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magicpumpkin3 · 3 years

Note

Heyaaaa!!!! So I read the request of the reader screaming because of a spider and the dorm leaders thinking the reader was in danger and then I was like, what if we were actually in danger, like getting attacked by a person. So I wanted to request the reader being attacked by someone and the being protected by the dorm leaders. I hope this is clear enough, well have a good day 😁😁

Oh boi-

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle hasn't felt such rage since his overbolt. No, this rage was so much bigger and greater. How dare they?!

He's immediately by your side, screaming "OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!!". If this wasn't enough to stope your attacker, Riddle uses all protection spells and tricks he learned in NR college.

Dorm leader is well aware if he uses attack spells or overuses self-defence, it's going to backfire. He'll also be an attacker.

After some time of defending, bastard who attacked you finally was out of breath. Right in that moment, Riddle hits them in the gut. Just in case.

Incident is reported to Dire (if birdman does nothing, he'll have to face overbolting Riddle again). And person who attacked you is delt with. Properly.

After that fight, you're momentarily sent to the nurse office. Riddle is so worried, he spends all his time by your side. Only reasons why he leaves you, is lessons,l and some hella important things other then that, dorm leader is always near you.

Leona Kingscholar

Oh, that lion is pissed. Leona doesn't care what is about to happen, he only knows one thing for sure. That piece of a person is going down.

Usually Leona wouldn't interrupt fights or end them, unless it was absolutely necessary. But seeing you in one. On receiving side if it. Oh damn- someone was either stupid or had the biggest balls around for that kind of stuff. Everyone knew: If you mess with Ramshackle perfect, you mess with Leona.

Fists, magic everything is thrown into the fight. It doesn't matter of the person is stronger then Leona, that lion will get make them go down. Meanwhile Ruggie is at your side, trying to get you to a nurse office.

When Leona is done beating the living shit out of with attacker, he's by your side. He doesn't leave you. At all. He sleeps near you, eats near you (Ruggie was kind enough to deliver Leona food once in a while), sleep again- He misses damn lessons pretty often already, he doesn't care.

No one can go near you, unless it's a medical staff member or Ruggie with food.

Azul Ashengrotto

At first, He couldn't believe his own eyes. Who was stupid enough to do this? My lord was he mad. I don't think anyone has ever witnessed him being this mad before.

He gets between two of you immediately. Azul uses all protection spells he knows on you. He isn't the best in physical strength (usually twins do the dirty job) but when it comes to protecting his angelfish, oh boi- does this dude gets feral.

Like Riddle, he knows if he abuses power of self-defence, Azul will get in trouble himself. Unlike Rosehearts though, he has a whole shady business and blackmail behind his back.

After the fight is over and you're getting proper medical help and whole thing is reported, Azul calls Leech twins. No one gets away from him after hurting his Angelfish.

After all that, in private, he crys near your bed. Azul feels pathetic. He couldn't protect you! His greatest treasure. He fells like hiding in his octoput, with you near him. Azul stays by your side as long as possible. He has school and business to attend to. However, you're more important then any of those things.

Kalim Al-Asim

Poor boy has no idea what to do! Whom am I kidding, he knows what to do. BREAK THE FIGHT! He doesn't want anyone fighting. Especially you.

If attacker keeps pushing on, trying to punch or kick, Kalim would just call for help or use his unique magic. He really doesn't want to be involved in something as horrible as this!

Jamil is there to slap sense into him. After calming down after a mini panic attack, Kalim immediately gets you to the nurse office. He is there with through the whole check up and is there even after.

Kalim reports this attack to Dire (if birdman does nothing, he'll face overbolting Kalim or something close to that). He will make that person pay. Dorm leader isn't usually the one for revenge but right now, he wants justice.

Like Azul, his very sorry. Kalim doesn't care if his crying in public, he really doesn't! He was so confused, it's his fault for not being able to protect you or take care of you. If it wasn't for Jamil, bringing him back to his senses he'd still be having that panic attack.

He's willing to skip classes, if you want him near you (Jamil is typing). After tha incident, he is all tingly all over and is a bit paranoid. Please be patient with him. Kalim wasn't that traumatized from boing poisoned.

Vil Schoenheit

How dare they?! Vil was furious. He never felt so much disgust for a human being before! He was ready to tear them apart. Who do they think they are too harm his sweet potato?!

Vil has never looked this bitten up. No, wrong term. He never looked so deadly. His hair messed up a bit, face twisted with rage and his clothes being a nit wrinkly. He was truly terrifying.

Like Azul and Riddle, he understands the backfire if he overuses his magic but dear God he's in such rage. Vil isn't the one to throw hands for nothing, fortunately for you though, you're everything to him. Vil throws in every protection and 'passive-aggressive' spell he can remember.

After the fight is over, Vil makes sure himself that you get the best medical treatment. The thing is immediately reported to Dire (if birdman does nothin, he faces bunch of furious fans of youxVil). He spends every free moment he can by your side. All his meetings are cancelled and he has Rook guarding you 24/7.

Some time later, he makes Rook stalk the bastard who hurt you. After he knows enough information, Vil will hunt that piece of person. He may not be the best when it comes to strength but he is master of hurtful words and sabotages. Vil will make them pay for what they did to his sweet potato.

Idia Shroud

He's so terrified, has no idea what to do! Video games only gave him instructions how to bit the bosses not...This! Seeing you hurt, trying to defend yourself, it makes him feel weak, more pitiful.

The way you try to fight back someone so much stronger then you, it wakes something in him. Need, no must to protect.

Oldest of the Shroud brothers maybe shy and nerves wreck all over the place but when it comes to people he loves and cares about, all of his trades disappear. Before you, is not a shy and nerves Idia, it's Mr. Shroud.

With a blink of an eye, his by your side. On the outside, he is confident blackmailer but on the inside there's a killbill siren on the max volume. He's panicking inside okay?! Just because he looks like he's about to end someone's career (which he is-), doesn't mean Idia is even close to being confident.

Idia won't try to fight back, he'll just get you out of the fight. He may be a bit braver then before, that doesn't mean he's dumb now. He knows he's weaker then that bastard. He get's you to medical staff as fast as possible. Once you're save in nurse office, Idia lets himself panic all he wants.

He can't help but cry, feeling weak and pathetic. What good is he, if he couldn't protect person he loves?! Please, give this guy some love and reassurance. Idia feels absolutely broken. Don't think he forgot about that attack though...The person who did this will pay. Idia has a lot if blackmail material for a reason.

Malleus Draconia

Okay, genuine question. Does the person has a death wish? Like I'm genuinely curious. Everyone knows not to mess with Diasomnia dorm and their leader especially.

Malleus literally summons thunder when he sees this. Dark aura surrounding him, while he walks closer you and that poor unfortunate soul. How dare some, mere a fly compared to him do such things to his beloved?

Let's be real. Anyone, dumb or not, would stop attacking you and just ran away crying like a little beech baby. Though soon enough they're caught by one of Malleu's guards. Don't they dare think, that young prince just forgot about them. Let's just say that after that... There is a rumour that they got transferred to a different school.

He won't let attacker explain themselves. He doesn't want a word leaving their filthy mouth. Malleus just picks you up and carrys you to the medical staff to check you. Dorm leader doesn't leave your side and if he absolutely has to, he leaves one of his guards (or Lilia if that matters) with you.

Malleus just sits near you. Poor baby is too afraid to touch you, he thinks he'll gring you even more pain, he couldn't even hug you in fear of hurting you!

Malleus isn't the one to be a cry baby but if they're any scares left, he'll cry. It was his fault. You probably got beaten up because you were with him. Please, I beg you, give this boy some love and affection. He needs it even more then before.

Again, sorry for a delay!

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst dorm leaders #twst headcanons #twst x you #twst x reader #twst x mc #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x you #dorm leaders #twisted wonderland x mc

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siriusmydeer · 3 years

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hello love, i was wondering if you could do a james potter x slythering fem!reader? one where she is working so hard on getting her life together. she is trying to be different than her family and working so hard but it is getting to her. she feels like she is failing and every turn she takes is a dead end. she feels like there is no purpose to what she’s doing. i think some super fluff is required, like james boosting her up and loving her. plzzzzz & thx

his slytherin

james potter x slytherin!fem!reader

summary: when you overwork yourself james is there to save the day.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of insomnia, mentions of sleep deprivation, mentions of not eating, mentions of over working yourself, angst, sad!james, house stereotypes, bad grades, implications of smut, WOLFSTAR😍, mentions of food, a breakdown, THERES FLUFF I PROMISE

seventh year was quite literally, a mess. maybe not for others, finally done school or they were super excited to travel around the world seeing things they’ve never seen before. you’re dream had consisted of constant studying, and working that barely made any time for yourself.

for the prior three years you had studied and practiced with madam pomfrey in the healers wing to eventually become a healer yourself, and it took a lot more than you thought it anticipated.

you knew as a healer, later in life you would have to deal with artefact accidents, dementor attacks, creature-induced injuries, magical bugs, potion and plant poisoning, dragon trainers with injuries, and incredulous spell damage.

with that you had to be prepared, which meant more time hitting the books and less time spending your final year at hogwarts with your best friends and your staggering boyfriend.

(hahah u see what i did there?)

james had qued in on your restless nights by gazing across at you in the great hall. the colour of emerald green becoming frequent in his life now; surprisingly to everyone else. where you were sat at the slytherin table, your eyebags already deepening by the day and your nose buried in some sort of school book.

the thought of even being like your family, made you nauseous. you didn’t want to be like your strict, immoral family, the death eaters, the murderers, and the ministry officials. who worked like machines without feelings or care.

as a slytherin born into a pureblood family those were the expectations that were almost nailed into your back like a sign said, ‘here’s the pureblood slytherin, shame her even though you don’t know her!!’

of course those were the stereotypes, ones that had been built on for centuries since salazar slytherin himself. that you of all people had to inherit. so you had to fall, and rebuild yourself entirely for even a chance. the restless nights, insomnia, caffeine and studying was your way of rebuilding.

of course that had an effect on your grades, not sleeping, not eating and barely focusing made your grades tremble a great deal to the point where professor slughorn got concerned by his best potions makers, recent poors in his class.

you were too focused on being better that you couldn’t even focus on your own well-being, that you couldn’t even see you were hurting yourself on the people around you. almost self isolating yourself from everyone entirely.

“darling?” james whispered, his body sitting across from yours at one of the mahogany tables in the library. pince set him a warning glare not to cause any mischief as she turned around.

“hmm?” you mumbled, barely acknowledging his prescence and continuing to read your defence against the dark arts textbook, something about the ‘chameleon ghoul.’

he had barely seen you all week, and when he did he saw your agonized face scrunched up in a book and your mauve dark circles that rested below your eyes clear as day.

“why don’t you take a break, dear? have a rest, you’ve been working non-stop. ve’barely seen you.” he murmured the last bit, embarrassed for feeling ‘needy.’

“can’t jamie, newts are soon i need to be prepared.” you looked up in his direction for a moment, barely catching his saddened eyes through his spectacles at your denial of his request to finally see his girlfriend.

if this were two maybe three years ago, james would not be caught dead having a conversation with a slytherin, let alone a relationship with one. the stereotypes blinding his vision for along time before he could see what was truly in-front of him.

i mean the gryffindor pride genetically ran through his veins as he was born into the etiquette pureblood-gryffindor family himself. it was almost destined for the both of you to be corporeal enemies.

but... something about your altruistic and considerate attributes subtly changed his mind. thanking merlin, and horhace slughorn for pairing the both of you in potions in fourth year. there was always something about the way you were so gentle and benevolent with him in potions class might’ve flipped a switch in his mind.

“right then... see you later?” he muttered disappointed in himself, you work so hard to prove yourself meanwhile he didn’t even have a glare in his way because he was the perfect headboy gryffindor student; with absolutely no judgements thrown his way despite his actions towards others in previous years.

“dunno, i’m studying.” you replied, your voice monotone and dull almost raspy from barely using your voice unless answering questions in class to almost being a know-it-all and pushing yourself to the tops of all your classes.

he got up from his chair, it scraping against the floor as he walked to the exit almost like a dog with its tail between his legs. he just got so mopey by your dejected less merry self. he had to do something, he had to make you understand that being a slytherin wasn’t just you.

it was a part of you sure, but ambitious just meant you strived for your goals and you were cunning which showed your amplified skill.

that didn’t mean you were— evil? being a proud reckless gryffindor was one in his heart but nobody ever thought he was malicious.

so, james fleamont potter did the only logical thing he could think of; going to his bestfriends for help. of course at first they were not over the moon glowing in delight when they found out he was dating a slytherin, especially sirius.

but that was expected, his family being his only views on how a pureblood slytherin acted only projected onto you. giving you almost a conscientious reason to work, the thought of someone james felt was his brother perceiving you as despicable only made you pursue your self judgements.

but after your book swaps with remus, you and peters athrimancy study sessions and music bonding with sirius they grew quite fond of your personality and thought that you were due with a chance with the marauders.

“moony, i need help.” he spoke desperately as remus’ face was also buried in a book, except out of his own free will.

“james needs my help? hear that sirius? prongs needs my help.” he declared proudly as the brown-haired gryffindor groaned crossing his arms.

“it’s y/n.” he mentioned, glancing in sirius’ direction before sitting on the vermillion love seat across from the fawn haired boy.

“what about her?” remus was more-so confused, what would be so wrong with you that james had to ask him for help?

“she’s suffocating herself, the books, the studying, not sleeping, not eating, nothing. i dunno what to do anymore remus, she’s so pent up on wanting people to stop looking at her like she’s heinous she’s working herself to death!” he ranted, all his anger and agitation spilling out in one fast-paced sentence that james needed to catch his breath by the end of.

“i just dunno how to make her catch a breath, take a break. what do i do?” james panted, looking at his mates for an answer.

“imperious curse?” sirius proposed, a bad proposal but his intentions were... thoughtful. “yeah let me go use an unforgivable curse on my girlfriend so she can have a study break. no thank you, next.” james sarcastically humoured him, james didn’t want to compromise your education or use an unforgivable curse on you for that matter but you looked so incredibly burnt out he didn’t know how to help you.

“body-bind curse? so she’s like.... forced to stop?” peter suggested, looking up from his transfiguration essay catching onto the conversation as he twirled his quill between his fingers.

“or, y’know something actually logical you could do is take her books. get her lavender tea or something, let her talk.” remus finally spoke, shrugging then looking at the ‘lord of the flies’ book in his hands a smirk lying on his face knowing that would he james lucky choice.

“moony, you genius! i could kiss you!” james hopped up from his seat, on his way back to the library.

“oi! i’m the only one he’s going to be kissing, prongs!” sirius yelped as james walked out of the portrait hole with a distant chortle.

on his way to the library, where you were previously seated, james made a stop to the kitchen to grab a few of your favourite snacks and some water. he dropped them back at his dormitory, but not without a mini lecture on ‘kissing moony.’ from sirius.

what a drama queen.

the castle was slowly darkening, the only light pivoting from the floating candles in the air. he saw your frozen-like figure in the same spot you were except looking over your history of magic textbook, learning about the ‘emeric the evil.’

“y/n.” he stated firmly, you almost jumped from your seat in surprise, due to your recent sleep deprivation. “merlin james, give a girl a little warning first.” you chastised before returning to your next book that was slammed together right in-front of your eyes.

“james! i was—“ you were cut off quickly by him gathering all of your books and placing them in his left arm. “what are you doing?” you questioned, looking at him with furrowed brows, to exhausted to argue with him.

“you’re not taking care of yourself, you’re not eating, you’re not sleeping, your basically a study.... that muggle thing- robot! you’re a study robot! so i’m taking care of you.” he got sidetracked as he spoke in a gentle yet firm tone.

“but i have too-“ you were cut off again by his pointer finger shushing your lips together. “no, either you sit here in silence because i’m taking your books either way or you come with me to my dorm.” james spoke, resisting to your complaints.

“fine, but you have too—“ you started off, annoyed that your study time was ruined by james incessant comments about you ‘overworking yourself.’ he though, was not having any of that. “nope.” he grabbed your hand, dragging you off to the gryffindor tower.

you gave a small tired wave to sirius, peter and remus on the way to the dormitories as they were all either on the floor or splayed across the scarlet-coloured couches. sirius following with a teasing wolf whistle and wink seeing the both of you walking up the stairs.

“don’t do anything i wouldn’t do!” he chuckled, looping his arm over remus’ shoulders.

“ha, bloody, ha, padfoot. so, so funny i’m on the floor laughing.” he teased, sarcasm lacing his words in a monotone voice almost mocking snape.

you playfully rolled your eyes before being dragged up the stairs to the boys dormitory. the only noises heard were the clacks of your shoes and the soft breathing emitting from both you and your boyfriend.

your eyes were met with candies sprawled all over his poorly made bed, one of his quidditch sweatshirts paired with your favourite joggers; the ones he probably stole from your dorm room one night; because he was keen on you just staying there with him and ‘subtly’ moving all your things into his dormitory with the rest of the boys.

you looked at him with an arched brow, a silent question of ‘why are you doing this?’ ignoring your questioning look he sprawled himself on his twin-bed, his hands clasping in his lap waiting for you to change.

you put on the clothes he layed out, feeling james’ left hand tug you onto his chest when you were done. oh his soft, pillowy chest, you almost felt tempted to fall asleep right then and there.

“darling girl, tell me what’s going on?” he softly questioned while stroking your hair with one hand, his other arm stroking your back.

“i just—“ you stuttered, feeling a wave of tears glossing over your eyes. “i feel like everything is going so, so, wrong. m’so afraid of failing, i want to be better! i don’t want to be like m’terrible family, but it all feels like so much!” you mewled into his shirt, his grasp growing a bit tighter in an effort to psychically comfort you.

“baby, you’re nothing like your family, you have to know that?” he directed your vision to his gaze, the soft marks of mascara down your dampened face only made his gaze softer.

“you work so hard on trying to be not like your family, you don’t even know how amazing you truly are. you’re so generous, you’re always willing to help someone even if you don’t like them, i know i wouldn’t have that patience!” he softly chuckled, seeing a faded grin on your lips.

you sniffed as he continued his praise, “you’re such a hard worker, and i’m truly in awe of you. you’re the one person who truly puts her best foot forward and it’s so incredibly amazing, but you’re working so hard your exhausting yourself. y/n, it’s breaking me to see you like that.” you saw small wet streaks around his eyes, not truly realizing your self destructive habits had been harming people around you; had been harming him.

“jamie, i’m— im so sorry!” feeling the wash of emotions suddenly bundled up wash all over you, your nervous system feeling overwhelmed with the emotions of sadness, guilt and anger bubble up all at once. you whimpered into his shirt, spewing out mumbled apologies that were barely coherent due to all the sobs.

“shh- shh, don’t apologize.” he articulated, shifting his hips up and grabbing a folded parchment from his back pocket.

“w—whats that?” you questioned, trying to calm down the mewls and whimpers that wanted to escape your throat.

“this, darling, is a schedule.” he pointed out, a week schedule with times on it that labeled your subjects as well as times of the day. he also dedicated certain parts of every single day with “james!!” in bright red ink.

“so those,” he pointed out, directly at all the times he wrote his name leading up to the newt dates, “are times you and me spend together, no studying, just loving. so i can remind my beautiful, smart, and amazing talented loving girlfriend how astonishing she is.” he said with a grin, proud of himself.

“you really know how to charm a girl, potter.” you may have teased, but without him you don’t know what you would’ve done. james was truly your saviour, your light, stars to your moon; if you will.

he was yours, and you were definitely his.

taglist: @fathermarty @kittykylax @terr0rizer @aspiringsloth20 @dear-luna @famdomhideout @hufflepogue

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

Text

Phantom Children Ch. 6

Hi guys! I'm back <3 (also, I'm currently looking for alpha/beta readers for Phantom Children, so if you're interested, feel free to shoot me a message!)

In Which: Danny Attempts to get Answers, Bruce Learns, and Dick Finally Learns What's Inside the Door that Doesn't Exist

AO3 | Prologue | 5 | [ 6 ] | 7

DANNY IS KNOCKED DOWN three, four, eight times on the ice. Each time made his back ache, his bones bruised and tired, and his mind burning with embarrassment and a drive to lash out. But each time he gets back up. Each time he lasts a little bit longer against Talia.

The ice still shifts, cracks and rumbles with every wrong move. Danny learned to roll with it. Move on light feet but attack with a firm stance, gauge which parts of the ice are stable and which should be avoided. Multi-tasking has never been Danny’s strong suit, but he’s good at learning and learning quickly.

Talia corrected his form as much as she beat him down. Exploited every one of his openings until he learned to defend them and praised him whenever he managed to pull one over her. The League’s martial arts was the holy amalgamation between almost every single fighting style there is, mashed and refined to perfection to become almost unpredictable to the untrained. A vast improvement to Danny’s previous ‘fuck around and see what works’ brawling and had the added benefit of meshing together with his spontaneity.

“You are doing well, Daniel,” Talia said as she sheathed her sword, hand resting just above her hip. “You have improved greatly in such a short time, as I have expected.”

It takes every ounce of Danny’s superhuman energy to not collapse to his knees, his every breath a ragged shudder as he tries to get his breathing under control. “Still can’t beat you, though.”

“Very few can boast that feat.”

“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to make me feel any better or not. Do I get my prize at least?”

Tahlia tossed her braid over one shoulder with a laugh. “Come, then, let us rest in the caves. The sun is to set soon and we must make camp before we freeze to death.”

“Hypothermia is so last season. I’m way too cool for that.”

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed that Tahlia didn’t react to his pun. It was pretty clever, in his opinion.

('Puns are the lowest form of comedy,' said mind-Jazz.

Says the one who named the Box Ghost the ‘Crate Creep.’

'That’s alliteration, not a pun.')

It was kind of pathetic that even his mind-version of Jazz was smarter than him.

“What would you like to know first?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm dripped from Danny’s voice. He sheathed his sword and let it hang loose at his side. “Maybe how old this mysterious brother of mine is?” Ancients, his life was weird enough already, it wasn’t supposed to sound like the B-plot to a bad soap opera.

“Damian is younger than you by a little over four years. He will turn eleven this year.”

“Huh. Never been an older brother before.”

“Perhaps you might have been, if circumstances had been different.”

Cryptic. Great. Danny stepped over a particularly large crack in the ice and scampered over to solid ground. “You gotta give me more than that. What’s he like?”

“Prideful,” she said. “But skilled enough to warrant it. He was raised like a prince—as how you should have been.”

“And he lives with…our dad?”

“Yes. In America.” The cave was deep enough to shield them from the worst of the eventual mountain winds. Tahlia had already started building a campfire with equipment from her knapsack, embers eating away and growing into a steady flame. He sat down, legs crossed, beside the fire, hands tucked beneath his armpits.

He bit his lip, a question forming in his mind. “Do…do we have the same dad?”

Tahlia looked up at him. “Of course. Only your father has had the privilege of being called my beloved, and only he is worthy enough to have sired my children.”

Once night fell, it fell quickly. Blanketing as far as Danny could see from the mouth of the cave in a thick darkness. Snow fell from the skies in thick tufts and covered their footsteps.

“Does he—do they know about me?”

“No, they do not.”

“And you probably aren’t going to tell them anything about me, if you could help it.”

“That is very perceptive of you, habeebi.”

“You won’t tell me anything more about them, will you?”

“In due time, I will.”

Danny blew part of his fringe away from his face. Figures.

Despite the ever-present niggling at the back of his mind, Bruce had yet to see what was in the flash drive. The weeks since his strange meeting with Vlad Masters suddenly exploded with criminal activity with the recent breakout in Arkham and the brewings of another gang war in the shadows of Gotham’s paved streets. It was all hands-on deck. And Bruce, whether as Batman or Wayne, had always prioritized Gotham and its citizens over anything else.

The flash drive remained on his person despite the crisis, tucked away in one of the sturdier compartments of his utility belt to prevent the data inside from becoming damaged. Sometimes he found his hands gravitating towards it, fingers brushing against the button that would release the mystery from its confines before he realized what he was doing and steeled himself. Hands fisted to his side and attention forcibly directed elsewhere.

Eventually, the rogues were placed back into Arkham, and Gotham let out a shuddered breath of relief as it remained standing for another day.

Most of the family were out on a light patrol, cleaning up the remains of the breakout and helping where they can. Jason and Dick bickering over the comms whilst Barbara laughed in her clocktower.

(“It’s not that bad.”

"‘It’s not that bad’—shut the fuck up.” Jason spat. Bruce could hear him revving his bike. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Certified Grade A idiot. B’s gonna kill you.”

He could hear Dick roll his eyes. “Sure, pile it all on, Jaybird. Blame the victim.”

"It was your fault.”

“It’s not my fault I didn’t see it there!”

"You tripped and got a concussion. From a stick. A. Stick.”

“Can we please just leave that out of the report?” Dick groaned. Barbara laughed. “Oh god.”

“Richard motherfucking John Grayson. I swear if you vomit on me then—”

“I’m not gonna vomit on you! You just turned the corner a little too fast. It’s nice to see you care though.”

"Fuck no, I just don’t wanna smell like regurgitated cereal.”)

Damian was benched from a patrol. Their last conflict with Poison Ivy ended with Damian sticking a bad landing and twisting his ankle. He dealt with it with as much grace as can be expected. Meaning that he spent the last few days sulking as he caught up on his missed schoolwork and shooting daggers at everyone else who came back from patrol.

Bruce flicked the flash drive open and plugged it into the computer. The flash drive contained only a single folder dated six months ago.

He clicked it, and a news headline popped up.

LOCAL TEEN DIES AFTER DRIVING OFF CLIFF

Beneath it, a picture. Blue eyes. Black hair. A familiar face.

Blood pounded in Bruce’s ears. He could hear nothing except a sharp gasp from Damian behind him.

When Dick and Jason arrived at the batcave, it was to an eerie silence. Not that it was usually loud, only that Bruce spent most of his free time down in the cave and Dick had come to expect hearing some signs of him around. Typing on keys, the clicking of a mouse, the heavy thuds of a fist meeting a punching bag or a training dummy, etcetera, etcetera. Or maybe even Alfred cleaning up around the cave, feeding the bats, or restocking their med bay.

(Dick, it turned out, didn’t have a concussion. Probably. Not a severe one anyway. What mattered most was that he managed to convince Jason to have dinner at the Manor. Alfred was making a tarte tatin for dessert tonight and those were absolutely to die for. )

One of Tim’s cases took him to the other side of Gotham. The only person in the cave was Damian, who was staring agape at the batcomputer.

“Why the hell is the demon spawn looking at old pictures of Bruce? We get it. They look alike.

“Uh, Dami? What’s up?”

Damian snapped his mouth shut. “I believe it might be best if you asked father that, Grayson.” Despite his clipped tone, there seemed to be little anger in his voice. His proud shoulders were hunched over on the chair, eyes trained on his lap.

He looked so small.

Damian clucked his tongue. “He’s upstairs, if you need him. So is Pennyworth.”

Dick shot a glance at Jason who raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re up golden boy. Whatever the fuck the old man’s problem is this time, I’m not dealing with it.”

Dick sighed. “Fine.”

There was a door in Wayne Manor that didn’t exist.

When Dick was a child and recently adopted by Bruce Wayne, one of the first things he did was explore the manor. It’s the prerogative of every child that somehow found themselves in a large mansion—even more so given the castle-like exteriors of Wayne Manor. All castles have secret passages, and if the Batcave lay in the subterranean depths below, then surely the manor proper must have its own secrets.

Dick would tumble and cartwheel along the hallways, opening any and every single door he came across. A lot of them were just empty bedrooms or unused parlors and sitting rooms; the furniture covered by white sheets to keep the dust away. Alfred was probably magic, but even he can’t keep the entirety of the manor dust free.

The majority of the unused rooms were unlocked.

Except for one.

It was a room in the west wing, on the second floor. A couple doors down from where Bruce’s and Dick’s were. Why it was locked, Dick never found out. But he was curious since it was the only room on that floor that remained shut.

When he asked Alfred about it, the old butler only said that it was an unused storage room they preferred to keep locked just in case. When he asked Bruce about it, he’d be quick to change the subject. Usually something Batman related. Which, well, always worked, because it was Batman related. And Dick, young and spry and itching to fly under Batman’s wings, would quickly forget about that curious little mystery in favor of punching bad guys in the face and flipping over rooftops.

At some point that locked door quietly disappeared, leaving a blank expanse of wallpaper and a decorative vase where it once stood. It was never brought up again. And Dick slowly forgot that it was ever there in the first place.

Until now.

The wooden table and vase were shoved off to the side. Wallpaper sliced away to reveal the lines of a doorway. The door, covered in its faint damask wallpaper, was kicked open, the wood around the bolt splintered and cracked. He could hear voices—Alfred’s and Bruce’s—speaking softly on the other side.

He pressed his back against the wall and kept his breathing quiet.

“Three times, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Three times she’s done this to me.”

“Master Bruce…”

“I don’t—I don’t understand why—” Bruce choked, swallowing a shuddered breath. “Damian, I can understand. Jason, I can too. But…This? I—” Bruce suddenly quieted. Dick knew the jig was up.

He unlatched himself from the wall and slowly slid through the once-hidden-door, a hand kept on the frame. “Um. Hi, Bruce? Alfred?” The words fell flat, stilted. Dick winced as he said them. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but, uh…” He trailed off the second he registered what was in the room.

It was large, as so many rooms in the manor were. The room was covered in peeling green wallpaper with faded pictures of baby deer and owls and other woodland creatures prancing about. There was a dresser on one wall. A shelf filled with little picture books and stuffed animals on the other. A brown teddy bear had fallen on its face on one of the shelves.

In the middle—where Bruce was hunched over—was a crib. The wood streaked and aged with time, the beddings within pristine and untouched, if not dusty. Hanging overhead was a mobile with little animals dangling on a string.

“Worry not Master Dick. It is good that you are here since it will inevitably involve the rest of the family at some point.”

Dick nodded absentmindedly, trying to lock eyes with his guardian. “B? What’s—what’s going on?” Dick took one step deeper into the room. “The pictures in the cave. I thought they were you since they were too old to be Damian—” Bruce’s hands on the crib’s railing flinched.

Dick’s breath hitched.

“They’re…not your photos, are they.”

Bruce took a deep breath in, the lines of his shoulders tense. “No. They’re not.”

In their line of work, the answer could have been anything. Clones, magical doppelgangers, alternate universe counterparts, hell, even just someone’s genetic code being coincidentally similar to another person. But…this room, this nursery, pointed towards only one conclusion.

“Who is he, Bruce?”

Bruce angled his head towards Dick, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. “He’s my son, Dick.

“He’s my son.”

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #dp fic #phantom children.txt

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grailfinders · 3 years

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Fate and Phantasms #159

Today on Fate and Phantasms we bring you the outlaw star himself, Assassin of Shinjuku! As always, it’s hard to go into detail about Sassyshin’s abilities without giving away his identity, so true name spoilers below the cut.

Check out his build breakdown below, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: Wait a minute, I thought King Arthur was a girl!

This build blends Yan Qing’s Shadow Monk techniques with the Doppelganger’s shapeshifting, here represented by the Whispers Bard levels. Kill people, steal their identity, repeat!

Race and Background

Technically Yan Qing is part ghost, but it’s a lot easier to call him a Variant Human instead. If you really want to lean into the doppelganger thing Changeling’s right there, but then you won’t get +1 Dexterity and Charisma, Acrobatics proficiency to jump up entire castles with ease, and the Observant feat to show off why they call you the Skillful Star. This feat gives you +1 Wisdom, the ability to read lips, and you get +5 to your passive Perception and Investigation scores so your disguises are a bit more detailed.

Of course you get the Criminal background, giving you Deception and Stealth proficiencies.

Ability Scores

Speaking of being the Skillful Star, all that martial arts training should make your Dexterity pretty freaking high. After that is Charisma, you’re really good at disguises, and almost as good at making convincing arguments. Almost. After that is Wisdom for more skill and more observational skills. Your Constitution isn’t half bad, you can take a lot of damage and keep going. When you’re fighting against Guda. When you’re actually on their team, that’s a different story. Your Strength should probably be a bit higher, but it’s not very useful for the build. Finally, dump Intelligence. Sassy-shin is many things to many people, but Himbo is definitely one of them.

Class Levels

1. Monk 1: Starting with monk will help you get your shirtless scenes going earlier thanks to your Unarmored Defense giving you an AC based on your dexterity and wisdom. You also get some Martial Arts, letting you use dexterity instead of strength when fighting, giving you a minimum of a d4 in damage when using unarmed attacks, and you can attack as a bonus action if you attack as an action.

On top of all that, you also get proficiency with Strength and Dexterity saves as well as Athletics for even better climbing skills and Insight, because you can’t manipulate people if you don’t know what they want.

2. Monk 2: Second level monks get Ki points each short rest equal to their monk level. Currently, that lets you Dash, Disengage, Dodge, or Attack Twice as a bonus action, but more stuff will come up as we go. Your Unarmored Movement also lets you move just a bit faster while shirtless.

3. Bard 1: Your impersonation powers come from the doppelganger, a fictional creature (also you’re fictional, but hush), so bard’s as good as any class to get their powers from. Grabbing bard second gives you Perception proficiency for even more detailed disguises, as well as Bardic Inspiration. Right now they’re a pool of d6s that recharge on long rests. You can hand out to allies to help them with their d20 rolls-checks, saves, attacks, all that good stuff. Unless your DM somehow incorporated C. Stars into their game, this is one of the closest ways you have to get the actual Skillful Star skill in D&D.

Beyond that, you also learn a couple Spells that use your Charisma to cast. Light helps your dumb human eyes see in the dark and also do the glowy hand thing. It won’t actually help with damage, but it looks cool, and that’s what’s really important. You also get Vicious Mockery, tbh stealing the memory of an enemy’s loved ones means you can get some really disturbing insults.

For first level spells, grab Bane for more insults, Disguise Self for a cheapo disguise that doesn’t even work physically, Longstrider to press your speed advantage further, and Heroism, because you’re a pretty nice guy when you put aside the identity theft.

4. Bard 2: Second level bards are Jacks of All Trades, adding half your proficiency bonus to checks that you’re not proficient in, even making you a little bit faster by boosting your initiative bonus. You can also use a Song of Rest to add a d6 to the healing your party does over a short rest. I mean, you’re a character in a novel, you’ve got to have some good stories to share, right?

For your spell this level, grab Speak with Animals. Working with Lobo is always rough, but at least now you’ll be able to tell his “I’ll tear you limb from limb” bark from his “I’ll tear you limb from limb later” bark.

5. Bard 3: Your doppelganger side grants you the power of a bard from the college of Whispers. When you join the college, you can use your bardic inspiration to create Psychic Blades, adding 2d6 psychic damage to a weapon attack once per turn. I’ve given up trying to figure out if hitting things with your hands count as weapon attacks, so maybe just keep a knife on standby.

You also learn Words of Terror, spending a minute alone with your target to force a wisdom save (DC 8+proficiency+charisma mod) or they become frightened of a creature you choose for up to an hour or until it or an ally takes damage where it can see you. You can use this once per short rest, and if they succeed on their save there’s not tell that you did anything. You also get Expertise in Insight and Deception to make your disguises flawless.

Your spell this time is Enhance Ability, making you even better at whatever you set out to do by giving you (or another creature) advantage on one kind of ability check. For those of you playing along at home, this means you now have a +8 to deception checks, with advantage. Even without your disguises, you’re already doing pretty well for yourself.

6. Bard 4: But “pretty well” isn’t perfect. We can do better. Use your first Ability Score Improvement to grab the Actor feat, rounding up your Charisma for extra inspiration and stronger spells. You also get advantage on deception and performance checks to act as a different person, no spells required. On top of all that, you can mimic the speech of a creature you’ve heard talking for at least a minute, requiring a contested Insight check vs your Deception check to figure things out.

For those rare times you’re trying to be yourself, you can also use Friends to get advantage instead. When that inevitably backfires, use Mirror Image to create some shadow clones for an easier escape. The spell makes three copies of yourself, and when you would get hit by an attack there’s a 75% chance it will hit one of them instead. After they take a hit for you, they pop, reducing the odds of blocking the next attack. MI is technically UA, but it’s not exactly a massive power boost.

7. Bard 5: Fifth level bards see their inspiration dice grow to d8s. While that doesn’t affect your psychic blades, your Font of Inspiration does, letting you recharge inspiration on short rests for more consistent support and damage.

You also learn how to Feign Death to escape any criminal/detective duos on your trail. Admittedly this isn’t as effective as disguising yourself as a civilian, as it basically knocks you out for an hour, giving you resistance to most types of damage and prevents any sort of effect from diseases or poison.

8. Bard 6: The sixth level of bard is where our plan really comes together. No, I’m not talking about Countercharm, get that shit outta here. We’re here for the Mantle of Whispers, letting you steal a humanoid’s shadow when it dies nearby once per short rest. Using their shadow, you can create an hour-long disguise that not only makes you look like the person, but gives you information they would give away to acquaintances. Creatures can see through the disguise with an Insight check against your Deception check, but you get a +5 to that, on top of everything else.

9. Monk 3: Stealing peoples’ identity is nice, but it’s time we got back to punching good. Third level monks get their way, and Way of Shadow helps you take advantage of Shinjuku’s oppressive atmosphere to make the town your own. Your Shadow Arts lets you cast spells like Darkness, Darkvision, Pass without Trace, or Silence using your Ki points. You can also cast Minor Illusion to take your stealth to the next level with some free distractions.

Besides all that, you can Deflect Missiles, catching them out of the air to reduce damage and possibly even throwing them back as a reaction.

Now that you have a bunch of things eating away at your Ki points, you can use your Ki-Fueled Attack to attack as a bonus action if your main action uses your Ki. Now nothing can stop you from delivering those hands.

10. Monk 4: Been a while since your last ASI, huh? Use this one to boost your Dexterity for a better AC and stronger attacks. You can also Slow Fall as a reaction, reducing fall damage by five times your monk level. As Moriarty could tell you, falling off a skyscraper hurts.

11. Monk 5: Fifth level monks get an Extra Attack each attack action, and you can turn those attacks into Stunning Strikes by using Ki. If the target fails a constitution save all attacks on them for the round have advantage. Great way to fish for crits for your psychic blades.

12. Monk 6: Sixth level monks get Ki-empowered Strikes, making your unarmed attacks magic against resistances. You’re a Tier-3 character, you’ll probably need this.

You can also use your brand new Shadow Step to teleport between shadows as a bonus action. Moving so quickly also gives you advantage on your next attack.

13. Bard 7: Seventh level bards get fourth level spells, like using Phantasmal Killer to create a more offensive shadow clone. For up to a minute one targeted creature needs to make a wisdom save. If they fail, they’re frightened and at the end of each turn they have to make another wisdom save or they take psychic damage.

14. Bard 8: Use this ASI to bump up your Charisma again for stronger spells and inspiration. You can also use Freedom of Movement to escape from impossible binds. Just disguise yourself as a free person, I can’t believe nobody thought of this before.

15. Bard 9: Our last level of bard charges your Song of Rest to a d8, and you get a fifth level spell. Mislead lets you move so fast enemies will have to hit your afterimage, simultaneously turning you invisible and creating an illusion of yourself. The illusion lasts for an hour, but you only stay invisible until you attack or cast another spell. It can speak or gesture just like you, and you can even see through its eyes.

16. Monk 7: Seventh level monks finally get Evasion, turning your dex saves into supersaves. Now your failures deal as much damage as your successes, and your successes avoid all damage entirely. Your Stillness of Mind also lets you shut down effects that are charming or frightening you.

17. Monk 8: Use your last ASI to bump up your Wisdom for a stronger AC. Technically grabbing more Dexterity would be better here, but I like rounding stuff up more than capping it out. Makes room for DM stuff.

18. Monk 9: Your Unarmored Movement Improvement lets you run up walls and over water, so long as you don’t end your turn there. You can finally climb up that huge freaking castle you’ve been eyeing for a while!

19. Monk 10: Tenth level monks get a Purity of Body that makes you immune to disease and poison. At least this isn’t your capstone?

20. Monk 11: As an eleventh level shadow monk gets a Cloak of Shadows, letting you disguise yourself as a Vashta Narada as an action, becoming invisible in dim light or darker. This lasts until you attack, cast a spell, or leave the shadows. I’m pretty sure this qualifies for that whole “cast no shadow” thing you’re always going on about, right?

Pros:

You are the one true imposter. With advantage as well as +21 to all your deception rolls to disguise yourself, you’re pretty much undiscoverable. On top of that, you’re also great at reading people with a +15 to insight. The only person doing impressions around here is you, thank ya kindly.

Like all monks, you’re really fast, with 50′ of movement speed, dash options, teleporting options, and ways to make yourself even faster via magic. You go down harder than the KT event, but you’re fine as long as you don’t get hit.

You also come with tons of ways to mess with the enemy. Make yourself invisible, shoot darkness like a squid shoots ink, have them chasing an illusion, or even just disguise yourself as a loved one. You are a terror to fight.

Cons:

Touching on that thing I said back in Pro #2, you’re pretty squishy, with barely over 100 HP and only 17 AC. Stick to the shadows, you’ll need them.

You also have a serious issue with range. Anything that can outspeed you will find it pretty easy to have you running in circles, since your best ranged attacks are cantrips.

This build is also a little bit complicated, with balancing your Ki, inspirations, who you can disguise as, who you can mimic, and all that fun stuff. Like a lot of the clever people builds, don’t expect to play this one like you would a barbarian.

#fgo #fate grand order #D&D 5e #DND #Assassin of Shinjuku #Bard #Monk

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beneaththetangles · 3 years

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Leah for Rachel: On Tower of God

What do you desire the most? Honor and pride? Authority and power? Money, and all sorts of shining riches? Revenge? Helping, or saving, or mattering to someone other than you (even when you’re not piloting a giant robot)? Or perhaps… something even more significant, more transcendent?

No matter. Reach the top of the tower, and it will be yours. Whatever you may be looking for, you will find it there. That’s what its Guardian, Hadon, says. That’s what every character in this show believes.

Tower of God (Kami no Tou) tells the story of Rachel, the girl with golden eyes who left everything to climb, desiring to shine like the stars. And of Bam, the boy who went after her without a desire of his own. So starts a quite atypical shonen, based on a beloved webtoon, with cartoonish, colorful, quite original designs, powerful music (“TOP” by Stray Kids is an opening for the ages), references to the book of Genesis, and a deep, unflinching depiction of sin, by which I mean evil of the darkest kind, the only true evil, chosen by the human free will, in a way that can poison the universe and kill that soul forever.

The human heart and its darkness are certainly at full display at Kami no Tou. Its colorful tower of broken dreams and people who are constantly left behind has a constant aura of threat and dread, even in the more innocent scenes. Despite the swords, powers, characters who combine medieval, fantastic, contemporary and futuristic styles, and the clever ways of overcoming difficult challenges, this is not the Heaven’s Arena of Hunter x Hunter, and it certainly doesn’t have that show’s leniency with the murderous organizers of these challenges for super-talented individuals.

As Bam goes up, level after level, we come nearer to the ultimate temptation, the fall, the consequences like concentric waves, and the dark mystery of evil, a mystery that defies understanding and rational explanation. One that is linked with all the pain and suffering in the world, with the reason why reality (Kami no Tou’s and ours) constantly breaks into painful fragments and goes into cycles of horrifying self-destruction.

A nameless boy awakes without memories in a system of caves where he cannot see the stars. He is taken care of by a kind, joyful girl with golden eyes. She heals him, and patiently teaches him, and soon becomes his entire world. She has a dream, too—to see the stars, to shine like them. She will ultimately depart, leaving him behind to enter the Tower.

But he doesn’t want that. He wants to be with her. Not romantically, I think, or not exactly. “I belong to her,” he says. Rachel is, especifically, someone Bam adores, his point of reference for everything, and he just wants to have her around, even if it’s not as an equal.

At the beginning, I compared this show with The Divine Comedy, Dante’s medieval poem about following the light of the loved one who has departed to Heaven. But this is a show about Babel, about a world in which humans fight to reach the skies and become like God, masters of good and evil. In our world, the limits of human power, coordination and communication (miraculously brought upon humanity for the first time at Babel), avoid a sustainable deification. And the tower, thank God, is forever left unfinished.

Not so in Kami no Tou. The desires of the heart have been completely instrumentalized to serve the present ruler. The Tower stands, every floor as great as an entire continent, and the tower itself is an empire, ruled by King Jahad, a Darwinian monarch who was the last to reach the magical top.

The characters surrounding are dangerous people, who soon reveal that they are just broken, very human individuals with a desire so strong as to risk everything. Khun is a banished prince from a well-known, powerful family. Rak the dinosaur and Haru the samurai just want to be the strongest. Anaak seeks revenge. Shibisu would like to be rich. Endorsi is a Princess of Jahad, and needs to keep her status. These are all lovable people, fun and relatable, but something is clearly wrong with them all. And something is wrong with us, too. Bam is going to learn that in ourselves, just beneath our daily reality, there is unspeakable evil, irrational, horrifying, linked to the worst evils we know, only awaiting the opportunity to manifest itself. Indifference and hate for the people we are supposed to love. A thirst that could devour others if they get in the way. Monstrous vanity, lies, violence, dreadful, intimate idols. The deep betrayal of everything that is good and true, of God and of love. And the realization that all that has been there from the beginning.

Though I liked this anime from the first episode, I think it reaches his peak with a certain twist that everyone remembers. So, spoilers for Tower of God. And I strongly advise you to experience it firsthand.

Bam becomes popular in his circle of self-centered friends because of his selfless, innocent personality that reminds them of what they have lost, or just encouraged them to help him. He wants to be with Rachel, to help Rachel. And he works hard.

In The Pilgrim’s Regress, C. S. Lewis’ version of the classical allegory, every so often a chapter is titled “Leah for Rachel.” This is a reference to the story of patriarch Jacob, who worked seven years to marry Rachel, the youngest daughter of Jethro and his loved one, who tricked him into taking his eldest daughter, Leah, instead, so he would have to restart the process to reach Rachel. In Lewis, this expression refers instead to the pain of the human heart which falls into the trap of egoistic, self-centered sexual acts when its desire for the bright, the eternal and infinite, symbolized (Utena-like) as a castle in the sky, attracts it from the distance. But, as Kami no Tou tells us, it can be just about anything. A person or a relationship, a position or a treasure, a story we tell to ourselves, a moment of pleasure or a momentary relief, an urge, can seem to us like the shining gate to a greater, more god-like world, as stars are for Rachel.

It is only afterwards that the heart recognizes, with bitterness, that over the top of the tower, there is only a darkness that engulfs you, that becomes you, that is akin to voluntarily sacrifice love and meaning, bonds and identity. And that is what happens to Bam’s Rachel.

I always trusted Rachel to have a good reason for having abandoned Bam. As Khun, I saw the warning signs. Bam was not being objective. It is wrong to idealize a person so much, to adore her, to put the entire weight of your own existence on her. First, you will never know her this way. Second, you may be more easily tempted by evil, as she betrays your hopes. But Rachel’s smile was kind and humble, and she was somehow radiant. Her character design showed that someone had thought of her with care and admiration. She had taken care of Bam, a perfect stranger, as a kind, patient, loving sister would. And I think any of us, looking the sky at night, have been filled of this longing, this thirst that Lewis calls the “Joy” and the Spanish translation, el Dulce Deseo, the Sweet Desire. I certainly never expected the chosen one, for whom all those sacrifices had been made, to willingly push Bam into the abyss to go up. It is a perfect moment of treason, sound off, seeing her go up in slow motion while Bam falls.

And then, there is the flashback. Where we only had watched her sadness, her darkness, her bitterness, her vulgarity, her spite, her greed, were all revealed. A character who was full of light, able to inspire, freely scarred herself in such a way that the thought of her achieving her goal, watching the stars at the top, is just unthinkable. Hadon himself tells her that, when he sees her cowardice. It will never happen. She’s just not capable of that sort of pure happiness. And her inner evil does not cease to grow.

And, if you were wondering, Rachel is the character in which I see myself the most.

I am a sinner. By which I mean that I habitually do things that I judge to be monstrous, world-shattering, dark and loveless beyond all rationality. Not the sort of things that may end up with me in prison, perhaps, or not often. But maybe they should. There is a seed of destruction in them, sometimes so manifest to me that I hold no doubt that the distance between it and the more showy and horrifying forms of evil is only a matter of opportunity and means.

While I’m still young, I’m convinced that there are deeper sins in me I cannot yet fully grasp, like frozen icebergs beyond the surface of my mind and soul. Also, I feel loved by God, with a love even more devoted, sacrificial and deep than Bam’s love for Rachel, a love that would, and does, travel any distance and fight any enemy just to see me happy. Whenever I sin gravely, I freely and consciously choose to hurt and betray a real person who has hope in me, and who has bought an opportunity for happiness for me, my only opportunity for happiness, at the price of His blood.

My whole being and personality, created for the good, become a carcass, a walking lie. I’m totally conscious that, for any of them, it would be just and appropriate that I should never taste happiness of any sort in all eternity. And why would I do thing of that sort, again and again? I don’t really know. It is a whim, or something that shines, or a perverse hope that this time, I will reach some happiness that way.

So, as you can see, I am every bit a son of Eve, and every bit a brother of Rachel.

If what the presumptuously named Tower of God offered was real happiness, there’s no way King Jahad would be such an egoist, murderous jerk, or that his followers would be as petty, perverse, and traitorous as they are. Neither Rachel or I will become happy or God-like by ascending the tower of human power and human pride. If we aren’t deformed and destroyed during the ascent, we are sure to meet just pain and betrayal at the top.

The one who tempted Eve and Adam to sin was an angel already in Hell. In the case of Adam, there was also the person who had already fallen, and was not happier or wiser for it. In the case of Rachel, the people of the Tower play that role, because it will be interesting to see how low she falls. And she falls really low. I know this. To some extent, so does she.

But we both forget, because we see sometime pleasing to the eye, and we infer that it would feed our hungry souls, and that we would be wiser, more powerful, and happier, even if we have to deform and destroy ourselves and the people around us and betray the purest love to achieve it. Aided by the original tempter and other human beings, we convince ourselves that we will be like loveless gods, masters of good and evil.

And we are increasingly desperate to get it at any costs, whatever may happen. I don’t think the scene in which Rachel eats the red apple is unintentional.

Of course, this is only one form of temptation. After the Fall, we can ignore the fact that there are some things that are worse than pain, and even than death, and corrupt ourselves hoping to avoid something that we feel would destroy us. Rachel won’t face the terrible creature Bam, guided as he is by love, goes against. She lets Hoh’s life be destroyed. Sin destroys our own courage, our ability to be signs of God for one another, as we were created for. And the salary of sin is pain, confusion and death. And scandal, the strike against love and hope in the hearts of those around us, that may tempt them to sin, too.

Scandal is a sin Our Lord condemns in the strongest terms. “But he that shall scandalize one of these little ones that believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone should be hanged about his neck, and that he should be drowned in the depth of the sea.” Because, as we see with Bam and Rachel, what is done to the scandalized is just like that. To believe in true love, in God, in life, after such a betrayal is very difficult.

A scarred, somber, changed Bam emerges from the abyss, pursuing Rachel. This time, he wants an explanation. In future seasons, I think, we will see the extent of the wound she has inflicted him, and to what extent his innocent heart that inspired so many of the other characters and gave them a path has been hardened, and inclined to lovelessness and sin.

What will Bam do? I don’t know. What I know is what the One who has his place in my equation did, again and again. Which was, and is, starting again and again the path into the loveless and dangerous world of fallen Humanity to reach me again, and bring me such a love that I can be moved, and cry, and change.

Jacob worked for seven more years. Betrayed by a Leah, the Lord will still fight so that her inner Rachel arises, and ultimately triumphs, whatever it takes. So that the Tower is broken, and the bridge is built, one in which we can follow Christ in His Cross, in His Ascension, to the loving embrace of a Father who awaits every day His prodigal son, His prodigal daughter, to celebrate their rescue and restore their happiness. So that the present promise doesn’t become a lie, but a hopeful, humble truth so that we are able to bring hope, and not despair, to each other, On the only condition that we acknowledge our sins and confess them, putting them in His hands, Christ will return them to us as something that He willingly suffered for us, for love.

Our evil, Rachel’s evil, will be countered by a powerful, rich, sacrificial love which will become our own, for a beating heart of flesh, that of a hero, that of a heroine. One that is able to reach the true light our hearts thirst for, and display the true power and potential of the human heart and the human will, when they accept God, as shining vitrals, each with their own colors. If we cling to His hand and walk this path to the end, we will be saved.

What do you desire the most? Are you sure? Perhaps there is something even greater. A love that burns endlessly without consuming the loved one. A light brighter than the stars.

God’s way is not the way of Babel, the way of the world. He gradually purifies our wishes, enlarges our hearts, and shows us the true nature of those signs as signs of hope that bring us true joy when we are loyal to their true meaning, even when that entails going beyond them or rejecting them here and now.

When I thought Rachel may have had a good reason to left Bam behind, it was because these reasons exist in the path of true love. God pointed the stars to Abraham the nomad, old and sterile, promising to grant him the wish of his heart, to be the father of a great family, a great people. But when the time came, he had to renounce to everything, even to the son God had granted him, and hope against all hope, believing that God could even raise the dead. God gave Abraham what He had promised, and more that he could have ever hoped for, because that’s God’s own way of doing things, and that’s how He overcomes evil.

While they may not be not as corrupted as her, the characters of Kami no Tou generally reason like Rachel, not Bam. It was Hoh who was tempted and destroyed, but it could have been anyone. But sacrificial, generous, life-affirming, pure love like that of Bam, even if it entails suffering, has a great power of attraction, and its strength makes those who embrace it truly powerful. It creates communion. Its logic trumps the logic of this world, the logic of Babel, which rises against it, which tries to hurt it by temptation and scandal.

I hope Kami no Tou continues being the kind of show which illustrates this beautiful paradox. How those who cling to their own lives are lost, and see increasing despair, despite their efforts, but those who lose them for the sake of Christ, of the purer love there is, achieve true happiness. As Chesterton puts it in his Ballad of the White Horse:

“Our monks go robed in rain and snow, But the heart of flame therein, But you go clothed in feasts and flames, When all is ice within;

“Nor shall all iron dooms make dumb Men wondering ceaselessly, If it be not better to fast for joy Than feast for misery“.

Let’s fight, not the fight of Babel, chasing after idols and illusions, but the good fight against evil and sin. And may Leah/Rachel, full of light and hope, come to cry and find salvation, and receive as a gift the shine of the stars, with a heart that can accept it, and a thousand other stars in her firmament.

=====

Tower of God can be streamed at Crunchyroll.

#Anime #Christianity #Tower of God #Kami no Tou #Sin ui Tap #Rachel #Sin #Articles #Author: Gaheret

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kaen-ace-of-diamonds · 2 years

Text

The Angel of Death with the Proud King and the Devout Man

Word Count: 2700+ (oneshot)

[AO3]

Genre: Family/Angst

Characters: Arba, Ithnan, Falan, Arba’s daughter (OC), Ren Gyokuen

Summary: Learning to forge a great sword takes a lifetime. A swordsmith must be patient and diligent, going through many flawed blades until finally bringing the perfect weapon to life.

Or, it took Arba generations to master the raising of her children into vessels. Her true firstborn had a chance to escape and free her descendants from centuries of loss and pain, but their fates have always been in their mother's hands.

Written for @magizine. Warning for child abuse.

~0~

“We begin in the dark

And birth is the death of us.”

- Antigone, Antigonick

~0~

Ithnan did not like this world one bit. Painfully empty and barren, with a sky too pale blue and a climate too hot and dry. Alma Torran had been a lost cause, but that did not mean its replacement appealed.

Arba had ordered them to stay put until she returned, and then ventured into the desert. Time was of no importance to them; these doll-bodies felt no exhaustion, hunger, or thirst, but if he was being honest, he suspected many of their number were still in shock from the end of their home world. There was only one of them he really worried about.

“Feel like getting up now?”

Falan slowly turned her dead-eyed stare up to him, not moving from where she lay in the sand. In the heat of battle, Wahid’s sacrifice hadn’t sunken in, but now, in this empty, silent place, the loss of her whole family hit her like a thunderbolt.

“Even if I could, Ithnan, what would I do? Where do we even go from here? This world was never for us, after all.”

He nodded in understanding; in a world so tainted by Solomon’s will, every breath of air felt poisonous. “It will all be gone eventually. I trust Arba to see to that.”

Falan snorted. “Oh? And where is she? What could she be doing that’s so important?”

Ithnan opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the soft rush of air above him made him look up instead.

They had had flying carpets back in Alma Torran, and he hadn’t been surprised to find them here as well. He was even less surprised to see Arba sitting leisurely atop it, looking no worse for wear.

What did surprise him, though, was the blanket-wrapped bundle she carried in her arms.

“Arba, where did you get that?” he asked by way of greeting, as she lighted on the sand and stepped down.

Arba gave him her usual self-satisfied smile. “I told you I was doing some experimenting. These bodies aren’t capable of channeling our full magical potential the way a natural body could. It appears, though, that they can produce natural bodies just as well.”

“And you brought the result back with you...why?”

But Arba wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. She turned to Falan, who was sitting bolt upright and staring at her. Far from her eyes being dull and lifeless, Ithnan thought that they were now too bright.

“Arba...you...?”

“She’s a couple weeks old.” If Ithnan hadn’t known her, he would have believed that the warmth in Arba’s eyes and smile were genuine. “Her name is Yaiba. Would you like to hold her?”

Falan scrambled up from the sand and reached out. As Arba passed the infant into her arms, Ithnan caught a glimpse of dark eyes and downy black hair standing out against the white blanket.

“Arba, where have you been?” he insisted, while Falan murmured, mostly to herself, about how beautiful their leader’s new daughter was. “Did you leave us here just to play around?”

The way Arba laughed in response made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “We’ll be moving out tonight. I have found the perfect country for us to put down roots in. It will serve our purposes quite nicely.”

“A good place to raise a child, then?”

Arba smirked, caressing the hilt of the sword at her hip. “Well...not exactly.”

~0~

Arba never questioned her own existence. Though she had been built by magic and Solomon born, they were both creations of David. At least in the beginning, there was no difference between them.

This girl was her own creation. And for a first attempt, Arba was inclined to consider her a complete success.

She hadn’t thought much of Yaiba, at first. Falan was perfectly happy handling her through her infancy and toddlerhood, when Arba had no use for her yet. Though she did feel an indulgent glimmer of pleasure every time she saw the little girl clumsily trying to chase at her heels, wanting to close the distance between herself and her true mother, Arba had more important things to attend to. Kou was a small country, but a hot-blooded and vicious one, constantly and bloodily clashing with its siblings Gou and Gai. If there was a better base of operations for al-Thamen, any better place to start sowing chaos across this world, it simply didn’t exist yet.

As the girl grew older, it was a different story. It had been a greater shock than she had had in centuries, the first time she turned to look at Yaiba’s face and realized it was like looking in a mirror. She’d lived for centuries and it was perhaps the strangest thing she had experienced yet.

“Mama? May I hold your sword?”

Arba was certain that this must be what a blacksmith felt, crafting the perfect blade. From the first moment she guided her daughter’s small hesitant hands over the hilt and the flat of her sword, to the hours she spent standing, arms crossed and eyes sharp, at the side of the courtyard as the growing girl went through forms on her own, the sight of her never failed to make the hair on the back of her neck rise in anticipation.

Yaiba was not a perfect reflection of her mother. Her midnight hair and her dusky blue-black eyes set her apart, marking her as Kou’s child as much as Arba’s own. But even more than that, the light in those eyes and the sweetness of her smile were qualities alien to Arba.

Often, though, those were the aspects of her that drew Arba’s eye the most. She would catch herself trying to commit them to memory: they were the ones that would be erased someday, after all.

“Lie still, darling...”

Falan had lost interest in coddling her past the age of four. The other members of al-Thamen treated her with politeness due their leader’s only child, but kept her at arm’s length. She knew of other children, but had never so much as spoken to any of them. So Yaiba craved the touch of her untouchable mother, even when it brought her pain instead of comfort. Perhaps especially then.

“Agh...M-Mother...!”

The girl knew how to endure. On top of relentlessly training her body, she had spent her life regularly sitting for lectures about where her family came from, what they were planning to do, everything that she herself was being trained for.

(Well...almost everything. Though none of them were technically lying when they told Yaiba she was supposed to become strong for her mother, she was sure the girl couldn’t anticipate how literally they meant it.)

Her eyes were always bright and attentive, and she dutifully stored away the information, lived by it without hesitation. Arba knew that she would take her beliefs and hold no true passion for them, but that was all right, so long as she obeyed. And she did, so very well.

“A little more, my girl. Just a little more.”

It was a sight she now treasured: Yaiba in the center of the circle of all al-Thamen, sprawled on her back on the floor, a tight, frightened smile straining her ashen face. Her mother told her that the white rukh she had been born with were poison to her, that she needed to be purified, so she willingly laid down and allowed them to darken it.

Arba straddled her, palms pressed to the girl’s temples, fingers in her sweat-soaked hair. Their magic was powerful, coursing through her veins with a force that would mangle most humans, but this body she had groomed for thirteen years could hang on through its assault on her rukh.

Yaiba’s smile stretched like cracking glass, and she struggled to speak instead of moan.

“It’s...I’m...g-good?”

“Yes, you’re doing beautifully. Once more, now...”

Again magic roiled and shivered through their ranks before being channeled into their center, surging into Yaiba’s body like a tidal wave crashing onto the shore. The girl choked on a scream, eyes rolling back in her head as she jerked and thrashed under her mother’s hands.

The rukh shrieked freely, buzzing and darting all around Yaiba’s body, before finally succumbing. As if with the wave of a paintbrush, they turned a rich, beautiful black. They would revert back soon enough — Arba was still working out how to make the change permanent — but for now it was an encouraging sight.

Yaiba’s face paled as if a bone had broken. Her back arched sharply off the ground, and with one final gasp she collapsed to the floor, unconscious. She lay alarmingly still there, with her limbs at strange angles. Like a puppet with its strings cut, if she permitted herself such an on-the-nose comparison.

Arba stroked her cheek lightly with the backs of her fingers, the sweet smile she’d put on still lingering on her face. She never loved Yaiba more than she did in these moments, when the girl had given up everything in her to her mother. She suspected that Yaiba knew that.

Soon, she would scoop her daughter up, carry her from the room, and tuck her into bed. Maybe she’d even stay there for a while, before leaving to let her sleep as long as her body needed. But for now, she would savor the moment just a little longer.

~0~

There was no sound she loved more than her sword whistling through the air.

Yaiba remembered when she had first been allowed to handle her mother’s sword, how intimidatingly heavy it felt in her hands. Now that she had her own weapon — identical, yes, but her own — she swung it as freely and easily as her own arm.

“You’ve gotten stronger,” her mother said, casually as if over a meal, as she parried every ferocious strike Yaiba threw at her. “If I were anyone else, they would be dead now.”

Yaiba had never killed anyone, though she knew her family had. She always wondered why Mother didn’t order her to, if death and chaos were what this world deserved. But Mother kept her home, just endlessly training her.

It was only a week ago that Yaiba had finally been told why.

Mother’s smile was fond, as always. But now the glint in her eyes as they sparred felt less proud and more smug. Yaiba saw that scarlet glow in her dreams now.

She slashed at her mother’s throat with all her strength, knowing full well that it wouldn’t touch her skin. With one vicious swing and a sharp clang of steel on steel, Mother knocked her sword from her hands, and lunged for her. Yaiba wasn’t afraid: she knew what she was meant to do next.

Just as Mother’s sword was about to split her skull, she let the magic in her body swell outward, and her world took on the swimming golden tint of a borg. No sooner had the blade made contact with it than its energy crackled sharply through the air, and her mother was blasted across the courtyard. Her own magic caught her just before she slammed into a wall, letting her smile down at Yaiba from midair.

“Good girl. Aren’t you strong?”

“Yes, Mother,” Yaiba said, lowering the borg, letting her mother come back down to her and take her face in her hands.

“You know how proud I am of you, right?”

Of what you’ve made of me.

“Yes, Mother. I’ll be glad to give you all my strength.”

“Good girl. Take the rest of the day to yourself. Do anything you like. And we will all be honored to see you tonight.”

Yaiba could only force a smile until Mother’s back was turned, when her eyes narrowed and her lip curled in disgust.

Sixteen years of life, and every single day of it given to her mother. She had done everything right: staying sequestered in her family’s compound like a dog in its kennel, training until she bled with magic and sword alike, even lying down pliantly on the basement floor in the circle of her family, letting her mother pin her down as the onslaught of magic tore through her body.

She had thought it would be over, once her rukh was purified for good. She thought her mother would finally be satisfied. What more could she possibly have left to give?

Her body. Her life.

Too much.

Tonight, Yaiba was expected to go down to that basement one last time, let them all put their hands on her, and open herself up to her mother’s soul. Either she would die outright, or be trapped forever as a prisoner in her own body. She didn’t know which would be worse.

She supposed she wasn’t as well-trained as Mother believed, she thought spitefully. Though the idea of running from it almost scared her more, she just couldn’t accept it.

Maybe the world really was as horrible as her family always said. But she would take her chances. She had been raised to be strong, after all.

~0~

Arba almost had to laugh. Her girl was clever...but naïve.

She watched from the rooftop at the little shadow in the night, slipping across the grounds and starting to scale the high outer wall. Did she really think her mother wouldn’t catch on to her true feelings? Or that that black cloak would hide her identity? Oh, the darling thing.

She waited until Yaiba was successfully over the wall before making her move. Her magic might be fettered by this doll-body, but she could still leap and float soundlessly after her quarry. Lighting atop the wall, she smirked at the way Yaiba was taking her hood down to get a better view of the mountain forest she was venturing into, mouth hanging open and dark eyes huge, the same way she used to look up at her mother as a little girl.

It was as good a final sight as any. Arba pounced from the wall, slamming Yaiba to the ground from behind, and actually laughing when she screamed at the top of her lungs.

“You should have known there was no escape, darling. Now, hold still, and hopefully it won’t hurt.”

Yaiba’s face went bone white, and she thrashed and bucked beneath her, pushing at her arms.

“No! Mother, please, don’t! I want to live, please, just let me go, for a little while more—”

“And then you’ll come back to me on your own time?” Arba chuckled fondly, careless of Yaiba’s nails clawing at her arms. “Oh, no, my precious child. This is what you were born for. Farewell, Yaiba.”

She leaned down to kiss her daughter’s forehead one last time, and then began. It was easy to enter her: there wasn’t much difference between her magic and her soul.

“Please! Mother, don’t, no — oh —!”

Yaiba choked and seized, trying to resist her. But before long her eyes rolled back in her head, her limbs went rigid—

And Arba batted the empty doll off her chest, stretching her gangly new limbs as she stood up. She had never felt young before, and so did not recognize the sensation. But power, satisfaction, triumph...oh, yes, she was as intimately familiar with them as she would become with her own body.

~0~

Yaiba’s thousand years of descendants tended to run together in Arba’s memory. But could anyone blame her? So many faces, so many names, and so few of them truly important. She had never been as close with any of her myriad children as with her firstborn.

Until now, that was.

Shuuen, her current host, was one of the many. Gyokuen was one of a kind.

Her eldest daughter knelt on the floor of her bedroom, head bowed, absorbing what she had just been told. Arba ran her fingers soothingly through her loose hair.

“This is what you were always meant to do. Do you understand, darling?”

Gyokuen hummed thoughtfully, before lifting her head. Yaiba’s features survived in her, as they would in her children, but they held none of her ancestor’s fear. She was the picture of perfect calm, and while she had taught the girl well how to fake that, Arba could tell that it was genuine now.

“You’re going to let me become one with you. We’ll never be apart. There’s nothing I could possibly want more.”

Arba saw her own smile reflected in her daughter’s eyes, which shone with devotion. Or avarice. It was difficult to tell with this one.

“That’s my girl. We will bring this world to its end together.”

#magi #magi labyrinth of magic #magi arba #ren gyokuen #kaen's fics

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

Text

The Last Night Part XVIII

(A/N at the end)

Parts I-XVII:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

.XVIII.

“Oh for Raziel’s sake,” said Cordelia to James, both of them out of breath after escaping out of the Institute’s staff quarters to avoid a run in with any number of visitors coming and going out of the Institute. James led Cordelia into the back gardens; through the thick overgrown hedges to the back of the barn where the rumbling and sputtering of an automobile sat spilling out black smoke from a pipe behind one of the four wheels. Lucie stood with her fists planted on her hips while Matthew lay half inside of the exposed engine that reminded Cordelia of the inside of a clock with a number of gears and parts moving at once to give the machine life. Cordelia brushed some leaves from her hair and said, “He really does have an automobile.”

James grinned with a smudge of dirt across his cheek. “What did you expect?”

“In all honesty, I’m not sure what I expected,” said Cordelia, just as the car omitted another wheezing cough and cloud of black smoke. “Is it safe?”

“Most of the time.” James raised a dark eyebrow.

Cordelia was not reassured. “What does it run on?”

“Matthew’s sheer will and determination, apparently,” said James and started towards the car again. He looked behind them to be sure no one had seen or followed. The last thing Cordelia’s mother needed was to see her injured daughter climb into an unreliable, unbelievably loud automobile after being in a magically induced coma for the past week healing from demon poisoning— amongst other things she could not remember— with the man she’d ruined her reputation for. She recalled the hope in her mother’s eyes at seeing James and her standing together in the sitting room, even if Lucie and Matthew were not far away. And after seeing James’s wrists free of Grace’s bracelet, she couldn’t deny the small, however incessant, pang in her chest that admitted she might harbor some hope herself. He hadn’t made any admissions of his affections for her that lead beyond friendship and camaraderie, but unless she was terribly mistaken, there had been a look in his eyes when he walked into the Institute and found her standing there with Lucie that went beyond relief.

But she’d been so very wrong before. Perhaps Grace asked for the bracelet back again after the incident in her bedroom. It was entirely a possibility; one that made Cordelia burn red. If that was the case, she possessed half the mind to find Grace Blackthorn and hit her over the head with a flower vase for not seeing what stood in front of her, offering his love and devotion freely, while she toyed with his emotions like a petulant child unable to make a decision at an ice cream parlor.

She turned to James just as a lofty wind picked up and blew the thick tendrils of dark hair away from his face. She recalled what it felt like to run her fingers through his hair, the texture like fine silk and color deeper than onyx. The smell of sandalwood and fighting leather gripped her senses. How she ever thought leaving London would erase or ease her feelings for James Herondale, she wasn’t sure. It would take so much more than time and distance to eradicate him from her mind.

“Brave Cordelia,” teased James with a smirk. “Are you afraid of an automobile?”

“I was not aware I gave the impression of being afraid,” said Cordelia, adjusting her stance.

“You have a look.”

“A look?” She scoffed. “I’m a lady. We have a plethora of looks that could mean a number of things, all at once, and have nothing to do with what we appear to be looking at at the moment.”

James’s grin softened. “What are you thinking about then? If not the tragic death of four Shadowhunters that have met their end in a fiery accident. If it’s not too bold of me to ask.”

“It is,” said Cordelia, but smiled despite herself for James knew she didn’t concern herself with the proper and improper rules of society. Much to her mother’s chagrin, she’d always led herself with more sensibility than sense.

“You must forgive me then,” said James. “I will keep my assumptions of what a lady thinks to myself.”

“But you so often get it wrong!” laughed Cordelia. “However will you survive in society?”

“I have Matthew to guide me,” he said, just as Matthew released a string of profanity inside the engine of the car; several of which insulted the integrity of his mother. James grimaced. “That was incredibly poor timing.”

“Or was it perfect timing?” Cordelia nudged him with her shoulder. “It is a wonder you two have survived this long.”

She felt James look over at her, but kept her attention on Lucie as her friend climbed behind the wheel of the automobile and grumbled while following Matthew’s instructions on which pedal to press and release with her foot and how to move the long gear shift. She reminded Cordelia of one of the suffragettes that her mother both despised and admired on the covers of the mundane news articles. Women dressed in trousers riding around on bicycles and learning to drive automobiles.

“What of the children?” cried Sona as she threw the article in the trash.

Do they not have fathers? wondered Cordelia to herself, but did not dare upset her mother further or she’d risk having her entire day ruined with a lesson on proper, respectable women in society— even Shadowhunter society. One could come home covered head to toe in demon ichor, but to sit on a bicycle or drive an automobile was entirely out of the question.

“You’ll have to assist me then,” said James. “Lest my assumptions continue to be incorrect.”

“I have no doubts that they will,” said Cordelia just as the car lurched forward with Matthew still half inside. Lucie screamed, but managed to stop the car again, which sent Matthew’s dangling legs into the air.

“Are you trying to kill me?” He yelled as his pale head of hair emerged from the car’s engine.

“We’d better go,” said James.

Cordelia agreed. “It would appear so.”

“The beast moved, did it not,” said Lucie, her grip white around the steering wheel. “Was that not the objective?”

“Not while head first in the engine,” said Matthew as he combed sweat and hair away from his face and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. “Slide over before you damage him beyond repair.”

“Him?” said Cordelia as she and James approached the squabbling pair. “I know ships are usually given the pronoun she. Is this not a type of ship?”

“Cordelia meet Algernon,” said Matthew as he adjusted his driver’s gloves.

“Algernon,” said Cordelia and looked to James. “As in?”

“Do not get him started,” said James as he climbed onto the bench behind the driver’s side and made room for Cordelia beside him.

“Where to?” asked Lucie. “Do make it someplace sweet, Matthew, not the local pub.”

“I know a place,” said Matthew and cleaned a smudge off the glass shield in front of him with his elbow. “Everyone set? Cordelia, are you comfortable?”

While the plush leather seats were rather comfortable, she suspected that was not what he meant. “Let us finally settle the debate of which is the better form of travel.”

“Hold tight to your coronet’s, ladies,” said Matthew as he forced the stubborn gear shift down and pressed his foot to a pedal. The car lurched forward sending Cordelia gripping the front bench with her hand. James sequentially did the same when his hand covered the top of hers. He didn’t remove it right away, whether to give off the impression that he had done it on purpose or because he simply didn’t want to, Cordelia wasn’t sure, but she found herself glad for it.

Matthew drove them through the city until the buildings and cobblestone roads transformed into countryside with rolling green hills and tiny cottages with smoke drifting out of the chimneys and acres of sheep that would bleat and scatter whenever the car would cough. Cordelia watched out the window as the landscape changed again and she could see the faint blue line of the ocean in the distance.

“What do you think?” James leaned into her, his mouth brushed against the crown of her ear so that she could hear him over the sound of the engine and the wind. The small touch sent goose flesh across her shoulders down her arms.

“It’s really not so different from a carriage,” said Cordelia, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. “It does seem to be a bit of a faster form of travel and more efficient than readying horses and carriage.” They hit a bump in the rough dirt road that shot Cordelia into the air and back onto the bench nearly careening into James that had her clutching her still tender ribs.

James took notice of this and pulled himself forward from the bench in front of him to tell Matthew to slow down.

“Don’t worry yourself,” said Cordelia, still clutching her waist and bursting in a fit of laughter. “I’m fine. Honest.”

“Your brother will both have my head if I don’t return you in better form than when we left,” said James as the car shifted to a slower gear.

“Are you afraid of my brother?” laughed Cordelia. “He has a bad leg now, so I’m sure you can take him on. Besides, it’s my mother you should be worried about. I can manage Alastair, but my mother will have both of our heads if I return injured.”

“Your mother adores me,” said James, as he rested his arm on the back of the bench behind Cordelia and turned on his hip so he could face her.

“Quite confident of that, aren’t you?” said Cordelia, aware of each time the car jostled her shoulder into James’s chest. “Oh, but she wait until she learns the truth.”

Cordelia meant it to be teasing and hadn’t thought about the implications of her statement before she said it, but it didn’t take long after when James removed his arm from behind Cordelia and turned to face forward again. His expression turned solemn and thoughtful as he looked to the horizon where the sky and the sea split in two different shades of blue in a clean even brush stroke.

It took her a moment to realize what had caused him to withdraw and felt instantly dreadful. “James,” she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“It is still I who should be apologizing to you, Cordelia,” said James, and his eyes met hers with a sincerity that stole her breath and made her want to look away. “What I did— there is no excuse or explanation—“

“You needn’t say anything else,” said Cordelia, holding his gaze. “It is forgiven.”

Matthew parked the car on the side of the road as close to the shore as he could manage without getting the wheels stuck in the sand, but they still had quite a ways to walk to get to the water.

James offered Cordelia his hand as she exited the car and then his arm as they trudged up the sand dunes and through the thin bursts of green shrubs towards the sound of the waves breaking against the shore. Noisy seabirds squabbled on the breeze around them. Lucie and Matthew walked a ways ahead; a blue diamond shaped kite with a white ribbon tail flew over Lucie’s shoulder as she walked.

Cordelia held tight to James’s arm as she managed to uneven terrain in impractical shoes. She wished she had her training boots on rather than the laced boots her mother chose for her. His hand rested on his stomach, drawing her attention back to the vacancy of his wrist.

It seemed a personal thing to inquire, but she’d told him a bit of her truth in the weapon’s room, but he hadn’t had the chance to tell her his.

“It’s not my business to ask,” said Cordelia, gathering her courage. “But what happened between you and Grace? You’re no longer wearing her bracelet.”

James looked down at his bare wrist. “You noticed that, did you?”

She nodded. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I understand.”

“The water is just over this way,” yelled Lucie over her shoulder from the top of a sand dune. Pieces of her hair came loose and floated around her face in the breeze. “Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful, Cordelia. You’ll love it.”

James started up the hill, helping Cordelia along the way, except when both of their feet sunk into the sand. “It occurred to me that night, after you left, that I couldn’t wear the bracelet with the same intentions as I had done before.” He climbed up a few feet and turned around to offer Cordelia his hands. She took them and let him pull her up until she was beside him.

“When I left you were still madly in love with Grace Blackthorn,” said Cordelia, careful to watch her footing and not look at James.

“Possibly,” said James, “but she was not in love with me. I’m not even sure that she liked me to be honest.”

“Impossible,” said Cordelia, helping James this time as they both approached the top of the dune. “You’re very likable.”

James grinned. “I’m pleased you think so.”

They reached the top of the dune. Cordelia looked out at the endless miles of water and Lucie ran down the beach with the kite behind her while Matthew held the line; their shoes abandoned on the dry sand. Cordelia took a deep breath of the salted air.

The last time she’d seen the ocean she was just a young girl on one of their family trips to London. Her mother never did care for the sand everywhere and the wind, but her father loved the ocean. He loved it so much in fact that whenever they had the chance to go, he’d bring along a bijou glass vial and fill it to the cork stopper with sand and water to take back with them as a souvenir. He had all kinds of souvenirs like those glass vials in his office at their home and a story for each one. She never understood why until now. Some moments needed more than just a memory to remember them by. Some moments needed a tangible thing so that one can look at it and be instantly teleported back.

“So you removed the bracelet? Why?” Cordelia asked, her eyes locked on the kite that Lucie managed to finally get airborne. She felt James’s gaze on her, but willed herself to not return the look in fear that it would reveal something of herself that she was not yet ready or willing to reveal to James— not until she knew more.

How she wished she could reach into his mind, to know his innermost thoughts. It seemed an awfully violation of one’s privacy that she wouldn’t want to inflict upon anyone, but even now James kept the truth tucked away.

Before James could answer, Matthew appeared beside them. His mane of wild golden hair, usually perfectly coiffed was now wind thrown away from his face. His cheeks were bright pink with the crisp wind and bits of sand stuck to his skin like freckles.

“You should come fly the kite with us” said Matthew. “The water is bloody freezing, but you grow accustomed to it after a few minutes. Lucie is trying to manipulate me into looking for seashells.”

“James was just telling me about the bracelet,” said Cordelia.

“Oh that wretched cursed thing,” said Matthew. “Can you believe it, Cordelia? The entire time it was the bracelet forcing James to be in love with Grace through some kind of spell. Bloody brilliant that you’re finally rid of it.”

James grimaced as Cordelia gasped. “I hadn’t gotten to that part yet.”

Matthew looked between the two of them, and promptly turned forward again, dusted the sand from his trousers and pointed at Lucie. “I’m just going to see if Lucie needs help with the kite. It can be quite temperamental, and she has such delicate hands.”

James began to explain, but Cordelia already started down the side of the dune towards the beach. Careful not to jostle her tender ribs too much as she slid down the loose sand. James said her name, but she was too angry to stop and listen. And how was she to know if he were telling her the truth anyway or just some version of it that he manipulated to be suitable. And why, after everything Grace had done would he still be lying to protect her?

She resisted the urge to pick up a handful of sand and throw it at him.

On the beach, his hand encased her arm, slowing her enough that he could get in front of her. “Please, let me explain.”

Cordelia crossed her arms across her chest. “How will I know you’re telling me the truth or just some lie you’ve conjured to protect her?”

“I wasn’t trying to protect her,” said James with a desperation unlike himself.

Cordelia scoffed and made a feeble attempt to move around him. But James was too fast. He side stepped back into her path and moved a step closer. “I was protecting myself. When you left that night, I wanted to rip that bracelet off of my wrist and throw it into the fire. I wanted to run after you and beg you to stay. But I was still blindly in love with Grace and I didn’t want to hurt you anymore than I already had. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be in love with two people. I still don’t. And I thought I was being selfish asking you to stay, but I think internally my head and my heart were battling Grace’s spell. Fighting to reveal the truth to me, but I wasn’t strong enough to take it off myself. I wasn’t strong enough to go after you. And I will forever be ashamed of that, Cordelia, I will never forgive myself for the pain I caused you. I didn’t want the bracelet to be just an excuse for what I’d done. I wanted to earn your forgiveness myself. Instead, I just seem to keep making a mess of things.”

The shadow of a smile lifted Cordelia’s mouth. “It truly is a wonder that you have survived this long.”

James took a step closer. “I meant what I said that night you left… I don’t want to lose you. Now that I have you back, I am trying to do everything I can to convince you to stay.”

The wind had moved the clouds back in, blocking the warmth of the sun, and the first drops of rain fell around and on them. Yet a warmth filled Cordelia as his words registered in her mind. He wanted her to stay. He was no longer tied to Grace Blackthorn and he wanted her to stay.

“Cordelia! James!” Lucie cried from up the beach. “Come on! Mathew won’t let us get into his car wet!”

Cordelia looked from Lucie back to James. She closed the space between them, her hands braced against his chest as she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm against her lips and she felt him stiffen and shutter underneath her palms. The rain on his skin brought out the scent of sandalwood and his fighting leathers.

His hands held her waist.

“Thank you,” she said. James’s cheeks had colored. “For being honest with me about everything. I would very much like to stay and help defeat Belial in whatever way that I can.”

“And after?”

“In the event that we survive and he does not successfully possess… anyone,” Cordelia shrugged. “Well, we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

The sky seemed to open up around them, pouring down rain and shaking the ground with a distant thunder.

James opened his jacket with the audible snap of buckles. He swung it over his head and moved to invite Cordelia underneath with him as they ran back to the car where Matthew and Lucie were waiting with the cloth hood pulled up.

The rain followed them back into London. The inside of the car filled with laughter and conversation and song from Matthew who seemed to only remember a fraction of the lyrics in which James would help guide him back onto the right track. Cordelia’s cheeks and ribs hurt from the incessant laughter as the automobile wheezed and coughed into the back of the Institute.

Lucie ran in first, her boots splashing through the mud and puddles before she disappeared through the staff entrance door.

James exited the vehicle before Cordelia and held his jacket over her head. They both said their goodbyes to Matthew and ran through the downpour towards the house, James’s jacket doing little to stop them both from being drenched.

Once safely out of the way of the automobile, Matthew drove away into the night. They reached the small porch outside the entrance door but before they went inside Cordelia asked the question that had been bothering her since his confession on the beach.

“Why?” She asked, even though she’d thoroughly convinced herself of the answer, she wanted to hear it from him.

Rain drops slid down his face and coated his thick, dark eyelashes together. His eyes narrowed at her sudden outburst. “Why what?”

“Why do you want me to stay?” Her breath swirled around them in the cold, London night. She began to shake from the cold. “And if you tell me it’s because you feel guilty and have this great need to repay some favor to my family, I—”

James closed the diminutive space between them.

His mouth touched hers. A small tender kiss to start. Then another kiss, a little higher up. She stilled from her shaking. He pressed another kiss near her jaw while her fingers slid down to his chest to feel his heart pounding against his leathers.

She scooted closer to him until they were pressed against each other as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue between her lips and twining it with hers. The taste of him... she moaned. In response to her, he immediately wrapped his arms around her, pressing her fully against him.

Cordelia slid her hands over his shoulders and up into his hair and tugged on it. He gave a low groan of approval and his tongue pushed back, pressing into her mouth and plundering it. His hands began to slide over her curves, caressing them possessively.

Cordelia could feel her heart begin pounding and gasped against his mouth as he continued to kiss her. He nipped at her lips. She felt...golden. She’d been longing for him for so many months. Dreaming of kissing him again. She never let herself believe that it could actually be real.

A flood of light covered them both as the door was wretched open.

Cordelia, still enveloped in James’s arms, turned and blinked in confusion at the silhouette standing in the doorway.

“I’ll kindly advise you to step away from my sister,” said Alastair with disdain and reached out to pull Cordelia inside.

(A/N: Good evening! It is 11:30pm, so as long as I post in the next half hour, I will have met my deadline. I am sorry for the wait, but I hope it was worth it. I had a ton of fun on this chapter. Especially the second half when things get a little bit spicy. I hope you guys enjoy reading it. As always please give it some love, reblog for others to read, and comments are always read and appreciated. Please be safe out there, stay healthy, and I’ll see you all 10/18 for the next update. It’s 11:45, I made it!)

#the shadowhunter chronicles #james x cordelia #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #jordelia fanfiction #the last night fanfiction #cassandra clare #chain of gold #the last hours #Matthew Fairchild #lucie herondale #james and cordelia

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everyonewasabird · 3 years

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Brickclub 1.2.12 ‘The bishop at work’

I don’t think I’ve ever seen an adaptation capture the fact that Myriel’s core personality is “trickster.”

And that’s never truer than here.

We start, because of course we do, with a perfect setup for Myriel’s witticisms. To abridge slightly:

“Does your greatness know where the silver basket is?”

“Yes.”

“God be praised! I did not know what had become of it.”

“There it is.”

“Yes, but there is nothing in it. The silver?”

“Ah, it is the silver then that troubles you. I do not know where that is.”

This is a comedy skit of an old kind, still familiar. It’s also recognizable as Myriel’s signature gentle wit. It’s among the best of his jokes, and it feels familiar and reassuring by now. From the desperation of the previous chapters, we’ve crossed back into Myriel’s softer world. Jean Valjean’s betrayal hasn’t destroyed his equilibrium--far from it--though we do see him “sad” as he examines the broken flowers.

I suspect he’s not only sad about the flowers.

Jean Valjean is dragged back, he’s shocked to learn Myriel is a bishop, and Myriel preempts everybody else’s narratives by asking why Valjean didn’t take the candlesticks too.

He also tells Valjean to come by the gate next time instead of over the wall, and he says it in front of the gendarmes--odd, because it undercuts his story that nothing criminal happened. My best guess is that this is to defang the evidence: If the gendarmes ask around for witnesses who saw a man fleeing, or if they look at the broken wall, they could bring those facts back to Myriel or track down Valjean for further questioning. But if Myriel acknowledges it now, there’s nothing for them to find.

And then he buys Jean Valjean’s soul.

It’s kind--incredibly kind--but I can’t help being struck by the brutality of it. He doesn’t offer Valjean agency. He says, “Remember, you have already promised.” Valjean is too baffled to argue, and so the deal is done.

There’s a retribution in this moment that didn’t have to be there. There was a gentle version of this story: if Valjean hadn’t stolen the silver, he could have entered a good life of his own free will. Valjean stole, though, so now they’re doing it the hard way. There is no signing over his soul on the dotted line, because he already forfeited it in the theft.

Myriel reminds me of some kind of fairy or minor local god in the powers he takes on here. Betrayal itself gives him power over the one who crossed him. There is Deep Magic going on.

In The Discovery of France, Graham Robb talks about how the religion of rural France was heavily tied up in shrines and offerings to statues of saints and local sites of holy apparitions and tangible miracles. It considered itself Christian, but it wasn’t what educated urban Christians thought of as Christianity. Myriel feels far more of that world than he does of the Catholicism handed down from Rome.

There was a fully dark path for Valjean, and we saw it last chapter with the miner’s drill upraised over the sleeping bishop. There was a fully light path, where he didn’t betray Myriel at all, and who knows what would have happened then. But instead, he took a middle road: no violence, but a theft.

Valjean won’t stay in something that feels like the “middle.” He’ll become something like a saint, something like Myriel himself.

But the fact that Myriel took his soul because it was already forfeit, that Valjean never signed it over of his own free will--or kept it himself, for that matter--is going to darken his path for the rest of his life.

There’s a doubt that stays with him, about whether he is worthy, about never being good enough. I think the seed of that poison is here, in the choice he knows he couldn’t have made on his own.

#brickclub #lm 1.2.12 #hugolian magic system

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kelyon · 3 years

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Golden Rings 16: A Confession

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

In which Rumple leaves the jail, but is not free

Read on AO3

He waits in the darkness. In this prison, his magic is useless and there is nothing to do but wait. Has he been here for weeks or for months? When his wife fretted over his future, did she worry about him being so bored?

His cell is at the end of a long tunnel. The only torches are at the mouth of the corridor, where the guards are stationed. His captors are quiet tonight, but sometimes he hears them talking to each other. They tell tales of him, warning each other against his power, his evil, his devious tricks. They speak as though they are in danger just by being in his presence.

They are not wrong.

If he wanted to, he could kill them with his bare hands. He wouldn’t need magic or a weapon. His own strength and viciousness would be enough to rip through their armor and tear out their throats with his teeth.

It is fortunate for the guards that he has no intention of harming them, or of escaping. He is exactly where he wants to be. This cell is insulated from magic, it is both a prison and a fortress. If there is any place in this world where the effects of the Queen’s curse might be mitigated, even a little, it is here. In this black hell, that faint spark of hope shines like the sun.

Movement.

At the end of the tunnel, lights grow brighter. Another torch has been added to their number. Footsteps echo in the stone cave. Alerted, he sits up. He pounces away from the wall. He crouches on the dank ground like an animal, claws raised, teeth bared.

“Come closer, dearie.” His words are sweet as treacle, but he laces them with poison. “How kind of you to visit me in my loneliness!”

There is a gasp at the end of the hallway, half-stifled. The visitor is afraid, but is trying not to show it. The footsteps hurry forward, soft and quick. The torchlight grows brighter as it comes closer.

It is a hooded figure, he cannot see its face. The body is small, and the cloak is patterned with green and yellow leaves.

He knows that cloak. He made it himself.

He cannot get his hopes up. He is imprisoned in the stronghold of his enemies. No illusion is beyond the grasp of the Evil Queen or the Blue Fairy. Either one of them could be trying to deceive him. Trying to exploit his weakness for their own gain.

Or madness could be taking over his mind. His own hope could be twisting around on itself, creating a vision of what he wants. The one thing he wants to see more than anything else in the world.

“Come closer, I said!” His voice is rough with disuse, with emotion. In this pit of despair, he does not dare hope. He doesn’t want to believe that it could be…

“You cannot order me about, Rumpelstiltskin. Not anymore.” The voice is clear and beautiful, like clean water in the middle of a drought. The light stops moving when it fills his vision. The figure sets a torch in a sconce. Finally, he can see her. Her face. Her furrowed brow, her shaky smile. “You must at least say please.”

“Please,” he breathes.

It is a short fall, to go from crouching to kneeling, but being near Belle again requires nothing less. He must get on his knees to her--his wife, his love, his dearest wish.

Trembling, he reaches through the pointed bars of his cell. Without hesitation, her hand clutches around his. She is on her knees as well. Her flesh is warm and soft.

“You’re real.” This is no trick. He knows it as surely as he knows anything. “You’re alive.”

She bites her lip as she looks at him. He must be filthy, haggard, even more hideous than usual. But she is not repulsed. Only full of pity.

“What have they done to you?” she whispers.

“Nothing I didn’t deserve.” He cannot think of his own troubles, not while she is in front of him. “How did you come to be here, my darling?”

“The guard tonight is a dwarf called Sleepy.” She puts on a brave face, tries to make a joke. “He lives up to his name.”

He cannot tear his eyes from her. “And you have made yourself at home in this castle?”

She nods. “Our plan worked. The Prince ‘rescued’ me. And the side of goodness proclaimed me as one of their own.”

“You are,” he sighs. He has never seen a sight more beautiful than the woman who loves him. “You are goodness, my love. The royals should count themselves lucky that they get to be on your side, let alone that you want to be on theirs.”

Her hand clenches around his. “I’m on your side,” she promises. “We are working together, even when we are apart.”

“Yes.” He holds her hand in both of his and brings it to his lips. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“And I miss you.”

She reaches into his cage. She grasps at his clothes, pulling him closer. Their mouths meet between the iron bars. Her kiss is honey and sunshine and the breath of life. It is meat and blood and peace. He cannot get enough of her. He will never have enough of her. Not until they are truly together, when all the curses are broken and they can live the rest of their lives without fear.

They break apart at the same time, both of them gasping for breath.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers. “If they find you with me, they will lock you up as well. They will think you are evil. They will try to purify you with scourges and flaying.”

“I know,” she agrees. “But I couldn’t stay away. If only I could be with you always. I would stay with you, even in this terrible place.”

“I know.” He rests his forehead against hers. They breathe together, an act of unity just as important as a kiss.

After a moment, he steps back. There is space between their bodies now, though their hands still touch against the bars. He rubs his thumb over the smooth gold of her wedding ring.

“How are they, up in the outside world?”

“Everyone is panicking over Regina’s curse. They’re trying to stop it, but they don’t know how.”

“If only they had the most powerful user of dark magic in the world trapped somewhere nearby with nothing to do but offer advice to anyone who asks.”

Belle’s pink lips quirk into a half-grin. “Perhaps they need a reminder of that fact.”

“And how is Snow White bearing her firstborn?”

“I haven’t spoken to her much. But I’ve heard that she is often brought low with melancholy. The Prince insists that there is a way to fight the curse, but she is losing hope.”

“Is she desperate?”

“She will be.”

“Good.”

The Dark One trades in desperation. Much of his power comes from fear--not only the fear that people have of him, but of the things they fear so much that they are willing to pay him whatever he asks for.

“The child,” he whispers. “Have they given it a name yet?”

Belle shakes her head. “In this land a prince or princess is not named until after it is born. There is a grand ceremony when the name is spoken for the first time and proclaimed to the whole kingdom.”

“We won’t have time for that,” he snarls. “The curse is coming! The name of the Savior has power. I must know what it is!”

“You will.” She soothes him. She presses her palm against his own. Their scars match up, at the place where they mingled their blood on their wedding day. “I believe in you. We will find a way.”

His breathing slows as her nearness cools his rage. “Together,” he agrees.

His wife looks over her shoulder. “They will change the guard soon.” She bites her lip. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back.”

“You shouldn’t come back.” He forces the words out. “You shouldn’t be here now.”

“Well you can take me over your knee when we see each other again.”

He snorts his surprise and amusement. She is too good, too perfect.

She looks over her shoulder again. “Before I go,” she says, “I have something to ask of you.”

“Anything, my love. Though I have little to give as I am now.”

“It is something from your mind. Something to occupy your thoughts until we meet again.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to think of a name for our baby.”

His eyes widen. He blinks, several times.

“Something you want to tell me, sweetheart?”

She smiles. “No, my love. Only that there is a future for us. Snow White is not the only person who can have an important child. We will be together again. And when we are, we will be a family. All of us.”

He nods. Already his mind is racing with every name he can think of. Names have power. The name of Belle’s child must be perfect. Meaningful. The enormity of the task is enough to fell him. What a brilliant woman his wife is! What a wonderful gift she has given him!

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you for reminding me that all of this is temporary.”

Her face breaks, but she keeps herself from weeping. “I love you so much, Rumple.”

She presses in to kiss him again. It lasts for an eternity. It is over too soon.

Before she leaves, she offers him one last assurance: “I will see you again.”

****

Rumpelstiltskin spent the better part of a day in the jail cell of the Storybrooke sheriff station. Apparently Sheriff Swan was the only officer with the authority to release detainees, and her presence was required outside the station until later in the afternoon.

She sent her heartfelt regrets.

He didn’t mind much. The Dark One had learned long ago that there was power in appearing to be at the mercy of his enemies. Captivity in particular had its advantages. No distractions, for one thing. There was nothing he could do now except think, and plan.

Another advantage was that people would have to come to him. Someone had taken the cup that had belonged to Belle. Someone knew what that cup was, and what it meant to him. Someone had tried to draw him out. And someone would be thinking that their scheme had worked.

So someone would be stopping by to gloat.

There was no doubt that the culprit knew what had happened by now. Even if Mrs. Gold’s drunken outburst hadn’t drawn a crowd, news spread fast in a small town. Enough people had heard her shout at him in Granny’s. And enough people had seen Emma helping Mrs. Gold walk to the station. And by mid-morning enough people had noticed him in the holding cell.

For a few hours, Rumpelstiltskin entertained himself by imagining how wild and salacious the rumors could get. Any fool would know that Gold and his wife had participated in a public shouting match, but what else could they think of? That he had used violence? That Mrs. Gold had fought back using her high heeled shoes as a weapon? That her father had rushed in to defend her and Gold had beaten him bloody with his cane? Gold’s reputation was as the most feared man in Storybrooke. Nothing was too outrageous to believe.

That reputation had saved Rumpelstiltskin a lot of trouble in his dealings with the people of Storybrooke. Even now, at the piddling mercy of uniformed police officers, a glare and a sneer were enough to keep them away from him. Every one of them paid rent to him, or owed him something, and they were all keenly aware of it. He was in a cage, but they were the ones who were terrified.

So they made themselves scarce. The station was practically empty by the time Emma waltzed in with a bag from Granny’s. Walking along the central office area, she pulled wrapped sandwiches out of the paper bag and set them on all the desks. Presumably, she knew her workers well enough to know what each would want for lunch. And she cared enough to get it for them, an act that would certainly endear herself to her subordinates.

Emma pulled out the last sandwich from the bag and held it out as she walked over to the cell. “I figured you for a pastrami guy.”

Rumpelstiltskin let himself reach out and take the food. He held the oil-soaked paper bundle in both hands and didn’t open it. “Corned beef, actually.”

“I’ll remember that for next time you’re in here.” It was a joke, but it was also a threat. Emma leaned against one of the desks in front of the cell, facing him with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I believe you mean the first time I actually commit a crime,” he countered. Getting her to put him in jail had been nothing but a bit of theater, a convenient way to keep Mrs. Gold from the same fate. They both knew he wasn’t being charged.

“The next time I catch you trying to get a drunk woman to go home with you against her will.”

“Ah, well.” He shrugged, playing his part. “Given Mrs. Gold’s impulse control, I can’t make many promises on that topic.”

“If you’re trying to convince me that any part of this is her fault, that is not going to happen.”

He let her have that one without further argument. Emma Swan was smarter than most people in this town. She had the rare gift of First Sight--the ability to see things as they really were, and not how everyone knew they were supposed to be. Outside Storybrooke, it had probably been an advantageous skill. But here, in a place where reality itself was subject to the most powerful curse ever made, she was wrong even when she was right.

Nothing Mrs. Gold’s life was her fault, that was true. But it wasn’t Rumpelstiltskin’s fault either. Gold had preyed upon a young woman. Regina had cursed them all. Emma was the only one who could fix everything, but not in the way she thought. Not in any way even someone as smart as her could imagine.

He held up the sandwich. “Thanks for picking up lunch,” he said. “Do my tax dollars include dessert?”

Emma stood up straight, arms swinging with deliberate casualness. “You sit tight, Gold. I’ve gotta go find some paperwork before I can release you.”

She went out into the hallway, and Rumpelstiltskin knew he was in for at least another two hours of incarceration.

It didn’t matter. Emma thought she was punishing Gold, but really she was keeping Rumpelstiltskin free for a little while longer.

He didn’t want to face Mrs. Gold. Interacting with her was torturous under regular circumstances. After last night--and the night before that, and the day in between--living with her would be nearly impossible.

It had finally broken apart. The facade of a marriage that he had spent five months hiding behind had cracked and shattered. She had heard him call out to Belle. She accused him of infidelity. Even Mrs. Gold’s unwavering obedience to her husband had finally bent under the strain of Rumpelstiltskin’s neglect.

Part of him was relieved. It was one thing to wear a mask in front of his enemies, but it was something altogether different to constantly deflect the attentions of a woman who only ever wanted to please him. She lived in his house, she was with him all the time. Until last night, they had slept in the same bed. It had worn on him, to have Belle’s body so near, so willing--and have to reject her again and again. Perhaps now Mrs. Gold would get it into her head to reject him.

Would she leave him?

Long ago in their cursed life, Mrs. Gold had burned bridges with everyone she had known before her marriage. She had no support structure, no money of her own. Her job skills would be enough to get her part-time work at minimum wage--if anyone wanted to hire her. The woman’s reputation around town would scare away most respectable employers. Without Gold, she would have to go begging back to her already impoverished family. Or she could try to ingratiate herself with some other wealthy man in Storybrooke. Gold had often insulted his wife by calling her a whore, but what other option had he given her?

If nothing else, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t allow that to happen. He wouldn’t let Mrs. Gold make any more reckless decisions with Belle’s body. Though the illusion of the marriage had dissolved, he would have to maintain control over Mrs. Gold somehow.

Probably through money, or comfort. At her core, Mrs. Gold was a practical woman. She knew that her relationship with Gold was a simple deal. If Rumpelstiltskin altered the deal, perhaps she wouldn’t make a fuss.

An image from the night before floated through Rumpelstiltskin’s memory: Mrs. Gold, drunk and heartbroken, fighting against Emma in her need to lash out at him. “You’re supposed to love me, you bastard!”

Where had she gotten that idea? Gold had never allowed his wife to entertain notions of love between them. How could the way Rumpelstiltskin had been treating her possibly lead her to that conclusion? Mrs. Gold had said she loved him, when he had been dreaming of Belle. Had she been dreaming as well?

Had Mrs. Gold been dreaming of her husband? Or had Belle been dreaming of Rumpelstiltskin? What was happening to the curse?

Emma came back with a manila file folder in her hand. She strode purposefully through the station, perfectly comfortable wielding her authority. She was truly the combination of her parents--a born princess and a seasoned war leader. She was the Savior, the curse-breaker. All he had to do was hold on until she started saving everyone.

There was a clear line of sight between the Sheriff’s office and the holding cell. Rumpelstiltskin watched as Emma put the folder she had just brought in at the bottom of a stack of similar files. He took that to be all the paperwork she would have to get through before she would deign to release him.

****

After twenty minutes of industrious silence, the sound of running feet broke through the hallway outside. To Rumpelstiltskin’s ear, the running sounded happy, excited, young. A child with boundless energy, finally free to burst toward something they want.

Following the running was the methodical click of high heeled shoes. For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin thought that Mrs. Gold had come to the station. But no, these footsteps were more authoritative, businesslike.

He wasn’t surprised at all to see Henry Mills come bounding in to the station and make a beeline for Emma’s office. And of course Regina would be slinking right behind him.

“Sheriff Swan, I’m going to permit you half an hour with my son.” Regina announced this piddling allowance of time like it was a gift. “Take him out for ice cream.”

Rumpelstiltskin watched Emma’s eyes flit from Regina, to Henry, to the empty station, to himself, and then back to Regina. “You’re expecting me to leave you alone with a prisoner?”

Regina lifted her chin and looked straight ahead at the cell. “Twenty-nine minutes.”

This time, Emma’s look went only from Henry to Rumpelstiltskin. “Are you okay with this?”

He shrugged. “Bring me back a cone?”

Emma nodded to him, then spoke to Regina. “We will be right back.”

“Yes, you’ll have to be,” the Queen said smoothly. She stood still as Emma and Henry bustled around her, jabbering excitedly as they left. It really was remarkable how much both mother and son lit up when they were together.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t move. He stayed seated on the cell bench and let Regina come to him. She perched on the arm of the sofa in front of the holding cell. She had a large, black leather purse slung over one shoulder.

“Madame Mayor,” he said in tones low with menace. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“Mr. Gold, I think we might be able to help each other.”

The audacity of this woman. Under any other circumstance, she would have nothing to offer him. And yet…

“When two people each have something the other wants, a deal can always be struck.”

She gave him a tight smile. “I hoped you’d see it that way.”

“But do you have something I want?”

Instead of answering, Regina crossed her legs and pushed back the blazer of her smart business suit. “You know, all day I’ve been hearing the most terrible rumors about you and Mrs. Gold. I do hope everything is alright between you two.”

“My wife,” he said slowly, “has not been herself lately.”

“Or is it you who haven’t been yourself, Mr. Gold?”

He looked at her, impassive. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“I’m sure you do.” The Queen took her purse off her shoulder and set it on her knees.

Rumpelstiltskin tried not to stare at the bag. He looked instead at Regina’s face. “Why are you here?”

“Like I said, to help you. And to receive some help in return.”

“What do you have to offer me, dearie?”

“Not much,” she smirked. Without looking down, Regina reached into her purse and pulled it out. The chipped cup. “Just a… sentimental little keepsake.”

It took all of Rumpelstiltskin’s resolve not to leap to his feet and demand the cup. He wanted to break these steel bars and rip the cup from Regina’s hands--and rip her hands from her arms if she wouldn’t surrender it. That was Belle’s cup. This witch had no right to touch it!

Instead, he stayed still. All his energy, all his rage, focused on the cup. He focused on Regina, who dangled it by the handle.

“How?” he rasped. How had she known about the cup? How had he let his cover slip? How had she broken into Gold’s house?

“Flimsy locks,” she quipped. Then the Queen turned more serious. “I have power in this world, more power than you know.”

“But not enough,” he hissed. “You will never have enough power to beat me.”

She shook her head. A faint chuckle entered her voice. “I already have. I know what your weakness is.”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed and made himself shrug. “It’s just a cup.”

“But you want it,” Regina purred. “And you’ll give me what I want in order to get it back.”

“What is it that you want, dearie?”

“I want you to answer one question. And answer it simply.” She squared her shoulders before she asked: “What is your name?”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t hesitate. “It’s Mr. Gold.”

The Queen glowered at him. “Your real name.”

“Every moment I’ve spent in this world, that has been my name.”

Regina leaned forward, closer to the bars. “What about moments spent elsewhere?”

He locked his eyes on hers. “What are you asking me?”

“I think you know.” Clearly her patience was running thin. “Tell me your name.”

And with a sly grin, he confessed: “Rumpelstiltskin.”

The deal done, he took the cup from Regina’s unresisting hands and cradled it in his own. He looked it over, making sure there was only one chip. Belle’s cup. Their cup. It was safe.

When he looked at Regina, she was fairly glowing with triumph.

“What gave me away?”

“Belle did,” Regina said smugly. “I’ve been watching Mr. and Mrs. Gold for, well, a very long time now. I could see that something was wrong with her. But you seemed perfectly normal. Suspiciously normal.”

His own caution--his own commitment to playing the role of Gold--that was what had exposed him. Still holding the cup in both hands, Rumpelstiltskin sat back against the wall. “So,” he said, “as long as we’re being honest with each other, let’s remember how things used to be.”

“We used to work together,” Regina said, incorrectly. “You used to help me without so much… hostility.”

“That was before you ever came after what was mine, Your Majesty.” He shook his head and tutted. “You really should be more careful about who you make your enemy.”

“You mean my victim,” she sneered.

“And how much longer do you think that will last? Haven’t you noticed the curse getting weaker?”

“But I am just as strong as ever!” The Queen rose to her feet. She looked down on him with regal disdain. “You’re the one who’s letting your biggest weakness galavant all over town!”

Clutching the bars of the cell, Rumpelstiltskin pulled himself up to stand “For your sake, I hope that isn’t a threat.”

“Of course not.” Regina closed her purse and began to leave. “I’ve barely spoken to Mrs. Gold. I’m certainly not the one who brought her so much pain she got drunk in public and started crying in the street.”

With a satisfied smirk, Regina turned on her heel and left.

****

Darkness had fallen by the time Emma officially let him out. Winter nights came early in Maine. If the sheriff noticed the teacup in his hands, she didn’t mention it.

His first thought was to walk back to Granny’s where he had parked Gold’s car the night before. But then he remembered that he had given the keys to Mrs. Gold so she could take herself home. So he would have to walk to the house.

He only hoped that she would still be there when he arrived.

The house was dark and the door was unlocked. Gold’s heavy ring of keys hung in plain sight on the first hook by the door. Rumpelstiltskin took the keys and put them in his pocket. Flimsy locks, Regina had said. She had broken into his house and stolen one of the things he valued most in the world--and he hadn’t noticed until it was too late. The cup could have been missing for days before he went into Gold’s study and saw that it wasn’t where he’d left it.

Would she attack his home again? Should he arrange to put double bolts on all the doors? Or was she just trying to toy with him? This was a world the Queen had made. It shouldn’t surprise him that she had her own ways to take anything she wanted from anyone.

Noise came from one of the inner rooms. It took Rumpelstiltskin a moment to recognize the sound of the television in the living room. Gold had never cared much for the “idiot box,” so it had been an easy device for Rumpelstiltskin to ignore.

He went toward the noise, turning on lights as he went through the house. In the living room off the kitchen, the only light came from the flashing bluish glare of the television. Mrs. Gold was sitting on the couch, curled in on herself under a blanket. She was staring vacantly at the screen, letting the sounds and images wash over her.

Was it just the blue light, or was she paler than normal? The shadows of this dark room brought out the hollows in her cheeks and under her eyes. He could see the sheen of tear tracks on her skin. Unwashed hair hung limply around her face. Her lower lip was dark and swollen from where she had been biting it.

For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t move or speak. Mrs. Gold hadn’t noticed his arrival. Briefly, he wondered if she was drunk again. If she was trying to deaden the pain of her existence by deadening every other sense. But no, there were no bottles anywhere nearby. Mrs. Gold’s pain by itself was enough to deaden her senses.

He turned on a lamp and let a soft golden glow invade the harsh blue. Mrs. Gold jumped out of her daze. Unlike other times when Rumpelstiltskin had surprised Mrs. Gold, she didn’t hop to attention like a trained animal. She didn’t stand up and present her body for his approval, she didn’t kneel before him like a slave. Instead, Mrs. Gold sank back into the corner of the couch. She wrapped the blanket tightly around herself. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him in silence.

She was afraid.

When she had looked at him like this before, Mrs. Gold had been afraid of what she knew was coming. She knew how cruel her husband was, what the consequences were of displeasing him. But now it seemed she was afraid of the unknown. She had said it herself: All that matters is that I don’t know who you are. Whether she knew it or not, Mrs. Gold was afraid of Rumpelstiltskin.

“Hi,” he said softly. He tried not to alarm her any further.

“Hi,” she answered, still staring at him. She didn’t let her guard down. She muted the television and turned to face him.

“I… I didn’t know if you would still be here.”

Mrs. Gold shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” She broke their eye contact and looked down. “I didn’t know if yo u would let me come back if I left.”

Rumpelstiltskin clenched his fist around his cane. Was her uncertainty a reflection of Gold, or of himself? Gold had done so much to hurt his wife, but Rumpelstiltskin was the one who had hurt her most recently. He was the one who had made her like this.

“Mrs. Gold,” he said. “Please, I know things are… confusing right now. But please know that this is always your home, and I will always provide for you.”

“Why?” The word was a whisper in a silent house, but it carried all the weight of the world. “You’re not fucking me. You don’t even like me. Why do you bother with me?”

The chipped cup was still in his hand. He set it down on an end table and moved to sit in one of the high-backed chairs across from the couch. Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward, his arms on his knees as he spoke to Mrs. Gold.

“Because I have a duty to you,” he answered. “I have a responsibility to care for you.”

She snorted and shook her head.

“To take care of you,” Rumpelstiltskin amended. “I owe you that much, Mrs. Gold. It is the absolute least I can do.”

“How nice of you.” Her voice shook with bitterness. “How super fucking charitable! How long will that last, do you think? How long until you get tired of doing the least you can do?”

Mrs. Gold’s hands twisted in the blanket. Her face screwed up into the picture of unspoken agony. She let her hair hang over her face and took a few ragged, sobbing breaths.

He wanted to go to her. He wanted to comfort her. Belle or not, she was a woman in pain and he knew that he could soothe her. That was the least he could do.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He stayed in the chair, shoulders slumped, and waited for her to calm herself.

“Mrs. Gold,” he tried, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be the man you married.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Is that it?” On the couch, Mrs. Gold was shaking. “Are we… Is it over? Us? Our marriage?”

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin spoke before he could think. “No, I want you with me, dear. I don’t… I don’t want us to be separated.”

“But you don’t want us to be together.” She wiped her cheek with the palm of her hand. “Not like we were before.”

“I know it’s complicated,” he said. “I wish I could tell you more. Truly I do. But right now let’s just say that I have enemies and you are better off under my protection. All I’m asking is for you to trust me.”

She let out a shaking breath that could have been a laugh or a sob. “Does Belle trust you?”

It was a strange thing to hear Mrs. Gold say. Belle’s voice, saying her own name with so much suspicion and loathing.

“Yes,” he answered. “Belle trusts me with her life, though I’m not always worthy of it.”

For a long time, Mrs. Gold didn’t say anything. She shook her head, rocking slightly on the couch as tears streamed silently down her face.

And Rumpelstiltskin sat there. Doing nothing.

When Mrs. Gold was able to speak, she asked him: “Why aren’t you with her now?”

“With Belle?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I mean, you’re still a man who can get whatever he wants. If she’s so important to you, why aren’t the two of you together?”

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, trying to think of something plausible to say. “We want to be,” he started. “But, well, Belle is very far away from me right now.”

“What, does she live in fucking Australia or something? Or is she married too?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said in a tone he knew would make Mrs. Gold drop the topic. “What matters is that I have a responsibility to you, and I’m not going to shirk that just because I’m in love with someone else.”

Mrs. Gold winced, but then it turned into a grim smile. “Never thought I’d hear you say that you loved anyone, Mr. Gold. That’s why I never took it personally that you didn’t love me.” Abruptly, she stood up. “I’ll move my clothes over to the guest bedroom.”

“You can have the master--”

“No,” she cut him off. She seemed to have run out of emotions, and was now running on brutal practicality. “You need the bathroom in the master suite because of your leg. I won’t have as hard a time with the tub in the hall bathroom.”

“That’s… very thoughtful of you.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think.” She sighed and turned off the muted television. Now her half of the room was in darkness. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the worst deal you could have offered me.”

“What deal?” Rumpelstiltskin asked. He had been trying to be honest with her. He wasn’t aware that they had been negotiating.

“A loveless marriage for a life of comfort.” She kept herself busy by folding her blanket and putting it away in a cedar chest. She didn’t look at him. “It is mostly the same as what we had before.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her as she walked out of the living room.

“Good night, Mr. Gold,” she said formally. “I’m glad you found your teacup.”

By the time he gathered himself enough to speak, she was already upstairs. A door slammed, and Rumpelstiltskin hung his head.

So this was the future he was going to have with his wife.

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle angst

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jackoshadows · 3 years

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What are your thoughts on Jon-Bran-Tyrion & their relationship in TWoW & ADoS?

I have read that in GRRM original-idea [?] Jon was to rival Tyrion [because of their love over Arya] as well as Bran for the sake of Northern Power [& Arya apparently too, but not in the same sense??]

[No idea what Bran & Tyrion's relationship was suppose to/could look like, don't think GRRM has mention smth]

That being said, I can get behind Tyrion vs Jon, alright. But Jon vs Bran? How is that suppose to look like/work?

Even if we ignore that they think of each other fondly & miss each other, and that I don't see a reason why this would change all of a sudden... Or that Jon will likely gain the support of the North in TWoW, since he rather fit the "perfect image of an Lord", since he is a able-bodied, traditional [swords-] man, grown & proven as Leader/Lord Commander, has the same education as Robb did, is the eldest Son of Eddard, etc....

[Although I guess Lords like Manderly could prefer Rickon, so they can grap power as his custodian/regents? And the whole being-dead-but-not-anymore-&-what-about-the-oaths thing could be a little tricky & stuff😅] while Bran will likely remain longer behind the Wall, won't be able to rally allies & bannermen [Althouse I have read the speculation of Bran, The Blizzard and The Battle of Ice, my main concern is again the pacing:where Bran's plot seems on overdrive, while Jon's & all those around & in Winterfell are on hold in order for Bran to come back. It's the same problem for me with all those "speculations" about Dany & arriving way to early in Westeros] ...

But the thing that makes it so unbelievable for me is: the fricking age gap?! Put aside their feelings for each other, who is more likely to gain poltical support & all of that, Bran will be like 11 & Jon 18-19? Like... a rivalry between a elementary school student & a high school graduate? 😂🙊

I think for certain that there will be some kind of conflict between Jon and Tyrion. Them shaking hands on the Wall and calling each other friends is foreshadowing a friends to enemies arc, IMO.

As for Jon and Bran, it's hard to see this happening, but I am not ruling out the possibility - meaning that I won't be surprised if it happens. As you mentioned, a Jon/Bran rivalry/bitter estrangement was one of the major parts of the story in the original outline.

By the end of A Game of Thrones,------------------------------------- ---------------------------------g--------------- onto the iron throne with a bit----------------premature death, Bran sits free.--Yet his seat is hardly a comfortable one. In the North, Jon Snow is his bitter enemy. Beyond the narrow sea, Daenerys Stormborn prepares her invasion and on the far side of the Wall, the others are watching with cold dead eyes and gathering their strength.

Can this still happen? I think so. I have always said that GRRM likes his themes of dysfunctional families, conflict among family members and the human heart in conflict with itself and again, I don't see why the Starks should be the exception.

But I think it is a mistake to generalize about “the Westerlings,” just as it would be to generalize about “the Lannisters.” Members of the same family have very different characters, desires, and ways of looking at the world… and there are secrets within families as well.

GRRM SSM, May 01, 2001

The reason Sansa even exists as a character in the first place is because he wanted family conflict among the Starks.

Arya was one of the first characters created. Sansa came about as a total opposite b/c too many of the Stark family members were getting along and families aren’t like that.

Why would Jon and Bran have a rivalry? That I cannot speculate on, yet. We still have a lot of story to cover. But in the next book, my speculation is that both Jon and Bran would have changed a lot.

Bran is the current Lord of Winterfell/Heir to the North/Robb's Heir and King in the North. Robb's decree legitimizing Jon Stark could be a possible issue between them.

GRRM has said that death and resurrection changes a person and Jon is going to be spending time in a wolf. A resurrected Jon Snow coming back more wolfish and more hungry. Remember this?

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger … he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought. - Jon, ASoS

GRRM ties in his desire for Winterfell to a deep hunger that then connects to Ghost - his hunger for Winterfell intermingling with Ghost's hunger...

Remember the kings in the North of yore, like Ice Eyes. I doubt Jon Stark is going to hold back much. He's going to be doing some really messed up stuff.

Meanwhile, Bran's heavily involved in the magical stuff beyond the wall. Has connections to Bloodraven, the Children of the forest, can influence timelines (Hodor), unearth past truths and will be one of the most powerful greenseers. Blood sacrifice and human sacrifice is a big part of the dark magic of the north. Maybe they fight over how to defeat the Others? I think Bran's connection to the children of the forest is how they win again this time around - and his relationship with Jon suffers because of that?

Bran ends up King on the Iron Throne and Jon Snow ends up in the lands beyond the wall - just the opposite of what we would expect for these two characters considering where they are now and what we know of them (R+L=J) etc. How does this happen?

Anyways, according to GRRM, TWoW is a very dark book and if there is a Jon-Bran rivalry, we may see the seeds of it being planted in this book.

There are a lot of dark chapters right now in the book that I’m writing,” he said during a Q&A at the Guadalajara International Book Fair, according to Entertainment Weekly. “It is called The Winds of Winter, and I’ve been telling you for 20 years that winter was coming. Winter is the time when things die, and cold and ice and darkness fill the world, so this is not going to be the happy feel-good that people may be hoping for. Some of the characters [are] in very dark places.”

This is why I find all the Dark!Dany stuff slightly hilarious. Is Dany going to do things that go against the Geneva conventions (lol) in the next book? Yeah, I think so. She is going to come back from her sojourn at Vaes Dothrak and be like I have had it with these effing slavers and go all Aegon the Conqueror on them (About time I say, she should have done it a while ago). But I am pretty damn sure most of our characters are going to become darker in the next book. Tyrion is already on a downward spiral, Jon will surely go on a rampage against the Boltons, Bran most probably eating Jojen paste over there and learning dark magic, getting taught by Bloodraven, Sansa participating in the slow poisoning of her little cousin in the Vale and have you read Arya's Mercy chapter? That stuff is dark.

As for the rest, I think we should ignore the age gap like GRRM is planning on doing ( GRRM sees his young people as adults anyway - "Arya has the experiences of a 40 year old, If a 12 year old has to conquer the world then so be it" etc.) and I do think he will include some time gaps in the next two books allowing for travel etc. I am pretty sure Arya will end the books at 14.

Bran, Dany and Arya's plots have to be in overdrive in the next book out of necessity. Bran has to advance a lot in his plot, be used to build up the Others as a big threat, give us more info about the Children, Bloodraven, what is actually happening, Hodor etc. - there's just so much stuff here that GRRM has to write. Same with Dany. Dany has to wind up in Meereen, land in Westeros and start her campaign. Same with Arya. I think that's why they will get the most chapters, and time in the next book.

#Jon Snow #Bran Stark #TWoW speculation #ADoS speculation #asoiaf

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kadeu · 3 years

Photo

Accepted — Kō Gowyu

♥ Kō Gowyu aka. The Lucky Bastard looks like Ryo Narita (actor) ♥ He was born October 31, 1570 ; making him 450 but he appears to be late 20s ♥ This Fae is Pansexual and a King of Hearts ♥ He is a gambler and loan shark

Biography

Ko Gowyu was born a fae, he pierced through life with the touch of magic and luck. He should have been blessed, felt blessed, because he’d risen with chance on his side. From his very first cry, he’d been granted the type of good fortune that many sought and perished for. At least, many in Kadeu did. But he’d never felt like he’d truly been given anything else but the position of the shadow of the first born of the Ko. The wonderful Ko, a name he wore with all the pride in the world. Without it, without this Fae blood, he wouldn’t be much you see.

Among many other things, he would not be able to read the fortune of the lucky and the unlucky, he would not be able to play with the fortune of one’s man, as easily as he could slide his coin from one knuckle to another. Fortune did not simply entail the weight of their pockets either, because it came in many shades and shapes in life. Because, as all the other Kos, he was given the gift to perceive one’s fortune, to influence it and to make the balance tilt in which way he desired to.

Gowyu cared none that he could not affect his own fortune for some odd reason, maybe because it was more satisfying for him to use those of others’, to make them believe that it was his luck and not theirs that was giving him the fortunate glow that many lacked in Kadeu. Where he lacked in reach and strength with his abilities, because they would always stand unmatched next to his older siblings, especially his older sister, he made up for it with tricks of the mind.

The problem was, Gowyu for being third born between his mother and father, and not having his abilities as enhanced as the first of the Ko, Sayge, he was not a suitable candidate for the inheritance. For being first born, Sayge would always wear the favor of his parents to ascend to take over as head of family, to inherit everything that the first born had to. Trust and believe that Gowyu understood the traditions, the way things worked and how the first born was to carry the lineage of the clan, it was how things had always ‘been’.

But things tended to grow old, traditions had to change, rules were meant to be broken.

How was it that he was refused the ascension to something he’d always felt he’d been born for, simply because he’d come, not second, but third in place? He would always be standing there, under the high stature of his siblings, although the second son had never felt like he’d carried the same rancune that ran deep in Gowyu’s heart. It poisoned him from very young, at first, too young to truly grasp the idea that he would never be able to proudly wear the title of Koi like he’d seen his father do for so long before Sayge took over.

Good, all knowing and important Sayge with her - higher than thou - gift for luck that did not rival his. Not because his aptitude was grander, but because even in the giving of his magic, he paled next to her. He paled in all aspects. His entourage had had rather cruel ways of reminding him of his big sister and how she always looked perfect, did everything the way it should be–she stood proud and how she would bring the best era to be seen yet on the name of the Ko. He’d grown being fed the venom, each time he would keep quiet, bite his tongue rather than cause a scene and risk showing the disdain he’d started to grow by the age of 50 and seeing Sayge take on her role easily.

All she’d need to do was give an heir to the clan and her fate would be sealed, his fate would be cemented. It irritated him beyond measure, that to be born before him put her on a pedestal where she never could be knocked off from. At least, it had seemed that way for so many years after she’d gone to Kadeu to look after the casinos. It had stayed that way for many other years–but soon enough, the chips had begun to crack through the perfect picture that his mother and father had wished for their little princess. She’d shown no sign so far of wanting to give the clan an heir, and as far as Gowyu knew, that was a non negotiable clause.

You see, where the giving of an heir would be an easily done job for many first borns of many clans among the faes–it seemed his all so flawless and almighty big sister had an issue with that certain rule and it had pleased him from the first time he’d heard his parents quietly argue over the matter. Where Sayge was away at Kadeu, doing all she could to forget that her time was ticking, Gowyu had gathered every ounce of wits he had left in the realms of Fae, all the information he could from his parents–the appearance he had kept of the son who supported his older sibling in being the apt choice to reign over the clan paying its dues in how easily it got him to hear everything he needed to know.

No one could suspect charming, gleaming innocent looking Gowyu of having the darkest of desires or motivation in finally passing through a blue moon and settling in Kadeu. No one except for Sayge, of course. Who was she to speak though? She was failing at the most mundane of tasks, lay down, take the seed of a willing Fae and give their parents and the clan what they desired more than her intelligence. In the end, they cared none of what she was capable of, like they cared none of what he could bring because he was born third of the Ko. Still, she was the first one in line, still and the only way to truly turn the wheels laid somewhere in the back of his brewing mind. A child, an heir.

How tempting was it to constantly taunt her with the idea that it would be that easy, to take the reins out of her hands. How satisfying was it, to be so close, close enough to be the constant reminder that the clock was going tik,-tok, ; tik-tok.

All it needed was a little push in the right path, in his path. Gowyu did not care to quite understand the motives behind her refusal to finally do what it took to get herself seated comfortably without a looming threat of ever losing what she seemed so intent on keeping jealously. He cared none to understand anything that came from his sister, he cared none of the motives of the clan, what he cared for was what he’d always convoited and always been denied. What he cared about was making everyone who had laughed at the idea, when he’d said that he could be the next in line, bite their tongues as they realized he was more capable than Sayge.

Although, he’d been young and foolish when he’d sprouted those words to an intimate entourage. He’d long learned to keep his secrets sealed tight and away from anyone else but his big sister and their brother. It was better when one moved in the shadows, after all, he’d been born in the same darkness, so who could blame him for wearing its cloak and letting the balm of it surround his heart, turn it inside out so it could bleed out green?

When then, would he be able to close the deal and get in the palm of his hand what he wanted to tear out of her simply for the pleasure of seeing her seethe with the knowledge that he had been the one to do so? Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow–Gowyu had to admit to himself, he was quite fine with the leisure and pleasures he could indulge in at Kadeu, while also constantly keeping her on edge whenever he could. Antagonizing her at every turn seemed to fill his days with better times than he’d ever had back on the realm of the Fae.

The walls were closing in on Sayge and he liked to think that he would be here to witness her squashed in between the four of them as he sat and let the blood of her fate pool at his feet. In fact, there was something so easily corruptible in the taste of Kadeu that seemed to make him the most fortunately cruel of all men. Where back on the realm of Fae, he was constantly tormented with what would never be his, here on Kadeu he could constantly torment the one person whose presence overshadowed him back in their realms. Kadeu filled his nights with countless pleasures, to play with these fortunes, to watch them first exhilarated by the idea he would implement in their mind, that he could make them richer, luckier, make them have everything they wanted and he did.

Gowyu was also a surprisingly generous man, he understood that life was not all that prettily laid out for many, he had his own troubles to prove that, didn’t he? So he let them have the best ride of their lives, all free of charge, with their name and their seal on a contract that he would provide and they would pay him back the money he would loan them to play and win more. Not just in the casino, but anywhere money could be invested to give more. Bets, lands, education, so many dreams had to be fulfilled. But as generous a man as he was, he was not a god, and he did not give without consequences and when it became a bore to have a contract fulfilled to the very last T, Gowyu would let the entertainment roll in.

All it usually took was for him to stop giving them the gentle push he’d been given them to win and then, all he had to do was sit and watch it all crumble. The funny thing was, first they believed that it was just for a day. An unlucky man, who had never won a thing in their life until Gowyu entered it, losing once after an unshaken record of winnings, thinking that a day of misfortune was just an accident. Was that not–funny? It was, it greatly amused him. To watch them fall, one chip at a time, then beg for more time, then beg for more money, then be stuck in the corner, going mad at what went wrong, where did it go wrong–waiting for Gowyu to give them grace. When he’d given them so much of it already.

How greedy.

Needless to say, the despair was something he showed no care for, on their knees and screaming in agony, he would only alleviate their pain with one thing, to have them bound to him with another contract.

A contract that any demon would have been proud to hold, their soul in exchange of what they owned, properties, coins, life. They would work for him, under him, do every of his biddings, they would be everything he wanted them to be and if any of those conditions were ever not met, then they would only have themselves to blame when the clock of their lives would come to an abrupt end. This was what Kadeu was for Gowyu, a battlefield where he was slowly crafting and building a kingdom of broken lives. It not only filled his pockets with coins, but it gave him the great joy of doing so while waiting for the right time to act on the threat he knew he was to Sayge.

Soon enough, life would take on a new leaf for Ko Gowyu.

Then there was Samhain ‘20

Where had he been again, when all of that had unfolded? Ah right, somewhere in between leaving the Blue Moon Festival because he’d grown fed up with seeing the sight of so many faes, especially the one of his own clan and family. Fed up with keeping up with the pretence of this image that he was growing closer and closer of undoing with each years he spent in Kadeu, the one that had his mother still thinking he was nothing more than the good and obedient son she’d always told him to be.

Obedience had always been the most important one.

Gowyu had been in his carriage, two men facing him in the personal space they were to keep safe from anything intruding, when it’d come to an abrupt halt, a movement that did throw him forward. One of his men had had the knee jerk reaction to touch him to stabilize him and Gowyu had just about been ready to cut a finger or two off his hand for that simple gesture. Simply to proof that the threat he threw around at not being touched least one wished to lose the very hand that had been used to do so, was not to be taken lightly. But his skin burning with what felt like the same sensation he’d felt the first time he’d been given a rank and status in the city had interrupted him in that thought.

Lucky for his man’s fingers. He’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt with a sigh, a bit of annoyance and nothing else, nothing more before rolling it back down. What was the use of these brandings?

This land and its curse was getting more ridiculous by the day, this would never affect him, no matter how hard it tried, because he controlled the pieces that were affected by its idiotic process. A system that left so many vulnerable to the bite of many sharks was definitely not one he’d ever thought he could find so profitable, but he would not begin to complain. Because the men facing him, in charge of his protection and safety, their drawings had revealed certain things to him, in their haste to check if their fears had been in the right place after seeing Gowyu’s.

Theirs had given him even more revealing secrets over the ones he’d already been using to keep them as the loyal pets they were. Gowyu had had a grin then, hadn’t he? One that might have frozen the blood in their veins, turned them white with apprehension. It wasn’t just going to be them though, all the other ones who had had bits of their lives to hide that he’d been so generously helping, they would soon find themselves with that same expression.

Needless to say, that Samhan ‘20 had given Gowyu the best gift a man who was born to take advantage of other’s weaknesses could ever receive ; leverage. Oh, it had also been his birthday, so all in all, a memorable present.

Personality

Gowyu is known for his aloof personality, he is known to be fun, jovious. To play everything he owns on the table with a nonchalance. He is known to offer a smile, with a coin constantly rolling against his knuckles. He says it is his lucky charm, who knows really, if the words that leave his mouth are ever really true.

It is also safe to say, Gowyu doesn’t care about anything else but his clan and the role he wants to play in it, as well as the role he doesn’t want his big old sister to be playing in it. So when it comes to the factions of Kadeu, he only sees them as a means to an end, they offer entertainment in a way that nothing else does back on Fae realm. Whether it be Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds or Spades, why should he care for any of them at all? He doesn’t. If you want something from him, he’ll give it to you. A contract you believe will bring you the luck that seems to follow him all around? He’ll make you sign it. Anything you think he can give you, he will feed you all these sweet nothings about fortune, getting out of the slums, winning big–he has the money to loan, he has the ways to gain more, to give more, to lock all of these meaningless lives in a jar and use them later on like pieces in a game of chess where he is the only player.

Gowyu tends to mingle among lowrankers because they’re easier to swindle, he will however stray far from mentioning any of that to any high rankers in his circle. He understands the system in Kadeu, especially in Hearts. If these lowrankers expect him to get them out of their garbage canned lives and address them in the streets just because he’s seen them and thrown a coin or two at them in exchange for some favors, then they’re dumb enough to be kicked and sneered at in the presence of those high rankers. He feels no remorse for the things he does, he thinks he is entitled to all of them, even the ones he failed to obtain. Like the title and status that Sayge holds. His reputation in Kadeu is both mysterious and disdainful, the highrankers might mock him because he is not his sister and they favor her more than they do him, the lowrankers might see him as a treacherous god, simply granting their wishes for a rightful price. At the end of it all, none of this matters, none of it ever will until he gets what he truly wants.

Congratulations Ria your app has been accepted and your first plot drop will be sent to you soon.

Please follow and welcome @gowyuko to Kadeu!

#accepted;#hearts;#ryo narita #lsrp #fantasy rpg

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

Text

Shining Just Like Diamonds Do

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: General (G) Word Count: 5k Notes: This gem started after I saw this post here. The idea of Peter being the person who hid an engagement ring in plain sight was too hard to pass up. Thanks to @goindownshipping & @starkerscoop for the final push in the right direction. Warnings: There aren’t any - this madness is pure fluffy goodness. Summary:

Peter buys an engagement ring on a whim - he’s ready for the next step, but lacks a plan. Instead of wasting brain bytes worrying about it, Peter makes a challenge out of it instead. The ‘how many ways can I hide a ring in plain sight’ game becomes a thing.

Or - Tony is oblivious and Peter takes advantage of it to be the cutest sneak out there.

Check out more of my writing here and read this story on AO3 here

----

They met at a conference.

Peter loved getting to shed his professor title and get into the nitty gritty of engineering and the technological advances being made. In another life, he took a different route and didn’t end up in a classroom – but in this life, Peter got to escape from it to play with all of the cool tech in the name of continuing education.

That year, however, Peter was tasked as a keynote speaker for the nanobyte technology research he started to work on when Wakanda opened up its borders a few years prior. Being in direct contact with the brilliant Princess Shuri gave him lots of insight and many tangible examples of the technology – her brother’s Black Panther suit design amongst them. He loved his research and felt more than prepared to present upon it. Especially at such a big wig conference like the International Conference on Mechanical and Aerospace Engineering – all of the monumental names in the industry would be there.

It wasn’t often that Peter got to leave New York during the school year, so he relished the train ride into Boston without pulling his work laptop out once during the journey. He practiced his talk so many times that he’d been doing it in his sleep for the past few nights. Any more rehearsal seemed like overkill. Relaxing into the 1st class seat he splurged for instead, Peter took a long sip of the complimentary red wine. The welcome banquet started right around the time his train got in – so the harder stuff would need to wait.

When he got to the hotel, Peter made a quick pit-stop in his room to drop off his bag and change out of the suit trousers he started the day in. He bought a brand-new pair of black slacks for the occasion and planned to wear them to their fullest. Splashing some water on his face and undoing the first couple of buttons of his shirt, Peter slung his badge around his neck and headed down to the meeting room the banquet was in.

His sensitivity to crowds never seemed to dull over the years – as a 29-year-old, Peter should’ve been able to control the way too much stimulus affected him. That was not a success he could claim, however. It took several minutes to blend into the crowd and by the time he calmed down enough to fit into it, the line for the bar wasn’t even worth standing in.

He looked around to see if any of his fellow academics were in attendance and was stopped by a soft touch to his elbow. “Dr. Parker, it’s nice to see you here.” Natasha Romanov, the beautiful red head with a mouth like poison and wit so sharp, stood before him, a soft smile on her face. Peter shot her a swift look of gratitude, his own smile shaping his lips.

“We were research partners for 3 years, Nat – you can call me Peter,” he replied easily, his hand finding hers for a brisk shake. They did great work together during their time at Columbia – she specialized in Aeronautical and him in Mechanical – they were the perfect team when GE Aviation came knocking with an idea of how to minimize fuel costs down to the creation of the plane – parts and pieces included. The journey to his doctoral degree was a fun one, the many hours of work made tolerable by the woman in front of him.

“You’re right. The title never does get old, though – the blood, sweat, and tears to get it were pretty memorable, too.” Natasha smirked at him, her blood-red lips enhancing the look. “I saw your name on the itinerary – nanobyte technology, right?”

Not a single bit surprised by her knowledge, Peter nodded excitedly. “Correct. They even gave me the prime-time spot tomorrow night.” He grinned widely, his eyes lighting up at the look of excitement that crossed her face.

“You’re on your way up, Peter. I’m actually glad I caught you, there’s someone I’d like for you to meet,” Natasha said, her eyes moving past his face and over his shoulder. Trying not to look too stupid doing it, Peter turned slightly, his eyes settling on the beautiful brain that was Tony Stark. He turned back around and suddenly berated his choice of no tie – what kind of professional came to a dinner without a tie? The mini freak out ate up his time to make up an excuse, Nat was already calling the man over.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, Peter kept his eyes down until he felt Nat’s elbow press against his arm. “Tony, I want you to meet a former colleague of mine, Peter Parker. Peter, this is Tony Stark,” Natasha announced, her eyes burning into his.

Peter took a quick breath in, his hand slipping out between them in what he hoped was a casual manner. “Tony, it’s great to meet you,” Peter decided on, his eyes finally focusing on the other man. As expected, the tech guru was dressed in a fine 3-piece suit – the shirt and waistcoat both black to enhance the darkness of the ensemble. His pale skin balanced everything out – the well-kept facial hair adding a new and admittedly sexy element to the whole thing. It wasn’t enough to be incredibly intelligent, Tony Stark got to own the obnoxiously sexy title, too.

Tony grabbed his hand and gave it a firm shake – the callouses on his fingers way more developed than Peter expected them to be. He knew that Tony was the brain behind everything that Stark Industries created – Peter wasn’t aware that carried over to creation, too. It made sense, though – what sort of brain didn’t want to have their hands all over the thing stuck in their head? They locked eyes and something just clicked. Whatever it was, Peter couldn’t keep his mind off of it from that second on.

“Nice to meet you, Peter Parker. I saw your name in the keynote spot tomorrow night. I can’t wait to hear more about the nanobyte tech. I’ve been trying to get face time with King T’chala for years – he’s been surprisingly fussy,” Tony said in reply, his mouth moving gracefully through some of the petulant words coming out of his mouth.

It took everything in him to stop the spread of an amused smile – the only evidence of his true feelings reflected in the glow of his eyes. The similar look in Tony’s made him want to laugh even more. “He’s particular, that’s all. I flew out there last summer and met with Princess Shuri, the king’s sister – she’s smarter than you and I put together.”

As if those were the magic words, Peter and Tony spent most of the next couple of hours talking about Wakanda and it’s many attributes, the nanobytes and the technological advancements they could make, and most importantly – how much they were looking forward to playing with the new tech at the booths the next day. Peter was surprised by how nerdy Tony truly was, the man completely enraptured by the topic of particle physics and the latest coding programs being taught to the up and coming engineers of the future.

When the end of the function was upon them, Peter didn’t think twice about accepting the offer of a drink at the bar in the hotel. He felt a certain way and didn’t want it to end – whatever it actually was. A few of the others had the same idea and soon, there were many groups scattered around the bar – the conversation going like there was never a break in it to transfer venues.

A warm hand on his knee when they sat down behind the bar had Peter looking up, a shy smile overtaking his face. Tony looked at him for a moment, then returned the look – the darkness in his eyes highlighted by the low light they were sitting in. “What’s your poison?” Tony asked, his hand staying exactly where it was, the long fingers now cupping his patella.

“I’ll have a whiskey neat,” Peter answered immediately, his own hand landing on top of Tony’s. It wasn’t normal, the freedom he was giving himself in that moment. At the same time, it felt good to be a little reckless – he genuinely liked the things he was learning and wanted to at least see where getting to know Tony went. The fact that the older man turned his hand over and let their fingers slide together sent a tingle down his spine – the warmth of it sitting in his lower back, starting the pool of heat there with a jolt.

Shooting him a smile, Tony flagged down the bar tender and order their drinks – the efficiency in which he did it more than impressive. Tony pulled his credit card out to start the tab, the sharpness of the look sent in Peter’s direction enough for him to put his hand down and stop the reach for his own wallet.

“Tell me more about you, Pete – there’s got to be stuff outside the nanobytes,” Tony said, breaking the comfortable silence they found themselves in.

“There is a lot of stuff outside of nanobytes. I have a beautiful golden retriever named Marla – she’s an agility dog, so we spend a lot of time at the training complex. I’m a New York native, so I spend a lot of time heading to the little hidden gems I’ve found over the years – food spots and little record stores. My most hidden talent, though – is caricature.” Peter paused then, his eyes turning to take in Tony’s reaction.

It was well worth it, too – Tony’s eyes bulged, his cheeks crinkled at the corners – his smile wide. “Caricature? There’s got to be a story behind that,” Tony muttered through a laugh, the free hand that was fiddling with the rim of his glass coming up to swipe at the rogue laugh-tear threatening to spill from his eyes.

“I spent every summer of my undergraduate college years working at Coney Island. The research assistant job I had on campus didn’t pay enough to make rent – so I rode out to the island on the days I didn’t work in the lab to draw families and couples in the silliest fashion I could.” Peter smiled at the memory, his chest warm from the recollection and the alcohol settling in his system. “What about you? Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist – that’s quite the resume.”

A swift feeling of satisfaction rolled over him when the skin of Tony’s cheeks and neck colored, the pale skin there taking on a reddish hue – the blush absolutely divine. “And exaggerated. I’m a pretty big nerd that gets to tinker for a living. The playboy lifestyle went out the window a long time ago,” Tony replied, his eyes moving down to the lock of their hands still resting lightly against Peter’s leg. “I would’ve taken you to bed by now if it hadn’t.”

Though Peter didn’t comment on Tony’s admission, the fact remained between them for the rest of the night. He couldn’t deny that the very thought passed across his own mind a time or two throughout the conversation, and when they headed back to their rooms, Peter gave Tony the go ahead. Yet, he wasn’t surprised by the fact that Tony didn’t take it – his denial seemed to be more about the principal of it than anything else.

Not wanting to leave himself hanging, Peter let his hands linger on Tony’s sides when the older man pulled him in for a hug. Peter dug his fingers into Tony’s trim flanks, the grip just enough to keep Tony exactly where he was. Leaning in, Peter was not disappointed when Tony took the remaining space and met him in the briefest of kisses. The remnants of expensive whiskey and something that could only be classified as Tony sat on his lip, the taste a constant reminder of what a little more time and effort possibly held for him.

----

4 years later, Peter still liked to remember the hurried blow job Tony gave him five minutes after his speech the next night, the obscenity of 2 highly sought-after professionals locked in a bathroom stall together making the moment even more powerful. Tony wasn’t subtle in the way he practically dragged Peter with him towards the men’s room, his eyes were completely overtaken by dark pupils, a sharp look of lust there for anyone to see. Tony muttered endlessly about Peter’s brain and sucked him down with a skill that he still couldn’t describe.

The last night of the conference was spent in the confines of Tony’s room and the next day in the back of the private car that Tony ushered him into without asking about the train tickets that Peter willingly let go to waste. Happy, who took his bag with a knowing look and a stiff nod, turned up the music and made no noise for the rest of the drive from Boston back into the city.

It was easy to get lost in Tony after that. He appreciated Peter’s work and genuinely wanted to help in whatever way he could. Peter tested that theory out and prompted Tony to come and talk with all 5 sections of his coding class – he not only showed up but put on an amazing presentation for the kids that were already looking up at him with dreamy eyes. By the end of the 5th one, Peter was pretty over the moon, too. Tony’s comment about Peter’s brain made a lot of sense after seeing his lover in action – there was something about a handsome man with expertise that really got him going.

In the same way their brains were compatible, their interests lined up, too. Tony was adamant that they take a weekly trip to Coney Island when it was possible and joined Peter for his random walks around the city – the new food places all of the sudden taking on a different look after introducing his favorite person to them. Peter found himself making room for Tony in his life without much of a thought – there wasn’t any reason not to. Since the day they met, they were inseparable.

Which quickly became apparent when Tony asked him to move in before they were together a whole year. Peter was flipping his famous candied bacon with a pair of tongs when Tony saddled up next to him, a peculiar look on his face. “Why don’t you move in? I like having you here, you look good exactly where you are – you’re always over. I can get a key made right now,” Tony babbled, his affinity for speaking while all the words were ripe on his tongue a thing Peter loved the most about him.

The grin that overtook his face hurt a little, the muscles in his cheeks not ready for the intensity of it. “I could get behind that.” Peter spoke nonchalantly, but his hands were shaking, the move obvious in the quake of the tongs in his hands. It would be the perfect time to admit that he was thinking the same thing – he craved the coziness of Tony’s penthouse when he wasn’t around, the man’s presence engrained in every inch of the place.

Peter spent most of his adult years on his own with very little interest in accumulating things, so the transition into the penthouse was pretty seamless – it took them 2 trips across the city to get all of his stuff and another few hours to get it all adjusted into the nooks and crannies that seemed to be there waiting for Peter. Christening every square inch of the place was the best part – Tony took great joy in introducing him to all the different surfaces that Peter looked absolutely divine bent over and pressed against.

Happiness that flowed so easily between them made the rest of that 1st year together fly by. As did their 2nd, 3rd, and 4th years together – May always told him not to blink; and now he understood why. Without really knowing it, or giving time his permission to do so, life with Tony sped by. There was so much contentment and ease in their relationship that dates didn’t seem to matter – being with Tony every day felt like something to celebrate. The thought might be cheesy, but the genuine nature of it reigned supreme – Peter didn’t mind the fluff when it came with a Tony attached.

Which is why Peter didn’t feel a single bit odd wandering into a a jewelry store after a rare afternoon without his other half. Despite loving Peter for everything he was, Tony still didn’t like to spend an abundance of time with May and sent him on his own to the bi-weekly lunches his aunt still insisted upon. Though telling Tony was out of the question, Peter cherished the separation – it was nice to have a reason to miss his partner in crime. Shaking his head of the thought, Peter sucked in a deep breath when he was immediately tracked down by one of the workers in the store – his presence a possible commission for whoever got to him first.

Like all things with Tony, Peter didn’t struggle to find the perfect ring for his boyfriend. In the years of knowing him, Peter knew that Tony wore lots of black to contrast his pale complexion. The rich darkness of the tungsten of the simple band would look so good against the creamy white porcelain of Tony’s skin. Despite the dagger of a price, Peter instinctually knew it was the marker Tony deserved – the ring a simplistic, yet complex beauty; not unlike the man himself.

And though he found the perfect ring, Peter never actually meant to slap down the black credit card he carried in his pocket for impulse purchases such as that very one. His eyes bulged with reluctant acceptance at the price, long fingers wrapped delicately around the bag the woman behind the counter slipped the box into, and when he walked into the street, Peter smiled to himself – he didn’t walk into that building with a plan, and still didn’t have one; but, he was one step closer to having Tony Stark as a permanent fixture in his life for all the years to come.

Peter assumed an idea of how to propose to Tony would just pop into his head. When it didn’t in the 20-minute walk back to the office, Peter felt a little miffed. Most things were so simple, especially where Tony was concerned. Yet, a suitable idea didn’t come to him, no matter how hard he thought and willed it into existence. Tony deserved absolute perfection – Peter knew that from the second they met. Striving for anything less in this situation just wouldn’t do.

In an attempt to jumpstart his brain, Peter started carrying the ring box in his pocket. If pre-planning didn’t work, maybe spontaneity would. Trying to force himself into a bubble never worked before – why he ever thought it could for something so important seemed a little silly. Peter worked the best when he was relaxed and stress-free. Proposing felt stressful enough, tacking on a precise plan of attack only added to it.

For the first few days of his plan, Peter worried that Tony might catch on. Not every pair of pants let the box rest peacefully against his leg – the very first day he decided to start carrying it with him, Tony tried to feel him up in the elevator and almost palmed the velvet box instead of his rapidly stiffening erection. A swift move of his hips into Tony’s was the only thing that saved him.

As the days went by, Peter found it easier to keep the secret and quietly delighted at the fact that Tony genuinely didn’t have a clue. The damn thing was right under his nose most of the time – so much so that Peter found himself wanting to test fate even further. If Tony really wasn’t paying attention, Peter wondered how many times he could set the ring out in front of the man without him noticing. Blinking, Peter pulled in a deep breath and let the rightness of that plan settle over him. He wanted creativity and perfection – a little game seemed like the perfect way to achieve both of those things.

His first attempt at it was very minimal. They were sitting in the kitchen preparing dinner together – the whole scene insanely domestic. A rush of want crept up into Peter’s chest and sat there, taunting him to pull the ring box out. He stuffed his hand into his pocket as quietly as he could, the top of the box making the slightest bit of sound when he pulled it open. Looking up, he smiled to himself; Tony was completely occupied, carried away by the oldies rock on the radio and the sizzling warmth on the stove. In the picture, Tony’s hips were swaying, the movement tangible in the blur of his figure.

From there, Peter got a little friskier about it. He took one when they were sitting together on the couch, his back against Tony’s chest, the man’s hair spread out on Peter’s shoulder as they watched TV. The next was in bed later that night, the ring between their bodies while Tony snored obliviously. Peter saved each of the new snaps into their own folder and spent several minutes after taking each one cooing over the cuteness of Tony’s naivety. There weren’t many moments when Tony didn’t know exactly what was going on. Peter allowed himself to revel on the few he crafted.

There were several more encounters of oblivious Tony over the next couple of weeks. Peter planned a picnic and let the box sit in the collection of goodies on the blanket for what seemed like hours before picking it up and storing it in his pocket again. He pulled it out when they were sitting in the drive-thru line at McDonald’s and shared a laugh with the young girl behind the window when Tony went about his business, despite the open box showcasing a shiny black ring right by his face. Peter shot her a wink, the girl’s smile in the photo one of the best mementos of the experience yet.

Just as Peter figured, the perfect opportunity came during one of their many treks out to Coney Island. In the span of the last week, Peter put the actual ring in Tony’s hand while he was sleeping, left the box open on his lab table, and let it sit in Tony’s briefcase all the way from their office into the house. The idea of getting away with his ploy made that finale that much more important. He played with fire enough – it was finally time to make Tony his.

Getting out of Happy’s car, Peter pulled them towards the teacups – Tony’s favorite ride on the island, despite the dizziness it brought them both for the rest of their trip. He wanted Tony disoriented – it was an important part of Peter’s plan finally coming to fruition. Since they were a little earlier than usual, the lines weren’t long, so they were able to ride the cups twice before the idea of waiting became a thing.

Antsy now, Peter pushed through the spin in his head and led Tony over towards his old station. Despite the fact that more than 10 years passed since his job there, artist alley was in the same place – the easels there the same ones he spent hot summer days behind. His eyes met MJ, who made a guest appearance in her old spot for the occasion. Tony knew enough about her to know about their connection, but not enough to put all of the pieces together.

Peter took his seat first, his part of the picture already complete – the rough draft of it sitting on his art counter at home, the design one he sent to MJ that very morning. He sketched himself kneeling on one knee in the mirror twice before it was exactly how he wanted it.

She went through the motions, however – Tony’s nosiness needed to be assuaged while he stood there, waiting impatiently for his turn. Wiggling his eyebrows, Peter relaxed into the chair and let the anticipation build – the ending of his game was quickly spiraling towards them.

It took another 20 minutes for MJ to finish up whatever she drew of Peter and the two of them to switch chairs – Tony’s excited smile making it super difficult not to just drop down on one knee right then and there. Instead, he watched with a huge smile as MJ went about finishing the actual picture she’d be presenting at the end of their little modeling session. Peter crouched down and let his eyes move with the brush of her hand – the sight of the art becoming exactly what he pictured exhilarating, better than the game of chase the last few weeks provided.

With the last flick of her wrist, MJ finished their portrait, her eyes narrowing into the smoothest wink – her immense coolness still a thing after so many years. Grinning in her direction, Peter got up, his heart slamming against his chest. The distraction of MJ’s “do you want to see it?” proved to be enough for Peter to get into position on one knee – Tony’s attention was on the end result completely, his ability to focus so singularly such a gift in that moment.

The soft inhale of air was the only sign Peter got before Tony was looking in his direction, whiskey-smooth eyes glued to him. “Pete?” Tony whispered, his head tilting ever so slightly. The expression never ceased to drive Peter crazy, Tony’s cuteness pulling a soft smile across his own lips.

“I bought this thing weeks ago. When I saw the jeweler on my way home from lunch with May and couldn’t stop myself. It didn’t have any intention of actually getting anything – but here we are. I spent way too many brain bytes wondering how the hell I’d pull off this insane proposal – you’re the personification of all things good and perfect, our first step towards forever needed to be exactly that,” Peter stopped a second, his fingers readjusting the box in his hand. “I finally figured out that there would never be a perfect way, because the perfection is you and the promise of forever, not the proposal or even the question itself.”

As he spoke, Tony moved a little closer to him, his face split into the biggest grin Peter recalled ever seeing. Reaching out, Peter grabbed his hand, their fingers tangling together. “There’s not a better person in this world to spend the rest of my days with. Your brain is marvelous and gives way to the biggest heart I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. Time with you flashes by like the recollection of beautiful memories. It’s exquisite, really – the consuming way love resides in us. There’s no forever without you. Not when my heart beats for you and my thoughts exist in hopes of melding with yours.” Peter looked up; his eyes wet with unshed tears. “Marry me, Tony.”

----

Hours later, Peter spent the entire drive back into the city with his hand covering Tony’s possessively, the coolness of the ring on his finger the best reminder of what just happened. After Tony mumbled a soft ‘yes’, he pulled Peter onto his feet, strong arms wrapping around his neck to pull him into a hard kiss. A soft throat clearing pulled them away from each other a few moments later, MJ’s smiling face meeting them when reality came crashing back. “You two are so sickeningly cute. Congrats, guys,” MJ said, the smile on her face a smooth juxtaposition to her sassy words. Peter shot her a wink, his hands already moving to pull Tony close again.

Between getting the ring on Tony’s finger and making sure their caricature made it off the island with them, Peter got lost in the next couple of hours. They wandered around for a little while before Tony’s demanding hands and tantalizing ideas whispered against Peter’s ear were a little too much. Peter led them back to the Bentley before the idea of the dirty boardwalk underneath them became a good one.

In their fumbling to get to the car, Peter started to describe the whole proposal process to Tony – the whole thing a desperate attempt to distract himself from the boiling attraction that always threatened to consume him. He talked about all of the different places he hid the ring, all the obvious times he let the damn thing rest right under Tony’s nose – each description of the past month’s events making it easier to lean into his fiancé’s warmth without the sizzle of arousal consuming him.

Settling into the back seat of the car, Peter took out his phone, the file of photos opening easily after weeks of navigating to that very spot time and time again. Going through them with Tony made each one feel a bit more special, the other’s reaction and surprise bringing the memory to the forefront, crystalizing its beauty with a whole new coat of affection.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice. The ring is sitting in the palm of my hand in this one,” Tony remarked, his eyes flashing with amusement as he made the picture bigger, his fingers toggling on the screen. “Oblivious was never a word I’d use to describe myself.” He turned then, his hand finding Peter’s cheek. “Until now. Thank you for this, Pete. The whole thing – it’s gorgeous.”

Their lips met in a soft kiss – the genuine nature of Tony’s words alive in his warmth and attention. Tony’s singular focus on Peter felt like a rainstorm – intense and all consuming, rowdy in the eye of it. The subtle press and pull went on the rest of the drive, Tony’s lips only leaving Peter’s when oxygen became a necessity – they shared breaths when they could and separated mere inches when they couldn’t.

Both knew they didn’t need to rush – that seconds and minutes were no longer a factor.

Forever was an awfully long time.

#starker #ironspider #bobbie writes #shining just like diamonds do

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vaultofqueenorion · 3 years

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It is time to introduce you all to my favorite series of all time by my favorite author of all time, that is the Throne of Glass series by Sarah J. Maas.

This also means that the whole review will basically be one giant hype-train, even if I will keep spoilers to a minimum.

So let’s take a deep dive into the story of Adarlan’s greatest assassin, Celaena Sardothien, the most sassy character that I have ever met, and one of the badass women in the series.

The Title

The title is dramatic, it’s got flair, and it also portrays something entirely terrible that had me actually getting chills when I started reading about the villain of the story.

The castle is made completely of glass. That doesn’t seem particularly practical you say? Well you would be right, and Celaena would agree with you. It’s extravagant, just like the nobles of Adarlan who give no thought to the people that the King of Adarlan has oppressed for a while now.

It’s also kind of the perfect metaphor for Celaena - extravagant and beautiful, but hiding a fragility, a fear that could bring it all crashing down.

The Characters

See Celaena might be the Adarlan’s (and maybe even the world’s!) greatest assassin with blood on her teeth and a sharp tongue, but there are hints to her fear, to her utter self depreciation and escapism throughout the whole book.

She is, simply, a hero who doesn’t want to be one.

It’s quite aptly summed up in the picture above. She doesn’t believe that she’s fated for anything - not after having been through what she’s been through.

But she puts on a mask and smiles through it all, ridiculing those around her and lavishing in the finer things in life.

This was one of the things that made me connect so much with her (not the lashing out part, the hiding your true self part - the fear). Her past has left her so broken, so afraid of failure and of the world around her that she simply stopped trying to save it all.

And yet.

Because as the above shows, she still does save people. She saves a puppy from being killed for being the ‘runt of the litter’, and she saves a man from falling to his death. She keeps saving those around her, keeps trying even after she says that she’s done.

Even though she has troubles surviving on her own as it is.

That’s also what’s so interesting about Celaena - she manages to be vibrant while hopeless, kind while self-preserving. She’s a full-blooded killer, but she doesn’t kill those who don’t deserve it. There are so many opposites within her, and they all serve to make her an incredibly fun character to follow.

She’s also very flawed, and she’s got a horribly fiery temper that leaves her with thoughts such as the ones below.

See? That’s not the voice of a kind and soft spoken woman. That’s the voice of a fighter that has walked through hell and yet still manages to come out the other side.

A Nehemia so aptly puts it:

Her spirit remains as it once was - she is scarred and she is hurt, but she kept her defiance going. She kept getting up after being knocked down.

I think that is one of the things that had me relating to her the most. All of those feelings, all of the despair and fear and pain and yet she still manages to get onto her feet one more time after she gets knocked down.

Celaena is a hero who had me getting back on my own two feet long after I finished her story.

Nehemia is the second character that I want to talk about. The princess of Eyllwe, the land that the Kind of Adarlan has practically enslaved for their rebellion against his power, Nehemia Ytger is stuck in an enemy capital, walking around the torturer of her people at all times. And yet she still manages to keep her chin up, her spine erect.

She’s a powerful woman, the light of her people, and the dearest friend of Celaena. She’s fierce and Celaena has the idea that she’s fighting to free her people, even as she walks among her enemies, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

She’s also the one to bail Celaena out at many points, their friendship deepening with each horrifying secret that they uncover. She’s clever enough to keep her things relatively hidden, but there’s also a hint of sadness to her whenever she talks about her people. As if she knows that she cannot ever do enough.

Chaol is the captain of the Royal Guard. He’s cold, he’s calculating and he’s suspicious of Celaena and her intentions. That is, until you get to know him. He can seem stand-offish - imagine an old grumpy man with a golden heart. The thing is that this old man’s heart (he’s young in the book btw, so don’t take the metaphor too seriously) has been encased in ice and it takes him a while to thaw.

He does, however, appreciate hard work, and I have the sneaking suspicion that he’s proud of Celaena after a while as she goes from hollowed out husk to powerhouse again.

The above is not a particularly nice part of the book, but it does signify their relationship at first. Chaol sort of tolerates her, he doesn’t really praise her, but he comes to care for her. A lot.

And it was really really nice to have a hero that had to be retrained again, because that is the most realistic thing that I’ve seen in regards to a hero who has come back from a long time of inactivity.

Dorian Havilliard, the Crown Prince of Adarlan, is a softie. At least he seems like that - naive, doesn’t go against his fathers wishes, womanizer. The standard douchey no-good straight guy who has it all.

It’s shown in the dumb question below (which makes Celaena have the most amazing response later on the page, but go read the book to see that one!).

Because Endovier is the Death camp. It’s been made to kill and to be unescapable. And yet he asks her the unthinkable. Celaena, with her sass and smart assery, gives the perfect response and her escape plan was almost perfect.

Dorian learns, slowly, to stand up to his father. He learns what it means to care for someone other than himself and his best friend Chaol, and he actually seems to maybe not despise it, but at least rein back on the courtly stuff. But boy oh boy there’s a lot of character development here, and the potential is amazing.

The King of Adarlan was terrifying. He’s a peripheral character, most of the time, but he’s very much prevalent in all of their minds. Sort of a dark presence that never moves, never blinks, he seems to watch their every movement.

He’s cruel, he’s dark and we have no clue how much he knows. That lack of knowledge is terrifying and it was nice to have a hero that actually feared their adversary rather than felt like they could defeat them, because Celaena, Dorian, everyone feels powerless against him.

The quote below from Celaena is one that I am especially fond of.

Cain is ... wow. Don’t even get me started. He’s a brute and he’s just plain cruel for fun. I didn’t like him because he was a bully, but he was never that prominent for me. He was a villain like any other.

Elena, who is another pretty good but also a bit meh character for me, warns Celaena of this regarding Cain and whatever is going on.

Elena is not a character that I will go into. She’s sort of the friendly ghost that hangs back and swoops in once in a while, and she seems to want to help Celaena, but you have to take a look at her for yourselves.

The Plot

Ever wanted to read a murder mystery slash assassing tournament slash love and friendship story that takes place in a fantasy world that once held magic but is now dried out? Then this is the one for you.

That is a huge simplification, of course, because reality is so much better. I was in suspense until the end - not about who was the evil one, but rather what is going on. There’s a whole level of suspense going on in figuring out what in the world is happening alongside Celaena, who needs to discover everything for herself.

And gosh. The whole retraining programme in which Celaena finally gets to eat like the noble she feels like, and the way she has her sassy spars with Chaol.

Just everything.

Also the ball seen at the Yule ball is so worth it and her dress description gives me life.

Then we move on to the tournament. I was in love with the challenges and whenever one presented itself, my eyes were glued to the pages. The way Celaena can easily outmaneuver most of them, but she needs to keep it a secret is priceless.

Also the poison challenge in which the participants need to rank the poisons from the most deadly to the most harmless and then drink whatever they placed as ‘without poisons’ is amazing. Partly because Celaena actually doesn’t identify all of them, and partly because there is just so much confusion among everyone but one (who’s basically a poisoner) and when they drink it. Man did I enjoy watching all the characters that Celaena hated writhe on the ground before they could get the antidote.

Next comes the murders. They are gruesome and terribly well written, and the worst part is that no one can figure out what is doing it. Organs are removed, brains carved out and they are surrounded by strange marks.

Of course Celaena finds out, which results in one of the most intense scenes in the book, which I very much loved.

The last part of the plot is the actual tournament. It is tense, and it is glorious. A hero who struggles so much at the end will always be appealing to me, and then the scene where she thinks I will not be afraid (below) is one of the most character defining moments for me.

Because that is who she is. She denies her fear room, she fights on through it, and she says that she is Celaena Sardothien, and she will not be afraid.

It gave me courage, too.

The Language

Gorgeous, stunning, fierce. Can I end the segment there? That’s not enough to convince you? Alright, then let’s take a deep dive.

This is my absolute favorite quote, so much so that I got a version of it tattooed, so the below is really the star of the book.

It’s got fate in it and it’s got power and it is so beautifully written that I am in awe. The fear part got me - that she is so powerful that she would be able to change the course of the world, but she is too afraid to do it, because of her past, because of the world around her.

Geez that hits right in the feels.

The stars and darkness and unknown is a huge part of this book and there are so many beautiful quotes that it is hard to narrow it down. The thing is that while the characters carry the book, the language is paced perfectly with snippets of these gems hidden between the pages and it just makes you want to keep coming back, again and again and again.

I found myself trying to emulate her writing style after I had read it (I quickly dropped that again because I kept slipping back into my own style which is honestly the best), and it stuck with me long after I put down the book.

In conclusion

Do you get the feeling that I could talk for days and days and days about this book? You are very much right. It is my all time favorite, and I devoured it whole in one sitting when I first got it. I simply couldn’t tear my eyes away from the pages and the wonderful world that Sarah J. Maas has built within.

So do yourself a favor and check it out. I’ll be giving it five paws, in any case.

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myforeverforlife · 4 years

Text

Chapter 6: Baëkhyun

Sehûn smiled triumphantly as he took aim, arm pulling back when a sudden flash of bright light engulfed the room. You covered your eyes instinctively, the blinding radiance of light visible even behind your eyelids.

And as soon as it came, the light was gone.

Lowering your arms, you hoped that it was another hidden bit of magic that your keys had. All of the blood drained from your face once you realized who it was.

“Baekhyun.”

Masterlist

Obsession Masterlist

Trigger warning: Mentions of blood

Baekhyun’s lips formed an amused smile, even as his head tilted slightly to the side. “Baëkhyun,” he corrected, voice low and smooth as velvet. “Although your pronunciation is almost correct.”

Sehûn was gone, and you were no longer in the room filled with windows. This room was the complete opposite ⁠— no windows in sight, the walls obsidian black. The only door stood at the other side of the room, right behind Baëkhyun. You peered down at your necklace for reassurance, eyes widening when you saw what you stood on. Beneath your feet, the flooring was made of... ice?

Noticing what you were staring at, Baëkhyun followed your gaze with a proud grin. “Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s made of my light. Regular glass tiles, add a little magic light and you get a floor that brightens up the room. But,” Baëkhyun’s voice dropped. “I didn’t bring you here to discuss interior design.”

You gulped, Baëkhyun’s light blue eyes hardening. He wore a thin chain on his face, draped over his nose while the ends disappeared behind his ears. In his hand were two swords, the light from the floor morphing the dull-colored metal and highlighting the sharp blades.

“You know, it’s sort of funny how long you’ve lasted. Chanyeøl was furious when he heard that Suhø wanted to keep you as one of our own. But I have to agree with Suhø, I think he’s right. Our dear leader usually is.”

Baëkhyun switched one of the swords to his other hand, flipping it in the air and catching it easily, in no danger at all of accidentally catching it on the blade. “None of the others from your realm have lasted nearly as long, and they definitely weren’t nearly as interesting as you.” A haunting smile appeared on his face. “And oh, how I’ve missed playing games.”

Oh no. You didn’t miss how Baëkhyun’s hands tightened their grip around the sword handles.

“I’ll make a deal with you, because I like you so much. If you can beat me in a game of my choosing, I will let you walk free, even escort you to the door. But if you lose,” Baëkhyun’s smile disappeared. “Then you must give up ownership of the keys to me, and you’ll basically be at our mercy. My brothers and I, that is.”

Even as you stood practically trembling jn your boots, it was hard to keep your curiosity at bay. “Suhø mentioned that too,” you spoke up. “Giving up ownership of my keys? You mean handing them over?” You were confused ⁠— even if they had the keys, they wouldn’t be able to use them. Hadn’t they already learned?

“No,” Baëkhyun said, a look of mock pity on his face. “Your keys have magic, we have magic. You, lost Gatekeeper, have some of your own. Because the keys are tied to you, they use some of your unique magic. They’re attached to you,” he clarified.

“If you wished, you could sever the magic connection between you and your dear keys. The same would happen if we were to kill you. That’s also part of the reason why Chanyeøl is so pissed that Suhø stepped in. Arguably, we’d have the keys already if he had just let you burn, but Suhø has a thing about not wasting resources.” Baëkhyun rolled his eyes with a wry smile.

Your heart rate quickened as you realized what Baëkhyun was saying. Either way, they would gain control of your keys ⁠— whether you were dead or alive. The choice was up to you.

“So,” Baëkhyun spoke up, grabbing your attention. “What’s your choice? I promise to go easy on you.” He let out a small laugh, both of you knowing that the opposite was true.

It all boiled down to how you wanted to lose ⁠— stay alive but betray your home, or die and practically hand your enemies the key to their victory. But if you did play against Baëkhyun, and you actually won, you’d be free. There was no guarantee that he would honor his promise if you won, but still... You couldn’t possibly ignore a chance like that, no matter how slim it was.

“Okay,” you said aloud. “What’s the game?”

Baëkhyun’s grin turned mischievous, his face so much like your own Baekhyun that it hurt your heart a little to even look at him. “Swordfighting,” he announced. “First one to get close to the neck wins. And to even the playing field,” Baëkhyun removed the chain from his face, throwing it to the side. “There. No magical powers of mine for you to worry about,” he crooned in a sugar-sweet voice.

Interesting. You hadn’t even known that their magic relied on a physical object, much like your own.

He dropped one sword to the floor, kicking it over to you. With trembling hands, you picked it up, taken aback by how heavy it was. You had never trained with a sword ⁠— the weapons were considered ancient in your universe.

Baëkhyun waited until you were ready, a bloodthirsty look in his eye. Once you had the sword ready in both hands, he dashed forward, aiming for your chest.

You moved to the side, avoiding the attack and backing up before he could strike again. Baëkhyun was swift, easily holding the sword like it weighed nothing.

Clearly, he was an expert.

You noticed how he tried to keep you away from the door, shepherding you further back into the room with a quick swipe of his sword whenever it seemed like you were getting too close to his side of the room. Unluckily for you, this meant that he was pushing you closer and closer to the wall behind you.

At this point, you were evading his attacks rather than taking the offensive. Your keys swung wildly as you ducked and moved out of the way, falling back against your chest.

The keys. They couldn’t touch them, and even if they did, the keys were like poison to them.

Your mind flashed back to Kāi, how he had reacted as soon as the keys made contact with his skin.

In a lapse of focus, Baëkhyun’s sword managed to swipe against your arm, cutting through sleeve and skin as you hissed in pain.

“Pay attention. It’s no fun when my opponent is spacing out,” he taunted.

Now impaired and struggling even more with your sword, Baëkhyun was getting closer and closer to winning. He rushed forward, pushing you into a corner as the tip of his blade pressed against your stomach.

He lowered his sword as he leaned in, barely out of breath as he smirked down at you. “You made this too easy for me. I was hoping you had more fight in you.” Baëkhyun’s face hovered over yours as he raised his sword, just about to press it to your throat.

This was your only chance.

You dropped your sword onto the floor, ignoring how it clattered loudly as you reached for your keys, wielding them firmly in one hand. Wasting no time, you reached up and slashed Baëkhyun across the face, watching as foul, dark blood immediately spilled from the cut.

Baëkhyun backed away, howling in agony and unbridled rage as he brought his hands to his face. The cut had gone straight across, marring his perfect features. Some of his blood had splattered onto your face and shirt, but you had other things to worry about.

There was no time to lose.

You sprinted past, dodging away when he reached out to grab onto you. The keys began to heat up, much like they did whenever you approached the doors in the Realm of Gateways.

Was the exit close by?

Your hand fumbled with the doorknob, sweat and nerves making it difficult to turn it easily. It was then that you realized that you were locked in, the door refusing to open up no matter how hard you jiggled the doorknob.

You were crying, on the verge of hyperventilating. It was too much, too much for any person to go through. How could this happen to you?

A shadow appeared from behind, growing larger and larger as the figure approached. You only realized until it was too late, spinning around to see Baëkhyun hit you on the side of the head with the blunt of his sword.

You fell to the floor, body lifeless as you blacked out for what felt like the millionth time.

“Fuck, not again,” you managed to think to yourself before your eyelids closed.

Baëkhyun stood over you, chest heaving up and down. He was absolutely filthy, face and shirt covered in the grotesque black blood, but he didn’t even notice.

“Did you see that, Chën?” he asked, looking up and towards a corner of the room. A tiny camera was set up there, red light blinking back at Baëkhyun.

“You’re in for a treat.”

A/N: I had this posted already but when I went on tumblr mobile to fix the tags cause they weren’t showing up, all the text got erased??? so I apologize in advance if there’s any typos, this is almost exactly from what I copied from where I emailed my first draft to myself, and I was like frantically editing it right now so I can just post this and go grocery shopping LOL

Tag list: @thalasoophilia, @skjdln, @trishmarieco, @jongin-be-my-jagi, @violentcosmicsymphony

#exo #baekhyun #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun fanfic #exo scenario #exo fanfic #writings

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