inside and took out the box, then carefully placed it inside his backpack. The blue eyes glimmered in the dim light. “Good job!”

“Thanks,” you smiled and closed the safe. “Now let’s get out of here.”

You gathered and packed all your stuff, double-checking for any leftover signs of your entry.

Then you heard it. A faint, slightly off patter against the huge windows. You froze in place as your mind tried to grasp the view of trickles of rain coming up the glass.

Neil glanced outside, not mindful of the absolutely bonkers scene that wiped any coherent thought from your head. Although judging from how quickly his face lost all the colours, the view he got was even more disturbing.

“Christ…” he uttered, shooting you a panicked look. “We’ve got company.”

You dashed to the window to see for yourself. A group of people was crossing the empty street, moving pretty much normally, and that only meant...

Fuck.

“The owners?”

Neil shook his head. “Impossible. The third party, probably.” With his hand already on the holster, he hesitated, considering the options.

But there were only two: fight or flight. The problem was - the numbers didn’t look good for you to try pushing through the crew downstairs. And as for the second one, your initial exit routes seemed to be cut off already.

Although, there was still one path left. You almost smiled to yourself. He was not going to like it.

“Let’s go through the roofs.”

Neil’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?” he asked, scanning your face for any sign of doubt.

There was none.

“Yes, but we have to leave right now.”

He swallowed with effort and nodded.

As soon as you bolted out of the apartment and rushed up the stairs, the footsteps coming from the lower levels quickened. Time was running out.

You were about to barge outside when Neil grabbed your hand as if he sensed what was going to happen next. The doors opened and you lost the momentum, startled by the view. Heavy showers replaced the drizzle you saw through the window, intensifying the nauseating effect.

The last strands of sanity threatened to leave you, but Neil’s touch was like an anchor, grounding you and keeping you from spiraling further.

“Which way?” he shouted through the hammering, almost deafening rain.

You blinked rapidly and looked around to match the data from the brief to the actual location.

“Over there!”

Wishing you’d had a goddamn collar to pop, you leaped to the side, guiding Neil through your only escape route. You let go of his hand to vault over the vents, and just as your feet touched the surface again, you heard distant yells behind you. Shit.

The high density of the area was working in your favor, but only for so long. There was meant to be a gap between the buildings sooner or later, and one of them was coming right up. The jump was doable, even for Neil - all you needed was speed and a decent launch.

But when your companion noticed the edge of the roof, he slowed down and stopped by a low parapet wall, cursing.

“No fucking way!”

“Yes fucking way, Neil, come on! We don’t have time!” you urged him as the voices behind you grew louder.

He swallowed with effort, too transfixed on the gap. You bit back an impatient groan and grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to look at you.

“Neil, listen to me. You can do this. All you need is a run-up.”

He didn’t seem convinced. You gritted your teeth, trying to keep your own rising panic in check.

“Do you trust me? Yes or no?”

He met your eyes and his features hardened. There.

“I do.”

And when you opened the mouth again, the first bullet whizzed past you. You flinched, but maintained the eye contact, afraid to lose Neil’s newfound confidence. “Then go first, I’m right behind you.”

Neil nodded and backed away quickly. Watching him jump, your heart skipped a beat, but he landed on the other side without too much trouble. Good. Your turn.

You dashed towards the rim and another bullet missed your legs by a hair’s breadth, hitting the parapet wall right ahead of you. A little close to the top, as you noted, jumping on it to leap across the gap.

But the realization came a moment too late. The wall crumbled under your feet.

Enough for you to not make it to the other side.

Someone screamed.

Was it you?

It didn’t matter.

The world dissolved in a flash of agonizing pain.

And darkness.

----

Static beeping. The smell of disinfectants. And your every particle throbbing in dull pain.

Somebody was having a quiet conversation nearby. The Protagonist… and Neil?

A wave of relief flooded over you. He’d made it.

Grunting, you opened your eyes and squinted, waiting for your sight to readjust to the poor light. Weird. Why would they keep you in such a pitch-black room?

“Gents?” you called out, carefully shifting upwards, wincing. “Would you mind getting the lights?”

The conversation stopped and you heard a gasp.

“Lights? But it’s the middle of the day?” said The Protagonist, but Neil cut him off.

“You’re awake!” Footsteps and a sudden touch on your hand. Neil’s voice trembled slightly, as well as his fingers. “Are you okay?”

You bored into darkness, hoping to see the familiar face.

To see anything.

To see.

(next chapter ->)

#neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #tenet #robert pattinson #neil tenet fanfiction #tenet fanfiction #neil tenet imagine #the protagonist tenet #ives tenet #wheeler tenet #long nights

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sweetsunflowerkisses · 4 years ago

Text

the library.

Pairing: Loki (MCU) x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst (??)

Warnings: Implied Character Death , Mentions of Loki’s faked death, Descriptions of falling?, Cannon Divergence, Making a bunch of shit up about Asgardian relationships and Asgardians in general? Angst, Bad writing TvT

Summary: In your final moments you reflect on your relationship with Loki and wish that you could be back at the library with him.

Word Count: 1.9k (It’s kinda short TvT)

a/n: I was rewatching Thor and the first avengers movie and this idea popped into my head and I kinda hate myself for writing it :D Also I’m working on Secret Identities Are Hard To Keep, I promise TvT

Falling. You had always wondered what it would feel like going from a height like this. It was almost euphoric, the wind pushing against your back as you fell, carrying your tears up with it. These were your final moments, you knew that, there was no surviving a fall from this height, not even with the strength provided by the asgardian blood that ran through your veins. So you did what most people did in their final moments, reflected on how you got here.

It all started centuries ago, in the golden palace on Asgard, the place where you were raised as a noble, your father being one of the Allfather’s most trusted advisers. Your memory of those years were riddled with the overwhelming feelings of loneliness, your only company being the vast array books in the palace library. You were lonely until the day you met him.

It was a day like any other, your father was tied up in various meetings with the Allfather and other important asgardians and like always you were camped out in the library. Through the years that you had spent here it had become your safe space and in the very back in a small corner was your place of happiness there was a small emerald chaise lounge with just the right amount of light and all of the books you had ever enjoyed stacked up around it. What you didn’t expect was for someone to already be occupying your oh so sacred spot.

He was stretched out on the lounge, his thin form but tall form draping over the edge a book in hand. You knew who he was of course, you were a noble after all, the dark prince, the forgotten prince, the boy that spent his years in his brother's shadow. In all of your 400+ years you don’t think you had ever seen him so peaceful, so you did what you usually did around people, you turned to leave. What you weren’t expecting was to feel the feather light touch of a hand on your wrist.

You looked up your eyes meeting his soft green ones. You wondered how he knew about this corner, about you and your time here, but pushed the thought aside as your gazes locked. There was something there, an unspoken understanding from one outsider to the other. He smiled softly, pulling a book out of seemingly nowhere and handing it to you wordlessly. You smiled in thanks and watched as he left, his green cape swaying behind him. And that was how it started.

You would have expected falling to be something that was over quickly yet it somehow seemed like the longest moment of your life. You knew you were getting closer though, you could see the tops of other buildings now, so as you waited you went back to thinking.

After that fateful meeting your relationship with the raven haired prince slowly started to change, for nearly fifty years the two of you would simply give each other books you thought the other would like, starting off wordlessly and eventually progressing into bigger and bigger conversations until the two of you would spend hours in the library together, animatedly talking about whatever book you were interested in that day, no doubt blowing off countless responsibilities your fathers had begun to place on you now that you were growing older.

It was around a hundred years after your first meeting that your relationship crossed from friendly conversations to stolen kisses and secret meetings. The two of you were around 500 and 600 now, both preparing for your futures. Loki trained to become both a warrior and a king, despite the limited possibility of him ascending to the throne, and you training alongside Her Majesty the Queen and other female nobles, preparing to become the perfect wife and partner for the next generation of Asgardian nobles. Yet you still found time for each other, spending as much time as you could together, only finding comfort in one another.

It was when the two of you hit 900 and 800 that Loki became consumed by his anger. It was in secret of course, as most of his emotions often were, but his emotions were always something you and you alone had the privilege of seeing. By now you and the pale prince were an official couple, Odin and Frigga having blessed the relationship, allowing Loki to court you and eventually allowing the two of you to biome some form of official, not married, but official enough to be allowed to share a bedchamber without getting odd looks.

In the past Loki had always confessed his anger to you, never allowing it to influence his actions, reveling in the catharsis he achieved by ranting to you as you played with his hair, but now, as he watched his arrogant brother become more and more loved by the people, as he watched his brother be promised the throne despite his hotheadedness and obsession with being a warrior, something within him snapped. Now he would yell for hours on end, often trashing your chambers, rather than his usual soft kisses that were full of love, his kisses were messy, needy and full of all the rage he could never show. It was in everything he did every emotion tainted by the anger that masked the true emotion. But you accepted him, every bit of him and so you did what you could. You matched his energy but also reminded him that you were still there, still there to give him new books, still there to play with his hair and still there for him to lean on.

As you fell your thoughts wandered back to the present, you were nearly there, you could hear the screams below, and you could see the chitauri army and the chaos that they brought with them. You could see the faint outline of Iron Man landing on the tower and your thoughts once again returned to Loki and everything that brought you here.

After the exile of Thor and the era of Loki as King you thought maybe everything would stop, the looks and the whispers that everyone would finally stop treating Loki like he was just a liar and a danger, you yearned for and prayed for the return of the Loki you fell in love with. You were distraught when Thor returned, telling you that Loki’s ascension to the throne was all based on lies, that he had been responsible for the frost giants that had gotten in the palace, that he had tried to kill his friends, that he had tried to kill his brother. And that he was now plotting something far worse. Somehow, as much as you didn’t want to, you knew it was true, but despite everything you knew that your feelings wouldn’t change. So you fought Thor, or at least tried, not being able to actually bring yourself to deal any damage to the god, too overwhelmed with the truth of it all, so you ran. You ran back to the place where it all started, back to the library, back to your corner of safety.

You found out he was dead the next day, Thor sought you out to tell you himself, yet somehow there was the nagging feeling in the back of your brain that Thor was wrong, and boy were you right.

It was 2012 when he finally resurfaced, you had spent most of your days hiding from the asgardian population, from the prying eyes of everyone who figured you had something to do with the events of the previous year. You were once again faced with the fact that your feelings remained unchanged for him, that despite the reality of what he was doing, trying to enslave a whole population you would still do anything for him. It was Heimdall who alerted you of his return, but it was the Queen who convinced you to go to him, to try and bring back the love that you had spent nearly 600 of your years devoted to. So you did.

You landed on the rooftop of Stark Tower, admiring the pretty pattern the bifrost has burned into the gravel. It wasn’t long before Loki found you, after all the Bifrost was kinda hard to miss. It was emotional for you, seeing the man you loved after spending so long thinking he might be dead. You approached him slowly, he rushed to you in return, overjoyed at the sight of you, telling you of his grand plan, inviting you to join him, to be his queen, to rule over Midgard with him. It was tempting and for a moment, just a single moment you considered it. But you refused, nearly begging him to stop the madness, to return to you, attempting to reassure him that no matter what you would still be there, that you would still love him despite the things he’d done in the past few years. You told him how that while you didn’t quite understand everything that you could listen and love him, that you would give him everything the world never did. Yet, it was when you looked up into his eyes that you realised that something was truly wrong, that your prince might truly be gone, rather than the normal green that usually stared down at you a piercing blue met your gaze.

You backed up slowly, this was the man you loved yes but there was something else in him too, something that was evil and corrupting, something you were sure would infect you too if you joined him. And it was backing up that had been your mistake, the platform on top of Stark Tower was by no means small but you had simply landed too close to the edge, and as you stepped back you felt nothing and you began to fall.

Loki lunged, moving faster than he ever had, just barely grasping your left hand in time. And you watched as his eyes flickered in between his green and the unnatural blue and that's when you realised, he was scared. But you were slipping and his grip simply wasn’t enough. You smiled softly, knowing what was going to happen next, tears beginning to stream down your face, and with your last words you simply whispered “I love you.”.

You fell, leaving Loki only clutching air, but then he felt something else as his fist closed around the air where your hand had just been. He knew what it was almost immediately and looked down to find the gold band with a single emerald in it sat in his hand. The ring that had adorned your ring finger for the past three years, the proof that despite it all you loved him. And you smiled.

You knew it was the end now, the sound of cars and people louder than before, and you wondered what would have happened if you hadn’t been in the library that day. With your very last moments you imagined yourself on the emerald chaise, surrounded by books with Loki on your lap, playing with his hair as he read to you and you smiled for the last time

#loki #loki x reader #loki x reader angst #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x y/n #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #marvel x you #marvel #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine

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