#How fascinating that we’re finally privy to it

[completeoveranalysis]

[2]

OLD LADY FORTUNE TELLER? IN MY FINAL QUARTER OF XXXHOLIC?

IT’S MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK. APPARENTLY. 

WHAT A CALL BACK?

Also hello yes I would indeed like to subscribe to pleasant domestic life scenarios featuring Kohane having a nice loving life. Sign me up. It’s all I require forever. 

[lahooozaherr]

I Will Always Find You

Chapter 1

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Kidnapping, dead parent mention, good relationship with parent, drugging (implied)

MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI. AGELESS/BLANK ACCOUNTS WILL BE BLOCKED.

My tag list (instructions & requirements)

Chapter Summary: You’re a princess attending a diplomat event on Naboo with your father, a senator. He enlists his old friend, Greef Karga, to hire the best he knows to be your bodyguard for the week. Meeting the Mandalorian sparks a mutual fascination between you and him.

A/N: This takes place between season 2 and Book of Boba Fett although I do take some liberties with canon. The Razor Crest still exists because obvious reasons. Space birth control is a thing. Trying to bring out the sassy Din I know exists. It’s been over ten years since I’ve written and posted fanfic so please be gentle with me!

Song Inspo: Safety Net by Arianna Grande

Inspo Playlist

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

Present Day

Wherever you were, it was dark and humid. Sometimes the sun shined through the small, barred window of the room you were placed in. It had been a few days, or at least that’s what it felt like to you, but you hadn’t kept count. Twice a day, meager rations were placed into your room quickly by someone you never really saw.

You couldn’t help but think how this was such a pathetic way to die. Slowly, but surely, you were losing any hope or will to live and any fight left in you also diminished quickly. The timing of all of this was awful. Saying goodbye to the Mandalorian had left a hole in your heart. Life would just never be the same after him.

If only you had told him how you felt. The thought of that had only made you more depressed, given your current situation. That last goodbye, full of unspoken feelings and confessions that wouldn't leave the confines of your beating chests, was all you could think about, aside from your duties as princess, your relationship with your father, and wanting so badly to help his burden as senator. And all of that amounted to this? What a cruel joke the universe had played on you.

The jingling of keys jerked your attention towards the door. A man you don’t recognize walks in, he is probably the same person who's been bringing you your “meals”, if you can call them that. You remained on the small, creaking bed that had been the only piece of furniture in the room besides a makeshift privy.

“We’re leaving later today,” he leans forward with a cloth and wraps it around your eyes. You don’t bother to say anything, the small bruises on your body are enough evidence that asking questions will get you no answers anyways.

After wrapping the cloth around your head and securing it around your eyes, he grabs your wrists. You hear the click of fasteners and drop your hands to your lap. Finally, you hear his footsteps exit the room and you’re alone again.

What was the point of this? To make sure you can’t tell where you’re being taken? It’s hard to care anymore. That flame of self preservation has been increasingly low and dull the more the days drag on.

You had been kidnapped, you know that much at least. Not by who, though. It had happened on a random stop for fuel and supplies on the way back to your home planet. It was during your walk through the market near that stop, telling your father you’d be quick. The planet seemed safe enough but you’d guess that judgment was wrong, evidently.

The whole event was a blur after you had been grabbed back into an alley, made to smell a cloth and pass out. Since then you’ve been met with sneers and silence from the few you’ve seen of your captors. They didn’t harm you but they also didn’t care how they handled you, thus the bruising. Wherever you were, you could tell it at least housed several of them. This must be where they kept you before they decided what to do with you. For all you knew, they could have taken you to an entirely different planet while you were unconscious.

You’ve wondered if you’d be found. Would the Mandalorian find you? Or is he really long gone? Your father had to have at least tried to contact someone.

You sink back into yourself on the thin mattress, slipping back into a dreamless sleep.

—————————————————————————

Two weeks earlier…

It wasn’t long ago that Din had to leave Grogu with the Jedi. Grief had been a foreign emotion to him until then. So he dealt with it the only way he knew how: distract himself seeking quarries. Greef Karga had plenty of bounties for him under the table while he rebuilt Nevarro.

He made his way towards Karga’s office, weaving through the bustling city Nevarro had become in recent months. Merchants sold their goods and civilians worked together to build and improve their infrastructure.

The communication Karga sent to Din had been vague.

“Come see me when you’re done with this job, I have a new, interesting one for you.”

Din had originally scoffed at the statement. Interesting? Probably more like a headache. Karga was regularly roping him into weird and sometimes, very inconvenient, jobs. But he’d always at least hear him out.

Entering his office, Karga turns to him and smiles, “Mando!” The two clasp arms and shake, their usual greeting to each other. “Please, sit.” Gesturing him to the seat in front of his desk. He sits in his own chair and folds his hands out in front of him.

“I’m assuming you got my message!”

“Yes, saying you had an interesting job. Define interesting?”

Karga laughs, “you know me too well Mando. But I promise, this isn’t the usual ‘interesting’ I bring you on for. However, it is still very important.”

Din crosses his arm and leans back into the chair, tilting his helm to signal him to continue.

“A diplomatic gathering is happening in Naboo, one that I’m attending. A very good friend of mine, who is a senator, is requesting a bodyguard for his daughter. He asked me for my best and most trustworthy guy, and that guy is you.”

Din lightly hums, “a body guard while they’re in Naboo? Doesn’t that seem a bit much?”

“I see what you’re saying, my friend, but there’s more to it. We’ve caught word that a warlord seeks control of their territory and….lineage. It’s very important to him that his daughter’s protection is made a priority.”

“Lineage? Because they’re royalty?”

“That’s correct. She’s a princess. She will also be attending the events, their plan is for her to take on more of a senator role and take her father’s place one day.”

Din mulls the details over in his mind for a moment. Karga was right about it being interesting, but it’s nothing he couldn’t handle. If anything it was interesting that Karga had a friend who was royalty.

Karga continues, “you will be paid, very well if I might add. Your lodging and transportation will also be paid for. You and I will travel together.”

“Why not? Sure, I’ll do it.”

Karga claps his hands and stands up, “excellent! I’ll have my ship prepared and we’ll leave in due time.”

—————————————————————————

Naboo has to be one of your favorite places to visit. Your home planet had its own fair share of greenery, lakes and culture but it wasn’t as much as Naboo. Your family’s bloodline were far off cousins to the royalty here and thus you always had somewhere to stay when you were here.

For the entire week leading up to the trip, you thoroughly prepared yourself. You had classes and meetings to be attending soon and you wanted to do your best to properly represent your homeland. Your father had done well to provide you with everything you’d need, from learning etiquette as a senator but as well as politics and diplomacy.

A spacious room had been provided for you, already filled with some of your possessions and needed materials. You sat at a small vanity in the corner of the room, touching up your hair and makeup. Meetings didn’t start today but you’d be making rounds with your father regardless.

“You can do this,” you mouthed to your reflection in the mirror. You didn’t 100% believe yourself though. There was immense pressure to take on the responsibility, though you knew your father would never force you. You wanted to help him, the most selfless and hardworking man that you looked up to more than anyone else in the galaxy. More than that, you wanted to improve your leadership skills for the sake of your people.

But a nagging feeling you’ve tried to squash in recent years always crept at the back of your mind. Is this what you really want? It was easier to keep that thought in the dark and to not question it. But that became more difficult the older you grew.

Would your father be disappointed in you if you chose another path in life? Probably not. But he was also aging, and that worried you always. Losing your mother a few years ago had seemed to fast track that aging. He is a compassionate and caring leader, and an adoring father, all in spite of losing the love of his life. You struggled with the thought of leaving him to deal with everything on his own.

Suddenly you hear your father knocking at your door, “can I come in?”

“Yes father!” You call out to him. The door to your room slides open. You can see him from behind you in the mirror. His smile is bright and warm, as always when he looks at you. Keeping eye contact with him in the mirror, he comes up behind you and places his hands on your shoulders.

“You remind me so much of your mother.”

“You always say that,” you smile back at him.

“And I mean it, every single time,” he lays a soft kiss to the back of your head. “Are you almost ready? We have some people waiting for us.”

You furrow your brow, “really? Who?”

He smiles, “it’s a surprise, you’ll see.”

—————————————————————————

After landing the ship in a nearby port, Din and Karga soon found themselves walking through the expansive, wide halls of one of Naboo’s palaces. This one was reserved for events like this. Senators and other political figures got to stay in the provided lodging of the palace, very convenient for the activities of that week.

Much like the rest of Naboo, the palace was beautiful. Lush gardens lined several courtyards within its walls, perfect for gathering with others or even just oneself. The halls were made of a shiny granite, any steps across it left a small clicking noise that echoed in the comfortable silence.

The two came upon a small, more private courtyard. Complete with a stone bench and small fountain in the middle. To the far side there was a door to someone’s quarters, Din had figured.

“Alright, we should be meeting them here,” Karga says while looking around the area.

“This is exciting for me,” he beams. “This year I was finally invited, with a good word in from my friend. This will be great for relations for the society Nevarro is becoming.”

Din is half listening, taking in his surroundings while still as a statue. It didn’t matter so much to him, this was just another job. Another thing to keep him busy, to keep him from missing Grogu.

“Karga!” The voice comes from another man who looks about Karga’s age, emerging from the door in the courtyard. “My friend, it’s been too long!”

The two share a hearty laugh and hug, patting each other on the shoulder respectively. Pulling away, they lock hands and shake.

“Likewise, Senator,” Karga turns and gestures towards Din.

“Mando, this is the Senator, my good friend and our client for this week.”

The Senator reaches his hand out and Din reciprocates, shaking it, “so this is the Mandalorian I’ve heard so much about! I’m so grateful you took the job.”

Din nods and steps back into position.

“My daughter should be out here in just a few minutes. She’s been very nervous about this week. My own nerves are eased knowing I can trust her in your care. Karga has told me a great deal about you, and anyone he trusts that much has earned mine as well. You’ve been made aware of our situation, I hope?” He queries Karga, who nods in response.

“Of course, I made sure.”

“I’m very grateful. I will spare no costs to make sure my daughter is safe.”

Din notices the glimmer of fear in the Senator’s eyes. Karga shared more details about the warlord threatening them on the way to Naboo. He found it odd that this warlord had chosen, what seemed to him, a random planet. Despite its royalty and trading, it was a more distant planet in the outer rim not too many others knew about.

“Then what is so special about this planet?” Din asks, really more so thinking out loud.

“Probably because they seem weaker, and have similar resources to Naboo. They are smaller and lesser known, for a warlord that’s an ideal place to set roots and control,” Karga replies, nonchalantly. “It’s not exactly that they’re weak, but they’ve chosen to keep more to themselves. But times change and relations have to be made to keep their economy running. That draws attention.

“What does the daughter have to do with it then? Why target her?”

“Well, negotiation for starters. Ransom. A threat directly to their lineage. If she’s killed, there’s one less direct descendant to take on their leadership when their current senator is retired or passed on. Although, I doubt the plan is to try and kill her right away.”

“Right. Makes more sense to hold her hostage, I guess.”

Karga sighs, “You’re probably right. And without much of an army at this time, they can’t afford to take them with them.”

____________________________________________

Leaving the door to your room into its adjoining courtyard, you notice your father standing with two other figures.

“Father?”

All three men turn to face you, your father’s smiles, “There you are! Gentlemen, this is my beautiful daughter.”

With part of the gown you’re wearing bunched in one hand to give you room to walk, you descend the small stairs and approach them. Smiling and bowing your head slightly, the two other men do the same in response. “It’s nice to meet you…” shooting your father a clueless look.

Your father clears his throat, “my dear, this is a good friend of mine, Greef Karga.” Karga nods in acknowledgement, holding his hand out for you. You take it gently and allow him to give it a small squeeze before returning it to yourself.

“I’m sure you don’t remember me, the last I saw of you, you were still an infant. You have grown into such a lovely young woman.”

“Thank you, that’s so kind. It’s nice to meet you again.”

Your father quickly interjects, “And the surprise for you, my darling.” He points to the steel clad figure standing next to Karga. “The Mandalorian I have hired as your bodyguard this week.”

Distracted might be an understatement when you first spotted him. Compared to you, he was tall and intimidating. His armor is made of beskar, shining in the sunlight. You were immediately intrigued by him. Mandalorian culture came up in your studies plenty of times, and you had a vague knowledge of it stored in your memory.

The Mandalorian is silent, only giving you a small nod, and you respond in kind. Very fitting for someone like him to be silent and emotionless. You wanted to know more about him. Aside from the bodyguard detail, you understood why your father kept this as a surprise, he knew better than anyone what interests you and your thirst for knowledge.

Your father claps his hands, “Shall we show you two around?”

Karga waves ahead, “By all means!”

Karga and your father walk ahead, leaving you and the Mandalorian to follow behind, side by side. You wanted to keep staring at him but tried not to, you didn’t want to seem rude and you certainly couldn’t tell where his eyes were. Yet.

Approaching another set of small stairs, you habitually gather a corner of your gown to free up room for your feet to step down. Karga holds his hand out to you once more, this time to help you.

Once at the bottom of the small staircase, Karga points at the Mandalorian, “Mando, learn to do that for her. It’s proper.”

The Mandalorian tilts his helmet at him, your face starts to heat up, “Oh please it’s really not necessary!”

He laughs and returns to your father’s side, walking ahead. Both of you follow behind them, now in a sort of awkward silence. You mull over in your head what you could say but you’re afraid of sounding….immature? Incompetent?

“I-I’m sorry,” you begin. “Please don’t worry about something like that.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond right away and it makes you even more nervous. Finally, he replies, “Do you plan to wear more outfits like that?”

You felt flustered, quickly. This is the first time you’re hearing his voice, although modulated because of his helmet. Your curiosity only grew.

“Uhm, yes…”

“Then I will help you,” he says, with a hint of softness that somehow filtered through his helmet.

Your now racing heart doesn’t relent and you find yourself seriously questioning why.

—————————————————————————

Karga and your father might as well have their own bubble, leading your group while they engage in deep conversation and play catch up.

Unfortunately this left you and the Mandalorian in a sort of awkward silence. Well, awkward to you at least. He’s probably fine, probably prefers it that way. You had hundreds of questions you could ask but none that were appropriate after only just meeting him. You searched your mind for ways to break the ice.

“Do youuuu…..get jobs like this a lot?” You decided to shoot that one out.

“No.”

Dammit. Of course. New question.

“What kind of jobs do you usually get, then?”

“Bounties.”

Maker, this was almost painful. Intimidating might have been an understatement for you. Something in you wanted to fight for his attention, his actual attention. Not what he was paid to do.

Your small group would come to stops here and there, your father guiding your guests and showing them where everything is and what’s what. You’d occasionally pass others who would nod in your direction and carry on. The palace was peaceful and quiet.

“Are you ok?” His voice startled you out of your thoughts. You glance his way without turning your head.

“Yes. Why?”

“Your heart rate is spiking.”

Oh no, he can tell? Because of his helmet? How embarrassing.

You let out a deep sigh, “this is my first time meeting a Mandalorian. Admittedly, I’m trying to come up with a conversation without prying too much.”

“That makes you nervous?”

“You’re tall, silent and intimidating. Of course.”

A small chuckle escapes his helmet in response to your sudden casual attitude, taking you by surprise. Did you somehow pull a laugh out of him?

“I’ll give you that.”

You smirk and let your eyes wander. Maybe this won’t be as hard as you had thought.

—————————————————————————

The way you look at him is…..different. Din is a trained warrior, he’s skilled in being able to read others. You wear your emotions and thoughts on your face pretty clearly. What he’s not exactly prepared for is the kind of emotions you’re displaying. When he first met your eyes (unbeknownst to you) he saw you look him up and down, curiously. A small smirk on your lips and your eyes change from inquisitive to….excitement? Was he reading that right?

At some point, your father’s tour tapered off. Karga suggested going into the nearby market for food and your father insisted. All four of you are now seated outside of a restaurant. Din, of course, did not eat. So that left him with more time to sit back, cross his arms over his chest and observe you.

It was hard to get a word in edgewise with your father and Karga. It felt like they had never stopped talking, having years to catch up on each other. He’d watch as you sat silently, your eyes would flit between the two of them, him and around you. Here and there you’d stop to stare at him for a minute, observing him right back. But you didn’t have the shield of a helmet to hide the eyes you gave him.

After finishing your food you started to become visibly impatient. You finally find a small moment of silence between those two and interject.

“Father, I’d like to wander around the market for a while if that’s alright with you. I’ll meet back up with you tonight?” You shoot him a look in your eyes that Din can definitely understand. Please let me go. I'm so bored.

He smiles back at you, although cautiously. He seems to hesitate, pausing before saying “Yes. Of course. Of course!” You stand up from your chair and stretch, Din also rises from his seat and stands.

“Don’t give the Mandalorian any trouble,” he winks at you, giving your hand a small squeeze before letting go. You give him a small tch with your tongue, rolling your eyes and turning to leave. Your father and Karga laugh heartily before resuming their previous conversation.

Din catches up to you and you let out a big sigh, “I’m sorry, any longer and I would have fallen asleep!”

“Karga has that effect on people sometimes.”

“You’re lucky though, you have a helmet, you could sleep and no one would really know.”

Din hums, amused, “don’t tell anyone.”

You couldn’t help but cackle back at his unexpected quip. You know for sure now that there’s a living, breathing person under there.

—————————————————————————

You’d noticed the Mandalorian does an excellent job of making himself look broad and strong. He was definitely a man of few words, so you tried to pay extra attention to his body language and mannerisms, which was still almost scarce on its own.

His armor glinted in the early evening light. Night life was starting up in the small area of town you were in. Some shops remained open alongside merchant stands and food vendors. Perfect timing on getting away from your father and Karga, otherwise you’d probably be dozing off.

But that still meant you were left in another silent moment like before. Only this time, the Mandalorian followed you.

You want to say more and break the silence, but your mind draws blanks on what to say. You finally settle with, “So! Uh, can I call you something? Maybe your name?” He’s silent for a minute before responding, “Mando is fine.”

Ah. Yes. Mando. Very creative.

“You don’t tell anyone your real name, do you?”

He glances at you on his side and nods.

“No, I don’t try to.”

He walked beside you as you took your time looking through merchant tables down the street of the city. The choices of items were almost endless. Clothes, books, and trinkets.

“So….besides standing around and brooding, what else can you tell me about yourself?”

He does a double take at you; you’re starting to run a record for most unexpected things ever said to him before. “Brooding?”

You laugh before turning to face him, the black T of his visor peering down at you. You had gotten close enough to him to really take in how broad he really is. A tension slowly built between you.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m just so fascinated by you”

“Yeah? Why?”

“I wonder just who you are, under that cool demeanor.”

He lets out something between a scoff and a laugh.

He’s used to the mixture of camaraderie or fear others tend to have towards him. But this? His brain almost short circuits, having to take a few minutes to process what you said. His helmet system alerts him to his own pickup in heart rate.

He settles on saying nothing, as usual, and you’ve already learned to not be bothered by that. You take it as an answer itself, sort of. You turn back to the table you’re standing at, browsing the small piles of clothing.

It was like the more the ice melted away between the two of you, the more you felt attuned to him. Maybe it was real or just your imagination, but if felt like you could start to tell where you think he’s looking at. You’d see his hands move in particular ways, clenching his fists at his sides or casually hooking his thumb into his bandolier.

The evening sky grew darker and the streets were lined in lanterns and lights. Music played somewhere in the distance, the crowd slowly died down. You decided it was time to head back, with Mando following after you.

You both turn down a quiet pathway. The silence between you had grown more comfortable. Fatigue has started to settle in your bones. You yawn and drop your shoulders, “just seven days. Seven days of dressing up and making appearances.”

“Do you have to dress like that everyday?” He asks, not that he exactly minds. The way you dress yourself is proper, ethereal. It was one of the first things he noticed about you. Which makes sense, because you’re royalty. Right, that’s why he noticed.

“I have to represent my family, and my home, so yes. I have to look my best every day.”

You pause for a moment, your eyes staring off into the distance as if you were mentally somewhere else.

“It’s like my armor,” you add, softly smiling to yourself.

Mando notices the distant look in your eye, and the sound of your voice. A sudden sadness had seemed to creep in. Something about seeing you like that pulled at his heart.

As if returning to yourself, you snap your eyes to meet his visor and smile.

He recognizes that look, the feeling emanating off of you. That was your wall, your learned defense mechanism. He knows underneath his armor, he’s a grieving man. A man who is not sure of his path anymore. An apostate.

He wonders who you are, under the well pampered, royal facade. Underneath the manners and gowns.

He mentally agrees, the fascination between you two is mutual.

—————————————————————————-

You’ve really got to start putting on that charm you know you have.

Wait, why are you telling yourself that?

For fun, of course.

If you’re going to be stuck doing this for seven days, you might as well have fun during it. Is striking up a flirtatious banter with the Mandalorian so bad? You’re curious.

Everything about him says “don’t fuck with me.” You’d noticed the glances he got, from the town to even inside the palace. The way crowds parted for him and others looked on and whispered.

You don’t think father thought that through when he hired the Mandalorian. All in an effort to protect you from potential dangers and he has, now, brought more attention to you. But you can’t necessarily blame him. Mando seemed more than capable and his reputation precedes him just from the looks he’s getting everywhere you go.

He had a swagger in his walk and gave off an aura that says he knows he’s a walking deadly weapon.

And all of that combined was exciting to you. It made your heart stutter. Maybe you should ponder that, but you put that thought aside for later.

You have felt his gaze since you met. At first you’d thought you were being paranoid, or maybe self indulgent, you weren’t sure of which at the time. But you’re more certain of it now. Especially when you sat across from him at dinner. But that’s what he’s getting paid to do, right?

Now, as you walk alongside him back to the palace, you’re mentally bashing yourself. You told him you felt like your gowns were like armor and felt ridiculous. There is no comparison of your clothes to his cold beskar. After a smile, you change the subject, opting for the bolder route.

“I’ve felt your eyes on me all day.”

Mando remains silent, looking ahead. You half expect him to scoff. Instead, he stops walking. You stop in front, facing him. In the nick of time, you two had made it to the garden area outside of the door to your suite.

“I could say the same for you.”

Your stomach flips, even though you already knew you weren’t exactly hiding when you watched him. He leans back on his legs and crosses his arms, waiting for your reply.

Right, yes, a reply. Hurry, and think of something to quip back at him.

“Is that wrong?”

He hums, considers your question, “no, just more obvious.”

“Yes, well, not all of us have the luxury of anonymity right now,” you nod your head to him, he shrugs.

You raise an eyebrow and smile, “so you admit it? You’ve been watching me all day.”

His stance freezes, and now you know you’ve got him, you smirk.

He steps closer to you, just enough to barely brush against you. His form is wide and tense, “it’s my job.”

There’s a small tone in his voice. Darker, smooth and matter of fact.

Your eyes drift from down up and focus on where you expect his eyes to be, you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. This is suddenly a contest of confidence, and you muster any bit you’ve got left in you.

“In that case, Mandalorian,” your voice drifts, breathy and low, you run a finger across his chest plate as you strut past him, “I will just have to give you more to watch.”

You peer at him over your shoulder and smile. “I’ll see you back here in the morning,” he says. You notice his stature becoming more relaxed. One hand on his hip, knee popped out, he watches you disappear inside.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you @veggiestreehugger so much for beta-reading this for me 😭❤️

[0613magazine]

201109 Rolling Stone India

BTS: The Rolling Stone Interview

The global superstars get candid about the philosophy of their music, the experiences that inspired their upcoming record ‘BE’ and the ever-evolving definition of success

The day before I began writing this piece, I decided to listen to BTS’ discography in its entirety. It’s not my first cruise through their impressive arsenal of hip-hop, jazz, blues and glimmering pop–far from it, in fact–but it’s a powerful reminder as to why we’re doing this interview in the first place. 

BTS isn’t the overnight sensation you’ve probably been led to believe. The rise to the top of the charts didn’t happen as a result of a fluke, a ‘rabid’ fandom or paid views. A lot of the time I see articles in mainstream media or reaction videos splashed across YouTube that demand to know how this happened, or where exactly BTS emerged from. There’s been everything from admiration and dismissal, obsession and skepticism, all of it leading back to questions about ‘how’ and ‘why.’ 

Their music isn’t for a certain group of individuals; it is for everyone who has moved through the stages of life. BTS’ lyrics break down moments that the majority of us living on this planet have in common, including experiences during school days, bonds (forged and broken) with friends, expectations placed upon us by our parents and the roles thrust onto us by society, all leading to the seemingly unavoidable fate of falling into the rat race. By addressing these stages of our lives, the core of this band’s message ties into the examination of what it means to be human, to understand where you lie in the grand scheme of things. There is no limit to who can be a fan or who can see themselves in these seven men from South Korea, and with this very simple truth, it is a legacy cemented for all generations to discover and fall in love with.

While working with BTS on this project over the last couple of months, I learned a lot about them as professionals. Their schedules were stretched tight as they completed photoshoots, videos, production and everything else that could revolve around the release of a new record. In that particular span of weeks, they were also rehearsing for and would eventually conduct ‘Map of the Soul ON:E,’ their record-breaking live concert that finally allowed them to perform the COVID-cancelled tour they had planned for their 2020 LP Map of the Soul: 7. Despite this flood of activities in the members’ days, all of Rolling Stone India’s deadlines were met, release dates were scheduled, and I truly understood how much BTS and their team focus on precision and timing. There is attention to detail on levels that most audiences are not privy to–and probably never will be. But it is this commitment to the craft and teamwork that sets them apart from any other musical act on the planet. 

Comprising rappers RM, SUGA and j-hope plus vocalists Jin, Jimin, V and Jung Kook, BTS were last on Rolling Stone India’s cover in September 2017, right before the start of their overwhelming ride to the top of the Western charts. At that point during our conversation, the group’s leader RM had felt that their rising popularity was due to the Western audience’s fascination with trends, stating, “I think international audiences are more sensitive to trends. [They know] about what’s going on Billboard, in pop music.” But since then BTS have gone on to break and set multiple records, establishing themselves as titans in an industry that would otherwise see boy bands (especially those of color or foreign) come and go as quickly as an ocean wave. They smashed through preconceived notions surrounding Asian men, K-pop, and artists with female-led fandoms, building a path that opens doors for all those who were previously rejected by Western standards. After three years of a steady climb to the top, it’s pretty clear that BTS are not a passing fad–they’re here to stay and change the way the world sees what makes a pop icon. There’s a certain assurance in knowing that BTS aren’t going anywhere. It’s a strength that those of us who are people of color–especially Asian and overlooked–feel when we see them fight to build us a platform.

BTS and I connect several times over a span of a few weeks in October. It’s a vibrant back and forth between India and Korea, and a conversation long overdue, spread out over several days to accommodate their hectic schedule. They answer more of my questions than I expected, and open up about facets of their artistry and identity they haven’t before, including their thought processes while writing certain tracks, their fears that inspired the themes in their glorious cinematic universe, their ambitions, and the ever-evolving meaning of success. We discussed topics that aren’t often brought up in other interviews, focused on revisiting past work and the evolution of the members’ viewpoints on life. It’s a rare glimpse into the creative process of one of the most important artists of our generation, and makes me feel as though I’ve been trusted with something monumental.

Congratulations on debuting at Number One on the Billboard Hot 100. Did you have a feeling that the song to accomplish this feat would be “Dynamite?”

V:​ We had no idea “Dynamite” would become such a success. We just wanted to share a burst of energy and deliver a message of hope in these difficult times. We’re grateful to our fans, ARMY, for enabling us to achieve that goal.

You also put out music frequently in Japanese and now with “Dynamite” you took a leap into recording in English. How is the creative process different there, and what are the challenges of recording and performing in a foreign language?

V:​ We gave extra attention to the English pronunciation, since this was our very first full English track, but it was a fun process overall. In general, we put more effort into clearly communicating our messages whenever we sing songs in a foreign language.

Outside of all your charting success, what would you consider a significant turning point in your evolution as artists, whether solo or as a team?

SUGA:​ When we began touring and performing in front of live audiences all over the world, we felt that we had evolved one step further in our journey as artists.

“We need a balanced mix of happiness and sadness and light and dark to act as nutritive elements in our lives.”— RM. 

What is the process of choosing a title track for a BTS album? Is the title song the one that best represents the album, or are there other factors that are considered?

RM: The lead single is usually the song that we feel best embodies the overarching theme of the album.

RM, I remember when you did your livestream for Love Yourself: Tear and you showed us the demo for “Fake Love,” it had more of a raw, rock vibe to it compared to the final release. What affects how a track changes from when you create or receive a demo, to the version you finally decide to add on the album?

RM: Because there are seven members involved, many adjustments are always made before the final release of a song. Our vocals and tones are so unique that it’s difficult at times to even come to an agreement about the key. However, we repeat the process of trial and error as we try out different things and finally discover what feels right for all of us.

When you guys are putting your music out there, how much does feedback matter to you? Or are you the type to put out something you want, stay true to yourself and not look at comments from the public?

Jin: ​The opinion of our label, producers, as well as our fans are all important. Their feedback is invaluable since we know they have our best interest in mind. However, we try to focus on the message we want to deliver to our audiences since that is the true purpose behind why we do music in the first place. External factors play a role in helping us further develop that message and reflect it in our music.

“Self-acceptance and insecurity are topics that I honestly didn’t want to address. I didn’t want to reveal my dark side, but talking to our Chairman and producer Mr. Bang helped me open up.” —Jin

When you record, do you go for capturing the right feeling, or perfection of the sound?

Jung Kook: I​ highly prefer capturing the right feeling. I don’t like being restricted by boundaries.

How do you deal with lulls in creativity and inspiration? Do you ever feel pressured by production timelines?

Jung Kook:​ I try not to be affected by pressure and just do as I feel. If I feel creative, great, if not, then that’s okay too. 

So much of your artistry is about relatability. The Most Beautiful Moment in Life​ is what made me a lifelong fan in 2015. When you were making this album series, did you know then that it would resonate on such a massive level? And if not, why was it surprising that it was this record that did it?

Jimin: ​The Most Beautiful Moment in Life Pt.1 was the album that first allowed us to win awards at music shows in Korea and attract more fans. Nobody expected it to be a first win and a massive hit, but it became a key stepping stone for us moving onward. We’re not completely sure why it was this specific album that played that role. Jin, however, claims he anticipated its success because whenever j-hope says that a song won’t do well, it turns out to be the other way around.

There’s a fascinating shift in how your music describes success over time. For me, a great example of this is the use of the lyrics, “I want a big house, big cars, big rings” which appear in three BTS songs over several years: your debut track “No More Dream,” “Home” from Map of the Soul: Persona and “Interlude: Shadow” from ​Map of the Soul: 7​–each used with different context. You’ve also done live performance versions of “No More Dream” that change the lyrics and omit the “I want.” How has your definition of success changed from when you debuted to now?

j-hope: When I was young, there were times when I thought debut was the meaning of success. When I first faced what I believed as ‘success,’ I found how lacking I was and that was the beginning of my journey of learning. Talking about success is a bit embarrassing, because I think I’m still learning. Everyone has a different definition and standard for success. I find comfort in knowing that I will do my best to reach the level of success that I have set for myself. That is how I currently view success.

On that note, j-hope, you once said that “Airplane” from your 2018 mixtape Hope World was a product of the moment when you realized that you are now living the life you always dreamed of as a kid. Do you still have moments like that where it all seems just unbelievable?

j-hope: It’s still unbelievable that our singing and dancing, which we began out of pure enjoyment, has spread such an impact across the world. It leaves an even greater impression since no one even imagined that this would happen. I still can’t believe we reached Number One on the Billboard Hot 100.

When you wrote your earlier albums, whether it was Dark & Wild​ or The Most Beautiful Moment in Life​ series, you were adolescents. Now when you look back at these records as successful adults, how has your perspective on what the youth need to hear in music evolved?

RM: W​hen I was younger, I thought that sadness had to be dealt with sadness. Now that I am older, I realize that is not always the case. We need a balanced mix of happiness and sadness and light and dark to act as nutritive elements in our lives.

Map Of The Soul:7 deals with the various levels that make up the psyche of a human being, but is also deeply connected to the evolution of BTS as you guys climb the ladder of fame. Was it very difficult to show your global audience such a personal side of B​TS?

j-hope: The album looks back at our seven-year journey together as a seven-member band. It talks about the stories that made us who we are today and our true feelings in a candid manner. It was as if we’d opened up a grand, detailed account of our diary of the past several years. It’s showing ourselves as we are– so we felt proud and blessed that we can present ourselves in such a way.

“When I was young, there were times when I thought debut was the meaning of success. When I first faced what I believed as ‘success,’ I found how lacking I was and that was the beginning of my journey of learning.”— j-hope

“Black Swan” involved a fear of losing your love for your art. Were there real life moments that inspired this track or is it more of a fear that lurks in the future?

Jimin:​ I used to have fears that my pure intentions towards my work might deteriorate and that I might look at what I do strictly as a ‘job’ when I become too exhausted from tight schedules and commitments.

There were so many great moments in this record that were throwbacks to previous works, especially Skool Luv Affair, Wings, “Sea”, “Save Me,” O!RUL8,2? and so much more. Why was Map of the Soul: 7 the right album and 2020 the right year to explore this full-circle moment?

Jin: ​This year marks our seventh anniversary and so while working on this album, we got to look back at those years together. We took a trip down memory lane, and naturally the ‘reboot’ concept seemed fitting for this project.

There’s a saying about BTS in the fandom: ‘You come into our lives when we need you the most.’ It’s certainly true for me when I found your music. What is your take on this collective opinion and the fact that you have saved many lives with the music and content you contribute to the world?

SUGA: Hearing our fans saying that we changed their lives changes our lives in turn. We got to know about the weight that our words and music carry, and we’re truly thankful for that. We’ve realized that despite our love for music, the most important thing about this job is to have people who listen to you. We thank our fans for listening to our messages and music.

How do you picture ARMY in your mind?

V: ​ARMY is the light that leads us in our journey as musicians. We would not be where we are today without them and they will continue to guide and motivate us to be greater with our music.

RM, you said at one point, that if you can bring people’s pain down “from a 100 to 99, 98 or even 97, the value of [BTS’] existence is enough.” How does it feel when people reach out to you and tell you the songs you wrote and performed saved their lives?

RM: I’m doubtful if I’m worthy of receiving such comments. On the contrary, it’s those very people who have pulled me back from the edge of the cliff down to 98, 97, so you can say we are saving each other’s lives.

You’ve worked on various projects outside of music that have helped us get to know you better over the years–R​un BTS!​, B​on Voyage​ and I​n The Soop​. What were your motivations behind launching these series and what’s the biggest reward you’ve gotten out of them?

Jin: ​These are fun projects not only for us to show a comfortable and relaxed side of ourselves to our fans, but also tighten the bond with one another within the group. As you might have seen in I​n The Soop most recently​, ​we were able to enjoy the beautiful scenery in Korea and take time to catch up with one another as friends rather than bandmates.

How do you create the balance between who you are outside of BTS versus the members we see on our screens? Is it difficult to hold on to the public persona?

V: ​It would be difficult if my public persona was fake, but it’s not, so it’s not difficult.

“ARMY is the light that leads us in our journey as musicians. We would not be where we are today without them.” — V

Your growth has been exponential–coming from small towns and a small company, it was a series of milestones even your seniors and predecessors never saw. How do you navigate this success? Who are your mentors or guiding figures?

Jung Kook:​ None of us imagined this success when we first started. That’s why it’s still hard for us to believe sometimes. We’re extremely proud of what we’ve achieved, but we remember to never lose sight of the reason why we all started this journey. Performing and making music is everything to us and we hope to continue to spread our message this way even through all our successes. We especially express our gratitude to our producer Chairman Bang who has guided us from the very beginning and helped us get to where we are today.

What is BTS’ greatest strength and what is still a work in progress?

Jung Kook: O​ur relationship with one another has been our greatest strength. The transparency in our group is reflected in our music through the honest messages that we deliver to our listeners. We as individuals as well as a group will always be a work in progress. We’ve learned over the years that no matter how hard we try, there is always room for improvement.

You’re very well known for your philanthropy, especially your partnership with UNICEF for the Love Myself campaign. When did you first get involved in charity work and how do you want to grow this message of giving back?

RM: We have always wanted to be a positive influence in the world whether it may be through our music or our actions. We’re grateful that we’re able to take that further through partnership opportunities like the UNICEF Love Myself campaign. We’re also thankful to our ARMY who are involved in many charitable works.

Let’s talk a little bit about each of your solo endeavors and interests as well. SUGA, as a producer and a songwriter, you have made music for various artists. How do you distinguish music you have written as the artist and producer SUGA for BTS, as Agust D for Agust D and as the producer SUGA for other artists like Epik High, Suran, Heize and IU? Is there a distinction in your approach to the music?

SUGA: The focus of those three roles is different, so there is definitely a distinction in my approach. I focus on the harmony of BTS as a team member, on the unpolished rawness of music as Agust D, and on the popularity in the mass market as a producer for other artists.

Earlier this year I wrote a piece called ‘​The Philosophy of Agust D,’​ about what we as fans perceive Agust D to be to us and what he means to our generation and society. What is Agust D to you? Is he a vessel of catharsis, a messiah for the people or perhaps something completely different?

SUGA: It’s just one of the many sides of me. It might even be a more accurate depiction of who I really am. I don’t think too deep into it since it’s just one of the many methods I use to freely express my thoughts.

“Hearing our fans saying that we changed their lives changes our lives in turn. We got to know about the weight that our words and music carry, and we’re truly thankful for that.” — SUGA

I particularly loved “People” from ​D-2​ because it was about the impermanence of humanity, especially in the way we change as human beings as we transition through various experiences. Is there something that’s changed or evolved about you as a person in the last few years that you are particularly proud of?

SUGA: We all change, but some people say that change is bad by saying we should hold on to our original intentions, etc. It’s our nature to change, and I believe that change is good if it is positive. I’m glad I’ve learned to think this way.

You’ve mentioned you’re working on developing your singing skills and learning the guitar. What inspired you to do so and how is it going these days?

SUGA: It just crossed my mind that I wanted to be like the Nineties folk musicians whom I’ve been listening to. I’m not trying to limit myself to a specific genre. I simply want to be able to sing while playing guitar when I get older. That’s all.

V, there’s a lot of speculation about your upcoming solo mixtape because of the snippet you shared on Twitter. In addition to the bluesy vibe from the clip, what other genres have you explored and is it very different from all the singles you’ve released in your career?

V: I’m exploring many different genres at the moment. I’m trying out different styles within a deeper and wider range, so there will be songs with more depth as well as styles you haven’t seen from me before.

Does your love for art and photography also influence your music?

V: Art, photography, my current emotions – I’m inspired and influenced by a lot of things and make sure to write down what I feel at the moment.

You’re very expressive with your diverse vocal tone as well as facial expressions–both are some of your strongest points as a performer. Was this something that came naturally to you or does it take a lot of practice and honing?

V: I’ve experimented with many facial expressions. I’ve practiced a lot and continue to practice. I want to become someone who can be expressive through a variety of genres.

Jimin, you worked on the track “Friends” together with V–as someone with best friends who I also consider my soulmates, this song resonates so much. How long did it take to write and was it difficult to encapsulate this relationship in a song?

Jimin: Our song writing skills are still a bit rusty, so it took us a while to finish working on that song. However, it was an enjoyable experience for the both of us. We reminisced about old memories and included them one by one into the song to create a piece that is precious to us.

Is there a difference between Jimin as a singer and Jimin as a dancer?

Jimin: Not necessarily! I’ve never considered the two to be separate.

Your discipline and hard work are traits that a lot of fans really admire about you. What motivates you to strive for excellence?

Jimin: Our fans who are waiting for us, and the thought of my future self who will have grown into an even better artist.

“I used to have fears that my pure intentions towards my work might deteriorate and that I might look at what I do strictly as a ‘job’ when I become too exhausted from tight schedules and commitments.” — Jimin

Jin, what made you want to address self-acceptance and insecurity as an artist with tracks like “Epiphany” and the album series Love Yourself​? The lyrics on “Epiphany” even say ‘I’m the one I should love.’ Where do you see yourself now on this journey of self-acceptance?

Jin: Self-acceptance and insecurity are topics that I honestly didn’t want to address. I didn’t want to reveal my dark side, but talking to our Chairman and producer Mr. Bang helped me open up. I think I have now accepted that part of me, and learned to understand and love myself.

What are some of your favorite genres of music that you listen to on your own time? Do you feel you are able to explore these as BTS?

Jin: I enjoy listening to pop the most, but it’s also a genre I’m least confident in. I’m naturally being more exposed to it, though, as we explore pop music together as a group.

What is a philosophy or motto you live by?

Jin: Live Happy.

As you start to hit more and more legendary milestones, how do you set your aims for the future?

Jin: I don’t give it much thought. I’m just happy enough to live in the moment with people I love. Carpe diem! 

RM, in 2018, you released your second solo mixtape mono. There was a vulnerability, openness and softness to this album that was distinctly different from your first mixtape, 2015’s R​M.​ Can you talk about this transition in your music as a solo artist?

RM: My color and identity have completely changed again since mono, but I wanted to address that dark and monochrome side of myself then. I hope it can comfort anyone who is in a similar chapter in their life.

The term ‘Namjooning’ has become synonymous in the fandom with taking time to yourself or going on nature walks. How do you feel about ARMY adopting these little wholesome terms from you and incorporating it into their own lives?

RM: I’m very thankful, but also feel a sense of responsibility. I began music because I wanted to share my story and become a positive influence to many people, so I would be honored if I can continue to show my hard work and the results of my efforts.

You love reading books–have you ever considered writing one?

RM: When I read, I realize that everyone has one’s own area of expertise. Will I write a book? I’m not sure, but it doesn’t seem like an impossible idea someday once I gain more knowledge and experience.

j-hope, you mention your younger self a lot, both in your artistry and when you speak about your struggles. What about today’s j-hope makes the young Jung Hoseok most proud?

j-hope: My passion and hard work towards my dreams! I never wanted anything more than to be on stage, so I think that eagerness made me who I am today.

“Blue Side” gave us a glimpse of a more melancholic, reflective side of your artistry. Is that something you’d like to explore in detail in the future? Is there a darker side to j-hope that you have yet to unleash artistically?

j-hope: I​ believe we all have shadows as humans. I am grateful that music can act as a mechanism to beautifully express those dark sides. I want to continue to try new things by exploring new genres and telling my stories. I’m doing my best to prepare at the moment, so please look forward to it.

Jung Kook, I feel you’re the right person to answer this: what’s the best and the most challenging part about creating content, something that is outside the scope of pure music?

Jung Kook: First of all, I think ‘color’ is the most important thing and how well you can digest them naturally. And I also think it’s important to find familiar yet unfamiliar novelty and strive to improve, which is always difficult.

What kind of media inspires your filmmaking style?

Jung Kook: There isn’t a specific media that inspires me. It’s rather time that influences my filmmaking style. I’m sure if I make specific attempts, it might improve my contents, but I prefer things to be natural and effortless. That said, I think my life itself inspires me.

Both “Begin” and “My Time” are two of my favorite tracks of yours because of how honestly you convey your emotions about your life with BTS. How did growing up in the limelight with your members make you the individual you are today, and how do you hope it shapes the person you become even 10, 20 or 30 years from now?

Jung Kook: The members are the ones who taught me to never settle and influenced me to always improve and move forward. I think the time spent with them has steadily shaped my personality, singing, dancing, and filmmaking. Of course ARMY has given me the most, but the simplest things such as talking, performing on stage, eating meals, recording music, that I have shared with the members make me who I am today. I think they will continue to play a huge role moving forward as well.

“O​ur relationship with one another has been our greatest strength. The transparency in our group is reflected in our music through the honest messages that we deliver to our listeners.” — Jung Kook

How did all of you feel being back onstage during ‘Map of the Soul ON:E’? What would you say was the biggest advantage of an ‘Untact’ show like this?

Jimin: W​e were thrilled to meet our fans through our online concert. It would have been even better if we had been able to meet ARMY in person, but we were very moved when seeing and hearing our fans through the screens. It was a relief that we could at least close the gap between our fans and us, and communicate with many more fans all over the world via the untact concert powered by the latest technologies.

The production for ‘Map of the Soul ON:E’ was outstanding–you went above and beyond to incorporate special effects that wouldn’t be possible at a live concert and give audiences an unforgettable experience even though they couldn’t be there in-person. What was your most memorable stage of the show?

V: ​I got very emotional seeing ARMY during my “Inner Child” performance and it made me miss them even more.

How did the pandemic impact your artistic process and the creation of your upcoming album? What makes this record unlike any you’ve done before?

Jimin: T​he pandemic unexpectedly put a lot of our original plans to a halt. However it provided us an opportunity to step back and focus on ourselves as well as our music. We reflected the emotions that we felt during this unprecedented period into this album. We were also able to take a step further by taking roles in overall production, such as concept development, composition and visual design.

Can you tell us about why you chose the title ‘​BE’​ for your upcoming record? What will this new era say about the evolution of BTS to this point?

Jin: ​This album is like a page in our diary of the times we are currently living in. The album title ‘BE’ represents ‘being’ and captures the honest thoughts and emotions we are feeling at the moment. We’ve included a lot of chill and laid-back songs that anyone can enjoy, so we hope many people can find comfort through this album. I think this album will give us an opportunity to grow further as artists who can represent the current times through music.

You’re about to drop a new record, you performed live again with ‘Map of the Soul ON:E’ and you’ve got fantastic odds of breaking more world records with your remaining releases. What are your thoughts now that we’re approaching the end of 2020? Any last words of wisdom?

j-hope:​ We’re sure everyone agrees, but 2020 hasn’t gone at all as planned. We would have been on a world tour if it had not been for the current situation. In turn, we were able to release “Dynamite” and reach the top of the Billboard Hot 100. Through the many ups and downs we realized that “life goes on,” which is the message we wanted to deliver through our new upcoming album BE. We hope our audiences can find healing and comfort through this album.

Source: Rolling Stone India

[chronosabyss]

Chapter 1 of Decadence is live!

Summary: Starscream has instated himself as leader of the Decepticons while the Autobots deal with the aftermath of their attempt to take down Megatron. With the chain of command shaky on both ends, it's up to those remaining to pull their teams together to work past hurt feelings and decide which ideals are still worth pursuing. (Rated T for mild violence.) Story will be updated once a week until completed.

Below is a small part of ch 1. You can read the rest on Archive of Our Own. https://archiveofourown.org/works/28850817

---

"Status report?"

 "Same old, same old. A full diagnostic of the ship is still in the works, but I have Breakdown running a complete structural survey as we speak. So far there are a couple of holes here and there, but nothing that needs immediate attention."

 "And the crew?"

 "Although Breakdown is back on his feet, I advised him against any strenuous activity for the next few solar cycles. Soundwave is still absent from the ship, and several troopers found Airachnid immobilized in a back hallway. I had her placed with the others that met a similar fate." Knockout brought up a quick list of numbers on his data-pad. "I've taken a brief stock of the Vehicon soldiers and it seems that while there were 46 injured and 38 frozen, only seven were beyond repair," he announced, eyeing the numbers.

 Starscream raised an eyebrow. "That's good?"

 "You trust my professional opinion don't you?"

 Starscream scoffed. "Apparently it's why I keep you around."

 "Then considering the damage we get on a weekly basis from the Autobots on the ground, we're golden."

 "Right," Starscream said, unimpressed. "Have you had a chance to examine Optimus Prime's condition in cell block three?"

 "With the exception of minor battle damage, he seems relatively healthy. You know, aside from being a living doorstop."

 "How’s the crew taking Megatron's sudden absence?"

 The medic let out an uncertain tone, glancing sideways for a moment. "Eeh, morale could be better. You've got your typical post battle unease. Word's spread of Megatron's demise, but no one's really sure what happened."

 "Good. Let's keep it that way," Starscream finished, starting to turn away.

 Knockout sidestepped around to get in front of him. "Starscream-" Seeing the dirty glare his commander shot him, he hastily corrected himself. "      Lord     Starscream. The whole ship's on edge. Everyone's talking. The more astute bots have even drawn attention to the fact that the Autobots somehow managed to gain access to our ship while it was cloaked, something that I need not remind you should be nigh impossible."

 Starscream narrowed his optics almost threateningly. "It was the scout. Most likely he was using a concealed means of communication to contact the Autobots while he was on board. A tragic oversight, I admit, but nothing more. I've been meaning to gather the troops together to address the recent change in command. I’ll make it a point to bring up at the assembly. Is that all?"

 Knockout hesitated, wary for once at the possibility of pushing Starscream too far when he was already testy. Eventually his curiosity won out. "There is one other thing I wanted to ask you about. At this point most of the ship has been combed over by the casualty crew to gather the downed soldiers for repairs. While there are a few isolated machine levels and storage corners that still haven't been checked, there has still been no sign of our former Lord Megatron's body."

 A brief flash of alarm flitted across Starscream's faceplate which he quickly masked with a more neutral expression. "Do you really think I would have left the corpse out where any common soldier could see?"

 "Alright then. Where did you have it moved?"

 "Well um," Starscream stalled, a bit taken aback. "That's classified information."

 Knockout sighed, shaking his head. "Really Starscream? If you didn't want me privy to such mundane details you shouldn't have made me second in command. How am I to make sure your ship is running ship-shape if I don't even know where our liege's body is stowed? The crew is asking whether or not there is going to be a commemoration in his honor."

 "A commemoration?" Starscream choked.

 "An observance, a memorial, whatever you want to call it," he gestured casually. "It's been nearly a full cycle and someone had to bring it up."

 Starscream turned away, processor churning to come up with a reasonable explanation as he brought up several digits to tap agitatedly at the side of his faceplate. "Tell the crew that his body is too desecrated to be shown. Our liege suffered horrific damage at the hands of the Autobots. He would not have wanted to be seen like that," he finally said, wearing a mixed expression of both sorrow and unease.

 "Fine, but that still leaves the matter of its location," Knockout said in a matter of fact. “As the ship’s chief medical officer, I’d like to perform an autopsy.”

 "I told you, that's classified." Starscream crossed his arms childishly.

 "So what, you're just going to keep Megatron's rusting chassis in your closet?" He held up his servos defensively. "Look, I'm not one to judge, but there are certain health regulations that must be observed when dealing with the disposal and recycling of the deceased."

 "A-are you insinuating that I am keeping the whereabouts of our former Lord's body a secret out of some sort of sick fascination?"

 "I'm only saying that whatever your reasons are, it would be nice to know a roundabout area so I at least know where I should be avoiding."

 Starscream sputtered for a moment in an effort to formulate a retort. Failing to come to any sort of solid reprimand, he reached out and grabbed Knockout roughly by the lower jaw. "Why you-"

 The sound of the door opening made both mechs freeze mid struggle. They looked over to see a dark slender figure standing just inside the doorway, observing them quietly.

 "S- soundwave!" Starscream released his grip on Knockout's face, leaving the medic to shoot him an ugly glare as he rubbed a servo on the affronted area. "What a… nice surprise," he continued through a forced smile, his optic ridges drawn up in a twinge of anxiety. "Where have you been?"

[johannas-motivational-insults]

“Promise” is Catra’s episode

"Promise” is a special episode in many ways, but one reason for it that I think often goes unnoticed is how it’s a Catra POV episode. Yes, Catra is our secondary protagonist throughout the whole story and we see lots from her POV, but when we see interactions between her and Adora it’s often shown from Adora’s POV. “White Out” is another exception where we see most of the Catradora from Catra’s POV (which makes sense because it focuses most on Scorpia and Catra). However, that episode has very little Catradora and it’s also an ensemble episode, so Catra doesn’t dominate the screen or the story. “Promise” is a whole-ass episode of Catradora and it’s told through a more Catra-focused lens, which really makes it her episode. And that makes it very special and fascinating to watch.

What do I mean when I say it’s Catra POV? Well, obviously this is an episode that illuminates a lot of her trauma and motivations, and the main arc of the episode is her getting to a place where she wants to end her toxic relationship with Adora. But actually, the main thing I’m talking about is how it’s shot...

To start, the whole opening sequence is Catra watching Adora and following her into the ruins.

The next part is a little more Adora-centric because she’s having a very frustrating conversation with Siri and Catra’s only observing. But even though Adora gets more lines and screentime here it’s also interspersed with several shots of Catra watching her, making us very aware of not only her presence but her viewpoint.

Then throughout the episode, each time they separate we follow Catra, not Adora (with one notable exception at the end), only cutting back to Adora when (or just before) they reunite:

-When they are exploring the “Fright Zone”

-When Lonnie intervenes in their combat exercise

-When they split up afterwards

-When Catra gets captured by the spider and has to fight it off solo (here Adora comes flying in from nowhere and we have no idea how she tracked them down and got there, which is odd [and very notable] given she’s the hero)

-After their big blow up, when Catra sees the final flashback (that only she is privy to, another indication that this is her episode)

The only exception to this rule is after Catra cuts Adora’s ropes and walks off, leaving Adora to deal with what just happened and not understanding it at all (because she hasn’t been following Catra’s journey with us, she is still in her own POV and as oblivious as ever to what Catra is going through).

But even then, after Adora lets go of the cliff (which seems like it should be the end of the episode), we get an additional scene outside of the bottle structure where Catra has to deal with the emotional consequences of her actions.

The final shots are of her reacting to Scorpia’s assertion that she is “the best friend ever” and then walking away.

Also, throughout the episode there are several scenes that end with a conspicuous shot of Catra’s reaction to the emotional content that just took place. Here’s just a couple examples:

All in all, this really drives home that “Promise” is Catra’s story, which makes sense because it marks a huge turning point for her character.

In contrast, the Catradora-heavy episode “Remember” is Adora POV. Whenever they’re split up, it’s Adora we’re focusing on. We’re following her emotional journey, experiencing the episode through her eyes, and Catra is more of a prop throughout that journey, kind of like how Adora’s a bit of a prop in “Promise”. And maybe it’s just me, but with Adora being the main protagonist I find the Catra-centric episode - the tale of the underdog - to be much more compelling.

I’m very interested to see how this upcoming season 5 episode where we see their young selves again is going to turn out, whose POV it will be from and what lessons they will take from it. Catra was poisoned by these negative memories in “Promise” and needs to revisit their childhood again and see the ways Adora loved and tried to support her, even when she failed. She needs something to heal the toxic notion that Adora only saw her as a burden and a sidekick and didn’t respect her. (There is a kernel of truth to those thoughts of hers, but they were blown out of proportion by her PTSD and BPD thanks to Light Hope’s meddling.) So, I have a feeling this new episode is also going to be Catra POV, or at least with a heavy emphasis on her. And I can’t wait.

[milfjensenackles]

nothing safe is worth the drive

2.8k words | read it on ao3

found family road trip :) I decided team free will 2.0 needed a vacation 

“Let’s go on a vacation.”

Dean walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table across from Sam. Sam looked up from his newspaper, incredulous at the suggestion. “A vacation? Since when do you, of all people, want to take a break from hunting?”

Dean smirked. “We’ve been working hard for years, Sammy. I think we all deserve a break. You, me, Cas, and Jack. We could… go on a road trip! There’s plenty of stuff you and I haven’t seen yet. We could drive to California and see the ocean, maybe stop by those tourist traps like the ‘Biggest Ball of Twine’ or whatever.”

Sam shook his head and laughed at his older brother. Dean’s eyes were lit up with excitement, though, and who was he to ruin that? “Sure, Dean. Sounds good.”

Dean clapped his hands together before running down the hall to share the news with Cas and Jack. Sam smiled to himself. This would be interesting.

Cas and Dean had started dating only a few months ago, so things were still relatively new and exciting between them. Dean still struggled with not only giving Cas the love he deserved, but accepting that Cas loved him, of all people. It was difficult, coming to terms with the fact that loving Cas meant that he liked dudes in general. Dean still wasn’t comfortable labelling himself, and Cas was okay with that.

Dean’s thoughts wandered back to the day he and Cas finally got their shit together. Dean, after a grueling five days in The Empty, finally brought his angel home. After a tearful homecoming, Sam and Jack retired to their bedrooms, leaving Dean alone with Castiel for the first time since they said goodbye. Dean suggested a movie they’d already seen plenty of times, and Cas agreed easily as usual. As they settled into the couch together, Dean couldn’t help but focus his gaze on Cas’ lips. Cas couldn’t help but notice. Dean remembers Cas looking nervous, before slowly asking: “What’s going on here, Dean?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, Dean’s hands were on his face and his lips were pressed against Castiel’s.

Dean finished the walk to his bedroom. Their bedroom. Cas moved in only last week. Another new thing Dean wasn’t used to yet, but he loved it all the same. Cas didn’t have many belongings, so the transition ended up being easier than Dean anticipated. Dean purchased another nightstand for Cas, which Cas covered with a small lamp and some framed photos of his family. One of Cas and Dean, with Cas holding the camera and Dean pressing a kiss to his cheek. Another of the four of them, sitting around the table and eating pizza. The final one shows a smiling Jack, arms around both of his dads.

Hearing Dean move into the room, Cas looked up from his book to smile softly. Dean grinned back, leaning over their bed to ruffle his boyfriend’s hair. Cas gave Dean his best disgruntled face before softening again, holding his arms out for Dean to join him. Dean kicked off his shoes, immediately kicking his leg over to straddle Cas. Cas stretched up to meet Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and pressing their lips together. Even after all this time, Dean felt his heart drop into his stomach every time Cas kissed him. They stayed there for a moment, wrapped up in one another, trading lazy kisses back and forth. Cas swiped his tongue across Dean’s bottom lip and his hands started wandering lower on Dean’s waist. Dean regretfully pulled back, placing his hands on either side of Cas’ face. “Before you completely distract me”, he kissed the tip of Cas’ nose quickly, “I came in here to ask you something.”

Cas pecked at the bolt of Dean’s jaw one more time before quirking an eyebrow at him. “Okay. What did you want to ask me?”

“So… I was talking to Sam. What do you think about all of us going on a trip?”

“A vacation?” Cas smiled. “I’d like that very much, Dean.”

Satisfied with that answer, Dean returned to their previous activities. Cas definitely didn’t mind.

***

“You guys finish packing yet?”

“Yes, Dean. Almost done.” Even though Dean couldn’t see his face from the hallway, he knew Cas was rolling his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to care, focusing instead on his own luggage.

Dean had mapped out their entire trip. As fate would have it, they happened to be passing by the twine ball Dean had mentioned on their way to the Grand Canyon, seeing as it was only thirty minutes from the bunker. Cas suggested a stop at a honeybee farm that gave tours in Utah, and Dean couldn’t say no to that. Once Jack became privy to the information that Dean was taking requests, he made an extensively researched list of the places he’d like to visit. When Dean saw it, he gave Cas a look, but Cas merely shrugged and smiled softly at Jack. In that moment, Dean knew he was absolutely whipped by the man in front of him. He’d do anything to make Cas and their son happy.

They packed the Impala to the brim, including camping supplies for when they reached their destination. Dean hadn’t been this excited in… well. He had never been this excited before. He never had a chance to do the normal stuff, like a real family vacation. He and Sam had never really even had a family to go on a vacation with.

Dean rolled his shoulders back to shake the thought from his head as he reached up to close the trunk of the Impala. Cas and Jack strolled up to the car a moment later, arms full of suitcases and backpacks.

“Did you pack the whole bunker?” Dean asked with a chuckle.

Cas looked confused. “No, Dean. We only packed items that we thought might be useful on the trip. How would we fit the entire bunker into these bags?”

Dean threw his head back and barked out a laugh before unceremoniously pressing a kiss to Cas’ lips. He reveled in the feeling of Cas’ mouth against his, not caring if anyone could see them. “Where’s Sam?”

“He told me to tell you that he was almost ready and would be out in a minute!” Jack was already in the backseat, very proud of himself for passing along Sam’s message.

Eventually, Sam finally appeared, ignoring the mumbles from Dean about his tardiness. Dean started driving.

***

The World’s Largest Ball of Twine was… less than impressive, in Dean’s opinion. Cas and Jack found it fascinating though, so it ended up being worth the trip. Cas managed to purchase a t-shirt, without Dean noticing, that said in big block letters: Check Out My Balls. In the center of the shirt sat two circles of twine. Sam burst out laughing when he saw Cas walk up to the Impala wearing it, but Dean thought it was adorable. Jack was holding his souvenir, a small twine ball keychain. He insisted that he was going to use it to break the previously held record for largest twine ball once they arrived home to the bunker.

Once they got back on the road, Jack immediately requested to stop for McDonald’s. Dean groaned but knew Sam would have to stop to use the bathroom soon anyway. Dean pulled into the parking lot, and as expected, Sam rushed out of the car immediately. Cas handed Jack some cash to get food for everyone, and then it was just Cas and Dean waiting. Dean looked over at Cas. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was sometimes. Cas had the most beautiful blue eyes Dean had ever seen, and they were even more impressive with the evening sun reflecting on them. Cas realized Dean was staring and reached out to run his thumb along Dean’s hand. “I hope you’re having fun.”

Cas’ voice always made him weak, especially when he was worried about Dean. “I always have fun when I’m with you.”

Cas smiled, content to sit in the front seat of the Impala, palm pressed to the back of Dean’s hand, for the rest of the evening. They were soon interrupted by their son though, hands full of burgers and fries with a huge grin on his face. Sam followed soon after with a salad and a water bottle. Dean rolled his eyes at him before shoving a handful of fries into his mouth.

***

By the time they were close to Jack’s first location request, Cas was starting to get a little grumpy from the lack of sleep. It was day three of their trip now. Some days, Dean would stop at a motel for them to stay in, but yesterday he chose to drive through the night. Cas stayed up with him, fighting against Dean’s argument that at least one of them should get some shut eye. “Dean, if I don’t stay awake, you’ll fall asleep behind the wheel. You can’t get by on four hours anymore.”

Dean snorted. “You callin’ me an old man?”

Cas smirked and Dean pushed at his shoulder softly, grinning to himself.

Sam groaned from the backseat. “You guys are such an old married couple.”

Quirking an eyebrow at Sam in the rearview mirror, Dean pulled to a stop at a red light before reaching over to give Cas an obnoxious kiss, releasing his lips with a loud pop. “Jealous much, Sammy?”

Sam mimed a gagging motion at the display, while Jack looked on with glee. “I didn’t know you and Dad were married!”

Dean choked at that, coughing for a good minute before stuttering out, “I- we’re not- Jack- “

“Dean and I are in an intimate relationship, but we are not married. Although, I would like to marry him someday.” Cas cut Dean off, speaking with certainty.

Dean gaped at that. They hadn’t even said they love each other yet, and Cas was thinking about marriage? “You want to marry me?”

“Of course, Dean. Why wouldn’t I?” Cas was smiling at Dean now. Dean couldn’t help but smile back, lacing their fingers together.

“Alright, enough of this gross couple stuff. We get it, you’re in love and it’s disgustingly sweet. Let’s stop for dinner.” Sam said, a hand running through his hair, obviously frustrated with himself for being the one to start this conversation.

***

Today marked their fifth day on the road, and they were finally going to the honeybee sanctuary Cas was desperate to visit. Dean was actually pretty excited too. Anything was better than Sam’s pick, which had been a weird museum back in Colorado. Dean couldn’t remember what the museum was actually for, he couldn’t focus on all of the old relics and ancient artifacts when Cas was right there. Cas was Dean’s favorite ancient relic, which he decided to share with Cas, only to be greeted with the bitchface Cas saves only for Dean.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the farm, which was made up of an assortment of small buildings along with green fields that extended for miles. Jack tumbled out of the backseat, dragging Cas by the elbow to the front door. Sam and Dean followed closely behind, watching as Cas and Jack pointed out various new sightings to one another. By the time Sam and Dean met up with them, Cas had already signed them up for a tour of the farm and a session explaining how honey is harvested and sold.

Their tour guide started speaking as he walked backwards, explaining the purpose of the farm, “This honeybee sanctuary is a place that supports the health and positive transformation of the honeybees that come to stay with us. Honeybees are an endangered species, so we do everything we can to protect them and maintain their species. Up ahead, you’ll see one of our beekeepers working with a hive to prepare for honey harvesting.”

They continued forward, Cas with the biggest smile on his face Dean had ever seen. If this is what it took to make Cas look like that, he’d drive them to Utah every weekend. Dean had to admit, honeybees were pretty cool. He could appreciate their loyalty to the hive, always working to support one another unconditionally.

By the end of the tour, Cas was waxing poetic to Sam about the efficiency of hexagonal honeycombs and Sam was attempting to keep up with the conversation. With Cas distracted, Dean snuck off to the gift shop to make a purchase. He came back with a pair of socks with cartoon bumblebees on them, which Castiel was so delighted to receive that he kissed Dean in front of Sam, Jack, and their tour guide. Dean didn’t mind.

***

It took them much longer than anticipated to reach California, but Dean didn’t mind. It just meant he had more time to hold Cas’ hand across the front bench of the Impala. Soon enough, they finally reached the ocean. Dean drove onto the beach, the tires leaving indentations in the sand behind them. The sun was setting quickly, so they needed to move quickly to set up camp. Having realized this, Dean moved quickly to remove their items from the back of the car. Before he could, though, Cas grabbed his hand and pulled Dean toward him, their chests resting together. “Come with me.”

Dean nodded, and Cas pulled him toward the water. Cas pulled his shoes and socks off, and Dean followed suit, pressing their toes into the sand. Dean reached for Cas’ hand again, and Cas complied, interlocking their fingers. They stood there for what felt like an eternity, watching as the water ebbed and flowed and crashed. Cas broke the silence after some time, murmuring, “Are you happy, Dean?”

Dean paused for a moment to look over at Cas, who was still staring out at the sea. Releasing Cas’ hand, Dean gripped his elbow to turn the angel’s body to face his own. Dean’s other hand reached up to softly brush some of Cas’ hair off of his forehead. Eventually settling on Cas’ jaw, Dean pulled Cas’ gaze from the water to finally look at him. “I know I’m not great at showing you how much I care, but I do. Care, I mean. I have never been this happy before. You. Me. Sam and Jack. That’s all I need. I’ll spend every day trying to prove it to you if that’s what it takes. I love you, Cas.”

Cas pulled back like he had been shocked. Oh, shit. They’ve never said that before.

“You love me?” Cas was looking at Dean like he hung the damn moon. Dean opened and shut his jaw a few times, trying and failing to make words come out of his mouth

Both of Cas’ thumbs softly caressed Cas’ face and Cas brought their lips together. The kiss wasn’t what Dean would describe as aggressive, like it usually was with them; it was slower and sweeter. Like they loved each other. Cas pulled back an inch, his lips still ghosting on Dean’s. “I love you, too.”

Dean reached up to his own face to place his hands over Cas’ and rested their foreheads together. They both started giggling uncontrollably. “You love me,” Dean said, looking into those beautiful blue eyes.

“I do. So much more than I could ever put into words.”

A loud noise pulled Dean out of his Cas-induced reverie, and he looked up the beach to see Jack struggling to finish putting together a tent.

“We should get back and help,” Cas said, hiding a smile. Dean rolled his eyes but pulled Cas by his hands toward Sam and Jack’s makeshift campsite.

“While you two were having a moment, Jack and I finished getting the tents set up, so you both are responsible for cooking dinner.”

Dean groaned, but was secretly happy to take care of dinner, as long as he got to do it with Cas. While Cas started unpacking their food, Dean reached for the cooler. He grabbed four beers and started handing them out.

Cas immediately saw the fourth beer and said, “You can’t give Jack a beer, Dean. He’s three years old.”

“Hey! I’m three and a half,” Jack said, indignant.

“See? He’s three and a half. It’s fine.”

Cas shook his head, but Dean could tell he was trying not to laugh. “No, Dean.”

Dean held up his hands in surrender but leaned over Jack anyway to sneak the bottle into his hand. If Cas noticed, he chose not to say anything.

Dean looked around for a second, trying to take it all in. Sam and Jack were in the middle of a heated discussion debating the best part of their trip, Sam gesticulating wildly in defense of his museum. Cas was preparing a fire to cook their burgers, the dimming sunlight golden on his concentrated face. Dean could hear the waves crashing on the shore behind them, a sound he never thought he would get to hear and actually appreciate. As he moved to start helping Cas, Dean realized that maybe now they can be happy. They can be at peace. And he couldn’t wait to find out what came next for himself and his little family.

[vercopaanir]

In For a Credit

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 19

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: Fellow Mandalorians teach you how to handle weapons.

Words: 3.5

Rating/Warning: G, I think. Some references to death.

Notes: So, this originally was going to include a lot more. However, the chapter was nearly 7k words, and I didn’t feel like it was fair to post the entire thing because so much happens. So it will be split up. The nice thing is that the next update will be on Monday night. Thank you all for your patience and support!

AO3

The Tribe is a working society, and you quickly become fascinated in the opportunity to occupy yourself. You are no stranger to work, and the constant inner need to be doing something of value, to be useful, to earn your way is so ingrained that it borders restlessness. The morning when the Mandalorian says he’ll be taking his collected bounties to Greef Karga in town, you look up from the book where your fingers pause over the raised indentations of braille, tilting your head. Corde and Venka follow your eyes upward, nibbling at their food, and watching him curiously.

“What should we do while you are away?”

He pauses his adjusting of his vambrace, glancing between all of you, four pairs of expectant eyes, and he explains that there exists many skills that the Tribe hones together as a collective, from fighting to healing to child rearing.

Watching the small green infant play with his stuffed bantha toy perched on the warrior’s lap, you straighten your back and lay your hands on your knees. As a servant and slave, you have performed a variety of tasks. You can clean, cook, mend, garden, and farm. As a handmaid, you’ve developed skills that were fine tuned for a lady of an older age. You’d taken care of her hair and nails, you’d seen to her correspondence, fetched her tea, and kept her company. Having taken care of children before, you knew your strength as a caretaker is hard to rival, blinking at the three children surrounding you.

But this was a chance to learn something new .

A decision settles within you, and you hold your chin level.

“I would...like to learn about weaponry.”

The Mandalorian’s visor trains on you for so long, you think perhaps you have said something wrong. You begin to wonder how you can explain away the whim when he stands suddenly, placing the baby in his pram. He clicks a button on his vambrace to program it’s tracking before holding a hand out to help you to your feet. Venka and Corde shove the remainder of their breakfast in their mouths to follow behind you both as he leads you through the passages of the enclave. The child floats between you and the siblings, large inky eyes blinking curiously.

“Will we get to learn, too?” Corde asks, her eagerness palpable.

“No. But there are foundlings here that you should find. They can teach you games I’m too old for,” the Mandalorian grunts, and she gasps, rushing around to stop in front of you both. You feel his fingers tighten over yours when you both halt suddenly.

“Can we go find them now?”

You hesitate, the idea of the two children disappearing somewhere in the tunnels making you uneasy, but the Mandalorian tilts his visor down at her, taking her measure. “So long as you stay together, and do not leave the covert.” Corde’s eyes light up, but before she can bolt away as if on an invisible speeder bike, the Mandalorian grabs the back of her collar, keeping her in place. He squats down in front of her, still slightly taller in stature, and you hold your breath as you watch them. “I mean it, ad’ika,” he repeats, his voice pitching deeper in warning as he looks down at her. “Promise me.”

Venka is quick to promise, holding a hand over his heart with a bowed chin as if taking an oath for life, and Corde nods so fast her hair comes loose from her braid. “We promise.”

“Go.”

You watch their small shapes disappear from your line of sight, the slap of the shoes you’d sewn them echoing off down the rocky walls of the passageway. They will not be alone, you remind yourself, forcing down the nerves twisting your stomach. If the beskar clad warrior at your side trusts his people to watch over them, you will, too. The Mandalorian watches them until they’re out of sight, nearly jumping out of his armor when you slip your hand in the curve of his elbow.

“And where will you be sending me?” you ask softly, walking alongside him when he seems to remember his feet. He lays his other gloved hand atop your fingers, and you think he might be smiling.

“You said you wanted to learn about weaponry.”

You never see him without a weapon, his blaster ever present against his hip or the ominous rifle slung across his back like a saint’s marker. It is not a leap in judgment to assume protection is important to him beyond his profession, and knowing what you know now, you realize the level of trust he holds for you when he had shown you the weapon’s locker aboard the Razor Crest.

But the memory of how helpless you’d felt holding the blaster and aiming at Toro Calican had not left you. The blurry recollections of Cantonica leave you sick, and you silently wonder, at night when you are alone with your thoughts, if things could have been different had you not been such a foolish thing. That is something Mandalorians are not-and now, you are determined to change it.  

“I would like to not be so afraid of weapons,” you finally manage in a quiet tone, resting both hands on his arm now and leaning your weight into him. He inclines his head in your direction. “I think fear is disrespectful for something that can save your life.”

He moves his hand, the warm leather covering your fingers that rest on his forearm, and there is a feeling he seems to radiate that washes over you. The backward set of his shoulders, a near defiant tilt of his chin, and you’re surprised when he comes to a brief stop in the middle of the passage. The child coos from his pram, blinking owlishly between you both and perking his ears upward.

The Mandalorian turns you toward him with a gentle, crooked finger beneath your chin. You expect him to say something, his thumb grazing your chin in such a slow, delicate sweep. Your eyes feel heavy as his other fingers uncurl against the warm flesh of your neck, sliding to cup the side of your throat beneath the thick veil of your hair. You keep your eyes upon the shine of his visor as he leans his beskar covering to whisper over your brow, and the complete tenderness in such careful, quiet movements makes your heart speed up. You think he must feel it, your pulse fluttering beneath his fingers where he’d once sunk his teeth out of passion born from fear and admiration, and you swallow hard at the memory.

For a single, still moment, you think he may take your hand and drag you back to your quarters.

The sound of approaching boots has the Mandalorian calmly stepping back from you, and whatever spell had blanketed you both is broken. Feeling flushed, you drop your head away as a fellow Mandalorian passes by both of you, nodding towards your bounty hunter in silent greeting. You draw some hair behind your ear, looking back at the child who grins up with all of his teeth at you as if privy to a joke you hadn’t heard.

The tunnels that interconnect are not twisting or turning as much as you expect. They are large, wide and windy, and you try to remember your way back the way you’d come to begin memorizing the layout. You give up just before the Mandalorian stops in front of a short flight of steps hewn into the rock. He wordlessly offers his hand to you, and in the distance you hear two male voices bantering back and forth.

The armory is large, spanning the same length as the Razor Crest at least, and it is filled with every kind of weapon of all shapes and sizes. Blasters, rifles, blades, and contraptions you have never seen before. There are lights ensconced upon the surface of the rock walls that allow your vision more opportunity to open to your surroundings, and you follow behind the Mandalorian as he comes to stop near a large bench littered with blaster parts, tools, oil, and dirty rags.

Across from you are two Mandalorians, and they stand upon your entrance. The slightly shorter warrior wears armor the color of moss with so many silver nicks and dents that you wonder if he hadn’t been thrown down the side of a cliff face. The taller, broader of the two is covered nearly head to toe in dark grey armor that’s shined to a shimmering gleam. You smile uncertainly, feeling shy as you stand just behind the Mandalorian.

Well. Your Mandalorian.

“Su cuy’gar,” greets the green armored warrior, his thick accent making you tilt your head. “Didn’t think we’d see you here again.”

“That’s because you don’t think much,” shot the grey armored Mandalorian, putting his hand out to grasp the forearm of the man beside you, shaking firmly in welcome. His voice is much smoother, deeper, and you can’t help but feel intimidated a bit by the magnetic presence when he turns his reflective visor upon you. “Tion’cuy?”

The Mandalorian rests his hand upon the small of your back, ushering you to stand properly beside him as he gives your name. “This is Briinx,” he tells you, nodding to the Mandalorian in green before gesturing with his hand to the other. “And Rhalaz. They are valued warriors, firearm instructors for foundlings, and the covert’s mechanics.”

“‘Mechanic’ makes it sound like we’d tinker with any ship that flies in, Djarin. We modify weapons that you can’t quite get through strictly legal means,” Briinx says, twirling a vibroblade between his gloved fingers. “I think we’re artists.”

“No, no,” Rhalaz shakes a hand, sounding completely put off. “Weapons sing. We are musicians, if anything.”

“Then we’d be conductors-”

“Look,” the Mandalorian sighs loudly, interrupting what you assume is going to turn into a conversation he’d rather not be a part of. “You have someone who wants to learn about weaponry. Think you can stay focused long enough to teach her something?”

“I’m offended you think otherwise,” Briinx says suddenly, dropping the blade on the workbench without ceremony. You can’t help the small smile tugging at your mouth. “We might bicker like an old married couple-”

“You are a married couple,” the Mandalorian growls.

“-but we always deliver,” Rhalaz quips, tilting his helmet towards you before settling his visor on the bounty hunter at your side, almost predatorily. “We’d be happy to teach her, but...well, why aren’t you teaching her? Cuyir dar gar riduur?”

Your eyebrows lift curiously when the Mandalorian goes completely still beside you, and you suspect that he stops breathing. The three warriors stare each other down for such a long, tense moment that you’re afraid to even blink. You can’t begin to guess what the implication is of what was spoken, but when the Mandalorian’s hand curls against your back, you feel his unease.

“Sa jate sa,” he finally mutters, staring steadfastly forward. His voice is full of annoyance, bristling and testy. “I have business today, and she wants to learn. Any more questions?”

Briinx puts two hands up in surrender, and Rhalaz’s helmet shakes with laughter.

The Mandalorian turns you both away from the other two warriors, resting one gloved hand on the middle of your back and inclining his helmet down towards you. “I’ll be back by the evening to find you.”

A small furrow forms between your brows, and you tilt your head. “I’m sure I can find the children if I just ask-”

“No!” You jump at his sudden whisper, blinking rapidly when he almost shuffles nervously. “No, I’ll...I’ll come find you.”

You frown after him, his shadow disappearing up the short flight of steps with a snap of his cloak. When you turn around, the other two Mandalorians survey you with their arms crossed across their chests. In for a credit, in for a pound, you think. You take a deep breath, folding your hands in front of you and stepping forward. You haven’t held many conversations with people since you left the cantina outside of the Mandalorian or the children, and it feels very odd.

“Ever held a blaster before?” Briinx asks, picking up one of the hand guns from the workbench that shines beneath the light. It looks freshly oiled and cleaned, and you swallow at how dark and foreboding it seems in his gloved hand.

“Yes,” you murmur, thinking of Toro Calican’s blurry form lying dead on the floor of the Razor Crest’s hull. “And I’ve shot one, too.”

“Well you’re already ahead of most of our students,” Rhalaz chuckles, seeming to sense your discomfort. His tall frame comes around the bench, and he pulls out a stool for you to sit on, patting it.

As daunting as the idea of learning weaponry seems, the two men are accommodating teachers with very different styles. Briinx is more hands on, insisting you hold every weapon, part, or tool you learn about while Rhalaz gives you in-depth explanations for what the parts of a blaster do, how a flash grenade detonates, and even the benefits of using blaster energy versus slug bolts.

“Blasters don’t have the same kickback as a slugthrower,” Rhalaz says, bringing down a long rifle that you immediately recognize. Your face must betray you, because he chuckles and sets the firearm in your hands, braced across your lap. “Where do you think Djarin got his rifle from?”

“I’ve never thought about it,” you admit, feeling the weight of the amban sniper weapon. The familiar pronged end feels awkward and precarious as you heave the gun upward, testing the weight.

“One of my favorites,” Briinx chuffs from across the bench, coming around to show you how to brace the stock pad against your shoulder. He fixes your hands, tilting your head up from hunching over, and correcting your overall posture with a sharp eye.

“Disruptors are one of the most dangerous kinds of weapons. They can short circuit an entire space station if you know where to aim,” Rhalaz tells you sagely, watching his husband adjust your stance.

You swallow hard, wishing you could put the rifle down and far away from you. “What would you need such a thing for?”

“For short circuiting a space station,” Briinx huffs as if the notion is obvious.

“This model and its modifications use more energy than your average blaster, so it...well-”

“It disintegrates people,” Briinx deadpans, moving your hand that cups the stock beneath the gun further out to give your grip balance.

You gape helplessly. “D-Disintegrates?”

“Or electrocutes, if you don’t want to kill the target,” Rhalaz sighs, seeming annoyed with the other Mandalorian. “That’s what the prongs are for.”

“It sounds like these should be banned,” you mumble as Briinx comes behind you to straighten your shoulders once more. You shudder to think what the Mandalorian would need such a weapon for.

“Oh, they were,” he chirps, tilting your head up again. “Now, see this here? It’s the scope. Allows a sniper to see his target from miles away.” His glove floats over the eyepiece and turns the dial. “It’s got heat sensors, too. Maybe Djarin will take you out sometime so you can see for yourself.”

You frown curiously, leaning forward to press your eye to the scope. It’s not nearly as blurry as you expect, and when he flips the dial again, your vision lights up with various shades of color. Rhalaz walks to the far end of the room into the darkened corner of the armory, and you see his heat signature fill the screen. He waves, fluttering his fingers so you can see him.

Excitement tingles along the back of your neck at actually being able to see what has been described to you, and you can’t help the small smile that curves your lips. “Oh.”

“We don’t give these to just anyone, mind you,” Briinx stipulates, patting the crown of your hair as you sit back. “Djarin only got one because he’s the best sharpshooter in the covert.”

“Really?”

It occurs to you that you know very little about the Mandalorian’s skills as a warrior. You had seen him move with precision and even witnessed his deadly reflexes, but you’d never actually seen him fight. The few times he’d killed, you had not been conscious enough to witness it.

“Can’t fight hand to hand worth a damn, but we all have our helms to wear,” Rhalaz sighs dramatically, earning a grin from you as Briinx takes the rifle from you and opens the barrel with a satisfying crack. “Alas, if you do learn to shoot, it should be from him.”

“I...I shot someone once,” you confess, and the armory goes very quiet. You don’t know if it’s from your confession itself or the tone of regret you can’t keep out of your voice. You take a deep breath, your eyes watching as Briinx’s gloves cradle the rifle like you might cradle the child in the crook of your arm. “It...he was going to kill us.”

A firm hand on your shoulder draws your eyes up to the shimmering stormy grey helmet, and Rhalaz tilts his visor down to try and meet your gaze. “There is honor in defending yourself, vod’ika. And the ones you love.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you whisper, curling your hands in your lap. Your heart begins to pound, face flushing with a cold sweat appearing behind your ears. The words must sound so foreign to seasoned warriors as the ones flanking you, and your quiet confession sinks your shoulders. How could you claim to be the companion of a Mandalorian when you couldn’t even protect yourself?

Surprisingly, Briinx is the one to allay your fears.

“No one wants to truly hurt another,” he says with his unique accent, his green helmet tilted conspiratorially towards you. “And if they do, they are the ones you should keep in your line of sight.”

Rhalaz nods once, grim and somber, and you frown gently. Had you not been able to fire the blaster at Toro Calican, would the Mandalorian have been able to gain the upper hand? Would the child still be safe? The two questions chill you, chasing the flush from your face, and you decide that you would never be in the position to ask such things again.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you murmur, conviction making the words sound stronger than what you truly feel, but you straighten your back and breathe deeply. “But...I want to protect my child. The children. M-My clan.”

Rhalaz thumps his fist once on the bench, and Briinx chuckles happily, “ Mandokarla! ”

“That we can help with.”

When the Mandalorian descends the steps that evening, you are sitting on the workbench, legs crossed at your ankles as you work to put a WESTAR-34 blaster pistol back together after taking it apart. Briinx stands with his back against the wall while Rhalaz holds several throwing knives in one hand, balancing one in his other. a

“Don’t forget to slot the spring in. You don’t want to jam it, because that will wear it down.”

Thud.

“Your aim is getting worse, old man,” Briinx chides, a teasing note in his modulated voice. “I’m supposed to be able to deflect it, and you have to at least try to hit me.”

The Mandalorian clears his throat, and you look up with a bright smile in greeting, swinging your ankles from your perch.

“Djarin! Welcome back. We did half your job for you,” Briinx declares just as a knife thunks against the side of his helmet, skittering across the floor. “She’ll make a deadly ver’verd yet.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” the Mandalorian deadpans, inching around behind Rhalaz as he gears up to throw another knife at his husband. You smile wide as the Mandalorian approaches you, and one hand comes to rest on the bench beside your thigh, the other resting on his belt. He leans his weight on one foot, visor tilting toward you. “Having fun?”

“I like this one,” you declare to him, your hands deftly slotting the slide over the barrel and finishing the job. The blaster gleams nearly platinum beneath the light, weighing it in your carbon smudged hands. “It’s very light.”

“You have good taste,” the Mandalorian compliments, taking the pistol from you thoughtfully. You watch with fascination as his gloved hands expertly charge the slide, tilting his head. He looks back up at you. “They teach you how to handle it?”

An offending huff comes from somewhere behind him, but you grin proudly. “I know how to put it together, take it apart, clean it, and reload it.”

“Good.” He straightens, offering a hand to you that you take gratefully. You didn’t realize how much you’d miss his companionship until you were apart, and you squeeze his fingers with a gentle sigh. That is, until he speaks next.

“Now stand up, and I’ll show you how to shoot it.”

-

Mando'a Translations:

Ad'ika - little one

Su cuy’gar - "You're still alive." A greeting or form of hello.

Tion'cuy? - Who's this?

Cuyir dar gar riduur? - Is she not your wife?

Sa jate sa - As good as

Vod’ika - Little sister

Mandokarla - Showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mandalorian virtue.

Ver’verd - mercenary

-

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[gazingupatthemoon]

What Is Infinite (2/?)

Found here at ff.net or A03 

Summary: It was meant to be just the two of them. But immorality comes with it's own surprises, and Aleksander must bow to the whims of his stubborn wife. Even if it means becoming a father.(Aleksander and Alina, after years and years, are the rulers of Ravka and have a son and daughter. Angst is sure to follow)

Rating: M

Notes: Because I am weak for stories of Alina getting pregnant and bolting afraid of Aleksander's response. But eventually she comes back, and everyone has to deal with being a big immortal and sometimes happy family.

*~*~~*~*~*~*

Mila twirls a lock of black her idly between her fingers, finding it more fascinating at the moment than the droning of her teacher.

Her brother, to be more specific.

Of course she loves Adrik, but she really does not love history lessons. She finds learning to use her powers much more engaging, as well as exercising her body and fighting skills. Maybe if Adirk focused more on Grisha history and not so much everything else, he’d hold her interest more. Papa had smiled at this particular complaint, showing in that non-verbal way of his he agreed, but then pointed out she was the Princess of Ravka, it was important for her to be educated as much as possible.  

“Remember,” Adrik suddenly says a bit more loudly. Mila blinks her way back into the classroom, and sees that he is giving her that look. “Your paper is due next week. Please continue to work on it and not leave it to the last moment. Class dismissed.”

Everyone begins to leave, but Mila stays put, knowing Adrik was not dismissing her. She waves at her friends who hover at the doorway, and then with a sigh begins to gather her own books.

“Mila-”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get a good sleep last night. That’s why I wasn’t focusing.” The lie comes easily, and without any prior preparation in her head.

Adrik crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re very good at lying, mladshaya sestra, but it’s pointless when it comes to our family.”

A very unfortunate truth. The Morozovas could charm the whole country into believing any falsehood, but when it came to each other it was blunt honesty or nothing. Mila huffs. “So, what? Am I in trouble?”

Adrik’s eyes narrow. “Maybe if this was the first time but you’re always giving the bare minimum amount of effort in this class. You don’t do the assignments, you openly mock the class in general.”

“It’s just boring history-”

“It’s important,” He interrupts. “If you ever want to rule on day you have to know our world’s story and learn from it. To not repeat mistakes of the past.”

A humorless laugh bursts from Mila’s lips. “That’s funny. You know I’m never going to sit on that throne.”

Adrik resists the urge to pinch his nose. At fourteen, Mila is the pure definition of a bratty teenager. Being a princess just adds to that attitude. She always did as she wished, and didn’t care who it offended. Even with their parents she was beginning to toe the line a bit too much. But with him, she had forgone all sense of discretion. They were at odds with each other way too much, not even over her studies. It could be about decorum at public events, the way she talked down to other people, or how she too liberally used her Summoning.

(Adrik is always aware of her Summoning. Always).

Even now he could see a faint shine on his sister’s fingers.

“Calm down,” He says with a tone that nearly mirrors their father. He looks pointedly at her hands.

But Mila is not to be perturbed. If anything, her hands grow even brighter at the command.

She may be a prodigy when it came to her Summoning, but Mila was still a child. And Adirk has both years and experience on her. His fingers do the quickest twitch before shadows swallow her hands and extinguish the light there with a meaningful show of force. He pushes down on them, to the point where Mila’s body even lurches forward.

“Adrik!” She gasps, both in surprise and indignation.

But he doesn’t show her any repentance. “Do not threaten me in that way. Ever.” Adirk isn’t like this. He knows he’s not. This cold, authoritative figure is his father, not him. But Mila isn’t giving him any choice. Part of him blames their parents. He’s seen them use their Summoning on each other an inappropriate amount of times, so something in Mila’s head must had deemed it acceptable to do herself. But Alina and Aleksander have a history that Mila isn’t exactly privy to yet, and a relationship that is a far cry from “healthy”.

Adrik wasn’t sure how to make her understand that yet, though.

Feeling his own anger begin to rise, Adrik turns his back to the fuming girl and takes in a shuddering breath. “Go on to your next class. We can talk about this later.”

What left there was to talk about, he isn’t sure. Mila was either going to try or she wasn’t. And he was sure this little battle of power between them would make her all the more difficult.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aleksander flicks through papers on the latest yields in the eastern fields when Alina enters their chambers.

Her face is tight, and her eyes looking at him in a way that already has a headache forming in under his temples.

“Yes, love?” He inquires, pausing his reading. She’d only get all the more angry if he gave her half of his attention.

“Your daughter,” Alina unhelpfully supplies.

His daughter, of course, whenever Mila did something troublesome. Which she seems to be doing at increasingly alarming rate now a days. Aleksander has to admit, he is finding himself at a loss of how to handle her. He’s never raised a child before, never expected to, so it’s a skill he never bothered giving any care to. Even the Grisha children in the Little Palace received minimal interaction with him, just the very in frequent visit during lessons or a Grisha empowered speech now and then. Any unruliness was dealt with by their instructors.

Aleksander could command soldiers, but his daughter was something else entirely.

“Alina, we’ve talked about this. I can’t keep her on a leash every day to keep her out of trouble.”

“It’s because you’re so hands off that she’s acting like this,” Alina argues. “She knows she can get away this nonsense.”

“Admitting you have no control over her, then?” Aleksander shoots back, knowing the comment to be wholly unhelpful.

Alina seethes but dutifully chooses to not go down that route with him. “She skipped her classes today to go into town with her friends.”

Aleksander pauses at that. Of course, Mila shouldn’t be skipping lessons, but to do that and make it worse by risking her safety in town? That was another level of idiotic and unacceptable.

And he most certainly has a headache now.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“It has to be more than that.”

“Then what do you suggest, Alina? Should we reconsider the leash idea? If you recall your first days here, I wasn’t too adept at keeping you under my thumb either.”

The admission just embroils the conversation. “Yes, how is it that you manipulating and lying to me didn’t work? Such a mystery after all these years.”

Aleksander flings the papers in his hand onto the table and falls back in his seat. “If you’re just here to argue with me, could we schedule it for another time where I can properly give you my attention?”

“I’m here to discuss our daughter who is going down a very reckless path.”

“She’s a child, a teenager, they all act out.”

“She is a Princess of Ravka and our daughter. She is not just any child.”

Alina has a point there, and Aleksander’s silence only verifies it.

“Adrik is concerned as well,” Alina continues, her voice going lower with the weight of the conversation. “He says things have grown tense between them.”

“Because Adrik is weary of her and she senses it,” Aleksander states. “You don’t do too well of hiding it from time to time, either.”  

Alina balks at that. “I’m not weary of her…I’m concerned.”

“I’m sure there is little difference between the two in her eyes. Ever since that day, you’ve all treated her as if she could explode at any moment.”

“Your daughter did the Cut at five years old, Aleksander. She doesn’t even remember doing it. She doesn’t remember beheading someone.”

“Something you should be thankful for, then. Better she forgets then have to relive it in her mind for the years to come.”

She throws up her hands in exasperation. “This is never going to get easier if we’re not on the same page.”

“Perhaps you need to be more compromising,” Aleksander suggests with a shrug. “You got greedy raising Adrik all on your own, and now you have to deal with my say when it comes to Mila.”

“And what is your say, moi tsar? A talk every time she steps out of line? That’s your show of great parenting?”

Alina doesn’t wait for a response. She turns and stomps out of the room, her white hair the last thing he sees before the door slams shut. And Aleskander always thought Alina would be the only one that could ever be a true thorn in his side.

He had never hated his immortality so often since becoming a father.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The dinner table is understandably very quiet that night.

The royal family silently stews in their own frustrations, and let nothing but the scrapes of their utensil fill the void.

Adrik heard what Mila had done today, though it hadn’t been him to inform the Queen of her daughter’s disappearance. Adrik tried to never include his parents when it came to squabbles between he and his sister, but this situation had been unavoidable. Even if no one approached Alina with Mila’s offense, Adrik would have.

Now all there is to wait for is her punishment. By the looks on both their parents’ faces, Adrik knew it was going to be bad. But hopefully it would finally knock some sense into Mila, and stop her from continuing this stupidity.  

“The trip is Os Kervo is set for next Thursday,” Aleskander announces as their plates begin to thin with food. “Construction on their new port finally ended and they’d be honored by the presence of the royal family to give their blessing to it. It’s been sometime since we have been there as well, they are due to be reminded what their rules look like.”

Alina dabs a napkin at the corner of her mouth. “We all will be going?”

“No,” Aleksander answer promptly. “Just Adrik and I.”

The first strike then.

Adrik glances at Mila to see the fork has paused midway to her mouth. Out of the whole family, Mila loves Os Kervo. She enjoys the sea, the ships, the bustling market, and the generally more pleasant weather it has compared to East Ravka. Whenever a trip was made there, Mila was always brought along. Always.

She lowers her fork slowly, then chances a look at her father.

The Darkling is already staring at her, waiting for some kind of response.

“Is that my punishment, then?” She asks after a beat. Her tone is low, but not as contrite as it should be.

“Punishment for what, moya doch?”

It seems Aleksander is in a mood tonight. He is going to make this difficult for Mila, and not just by simply taking a trip from her. Adrik glances to his mother but she sits there as stone cold as her husband.

Mila hesitates. “I’m sure you know what I did-”

“I asked you a question,” Aleksander interrupts.

Mila’s mouth snaps shut. She breathes in and out of her nose, willing herself to be calm. She could argue with Adrik all she wanted, even her mother to a certain degree, but she knew better then to test her father’s fury. “I didn’t go to my lessons.”

Aleksander continues to stare at her.

“And…I went to town.”

“And was this a smart decision for you to make?”

Saints, she hates when he talks down to her like this. She was young, but not a child, and obviously, she knew what she had done had been wrong. But what choice did she have? How would it have looked to her friends had she told them no, she couldn’t go because it would upset her parents. Obviously, it would upset anyone’s parents, she shouldn’t act special. There were enough jokes at Mila’s expense of being the Princess and gracious allowances she’s given.

Mila should just help this end as soon as possible and yet, as everyone starred at her, she felt the need to defend herself. “It was perfectly safe. We’re all Grisha. And…I’ve never gone to town with my friends! Whenever I leave this place its only with one of you. How do you think that looks?”

“If you think I’m interested in the opinion of your friends, you are sorely mistaken,” Aleksander warns. “There are rules for a reason, Mila. You’re not just any Grisha. You are the Princess and a Sun Summoner. There are bounties on your heard in every single country.”

“I don’t want to be treated differently-”

“But you are different,” Alina choose this moment to interject, her voice a shade lighter than her husband’s. Adrik knows why, though. After learning the truth of who he was, Alina had told him everything of her past. Of how alone and different she felt most her life, both as an orphan and then as the lone Sun Summoner.  In this way, she offers her daughter some sympathy. But only in this way. “I understand your need to fit in, Mila, and in some instances, you will, but in others you will not. You cannot.”

The scrap of kindness falls on Mila’s deaf ears. “I should be able to make those decisions myself, not you all.”

“Perhaps if you didn’t act like a spoiled brat, we would consider that.”

Even Adrik flinches at Alesksander’s jab. He so infrequently scolds his daughter that when the occasion does arise, it’s uncomfortable to witness.

It hurts Mila deeper than she cares to admit hearing her father call her that. The rational thing to do would be to should shut up and apologize, before it got worse, but now not only is she hurt, but embarrassed. “You’d never let me do what I want no matter how I acted!” She exclaims hotly. “You control everyone and everything!”

“Mila,” Alina warns.

“You know he does! He even controls you! And you-you let him get away with it!”

Adrik notices the shadows of the room begin to blacken and crawl towards the ceiling. Even the floor begins to grow into a black pool. “That’s enough, Mila,” He hisses, and goes to reach for her hand now trembling with paleness as it grips the edge of the table.

But she’s too far gone now to be reined in. “I can take care of myself,” She continues. “Someone did grab me in town, you know! Right in the marketplace and tried to drag me into some alley. And I took care of it. I protected myself. I am capable-”

The room explodes with shadows. So many, so quickly, that it’s like a tornado that flings everything off the table and onto the floor. Glass shatters, food and liquid audibly splatter, and even the chairs squeak with movement. Adrik instinctively calls upon his own Summoning to ground himself down, and almost reaches out to do the same for Mila when a force stronger than his own blocks him.

Just as quickly as it begins, it ends. The storm of darkness recedes into nothingness, leaving in it’s a wake a destroyed dining room and a family cursed with too much power.

Mila looks irrevocably stricken, clinging to the arms of her chair with her eyes squeezed shut. Adrik isn’t sure what he looks like, surprised, maybe, that his father went so far but also a part of him knowing that of course Aleksander is capable of this. This and much, much worse.

Alina looks sadly at her daughter’s trembling form. She feels the heat of Aleksander’s rage next to her, knows that display of power he just showed may have been on the side of unnecessary, but she had wanted him to do more. She supposes at this point in life she should know Aleksander would appease her but only in his way.

But that right now is not important.

“What do you mean you handled it?” Alina asks very quietly.

Mila is still trembling but opens her eyes. Grey, like her father, but Alina has never seen such fear there. “W-What?”

“You heard your mother,” Aleksander snarls.

Mila flinches into her seat. “I-I Summoned and made him let me go.”

“How did you Summon?”

Mila looks between her parents, and then to Adrik as if he somehow could save her from the awful mess she has created. But now there is fear on his face as well. Not of what just happened. But of her.

But she can’t see the horrid memories replaying in his head. Of another time when a man grabbed Mila. Of when instinct, not rational, kicked in, and awful mistakes were made. Adrik failed his sister then, and he can’t help but feel he’s done the same now.  

“I used the Cut.”

Again, there’s Dimitri’s body falling to the floor.

Again, there the unexpected show of light.

The suspended moment in time when it slid across the man’s neck, as smooth as water.

Alina wants to be as broken as Adirk in this moment, but she can’t. She has to be a mother now. She has to handle this. “Did you kill him, Mila?”

The younger girl looks confused at the question. Of what exactly, Alina is not sure. When she doesn’t answer right away, she practically feels Aleksander about to unleash another verbal lashing. “Mila, did you kill him?” Alina prompts again before he gets the chance to.  

“I…I don’t know. I did it and ran.”

And yet again, Mila comes out the situation with little recognition of what’s she done.

Adrik wonders if a dead body will turn up soon from the streets of their kingdom.

Alina closes her eyes, as if that would make this all go away.

“You’re not to leave the castle,” Aleksander begins. No arguments. No explanations. The time has passed for that. “You will take your lessons privately here. You, who have been blessed with so much, to squander it so. You want to be in charge of your life and yet you use your power so carelessly and don’t even know if you killed a man or not. Is that what Ravka will say of their Princess? That she is a fool who murders without thought?”

She doesn’t even know, Adrik thinks miserably. She doesn’t even know she’s already become that.  

“You will embarrass this family no more. If you step out of line one more time, I will ship you to the Winter Palace and leave you there till you learn your place. And do not that as an idle threat. Me not seeing your face for the next fifty years means as little to me as if it was a mere day.”

A tear leaks out of Mila’s eyes at his words. At the truth her father has revealed and struck at her like a slap in the face.

“Now get out.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Adrik fiddles with the pocket watch his father had gifted him for his 21st birthday. The first gift he ever received from the man. It wasn’t new, but instead an antique that had been owned by some old King of Ravka.

(Adrik has been simultaneously pleased and resentful that Aleksander somehow knew he’d prefer this piece of history than a fancy new one).

The carriage jolts as it passes over a bump, making Adrik start. He looks across him to see Aleksander starring at the window, hands folded neatly on his lap.

They’ve been riding for a couple hours now, heading to Os Kervo.

It’s been a week since that disaster of a dinner. A week of Mila being a ghost, only appearing for dinners which her mother would not relent on her being absent for. But she only spoke when asked a question, and kept her eyes on her plate or lap. Adrik had seen her more, as per her private lessons, and her mother had attempted some one-on-one conversations.

Aleksander hadn’t sought her out once.

“How is Mila doing?” He asks, as if sensing where his mind has wandered to.

“Fine,” Adrik answers honestly. It’s the only word to describe her really. Despite her silence, Mila hasn’t shown any concerning behavior. She’s paying attention to her lessons, which is an improvement, and hasn’t unleashed any of her usual attitude.

“Did you believe I was harsh on her?”

Adrik is surprised by the question. Their relationship has certainly improved over the years, but there were still some lines drawn in the sand between them. One being that his father never usually asked him his opinion on decisions he’s made. The Darkling was not one to be questioned, let alone invite criticism. No, if this ever happened, it was surely a test of some sort. This might very well be one, for all Adrik knew.

“I think something had to be done,” He answers carefully, wondering was going on in the King’s head. His gaze still remained pointed out the window.  

“And what I did?”

Adrik has went over the dinner many times in his head this past week. What went wrong, where it could have been stopped. How out of control everything became with those choice words. It wasn’t so much the punishment Adrik disagreed with. Confined to the castle was the least that could have been done considering what Mila is guilty of. What he had only ever questioned was how it happened that night, the words and actions taken to come to that conclusion. And the way Aleksander had broken a part of Mila’s heart with his other very real threat.  

He wonders if Alina said something to prompt this. He wonders if he should even continue it. But then he remembers his sister’s face, can’t help but feel-know-that Mila is not an evil being. She’s just a young girl, confused over who she is and her place in this world. “You forget we are not as old as you and Mama,” Adrik begins calmly. No need for Aleksander to misunderstand him when they were going on a trip alone together for the foreseeable future. “That we’re still….more human, than immortal. Mila deserved to be punished but for you to tell her not seeing her for fifty years means little to nothing to you and that you would actually send her away for that time, it was cruel.”

Aleksander processes this with silence. Then he angles his head towards his son, considering him.

“You grew up not knowing what you are. She did. She can’t be afforded the time or patience you were.”

“He’s usually always insufferably right,” Alina had told him once of his father. “But where he lacks is the humanity that tells him even though something is true, doesn’t not mean it is good.”

Adrik is a grown man now, not the child that had been both afraid and hateful of the man who gave him life. A part of him hesitates to be honest with him, old habits and all, but if Aleksander wanted his opinion then he would give it. “She is a fourteen-year-old girl whose father told her his love for her is conditional. There are other ways to teach her of immortality.”

Aleksander again grows quiet.

“And…” Adrik licks at his lips. “She grew up with your love, I did not. You hurt her in a way you couldn’t do to me. I was prepared for your coldness, she wasn’t.”

A shadow flickers in an on the floor between them. A shadow of a passing tree? A Summoned one?

“You believe my love for her is conditional?”

Adrik flexes his fingers. He really doesn’t want to engage in this line of questioning. He did not want to guess his father’s feelings, on whether they existed or were genuine. He didn’t want to examine his and Mila’s relationship when his own was so pitiful in comparison. Adrik believed for so long he didn’t need his father’s affection. But not that he’s had a taste for it, that unfair resentment the never seemed to shake towards Mila’s dug a little deeper.  

Feeling again like the lonely teenage boy brought to the palace as a prince who did not have the king’s love, he answers noncommittally. “I don’t know. You certainly care for her.”    

“It is hard, at my age, to truly love things. Knowing they will not last.”

“But she will,” Adrik points out.

“Perhaps I have to grow used to her, the way I did you.”

That shocks Adrik into silence. It’s not exactly a “I love you” but its damn well close in his opinion. Who knew if Aleksander would ever gift him with anything fonder. “And are you? Used to me?” He can’t help but ask. He needs to be sure. He would not get begrudgingly pleased over a game.

Though he doesn’t smile, Aleksander looks amused at the question. “As a horse is to a fly.”

Oh, well…

Was that a joke?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“He hates me,” Mila whispers into her pillow.

Alina hears her all the same and smooths her hair down her back. “He doesn’t.”

“You hate me,” She continues to mumble.

“I don’t.”

Mila lifts her head up a fraction, if only to look at her mother as if she had three heads. “How can you say that with what happened?”

“Mila, you made mistakes, some larger than others, and lashed out as us. It was not going to be a pleasant conversation no matter what happened.”

“He said he’d send me away.”

“I would never let him.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact he would do it if he could.”

Alina blew out a puff of exasperated air. Mila dropped her head back into the pillow, the child she truly was simmering to the surface. Alina tried to recall the time she had been her age. If she had ever been so…lost. But her past is now only made of landmark events in her life, with the little things in between lost to eternity. There was Mal, then the Light, and then Aleksander. So much Aleksander. She had been 17 when she first met him, three years older the Mila now. How mature she had thought she had been. How foolish.

“Your father is going to be the most difficult man you’ll ever meet in your life. He is far from perfect, none of us are. He does not react the way he should sometimes. I should know. He and on were not on the same page as we are now.”

Mila slightly shifts her head, and peeks up at her mother under a curtain of hair. “What do you mean?”  

“He hurt me too,” Alina beings carefully. Very carefully. It was her decision to not tell Mila of she and Aleksander’s past till she was older and mature enough to try and understand all the complicated and dark parts of it. Alina only felt more confident in the decision considering Mila’s volatile nature as of late. Aleskadner didn’t seem to mind, not caring if Alina chose to even reveal it at all. “When I was younger, close to your age in fact, he hurt me very deeply, Mila.”

“But…” Mila presses up on her elbows, looking very confused. “Papa loves you more than anything.”

“He does,” Alina agrees, and reaches forward to swipe the hair from her face. “But he didn’t in the beginning. He didn’t for quite some time, actually. And I the same.”

Sometimes she still wonders. Sometimes.

Mila shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I promise, darling, I will tell you the whole story one day. But for now, just know, he may be old but that doesn’t make him always right. Immortality is a very hard burden to bear, especially when you’ve been alone for as long as your father has. It makes him forget how to treat others. Even those he loves.”

Alina can’t help but hope it is enough. What more can she say without explaining the rest of it? It would do no one any good, least of all Mila, to reveal Aleksander’s villainous past now. If anything, it might make this newly formed chasm between she and him worse.

“Mila,” Alina opts to change the course of the conversation before she can dwell on it any further. “What you did to that man, it can’t happen again.”

Her grey eyes blink widely at the switch of topic. “I-he was going to hurt me, Mama.”

“And you must of course defend yourself. But the Cut must be a last resort. It is a technique that’s too powerful, and only meant to kill. That is why our family are the only ones able to do it. There are other ways to protect yourself. Others ways to not kill.”

Mila slowly lowers herself back onto her stomach, but at least does not hide her face this time. “I didn’t mean to…kill him. I just-I got scared. I only ran because I was so afraid, Mama. I didn’t even go back to my friends. I came right back here. I promise.”

Oh, how differently the conversation could have gone the other day had Mila not been so full of pride and hurt. And how much of a relief it is to hear Mila’s pained confession. She’d been consumed all week with dark thoughts that Mila was becoming callous with her skills and drunk off the power of her immortality and Sun Summoning. That she was a child given gifts no child should know how to deal with at that age. But no, thank the Saints, Mila was just that. A child who got scared and made a mistake. And all those years ago with Dimitiri, it must have been a mistake. She had been too young, too innocent. She had been hurt and afraid then as well, and saw her brother attacked to top it off.

Mila is being ruled by her emotions and that, Alina can work with.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In truth, Aleksander didn’t quite like traveling far from home for such ridiculous frivolities as blessing a new port. Pompous, in his opinion. Unnecessary.

But people, bored with their short lives, needed such reprieves. To celebrate innate things as to fill their days with some reason to be happy. To drink, and dance, and enjoy what time they had left.

And the people do need to be reminded who is their ruler every now and then.

Another truth, Aleksander needed the space frim his wife and daughter. How odd, in this whole annoyingly unnecessary mess, Adrik would be his confidant. He’d been the only one not to resent him for his behavior at dinner or feel the need to give him the cold shoulder. Alina had wanted him to act, so he did. It was not his fault if she didn’t like how he did it.

Though Adrik had been honest that day in the carriage, he didn’t use his words like weapons. Not like he or Alina would. No, he had been patient and simply wanted Aleksander to just hear what he had to say. No ulterior motives or desire to harm. It was charming, in a way. He is an adult, technically, but still a child in Aleksander’s eyes. A child who still has delusions of being honest and good.

Despite all that, what Adrik said did hold some weight. Mila didn’t understand yet the burden of who they were yet, and Aleksander…well, perhaps he didn’t know how to properly handle her. The whole mess was reminding him all too much of his past with Alina. How much he failed at trying to connect with her and make her see what their power and immorality meant. Like mother, like daughter indeed.

As the carriage made its way into the courtyard of the Grand Palace, Aleksander twirled around the gift in his hand. A wooden box, thin and long with a necklace of sea glass and pearls inside. It wasn’t a gift, as punished children should not receive gifts, but an olive branch. Not a frivolous purchase but an acquisition that had purpose behind it.

It took years for he and Alina to finally come to peace with each other. He wasn’t in the mindset to allow the same to happen between he and Mila.

Adrik hid a smile as he eyed the gift one last time before hopping out of the carriage. He extended many olive branches with his son this trip as well. Let him closer than Aleksander had originally planned, and gave him kernels of “fatherly” attention much more liberally than either of them were used to.

Perhaps he was feeling lonely without Alina. More disturbed than he’d admit over Mila. Maybe more accepting of the fact Adrik was his son every passing day.

Maybe he was just bored. Who truly knows.  

Alina is pulling away from a hug with Adirk when he sees her. White hair long and braided, face still holding onto the youth and beauty well past her true age. She takes his breath away every time he sees her. Every damn time. It’s been almost two weeks, and their goodbye had been less than pleasant. But she turns to him without any ire in her gaze now, and actually smiles.

“My Queen,” He greets, stopping before her.

“My King,” She dutifully replies. They stare at each other, devouring the other’s images with roaming eyes.

Adrik scoffs at the not so subtle standoff, and makes his way into the castle.

Alina dips her head to his hands. “A present for me?”

“Sorry, love, no. But if you are in the mood for one, I’m sure I could find something for you in my luggage. I believe it’s being brought up to our rooms as we speak.”

“Hm,” Alina takes a calculated step forward, brushing a hand against the lapels of his kefta. “Perhaps I could be swayed to go and retrieve it with you. But should I be jealous?”

“Not at all,” he grins, dipping his head down. “But I believe I should take care of this first. Then I shall shower you with gifts all night.”

A smile breaks across her face and she kills the last bit of distance between them with a deep kiss. Aleksander groans against the plunge of Alina’s tongue, and resists slamming her against the side of the carriage and taking her right then and there.

He is very happy two weeks seems to be the time to quell his wife’s anger.

Alina is pulling away all too quickly, and takes swift step backwards as Aleksander reaches to pull her back. “Go attend to your business, my King. I’ll be waiting.”

“Perhaps you’ll actually be there when I come back this time.” A very old, and very bad joke.

Alina rolls her eyes and turns toward the doors. She pauses one last moment, though, and looks at him over her shoulder. “I know what it feels like to have to have a heart broken by you, Aleksander. Please take care with her.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aleksander give two quick raps to the door of Mila’s quarters.

He knows she will answer, not because she wants to but because duty demands it. He is her father and King, and no doors will ever remain shut to him.

But no, he had to banish such grandiose thoughts right now. He simply needed to be a father, intent on mending a break between he and his daughter. Simple enough.

The door creaked open and Mila peeked her head out, looking as if she had just woken up. Her eyes widen slightly seeing him, and she fumbles to open the door all the way while simultaneously straightening her back.

“I-uh, good morning,” She breathes, patting down her hair and drawing her robe tighter to herself. Perhaps not just waking up then, but getting ready for a bath. “I mean, welcome back.”

Aleksander nods his head in return. “May I come in?”

The request visibly rattles her, as her eyes widen and her teeth bite into her lower lip. She nods jerkily, regardless, and backs into her room. It’s immaculately kept, as usual, as opposed to her brother’s much messier quarters. It’s the reminiscent of the room Alina had first occupied in the Little Palace. Sophisticated furniture fit for a Queen and décor bathed in bright and soft colors. Her pale pink curtains are swaying softly in with the morning breeze, every window wide open to let in the sun.

Mila is attempting to be calm and collected, but her fingers keep fiddling with her robe’s belt and her body bouncing on the heels of her feet. Nervous compulsions that had plagued her when she had been younger. Not at fourteen. Not in front of her father.

And here she was.

Aleksander is leisurely walking around her room, as if he hadn’t been in it for some time. She supposes he hasn’t, even before he had stopped talking to her. During that whole…mess, she had become very private with her space and belongings, and more often than not locked her door then let it hang open.

When he stops to examine the belongings on her vanity, Mila can bear the silence no more. “Was it a good trip?” The question, riddled by her nerves, comes out as a squeak.

Aleksander absently picks up a hair brush. “It served its purpose.”

“Oh,” She doesn’t like this side of her father. Had seen it enough times aimed at member of court, a soldier, even the rare occasion of someone in her family (those interactions always ended bad). When he makes you feel so small, so off kilter, as he saunters around without a care in the world. Like he doesn’t care about you.

The thought makes Mila more sad than nervous now, and the conversation she had with her mother a couple days ago comes back to her. Alina assured her that Aleksander still loved her, that the fault with his emotions lied with him, not her, but it was still hard to believe. As a fourteen-year-old, she shouldn’t have to be the one that sort that out.

She didn’t want to. She just wanted her father to show her he loved her.

“Your lessons?” Aleksander turns toward her, and eyebrows raised.

Mila holds back a frown and even worse, a couple tears, and she looks over his shoulder to a picture of painted flowers, a rose bush with tangled vines crawling up a tree. “Going well. Attending them all and keeping up with my grades.”

He nods his head. “Good to hear.”

Mila keeps starring at the flowers, feeling her cheeks grow hotter and hotter. Oh Saints, she is going to cry. She is. She can’t stand this treatment anymore. Not this cruel casualness. The still ugly truth that he loved her so little that he would send her away.

Why was he here? What did he want? To further rub salt in the wound? She had purposefully not gone to greet him and Adirk upon their return because she figured Aleksander wouldn’t want to see her. He made that plainly clear the week before he left. Why was he torturing her so?

“Oh, moya solnishka,” Fingers tenderly swipe over her cheeks, now sticky with wetness. Mila bleaks blurrily against the tears to look up into her father’s suddenly very close face. His grey eyes are not cold, but soft, simmering with the affection he had always shown her. “No need to cry.”

“I’m sorry, Papa,” Mila sobs and jerks forward, burying her face in his chest. Keftas aren’t exactly known for their comfort, but it smells like her Papa, and it’s warm, so it’s perfect right now. She rubs against the material till it scratches her skin, but she doesn’t care, because Aleksander’s arms are enveloping her in a hug, and his chin comes to rest comfortably atop her head.

“Shh,” He continues to soothe over and over as she cries and cries. His hand beings to rub circles into her back, and for some reason that brings on a new wave of tears. She was wrong, he does care. Of course, he cares. He had been angry, is all, and so had she. They were going to be fine, they were going to be great, it was-oh! Suddenly, a ball of warmth so strong blossoms in her stomach, and unfurls with such a force it takes Mila’s breath away. She feels the heat coming out of every pour in her body, and pulls away enough to see she’s glowing, light pouring out from her skin and cascading the room in striking brightness.

It would blind any other normal human being, but the Darkling gazes at her without the slightest wince.  

“There she is,” Aleksander murmurs with a smile. The first smile he’s graced her with one in so long.

Mila can’t help but smile back, feeling so…alive.

But then Aleksander pulls back and her light slowly dims till it is nothing but her bare skin again.

He reaches out to reveal a box in his hand, thin and wooden with simple decorations carved on it. “For you, love.”

Had he not just embraced her, or smiled at her, Mila would have assumed the offering was a trick. A test, of some sort, as her father was so often fond of doing. Starring at the box, Mila knows that if this isn’t just an innocent gesture, she was undoubtedly going to fail. Still, she reaches forward and takes it tentatively form her hands, then undoes the metal clasp with a delicate touch.  

Inside is a beautiful necklace, a long, sparkling braided silver chain with pearls and pieces of sea glass interwoven throughout it. It shines at with her every movement and continues to glimmer even as she keeps it completely still. “It’s…beautiful,” Mila whispers, feeling a bit awed by it. She is the Princess of Ravka, she has seen and even worn the most glamorous and beautiful pieces of jewels the world could produce. But this, in her hands, seems the most precious of all. Because it is hers, and no one else’s, not an antique passed down by Queens before. And because her father had given it, had thought of her when he bought it, and delivered it with his own hands.

Another lone tear sneaks down her face.

With his long, elegant fingers, Aleksander plucks the necklace from its cerulean colored cushioning. “As you are, moya doch.” He steps behind her and with a gentle swipe of her hair, begins to clasp it around her neck.  

Mila feels the whispers of that powerful light again, but it recedes when her father again steps away.

“I am sorry, Papa-”

“I know. We’ll talk of it no longer. Continue up with your studies here for the month, and then we can discuss you returning to classes.”

There is nothing to do but beam and nod her head enthusiastically in agreement.

“No more leaving the castle grounds, Mila. No more trouble or this rebellious nature anymore. You will act as you were born to be. Princess of Ravka and the daughter of the Shadow and Sun Summoner.”

Darkling and Sankta. Two equals, yet opposite. Constantly pulling towards each other and inevitable pushing away.

What inkling of normalcy did a product of that bond hope to have?

“Yes, Papa, I promise. I’ll be perfect.” Even as the word passes her lips, Alina’s own voice echo’s in her ears: “He is far from perfect, none of us are.” Perhaps she wasn’t, Mila mused, but she would try to be. She would spend the rest of her immortality trying. “And,” She continues, knowing it would be best to completely clear the air out now between them. “About that man. In the marketplace. I am sorry about it, Papa. Really I am. I was talking to Mama about it and…I know it was wrong. I do. I was afraid and didn’t react right. I will not use the Cut again, ever. I promise.”

Mila’s heart drops when Aleksander’s lip tug downward. But why? How had that been the wrong this to say? It had made her mother happy, it had even made her forgive her! Had she forgotten something? Not said sorry enough times?

“Do not make that promise, Mila,” Aleksander states with the finality of his station. “The Cut is our gift, and we do not hide our power from the world.”

“But…but Mama said-”

“Your mother,” He interjects smoothly, “Has some different ideas on the subject, I am aware. What you need to understand, is that your mother has always had a kind heart, and has always wanted to believe in the good in people. Most importantly, herself. And now, her children.”

Though she is following along, Mila can’t help but feel this conversation is too big for her understanding. That her father is trying to tell her something without actually saying. That it’s going against Alina had said, and is making her afraid.

Aleksander cups the bottom of Mila’s chin and angles it up to face him. “She wants many things, your mother. But remember Mila, the problem with wanting is that it makes us weak. And we are not weak, are we?”

Mila stares uncertainly into her father’s eyes, and answers as she knows she should, “No, we are not.”

“That man put his hands on you,” He continues, his gaze never wavering. “You do not apologize for defending yourself.”

But she had killed him, Mila wants to protest. Or at least, maybe she did. Either way, was that not a good thing? Alina had told her there are others way to protect herself. It didn’t have to be the Cut-

Aleksander tuts her chin. “What you need to learn, love, is patience. Precision. The control of your power and having it bend to you, not the other way around. That, we have all the time in the world to learn.”

Mila nods her head, willing to do anything her father wanted of her.    

[morwensteelsheen]

Do you have any advice for someone who wants to write Éowyn x Faramir fanfic in a way that remains authentic to who they are/how Tolkien envisioned them? Of all the fics I’ve read on this pairing, yours just stands out to me as being most in character, whether you’re writing them in Middle Earth or a modern!au. I agree with you about Faramir being gentle but NOT a crybaby and Éowyn not a loose cannon and actually somewhat frosty! Any advice you have would be appreciated. Cheers!

bro... 🥺❤️ that is so kind of you, thank you so much!!!! Like holy moly I am going to be riding high on that compliment all week hahaha, i’m giddy thinking about it. 

i’ve been fretting about how to answer this question because i think i still struggle quite a bit with their characterisations. also i’m terrible at framing advice, so i’m going to try and answer this by giving my interpretations of certain things and how that effects how i write about them, and hopefully that will be helpful? also i’m so sorry, this is literally 6,000 words, this totally got away from me. 

To start quite generally, i think it’s super helpful to realise that almost all of the characters in LOTR are devoid of any significant internal life because the book is structured as a retelling of historical events to frodo, which are later written down and then “translated” by tolkien. unless a character is explicitly telling frodo/someone else what they’re thinking, we don’t really know what’s going on in there (except éowyn and i’ll come back to this later). But the other reason we don’t really get a sense of most characters’ internal lives is because they function as, essentially, heroic/fantastical archetypes and responses to other elements of literature. People tend to shy away from this because of this weird postmodern backlash against tropes, but it’s, i feel, extremely important to remember that these characters aren’t in the books because they’re fully-fleshed out human beings, they’re there because tolkien needed characters to fulfil certain narrative roles. this is not a value judgement, but acknowledging that’s what’s going on here is helpful for us as we try to figure out what these characters would be doing when canon doesn’t explicitly tell us what they’d be doing (or what they’d be doing in an au/a rewrite/whatever). 

All this to say: all of these characters are born out of a specific literary and historical context, and i think in the first instance its suuuuuuuupa helpful to go back and figure out what that context is, because it helps you to build out a character profile in your head that feels true to character even when you’re operating in the great canon unknown. 

Okay so for some general thoughts on each of the kiddos:

Éowyn

I’ll start with éowyn because i think i’ve spent the most time thinking about her lately and i feel like i’m finally starting to get in her head a little better. I’m not super confident in my take yet, but it’s getting there, i feel. 

éowyn’s metatextual character history is really fascinating and really important for understanding who she is. éowyn is, essentially, a direct response to the character of lady macbeth and what tolkien saw as a massive disservice to her character at the end of the play. I had a much better pull quote from tolkien talking specifically about that, but i can’t seem to find it right now so you’ll have to use this really brief overview instead — sorry! I will update this if i come across the quote again. 

understanding that foundation in lady macbeth, we can start to ask certain questions about éowyn vis a vis lady macbeth. What are the things that we know — in text — make lady macbeth and éowyn similar? Quite a lot, actually. They’re both ‘fully realised’ women (and i’ll come back to this in a sec), they’re both not naive about the mechanics of power — lady macbeth is a conniver, éowyn is left in control of a whole ass kingdom while the menfolk are away etc —, they’re both hindered by their gender (this is obvious for éowyn, but i HELLA recommend reading lady macbeth’s come you spirits/unsex me here speech and thinking about the relationship between womanhood and violence, especially in light of éowyn’s experience of battlefield violence and later decision to give it up to go be a hippie in ithilien), and they both have to deal with men being frustrating. I love and will defend théoden quite explicitly, but it’s important to realise that he did, in essence, fuck éowyn over entirely and abdiate on his familial responsibilities to her, before you even get to his abdication of duty to the crown etc. 

The other big — very big, i feel — similarity between éowyn and lady macbeth is that they are both tremendously emotionally distant and restrained. But éowyn, unlike lady macbeth, is capable of camouflaging her emotional distance when necessary. Here, from ROTK, is a passage of crucial important to understanding éowyn: 

‘Alas! For she was pitted against a foe beyond the strength of her mind or body. And those who will take a weapon to such an enemy must be sterner than steel, if the very shock shall not destroy them. It was an evil doom that set her in his path. For she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens. And yet I know not how I should speak of her. When I first looked on her and perceived her unhappiness, it seemed to me that I saw a white flower standing straight and proud, shapely as a lily, and yet knew that it was hard, as if wrought by elf-wrights out of steel. Or was it, maybe, a frost that had turned its sap to ice, and so it stood, bitter-sweet, still fair to see, but stricken, soon to fall and die? Her malady begins far back before this day, does it not, Éomer?’

‘I marvel that you should ask me, lord,’ he answered. ‘For I hold you blameless in this matter, as in all else; yet I knew not that Éowyn, my sister, was touched by any frost, until she first looked on you. Care and dread she had, and shared with me, in the days of Wormtongue and the king’s bewitchment; and she tended the king in growing fear. But that did not bring her to this pass!’

‘My friend,’ said Gandalf, ‘you had horses, and deeds of arms, and the free fields; but she, born in the body of a maid, had a spirit and courage at least the match of yours. Yet she was doomed to wait upon an old man, whom she loved as a father, and watch him falling into a mean dishonoured dotage; and her part seemed to her more ignoble than that of the staff he leaned on.

‘Think you that Wormtongue had poison only for Théoden’s ears? Dotard! What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among their dogs? Have you not heard those words before? Saruman spoke them, the teacher of Wormtongue. Though I do not doubt that Wormtongue at home wrapped their meaning in terms more cunning. My lord, if your sister’s love for you, and her will still bent to her duty, had not restrained her lips; you might have heard even such things as these escape them. But who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of her bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in?’

Emphasis my own.

there’s a whole hell of a lot going on here, but i’m going to try and boil it down to a couple main things:

1. gandalf and aragorn immediately see misery in éowyn, but they are both very good at reading people. faramir (later, in the steward and the king) also senses the misery, but he is explicitly talented at reading people, and even he takes a while to fully understand what’s going on in her head

2. Éomer, who éowyn feels obligation and duty to (both as her brother, but also her superior in rank) has no idea that éowyn is suicidal. he knows she’s not happy, but he thinks it’s not until aragorn shows up that she finally becomes despondent and is amazed to hear that that’s not the case, to which gandalf responds, essentially: you weren’t meant to know, she was working with a will of steel to hide her emotions from you because she wanted to protect you from it. So éowyn is well versed at controlling her emotions when she needs to, and is not prone to showing them where she doesn’t want to.

3. Gandalf describes éowyn first as wrought from steel (which, short of an incredibly hot fire, is not easy to break), and then amends it to say that she is made of ice. Ice, compared to steel, is far easier to melt. Maybe inadvertently on tolkien’s behalf, i think this speaks to the nature of éowyn and faramir’s relationship — first she is melted by fire (battle, the witch-king, etc) and the she is warmed by the sun (faramir! Minas anor! The winter has passed, etc). 

4. Earlier i said the characters in lotr don’t really have a huge internal life, except for éowyn. This is where that comes in: éowyn, we are supposed to understand, has a really intense internal life, because her mind is really all she has. We are meant to understand that she’s got a lot going on internally, but there is a very specific reason we’re not privy to it. That’s important to think about.

what this does is widen the gulf between what éowyn’s thinking and feeling, and what she’s actually saying and doing. If you’re writing (as i tend to prefer) in a way that deals with her inner life quite intensely, building that gap up is much easier to do. She’s going to have a lot of thoughts, and almost all of them are going to be hindered by either other people’s expectations of her, or her own expectations of herself. And that’s going to cause problems for her — maybe not always throwing-herself-at-death level problems, but certainly problems.  

so there’s that. Then i think there’s a lot to be said for widening the net on éowyn inspirations. I’ve looked to joan of arc (which i kind of hinted at here) quite a bit. I feel like the joan of arc comparison is easy to understand so i wont waste too much time on it, though i will say i’d actually recommend reading catholic interpretations of joan of arc, not later protestant Girlboss interpretations because i think those miss the point of joan of arc entirely. 

I was going to try to comment more on the gender element but i feel like i’m not on great footing with that yet so i will leave that to the side for now.

Faramir

tbh i was kind of dreading getting to this because i still find it exceptionally hard to get into his head, so wish me luck lol 

I’m going to be a total bore and recommend you check out this article. Bear in mind that that was written by a dude at the citadel so it’s going to stray into the realm of Military Brain at points, but i think it’s a worthwhile read anyways. 

ah christ, faramir. okay. cowabunga.

faramir, more so than aragorn, is the platonic ideal of a romantic hero. Both in the genre sense (as in, romance novels) and in the sense of the artistic movement of romanticism, i know i’ve said exactly this before but it’s worth reiterating. I’ll start with the romantic influence and then go onto the romance.

So the romantic movement is a really important intellectual, cultural and political movement, and you will have to forgive me because i am only loosely a modernist and more a contemporary historian, and not at all an expert in literature or art history, so this is going to be, like, a 101 level understanding of what was going on. 

The romantic movement is kicked off as a reaction to both the emphasis on rationality and quantifiability promoted during the enlightenment, and the bourgeois economic revolutions (this is the french revolution, mostly, but the later revolutions across the european continent in 1848 and the kickstarting of the industrial revolution in england). Romanticism was, essentially, a return to intense emotionality, reverence for nature, and appreciation of that which is, ultimately indefinable. Not necessary for writing a fanfic, but reading about the idea of the sublime is kind of a fun rabbit hole to go down if you’ve got time to spare. 

A lot of present day writers will talk about the romantic movement as a break with the past, which is, i guess, kind of true, but is also not really true. The romantic movement — as much as the enlightenment — took its inspiration and logical from classic art and thought. But it interpreted the classics differently to the enlightenment. Whereas the enlightenment era thinkers were fascinated by the rationality and mathematical precision of the greeks and romans, the romantics were more interested in their emotional liberty, and the epic (in the truest sense of the word) shows of emotion and experiences of human life. 

but what does this mean for faramir? A lot! 

The first time we’re introduced to faramir (if not in name) is in fotr, when boromir talks about the destruction of the bridge at osgiliath, when he describes an epic story of war and heroism, wherein only four total people survive swimming from the bridge: two unnamed others, boromir, and faramir. right from the off we know that, if nothing else, he’s not a limp-wristed little lordling, he has the fortitude to survive what few others can. 

Then, barely half a breath later, we get a description of faramir’s premonition, the fact that it came to him repeatedly, and that he immediately volunteered to go blues clues his way through it. We get the sense that he’s a guy who doesn’t back down from a challenge. And then faramir goes away for a while, until two towers, when we meet him again in the brilliance that is ithilien. And here i’m going to go back to our friend from the citadel for some interesting character insight:

the rangers under the command of Faramir are armed with long bows, giving them the capability to wage war over distances greater than most of their foes. This is the same type of warfare deemed cowardly and dishonorable by the chivalric knights, but is far more effective and less perilous than the face-to-face [...] This tactic also reveals Faramir to be a conscientious leader, minimizing the risk to his subordinates while maximizing their effectiveness in battle. Faramir was considerate of the risk he put his men to and sacrificed the idea of glorious face-to-face combat in favor of a weapon system that would be less desirable in the eyes of men such as Boromir, but also much more efficient. [...] Using camouflage and stealth, the warriors un d er Faramir's command set themselves apart from all other military units besides the elves in The Lord of the Rings and ultimately align themselves more closely with the soldiers of modern warfare than with the ancient heroes prevalent in the work of Tolkien. 

Okay enough of the military history because it’s soul-crushingly boring, but the gist is that faramir is, (whatever else he is) a very unique figure. Taking this as a value neutral statement, we get the sense, before we even hear him own to it himself, that he’s a man apart from the rest. I think it’s important also to think about the extent to which he is situated as a part of nature when we first meet him, even if we later know that he is from this big, awful stone city, we are meant to immediately associate him with nature. And not nature in a primitive sense, i’d argue, but nature in the romantic sense, where it speaks to the beauty of creation etc etc etc 

Then there’s the bright sword speech, which im not going to say anything on because cleverer people than me have dealt with it much more efficiently, but i would say that the takeaway from that, besides that he loves peace yada yada yada, is that he likes talking about peace. He has opinions on the war, perhaps even a controversial opinion, and by god, he wants people to know it. So thinking about what that level of immediate and almost impolitic honesty says about him is worth thinking about as you try to write him. 

Later, we get to see faramir in the white city, and what we see is that he’s kind of a drama queen! I say this lovingly, but it does correspond to him going off on one immediately about how the war sucks ass and how he’s above it and how all the other people of middle earth are shit, including his own, and how much better life was In Númenor (which is, essentially, the crux of a lot of romantic poetry. And my headcanon of faramir’s connection to romantic poetry is here). 

The other thing we learn in the white city is that faramir is very aware of himself as a person, and is actively altering whatever his base inclinations are to fit his desired personality. Here’s what i said in a comment on swaddledog’s excellent hearts and minds: 

When Denethor hits him with the "ever your desire is to appear lordly and generous as a king of old, gracious, gentle," he's not saying it because he thinks that sort of behaviour comes naturally to Faramir but because he knows he has to work really, really hard at it. I think inherent in that desire is also the failure — he tries, but sometimes he comes up short (often, even — that kiss on the wall wasn't exactly gracious and gentle!), and it's because he sometimes comes up short that Denethor knows it doesn't come naturally to him. And you get that perfectly, just so, so perfectly.

That gap between what faramir thinks he is and whats to be versus what he actually is is very important for understanding him. Though, as i say, i really struggle with writing faramir, so it’s definitely not an easy thing to work into a fanfic. 

I realise i’m probably not articulating this as well as i should, but that’s because dealing with faramir is a tremendous arseache for me, lol. I think basically my advice here is to familiarise yourself with a lot of these romantic figures and try to bear them in mind as you write. pierre bezukhov from war & peace actually fits quite closely to what i imagine young (as in, pre-ring war) faramir is like, with some necessary alterations for canon, and the fact that faramir seems like he’d be slightly more responsible than pierre. And certainly far, far, FAR more confident. 

So that’s the romantic, and then there’s the romance. I saw a post a few months ago that identified faramir as, essentially, a love letter to women. And he totally is: he’s this fucking baller guerrilla warrior who quotes poetry and reads widely and falls in love deeply and sweeps a woman off her feet because he finds her beautiful and incredible and worthwhile even when she’s at her absolute worst. emotional intimacy is real, hallelujah! And so i think any time you’re writing faramir you’re going to have to keep that in mind, because he is this sort of breathless romantic. He’s a character that exists (inadvertently because tolkien couldn’t predict the future) to act, outwardly, as an antidote to the All Men Are Shit mindset. How much you actually keep him on that pedestal is up to you. I like to nuance his character with a bit more chaos, let him be a bit of a shameless flirt in his younger years, let him be so high and mighty in his romantic behaviour that he doesn’t realise that sometime éowyn just wants to fucking chill, that sort of thing. 

There are lots of other character moments that stick out to me that i dont want to say a huge amount about, but will instead link to this incredible meta about faramir’s númenóreaness, with the disclaimer that dealing with that sort of capability in any serious way scares the shit out of me, so i have mostly just Pretended I Can’t Read every time i think about it, except for a super brief reference at the end of this fic. 

Okay onto the meat of this (oh my god, i’m so sorry for how long this is)

Faramir + Éowyn = true love

Before i start, i just want to point out that in terms of seeing their relationship, we only really get it in the steward and the king, which is significant for a lot of reasons. For one because tolkien got a huge amount of shit for how quickly they fell in love (people accused it of being war-bride stuff, which typically was not a great arrangement for those involved) — tolkien himself said ‘shut the fuck up dude’ to that, and this is probably because tolkien married his wife, edith, right before he went off to war. I’ll come back to that in a sec because it’s important. 

The other reason it’s important is because the steward and the king features some of the most consistent lofty and high-fantasy prose of the entire series. Tolkien does this magical thing where he weaves high brow purple prose in with deeply casual, familiar (for the early 20th century) vernacular, and to great effect. And he does this for a reason, he wants to create the sense of this deeply developed, fantastical world that extends well outside the bounds of what we are allowed to see in text while also allowing us the rhetorical space to relate to the characters we see. It is, then, significant that there is almost none of the “low-brow” vernacular speech in the steward and the king. It means tolkien’s got all thrusters on full, so to speak, in terms of the romance. He wants to evoke arthurian romances, courtly/chivalric love, the sort of fated-by-the-stars love that nobody would think to deny because of the time constraints because it seems so abundantly obvious that this love is Meant To Be.

But that’s just what he’s doing tonally. In terms of content, he’s weaving a more complex picture. 

We’ll start with the obvious. Emotionally, both éowyn and faramir are at their worst. Sort of. éowyn’s worst might have been when she did her suicide run on the pelennor in terms of self-destructiveness, but i think her real low point is actually when she wakes up in the HoH, basically immobilized, prevented from dying, and now aware she’s going to have to do the One Thing she refused to do, which is watch everybody she loves go off to die, and then sit about and wait for her own death. faramir, meanwhile, went off to a hopeless battle (expecting to die) after mouthing off at his father, then wakes up to find out he’s not only alive, but the only surviving member of his family (for some reason! because don’t forget gandalf is very clear that he shouldn’t find out about denethor’s death until Later), is now the fucking steward of gondor, and also this mythical king is Back. also he too has to sit around and wait for death. So emotionally neither of them are doing too great. 

Their first impressions of one another are very important. 

faramir, of éowyn: “and he turned and saw the Lady Éowyn of Rohan; and he was moved with pity, for he saw that she was hurt, and his clear sight perceived her sorrow and unrest.”; “He looked at her, and being a man whom pity deeply stirred, it seemed to him that her loveliness amid her grief would pierce his heart.”

So he knows who she is, and he can see that she’s physically hurt, but also can see she’s feeling all kinds of fucked up. And the first emotion he feels is pity. He’s assessing her in terms of pain and sorrow, and all of these sorts of emotions éowyn seems desperate to divorce herself from. And he offers her pity. That’s significant. 

éowyn, of faramir: “she looked at him and saw the grave tenderness in his eyes, and yet knew, for she was bred among men of war, that here was one whom no Rider of the Mark would outmatch in battle.” 

She doesn’t know who he is, not really, but she does immediately think he could kick ass. And that’s her first and only real assessment of him. That’s also significant. 

And éowyn is miserable, and she’s so miserable she’s actually willing to openly talk about if (if only to a limited extent) and faramir does what is, I think, one of the most incredible things in the entire book. He functionally disarms her, lets her down gently, and places them on equal footing with a single joke:

‘What would you have me do, lady?’ said Faramir. ‘I also am a prisoner of the healers.’

There’s merit in interpreting this straight, but I actually think it's quite funny to relate the safety and security of a hospital in wartime to a prison, to a cage. And I think tolkien’s aware of this, and not really intending us to read it straight. What this does is soften éowyn up enough that she asks for what she wants, but also seems to make her more interested in dealing with him, even if she reacts badly to his compliment of her. 

And then they fall in love, and whatever. The chapter’s there, there’s a million fanfics out there about it, whatever. 

But faramir’s proposal is Big, and deserves thought for what it says about their relationship. People like to bitch about it because they take it to mean that éowyn has had to change all this stuff about herself, give up her desire to be a firebrand or whatever to go off and be a lovely prince’s wife in this noble hippie commune over those hills yonder. I think that’s totally wrong.

I think what’s going on in faramir’s proposal and éowyn’s response is a really fascinating illumination of the accord they’ve reached with one another through their (admittedly brief) courtship. Here’s why:

First, faramir tries to approach the conversation with a bit of subterfuge. Not in the weird negative way, just in that he’s not hitting it head on at the start. He obviously still doesn’t understand what’s going on inside her head fully, so tries to ask around the question (‘why aren’t you at the cormallen?’) instead of asking the question he’s obviously interested in. éowyn has no time for this, and tells him to nut up or shut up. And he does! 

But then there’s this line: 

But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten.

Two things going on here: one, faramir’s rescinding his initial emotional reaction. He felt pity for her, but has now come to know her well enough that he realises she doesn’t need pity, and isn’t dumb enough to try and force it on her. But the second thing, almost more important, is that he assesses her in the terms that she prefers, which is that she has won herself renown and has shown her valour. These are not the things Faramir values, we know this, that’s the whole point of the bright sword speech. But they are the things éowyn values, and he loves her, and is willing to acknowledge what her desired self image is. That’s a huge concession she’s won off him, that’s big. 

And then éowyn responds:

I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.

here’s my potentially controversial take. I don’t think she’s giving up on her desire to be a fighter of some sort, but she’s giving up on some specific traditions, which is that of the mythical (but, let’s be clear, functionally nonexistent, save for éowyn) shieldmaidens, and of the riders of the Mark, who, as we have been told throughout the books, are given to valorising warfare and martial acts above all. This is supported by her saying “nor take joy only in the songs of slaying.” she’s not saying she won't take any joy in it, or that she won’t still praise it when it earns her admiration, but that’s not going to be her only raison d’etre anymore. Her life is going to move beyond the realm of death and killing and battlefield survival to growth and life and the future. That’s also a concession on her behalf. 

And then there’s this hella romantic kiss on the walls, which is fucking brazen behaviour, but is also i think representative more of the unique situation than setting a trend for them. It is, i think, the positive equivalent of éowyn’s slaying of the witch king in terms of its uniqueness. In the same way that she’s not going to keep going around throwing herself headlong into fights she’s not meant to win, she’s also not going to be publicly playing tonsil hockey. This is the big moment, and then it’s back to the reserve from there. 

Really, their entire relationship is, to me, about a series of negotiations. One culture and another, wives and husbands, old and new, war and peace, life and death, etc. they are similar in a lot of ways — both are intensely headstrong — but they’re similar primarily in character, not necessarily in belief, and so much of what they’re going to have to do as a pair is work to find their harmonious accord, if that makes sense. Sometimes they’ll do it peaceably, sometimes they’ll have blow up fights, but their entire relationship is going to be predicated on negotiating the space between, if that makes sense? 

Okay i said i’d say some stuff on the relationship of tolkien and his wife edith to faramir and éowyn. Tolkien was adamant that they were beren and lúthien (that’s on their tombstones), and i’m full willing to grant him that. But i think it’s complicated by the fact that faramir is, in some senses, tolkien’s self-insert. Obviously authors can have stand-ins for their opinions without the character having to be them exactly (and i think there’s more merit certainly to saying that tolkien’s 100% self-insert is tom bombadil) but i think there’s something worth exploring to the connections between beren and lúthien and faramir and éowyn. I know the morality issue makes B+L more closely comparable to arwen and aragorn, but, as I argue for here, the mortality issue (or lifespan issue) isn’t totally alien to faramir and éowyn.  

As i write them, there are some core themes i’m pretty consistently thinking about, so i’ll just list em here in case that’s any help to you.

Family 

This would be: life after orphanhood, life as the last of a family, what your obligation to your family is, how you go on and have your own family after having had a less than ideal childhood, etc.

Duty

Here’s what I said about their differing approaches to duty in a now-abandoned draft chapter from willow cabin:

Faramir has said, not in as many words, that she should not begrudge him for following orders. This, she knows, is a crucial difference between them. They each hold duty above all other charges, but their interpretation of what exactly that means is different. It comes from the differences in power they wield: he has ever been empowered to change the course of decisions before they are made, while she is forced to react to them after. To him, then, it would be unreasonable to disobey direct orders, given that a failure to change them in advance is a reflection upon his skills, not the legitimacy of the command. She, however, has rarely had control over how and when orders are given, and so sees no inherent legitimacy to them, and thus no reason not to disobey orders that are unjustly given.

Time

As I alluded to above, éowyn is going to live a significantly shorter life than Faramir, and she is no doubt very aware of this. But this also means that they’re going to experience time differently, and that will have an impact on their behaviour. What might seem like foot-dragging to éowyn seems like impatience to faramir, etc

Healing

We never actually see faramir’s reaction to finding out denethor tried to burn him alive. That’s a lot. We have no idea if he knows when he proposes to éowyn. When does he find out? What does that do to his mood? Etc. but also, éowyn says she’ll become a healer — what does that really mean? Is she going to be nurse/doctor éowyn from now on? Will she broaden the definition of healing (for my part, i say yes, which is what i’ve been trying to do in willow cabin, though a little less successfully than i’d hoped)

Gender

This is a slightly less popular theme in the bookverse fics, but i think as part of éowyn and faramir’s relationship of negotiation, they’re going to have to deal with éowyn not feeling one hundo thrilled about being a woman. And i think that raises some interesting questions about what faramir’s response to that will be. men/manhood is often treated as the historical default — so what happens when someone like, say, éowyn, starts challenging the notion of gender and gender roles around faramir? How does he react? What does that do to his own self-image? Etc. 

Okay. yes. That’s all i can think of right now. I am so, so sorry this is so long, i just totally brain dumped there. If you have any questions at all though please please do hit me up and i’m super happy to read whatever you’re writing (literally gagging for farawyn content rn lmao), if you’re comfortable sharing etc.

[goindownshipping]

Late Night with Peter Parker and the Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) 

Rating: Teen (T) 

Notes: I did a thing! I saw this gif set and couldn’t get this AU out of my head. Welcome to my first fic! 

Summary: 

“Hey everyone, and welcome back to Late Night with Peter Parker! I’m Peter and I’m thrilled to have you all with me this evening”. Peter glanced out at the studio audience’s smiling faces and couldn’t help but mirror their excitement. “I am stoked to introduce our next guest tonight. Known to the world for his technological advances and outlandish sunglasses, please welcome Tony Stark to the stage!”

Or: Peter Parker is a late night talk show host and has Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, on as a guest. Tony has a huge crush on Peter.

“Hey everyone, and welcome back to Late Night with Peter Parker! I’m Peter and I’m thrilled to have you all with me this evening”. Peter glanced out at the studio audience’s smiling faces and couldn’t help but mirror their excitement. “I am stoked to introduce our next guest tonight. Known to the world for his technological advances and outlandish sunglasses, please welcome Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries to the stage!” 

Peter glanced away from the crowd and cameras, to where Tony began to enter the stage. While the framed glasses and vibrant dress shirt were certainly expected, Peter found himself caught off guard by the carefree way Tony quite literally danced onto the stage. The crowd cheered so loudly that Peter could hardly hear himself think. As Tony clapped, snapped, and shimmied to the beat of the music, Peter found himself standing to greet the self-proclaimed “genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist”. 

Peter ran his sweating palms down the front of his dress pants under the guise of pressing out the wrinkles, hoping his nerves weren’t apparent to every set of eyes on him. Tony grabbed his hand with vigor and Peter was suddenly aware of how Tony sucked everyone in. The man’s eyes were a gorgeous brown and Peter found himself mimicking the crinkling smile coming from the man opposite him.

His earpiece caught his attention as his stage manager cleared her throat. Peter suddenly became aware of the crowd noise again and gestured for Tony to take a seat, not missing the quick smirk from the billionaire. “Tony Stark everyone!” Peter exclaimed, hoping to buy himself a moment to remember the questions he lined up for the segment. 

Typically, Peter liked to start with a rough outline for the interview, but mostly allow for organic conversation to flow without a set list of questions. To his dismay, that plan was quickly shut down by Stark’s team when they were planning for the segment. Initially, Peter was hesitant to extend the invitation to Tony Stark, knowing the reputation the man carried. When Tony’s PR team gave Peter a strict list of topics to stick to, he nearly made his booking team cancel the segment. 

Ned had just glared at him and swiftly refused. “Peter, there is absolutely no way we’re canceling on Tony Stark,” Ned had stated. “Mr. Stark is without a doubt the biggest name we’ve booked for your show. You can deal with one night of scripted questions”. Ned left no room for questions, and that was that. Peter was presented with a short list of topics he could discuss and a long list of items he was absolutely forbidden to bring up. Whoever said you could do whatever you wanted once you had your own show had never met Ned Leeds.

Coming out of his thoughts, Peter was having a difficult time believing the carefree man in front of him was the same man with the strictest interview protocols he’d ever seen. Peter gave himself a final moment to catch his breath, and dove into his list of questions. “Well Mr. Stark, it certainly is an honor-” 

“Oh please, kid, call me Tony. Let’s drop the formalities here.” 

Peter’s breath caught in his throat and he attempted to cover it with a cough. He could tell it was unsuccessful when he saw MJ roll her eyes from the side stage. Peter focused on the man in front of him rather than his visibly stressed stage manager. 

“Alright then, Tony,” Peter started nervously. “It really is an honor to have you join me here tonight. Not many people know this, but I started off as a Mechanical Engineering student at NYU before switching over to Communication Studies. Your innovation inspired me to start down that path,” Peter finished. 

Tony’s face stretched into a wide grin. “What a shame we lost you to the dark side,” Tony said with a chuckle. Tony continued to throw Peter off-guard with his easy smiles and quiet laughter. 

Peter cleared his throat, directing his attention to the notes hidden on his desk on set. “Well,” Peter started, “I am certainly fascinated by the technology you’ve continued to develop over the years. Most recently, you revealed the extent to which the arc reactor can be used for sustainable energy. What inspired you to get so involved in that sector?” 

Tony’s eyes lit up at the mention of his most prized invention - that the public was privy to, at least. “When I discovered the impact of our weapons manufacturing, I knew I had to refocus the company’s mission,” Tony said quickly, almost dismissively. Peter knew better than to pry into the weapons situation. That story had dominated headlines for months, and was clearly blacklisted on the protocol Peter was given. 

“The arc reactor,” Tony continued, “is something I personally developed, tested, and implemented at our factory. I could see the many applications it was capable of. I knew that I needed to share something inherently good with the world. For so long, I thought I was the good guy, and we all know how that turned out. The reactor is my way of living up to the title of ‘philanthropist’ that we all know I’m so fond of,” Tony finished with an easy smile. 

“What are your long term goals for the reactor?” Peter asked. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he was going slightly off-script. Tony either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. 

“Oh man,” he said with a smile and a tilt of his head toward Peter. “There are so many applications for it. Ideally, I would love to see it power entire cities. Imagine a city with self-sustaining, clean energy powering the grid. That’s a rabbit hole I don’t think we have time to go down.” Peter simply nodded and smiled at the generosity and brilliance of the man in front of him. 

Peter glanced up at the screens in front of him, noticing that it was already time for a commercial break. “That all sounds incredible Mr. St-, Tony. That’s incredible. We’re taking a quick break, but when we come back we’ll hear about some creative robots and hopefully the story behind the famously tinted sunglasses!” The studio audience applauded, and they got the signal that they’d cut to commercial. 

Peter and Tony quickly turned to each other, taking a moment to introduce themselves a bit further. While Peter had initially been hesitant to have Tony on the show, he was pleasantly surprised by the other man’s openness. 

“So kid,” Tony smirked, “are you really just going to ask me about robots and my sunglasses?”. Peter felt himself blush at the question. 

“Well,” Peter glanced at the approved topics on his desk. Tony caught the move and before Peter could do anything, Tony was reaching for the sheet. His eyes roamed over the paper and he scoffed. 

“Did Pepper send you this?” he questioned. 

Peter shrugged. “My team was told everything else was off limits”. 

Tony looked past Peter toward backstage and clearly made a face at someone Peter couldn’t see. “Kid, it’s your show. Give the people what they want,” Tony said with an easy smile and a glint in his eye. 

It almost seemed like a challenge and Peter certainly never backed down from a challenge. His crew indicated that they were ready to roll the cameras again and Peter quickly collected himself. “Alright Mr. Stark, you asked for it,” he said, not even trying to hide the mischief in his voice. 

Tony grinned, looking more like the cheshire cat than anything. Tony held Peter’s gaze for a moment too long, neither of them noticing the countdown from the camera crew.

Suddenly the audience was clapping again and Peter heard a very frustrated MJ in his ear, “Pete, you’re on! Stop making heart eyes at the billionaire!”. Tony blushed, and Peter quickly realized they were both wearing the same ear pieces. Peter turned to face the audience and cameras with a bright smile on his face. 

“Hey everyone and welcome back. I am here with Mr. Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries”. Peter chanced a look at Tony and didn’t miss the way his eyebrows raised at his use of the prefix. Game on, Peter thought to himself.

“Alright Tony, we’ll get back to the robots and sunglasses, but I want to start with a question that’s been on my mind since long before you were scheduled to come on my show,” Peter stated matter of factly. Tony nodded, encouraging Peter to ask the question. “You have been known to describe yourself as a ‘genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’. I’d love for you to tell us a bit more about that.” Peter leaned back in his seat, leaving Tony to divulge any information he was willing to share. 

Tony took a deep breath, clearly contemplating just how honest he wanted to be here. Whether Peter knew it or not, Tony really only cared about making a good impression on one person in that studio. He shifted in his seat, and pushed his glasses further up his nose, attempting to protect himself from the glare he knew Pepper was throwing his way.

“Well, I think the world knows the history of my genius and billionaire status,” Tony quipped. Peter nodded, encouraging the man to continue. “I was lucky, or unlucky depending on who you talk to, to graduate MIT at a young age, and when my parents passed, I inherited the business.” Tony spoke quickly, clearly less comfortable with these topics. However, he maintained his same open demeanor, not shying away from Peter’s bluntness. 

“It was important to me to create a legacy and I knew I had the resources to do so,” Tony continued. “My mother had a passion for fundraising and charity work, so I found a way to incorporate that into Stark Industries with the Stark Relief Foundation.” Tony paused, glancing at Peter for his reaction. Tony was met with eyes full of emotion that he couldn’t quite place. 

The moment passed and Peter seemed to come back to himself. “That’s all lovely Tony, but you’re forgetting one very important part of your catch phrase,” Peter grinned mischievously. Tony offered up a tight smile and heard a few whistles coming from the crowd. 

“Ha, yes, playboy, huh?” Tony muttered, just loud enough to be picked up by his microphone. “In all honesty, that’s the one part of this line that’s the least accurate,” Tony admitted. “Sure, I’ve had some fun over the years, but playboy status was never really my style. I could never be good at that - I get too attached to people.” Tony looked up at Peter meaningfully. 

“So then why did you accept it, if not flaunt it, for all these years?” Peter pressed. 

“I uh - I think it felt safer?” Tony answered, seemingly unsure of himself. Peter waited, allowing Tony the time to continue gathering his thoughts. “If the world saw me as someone incapable of having anything permanent, then I could protect the people closest to me. It’s tough to put up that front, but it was the best thing I could do for the people I love. Besides, once the public got the idea, it was pretty hard to change their mind,” Tony shrugged. Peter nodded in understanding, still not quite believing the conversation he was having with Tony Stark. 

“So,” Peter began curiously, “if playboy isn’t your style, is there anyone special you’d like to tell us about?”. Tony couldn’t help the full body laugh that tumbled out of him. He could feel some of the tension leaving his body in that moment. 

“Wow kid, you really know how to catch a guy off guard. No I - uh, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.” Tony glanced up to see Peter looking at him curiously. Tony glanced out toward the audience, seeing them chuckle along with him. “Do you have anyone you’d like to tell me and your fine viewers about?” Tony asked with a challenge. 

Now it was Peter’s turn to be surprised. His cheeks quickly flushed and he could feel the heat travel all the way down his neck, past the collar of his dress shirt. “Um, I - uh,” Peter stammered, unable to make eye contact with Tony. “Nope, I - no one right now,” Peter finally managed to say. “Talk about catching someone off guard,” Peter muttered. At this point the entire studio audience was laughing at the two men on stage, Peter only hoped his production team and Tony’s PR team wouldn’t have his head. 

“Alright everyone, it looks like we’re running out of time, with Mr. Stark here. Tony, thank you so much for joining us this evening!” Peter reached over to shake Tony’s hand in thanks as the audience broke out in loud cheers again. If their touch lingered for a moment too long, no one seemed to notice.

Peter turned back to the crowd and cameras for his closing. “Thank you all for joining me on Late Night with Peter Parker! We’ll be back tomorrow night for another great show. Good night everyone!” Peter waved to the camera until the director called “cut!”. 

Peter and Tony were quickly shuffled off the set and toward the judging eyes of MJ and who Peter could only assume was Pepper, Tony’s publicist. Before Peter could start defending himself, Tony quickly jumped in. “Pep, don’t bother getting upset at the kid, I told him to ask about whatever he wanted to. It’s his show for fuck’s sake!”. 

“I uh, I’m sorry if I crossed any lines Mr. Stark,” Peter said quietly. 

“Peter no, that was the most entertaining interview I’ve done in a while,” Tony said honestly. “Thank you again for having me on.” Peter nodded. 

“You’re very welcome, we’d love to have you back anytime. Maybe then we can actually talk about your robots and your sunglasses,” he added. 

Before anyone knew it, Tony was being ushered back to his dressing room as Pepper muttered something about the jet leaving for Washington D.C. Peter had hoped to pick Tony’s genius brain for a moment, but the man was clearly very busy. 

Peter chatted briefly with members of his team as well as a few of their guests from the audience. Everyone commented on the fact that he managed to get actual answers out of the elusive Tony Stark. Before long, Peter was waving to MJ and Ned and heading to his own dressing room to unwind from the taping. As he thought back on the interview with Tony, he still couldn’t quite match the man he expected with the man he met on set today. From his giddy entrance to his honest answers to his cheeky banter, Peter was somewhat enamored with the Tony Stark he met today. 

Peter was brought out of his thoughts by a soft knock at the door, which was odd considering Ned or MJ would typically just barge in. Peter made his way to the door and swung it open to reveal a much softer looking Tony Stark. Gone were the thick-framed glasses and suit, and in their place was damp hair, a soft looking long-sleeved tee, and worn jeans. 

Peter couldn’t get his eyes off the man in front of him. “Um, hey Mr. Stark, can I help you with something?” Peter asked. Tony just smiled. 

“Mind if I come in for a moment? I have a few minutes before I have to get out of here”. Peter nodded and stepped aside, inviting Tony into the room. 

“Can I get you anything?” Peter asked, gesturing to the small fridge in the corner of the room. 

“I’m alright, thanks Pete,” Tony answered easily. Peter looked at Tony expectantly, unsure of why the man was standing in his dressing room. “Will you let me take you to dinner?” Tony suddenly blurted out. Peter noticed a blush on the man’s cheeks and the way he wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I just, I think you’re brilliant, you’re witty, not to mention gorgeous, and I’ve been a fan for a while, god I sound pathetic,” Tony babbled. He took another breath to continue explaining himself when suddenly Peter was in his space, making it impossible to breathe. 

“If I say yes, will you tell me about the robots?” Peter asked. 

“God kid, I’ll tell you anything,” Tony said in a rush, closing the little space left between them. Peter’s hands grasped onto Tony’s biceps as Tony’s hands fell to his waist. They both stared at each other’s lips for a beat too long. “Pete, please,” Tony breathed. Both men moved forward as their lips met in a soft kiss. Tony’s hands grasped tighter as Peter’s hands moved to grab a fistful of Tony’s shirt. Another knock at Peter’s door had them quickly pulling back, but Tony kept a tight grip on Peter’s waist, keeping him close. 

“Tony?” came Pepper’s voice. “We really do need to get going,” she called softly. 

“Just a minute, Pep,” Tony answered.

Tony wordlessly passed his phone to Peter, who quickly entered his number. Tony managed to send a quick message and Peter heard his phone vibrate from across the room. “Two days,” Tony breathed against Peter’s lips. “I’ll be back in two days and I’m taking you out.” 

Peter felt excitement bubble up inside of him at the prospect of having Tony’s undivided attention on him. Peter nodded as he walked Tony toward the door. He pressed a quick kiss to Tony’s lips and reached for the door handle. 

As he opened the door, Tony leaned in to whisper, “If you’re lucky maybe I’ll even tell you about this cute talk show host that I’ve had my eye on for a while”. Peter couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face as he watched Tony disappear down the hallway. His phone buzzed again from his dressing room as he made his way back inside. He snatched his phone to save the new number he already had two messages from. 

The next time he got a message from that number it would read “Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist”.

[longitud-de-onda]

aguardiente

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; you and javi join connie and steve for a night out. little does javi know you have some tricks up your sleeve, or rather, under your skirt ;) rating; nc-17 warnings; smut, public sex, alochol word count; 2.1k requested; by anon “30 and 63 for Javi? Maybe something sneaky where they are undercover or maybe in a bar having snuck off from Connie and Steve? I dunno just suggestions because sometimes people like a little more than just the numbers, but you're so amazing I know whatever you decide to write will be fantastic and I'll read it :)”

30) “Just remember, if we get in trouble, you're deaf and I don't speak English Spanish.”

63) “If you raise your hand a little higher, you’ll feel that I’m not wearing any panties.”

You slid onto the barstool, hand grazing across Javi’s back. He turned around, face lighting up when he saw you.

“You made it,” he said.

“Sorry I’m late, mi amor,” you smiled, “Got caught up behind some guys causing trouble at a police checkpoint on the way here.”

A shadow flickered across his face, “Are you okay?”

“Sí, todo está bien,” you said, “Nothing big happened, they wouldn’t show their identification, police pointed guns, the men pointed guns back. I was three cars behind so I couldn’t really tell what was going on.”

“Did I hear police?” a voice said behind you, and you turned to see Steve, arm in arm with Connie.

“Yes, Y/N was stuck behind a checkpoint,” Javi said before you could respond, “She was lucky to make it here.”

“Are you okay?” Connie asked, concerned.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you sighed. Your boyfriend and the gringos he worked with were always so worried about things like checkpoints and the perceived danger of firearms. You grew up here. It was just another day in Bogotá.

Steve and Connie had grabbed the two seats on the other side of Javi.

“Did you already order drinks?” Steve asked.

“No, it was just me and I had no idea what y’all would want. Y/N only showed up a minute before you,” Javi said.

Connie stood up, leaned over the bar, and lifted her hand discreetly. She had a way of getting the bartender over faster than the rest of you.

“What do you all want?” Connie said to your group, then turned back to order for herself, “A daiquiri for me.”

“Dos cervezas,” Steve said, knowing Javi’s order as well. You chuckled at Steve’s Spanish. He and Connie tried, the latter being a little more self-conscious so you heard Steve’s more. It wasn’t bad, he just didn’t have any sort of accent beyond ‘glaringly American.’

The bartender looked up at you.

“Tres chupitos de aguardiente,” you said, gaining a smile from the man before he disappeared to prepare your drinks.

Steve started up a conversation about work and you zoned out. You were privy to much of Javier’s work, more than you should know, if anyone was being honest. But you didn’t particularly care about it. DEA work should be fascinating, the stuff of movies, but you couldn’t help but be bored by the bureaucracy of it all.

It was a lot easier to pay attention to Javier’s hand, which had just landed on your leg, his thumb rubbing circles on the softer bit of skin on your inner thigh.

“Y/N,” Steve said, drawing your attention back to the group, “Have you noticed the increase in violence in Bogotá lately?”

“Um,” your head was swimming with arousal, and when Javier had invited you to a double date at the bar, you hadn’t expected to be stuck talking about embassy work. “I don’t know. It’s always been violent where I live, nothing has really changed.”

Javi’s fingers kept circling your leg, and you could feel your ability to focus drifting away.

“I get so worried,” Connie said, “We can hardly go a night now without being woken up by gunshots, it’s so stressful.”

“You live in a nicer barrio,” you said, “But the violence is spreading. It’s always been like that at my place. If it's hitting where you live, then that’s concerning.”

“That’s what I keep saying!” Connie exclaimed.

“And I don’t disagree,” Steve said, “All I’m saying is that we’re fine.”

The two started arguing, and you let yourself fall into the feeling of Javier’s soft fingers on your skin. You wanted more. You leaned over to whisper into Javi’s ear.

“If you raise your hand a little higher, you’ll feel that I’m not wearing any panties,” your voice was silky smooth and Javi’s hand froze in its spot.

You had gotten out of the shower that afternoon and slipped on a tight little green dress. It had been a couple days since you had gotten to spend any time with Javier, and you wanted to end up at his apartment for the night. So you had decided to forgo your underclothes.

As Javier remained frozen in his seat, you assumed an alert posture, feigning investment in Steve and Connie’s debate.

Javi appeared to regain his senses and moved his hand slowly up your leg, slipping under the thin fabric of your dress. His hand met you and you felt him stiffen a bit in full awareness of your intentions.

It took a lot of effort to not glance back at him. You wanted to see the thrill and fear in his eyes. You two had always been a rather kinky couple. You couldn’t have lasted this long if you weren’t. Both of you had high sex drives and a willingness to try new things in bed, but doing something this public, this risky, had never occurred.

He moved again, his pointer finger running teasingly along where your leg met the rest of your body. It took some work to not start squirming, or bucking into his palm.

His finger brushed over your clit. It sent a sensation straight from your core to your head, and you closed your eyes and inhaled sharply.

“Disculpe, sus bebidas,” a couple of clinks sounded and you opened your eyes to see the bartender with the two bottles of beer, Connie’s cocktail, and your shots.

Javier’s hand disappeared from your legs, and you instinctively rolled your hips forward, searching for contact.

As you drank you became more desperate for Javi to return to you. You had moved on from the aguardiente shots and were now sipping a mojito with a high rum content. It didn’t matter if it was the arousal or the alcohol doing it, but you found yourself leaning into him, whispering into his ear, making subtle kisses along his jaw. Anything to get him as worked up as you were feeling.

“I think we’re going to join the dance floor,” Connie said, standing up and pulling Steve along with her. He seemed a bit more reluctant to the idea, but loose enough to oblige.

“Have fun,” Javier winked at the two. You nodded, smiling at them.

You watched as they walked away, disappearing into the throng of bodies moving excitedly to the music.

The brief tingle of Javi’s breath against your neck was the only warning you got before he attached his mouth to you, working his way up your jawline and nipping at your ear. You pushed your hair back and struggled to hold in a moan. You could only hope the people around you didn’t think his actions were too obscene for a Friday night.

“Finally, they’re gone,” Javi said into your ear, “I want you to keep on sipping that drink like nothing’s up, and remember, if we get in trouble, you’re deaf and I don’t speak Spanish.”

Your cunt felt hotter at his words, and you wanted nothing more than for him to plunge his hand back down, but you couldn’t help but turn to face him, “But I can pretend to speak English too, I mean, I—”

“Shh,” he placed a finger on your lips, “Yo dije: vas a tomar una bebida, como si todo estuviera bien, and if we get in trouble, you’re deaf because your English accent isn’t going to fool anyone.”

He repeated his instructions with such authority that you leaned forward to take another sip, smiling into your cup as you felt his hand slip under your dress again.

He had his beer bottle in the other hand, casually drinking and looking completely normal. You had no idea how he kept so calm. You were about to erupt and he hadn’t even touched you there yet.

His hand spread, putting a little pressure on each leg, and you spread them a bit to give some clearance. His finger went straight for where you were starting to get wet, running straight up towards your clit, bringing your natural lubricant with it.

With his thumb, he began rubbing, and you were glad there was now at least some moisture because the motions he was going through would have had you overstimulated. Instead, you were gripping to the bar with one hand, your knuckles almost turning white with the pressure as you tried to keep yourself from bucking up into his hand.

You grew warmer and sucked in your stomach in hopes of containing yourself. He slipped in a finger and you almost cried out.

“Remember,” he said, “Just keep sipping that drink.”

It took all your control to lift the glass back to your mouth as he curled his finger up inside you while the pad of his thumb circled around your clit. You stared straight ahead, noticing the two bartenders working to prepare drinks, and distinctly aware of the woman who had sat down on the stool next to you about an hour ago. Surely they could tell what you were doing?

He slipped another finger in, and you had to scoot yourself as far back on the seat as possible, arching your back to contain the pressure. He was working his fingers in and out of you, slowly, enough to put you on the edge of orgasm without letting you tumble all the way over.

You held your glass tightly and tilted it up to drink the remaining liquid. It was almost entirely rum and sugar, and it stung as it hit the back of your throat, causing you to gasp harshly.

“¿Quiere otra, Señora?” The bartender had returned and was staring at you.

You lifted the arm holding the table and brought it down to Javi’s arm, hoping he would slow. Instead, he took a swig of his beer, and looking ahead, added another finger, speeding up. All your muscles clenched to keep yourself from showing your pleasure, and you hoped the bartender couldn’t tell what you were doing.

“Si,��� you breathed out, “Lo mismo.”

You swallowed. You were fairly sure your entire body was vibrating and as soon as the bartender disappeared, you let yourself briefly double over. It might have gained you some odd looks, but you felt like your entire body was on fire.

“Javier, porfa,” you said. He leaned into you, and attached his mouth to your neck. You were convinced any onlookers would know exactly what you were up to. At this point, you didn’t care. You just wanted more.

“¿Qué quieres, Y/N?” Javier said. What did you want? You wanted him to take you on the countertop. But that wasn’t an option.

“Más, Javi,” you knew your voice sounded more like a moan, but he understood and crooked his fingers, hitting you right where it was needed, and with a swipe of his thumb across your clit you were gone.

Your grip on your glass tightened and you clenched around his fingers as Javier kept moving in and out, stimulating you until you rode out your orgasm. His mouth on your jaw only enhanced the sensation. Your breaths were sharp and loud, and you shut your eyes tight.

“Mi amor, you look absolutely wrecked,” Javier’s breath was hot in your ears again as he stilled his fingers, and although you were coming down from your high, your face turned bright red.

You glanced around, no one seemed to have seen the moment, or if they did, they were pointedly avoiding you. He slipped his hand out of you, discretely bringing it up to your mouth. In a surge of bravery, you took them into your mouth, sucking and licking them clean, trying to maintain eye contact with Javier the whole time. You could see the pain of arousal on his face, and you smirked.

He pulled out his fingers and finished off his bottle in a single swig before sliding off the barstool.

“I think we should head back to my place,” he leaned into you, offering a hand.

You grabbed it, letting him help you off of the stool. Your knees were shakier than anticipated. He wrapped his other arm around your waist to stabilize you, and placed some money on the table for your bill.

“A mi me parece bien,” you drawled, knowing your voice would shoot straight to his dick, and hopefully get you out of the bar sooner.

“We should find Murphy, let him know,” Javier said.

You groaned, searching the crowd for the couple. You just wanted to head back as soon as possible.

You spotted the two, Connie’s head was thrown back in laughter as Steve danced carelessly to the song.

“I think the gringos are fine,” you smiled. “Vamanos.”

[dragalialore]

yeah alright just gonna do ch 17 and the interludes in one go. fuck it

Let’s start with the main chapter. This is gonna be very stream-of-consciousness so bear with me.

To me, this chapter felt a little bit short and lacking, but I was expecting that, because it’s setting up the North Grastaea arc as well as the general atmosphere of Grams. We knew going in that the church was going to be a big deal, but now we know HOW much of a big deal--to the point that the papacy and monarchy are at odds with each other. Now let’s get into the nitty gritty.

Origa and Graht. Judging from the opening scene, Origa is an auspex like Zethia, or at least possesses similar power. She seems to have the apostles directly under her command and is crazy confident in her power. However, there’s a few things about her that stand out to me. Her outfit, and more specifically her headpiece, harken back to Empress Zethia’s design. She’s even got red eyes! I don’t think we’ve heard about the last of Morsayati; his story and influence are still going to be heavily intertwined in the campaign. Graht also mentions a Basel who from a lot of inferring from other characters I think is either the king of Grams or at least someone with a lot of authority.

Ranzal and Volk. It looks like we’re going to be getting these little mini-arcs for each of the main cast, huh? A bit formulaic, but I don’t mind. Ranzal’s development through this chapter is really fascinating and answers a lot of questions I’d been thinking about myself. It’s important to remember who Ranzal was before all this--he’s the Arc of the Storm, one of the best mercenaries around. He’s done a lot before this, and he’s gonna do a lot after this. He KNOWS he can be self-sufficient, so does he still have a right to work with Euden? The Agito seem to have a sixth sense for Halidom anxiety, and Volk shows up right on cue and digs his claws into Ranzal in a pretty subtle way--he calls Euden pathetic which, sure, the Agito have a thing for doing that. But he also calls out Euden’s decision in 14--his sister over the world. And we’ve SEEN the result of that decision--just look at Zena’s world, where everyone we know is dead. But here’s what Volk doesn’t understand, though: Ranzal isn’t disappointed in Euden. The guy loves his sister. That’s who he is. Family is a HUGELY important thing to him, and he just had all that ripped into pieces and set on fire before his eyes. And it takes a while, sure, but Ranzal arrives at his answer eventually--there’s a lot about the world that he doesn’t know, but sticking with Euden is the best way to learn more.

Chelle’s gatling gun. I have nothing fun to say about this. I’m just saying, Cygames, that if her eventual gala alt doesn’t have her wielding a gatling gun, I’m going to be very disappointed.

Sheila. This adorable mystery showed up at the very end. We know nothing about her except that she can’t speak and she’s a guide to the faerie kingdom. She doesn’t have wings like Meene or Notte; is she a wingless fairy, or a changeling child? Her style of dress is also VERY reminiscent of Sandalphon’s, being all white and gold and black. I want to know more about her so, so very badly. When are we getting her as a party member, Cygames?

Alright, that’s enough of 17. Let’s get into the interludes. I can tell from the thumbnail of the first that these are gonna be spicy.

A Clandestine Conversation: Return of Nevin! And Sandalphon, who I’m a bit more interested in. The only difference in her sprites is the icon in her eyes--she doesn’t even blink. Not only that, but looking at her halo, she appears to have a power cord of some kind. Is she some kind of hyperrealistic android? One of her sprites even has a power symbol! Nevin’s deduction is also interesting; seems there’s a rift going on between the apostles and the cardinal, who we know had Basileus steal the sealing stone. It seems Sandalphon and Nevin have come to the same conclusion. Nevin also seems to know a thing or two about Euden’s true origins, though it’s probably less that he knows specifically about Euden and more that he’s privy to changeling matters.

Ambition: So it seems that Cardinal Graht is the one that’s been pulling the strings behind every affair, which was implied in the chapter itself, but here it’s made much more plain. It also seems that Harle is Graht’s direct subordinate, though it’s obvious neither of them actually trust the other. And Harle seems to have some kind of plan with the Dawnshard. We know the Sacred Shards are all derived from Alberius’s sword that shattered during his final confrontation with Morsayati, so what makes the Dawnshard so special?

And... that’s it. Ambition implies that Harle is going to clash with Euden’s party in the Faerie Kingdom, but he also suggests that there’s more than one group that will meet them both there. The Agito are heading there as well, we know, but is there anyone else?

...You know, we haven’t heard from Beren and Phares for a while...

[ofgoodmenarchive]

The fifth in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.

Saving Time

  “What were you thinking!-” Dorian punctuated his statement by kicking the rarely-used cooking pot. It soared through the murk of their cave and barely missed his shadow- ducking with a hiss.

  “You- under-handed!- Witless!-” He struggled for words, fists clenching and unclenching. “Vile! Stupid!”

Lacking more projectiles, Dorian couldn't restrain his hands from tossing fire. Granted, none of the flares could harm the demon- their bond nullified any damage either might attempt. Still, it gratified him somewhat to observe the instinctive floundering.

  “I told you to leave it to me!” He berated without reserve, merciless even as his living silhouette coiled, openly sulking against the rugged stone.

  “Were you trying to scare him off?! Because that's all you'll do- or did you forget?! Did we not already have this exact discussion?!”

Not responding directly, it instead deflated into itself with a pitiful wheeze. Yet Dorian understood- he had after all, been privy to the basics of it's exchange with Lavellan- though lacking much detail. He thusly responded, still incensed;

  “Well, what were you expecting?! He wasn't even prepared!- You didn't give me time to warn him! You're lucky you didn't scare him to death- no, more than that! You're lucky he didn't send his people to raze the bloody hillside!”

His shadow echoed this dismay- though more pathetically. Tossing it's head back with an inhuman but somehow childish wail. Desire communicated it's own distress and feelings of rejection like a kicked feline.

  “STOP THAT! STOP YOWLING!” Dorian ordered, feet-stamping in his impatience. “I-once-again-must-ask-you- WHAT WERE YOU EXPECTING?!”

Finally choosing to answer, Desire waved it's arms in a show of upset defeat.

  “Name!- His name!”

  “WHAT ABOUT HIS BLOODY NAME?!”

Hunching in surrender- as if realising, to some extent, how foolish it's thinking was- Desire grumbled.

  “If his name is ours....then he is ours...”

  “WHAT?!” His confusion and outrage intensified. “Are you stupid?! THAT'S NOT HOW THAT WORKS!”

It shooed him off with a growl, arms folding impetuously

  “....He is Dalish- 'Eldest Lavellan'...It works that way.”

  “Stop it!” Kicking pebbles, Dorian continued to scold. “Stop looking into his mind! Stop thinking you know what you're doing!- Just STOP!”

His shadow shrank into the corner, glowering but unable to think of an argument. Lavellan after all, hadn't given the creature his name- whatever notions it had of promptly 'claiming' the elf had been dashed. That being the case...

...It was visibly quite depressed.

  “Oh, Maker, don't be like that...” The mage awkwardly consoled. “You're just...we're just...a bit much, don't you see? You should know this by now! It's just....how it is, alright? Nothing to sulk about...”

Yet the being would sulk and Dorian would find himself punctured by it's anguish. Irritated by this more than anything, he paced, muttering...

  “For the love of Andraste...don't grieve over one bloody man like this- it's really not becoming...”

Desire peeked at him but clearly dismissed this advice, remaining in it's forlorn huddle. Seeing no choice but to switch tactics, he sat alongside the creature, sighing empathetically.

  “...Maybe it's not so bad!” He offered, attempting to convince himself while speaking. “He hasn't sent anyone after us, or anything...I'll speak to him, alright? I'll apologise for your awfully uncouth behaviour, and explain that you are quite harmless. You've just gained something of a, uh...fascination...”

His shadow pouted at him, wordless.

  “...If we hadn't already invested so much time...I'd say abandoning this 'fascination' would benefit you more than pursuing it...”

The creature's eyes narrowed in obvious displeasure.

  “Well...that's sort of my point,” Dorian said with a laugh, gesturing at it's pinched face. “Since when are you so picky?”

Snarling, it slumped with more exaggeration, not dignifying this statement with a response.

  “Fine, fine...” Dorian stood, rolling his eyes. “...Let's scent out Lunis' trail then, no? Hopefully our Herald can spare us a moment between rounding up lyrium-smugglers, and trying to end a bloody war...”

Energised by this plan, Desire hopped up, teeth gleaming cheerfully through the dark shroud that always lingered.

--

They were nearing Redcliffe when Dorian abruptly lost track of the minion's presence.

This was concerning for many reasons. Mainly it concerned him because he knew very well who had settled at the castle.

Alexius and his Venatori. People who likely considered Dorian a traitor or lost to the wilderness- depending on what information had been acquired in regard to his movements.

As he approached the gated courtyard, aiming to meet Alexius somewhere inside, he became doubly unnerved. If Lunis had been struck down, he should feel nothing of the beast. Yet the impression hadn't simply vanished- it had scattered. His senses judged Lunis to be everywhere, yet nowhere definable.

By then he had a theory- but only speaking with Alexius would give true insight.

No one stopped Dorian as he sauntered through the castle, though cultists who recognised him shot doubtful glances. Since they weren't attacking on sight, he assumed they knew little of what exactly had occupied the renegade.

He met Alexius in the throne room; relaxed upon its ornate chair, snickering with one of his inferiors.

  “...It will be rather interesting to see when the poor fool will reappear, in any case.”

Catching the tail-end of this conversation, Dorian strode forth, beaming as if nothing were amiss. While approaching he noted a dark, sooty stain upon the floor, briefly disturbing his internal map. Now his being was convinced Lunis' energy was somehow caught in the damn tiles.

Very quickly, Dorian pieced the scene together.

  “If you were inviting the Inquisition for a party, you should have sent for me!” He bantered, acting oblivious towards Alexius' calculating stare.

  “Were you not instructed to observe the Rifts?” The older mage knit his brow. “Yet my people have heard nothing of you- now here you are...without any of the instruments you departed with.”

None of this caused Dorian's smile to falter. If anything it widened, shrugging simply as he stated-

  “I lost it.”

  “You...lost it? You 'lost' a whole bag of equipment?” Alexius' features hardened but Dorian merely laughed.

  “I don't know if you've noticed...but the Ferelden countryside is somewhat of a mess between the Inquisition, demons, Templars, rebel mages...and us, of course.”

  “...Of course...” Though he didn't relent completely- eyes squinting. “...And I suppose in all this mayhem, you managed to find some...distraction...completely unrelated to the task you were to be compensated for?”

The implication and disgust was palpable- and not totally incorrect. Dorian at least considered himself fortunate that Alexius seemed ignorant to who had 'distracted' the maleficar.

  “You know me too well!” He chuckled heartily, displaying no shame.

Scoffing at this, Alexius grumbled;

  “We won't be paying you for a job you failed to accomplish, I hope you realise...”

  “I thought as much, yes.” Yet he would stand there, smiling foolishly and expectantly until Alexius growled and began once more to lecture;

  “We can still make use of you...but your incompetence thus far, Dorian, has been noted. Rest assured that if matters here hadn't concluded to our satisfaction...I would not be suffering your presence in this moment.”

  “How kind of you, Alexius!” Dorian chimed with mirth, needling lightly into the topic. “And how did things here conclude to 'our satisfaction'? From the looks of it, all you've done is burn a hole through the poor Arl's floor...”

He'd hoped the arrogance of the man would lure him into relinquishing details- and was glad to see himself correct.

  “That fool 'Herald'...” Alexius guffawed, gesturing to the charred tiles. “...as you'd expect from a fraud, he has not the tiniest grasp of the forces he meddles with. I flung him out of time- along with that...repulsive mutt of his...”

Dorian's mouth twitched- he willed it to remain smiling.

However, Alexius' gaze narrowed.

  “...Quite strange, really. The creature resembled one of yours.”

  “One of mine?” He cackled as sincerely as possible- a trained mannerism. “Oh yes, I'm sure the Southern Chantry would love to have one of my abominable little minions running around! Surely the Herald of Andraste, with his Dalish heritage, would adore such a gift from a Tevinter blood mage!”

That appeared to quell Alexius' assumptions for now- he leant back into his usurped throne, scowling.

  “Point taken...but your ongoing absence is unacceptable, regardless. For the time being, I expect you to remain in Redcliffe- until we think of how you can be of actual use.”

  “But of course!” Dorian accepted with a melodramatic bow. “I only live to serve, Magister Alexius!”

Unimpressed by this show, Alexius dismissed him with a noise of disgust.

  “Out of my sight now...I would like to savour this victory, without your foolish remarks...”

Back turned on Alexius and his Venatori, Dorian's ever-present smile morphed into a sneer.

--

He wouldn't act until nightfall.

With the Herald's supposed removal, the Venatori were lulled into a sense of security- a false one, if Dorian would have anything to say about it. Alexius' research into magical time shifts wasn't news to him- but he'd have to act immediately for any hope of success.

Who even knew what Lavellan was being pit up against- weeks or months into an undoubtedly chaotic future?

The first step would be to retrieve Alexius' amulet- with that, he'd be capable of triangulating Lunis' exact place and time. That accomplished, all he'd have to do is locate the Herald and bring him home.

For any other mage, swiping the amulet in itself would be a complication. For Dorian, it was as simple as recruiting a little friend. Lounging in the courtyard beneath glaring twin moons, he waited for the wily rat to return.

It soon did so, squeaking and scrabbling- as it was a literal rat. Albeit one with an adorable, miniscule skull for a head. Loping from one sill to the other, soon it was clambering down rough brick, plopping onto Dorian's shoulder with an accompanying jangle.

  “Took you long enough!” He jested, unburdening the rodent of its spoils. “Perfectly done, though! I doubt anyone even noticed.”

Emitting many a pleased squeal, his furry friend pounced into his hood, rolling comfortably.

  “Well...you can go back to sleep, or you can stay here, it's really up to...” There was no reason to finish- predictably, his minion wished to slumber until its services were called upon. It would become something of a fossil once the wisp floated into the Fade- a strange ornament that most wouldn't think twice about. Not the only grim trinket one might find on his person, either.

Initial steps fulfilled, Dorian fled from the village, knowing he would never be welcomed back.

--

Tracking Lunis' precise time-space took longer than Dorian would have liked.

A week- perhaps two? It was difficult to count the days between the spreading of Rifts, constant clashes between Venatori and Inquisition, and of course the Venatori's pursuit of himself.

Much of it involved working within the Fade, utilising the amulet as a beacon. Outside of the Fade, he roamed and hunted, following whatever signs- mundane or otherwise- that led to the place part of where he meant to travel.

The time part was more tricky- but Dorian was sure he'd pinned it down- the exact location, in the exact time-shift.

For reasons he couldn't hazard, Lavellan and Lunis had been taken to the other side of the Hinterlands, where there was an old fort. Currently held by Inquisition- that must not be so in whatever future the Herald occupied.

Dorian situated himself outside the fort, far enough to be unnoticed but close enough to reach in a short sprint. Once he jumped through, after all, he could waste no...well, time.

Fiddling with the amulet, he ensured none of his calculations were off, breathing deep, muffling stress...

Travelling through time was not a usual experience for him...

Truthfully, if the Herald wasn't so clearly integral to the success of the Inquisition, he wouldn't be fool enough to attempt such a thing. It was all a bit much just to save and impress some bloody man!

However by some ridiculous twist of fate...Dorian was the singular person able to retrieve the Inquisition's Herald. He supposed then, it was fortunate for both he and all of Thedas, that he just so happened to rather like the damn fool...

While Dorian pondered and probed the amulet he was aware of his shadow- watching him, intent...

  “...Alright, listen...” Exhaling, he met Desire's gaze. “...Where we're headed, this Breach nonsense will be out of control- so just...try to remember...”

Struggling to think of what he wanted the creature to remember, Dorian rubbed his forehead. Deciding on words, he looked his shadow square in the eye and dictated-

  “Fuck the Fade. Fuck it's endless knowledge. Fuck Corypheus. Fuck the Venatori. Fuck everything that isn't you and me! That's how it's always been! You'll remember that, won't you...?”

Blinking at him, apparently baffled by this lack of confidence, Desire answered with a firm nod.

  “...Alright...” Inhaling, Dorian stretched the amulet before him. “I'm trusting you, old friend.”

With a muttered incantation, green swirls of fire possessed the object and his attached arm, gathering until they formed a tear in existence itself.

Mustering all the courage available to him, Dorian stepped through.

Into a world of pure, hellish mayhem.

There was no longer a single Breach and various Rifts- the sky was consumed by Breach, the land littered in demons and Rifts. The quaint Ferelden countryside was strewn with months-old carnage, and not a moment seemed to go by without a roar, a scream, a distant explosion.

  “Andraste's-flaming-tits.” He uttered witlessly, briefly unable to do anything but behold the chaos. Alongside him he could feel Desire fluttering, panicked. It didn't like this future anymore than he did- and must have felt vulnerable and exposed, with the Fade and reality mashed together.

  “Yes, I know, just-” Before he could finish, Dorian was overwhelmed by an internal sensation of tearing and burning. Though he didn't panic- Desire was simply escaping as far from the Breach as possible, into it's bound vessel.

  “GARGH! FOR THE LOVE OF-” He didn't panic but he would complain! “I hate when you do that!”

If someone else were present, they would have noticed the hint of crimson overtake his eyes, pupils becoming snake-like. Hardly a concern right now- who was around to judge? Besides, Desire's manner of seeing would be of use. Finding Lunis and Lavellan would be effortless with the combination of his bond to the wolf, and his shadow's penchant for identifying auras.

  “On with it, then!” Steeling himself, he progressed towards the fort- no Inquisition banners now, obviously. No banners at all, actually.

Someone had helpfully scrawled over the parapets in blood, but Dorian didn't count that.

There was no alarm at his approach, he raced through the smashed portcullis and into a courtyard without problem. By now, he supposed there wasn't a large force defending the structure, down to whatever skeleton crew was necessary to control Lavellan.

  ...Come to think of it- why are they bothering to keep him alive?

Not just the Herald but also Lunis...

This epiphany filled Dorian with foreboding but he didn't have to suffer in ignorance for long. Passing a row of wooden holdings- animal-pens, it looked like- a familiar presence called to him, soon accompanied by frantic scrapes, bangs and strange rumbles...

That would be the dog, then.

Rushing to the wobbling door, he wrestled off the latch and was instantly tackled by a ton of muscle and fur, topped off by a wilting flame.

  “Yes-yes-I'm happy to see you too!” He assured the canine, wrangling it off him. “But where's your master- where's Lavellan?!”

Obediently plopping at his heels, Lunis sat with tail drooped and shoulders low, offering a responsive whine.

  “Yes, just hold still..” Dorian guided, kneeling before the minion. “I'll take a look...”

A hand placed on the nape of Lunis' stitched neck, he delved into the creature's memory...

  Separated from Master. Blood. Yelling. Sprinting over corpses.

  Bad people. Smell bad. All have that smell. Death. Despair.

  Master's voice- angry, yelling.

  Running towards it. Want to help Master!

  Grabbed! Too many hands! Snarling- ANGRY!- Master yelling- “LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

  Laughter. Unkind. Talking. Death-smells.

  Master is not fighting anymore. He throws his weapon to the ground.

  They take him away.

  I HOWL I YELL I FIGHT.

  BUT THEY TOOK HIM AWAY.

  Throw me in the dark. I howl. No one replies. I howl. No one replies.

  Master is yelling again. It is not angry yelling. Master is in pain.

  I howl. I ram the door. I FIGHT. I AM ANGRY.

  They will not let me out. I cannot get out.

  I CANNOT HELP HIM.

  Yelling stops. Door opens- it is Master!

  He is happy to see me. I am happy to see him!

  But he is hurt. Arm stinks of blood and death. I whine. I want to clean it.

  Laughs at me. Calls me a good boy. Tells me not to whine. Hugs me with one arm.

  Calls me a good boy. I try to clean his arm. He laughs at me, hugs me. Laughter turns into crying.

  Hugs me once more. Tells me to be good.

  They take him away again.

  They keep taking him away.

Dorian emerged from the desperate vision with a gasp, sickened and panicked to his core- and just slightly irate...

  “...They're using you to keep him subdued?! That's why they didn't just kill you?!- They're trying to remove the mark! And you're the only mechanism of control they have over him...” His mouth twitched, almost wincing. “That...that bloody sentimental idiot! Doesn't he realise you're not actually a dog?! He might have found his way back by now if it weren't for you!”

  If it weren't for me.

  If I hadn't given him this stupid gift!

Before him, Lunis whined, descending to hide against his front paws.

  “Shh, it's fine..” Dorian patted fur absently, glancing around. “...Stay here, alright? I don't want anyone noticing me...I'll find him, and then we'll all go home, yes?”

Lunis had just enough cheer and stamina to lightly wave his tail, signalling obedience.

  “That's a good boy...I'll be right back- with your master!”

He sealed the pen in an effort to avoid detection, then charged inside. By this point he was thankful for Desire's cowardice. Whilst bound in this fashion, hunting down Lavellan was a simple matter of rifling through energies. Dorian supposed he should be thankful for the demon's lecherous nature. It's recent contact with the Herald caused his aura to shine prominently, even weak and broken from torment.

Somewhere on the lower levels- smaller energies around him. Apparently someone thought it amusing to throw their Dalish prisoner in with the hounds.

Outrage flooded him upon this discovery- especially from Desire. As far as the demon was concerned, Lavellan was already theirs. To have something of 'theirs' treated with such blatant disrespect- regarded as a beast- it sent his shadow wild. He could barely keep a lid on the fury.

  “Listen...” Dorian ground out, descending stairs. “...You need to keep your head on straight, friend! He's alive- and we're going to get him out of here. So just...focus on that.”

Together they attempted to do just that, while lurking the lower cells in search of Lavellan...

--

They'd tossed him into a cell at the very back. Dorian heard the restful wheeze of a dog-pack before any sound or sight from Lavellan. The cell lock was worthless- easily melted with a fistful of fire.

  “Hello...? Herald...?” He inquired very quietly, skulking into the damp cell, disturbing piles of hay. A few canines grunted but didn't seem able to differentiate him from every other loudly dressed Tevinter.

  “DIE, VENATORI SCUM!” Lavellan also seemed unable to differentiate- before Dorian knew what was happening, his back was shoved against a wall, a blunt knife wavering against his throat.

  “Oh!- you're out of your chains!-” He giggled somewhat nervously “And you found a knife!”

  “AND I WILL GUT YOU WITH IT!- TEVINTER PIG!”

Rusted metal pressed against Dorian's jugular, the seriousness of Lavellan's threats striking him all at once-

  “WAIT-WAIT-WAIT! Look- it's ME!- Dorian Pavus- remember?!”

Wild eyes fixed upon his, brimming with confusion and hatred. The Herald was exactly in the sort of state you'd expect- clothes ragged, soaked in blood and filth, hair a crazed mane, features exhausted. His right arm was heavily bandaged- he held the knife in his left, as correctly as he could manage.

  “You are with them!” He hissed- but thankfully seemed hesitant. “You were mentioned by name!”

  “But you haven't actually seen me with any of them- have you?!” Dorian struggled, reaching for every detail he could find. “If they have mentioned me- it's probably as an incompetent fool who never does his job, no?!”

A glimmer of doubt passed over Lavellan's expression- but again his knife-grip firmed.

  “How do you expect me to believe that?!”

  “I brought you Lunis, didn't I?!” He spluttered- at a loss. “And he's a good boy, isn't he?!”

Something in the Herald's face appeared to crumble, eyes watering, mouth wincing.

  “Yes- he- he is a good boy...” He admitted in a whimper, still toying with the blade.

  “Yes- exactly! He's a good boy! And I gave him to you- to find you- remember?! And look- I found you! Just as I said I would!”

  “...He...” Gasping slowly, Lavellan stumbled back, repeating as if unsure of his words. “...He is a good boy. That is true...”

All at once he flopped against the wall, leaning there tiredly while a nearby hound sniffed at the noise. Most of them seemed to ignore it- Dorian supposed they'd been privy to a lot of shouting. Either that, or he was so focused on the knife at his throat that he didn't register their howls.

  “How did you...even get that?” He questioned, pointing to the blade.

Lavellan fumbled with it, lazily explaining...

  “They made me sleep with the hounds. I taught one to fetch.”

  “And the...chains?” This time, he pointed to the split shackles bound to his wrists.

  “I froze one link. Gradually.” Lifting his arms, he feigned yanking them apart. “Like firewood.”

For a while Dorian regarded him in stunned silence. He'd meant to save the poor fool- but he was already half-way to saving himself. Still, he was in such a state...he couldn't get far on his own, could he?

Even so...he was more than a little impressed by the elf's tenacity.

  “All of that...must have taken a while.” He observed with a frown, wondering how long Lavellan had suffered this fate- passage of time between the two worlds was clearly not identical. For all Dorian knew, he could have been here months...

  “I did not keep track.” Lavellan said with a lame shrug- before his eyes suddenly sparked. “Guards- they are in mid-change? You saw no one? No one stopped you?” “What? I...I really couldn't say. I didn't see anyone, but-”

Disinterested in further explanation, the Herald burst from his cell, weapon in hand. He proceeded to storm through the halls, Dorian desperately trying to match his pace. He resisted calling out, not wanting to attract attention to either of them.

  Maker!

  He's bloody fast for someone who so clearly needs medical attention!

Lavellan rounded a corner and within milliseconds Dorian heard an absolutely terrified-

  “OH SHIT!- OH SHIT!- WAIT-WAIT-WAIT-STOP!-PLEASE-”

Followed by a wet splat- a scream- a gurgle.

Upon reaching the noise, Dorian was faced by more or less what he'd mentally prepared for. The Herald had bowled into some unsuspecting Venatori guard, proceeding to messily tear them asunder with an implement far too worn for such butchery. It was a vicious, ceaseless activity. Dorian noted the wealth of Lavellan's assault was focused on the man's right arm- though he was dead by then.

His death failed to please or be acknowledged by the Herald, who commenced tearing muscle and skin.

Dorian didn't interfere at first. He had an uneasy sense of witnessing something deeply personal- deeply vengeful.

He allowed the man to navigate these emotions however he saw fit- for as long as it felt safe, anyway. He couldn't just...stand around and watch the Herald mutilate corpses all day...

  “...My Herald,” He said gently, stepping forward. “...I do believe that man has been rather dead for several minutes...”

Lavellan flung the knife aside, fresh crimson staining the entire length of his body.

  “What a pity.” Was all he said.

He then rooted around the man's cloak until retrieving his actual weapon- Dorian recognised the bladeless hilt from previous encounters. However it was merely held at his side, loose and inept.

  ...He probably doesn't have the strength to summon the blade right now,

  let alone use it...

  “Lunis...” A growl from the Herald stirred him from his thoughts. “Take me to Lunis.”

  “Of course, but...” Dorian perked a brow, curious. “I have to ask...what exactly was your plan?”

  “My plan?” Lavellan wheezed in bitter amusement, seeming pained by the motion. “You saw the extent of my plan.”

Blinking from the Herald to the desecrated corpse, Dorian's brow lifted higher.

  “Your plan was just...brutally kill that man in specific...?”

  “Yes.”

  “...Right, well...”

Unsettled by the whole circumstance, Dorian was eager to leave this damned timeline. He was grateful they encountered only a few Venatori stragglers- nothing that couldn't be solved with an inferno or two. Incapable of a true bout, Lavellan was forced to rely on Dorian's protection- though never complained.

Master and hound were reunited shortly; the undead canine leapt into Lavellan's chest, clutching firmly, Lavellan mumbled and cooed in Dalish, settling the wolf's nerves.

  “You do realise that's not actually a dog, yes?” Dorian couldn't help but point out. “It's just a Fade-Wisp...inhabiting a preserved corpse...”

The Herald scowled at this, embracing Lunis tightly.

  “It is a Fade-Wisp that believes itself to be a dog, in the body of a dog. In every way that matters, it is a dog.”

He could only blink dumbly at that logic- though Lunis panted in cheerful agreement.

Escaping together, the trio trudged through a dire landscape, returning to the necessary spot for their backwards time-shift.

  “Hold onto me,” Dorian advised, gingerly taking Lavellan's wrist. “This might make you feel just a tad sick.”

The elf pressed into his side, patient and silent while another vortex flared into life, swallowing them both.

--

Above them, the sun was shining.

Granted- there was still a Breach- but it hadn't overwhelmed the whole blighted sky!

  “Maker, finally!” Dorian sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. “I almost can't believe we made it back!”

Lavellan only offered a soft grunt, still slouched into his rescuer's frame.

  I really need to bring him to a healer...

  “Come- you see there?” He waved towards the fort. “Inquisition banners!- Your people. Let's get you home, my dear Herald...”

  “...Yes, I see...” Detaching, he lurched forward- though managed just a few steps before buckling. Dorian rushed to offer support, insisting on it when Lavellan hesitated.

  “Don't be shy now,” He cajoled sweetly. “It's alright to lean on me- I don't know how you've been upright for this long, really...”

Mute, the Herald allowed this without protest- probably lacking conviction to do so.

Lunis scampered ahead, barking in that odd, ethereal fashion that was not really a bark, since he lacked vocal chords. By the time Dorian caught up with Lavellan hanging off him, completely unconscious, a group of soldiers were blinking down from the parapets.

He imagined they were an odd sight- a Tevinter blood mage, holding up their famed and highly-honoured Herald of Andraste, both soaked in blood and the latter appearing mauled by a bear.

  “LET ME IN!” He demanded, angling so they could better sight his burden. “I brought him back!- I brought back your bloody Herald!”

Commotion erupted from within, excitement and shock crashing over the populace like a wave.

[singledarkshade]

New Old Friend

Part Three

(Part One and Part Two can be found here) Jack grimaced as he listened to the tenth complaint phone call in a row about power outages. Glancing over to where Jo sat, he saw she was listening to something very similar.

“Okay, Mr Fredrickson,” Jack said, finally managing to get a word in, “We’ll look into it.”

Hanging up he sighed, waiting for Jo to finish her conversation.

“Call Henry?” Jo asked the moment she’d hung up.

“Please,” Jack clasped his hands together. He headed over to their small chalkboard they had and cleaned it. He updated it to read, ‘0 days since something weird has happened.’ They’d never made it to 4 days never mind a full week.

Jo appeared at his side and handed him the phone, “Henry.”

“Henry,” Jack said the instant he took the phone, “We’ve had calls that there are a lot of power surges and outages around town. Tell me it’s not you.”

There was a pause before the other man replied, “Not from anything I have going on just now.”

Jack sighed, “Damn. That means GD is more than likely to be the culprit. I might need your expertise while I check this out.”

“We’ll meet you there,” Henry said before hanging up.

Frowning slightly, Jack mused, “We?”

Henry hung up the phone turning to where Rip and Gideon were scanning over some of his inventions. The AI was impressive but also very opinionated.

Henry loved her.

“Problem?” Rip asked.

Henry nodded, “I think your shard may be causing some power problems in town. I’m heading to Global Dynamics. Feel like coming along?”

Rip smiled interested, “I assume I have the credentials.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Henry tried to look offended but didn’t quite manage to get rid of his smile, “Your ID badge is in the wallet I gave you.”

Gideon frowned, “I assume I will be turned off.”

Rip bit his lip at her tart inquiry as Henry turned to her.

“Actually no,” he smiled, “GD is used to people field testing their experiments. Although we might want to avoid Fargo, he is our current AI expert.”

Gideon smiled sweetly making Henry chuckle at how Rip rolled his eyes. Grabbing his coat Henry led them out to the truck. Rip climbed inside and Gideon appeared to sit between them.

Starting to drive, Henry smiled as he saw Gideon study their surroundings.

“Dr Deacon,” she said, “I am intrigued by the town. You stated that it was created for those with genius intelligence?”

Henry nodded, “Back in the fifties Albert Einstein and President Truman founded the town as a haven for the smartest people in the country. To give them a place to create and learn. It wasn’t much at first but soon the town grew.”

“It is a shame we do not have a place like this within our own universe,” Gideon noted thoughtfully, “It would have been a good place to relocate the children after we removed the Time Masters.”

Rip shrugged before musing, “It would be an interesting place to have grown up,” sadness filled his voice, “Or to raise a child.”

Gideon shook her head so Henry wouldn’t ask Rip anything, she didn’t say anything further simply watching the scenery fly by. Reaching GD, Henry was pleased by the soft impressed noise Rip made when he drove through the shield surrounding it.

“Hologrammatic shielding,” Rip noted, “Impressive.”

Henry nodded, “There are a lot of top-secret projects within this building, we need good security.”

“Of course,” Rip nodded, a small smirk on his face.

Henry frowned, “What?”

“I believe Captain Hunter has already worked out several ways to infiltrate this building,” Gideon noted amused.

Glancing at the other man, Henry frowned at the slight shrug, “Just try to refrain from doing anything that will get you thrown in federal prison. Or do you know how to escape from that too?”

Innocence covered Rip’s face as they climbed out the truck and started to the front door. Henry pulled out his security badge and motioned Rip to show his. The guard studied it for a second before turning to Gideon.

“She isn’t real,” Henry said before explaining Gideon was an ‘experiment’ Rip was working on.

Looking extremely impressed the guard motioned them inside and Henry led them to the rotunda. Turning he found Gideon glaring at him.

“I’m not real?” she demanded sharply.

“He didn’t mean it like that, Gideon,” Rip soothed, “It was a simple way to get past the guard without going into the technical specifications.” Giving a sniff she turned to look around and Rip shrugged, “She may forgive you sometime soon.”

Henry moved to stand in front of Gideon, “I am extremely sorry I called you not real, Gideon. I never intended to insult you.”

Gideon smiled and nodded graciously before turning to Rip, “You should be taking notes.”

Before Rip could retort a call came making them turn to see Jack jogging over to them.

 Jack Carter had the look of a man who knew he was about to step into an insane asylum, a look Rip often saw on his own face when dealing with the Legends.

“I called Alison,” Jack said as he reached them, “She should be meeting us soon.” He looked at Gideon and asked, “Who is this?”

“I am Gideon,” she replied, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Sheriff.”

Jack moved to shake her hand stunned when it went through hers, “What?”

Henry laughed, “Sorry, Jack. Gideon is an AI, very advanced. Rip is testing an interface.”

Rip turned showing the disc attached to his temple, “Henry agreed to help me with the experiment.”

“What do you want, Carter?” a bored voice came from behind them.

Rip turned with the other two men to see a tall man with a sneer of superiority on his face walking with an elegant woman whose air of authority marked her as the boss.

“Nathan,” she scolded the man at her side before turning to them, “Carter, Henry and,” she paused at Rip, “Dr Hunter I presume.”

Rip nodded and took her offered hand, “Yes,” he said before adding, “And this is Gideon, my AI companion.”

“Dr Alison Blake,” she introduced herself to both of them, “Gideon, you are incredible.”

Gideon smiled back, “Thank you, Dr Blake.”

“Please don’t,” Rip muttered, “Her ego is big enough as it is.”

At Gideon’s sharp look he stared innocently at her.

“Dr Nathan Stark,” the final man introduced himself, “I’ve read your papers on Artificial Intelligence.”

A cough made them all turn to the Sheriff, who was standing waiting to explain why everyone has been called.

“Carter,” Alison turned to the Sheriff, “What do you need?”

Jack turned his attention from looking annoyed at the new man to Alison, “We’re getting reports all over town of power outages. I checked with Henry and it’s not him.”

“That’s some police work there, Carter,” Stark stated.

Irritation covered Jack’s face, but he continued, “We’ve gone over the other options in town and it’s not connected to any of them. So, here I am.”

Alison held up her hand to stop Stark from retorting, “We will check the list of projects to see if there is anything that could be causing the outages.”

“What about my favourite place, Section 5?” Jack demanded.

“That’s classified, Carter,” Stark stated, “As you know.”

“And as you know,” Jack retorted, “It’s usually the cause of all the problems.”

Alison sighed in annoyance, “Section 5 projects will be included in my check. Why don’t we head to my office?”

                                 *********************************************

 Gideon was fascinated by Global Dynamics. Not the humans, who were arguing as humans usually did while her Captain was sitting watching, taking in the dynamics and relationships between the people in the room.

The interface her Captain was wearing which allowed her to be seen by the people in this world, had the excellent side-effect of allowing Gideon to interact with the computer systems of this world.

And the Global Dynamics computers were fascinating. None were as advanced as she was of course, but for the period they were in, advanced enough.

She hadn’t informed her Captain of her new abilities just yet; he might insist she not pry too much into the information she should not be privy to. Considering all the things he’d had her hack in the past though, he had no way to complain but she felt it best to keep this information to herself for the moment.

Accessing all the files for the people in the room, Gideon was impressed by Dr Blake. Smart and independent, she was raising her son alone who himself was different. Dr Deacon, Gideon already liked but seeing his file she was very impressed, and in another life, he would have been taken as a Time Master. Sheriff Carter was not as conventionally smart as the others, but he had his own kind of intelligence and his file showed how many times he had saved the town.

Finally, was Dr Stark, who Gideon didn’t like at all. Yes, he was smart but in this room that wasn’t unusual, but he believed himself smarter than everyone else. Gideon had seen that arrogance before in Thawne, in Druce and so many others.

He was the type of person who could so easily fall into supervillainy if the right, or wrong, type of dominoes fell. It looked however that the people in the room with him kept him on the right side, if only just.

Scanning the systems, Gideon checked for the power issues to help the Sheriff. Going through all the projects, she was impressed by some of the things the scientists were studying although others were laughable but that was humans, eternally optimistic.

Continuing her way through the systems, Gideon turned to Rip.

“I need to speak to you privately,” Gideon said to him softly.

Confused Rip touched the interface and turned it off before he moved to the other side of the office away from the others.

“What is it?” he asked softly so he wasn’t overheard.

“I have checked the projects within Global Dynamics, and nothing could cause the power outages Sheriff Carter is investigating,” Gideon told him.

Rip frowned, “How…”

“The interface Dr Deacon created allows me to access the computers,” Gideon smiled at him, “Quite interesting.”

Rolling his eyes, Rip noted, “But I’m guessing that is not what you wanted to tell me.”

“Astute as always, Captain,” Gideon replied before telling him, “The shard is in a laboratory in the area known as Section Five. It appears safe at the moment but accessing it may be difficult.”

“Wonderful,” Rip sighed.

 Rip was surprised and extremely interested that Gideon could use the interface to access the computers, but it would likely be helpful to reach the shard. Henry motioned him to follow on as he and the Sheriff headed out the office.

“Well?” Rip asked Henry falling into step with the other two men.

“They’ll let us know,” Henry replied, as Jack let out an annoyed sigh.

They reached the exit and started to the cars. Glancing at Gideon, Rip shrugged, “It’s nothing in here that’s causing the power outages.”

Henry and Jack both stalled turning to Rip.

“How do you know that?” Jack demanded.

“Gideon,” Rip explained, “She had a quick check of the systems.”

Henry’s eyebrows rose in surprise, “The interface?”

“A small side-effect we didn’t expect,” Rip noted.

Jack chuckled, “Let’s not tell Alison or Stark about that but at least I won’t be wasting my time waiting for them.” He rested a hand on the top of his jeep, frowning in thought, “Okay, so there has to be a reason why the power in the town in going crazy.”

“Well, it has to be someone in town,” Henry noted, “But if it’s not a GD experiment, then it could be either an unsanctioned one or, even worse, a school project.”

Rip stared at them, “You’re kidding?”

Both men shook their heads, Jack adding, “I thought the same when I first came here but the kids are just as smart as the parents. Which means they can be just as much trouble.”

“Okay,” Henry said, “Let’s get back into town and make a plan.”

Jack nodded, “I’ll meet you both there.”

As the other man left, Henry and Rip climbed back into Henry’s truck. Rip reactivated the interface allowing Gideon to be seen by Henry once more.

“So,” Henry said as he began to drive, “Did you find anything else interesting while you wandered through the GD systems, Gideon?”

Innocence covered her face, “Why, Dr Deacon I am shocked you think I would look at things I am not authorised to access,” she told him.

A mischievous smile touched her lips making Henry laugh.

[flightofaqrow]

informant

qrow + Victor Alabaster ( @casketdweller​ )

“I’ve already been requested to track down a specific Faunus who stings, if you catch my meaning, and a little bird had told me you knew him. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask more about him.”

“…alrigh’, fine. i’ll bite,” qrow relents with greater gravity than the other gives someone who really shouldn’t be underestimated, “but i’d like t’know who this client’a yours ’s first. ‘sides someone cruel enough t’send ya anywhere near tha’ crazy joker.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Is this even going anywhere, or are we done here?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

clever fox must have thought a drunk man made for an easy target. or maybe he knows exactly who qrow branwen is, given the annoying air worn like a coat that he seems to know everything.

but not everything, or there’d be no reason for the subtle hounding. may not even know anything that really matters. qrow scoffs, slides his glass back and forth, slippery with condensation across the counter, and crimson eyes watch amber liquid wash around while ice cubes clink. there are things he knows, privy to only a carefully selected handful, and no amount of alcohol will have them slurring out.

truths too shady for even the slipperiest of scoundrels; better to cut things off at the head of what trail this conversation leads to. better to stay not knowing. go about petty little life as the other knows it, and leave qrow to live his. ( for whatever one could call wallowing in loss and misery and running from all his fears and own family to be living. )

different questions might produce different results, an exchange of different facts that don’t go down that rabbit hole, if still interested.

but qrow’s not the one to take first strike at this deal, and won’t be the one to carry it.

burns away bitter memories with a wash down of something even more bitter, then takes a breath.

“well,” he answers rough, and only spares a side glance to sharp corners of his eyes, “it cer’ainly seems like yer done, at any rate.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Easy target or maybe a potential client?

Victor hadn’t been entirely sure, but the fox Faunus had a delivery for him at either rate. But, given how their ‘transaction’ was going, he was getting less and less willing to pass it off. Especially given how the man dodged his inquiries and comments as if they didn’t exist. Hmph, humans.

Always thinking they were better or some such.

“I was feeling charitable.” He commented, picking up his own glass and studying how the leftover liquor left it with an amber colour. “I’ve already been requested to track down a specific Faunus who stings, if you catch my meaning, and a little bird had told me you knew him. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask more about him.” Shame, shame. Victor supposed he’d mention it off hand. “Said client even said they’d have information to pass along, but seeing as you’ve made it clear that you’re not interested; then I suppose after this drink I’ll carry on my way.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

charitable, he says. even as everything else talks about the job. but can’t say he doesn’t catch qrow’s full attention with that little tidbit. head turns in full to face him with opened eyes, pointed edges moving further out on the lines of his cheeks with far more seriousness.

“…alrigh’, fine. i’ll bite,” he relents with greater gravity than the other gives someone who really shouldn’t be underestimated.

finally gets to the point, but treats it like a game in patronizing words and tone, but maybe that’s just how this guy talks. though, the hurt’s already been done because qrow made that mistake once already; played around too much in their fight, not knowing just what that faunus and that stinger could do. a score to settle, but on another day - once he dared to show his cartoon face again, or once haven is officially safe.

this conversation would have been better to have earlier in the night, but ideal doesn’t exist in qrow’s world. another mouthful swallows and follows with sigh, “but i’d like t’know who this client’a yours ’s first. ‘sides someone cruel enough t’send ya anywhere near tha’ crazy joker.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Mm, wasn’t anyone cruel or anythin’. A friend of a friend requested a favour. I’m only doing this because it’s so hard to get anywhere for the moment.” Long nails clink against the glass as the fox Faunus rolled it against the counter. “Men of iron are hard to find, but so are the kind hearts of those in green. Don’t you agree?” Cryptic enough, though Victor figured that the other Huntsman was smart enough to pick up the cues.

“I’m only here for the night,” A burner Scroll was placed by Qrow’s elbow. “That the information I’m supposed to hand over. Didn’t peek, scout’s honour.” He wasn’t a scout, but it didn’t matter now did it?

“So how about you tell me a pretty story, and we can part ways as if nothing happened?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

gods, it’s like trying to have a conversation with Raven, and if qrow’s addled brain is reading the situation right, that’s one of the few people in his life left unmentioned. no idea who this man is, and yet the fox knows an uncomfortable amount of intel on himself.

he orders another round for them both. a show of good faith, a sign to stick around. …and a way to cope with yet another example of how life never did like to let him have the upperhand.

otherwise silent aside from an exasperated breath, and only in sliding aside an empty glass does qrow snatch the scroll up and stick it in his pants pocket to look at later.

later, once the screen wouldn’t be spinning from swimming vision.

a lean in closer lets on to the trust bought less by the other’s word, and more by association. qrow doesn’t have to like the guy to work with him under Oz. temporary contract or no.

“…wel’then. i c’n tell you a lil’ somethin’ about a tail. what part y’need to know?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He watched the drunk, sorrow, Qrow snatch up the burner scroll and tuck it away in a pocket. Hm, not entirely wasted then. Fascinating. Victor had, of course, heard of the infamous Branwen twins - who hadn’t? - and of their exploits, but nothing too concise. He was glad, at least, to have tempered his expectations.

What a let down.

Victor’s own tail twitched at his question, humming in contemplation as he took hold of the glass. A study of it, partially out of caution, partially due to contemplation. “Something for the client, I s’pose. They’re curious if you’ve heard anything regarding one of those fables.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

qrow lets a lot of people down.

and that’s fine when he only has to answer to one. results matter more than other people’s opinions. the other man can give him piteous looks all night, and it’ll only make qrow like him less.

give him more of a reason to drink.

one less friend, and one more failure to forget. but the bartender trips on his way back and that next round ends up all over floor. the cost of qrow’s patronage might just outweigh the revenue.

he sighs, and sits back. still unsure of whether this guy talks in code because he doesn’t know what it really means, has to, or is just trying to be obnoxious. fable huh? there’s plenty of those, but qrow has a suspicion. and that at least takes them off the topic of Tyrian, “no’yet. bu’ we’re gettin’ close. tha’stinger set us back a’ways. …an’ another lil’bird iss’ill keepin’ ‘er secr’ts.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chartreuse green eyes closed at Qrow’s words. So the assassin caused a set back, and one of the birds was keeping her secrets still. Well, in a way he didn’t have to really hunt her down, since the goal had been to find this one, not the other. However, Victor wondered if it’d be worth the detour…

                   … Maybe, not.

“I see. Well, in that case I’ve done all I can then.” The informant said, picking up the glass and taking the tiniest of sips from it. “I’ll be out of your feathers in a bit. I’d like to linger just a bit longer before I continue on. I’m sure you understand.” A smile was flashed to the Huntsman, and Victor turned his attention back to the drink.

“Unless you have anymore stories I might be interested in relaying…?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

well, while they’re on the topic. while qrow’s already spilled.

fingerpads tap slow enough not to make any sound along the counter in the absence of a glass to hold, an emptiness within and without, and nothing delivered yet to continue to try filling it, and maybe qrow prattles in the space left. or because he’s not used to people lingering.

nor used to knowing his secrets before he says them. this clever fox really must have been trusted by Oz.

qrow doesn’t smile back, but he doesn’t glare anymore either.

he gruffs, “sure, wh’not. …think th’lion’s lost’is roar, an i’m startin’ t’think some pieces fr’m the board in this place’re missin’.”

he brings his other arm up, hands resting softly atop each other in front of him, while his gaze sinks to stare at them, “anyway, wha’s y’r name?”

hopefully that wasn’t a riddle or secret.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Noted, noted, noted. Missing people and a cowardly lion, sounded like it’d been plucked from a faerietale. Heh. “Name’s Victor. Alabaster. S’pose that’s a freebie I can give.” The fox Faunus didn’t see the harm in it, figuring they may be in steady-ish contact. Perhaps. Perhaps not. He didn’t seem the type to like people lingering, and Victor didn’t blame him.

Lingering people always were the ones to keep an eye on.

Glass sat down, drink barely three quarters full. He’d lost his taste, and the bartender was looking at him in a way that told Victor he’d best consider an alternative place to hover. He flashed a grin at Qrow, “Should you need to pass anything else along, I’ll be in the area for a couple of days.” Couldn’t promise to be easy to find, though.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“yeah, okay,” qrow mutters like it matters. he’ll remember the name like he remembers most of his confidants, but this one would eventually be gone, too, whether by choice because of his semblance, or by consequence of… his semblance. not worth making friends.

someone having the audacity to grin in the middle after exchanging such somber news makes him lift his glass for a good gulp while the other leaves his behind.

“nice t’meet’ya,” he says it with faded finality - more like a farewell than the opener of a relationship; doesn’t even look up until dull red eyes lift to watch the other leave.

Then goes right back to his drink.

[prairiesongserial]

13.6

The large cavern was still quiet. Cody could feel the eyes of the Good Guys on his back, but he kept his eyes fixed on the King’s. This was nothing like the parley at Old Problem had been. maybe he’d been an idiot for thinking that it would be. This wasn’t two groups meeting on neutral ground - this was one person meeting a gang in the depths of their own territory, far under the earth, with nowhere to run if things broke bad. No one was watching over Cody with a gun this time. He was alone.

“Sure,” he said to the King, his mouth dry. “Let’s parley.”

Cody didn’t know the rules of parley, not really. He knew what he’d gleaned from Marc, mostly, which had been useless in Old Problem, and would probably be useless now. Cody had never seen the Dead-Eyes parley with anyone, probably because Ethan hadn’t been the kind of person who sat down with other gangs to find compromises. Ethan just took whatever he wanted, consequences be damned.

“I’ll be honest,” the King said, sprawling back in her seat once again, “I don’t think we have all that much to parley about. The Dead-Eyes have got nothing I want. Neither do your friends in the circus. But…” She leaned to one side, propping her cheek on her hand. “I am curious how you came to lead the Dead-Eyes. Last I heard, you were being a thorn in their side in Old Problem.”

“How do you know about Old Problem?” Cody asked, before he could help himself. Hearing someone else say the name of the town out loud, when he’d been thinking it over and over, was like a bucket of cold water to the face. And again, the Good Guys seemed to know things about his and John’s time in Texas that they couldn’t possibly have been privy to, that Cody couldn’t even guess how they’d heard about. It felt uncanny, for a stranger to know his story before he’d told it to them.

“I know a lot of things,” the King said cryptically. “And I think it’s curious that a Dead-Eye is out here, so far from his territory. The leader of the Dead-Eyes, no less. And a wanted man.” She looked down at Cody, one eyebrow cocked. “So, I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Allison, since we’re here to parley. In exchange for letting the circus and those other wanted people you’re with pass through my mountains, you’re going to tell me what it is you’re wanted for.”

Privately, Cody thought it was interesting that the King had heard of the parley in Old Problem, but not of the circumstances surrounding Ethan’s death. Apparently knowing a lot of things only went so far.

“You’ll let the circus go?” he asked, just to be sure. “Everyone with the circus?”

The King straightened a little in her seat. “That’s what I said, isn’t it? I’ll even let them go without paying the toll, if your story’s good. No lies in parley.”

From what Cody had experienced of Hemisphere gangs, he doubted that was true. But if the King was dedicated to being honest, then he could try to be honest, too. She already knew much more about him than he’d anticipated. And answering her question would ensure safe passage through the mountains for John, Val, and Friday - which was what Cody had come down here to do in the first place.

“I killed Ethan Rouse. He was the leader of the Dead-Eyes, so the title passed to me. That’s how the Dead-Eyes have always done it,” Cody said, bluntly. This, at least, he could be confident about. The Dead-Eyes had always made it a point that the leader could be challenged for their title, and that anyone who managed to kill them could take it.

“But,” he said, steeling himself for what came next, “I owed him money. A lot of money. I think - he never told me, but I think he borrowed the money from Hemisphere, and couldn’t pay it back. And now he’s dead, and I still owe the money, so Hemisphere put a price on my head.”

The King gave him a curious look. “That isn’t much of a story.”

“I - that’s what happened,” Cody said, not sure of what else he could say. The King sounded like she wanted something else from him, something he wasn’t sure how to give. He didn’t know any other way to tell what had happened to him.

“You’re not very good at telling it,” the King said, smirking. “Tell it again. From the beginning, this time.”

There was a chorus of murmurs from the other Good Guys in the hall, evidently in agreement with the King’s order. Cody almost asked if she was serious, but forced himself to bite back the question. Snapping at the King wasn’t going to do anything but lose whatever good will he had with her right now. If she wanted a proper story...well, he could try to tell it.

“I...grew up with my sister, Miriam,” he started, balling his hands into fists at his sides. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken Miram’s name out loud. Too long ago, probably. “She raised me, I mean. More or less. And she - uh, she got sick, about a year ago. Our dad had gotten sick with the same thing, when I was really little, and he’d died from it. But Levering, where we lived, didn’t have a doctor who knew how to fix what was wrong with her, and I thought…”

He trailed off, swallowing to try and force some saliva into his mouth. It felt dry. The King was watching him raptly, and the noise of the other Good Guys in the hall had died down again. The only real sound in the cavern was the noise of his own voice, echoing off the high ceilings. Cody hated it.

“I wanted to send her to Canada. I know they have better doctors there. So, I asked Ethan to lend me the money for it. Ten thousand silver.” Cody paused again, but there was no one else to fill the gap in conversation, so he went on. “He lent it to me, and told me I had to pay it back once Miriam was gone, which I thought would be fine. I played guitar for money in the towns around Levering, and took some bounty hunting jobs. But Ethan wanted the money back faster than I could give it to him.”

“And?” the King asked. She still looked fascinated.

“And he chased me down to get it. He cut off my fingers to remind me what I owed him.” Cody held his hand up for the King and the other Good Guys to see the two stumps where his pinky and ring finger had once been. He didn’t like showing it off - he curled his hand back into a fist as soon as he was done, dropping it down to his side.

“Ethan hunted me,” he went on. “And when he caught up to me, I was tired of running. So I killed him.”

The King leaned forward in her seat to look down at him, her eyes bright.

“What about your friends?” she asked. “The ones who are wanted.”

“They didn’t have anything to do with it,” Cody said, defensively. Maybe too defensively. He sighed, and went on. “Val and Friday helped get me to a doctor, when I needed one. John helped me run from Ethan. That’s it. None of them had anything to do with me killing Ethan. That should be on me, but Hemisphere decided it’s not.”

The hall was quiet again, after that. Cody could still feel the Good Guys looking at him, but he still wasn’t about to take his eyes off the King. She was slouched in her seat, frowning, her eyebrows pulled together in thought. Cody rocked on the balls of his feet and watched her, waiting. He’d told his story. Now he had to hope she upheld her end of the deal.

“So you killed your hunter,” the King said, finally. Her lips split into a crooked grin. “I respect that. It’s a good story. Hemisphere hasn’t been kind to you or your friends, but they never are. I’d never take their money - that’s a devil’s bargain.”

Cody frowned. “I thought you were with Hemisphere?”

The King laughed. So did several other members of the Good Guys, their voices bouncing off the cave walls in a bright, mocking chorus, echoed over and over along the hall like the call of a flock of birds. Cody winced.

“With is generous,” the King said. “We don’t like to get involved with their messes, and we like it less when they make us get involved. We’re not with anyone but ourselves.”

“But you respect the rules of parley,” Cody said, pointedly.

“You’re the one who called a parley, Cody Allison,” the King said, “and you haven’t even asked me for anything yet.”

She was right. Cody had been letting her lead the parley, going along with what the King had asked of him, and he had almost forgotten that he was supposed to be on equal footing with her. Technically, he could ask her anything and the worst she could do was refuse, or offer a trade he wasn’t willing to make. But the King had already offered free passage for the circus, so what else was there?

“Fine,” he said, aloud. “Let me think of something.”

“Be my guest,” the King said. Her eyes hadn’t left him, still boring into Cody like he was the most entertainment she’d seen in weeks.

Cody didn’t take too long to settle on a question. He thought about asking, formally, how the King and the Good Guys knew so much about him without ever meeting him, but that was just a curiosity. That wouldn’t help much, not in the wider scheme of things. In the long term, there was only really one thing he wanted enough to bargain with the King for.

“I want to know something that will put me a step ahead of Hemisphere,” he said. “If you’re not with Hemisphere, then you can be with me, and you can help me run.”

The King’s eyebrows shot up. She laughed again - just her this time, a thousand echoes of her voice joining her from throughout the cavern. It was impossible to tell if the laughter was mocking or not, but something about the request seemed to have tickled her. She laughed long and loud, until Cody was sure he saw tears pooling in her eyes, and then abruptly stopped.

“And what do I get in return?” she asked, her voice dangerously steady.

“What do you want?” Cody asked, once again steeling himself. He could, he reminded himself, deny her what she asked for, and they would go back and forth until they were both satisfied. He had as much power here as the King did, technically. As long as he remembered to act like it.

The King hummed in thought. Cody immediately had the idea that she already knew what she wanted, but was stalling for some reason. He watched her tap at her chin, then look around the room at the other Good Guys, gears clearly turning in her mind, and something in his stomach twisted. He had no idea what she was going to ask, but he knew he wouldn’t like it.

“We have a ritual,” the King said, finally, “that every Good Guy does, once they’re of age. If you agree to do it, we’ll trust you with that information - like we would any one of us.”

“What’s the ritual?” Cody asked, because he knew better than to agree before hearing the full terms of the deal.

“You have to crawl through a cave,” the King said. “One end to the other. By yourself, in the dark.”

The reply was almost instantaneous, like she’d known what he was about to ask. Then again, she knew a lot of things - or she said she did. She grinned again, lips peeling back far enough to reveal a missing tooth in the top row. “We call it the Birth Canal.”

13.5 || 13.7