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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years

Text

Scandal Ch. 5 - Loki x Reader

Summary: Loki returns to claim what is his - willing to kill everyone in his way.

Warnings: Angst.

Words: ~1800

I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I

Taglist: @catlover092402152, @hi-there-x, @haloangel391, @misssilencewritewell, @babayaga67, @accioremuslupinn, @mochimommy2002, @just-someone-who-likes-to-write, @damalseer, @bethanystan, @loser-alert, @star017, @nina1800, @queenariesofnarnia, @n1fangirlsblog, @vengefulsokovian, @lunamoonbby, @freyagallileaevans, @emmojoy, @literate-lamb, @aninnai, @justsomerandompersonintheworld

A/N: Sweet little Feedback Anon, I took your suggestion. You know which one I mean if you see it. (:

Btw guys I have like 60+ Drafts I need to finish so pls be patient with me.

Word sure spreads fast among the folk of Asgard, about Odin’s shame and your innocence.

Since his lies had weakened the favor among his subjects, the Allfather was desperate to clean his name and reputation, ultimatively inviting you to come back.

But you declined, stating that this wasn’t your homeland anymore ever since they betrayed you to fullfill their selfish ambitions.

However, Asgard’s hypocrisy wasn’t the only reason you chose to stay on Midgard - you just knew that it would break your heart every day you’d spend on a place with so many memories connected to your deceased husband.

Earthlings, the people of S.H.I.E.L.D and especially Thor’s friends Jane and Erik Selvic had basically become like family to you. Even though they could never fill the void Loki had left in your heart, things being like this was more than you could wish for.

“Lady Y/N!” a familiar voice greeted you, yet his worried tone startled you. Thor was already standing in your room, practically kicking in your door as he was visibly upset.

Immediately, you put Liam into his crib and rushed to his side. “What’s the matter?!”

A strange mix of horror and excitement was stretched across his face, making your heart sink to your stomach.

Actually, you didn’t want to involve yourself with the Asgardians any further. All you ever wanted was for your child to be healthy and happy, no matter where this was possible.

But Thor was still your cherished brother-in-law, as well as a wonderful uncle, never ceasing to provide for you and Liam, even when everyone else had forsaken you.

Yet what he was about to tell you let your blood run cold:

“Loki is back.”

Immediately, all the walls you had built up over those past months were crumbling as you collapsed to the floor, crying out of anger and relief.

“H-How? How is this even possible?! He’s dead! Loki died!”

“Pull yourself together, Lady Y/N!” Thor has always been a rather touchy-feely kind of person, in opposite to his raw and bulky appearance.

But right now, he wouldn’t dare to hug or console you, like he’d usually do. Instead, he was offering you a hand to help you get back up - which you wouldn’t be able to take just yet. “There’s no use in overthinking this! We need to hurry!”

“What do you even want me to do?” you wondered, because if your husband was really alive, you’d doubt him wanting to see you. “He’s changed...killed a lot of people before he disappeared. And still, I don’t wanna fight him. How can I be of any help at all?!?”

“We know he’s probably after you and the child” the God of Thunder stated coldly. “So you need to be transferred to a safe location.”

What can be more safe than a base of S.H.I.E.L.D? If only you knew he had already demolished a whole, giant outpost of them with ease...

“I’ll explain everything to you on the way.” “Let me quickly get the baby.”

“What, did you forget the name of your nephew already?” you chuckled awkwardly, but seeming to have struck a nerve.

Thor was only slowly approaching the crib in which your lovely baby was resting, staring at it with awe while his trembling hand caressed Liam’s cheek.

“Incredible...” he whispered mainly to himself, as if this wasn’t the thousandth time he would lay eyes upon him. “He’s just like I remember him.”

Something was off.

Of course Thor had a spare key to your flat, but you had never heared him unlock it - he had just kind of appeared in the middle of the room. Could as well be that you had been to invested with something, or buried in thought to notice him, and yet...

“Wait” you stated, making him flinch away from the child and turn around. “My knees are still weak. Help me up first.”

With heavy steps, Thor would force himself away from the crib and towards you again, lending you another hand and easily pulling you up - just for you to point a sharp dagger to his throat.

“Lady Y/N, when did you summo-”

“Shut up!” you hissed, and the god held his hands into the air to assure his goodwill. "Drop the disguse. Now!”

The man let out an amused huff, a taint of green covering his body to revert it back to normal - revealing your husband.

His hair had become longer, and dark rings showed how devastating those past months went by for him. Yet still, he was unmistakingly your husband.

Yet a faint, mad spark in his eyes was what worried you the most.

Now he was holding a knife as well, both circling around the crib with a knife at each other’s throat, as if to dance with each other.

“So it’s really you, Loki?”

“The one and only” he declared, chest swelling with pride at his performance and completely ignoring your hostile undertone. “I missed you painfully, my sweetling.”

He looked to the side where your son was still sleeping soundly, regret clearly visible on his face. “Wha- what name did you give our child?”

“Liam it is.”

The smallest of smiles tugged on his lips, swallowing harshly to surpress the sobs wanting to break free. “Beautiful name. Very well chosen.”

Pain was stretching across your features, desperately trying for the dam of emotions to not break. The dagger in your hand vanished, rather choosing to reluctantly caress his cheek - to make sure this was really him, and not one of his illusions.

And it was really him, leaning into your touch with a content purr. “Yes, my love, just like tha-”

A loud noise drang to his ear, effectively cutting him off. He needed a second to understand that it was in fact you slapping him what caused the interruption.

“Dear, wait, I-” Another hit, this time it was your knee digging into his groin, making him gasp in pain.

With his current power, it would be a piece of cake to block you - yet he knew that after everything that had happened to you, and everything he had done...

...it was what he deserved. So he would allow you to let off some steam.

Yet much to his surprise, you were done already - now grabbing desperately on his cloak and pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

He immediately reciprocated, dropping his weapon as well to embrace you fully, lips mingling with each other over and over again.

Oh, how long had both of you craved for each other?

“Sorry” you panted as your lips finally parted, “Just needed to get that off my chest.”

“Do not apologize, my love” Loki declared, chin resting atop of your head, still no intention to let go off of you. “I deserve far worse than that.”

You looked up to him, the kiss having made something surface in his eyes: So solemn, and incredibly fragile, it made your heart ache.

“Wha- what happened to you? Where have you been all this time?”

Loki’s face contorted at the question, as if the thoughts in his mind were physically painful. But his mind was clouded, unable to make his proper memory resurfacing. “Places far beyond your imagination, dear. And I have learned many things.”

“I-I thought I had lost you...” you ultimatively began to sob, face dug into his chest.

“No” the god whispered softly, his gaze still unwavering. “You always have me. I promise.”

“What now?” you sniveled as he gently pet your head, just as back in good old times. “Where do we go?”

“What do you mean?” Loki’s features creased into a slight frown, “We stay here. There’s no need to leave or flee.”

“Bu-” you hesistantly took a few steps back, to take in his full reaction. “But you’re a wanted criminal, Loki! On Asgard as well as Midgard!”

His manner became more defensive again, glee radiating off of him. “Oh, my sweet, innocent Y/N...still the idealist, I see.”

“And you are still insufferable” you scoffed back, crossing your arms. “What do you mean?”

Actually, you dreaded the answer.

The man seemed to be thinking about many things at once, eyes narrowing before he finally took a hold of your hand, squeezing it ever so slightly when he saw that you were still wearing his ring - even after everything that had happened.

“Y/N, my love, those deaths were a necessary evil.” He tried to peck a quick kiss on your hand, but you pulled away at those words. “The only crime I feel guilty for is having left the love of my life. But don’t you worry, I’ll make up for it.”

He summoned a staff, glowing in the same blue as the tesseract - and much to your terror, his eyes started to adapt to them as well.

“I will create my own kingdom, Y/N! Here on Midgard, with you as my queen! This is what you deserve, my love! You and our child will have everything you desire and more!”

“This is madness, Loki!” It wasn’t the first time he had heared that.

People always treated him wrongly, afterwards wondering why he was trying to create felicity on his own. “Is it?” he croaked, “Is it madness for a person born to rule two kingdoms to create a home he never had?”

His plan did not merit awe or any such feelings he hoped you to have - the only person in the world he thought would understand him.

“Loki, what your parents have done to you is inexcusable, yet-”

“They’re not my parents!” he screamed enraged, eyes then widened in shock that he had raised his voice at you. “My apologies, I...”

“They have kept the truth from you so that you’d never feel different. You know you’re their son, and the Asgardians are your family. You must know that!”

“You speak like mother” he spat, and still Frigga’s words he could not shake off as easily as Odin’s. “There is no going back to that place, and Jotunheim I never had a connection with. You most likely heared that I tried to kill Laufey, yes?”

Nodding in silence, you nervously bit your lip. “Please...” Wrapping your arms around him and placing one ear at his sternum, you could clearly hear how his heart was fighting a war, struggling to decide.

“You can still stop whatever you were gonna do. We can start anew somewhere, lead a peaceful life with Liam. I don’t need wealth or power, and you clearly know any of this wouldn’t give you the satisfaction you’re searching for!”

“As always, you’re right” he grumbled deeply, already regretting what he was about to do. “But it’s not that easy, my naive little dove.”

“No~” With his hand on the back of your neck, he infused a powerful magic inside your body, slowly shutting down your nervous system completely. As careful as possible, he cradled you in his arms and slowly led you to the floor, then proceeding to take his heir.

“The only thing I need for myself is our little family - and I will avenge you by murdering anyone that did you wrong, or tries to separate us again.”

#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki x Y/N #Loki Laufeyson #Loki / Reader #Loki / You #Marvel #Disney #God of Mischief #Writing #Self Insert #Fanfiction

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echoalyssa · 3 years

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Phantom | Dick Grayson

Authors Note: There’s some light language in this, but thats about all!

“Phantom to Nightwing, entering dead zone now. Start the clock and come in if I’m late. I love you.”

You now had an hour inside the base, unable to contact anyone. You were collecting intel and because you were the stealthiest and smallest, (Damian was too young for this particular mission) Bruce had sent you in.

Your boyfriend, Dick Grayson had wanted to come with you but Bruce had rejected the idea because two people was more risky than one.

Dick had been livid, it was more risky for your life for you to go alone. He was your partner even though you were all a team. Ever since childhood, the two of you fought together and somewhat seemed to share the same mind.

You push a vine our of your dace. Your black masks shows the digital map of the quietest places to step. Your hood is pulled up to disguise your features and skin tone that obviously didn't fit in with the darkness of the air around you.

You had left your mottled cloak behind, opting to only have to worry about your body and where you place it.

Joker was extremely active underground lately, he’d evolved and Bruce had only your mission as a lead.

Your mask displays your one hour timer on the left hand side of your vision. Fifty minutes to get into the compound and back to safety.

The compound comes into view, a flat stone building that just didn’t fit in with the forest that surrounded it. You creep forward, staying in the shadows and hugging the walls of the building until you reach the only vent.

The stone was practically flat but years of training allowed you to look your gloved fingers into a crevice and wedge a booted foot into the building.

You begin climbing, scaling upwards twenty feet. The screws of the vent are all different and you have to pull away from the wall, your body straining so you can unscrew the bottom two.

You’re small enough that you can pry the vent open enough that you can squeeze yourself in. Forty minutes your clock reads. You were going too slow. You crawl forward on your elbows, you trek forward, you should have asked for two hours. Shit.

You hit the record button on your wrist panel and pull the microphone out.

It’s a tiny one but the quality is amazing. You’re peering through a small vent above a research lab now and you thread the microphone and it’s wire through the vent. The audio feeds into your ear piece and also saves to the hard drive in your panel.

You’re holding your breath, only breathing when you have to to minimize any chance of getting caught.

“We need to move in now! He’s only getting more recruits and it’s only a matter of time before they find us again.” Says a voice.

“If they haven’t already! I say we try the new weapon on some unsuspecting crowd of bystanders now. Then they’ll be too busy trying to save those silly citizens to deal with us.”

“Yes but is it ready..?”

“It needs to be tested again and we need to find a more powerful energy source eventually.”

And then the joker walks into view of the vent. He’s holding a blueprint and he spreads it on one of the tables. It’s the paint schematic for the weapon because of course, the joker being the joker meant that everything needed to be green, purple, and white.

You raise a hand to your mask and tap twice. It takes a screenshot of your view of the blueprint and sends it to the bat hard drive.

“Did you have any luck with batons inner circle? Would anyone snitch?”

“A couple...” the speaker listens. It’s valuable intel and now Bruce would be able to feed false information to the rats.

You begin to tap their names away into the panel and then attempt to wirelessly hack into the mainframes. The firewall were strong and plentiful but eventually they all fall victim to you. Sixteen minutes your timer reads. Shit. The data downloading from their computers and into your drive is only halfway done.

It won’t be very detailed. Just minuscule bits of information because you couldn't connect physically to the computers. It’s a line of script here and there that didn't make much sense to you because you weren't super tech-y. Though every line counted and that you knew. Several addresses also pop up.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, your panel signals that the download is complete. Seven minutes reads the timer. Double shit.

You scramble backwards knowing that you’ve done all that you can. Somehow managing to turn yourself around in the small space. You’re almost at the vent when you foot clangs against the side of the vent.

You freeze, no alarms go off, but then again why would they? The timer is still ticking and you continue on, sliding out of the vent. You fumble with the screws, attempting to get them back in in case your cover hadn't already been blown. You then plant your feet, push off and flip down to the ground. You land nimbly in a rolling crouch and then pop to your feet and take off, sprinting for the tree line.

They come from the shadows. Dozens of them. All focused in on you.

You suck in a breath and draw your longswords.

“Bring it on Goonies!” You call and they surge forward all at once. Some with guns, electric batons, and swords.

You stalk forward, meeting them in the middle. You begin slashing immediately at arms, legs, torsos, anywhere that wasn’t too lethal. You weren't a killer.

Except there were just so many, the sword in your left hand falls from your grip and you pull out a disc, throwing it into the incomers. It explodes, blinding some and wounding others.

You yank s taser out from your belt and stab it into an attackers neck while blocking an attack with your sword. And then it happens. A baton smacks into the back of your head and you stumble forward, dizzy. A blade slashes your thigh, splitting skin and muscle. A cry comes fro, your lips and you lash out desperately with your one remaining longsword. You're able to down the foe who had slashed you.

Two more take his place and then a dagger rips through your abdomen from behind. You scream, falling to your knees. Just as it gets put through your thigh, followed by your shoulder. You land in the grass face first and the world goes dark, sound fading out.

‘Dick.’ Is your last thought.

~~~

Dick is staring at the timer that is displayed by his make. 00:00:05. 00:00:04. 00:00:03. 00:00:02. 00:00:01. And the dreaded number... 00:00:00. It blares red and he stares at the forest, fists clenched. Where was she?

Tim steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder. “Give her five minutes okay? She’s smart. You know how these missions sometimes go overtime. She’s got this.”

“We never should have sent her in alone. It was too risky. Damn it!”

His fist rockets into a tree. He considers going after Bruce, giving him a piece of his mind. Then decides that it isn’t worth it and begins to prepare to go in after his love.

He makes sure to grab the miniature cauterizer and some other emergency medical supplies, stuffing them into the pouches on his belt.

“Wait, Nightwing, we’ll go together. We need a plan!” Damian calls.

His heart is pounding out of his chest and he can’t breathe. ‘What if he was too late? What if she was already gone?’

He doesn’t want to wait for a plan, time was ticking. He pushes past his adoptive brother.

“Dick wait!” Jason calls trying to grab his arm. But he keeps going, breaking for the trees to find her.

Jason and Tim look at each other, then they both look at Damian. “Stay here.” They say simultaneously/

“No way!” He yells back at his brothers.

The three of them take them off after Nightwing. And Bruce, having watched all his children run into danger, follows them in.

Nightwing is pushing through vines and branches, not caring if he makes noise or not. He knows the rest of his family will follow him, but quietly.

His mail enhances his vision in the darkness. He draws a thumb over his own panel and it activates the heat censor on his mask. Dick Grayson pushes forward quickly, scanning frantically for her heat signature.

And then he sees it. She’s always run cold. Her fingers and limbs always frozen. A small prone figure, running colder than the other surrounding bodies. He kicks up his pace, heading for her because he just knows.

“Phantom!” he yells, followed by, “Robin! I think I found her!”

He skids to a halt and falls to his knees, he can see the stab wounds. The way her blood has soared into the ground beneath her.

Nightwing rolls her over, jamming his fingers under her neck to find a pulse. It’s there. But weak.

He rips the cauterizer out of his belt and drapes her body over him just as Jason appears.

“Is she..?”

“Alive.” He grunts, “Not for much longer I need to..”

Jason helps him rip the uniform away enough so Dick has enough room to maneuver.

“Hold her down!”

Jason does as he’s told and Dick places the cauterizer to her skin.

“Only do what you have to, we need to get out of here. And soon.”

He pushes the two flaps of skin together and places the sparking tool to it. The heat melds the skin together. She’d need to be pumped full of antibiotics in case any of the blades were dirty and risked infection.

She only stirs slightly, too disoriented from her loss of blood. He talks to her the whole time he works on her.

He only does her abdomen, knowing that it’s her most serious injury. It might not even hold from the jolting and jostling that would occur in the journey back. Dick stabs a painkiller into her thigh, just in case she were to awaken.

He motions to Tim and Damian, who had been standing guard, to take up the rear. Grayson then scoops up his girlfriend, cradling her to his chest.

“Jason. Take point. Let’s get her home.”

~~~

He sits by her bedside. His hands are covered in her dry blood, along with his suit. He hadn’t bothered to change.

Y/N had needed a blood transfusion and he had offered immediately, hence why there was a needle in his arm funneling blood into girlfriend. Alfred had stitched do her wounds and hooked her up to an IV for hydration and anti-infection purposes.

She’d been changed out of her uniform after she was stable for cleanliness reasons and was now wearing one of his black shirts.

He’s holding her hand, his thumb tracing over the pulse point of her wrist occasionally.

It would be a long road to recovery for her though they all knew that she would bounce back and attempt to get back in to the field as soon as she could walk.

It’s days later when she finally wakes, her eyelids fluttering.

“Dick.” She whispers.

He’s right there, just like he had been, he’d only left briefly to shower but he ate and slept at her side. Jason had covered both of your patrols, with Bruce helping out.

“I’m okay. You’re okay, babygirl.” He places a hand on her face and she leans her head into his touch.

#nightwing #dick grayson #Tim drake #jason todd #Damian wayne #batfam #bat fam #bat family #dick Grayson x reader #nightwing x reader

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sundiscus · 3 years

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wangxian dragon age au: ficlet

[part of a larger au i’ve mapped out + started drafting, but want to post as snippets for now! i’ve taken many liberties with the worldbuilding, and as such i think most can be inferred with context if you’re unfamiliar with dragon age.

part one now here

this snippet: the meet-ugly, ~1.7k]

✨✨✨

When Lan Wangji wakes up, he isn’t alone.

He doesn’t realize it right away. The first thing he notices is that, this time, there are no shackles. He shifts his hands the slightest bit, enough to confirm they are indeed free. The movement pulls at the little cuts on his fingers and forearms from where the shackles shattered apart, already scabbing over—so he has been unconscious long enough for the magebane to burn out of his system, which he confirms, finding his meridians free and clear. He’s lying on his back, something that feels slightly too soft to be a stone floor under him and something that feels slightly too rough to be a blanket draped over him. An odd green light pulses against his eyelids and the only sound is a muted, continuous hiss, like a distant waterfall. Wherever he is, it isn’t the cell from earlier.

It doesn’t matter. He won’t be here long.

He takes one more slow breath, listening closely. There. To his left, a few paces away, he hears a tiny, cut-off inhale. Now he knows where to aim. His eyes fly open as he launches himself upright, summoning his sword into his raised hand, and—

It’s like expecting the ocean and finding only a puddle. His sword flickers into existence for the barest moment, its glow illuminating a circle of stone walls, a pallet beneath him, and then Lan Wangji’s lungs stutter, pressure squeezing his temples, as if all air has been sucked out of the room. Bichen dissipates and Lan Wangji is left gasping, one hand still raised uselessly in the air.

From the shadows, someone says: “Ah, that’s not going to work.”

Lan Wangji is already looking to the side. He sees only a figure at first, because when his sword disappeared so had the strange, omnipresent green glow. The glow returns now, slowly illuminating a young man curled against the opposite wall, his hair a dark, tangled wave over his shoulders, wrists chained together with thick iron manacles. For a moment his eyes, staring right back at Lan Wangji, are the brightest thing in the room.

“What do you mean?” Lan Wangji demands, finding his voice. “Is there a suppression array?” It must be powerful to choke off his magic so finitely. If he can see it, though, he can figure out how to undo it.

The man wrinkles his nose. “Not exactly. But—ah, ah,” he says as Lan Wangji starts to stand, “don’t move too fast, the blowback from that is going to be pretty harsh.”

Lan Wangji understands almost instantly as a wave of vertigo hits him. His knees buckle before he’s halfway to his feet and he collapses back on the pallet, bracing his weight on his elbow to keep from falling entirely. When his ears stop ringing he can hear his own ragged breathing.

Enough, he thinks, and forces himself to even his breaths. To shift focus. Clearly whatever precautions Wen Chao and his soldiers have taken to secure this room go beyond magebane and a simple suppression array. He won’t be able to escape by sheer force like last time, but this will still be no more than a brief detour on his journey. He will make sure of it.

Yesterday—was it yesterday, now? The chamber has no windows, just the eerie green glow emanating from the walls—Lan Wangji had been traveling with a retinue of junior enchanters to retrieve research texts from the Circle in Hedong, where scholars claimed to have promising studies related to fade rifts. They were nearly there when a raven alighted on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, bearing the message: Siege on Gusu Circle. Reconvene to the north. He’d sent the junior enchanters ahead and turned back before the raven even took flight.

(The note had not mentioned his brother, so his brother must be alive. Rumors were already spreading outward from Gusu as he rode, saying Wen Xu had an archdemon, Wen Xu burned the Gusu library to the ground. They did not say Wen Xu killed Zewu-jun, Wen Xu killed a mage with a glowing hand. So his brother must have escaped. Knowing this did not stop Lan Wangji’s heart from racing as he spurred his horse faster, past refugee settlements and Templar camps, toward the distant gash in the sky.)

And then: a poisoned arrow biting into his arm, his horse crumpling on a hardpacked road outside Lingchuan. The Wen soldiers, ready for him. (Not ready enough, when at least six of their bodies fell before Lan Wangji did.) One day in the first cell, his failed escape attempt.

And now: magicless, trapped in a strange room with a strange, sharp-eyed prisoner watching him struggle to sit upright, the slow crawl of time a physical weight on Lan Wangji’s shoulders.

“Honestly, just ride it out,” the prisoner is saying. He has his chained hands up and open, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. “You’ll feel better in about an hour. Maybe less, if you’ve had a good meal recently.”

Lan Wangji’s head spins sickeningly. He ignores it, pushing himself up until he can prop himself against the wall, putting himself eye-level with the prisoner, at least.

“Or sit up anyway, I suppose,” the prisoner says. His voice has a ragged edge, as if it’s scraping its way out of his throat. “Sorry, I’d offer you some water, but I drank it all before I knew I’d have company. What are you doing here, anyway?”

If First Enchanter Lan wants his nephew back, he’ll have to lend us a few books, Wen Chao had mocked from outside the first cell. And if he wants you back with all your limbs attached, he’ll have to throw in trading deeds with the eastern lyrium mines for good measure. Do you think he can deliver that before you die here?

Wen Chao wanted demonic texts, Lan Wangji had guessed, the ones hidden deep within the library. No doubt for some dangerous, power-hungry scheme, and no doubt connected to the rifts. From there, it wasn’t hard to piece together that the attack on the Circle was meant to discover which texts were critical enough to be rescued and transported away, and likely steal them in transit. There are protocols for such events, Lan Wangji knows, and his presence here means the raid was unsuccessful, and he will be used as leverage for a second attempt.

If Wen Chao meant to scare Lan Wangji with his demands, he had only succeeded in doing the opposite. Because if all they want from Lan Wangji’s family are books and deeds, it means they don’t know about his brother yet.

Lan Wangji doesn’t share any of this. “Political prisoner,” is all he says.

“Ahh.” The man nods. “I figured, what with the…” He gestures at his own forehead, chains clinking as he does. “You’re obviously a Lan. Someone will pay well to have you back home.”

“They should not have to pay at all,” Lan Wangji bites out. Something about the prisoner’s casual attitude grates at him. The world outside is quite literally falling apart at the seams, and Lan Wangji doesn’t have time to be used as bait in Wen Chao’s small-minded games.

The prisoner shrugs. “Yeah, but there’s not much choice at the moment, is there? For now you’re stuck here with me. I’m—my name is Wei Ying, by the way. What should I call you, while we wait?”

“Do the Wen soldiers enter this cell often?” Lan Wangji says instead of answering. “Is there a chance of overpowering them?”

A grimace. “Often enough. And no, I’ve tried. They’re stupid, but they’re prepared.”

Lan Wangji casts another glance over the man—Wei Ying—and carefully keeps any skepticism out of his expression. Then he looks around properly for the first time. Wei Ying is right—there’s no visible array on the floor, no glyphs on the circular stone walls. The green glow fades as it climbs the wall, leaving the ceiling cloaked in shadow and dizzying to look at, like an endless tunnel. Disturbingly, there isn’t a visible door, either. There isn’t much of anything but the one straw pallet, a lidded pot against the wall, an empty bowl next to Wei Ying, bone-dry, and Wei Ying himself.

“A Lan,” Wei Ying says when Lan Wangji is silent for long enough, pitched low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I’m surprised Wen Chao would be so bold. He has to know that won’t go over well in the long run, I wonder if his father has any idea? No, he would’ve sent Wen Xu. Maybe Wen Chao thinks that by the time someone comes for you, he’ll have—” Wei Ying cuts himself off. Blinks. “You are real, aren’t you?”

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you’re not…” Wei Ying waves a hand at the room around them. “But, ah, why would I dream up a whole Knight-Enchanter? A Lan at that? You felt real enough, when I dragged you onto the pallet, but it’s still hard to tell.” Lan Wangji must have some reaction to that—to knowing this stranger’s hands have been on him, when he was unconscious—because Wei Ying adds, defensive: “What was I supposed to do? They left you on the floor.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have an answer to that.

Wei Ying tips his head back against the wall. “Well. Your Circle, they have your phylactery, right? They’ll find you. Pay the ransom, or lay siege to Wen Chao’s little fortress here. That would be nice.” He casts his gaze over Lan Wangji again. “Looks like our captors were gentle enough in the meanwhile.”

There’s dried blood tugging at the hair of Lan Wangji’s temple, and he still has the nauseating sense that if he moves too fast he might collapse again. Gentle isn’t how Lan Wangji would describe his treatment so far. But it is also far below the threshold of what he can withstand, so it doesn’t seem like a point worth arguing. “And you?” he hears himself say.

“Uh.” Wei Ying shifts and holds up his shackled hands. “Less gentle, I suppose.”

“I meant—who will be paying your ransom.”

Wei Ying drops his hands into his lap. “Oh. No one.”

“Then,” Lan Wangji says, “why are you here?”

For the first time, Wei Ying flashes a smile. A hooked dagger in the dim light.

“I have something they want.”

#poor herald lxc 😔#this au is going to be equal parts h/c + dreamsharing + Dragons #because i am nothing if not predictable #this started months and months ago as a secret santa gift for eli #eli ilu!#wangxian #ficlet #my words #DA AU

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lovecanbesostrange · 3 years

Text

It started with an ask on konako’s blog, that led to a small scene with Red kneeling before the Evil Queen. (x) That was almost Red Queen fun. But it spun into something very dark, because the Evil Queen did capture Red and torture as punishment followed (this goes into dead-dove territory, you are warned, it’s messed up). Here are 4k words of what happened in the palace dungeon afterwards (spoiler alert, excessive use of silver):

summary: Red made the Evil Queen look foolish and gets utterly destroyed for it (graphic depictions of violence included)

Finally a little triumph. The Evil Queen went down the stairs into the dungeon. Every step of her well-shined heeled boots echoed loudly from the stone steps. Sometimes she wished she had more patience to make good use of the cells down here. But she was bored too easily not getting answers and the prisoners died quickly. Her torturer barely had anything to do. Why did she even pay him anymore? (Did she pay anyone in the palace? They were allowed to live and had nice enough accommodations and food, for sure that was enough.)

But now Regina wanted to take all the time in the world. Her knights had captured that wolf woman! After the bloodbath she had caused weeks ago that made Regina look foolish, she would enjoy their time together now. And it would send Snow White a message in the end.

Two guards were posted outside the cell and two inside. Of course knowing they dealt with a werewolf made handling the prisoner easier. For one the full moon was a couple of nights away. And silver was easy to come by to keep her in line. Regina had also instructed her blacksmith to forge some chains in preparation for when she would be captured. It had been a priority task.

When Regina entered the cell she smiled and took in the sight. Red was chained up in the middle of the room. She was stripped down to her undergarments, her clothes on the floor, except for her cloak that was draped over one of the tables. Her arms were raised above her head, wrists bound by the heavy cuffs each connected to a chain going through a loop in the ceiling and then stretching all the way to a bolt in the wall. Her ankles were cuffed as well, a short heavy chain in between so she couldn’t take any significant steps. Not that she could run away, since her toes barely reached the ground. Red had to carry her weight in her arms, shoulders.

“Well, well, well, so we meet again.” Regina took her time to enter and circled Red, who tried to follow her with her eyes. “You made quite a spectacle the last time.”

“Do you want an apology?” Red’s voice was firm. Too firm for Regina’s taste.

“I don’t think you could muster up an honest one. You’re a deceiver.” Regina stopped in front of her. “Begging for those peasants’ lives and then killing my men.” She grabbed Red’s chin with her thumb and index finger. “You said there was no need for bloodshed and you happily slaid them anyway.”

“I wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t tried to take me.”

“As if you thought I would let you walk away from there.” Regina looked closely into those green eyes. Was the bravado real or just posturing? “Don’t get me wrong, the way you killed those men without a second thought was impressive. I can admire that. But the humiliation it would have been to return to the village and enact punishment, admitting to being defeated that day - I can’t let that slide.” She slapped Red across the cheek.

Red closed her eyes and didn’t turn her face back up. She was glad the villagers had been spared. Regina didn’t know how long she had stuck around to make sure there was no retaliation. And whatever was about to follow, would have been worth it. Snow had her plans to strike and they were close to luring the Queen into a trap. But every day more innocent people could die and Red could not sit by. She owed it to the victims of the wolf to use her strength for good now.

She heard Regina take a few steps back and looked again. The cloak was in her hands now. “Do you have any other name or should I just call you Red. Not very original, is it? Naming yourself after a bit of fabric.” Her fingers traced the patterns. “I sense magic in this. But I guess asking about it will not bring me answers, right? Just like any of Snow White’s plans won’t leave your lips.”

Statements. The Evil Queen had made up her mind already, questions weren’t part of whatever this encounter was. Red turned her hands around and tried to get a grip on the chain, change her position the slightest bit to take some strain off of her already burning shoulders.

“Do you know there isn’t much to find in books about your kind?” Regina exchanged the cloak for something else from the table. It reflected a bit of the amber light emitted from the fireplace and Red could see it was a simple dagger. “The one thing that is said over and over though is your weakness towards silver. I’m curious. Is it just the metal or wounds inflicted by it?”

Red already clenched her jaw before Regina put the blade against the skin on her upper arm, preparing to get cut. But instead Regina pressed the flat side on her skin first. Definitely silver. Pure. Red felt the effect in a matter of seconds and bit down, grinding her teeth.

Regina stood close again, caught her eyes with her gaze and kept pressing the blade against the tender side of her arm. “Don’t worry, I will write down everything I’m about to do here, so the books can add a chapter about how to break a wolf when in their human form.” And with that she turned the dagger and cut the skin. Red flinched, more from the shock than the actual pain. It was a relief actually to have the silver leave her.

“Are there noteworthy differences between a cut with this,” Regina lifted the dagger, “and a normal blade?” She gestured towards one of the guards and he immediately unsheathed a dagger from his boot. Without hesitation Regina reproduced the cut on the other arm. The blood almost tickled as it ran down. “Oh no, I’m making a mess. Getting blood out of clothes is such a hassle.”

Regina let one of the daggers fall down and with the other cut along the seams of Red’s top half of what she was left wearing. Red closed her eyes again as she felt air hit her exposed body. She knew which weapon Regina held and she could feel the silver being drawn over her skin, over her collarbone, between her breasts, down to her navel. The point barely left a scratch, but the offending metal felt like being brushed with a nettle. Red took in deep, sharp breaths through her nose.

That reaction was exactly what made Regina go slower with her movements. It wasn’t the sharpness that left the light red mark, no, it appeared the longer she held the blade in place. What an interesting sight to watch. Regina brought her free hand up to Red’s chin again, this time squeezing her jaw with her palm, digging her fingers into her cheek. Red looked at her again.

“You know, the longer you resist, the more adamant I will be to make you scream. That is how these things work.” She brought the dagger up to Red’s forehead, this time with the edge to cut into her skin again. It took a few seconds, but then the blood running over her eyebrows made Red blink.

“Can you hold this for me?” With that she wedged the silver dagger between the torn clothes and Red’s hips. Red squirmed trying to get away, but the blade touched her thigh ever so slightly. “I learned a valuable lesson the other day. A blacksmith works with iron. Like those chains holding you. Not used to working with silver. You would have to ask a silversmith about it. I even found one and he is working on special silver cuffs for me. Or rather, for you.”

Regina stood at the table again, her back to Red. When she turned around she held up a necklace. “So for now, I have to settle for delicate jewelry instead of the collar you deserve.” Under any other circumstance Red would have admired the piece. Obviously the star-shaped ornament was meant to hold a gemstone in place, a diamond or a sapphire, but this was stripped down to the silver components for one purpose only. “So you will get used to a leash later,” was all Regina added as she put it around Red’s neck.

Red held on. Her skin was crawling all over, the itch on her thigh burning already, but she tried to stay as still as possible. She couldn’t do anything against the tears forming in her eyes, betraying her brave face though.

Regina stood before her, brows furrowed. “Your healing isn’t as fast. I will need to wait hours to compare those cuts on your arms. There is something I am forgetting.” She rubbed her temples, feigning to think. “Oh, of course, I need a point of reference!” A clap of her hands alerted the guard. “You, get the girl from next door.” Red’s eyes went wide.

“No. Wait. You don’t need to drag anybody else into this.”

Regina stepped closer and slapped her across the cheek again, harder this time. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion and you will stop being so informal around me!”

“Yes, Your Majesty”, Red quickly gathered herself. “But please, there is no need-” But she already saw a frightened young girl being pushed into the cell. About her height and weight, seemingly healthy. For now. The girl fell to the floor and cowered there.

“I caught her stealing, so normally she would already be dead. But she can be of use for me.” Regina put a hand into her hair and yanked her head up, to make her look at Red. “Or do you want her dead right now?”

The terror Red felt was mirrored on the girl’s face. Was there a chance of survival for her? She was ready to beg for her life; to lie on that table where Regina obviously had more silver tools; to take any punishment herself. “No,” Red whispered. Another yank at the girl’s hair. “No, Your Majesty.”

“A fast learner.” She pushed the girl into a chair with cuffs on the armrests. Seating her in front of Red. The girl trembled and looked to the floor. Red tried to pull at her chains, but it only sent a jolt of pain through her shoulders.

Regina paced the room. After a while she came up behind Red. “Your shoulders must really hurt by now. Let me help you with that.” Her fingers played with the necklace and Red hissed. Shifting it around made the pain more noticeable. “The plate.” She said towards the guards. Behind Red a wooden plate leaned against the wall. A thin metal sheet on one side, coated in silver. She knew that before the guards shoved it under her feet. The wood added a few inches so in theory this took some of the weight off her shoulders, but the soles of her feet would soon itch, turn red, swell, hurt and most likely blister. She tried to balance on the outside of her feet only, to not hurt everywhere all at once.

“Do you know what the second thing is that some texts suggest to use against a werewolf?” Silence. “Oh, that was a genuine question directed at you. Do you know?”

“Fire.” Red answered between breaths. Her mouth was open now, it was dry. She didn’t dare to fully fill her lungs, because that made the necklace move. The attack on multiple parts of her body with the silver was starting to overwhelm her.

“That is correct. You know your weaknesses it seems.” Regina conjured a fireball in her hand. “Fire is pure. It doesn’t discriminate. It can be very elegant.” She stepped closer to Red, hand outstretched so she could feel the heat of the flame. “How fast can you heal a burn wound?”

“I don’t k-” Red couldn’t finish that sentence, because Regina held her hand to her side now. A scream was all that escaped her lips. The fireball wasn’t cast, but the flame burned her flesh. Red clenched her fists and tried to step away, the chains around her ankles making a screeching sound dragging over the silver plate. There was no escape, because Regina just followed with her hand. She closed her hand and the fireball vanished. Red went slack, her breathing sped up. The only good thing was that in this commotion, the dagger had gotten loose and fallen to the floor.

Red sorted out her senses, trying to gather her bearings, when she heard the girl scream. Louder, more fearful, indicating the horrible pain she never felt before. Regina had torn her clothes and burned her at the exact same place on her body. For reference. Red couldn’t put the horror of it into words. Would it indeed be better for the girl if she was dead already? She didn’t even know her name.

And Red didn’t learn her name over the next few days, because whatever happened, she would not talk to her. Regina had strictly forbidden it and the rotating guards would hit her at a single word. It was almost comical. Red’s body went numb. Cuts, rashes, bruises, welts, burns, scratches. It came and went. The pain was a constant throbbing, she got repositioned a few times, but it felt like she would never use her arms on her own accord again. But whatever happened to her, the girl looked worse. Red did heal faster from any wound not dealt with silver. But it did take a lot from her regardless. She lost track of time. What was sleep? Any kind of shame about being naked had vanished. Instead of clothes her body was covered in forming scars, marks and blemishes.

Red tried to count the rotations of the guards, to get any kind of feeling for the passing days. It was only days, right? It felt like forever. Silver on her skin somewhere at all times, lashes from a whip, getting burned with a torch, red hot iron, and so many cuts to make her bleed. The worst still a long deep wound on her right cheek, starting at her ear right to the corner of her mouth. When they allowed her some water, it even hurt to swallow.

Later Red found out it had been five days in total. It seemed like a small window of time. But the Evil Queen lived up to her name. Especially on day four, when she left permanent damage. While Red was mostly kept standing up, the girl was strapped to the chair. Not that she had any energy left to walk out of here, even if they’d opened the door for her. Regina stood behind her and pulled her head back.

“Just look at me, I’m sure this won’t hurt you.”

Red looked on as Regina dripped liquid into one of her eyes. The girl flinched, but that was a reflex. None of her sounds of discomfort or pain left her throat. That made Red more nervous than she would admit. And she was right to be.

“Just as I thought. Look at that, barely irritated.” She pushed the girl’s head forward, her eye teared up, maybe a bit reddened.

Regina walked around her and caught Red’s gaze. “Such beautiful green eyes. Quiet unusual. Of course not as remarkable as the wolfish gold, is it?” The way she kept staring was unnerving and Red’s breathing already picked up. Fear. In a short amount of time she had learned what fear truly was.

“Hold her steady.” A guard came and grabbed Red’s head from behind. Panic sunk in and she started to squirm, tried to turn her face away, to wiggle out of his grip. She wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but she knew she wanted out. Right now. No more pain, she couldn’t take anymore. But she had to.

Regina got a few drops out of the vile, into Red’s right eye. “Don’t worry, it’s mostly water. Just a tiny bit of silver dust mixed into it.”

Red pushed her body back as hard as she could, but her mangled feet had no grip, it was more like leaning into the guy. No force to get him off. And then the pain started. It felt like a needle prick. And all of a sudden the colors exploded in Red’s sight. Everything was sharper, the light from the fireplace brighter. She knew her eyes turned golden like before she would transform. It had happened a few times, when highly agitated. Now it was a physical response.

Regina laughed. “I did not expect that.” She met Red’s terror with fascination. More needle pricks in her eye, the urge to rub it away. Red pulled at her chains, she wanted to press the palm of her hand against her eye and get the irritating feeling out. But there was no chance. All Regina saw was the golden color and Red gasping for air, holding back a scream. The hitched breathing was a good enough tell that this hurt.

Worse than the pain that kept sinking in was the way Red started to see white dots, blind specks in her vision. Three, four, five, more and more. She blinked, her tearducts fighting off the intrusion, but the silver too strong an opponent. Red clenched her jaw and groaned. She let out a growl from deep within, filled with frustration and pain. It was more of a bellow than a scream. Regina smiled at that.

While Red’s left eye got back to its human green, the right eye stayed golden, a misty layer clouding the bright hue. It drew Regina’s full attention, while it would be weeks for Red to discover the permanent change. Blinded, only noting a change between light and darkness. Her eyeball feeling like it was rubbed with sandpaper made the rest of the day seem like nothing. Time moved on

And then unthinkable happened. The chains were loosened completely, the cuffs came off. Red tried to curl up on the floor, but she could barely move her joints. Everything hurt too much. But Regina laughed. “Remember that I said I will make you beg for more than mercy? How about you ask me to end her suffering?”

Red looked up. Trying to adjust to the impaired vision. As bad as she felt, the girl looked worse. “Please…”, the girl said and the guard standing behind her, hit her against the head immediately.

It took everything Red had to turn herself upright, to bend her knees and sit on them. To kneel before Regina again. No side eye, no hint of a smirk, no failsafe. The burn marks hurt worst next to the chafed skin around her neck from the necklace that was also gone now. “Your…” Red was shaking, she had to cough trying to speak. “Please, Your Majesty. End her suffering. I beg you. Please. It’s enough… enough…” And with that she fell down again.

“Pathetic.” Regina’s verdict was cold as ice. “And to think I had a gift for you just now. Guards.” They stood next to Red and pulled her to her knees again, held her up. Regina leaned towards her. “My silversmith has arrived.” She produced a silver object and only when the lock clicked around her neck did Red realize this was the collar she had talked about. She felt the burn on her throat and winced. It was a sound she was used to producing by now.

“So?”

“Please… Your Majesty…” Red was panting, she could not finish the plea.

Regina rolled her eyes. “If this is the best you can do, so be it. Ending the suffering now.” And with that her hand shot straight into Red’s chest and pulled out her heart. “Kill her. Rip her throat out like you always do.”

Red wanted to scream. She wanted to jump the Evil Queen. To tear up the men holding her. But what she wanted was irrelevant all of a sudden. The will to do it was overwritten. She looked at the girl, defeated, not even surprised. While Red’s mind fully woke up for the first time in days, all her muscles reacted to something else. The pain all over her body was terrible, but every second she didn’t comply was even more agony.

Red crawled more than she walked to get to the chair. She hovered over her nameless victim, tried to hold back, but those terror-stricken eyes met hers. “Make it quick, please.” Oh, if only she could turn into a wolf, those sharp teeth would take less than a second. Regina had specified how this girl was supposed to die and Red could not opt to cut her throat with a knife, she sunk her still very human teeth into it. The larynx, so easy to wrap fangs around, was hard, the skin and flesh thick. The scream the girl let out was only short, because the pressure suffocated her. It was impossible to make this quick-

Finally Red tasted blood. Tears ran down her face, but she could not stop herself from this horrible act. This slow, agonizing, inhumane death of a nameless chamber maid, who probably hadn’t even stolen a thing. Someone at the wrong place, at the wrong time, who had suffered for days for cruel experiments with no merit. One more victim added to Red’s tally. Not for good. Not in battle. Not in defense. Needless cruelty.

When the girl’s heart stopped, Red finally could let go. She sank on all fours, spat out what she could of the blood and wailed. Her own heart wasn’t even in her chest, but it had never felt heavier.

“Get the smith down here now, he knows what to do.” Regina sent one guard away. Red looked up, warm blood dripping from her chin, she could feel it. Disgusting. If she had any strength left, this would be the time to strike. But all Regina needed to do was a little squeeze. Her heart hurt. No, Red was helpless. Any thought of fighting back an illusion.

“I think it’s best that you lie down on the table for this next part.”

Red wanted to put her head under a guillotine right now. To kill like that was worse than any of the torture methods the Evil Queen had come up with. Regina had won. But Red couldn’t do anything but comply and lied down, waiting for her fate.

It came in the form of a small white haired man, holding a sort of chalice with a long tongue. His hands were shaking and Red couldn’t tell if it was because of what he was doing or just being in Regina’s presence. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening. A guard came and put her wrists into the handcuffs again, strapping her to the table. A chain going over her thighs and under the table fixated her.

Regina squatted down next to her, stroking her hair. “Feel free to scream for me now.”

“The mold.” Wood was pressed against her back. “Careful with your fingers there, wouldn’t want to burn you.”

And then everything was fire. The scream from Red’s throat surprised Regina enough that she stood up. Loud, agonizing, on the brink of collapse. What looked like a chalice was a melting pot, containing a few grams of molten silver. It was poured on Red’s skin and burned her instantly, severely. Water followed mere seconds later to turn the liquid back to solid, but the damage was done. A silver ring fused into her flesh. The pain and the sensory overload from heat to cold send her into shock. She was still screaming with the taste of warm blood in her mouth when the faint claimed her.

#OUaT #Ruby Lucas #konako #DRK AU #(this stands for Dark Red Kansas because feel free to ask me about the aftermath #we have this 'verse figured out and there are already so many tidbits from the aftermath #funnily enough this isn't even that AU because it is extremely canon compliant except for those five days Regina had fun with torture #and oh is there regret later that Red doesn't want to hear about - she leaves Storybrooke earlier but most of what happens is untouched #ah but meeting Mulan and Merida and Dorothy... and just the way that being cursed-waitress-Ruby saved Red mentally in so many ways #THERE ARE LAYERS!!! AND EMOTIONS!!!!)#guess what there's art to go with this!!!!!!#$!

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laurelsofhighever · 3 years

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Alistair x f!Cousland AU

SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE ROSE

Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again.

With a sigh, the King of Ferelden stared down at the mask in his hands, the red dye a match to the velvet of his cloak and the rich fabric in the rest of his clothes, the royal colours of the Theirin line, and the finely tooled likeness of a mabari snarling out of the leather in an elegant snub for the rules of the Game. A king’s mask ought to be made of gold, after all, as a way to reflect his station, but that scandal would be nothing to the one he planned to cause by not wearing it over his face. Already from below, strains of soft, unobtrusive music drifted above the murmur of voices gathered in the vaulted ballroom of Halamshiral’s Winter Palace, preluding the night’s extravagance. He couldn’t delay much longer in wading into that seething, perfumed mass, however much he wanted to.

Next to him, Fergus Cousland stood arrayed in similar finery. The golden Laurels embroidered into the deep blue velvet of his doublet marked his identity as the Teyrn of Highever, and the shadowed line between his dark brows revealed that his eagerness to attend the party just about matched that of Alistair himself. He caught the king looking, saw the fidget betrayed in his fingers, and drew in a weary breath.

“These talks might be just what it takes to secure lasting peace with Orlais,” he offered, an empty repetition of Alistair’s other advisors. “It’s more than Cailan ever hoped for.”

The king’s lip curled. “You and I both know that’s not the real reason I’m here. I could have left that stuff to Élodie.”

The Arlessa of South Reach had proven a capable ambassador in the time since the end of the civil war against Loghain, using her connections in the Orlesian court to divert the potential wave of old resentments that would have sought to take advantage of Ferelden’s instability as it recovered. It was thanks to her efforts that dignitaries from every Marcher port across the Waking Sea had gathered under the auspicious gaze of Empress Celene in the hopes of formalising a network of trade throughout southern Thedas, and no doubt she was already gliding through their ranks, smoothing the way for her liege lord to grace the crowd and start all the ladies fawning.

Too used to the hopes of noble daughters tilting for a throne, he doubted much of the flattery would be genuine. The only change to the usual pursuit was the fact that Celene now numbered among the hunting party, her desire to win him for herself and Orlais all but common knowledge. At their first meeting that afternoon she had been perfectly polite, but the weight of her gaze on the back of his head as he was shown out to his own apartments had sent a shiver like the lick of cold rain down his spine, and the thought of what she would do with any kind of sovereign power over Ferelden had thoroughly put him off his lunch. There had been a time when, in the entrance hall of Redcliffe Castle and with the warning of a witch ringing in his ears, he had told Rosslyn that the idea of being dangled like bait for political advantage disgusted him. And she had understood his distaste, had reached for his hand with softness in her eyes. He had kissed her hand that night, for the first time.

A sympathetic look from Fergus dragged him out of his contemplation, but thankfully he chose not to repeat the platitudes that had taken to following the king like footprints.

It’s been over a year, almost two, Teagan had scolded. We allowed you time to mourn but you must think of what is best for this country.

Only Fergus really understood. He was the only one in the same position, a lord with a domain left unsecured by the lack of an heir, with those roundabout all but scoffing at his lack of stomach to get one. Shared pain and politics had drawn them together after the army’s return from Ostagar, and now, aside from being a staunch ally in the Landsmeet, he was one of the few Alistair could class as a true friend.

“If I could spurn my duty in this, I would,” he said now.

“But you’re a Cousland.” Humour bled into Alistair’s voice, cold and tinged with grief. “I notice Karyna chose not to come.”

Fergus let his eyes fall closed. “She… ended things between us. She said she wanted to focus on her clinic, but I think part of it was wanting to get out of my shadow, and the expectations of…” a wave of his hand “all of this.”

“I’m sorry.”

He had once broached the subject of changing the law to allow mages to marry, but Fergus had refused, pointing out that what Ferelden needed after a year mired in civil war was stability, not an Exalted March called down because its new king wished to flout the Maker’s supposed Word. Too many would have accused him of playing favourites, too many more who would have raged against the idea of a mage being raised above them – even if Karyna Amell herself came from a line of Marcher nobles. She might be a talented healer dedicated to her people, kind, loyal, and level-headed, but none of that mattered to those who saw any unshackled mage as a prelude to the return of ancient Tevinter.

Fergus waved away his concern and set his own mask in place, pushed back from his forehead. “Let’s get this over with.”

When they appeared at the top of the stairs, the noise level in the whole room dimmed like a door closing on the roar of a great wind. All eyes turned to follow their progress into the melee as Guard-Commander Morrence, Alistair’s right-hand and bodyguard, peeled away from her post by the door and fell into line one pace behind her charge as a dour, watchful shadow. Curtseys and coquettish giggles fluttered up to them, but Alistair ignored them in favour of searching out the form of Élodie Bryland, smiling out from the crowd. Like the rest of the Fereldan entourage, she wore her mask as an accessory rather than a second face, the emerald green of South Reach’s colours rich against her blonde hair.

He felt like a ram walking into a den of blightwolves in broad daylight. Even after so long, so many days he could no longer count them from memory, a shard of his heart stirred in the tattered remains of his chest at the unbidden thought of Rosslyn’s disdain for his current company, the tight, tiny smirk she would have worn hidden at the corner of her mouth for only him to see. Her face was beginning to blur in his mind, but the reminder only ever added more layers to the pain. The pieces flaked away one after the other like rust on a forgotten monument – the sound of her laugh, her scent, the exact shade of her eyes – and every time he noticed another detail by its absence he found himself dragged back to the ruins of Ostagar, staring across the precipice into the void all over again.

Dwelling on his loss amidst the glamour of the Orlesian court would not be wise, however, so he shook himself into courtesy as he followed along after Élodie, smiled at every breezed introduction, and let himself slip into the easy gentility that had so far served him well as king. The meandering currents of conversation carried both him and Fergus at a steady pace to the other side of the vaulted entrance hall, where his left-hand waited for them.

“Ah, there’s my favouritest sneaky person in the world,” he called out when he got close enough for his voice to carry. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

Leliana’s red hair flashed like a beacon as she turned towards him. Unlike Ferelden’s ambassador, she carried her mask on a stick in her gloved hands, and she twirled it up to cover the purse of her smile as she answered. “Your Majesty – Your Lordship. This is a grand assembly tonight, no? Little compares to the full splendour of the Winter Palace.”

“At least not in the way of architecture,” he answered genially. To be polite, he let his gaze wander the rows of gilt pillars with their garlands of blush-roses, the delicate silk streamers hanging from the crystal chandelier. Even more than Élodie, who was Orlesian by birth, Leliana fit in with the glitter, the jewels and the compliments that cut sharper than daggers, and put together, the two of them made a formidable team.

Especially when they joined forces against him.

“Your Majesty, if you will permit me, may I present Lady Ellana Pontival, younger sister to Vicomte Tremane Pontival, and Lady Cassandra Pentaghast, seventy-eighth in line for the throne of Nevarra and the Right-Hand of the Most Holy Divine Beatrix.”

Turning his gaze to the two women, Alistair dipped his head in a customary greeting. If Leliana had set out to find the two most contrasted people in the room, then she had probably succeeded; where one lady seemed about to drown in her layers of ruffled lace and pastel silks, the other cut an austere, imposing figure in the formal uniform of a Seeker of Truth, and like the Fereldans, she went unmasked. The ever-watchful Eye of the Maker, cut through with the Sword of Mercy, peered out from a pin clasped to her shoulder, a sullen reminder that if things had been different, the King of Ferelden would have ended up a templar instead.

“With so many connections, you must be used to parties like this,” he tried. The Seeker held herself with the economy of a soldier at ease, but the pinpoint of her onyx gaze made him itch.

“Hardly,” she said, in low, rich tones. “I am here at the request of Most Holy, who appreciates the unprecedented nature of this gathering. I myself am used to less… lavish surroundings.”

“But how do you find it so far, Majesté?” interrupted Lady Ellana. “Do you find it pleasing?”

He decided not to remark on the breathy quality to her voice, nor the sidelong way she was looking at him, and shrugged. “That would depend on whether we’ll soon have any sign of those – what are they called – cannapays?”

Leliana chuckled. “I’m afraid Your Majesty’s appetite will have to be content for now.”

“I’ve never known a society where it was considered polite not to feed your guests.”

“If one is full of too much heavy food, one cannot properly enjoy the dancing,” Élodie chided, laying a hand on his arm and less amused than her counterpart at his deliberate butchery of her native language.

“Ah.” He suppressed a grimace. “Yes. That.”

The indomitable Lady Ellana pressed forward with a flutter of her eyelashes. “Are you presently engaged, Majesté? For the first dance, I mean.”

Mostly to avoid meeting Fergus’ eye, Alistair cast his gaze out over the crowd. “Oh I’m sure someone has spoken for me.”

“I myself love nothing so much as dancing – and the waltz especially.” An elegant hand rose to cover a laugh. “So charming, yet so daring, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’ll take your word for it, my lady,” he replied with a forced smile. “It’s not one of my preferred pastimes.” The last time he had danced, it had been his wedding day. If he had known –

Lady Ellana gasped. “How tragic! That truly is a shame.”

The Seeker’s mouth twitched.

“I understand your ascension to society was fairly recent, perhaps you only have yet to acquire a taste for it. Perhaps the right partner –”

“I think it’s more to do with other demands on my time,” he interrupted. “Like keeping my people safe and fed. Besides, I prefer being outside.”

An uncertain silence met his words, discomfort at the bite in his tone that couldn’t be answered without causing a minor diplomatic incident.

Leliana recovered first. “The night is young and His Majesty is fond of modesty. I’m sure he will have time and attention for all those who wish it once his duties to his host are fulfilled.”

“Has Her Radiance arrived yet?” Fergus asked.

With a smile, Leliana nodded and motioned for them to follow her towards the doors of the grand ballroom. Neither she nor Élodie dared break their façades to scold him for being so taciturn, so Alistair pretended not to notice their silent disapproval. The cloying mixture of perfumes and sweat wafting through the hall, the crowd of heat from so many bodies in a confined space, all of it pressed on his already sour mood, and if he had to be rude to get out of an awkward conversation, what did he care? Whispers followed with the eyes on him, words just loud enough to catch his ear before darting back into the throng like birds flitting through a summer hedgerow. The speculative edge to them made him clench his teeth. There were insinuations, appraisals and judgements, musings on his preference for comme les chiens before the words dissolved every time into peals of muffled laughter.

“It’s almost enough to make a man jealous,” Fergus huffed at his side. “They didn’t even look at me. Not one pitying glance.” Time had healed most of the injuries he had taken in the months as Howe’s prisoner during the war, but some of the damage had been too much and too long neglected for even magic to fix; his cane tapped along the polished floor with every other step.

“How about next time I hide behind you?” Alistair asked. “You can do all the talking and I’ll stand and look aloof and interesting.”

“You just want an excuse to – what is it?”

He sensed a change in pressure in the eyes on him, an intensity of regard that set itself apart from that of the fawning mass seeking his attention. After almost two years on the throne, the concept of assassinations wasn’t entirely foreign, but as he watched Morrence scan the room he saw no sudden rise in tension to say she had spotted any maniacs with giant weapons about to pounce. A shadow did perhaps flash on the edge of his vision, but as he turned it was lost among the sea of faces waiting for acquaintances, for their turn to be announced, or for their own glimpse at dog-lord royalty.

He put the feeling from his mind. Empress Celene, resplendent in the purple and gold of House Valmont, stood at the far end of the ballroom above the sunken dancefloor and watched the obeisance of the people being announced, in the same way a fisher might wait with their spear poised to strike at a promising target. Already, dozens of couples mingled beneath the bright beeswax candles staving off the autumn dark outside, their fans held up to conceal the judgements passed on every newcomer.

When Alistair’s own turn to pace the length of the gauntlet came after a few moments of waiting, she smiled behind her mask and floated down the steps to meet him on an equal level, which only meant he got to see the avaricious gleam in her eye up close as she held out her hand. As he bent his head over it, he wondered if the look was meant to be alluring, but her fingers were cool and fine-boned under his, lacking callouses from swordwork, and the only thought that ran through his mind was that even when warmed by the fire a stone remained a stone.

“Majesté,” she crooned in delicately accented Common. “Be welcome. This meeting has been long anticipated.”

He had practiced his response for an hour in the mirror. “Thank you, Radiance. It is my hope that this moment can be the first step towards a better accord between our two nations.”

“It is ours as well. Please, join us in the gallery.” She turned. “And when the dancing starts, might we suggest the company of one of our ladies-in-waiting? They are all very accomplished dancers.”

“Uh…” He risked tripping over the considerable hem of Celene’s gown to a glance upward, to where three women of equal height watched the two of them from behind identical golden masks set with amethysts.

“Is this surprise?” the empress asked him, and laughed. “How very forward to expect a more prestigious partner so early in the evening. It seems the manners of Ferelden and Orlais have yet to fully understand one another.”

“Isn’t that why we’re both here?” he replied. “Though I have to confess, my mind wandered from the thought of dancing.”

“Oh? And where did it wander to?”

He nodded to the three attendants waiting at the top of the stairs. “It must get awkward on name-days if you can’t tell them apart.”

For the next half an hour, guests continued to trickle in as the mixed company watched from above, the steady ream of announcements and introductions keeping the threat of dancing at bay, and each name was accompanied by a whispered summary of all the associated scandals recounted by the waiting-women at Alistair’s side. He found their sameness disconcerting, as if at any moment they might steal away his mask and then ask which of them was hiding it under their skirts like a bait-and-switch scam in the marketplace.

When the castellan finally folded away his list of names and bowed an exit, the closest of Celene’s women reached up with a smile as thick and false as her makeup. “There is still some time until the dancing begins, Majesté – would you like to take a turn through the rest of the rooms while we wait?”

“Why not?” He forced a smile of his own. “Where do you think we should start?”

“Perhaps the long hall?” She began to steer him away from the rest of the party. “There are so many people you should meet!”

Before he could be disappeared entirely, he cleared his throat and called over his shoulder to Élodie. “We’ve been offered a tour of this fabulous palace,” he explained. “I don’t think we should miss it.”

“I am at Your Majesty’s disposal,” the ambassador replied, and stepped up to his other side

The tour turned out to be less a way to introduce him to Orlais’ finest and more a way to show him off as an accessory. With both Morrence and Élodie as chaperones to shield him from the worst of their dainty manners, he managed to stumble through pleasantries and inane topics of conversation, and even gave his opinion on Grand Duke Gaspard’s mission to quell giants in the Deauvin Flats without tying his tongue in any knots. He told bad jokes and people tittered behind their hands. In one room he was drawn into speculation about the merits of breeding nugs.

And throughout it all, the weight of the same mysterious scrutiny from before itched across his shoulders, making his clothes too tight, too coarse against his skin. Somebody watched him, or else he was in the first stages of some illness. In a move disguised as a readjustment of the faded leather bracers at his wrists, he checked the pair of daggers hidden in his sleeves, and then eyed the extra sword buckled at Morrence’s waist. Being his bodyguard permitted her to carry weapons where he could not, but he rarely went unarmed himself and the idea of being completely defenceless struck him as foolish – and so, the compromise, with the strict understanding that Maric’s runed blade would stay sheathed except in direst need.

The feeling followed him back to the dancefloor as the castellan announced the first cotillion and a charming smile appeared before him, attached to a name and a title that he forgot instantly. When the first notes cascaded down from the court musicians he took his partner’s hand and fell into the steps to distract from his unease, the beats f the dance like the repetitions of a battle drill that kept him turning, and facing, and weaving through the room. And then the music ended. Someone thrust another woman into his path, and then another, until he was breathless and overheated from the exercise, and relieved that he had yet to trip over his own feet.

In a pause between the sets, he tried to catch Leliana’s eye in the gallery above to ask to be rescued before he could be forced towards a refreshments table. To his dismay, she was too intent on the crowd to notice, watching for advantage or threat so that he could make a show of festive enjoyment – no easy feat considering how the entire room was staring at him.

No, not the entire room.

There. The flash of shadow that had followed him all night resolved itself into a woman who turned her face away from him as soon as their gazes met. Pearls were pinned in her dark hair, and the silk of her gown flashed with the violet-green iridescence of starling feathers, dazzling enough that Alistair wondered how he had missed it before. She retreated up the stairs, trying all too hard to disappear into the crowd in a manner that deliberately kept him out of her line of sight.

“Majesté?”

His current partner had noticed his distraction. He smiled down at her, but like the needle of a compass his gaze swung back to the strange woman, whose exit had been waylaid by a man with a shock of thin, greying hair poking out from under his yellow chevalier’s feather. He bowed over the Starling’s hand, boorish and insipid, and through her reluctance she cast her gaze around the room as if seeking an excuse. Her eyes lit on Alistair again, before skittering away up to the ceiling when she caught him looking.

Gotcha.

“Will you excuse me, my lady?” he begged of the young woman on his arm. “I have to talk to my advisor. You there, Ser! I’m afraid this beauty has been bereft of a partner, if you’ll oblige me? Thank you.”

He forgot the girl as soon as he handed her off. The music started. Leliana, noticing his approach up the stairs, nodded and plucked a glass of Antivan white from the tray of a passing server, handing it to him with a subtle gesture that let him sidle close enough to not be overhead.

“Have you seen her?” he asked.

“The woman in the dark colours?” She tilted her head in amusement. “Of course. She has been watching you, and does not care for the crowd flowing around her. She knows how to walk through a room of nobles but subterfuge is not her strength. And yet… there is something familiar about her. It worries me.”

For a moment, they watched from their vantage point in the gallery. The Starling moved through the room with grace enough to catch the eye, but with too much economy to fit in with the flounces of the rest of the dancers, the poise of a warrior more than a courtier. Still, the patience with which she dealt with her partner had to be admired. Alistair winced every time the old boor overstepped the bounds of propriety to tread on her toes; part of him wanted to step in between them and pull her from the line, if only to save her feet from bruising, but the strange urge didn’t stop him noticing how she cast her gaze to every corner of her room to avoid the man in front of her – every corner, except the place where he himself was standing.

“Find out who she is,” he grunted to Leliana, and pushed away from the rail.

Momentarily freed of his obligations in the dancing, he wound his way through the press of nobles, exchanging pleasantries, until he spotted Fergus resting his legs in one of the gilt-backed chairs that had been set at the edges of the room and made for him, worried about the guarded expression on his friend’s face. The reason for the scowl became apparent when the couple standing between them turned and stopped Alistair dead in his tracks.

“Ah – Your Majesty, it is good to see you. You’re looking well.” Eamon, the former Arl of Redcliffe, straightened from his bow as if the man he was addressing hadn’t been instrumental in his exile from Ferelden over two years before. He wore a mask like an Orlesian, with only the grey trim of his beard visible beneath its swirling, enamelled lines. On his arm, the once-Arlessa Isolde wore one almost identical, save for the extra decoration of feathers around the rim.

“What are you doing here?” Alistair blurted.

“We are guests of Her Radiance, of course,” Eamon replied with a blink. “I can see time has not been generous in your perspective towards me, but I would not quarrel with you here and mar Ferelden’s standing.” He swallowed. “Though it is late to say it, please accept my condolences for your loss.”

“Condolences?” Anger coiled in Alistair’s gut, kept at bay only by the interested stares of the people around him. Eamon had done his best to make sure he and Rosslyn were separated – had nearly succeeded – and now he dared to offer remorse?

“How are you enjoying Orlais, Your Majesty?” Isolde asked before he could storm away and blow all their diplomatic efforts.

“The weather’s nice. Please excuse me.”

Below them, the dance finished. Leliana slipped into the dispersing crowd with the ease of a master and cut the Starling from the crowd like a shepherd singling out a ram. Fergus joined him as he leaned over the rail to watch their conversation, Eamon and Isolde already forgotten, and caught the direction of his gaze.

“Has someone caught your eye?” he asked.

“No.” Alistair waved a hand. “No, it’s not like that.”

The Starling was turned away from Leliana, shrinking back as if to avoid a blow, but his left-hand could not be outmatched so easily and peered closer nonetheless. And then she drew back. Her mask flicked up with a twitch of her wrist to fully cover her face, and the Starling reached out for her elbow in an urgent gesture that conveyed as much familiarity as alarm. They knew each other. The words that passed between them were too far away to hear. Leliana paused, then nodded, and together the two of them retreated from the bright lights of the dancefloor into the shadows at the furthest corner of the room.

Fergus noticed. “Well that was strange.”

“I don’t like it. Will you be alright here?”

“For now.” He shrugged. “Holding court in the corner holds much more appeal than sweating about with people I don’t care for. A younger version of me might have tried to forget myself in one of these pretty smiles, but now…” The liquid in his glass caught the light as he tilted it for inspection.

“It’s not so easy,” Alistair agreed.

He left his friend still contemplating his drink and rounded the gallery with Morrence in tow, not straight for Leliana but angling for Élodie, who had taken up entertaining the delegates from Ostwick and made a nice middle ground. He barely registered the answers he gave to their polite enquiries as he approached. The Starling had disappeared and Leliana was wending her way towards one of the quieter hallways, where there were balconies with doors that could be minded by one’s guards to glare at any passing eavesdroppers. She flashed him a brief glance and a nod.

He thought quickly, turning to his ambassador.

“My lady, you’re looking a little warm, and I’ve neglected you.” He shot her what he hopes was a winning smile. “I hope you’ll forgive me, you’ve worked so hard, after all. Why don’t we get you some fresh air?”

Élodie frowned at him, but nodded. “Your Majesty is very kind. I am a little flustered, now that you mention it. If you will excuse me, sers.”

Threading her hand through his arm, he hustled her away with as much nonchalance as he could muster, while she, sensing his mood, kept quiet. They met Leliana a few moments later on a trellised balcony overlooking the gardens, or as much as could be seen of them beyond the torchlight.

“Well?” he asked, almost before the door closed behind him.

“Have you two been hatching plans?”

His left-hand let the mask fall from her face, though she kept it close, fidgeting with it. “The lady… presents no danger.”

“Lady?” repeated Élodie.

“There’s no need to look so hopeful.” Alistair rolled his shoulders. “We caught someone acting suspicious. Did you find anything out? You looked like you were surprised when you found out who she was.”

“I… knew her in another life.” Leliana hesitated. “She thanked the King of Ferelden for his regard, but said she would rather not become a spectacle.”

“A disagreement with family, perhaps,” Élodie supplied.

The corner of Leliana’s mouth lifted. “I did not ask.”

Without even waiting long enough for him to draw breath, she bowed and swept back into the hall. He caught sight of Morrence, watching her go with something very like suspicion written in her features, but the expression flickered back into a blank before he could be certain.

Behind him, Élodie cleared her throat.

“It is a shame this woman is not what you hoped,” she said. “I would see you happy.”

He snorted. “I didn’t hope anything – and I was happy.”

“You could be so again, if you allowed it. You cannot fight your duty forever.”

He bit back the retort squeezing past the sudden lump in his throat. Reminding her that her own husband had died in the siege at South Reach would be rather ungallant, especially considering the genial nature of the evening so far, and he had tried hard to curb the spiteful edge to his temper over the past two years. He wanted to be better. Rosslyn would have wanted him to be better.

As the thought spiralled and led his mind towards the dark precipice that would mean yet another sleepless night, the nature of the sound inside the ballroom changed. The music died away. The thump of the castellan’s staff reached his ears, followed a moment later by the announcement of Celene’s arcane advisor, the mysterious apostate who had managed to charm her way to the centre of the Orlesian court and who now, according to some, whispered spells in the empress’ ear.

“No doubt people will want us introduced,” he muttered.

Élodie nodded. “We should not keep Her Radiance waiting.”

Just inside the doors, however, he stopped. Even from across the room the Starling drew his gaze with the furtiveness of her movements, the deliberate indifference with which she moved against the flow of people, and his patience ebbed.

He touched Morrence’s elbow, leaning close. “Do you see her?”

“Aye. I want a chat with that one.”

“Get her out to the terrace garden and make sure she’s alone. Hopefully it’s cold enough outside that any interested bystanders will be discouraged.” He sighed. “I’ll get away as soon as I can.”

“I shouldn’t leave your side. The danger to you –”

“What if she’s a danger?” he pressed. “What if Leliana’s wrong? Something is going on here, and I won’t be kept beyond the chain – or don’t you think she was acting strangely before?”

At that, his right-hand let slip a curse. “I’d still be leaving you in a nest of snakes.”

“I’ll be alright.” The hilts of his concealed daggers sat snug against his wrists.

“Fine – but if you die, I get to kill you for it.”

Nobody commented on his lack of a bodyguard when he once more joined Celene and her waiting-women at the head of the room. Morrigan, her advisor, spoke Common like a Fereldan, but she had clearly spent enough time in Orlais to learn the dismissive nature of their manners. For a long moment, Alistair was distracted by a nagging familiarity he could not place, until the witch rose from her curtsey and turned a pair of piercing yellow eyes on him. The breath stopped in his lungs. His hands clenched into fists. Even the smirk was recognisable, catlike and secretive, and the instant it appeared he was shunted back to a campfire in a glade under a star-strewn sky, and mocking laughter in his ears.

“You’re Flemeth’s daughter,” he said.

The smile froze. “I did hear you encountered my mother – during the war, was it not? What did she tell you of me?”

“Only that you didn’t like living in the Korcari Wilds.”

“She resented my wanting to make something of myself outside of her influence.” She drew herself up for better display of her plum-red gown, the gold links around her throat. “And now here I am.”

“I can see the appeal,” he offered, to laughs from those gathered around them.

Celene clapped her hands. “Ah, this is delightful. You must have many things to talk about, given you share a homeland.” Her head dipped in what Alistair presumed was amusement. “Though we must ask that Your Majesty does not steal her away from us! No promises of Ferelden’s new leniency towards mages, if you please.”

He made sure to chuckle along, schooling himself not to look round to see whether Morrence had caught the Starling yet. All he could do was wait for a break in conversation and make excuses to be allowed away for some air.

When his chance finally came, a brief interlude during an influx of new people wanting introductions, he slipped through the crowd and met his right-hand at the door to the terrace. The fresh, cold scent of the night washed in, frost and damp earth, and beyond the lighted windows a dark figure stood at the balustrade that separated the garden from the sheer drop to the ground below.

“She’s waiting for you,” Morrence said.

“Any trouble?”

“Only until I threatened to draw attention to her,” came the reply. “And she wouldn’t look me in the eye. Good luck.”

He steadied himself with a breath as he stepped into the open air, a pause in which he studied the woman so invested in not being noticed. She faced away from him, hunched over as if still trying to make herself invisible, picked out by a rime of moonlight that glowed in her hair and reflected in the pearl beading on her skirts, rippled along the silk gloves that covered her arms to the elbow. Her head turned as he approached. Breath fogged silver in the night but the tension didn’t leave her shoulders and he felt it draw him along a knife’s edge as he realised too late how it might appear, a king ordering a woman to wait for him beyond earshot. A jab of self-disgust coiled in his stomach.

And yet, like Leliana said, there was something familiar about her.

He cleared his throat, set his hands behind his back. “You won’t come to any harm here, not from me.”

The Starling only flinched further away from him.

“Who are you?”

He waited, patient, until it became clear he wouldn’t simply give up and leave. The Starling’s fists bunched against the stone of the balustrade, and her shoulders heaved with a deep, almost panicky breath.

“Désolée, Majesté, le Marchandesse est –”

“In Orlesian, then,” he answered. “What’s your name?”

She paused. The line of her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m afraid… the only name I can give you is Laurienne, Majesté. Laurienne de Savrenne.”

“Laurienne.” He risked a step closer, and she angled even further away from him, determined to hide her face even behind the mask. “You know, it’s strange – most people here tonight have been falling over themselves trying to catch my attention, but not you. You’ve tried very hard to remain unnoticed, not just by me, but by my guards and entourage as well. Why?”

“I might point out that of all those who wanted the king’s attention, I am the only one to have it bestowed.” She licked her lips. “Perhaps that was my plan.”

The sharp mockery ignited his temper. What was this but yet another sly courtier throwing jests at his expense? All night he had been nice, he had smiled, danced, dressed himself up in pretty words so the nobility would chase him for something he didn’t even want to give, and now he couldn’t even get one straight answer when he asked for it.

“A lot of people think I’m a fool,” he bit out. “It might come in handy sometimes but I assure you I’m smarter than I look, and I don’t appreciate being messed about, especially not after such a long day.”

“I’m…” Was that a fraction of a move towards him? Her head dipped towards her hands, and her eyes pressed shut. “I’m not here under my own power. In truth, Majesté, my debtor bid me come, but did not say you would be here as well.” A distinct note of bitterness entered her voice. “No doubt the thought of us meeting amused her.”

“Do you know me?” he asked.

She fell utterly still. “Do you know me?”

“Are you an assassin?”

“No.”

“But you are hiding something.”

At that, she scoffed, and again that frustrating tingle of familiarity, though it was gone too quickly for him to examine. “We are in Orlais, are we not? Everyone is hiding something. I am no different to any other noblewoman, we are all the same. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His heart stuttered. His mind conjured a sweep of raven hair, the scent of jasmine, warm lips soft against his. “There are exceptions.”

“Is it the exception you were trying to find tonight?” The Starling’s tone rang cold. “All evening you have danced with one after another and tossed them aside afterwards like a wine-taster who finishes his sip and spits the rest away. How delightful the passage of your days must be to never want for such company.”

“How dare you.” He stepped closer. “What do you know about what my days are like – or what it’s like being passed around by all those magpies in there who only care about the shiny crown I could get for them? It’s all, ‘remember it’s your duty, Alistair’ and ‘just pick one and get it over with’. If I could even have one night where I could complain about it, or – or say no – that would be something, but everyone seems to think I should be flattered by all those people pawing at me and never giving me a moment to myself!”

He paused for breath. The tirade had winded him, as much for the emotion it let loose as for the wild gestures flung out with the words. The Starling had remained still, taking the onslaught like a tree against a howling wind, though now only fatigue was left in him she shrank as if he’d struck her a physical blow.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, horrified. “I wasn’t angry at you, it’s just…” What words could he say? “I wouldn’t expect you to understand – but don’t worry. You can go. Do as you wish, my guard won’t detain you any further.”

Still she didn’t move. Cursing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed back the lump in his throat as he turned for the door. He needed sleep, he needed –

“I understand better than you would think.”

Her voice. Common, not Orlesian. The quiet servility deepened into a clarion note – it stirred his heart from its withered slumber, called it like a dog to heel. Her voice. With pulse thundering, with hope and disbelief and horror wadded into a tight ball in his throat, he looked back.

The Starling no longer shrank into herself but stood tall in defiance of the cold, her shoulders thrown back, chin lifted, in the attitude of a general. He drank in the arch of her throat, the pale skin that gleamed like marble under Satina’s light, the shine of raven-black hair gathered in an Orlesian knot at the back of her head, all details he had ignored before because it was impossible. When he didn’t move, her head tilted, and he recognised the sorrow in the gesture, the self-deprecation in the curve of her mouth.

“The man I love is at this ball tonight,” she told him. “He’s the centre of attention, but I’ve had to watch and do nothing while everyone covets what I cannot touch.”

Her voice.

“Why not?” His tongue fumbled the words through the fog in his brain, the steps he took back towards her shaky and numb, desperate, his chest constricted trying to hold his breath in case it broke the spell somehow cast around him. “Why hide?”

“I owe a debt. Until it’s paid, I can’t – my life is not my own and I have to pay it back. Besides,” she added, with a new wobble in her voice, “what would I say? He – everyone thinks I’m dead.”

They stood so close now he could have reached out to touch her hand, but he hesitated, worried that that, at last, would make her disappear and prove him mad. She was shaking; her fingers had raked lines in the frost on the stone as she clenched them into fists.

“But you’re not dead. You’re –”

Their breath mingled heavy under the moonlight as he leaned in, his hand braving night-chilled skin where her glove had fallen to her wrist, and finally she turned into him, drawn, like him, and while he closed his eyes seeking in vain for the familiar scent of jasmine and sweetgrass, the weight under his fingertips and the stulted breath that left her lips made her solid, and all that was left was to beg her to say something, to let him hear her voice again.

“I was afraid you’d forgotten me,” came the whisper, so full of doubt.

“Never –” He caught the side of her face, pressed a kiss to her temple though the rim of her mask cut into his lips. “Never.”

“I – I thought you’d hate me.”

The absurdity of it made him giggle even as he shook his head in denial. He stroked her hair. Kissed her again. And then, because it was too much to have such certainty without proof he pulled back, searching for the ribbons that secured her mask in place, her pulse flying under his fingers as he worked at the knots. When the mask finally came free, he pushed it up over her forehead – and found himself looking down into a pair of eyes that were the grey of cracked ice on a winter sea.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #alistair theirin #king alistair #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #f!cousland #cousland #rosslyn cousland #queen cousland #the falcon and the rose #the mysterious falcon sequel #smoke and mirrors #guys it's happening

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sunnysidekit · 3 years

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Summary: All is fair in love and war. And boxing, too, apparently.

Pairing: Ben ‘Benny’ Miller x F!Reader (no y/n, reader’s boxing nickname is ‘Nyx’)

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence.

Word count: 2.2k

My masterlist

Everyone likes a good mystery. Don’t even try to deny it; whether you like Sherlock Holmes or if you’re more of an Agatha Christie fan, none of us can really escape the allure of a good conundrum every now and again. Some people can stare in the face of their mystery and not recognize it for quite some time, while others can practically smell them from a mile away. Ben Miller is part of, well, both groups.

Personally, he likes mysteries and surprises and such, but his army days have taught him all of those are a bad thing. A mission can collapse after the smallest detail changes, after all. Sometimes those missions are called off; other than the fact that he can’t do his job when that happens, he’s not really bothered by it. But when something catches him and his team by surprise during a mission and they have to get on with it anyway, things tend to… let’s say, not end well for everyone. And that’s gently put, of course.

Which is why when he’s at home between deployments, he likes his simple habits. They provide joy and adrenaline, and boy does he need both to function well. One of those habits is boxing. He likes it because of its simplicity; you punch your opponent, they punch you back, and so on and so forth until one of you stops. He’s good at it, too. Will always says that’s because he practiced a lot on him when they were younger. Ben says he’s the one with the good genes. Their mother was a fighter, too, after all.

The other reason he likes boxing is because your opponents always try to surprise you with a little mystery move. It’s fun for him to figure out how to respond in a split second, and the rush he gets when he does so successfully is almost unparalleled. Today, though, the only real surprise is the sudden appearance of his very own mystery. And, hey, you might know where this one’s going: it appears in the shape of a woman…

Benny whoops when he kicks open the door to his old high school gym’s changing room, but it sounds a bit less enthusiastic than it did after his last match. He knew he should have listened to Will and gone somewhere, anywhere else than back to Red Feather Lakes, but he’s not about to mention it when he can already imagine the smug grin spreading across his brother’s face.

He won, that’s what counts. And it’s not that bad to have done so after what is sure to be America’s easiest boxing match. That just means he’s good at it. The crowd went just as wild as it usually does, even though there were significantly less attendants than two weeks ago. Somehow, none of the arguments he tells himself really convinces him.

“All right!” Catfish says triumphantly from behind him. “Looks like all that training paid off, didn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Benny trails off as his slightly blurry vision comes back into focus. There’s someone sitting on one of the benches, someone he doesn’t know. It’s a woman; her aura tells him she’s all business, but her clothes tell him she also definitely plays. “Who’re you?”

The woman doesn’t respond immediately; only after half a minute of casually typing away on her phone does she look up and meet his eye. “Name’s Val,” she says, her facial expression one he can’t quite place. “And I’m about to ask you something you won’t be able to ignore.”

It’s important to notice that Benny isn’t particularly patient in his post-fight high, something Frankie knows very well. He becomes a bomb of electric energy that, once set off, won’t stop until every single muscle in his body gives out. And he’s about to be set off.

“Val, is it?” Frankie smiles at the woman, swiftly moving his friend to the showers. “Why don’t we talk while he cools down, hm?”

“You’re not the one I want to ask a question,” she says calmly, not taking her eyes off Benny. “You’re a Delta boy, aren’t you? I can see it in the way you fight. It takes regular boxers years to develop such a sensitive, quick response capability.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And that makes me think that oaf out there’s a long way from even thinking of acquiring your skillset. It’s impressive how easily you had him on the mat.”

“Ma’am, if you want an autograph-” Frankie tries, sensing the ticking time-bomb next to him is about to blow, but Val immediately interjects.

“Which is precisely what caught my eye. These men are no challenge for you anymore, but I think I know someone who could be. Should you accept their invitation, that is.”

“Do I know him?” Benny narrows his eyes at her, trying by god to figure out her angle in all of this. She smirks and closes her eyes a few seconds longer than a normal blink would take; touchy subject, maybe? Or perhaps he’s right and he has seen the guy before.

“You might have seen them around, sure. But I doubt you’d remember them.”

“So, what? I say yes and I’ll fight your friend here next week or something?” Benny snatches his towel from his bag and snaps it against the wall in annoyance.

“I’m afraid my friend’s a little more… complex than that, Mr. Miller.”

“Hey, uh, no thanks,” Frankie cuts in, waving his hands as if to dissipate the words in the air. “He doesn’t do illegal fights.”

“He’d have plausible deniability,” Val says with a slight tilt of her head, then turns back to face Benny and hands him a business card. "Anyway, the choice is yours, Mr. Miller, not your friend’s. I don’t need an answer right now. Do take your time to think it over, sleep on it a bit. Once you’re a little more comfortable with the idea, give this number a call. I’ve got a feeling they’d very much like to bruise that pretty face of yours until it looks like a Monet.”

She gets up from the bench and walks out of the changing room without looking back. Benny slips the business card into his jacket pocket, something that catches Frankie’s attention.

“Don’t do it, Ben,” he sighs. “I’m serious. You could get arrested, get your ass thrown in jail. You’ll get kicked out of the army.”

“Stop whining, Fish. I’m not gonna do it anyway.”

Despite explicitly telling Frankie he wouldn’t do it, here he is, standing outside his local gym with his phone in one hand and the curious looking business card in the other. There’s not a lot of info on it, but, hey, what did he expect? That an illegal streetfighter would publish their own name, address and contact info on a bunch of business cards?

There are only two things printed on the grey little card: Nyx, which must be the fighter’s nickname or something, and a phone number. It’s been in his jacket pocket ever since he left his old high school, but it felt like it’s been burning a hole in it the entire time. It’s exactly as Val said it would be. He can’t get her proposition out of his mind, no matter how hard he tries.

She’s right about the competition. They’re no match for him, not the ones here in Red Feather Lakes. And, sure, he could always just sign up for something three towns over, but it wouldn’t matter much. How she found out he’s in the Delta Force is beyond him, though. It’s policy not to broadcast such a position if you want to stay in it. Maybe she has connections in the army…

That’s another thing; his place in the army. It would be gone as soon as he gets caught, and it’s not like he’s got great job prospects waiting for him back home when all he’s done for the past ten years is train to get where he is now. No college degree, no other jobs to list on his resume, no wealthy parents to fall back on… His whole life would go up in smoke.

But it does entice him. He technically does illegal things for his job all the time, and the matches he engages in when he has some down time aren’t really scratching that one particular itch anymore. Let’s face it: one phone call can’t hurt, right? He can still refuse, say no, put his foot down. Maybe even convince this guy to go legit.

He pushes the little green receiver on the screen, then puts his phone to his ear. The dial tone beeps three times before someone picks up. He opens his mouth to say something, but the person on the other side is quicker.

“Ben Miller, I presume?” It’s… a woman. But not Val. “Val told me you’d be giving me a call.”

“And you’re…” he quickly flips over the card just to be sure, “…Nyx, then?”

“Got it in one. I do so hate it when Val forgets to mention my name in the initial interview.”

Benny huffs out a confused laugh. “Interview?”

“You aced it, by the way. Not saying too much is best when talking with my… let’s call her my associate,” the woman says. Her voice is softer than Val’s, and a lot smoother. It sounds like what taking a sip of hot chocolate feels like. “Shall we get on with it and discuss the rules of this little arrangement?”

“I don’t-- rules? I haven’t even given you an answer.”

“Oh, don’t fool yourself into thinking you’ve got any restraint left,” she chuckles. “You want to tell me you called just to say hello to a total stranger?”

“No, but-” Benny splutters, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Then your answer, even if you haven’t given it to me yet, is as clear as the Pope’s Holy Water. Now then, the rules. In order to keep you in the warm, sunny, light side of the law, I’ll arrange a time and place. All you have to do is show up.”

He can’t help but grin. She’s clearly on top of this whole cloak and dagger operation, that much he can tell. Who she is, though, he can’t say. Not yet. Maybe he’ll recognize her when he sees her. “What about my gear?”

“Do take it with you, please. I’m not a charity, giving away free gear to any John, Charles or Mary.”

“All right,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Anything else?”

“Val will pick you up and get you back home safely, so don’t worry about the whole transport situation.”

“This doesn’t sound very... safe. I mean, you do realize this sounds a lot like kidnapping, right? Or murder, or something like that?”

The woman laughs. It sounds like the melody to a song he knows but has never heard at the same time. It’s the kind of laugh that makes everyone around laugh as well. “Why would I tell you all this and then still proceed with it if my intent was malicious? You can easily call the cops and have my dear Val arrested for whatever crime you think me capable of, and that wouldn’t be very good for my business.”

“Fair enough.”

“Speaking of Val, she’ll pick you up next Wednesday at nine.”

Benny kicks a piece of gravel onto the street next to him and swallows away the last of his pride and dignity. “All right, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Good lord, I can’t believe Val forgot to tell you that, too,” she laughs again, then clears her throat and continues a lot more seriously. “I only dance in the dark. Have a good night, Mr. Miller.”

Usually, waiting takes ages, but not this time. For Benny the rest of the week practically flew by him and before he knows it, it’s already Wednesday. He went training with Frankie just like any other week, only this time he accidentally forgot to mention his fight with Nyx. He told himself that the less people know about his, uh, date, the better, but he also knows Frankie would have immediately pulled the plug.

Val arrives at nine o’clock sharp in the front seat of a cab, which is no surprise. The drive that follows doesn’t take very long; he also isn’t blindfolded or anything like they do in the movies. The car stops in front of an old warehouse in the east side of town, and that’s when Val turns around in her seat and very concisely tells him to get his ass out of her cab himself, since she’s not going to hold open the door for him.

Instead of driving off, Val simply pulls the keys from the ignition and tosses them to him, calling it his ‘insurance policy’. Then she waves her hand as if to tell him to hurry up and get inside, which he promptly does.

Well, that whole dancing in the dark reference seems to have been meant literally; as soon as the warehouse door closes behind him, an inky, suffocating darkness envelopes Benny and makes a shiver run up and down his spine. He takes a few tentative steps, holding out his arms and moving them around to make sure he doesn’t hit anything while he walks.

Suddenly, a voice calls out to him from a bit further into the sole, big room this warehouse seems to consist of.

“Good evening, Mr. Miller. Let’s get swinging, shall we?”

A/N: Hey there, you made it to the end! Thanks for reading through the whole thing, I hope you liked it. If you’ve got any suggestions or spotted a mistake or two, don’t hesitate to tell me so that I might fix it. I hope you’ll stick around for round two!

#ben miller x you #ben miller x y/n #ben miller x reader #benny miller #frankie morales #triple frontier #garrett hedlund #garrett hedlund fic #garrett hedlund fanfic #my writing

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eyayah-oya · 3 years

Note

Are you taking request if so can you do a tup Wooley and Comet one where someone is flirting with tup and he oblivious to it while Comet and Wooley are slowly getting jealous and possessive and it leads to Comet and Wooely showing the person that Tup is theirs only??????

Thank you so much for this request!!! I am absolutely taking requests, and I'm so glad you asked for these three.

I adore Tup/Wooley/Comet and I'm glad that they're gaining more momentum! They're absolutely delightful to write, and I hope you enjoy this one-shot, Fay!

(yes the retail worker doesn't really get a name mainly because Comet is being petty and doesn't care enough to remember)

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

It was a novelty to have credits to be able to spend. So was the idea that all of the clones were now officially citizens of the United Galactic Republic. But above everything else, the thing Comet still couldn’t get used to was the way other beings actually respected them. There was a shift in attitude almost overnight after they were given their rights and citizenship by the Elected Board of Governors that now presided over the Senate instead of a Chancellor.

It was rare to need to add a name to their Remembrances when a brother was murdered, whereas before, there were multiple deaths a day due to civilian antagonism. They were allowed to shop wherever they wanted, and they no longer had to hurry through dark streets with their friends, praying that they wouldn’t be spotted. It still startled Comet when someone addressed him or showed him any kindness.

Which was probably why Tup hadn’t realized that the sales associate had been flirting with him for the last half hour as he tried on various clothes that caught his eye. She had been getting more and more blatant the longer Tup ignored her, and Comet was getting a little annoyed at the whole thing. Wooley had wandered over to the scarves ten minutes ago, looking over the thin, soft material that came in all shades of color, but Comet kept closer to Tup, just in case.

“You should try these pants on next. They’re all the rage and I just know they’ll look fantastic on you. Also, easy to put on or take off in a hurry,” the associate said with a wink.

Comet very carefully didn’t tense or growl, but he desperately wanted to. Or maybe walk up and kiss Tup until the associate—Sari or Sani or Sahi or something like that—got the message that Tup wasn’t looking for another partner.

“What do you think, Comet?” Tup asked, holding up the glittering gold pants and frowning slightly. “I feel like these are something Commander Ponds would like to wear.”

“Gold is considered very fashionable right now,” Sati said. Or maybe it was Tasi. “Especially with some of you clones walking around with golden tattoos. Everyone wants gold now.”

“They do match Wooley’s tattoos,” Comet mused. “He’d definitely look fantastic in them, but I don’t think gold is really your color. Unless it’s Wooley that puts it on you.”

Tup considered his reflection for another second and nodded. “Yeah, I think you’re right. I don’t think I could pull off gold like I can blue. Or maybe pink.”

Comet grinned at the memory of the last time Tup had worn pink. Someone had protested how bright the color was and ended up with a bucket of paint the exact same shade poured over their head. “Do you think Senator Amidala would wear a matching pair with you if you asked?” Comet suggested.

“Oh, definitely. I’m her favorite babysitter besides Rex and Kix, and I know she loves all the fun clothes I find. She’s the one that gave me this shirt, you know.” Tup plucked at the wide-necked blouse that bared his shoulders and had sleeves down to his wrist. It was a really pretty purple color, closer to Marine red than actual purple. And it looked fantastic on him.

“Senator Amidala has fantastic taste in clothing. For the most part. I still don’t understand why she wears those enormous dresses, especially when she’s the target of so many assassination attempts.”

Wooley appeared at Comet’s side, a bag of scarves and what appeared to be earrings and some lipstick on his arm. He’d apparently already bought his finds. “It’s all the weapons,” he said, digging out a lipstick that was a bright metallic gold. “Naboo is well known for their cloak and dagger politics, though I hear the current Queen and Senator Amidala are trying to change that. The Senator has at least two blaster and I don’t even know how many blades hidden in those dresses and hairstyles. I would not want to try to assassinate her.”

Tani cleared her throat. “Umm, right, so the gold pants are a no then?”

“Do you want them, Wooley?” Comet asked.

He tilted his head and squinted at the skin-tight pants for a second. “Nah, I already found some gold things I think you will both enjoy later tonight.” He applied the gold lipstick and rolled his lips together, spreading the color. “How do I look?”

Comet grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. They stayed there for several seconds, and Comet thoroughly enjoyed the slick feeling of the lipstick, even though he knew he was spreading it everywhere on both himself and Wooley. A small price to pay, especially with how gorgeous Wooley looked.

“I’ll take that as “I like it”,” Wooley giggled. He wiped some of the smeared lipstick off of his upper lip and winked at Tup. “It’s flavored. You can have a taste once you figure out what clothes you want to buy.”

Tup grinned. “I’m holding you to that, cyare.”

Comet couldn’t help his feral grin from taking over as he watched Tazi wilt. It seemed like she finally figured out that Tup was not available. He already had partners, and none of them were looking for another beyond the occasional play time with other vod’e.

“If Wooley won’t give you a kiss right now, I can share,” Comet suggested.

“You do have half of his lipstick on you right now,” Tup laughed. “Alright. But you have to tell me if I should go with the black skinny jeans or the white ones.”

“Why not both? I know someone who can make one pair into hotpants,” Comet said just before Tup’s lips connected with his. Comet tangled his fingers into Tup’s hair as Wooley laughed at the sudden flush on Tup’s face and the disappointed huff from Zasi (or whatever her name was).

Peace was nice if it meant Comet could spend an afternoon with his partners, shopping and buying new things that they could actually own. Besides, Tup’s ass looked great in those black skinny jeans.

#clone/clone request #clone/clone #cloneshipping #tup/wooley/comet #clone trooper tup #clone trooper comet #clone trooper wooley #jealousy #post war #no order 66 #just three gorgeous boys #enjoying a day out #also Wooley looks amazing in gold #you can't tell me otherwise

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quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH133

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 133: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XXIII)

Use Countercurrent Sand to reset the cooldown of the S/L Data skill card.

Save and drink the Devil’s blood.

Detonate all miniature bombs.

There was a loud roar as a violent explosion blew the tower deep in the church into ruins.

At the moment the file was loaded, the demon "Depravity" vanished and the resurrected Qi Leren returned to the state of when he had archived. Now he had no longer drunk the blood of the Devil and was still a human being!

His fragile human body appeared in the center of the explosion and was immediately thrown out by the billow of air, fell heavily on the ground, and even rolled several times before stopping.

There were some surface burns, multiple fractures, and countless bruises and contusions, but these injuries couldn't be judged as fatal injuries. There was no second reading of S/L skill and there is still dust and smoke in front of him. Qi Leren coughed in a heartbreaking way, and the blood accumulated in his chest gushed out from his mouth, filling his mouth with the taste of iron.

It hurt so much, it hurt so much, even breathing had become a kind of torture, he felt truly terrible.

At present, his vision was blurred red with hot blood. Qi Lereen used his single intact right hand to hold the dagger, bringing it toward his chest.

This body had lost its combat effectiveness, so he had to load again.

Before the knife's tip could touch his chest it was stopped by an incredible force, and Qi Leren suddenly shivered and looked into the smoking chaos in disbelief.

In the smoke after the explosion, a figure was coming down from the ruined throne.

The dust and smoke gradually dispersed, and the safe and sound devil came to him with elegant steps. He said approvingly: "Perfect acting skills, precise psychological grasp, unexpected attacks, in order to have me lower my guard you even drank the cup of blood... The only regret is that everything you carefully prepared still can't smooth out the distance in strength."

Su He stopped in front of Qi Leren and looked down at him gently and pityingly.

As time went by, Qi Leren’s hand holding the dagger could not move, and the S/L skill’s countdown was running out.

Qi Leren stared at him, but his trembling hand was too late to send the dagger into his heart. The Devil King looked at him with a smile and watched him step into the abyss of despair.

Five seconds, four seconds, three seconds, two seconds, one second... The countdown for the skill’s cooling was 0:59:59

"It seems that time’s up." Seeing the light of hope in Qi Leren's eyes dim, Su He leaned down and gently took the dagger from his hand.

Qi Leren looked at him coldly and he realized that he was about to die. Although Su He's expression was still gentle, his repeated attempts to thwart him had angered him, and the Devil of Fraud refused to accept the worm’s deception.

"Since the save hasn't been loaded it means that your current injuries aren’t fatal, but if just little more is done, you will bid farewell to this world, Leren." Su He played with Qi Leren's dagger and looked at him with a cold smile. "I’m very curious. When you really face the test of death, what will your choice be?"

The sharp point cut his throat and the blood flowed out. This degree of pain was not worth mentioning compared with the current pain all over his body, but Qi Leren knew that this injury would be fatal.

Foaming blood would quickly block the respiratory tract, and it would become more and more difficult for him to breathe. If he was not treated, he would die of suffocation or excessive blood loss in a few minutes.

Su He stood up and put another goblet full of blood a few meters away: "Now, you can choose."

Breathing was difficult. No matter how hard he tried to inhale, it was more and more difficult to get enough oxygen into the trachea blocked by blood foam. Blood was constantly lost, oxygen was constantly decreasing, and his consciousness was becoming blurred.

Death was coming, and Qi Leren almost saw the grim reaper hovering over his head. It held the scythe and raised it high…

He didn't want to die, he didn't want to…

No, he wouldn't die. He had the Easter Egg!

But if he easily gave up struggling and accepted death, would Su He believe it? What would he do if he saw through his fear?

Must... Do it again... Again…

The desire for survival once again surfaced in Qi Leren’s eyes and his vision blurred. He tilted his head and looked at the cup of bright red blood a few meters away. His bloody lips moved slightly, longing…

The Devil King watched with great interest as the dying man ignited the last strength with his will. He rolled over and dragged his body forward with his single intact right hand. He lost more blood. His cut throat and injuries dragged out a shocking trail of blood on the ground, which showed how strong his will to survive was at the moment.

It was only a few meters away, but he’d exhausted all his strength.

By the time he reached his destination, the weak human was already dying. He used the last of his strength to hold the goblet, but his trembling hand kept shaking the scarlet blood in the cup…

He cried, and his broken trachea made his cry like a nightingale's whine, so despairing and pitiful.

The Devil liked this sound, watching a strong soul lose its bottom line and become corrupted and dirty. He was struggling to resist, yet he still succumbed to his own desires.

It really was amusing.

With a clear and crisp sound, the goblet fell heavily at the feet of the Devil King, spilling blood all over the floor.

The Devil King accidentally looked at the dying human being and saw his unyielding eyes. He was speechless as blood seeped out along his throat. He tried to pull up the corners of his mouth, showing him a mocking smile.

-Go away.

He growled silently.

In the blood on the ground, the handsome Devil smiled. "I didn't expect you to really do this for him. Humans are obviously so weak, but they’re always unexpected. This is probably what makes them so interesting."

Qi Leren struggled to roll over and lie on his back on the ruined floor.

His cut trachea was bleeding continuously, and the dying Qi Leren looked at Su He in the distance as Su He looked at him in return. After a moment, he came towards him but stopped in the middle.

"What is it?" Su He said, turning his head.

Within the shadow in the corner, a vague unfamiliar figure appeared and bowed slightly to Su He: "I’ve come to convey my King's instructions, the 'goldfish bowl' has raised an alarm. It’s very likely that it will escape again. Please go back and preside over the overall situation."

"It seems that my holiday is coming to an end." Su He said faintly, "Tell Power for me, I will force myself to leave this task and go back now. By the way, I’m bringing a big gift to her."

The shadow bowed again. The special connection between Devil King and Devil King could not last long in the Holy Nun’s field, and it quickly disappeared silently back into the shadows.

In the cold air, Su He’s deep voice came, mixed with mocking emotion: "...That woman."

Qi Leren could hardly see anything. The cloak of death had covered his eyes, the air was growing colder and colder, the chill slowly rose from the ground, and he was dying.

He heard Su He’s footsteps stop beside him, and then the rustle of fabric. He seemed to squat down and gently parted the hair on his forehead.

"I originally wanted to play with you for a while longer, but unfortunately the game has ended early. Your best friend beat Isabel and is on his way, but calculating the time, he probably won't see you one last time. It’s a pity that I can't see his expression when he gets here," Su He’s gentle voice rang in Qi Leren’s ears as he lay dying.

"For your courage and perseverance, I’ll allow you to rest here." A kiss as light as nothing fell on Qi Leren’s forehead. A farewell kiss.

"Depravity’s appearance was beautiful, but unfortunately, you did not become it after all."

The footsteps of Su He's leisurely departure were getting farther and farther away, disappearing from Qi Leren’s ears.

Qi Leren was dying.

Glad and anxious.

Although his brain had almost stopped running, he still understood the dialogue between Su He and the unknown person. He would hurry to leave here immediately, which meant Ning Zhou was safe.

Great... Great... Really, great.

He could be resurrected in seven days, as long as the news was conveyed to Ning Zhou…

Qi Leren, who had difficulty moving a finger, squeezed out the last strength from his body and wrote a 7 with his bloody finger trembling. He also wanted to write another word, "days", but for all his effort he couldn't make his finger move again.

Qi Le people closed his eyes in exhaustion, his breathing halted, and his consciousness sank into chaos because of lack of oxygen. Even the pain became slow and psychedelic, as if his soul had begun to gradually break away from this scarred body.

He absently thought, there was only the one number, could Ning Zhou understand what he meant?

After 7 days, he could be resurrected in 7 days, just wait for 7 days…

Memories began to flash in his mind like fragments, like film pulled out from a camera, and then suddenly it fixed on a certain one. At that time, he was absent-minded because he was thinking about the task clues, and Su He was explaining the meaning of numbers to Dr. Lu: "Numbers are very interesting in the Nightmare World. Many numbers have special meanings. For example, 4 stands for luck and 7 stands for..."

"I love you."

He’d made an unforgivable mistake.

Qi Leren desperately struggled to keep breathing, but the blood foam stuck in his throat prevented him from inhaling air. He opened his eyes wide and tried to erase the numbers written in blood.

He tried his best to squeeze out the last bit of strength from his nerves, bone marrow, and every organ that was about to stop working, to erase this number, but there was nothing he could do.

He couldn't move, he couldn't move at all.

Tears of remorse flowed out of the corner of his eye and he cried. He hadn’t in the face of the Devil's performance, nor in the face of fear of dying, but now it was really out of control.

This desperate fear even exceeded his fear of death itself and his consciousness that is about to dissipate was shouting, struggling, and repenting. He couldn't imagine, couldn’t bear to think of Ning Zhou seeing this message - this simple number. It could be the last straw to destroy Ning Zhou.

The world slowly sank into the dark abyss of death.

He remembered the difference from a few hours ago. At that time, it was so dark that he had only dared to ask Ning Zhou if he wanted to go with him. His timid heart made him even afraid to wait for Ning Zhou's answer and he’d said goodbye in a hurry. He’d always thought they would meet again, so he said: I'll be back soon, you have to wait for me! You must wait for me!

How naive and how stupidly self-confident in front of reality, fragile and ridiculous, vulnerable.

At the last moment before the collapse of his consciousness, Qi Leren saw the Garden of the Holy Tomb.

At that time, he’d woken up from the stump covered with fallen flowers and followed Dr. Lu to the place where Su He was. As he walked, he’d turned his head and saw Ning Zhou.

He’d stood by the broken tree and looked at him from a distance.

So restrained, so distant, but so gentle, there were too many emotions floating in his blue eyes, just like the sky and the sea that contained everything.

He’d suddenly wanted to ask Ning Zhou, how many times had he looked at him like this? And how many times had he missed returning it?

Ning Zhou was always so lonely and silent. All his pains were buried deep in his own heart, without words.

If he hadn't looked back, he would have never seen such tenderness.

He would never have known how deep this repressed love was.

Just a little bit like infinity.

　　&&&

Through the broken stone columns and countless broken statues, Ning Zhou walked forward without looking away and finally came to the front of the cathedral.

The first half of the church had been seriously damaged, with solemn and historical writing under the starry sky.

Ning Zhou briskly walked to the depths of the hall, looking at the two huge stone doors.

The earth was still shaking and destruction had played the final movement.

Ning Zhou took a deep breath, and his abdominal wound was burning and generally painful. He drew a cross on his chest and then pushed back the stone door.

The huge Maria and the stabbed dragon would have occupied most people's field of vision, but Ning Zhou's line of sight chased the familiar figure lying on the ground amidst a shocking pool of blood.

His heartbeat stops at this moment, and whether heaven or hell, it didn’t exist at this moment.

He didn't know how he came up to him and knelt down there.

Open brown eyes looked ahead emptily, and there were wet tears in the corner of his eyes. His blood-stained fingers were stopped on a reddish-brown number.

At the moment before he died, he was saying—

I love you.

Deep in the dark hall, there came the cry of desperation and collapse. Witnessed by the remains of Holy Nun and the Devil, a devout believer finally admitted his love that was not allowed by his God.

But it was too late. At the moment when he’d received his love, he’d lost him forever.

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The author has something to say:

PS: So, there is no love that can't be achieved through a grand death. If there is, then die again.

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[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

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wannaliveattheholidayinn · 3 years

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Ok, But Seriously, I Have Thoughts

I have... really mixed feelings about this episode, so I'm gonna talk about those feelings. And if my feelings about zep as a show and this season come out during that... so be it. (Seriously, this got long. I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry). Also spoilers for the new ep below the cut, but y'all should've been able to guess that

- I... Zimon seriously deserves just so much better. We saw them as a couple together for three episodes, and they honestly weren't explored enough. Zimon... and this is a very personal opinion, but they really do strike me as a couple who never fully leave the honeymoon phase... like ever. Like, of course, they'll fight and disagree on a lot of things, but they also can have adult children, and just kind of act like newlyweds even if they've been married for over twenty years. And again, I know that's a very personal opinion, but I mean... we all knew c/arkeman was gonna be endgame, and it just feels like zimon was never given an actual chance.

- However, I do very much appreciate that their breakup was not messy, there's still clearly a ton of respect for the other on both of their sides, and that Simon is okay.

- "We didn't belong together." No, you fucking did.

- I am not going to stop writing Zimon fanfic either. In fact, this might spur me to write more and work harder on writing Zimon fanfic.

- Rose. Fucking. Deserves. Better. I'm not even gonna elaborate on this one. We all know it.

- Despite the fact that I fucking hate c/arkeman and that it was very, very rushed... I'm giving acting and singing props to Jane. I Melt With You is a song that's extremely personal to me. It helped get me through a point in my life where... I was constantly feeling at war with others, myself, and even felt unsafe in my own home (something I still feel today, no matter how irrational I know it is). I just generally feel a strong connection to every version of the song bc of that, whether it's the original or the Bowling for Soup cover (that was in Sky High!), and... Jane just has a way of making me feel safe when she sings. So, I really, really loved her cover.

- Um... yeah, I'm gonna be real, I don't like the idea of Max having powers. I don't know, I just think it kinda changes the whole original concept of the show, and I'm not a big fan of that...

- Simon! Simon working on changing SPRQ Point!!!!

- I do not really like how they handled Simon's racial bias/systemic racism in coding storyline *after* episode six (aka it only really being mentioned in passing, not being further explored, etc.), but,,, credits due where it's due I guess? I like how they handled him going to Danny Michael Davis, and how DMD listened.

- Sidenote, I kinda find it weird we as a fandom don't refer to him as Danny... it's Danny Michael Davis, DMD, or fucking Willy Wonka jokes. Makes sense I guess.

- Um... the writing was just... so lazy. Yeah. It's... really sad, I think that the show would've benefitted from even one less ep. But on the other hand... lazy writing is lazy writing.

- I think it would've been better - honestly - if Zoey's feelings of loss hadn't been connected to Max in a romantic way, but in a platonic/familial way. We didn't see a ton of their friendship, and yeah,, I hate Max, but there are a few moments there where you can see a legitimate friendship that's really sweet. I also think if they had maybe explored Zoey's fear of losing Simon as well as Max and centered the finale more on Zoey telling Simon about her power, it would've just been a lot better.

- But... honestly, after I just aired out all my issues with this episode (and the season too kinda),,, I honestly liked it. I hate that Zimon broke up and I just generally hate cl*arkeman but... this ep had some really great moments. Zoey and Mitch were beautiful to see again. Mctobin, Davidemily, and Mo x Perry were all absolutely my favorite parts of the episode. Hell, I'll even admit I... well I don't wanna say laughed considering I was so close to crying, but I let out a weird, breathy noise resembling a laugh when Zoey just blurted out she and Simon had broken up.

I don't want to say it was a bad episode, because I did honestly, enjoy ~parts~ of it... but... it wasn't even that cl/arkeman happened, I knew it would, but how it did... it just honestly (my g.od i need to stop writing that word) seemed like they were trying to kill off or like... fucking quash *any* hope Zimon shippers may have had,,, and the writing was just so fucking lazy, I just...

I started the show after dance one night because my teacher showed us the Help! number bc he was an extra in it. And I had already been intrigued by the few ads I had seen for it. So, my mom and I watched it, and we loved it. So we kept watching. And it was good! It was really good! Sure it could be cheesy, but... that didn't matter. I latched on...

I don't know if, ZEP is gonna get renewed, and if it is, I don't know if I'll watch it if/when it does. I latch on to shows really fucking hard when I do latch on. It's why I keep rewatching The Good Place and why I'll never forgive Freeform/Disney/Marvel for canceling Cloak and Dagger. The way I latch onto things is probably a bit unhealthy. And the fact of the matter is, despite everything, my overwhelming feelings about ZEP are positive. And I latched on. I'd honestly do it all over again.

I have a lot of feelings about this fandom and this show, both positive and negative. Still, I love it. Unconditionally. Ultimately, I don't care if Zoey ends up with Max or Simon (though, seriously, she and Simon are made for each other). It's a good fucking show, ships shouldn't be everything that matters.

I began lurking in this fandom when I was fifteen. I began posting fanfic for it when I was sixteen. I'm almost seventeen now. I was planning to get Tumblr when I was seventeen. I also knew I wouldn't forgive myself if I hadn't made my presence here known if it didn't get renewed.

I want to thank @simon-haynes because, uh, holy fuck, I adore you. Running a blog for fandom is something I couldn't even fathom, especially when a large portion of the fandom doesn't like your ship. I legitimately can't believe you followed me.

Thank you to @jennakang. You are, honestly, one of the best writers I've ever read from. You were so incredibly supportive of my writing on ao3, despite the fact you didn't know who I was, and that really meant the world to me. Thank you so much for your contributions to the fandom. Also, uh, fun fact, I was the anon who, after you expressed the want to write the quarantined Zimon fic, sent in that ask that was like "please do!" and also "hope I'm not being pushy about this". I don't know if you remember that at all, but your response meant the world to me.

And uh, lastly @myheartissetinmotion. Um, wow. I know we barely know each other, but I can honestly say, you have been my anchor for this whole show. I love both your Tori content on TikTok as well as just zep content you do on there, and how you wrote her into zep on ao3. I personally like to think of you as the pioneer of Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist Tok. You were pretty unbiased when it came to ships on there, and that made me feel safe in a place where there were virtually no zimon shippers. Your content was funny, and I always found myself laughing or screaming "accurate" at it. I know, I'm the nuisance who every few months DMs you about something zep related, but I hope you know, you made me feel both seen and somewhat appreciated in this fandom. I cannot thank you enough, Isabella 💗

I know Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist may not be ending. But this still oddly feels like the end of an era. I'm not leaving the fandom, I plan to keep posting fanfic for it and everything. I just want everyone who may be reading this to know I love this fandom and I would not take any moment here back.

Also, this is me formally asking for a link to a Discord group chat since I know it exists but I'm too scared to actually ask any of you for it directly.

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standard-muse · 5 years

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What happened to Rey?

Rey was honestly one of my favorite characters coming out of TFA, but I couldn’t figure out why I was walking out of TROS feeling like there was something off about her. I decided to dive into a character study to see what the issues were. That’s when I realized the unbelievable character regression we witnessed in TROS. I know I’m not the first one to notice this or comment on it, but here are some of the key elements I noticed.

Rey’s Wardrobe: Rey’s wardrobe in the first two movies does an interesting thing. She starts off in an off-white outfit, very similar to the looks we see on Anakin in TPM and Luke in ANH. This signals the beginning of all three of their stories. Each character begins as a child and is inexperienced and naïve in their training and maturity. Then, we move to the second movie. Rey progresses to cool grays, Anakin movies to a series of deep blues, browns and black; and Luke also moves to a gray color scheme. This signals the growth, the changes, the rise in maturity and knowledge, and signals the step that they are no longer in that place of innocence and adolescence. This matches what we see on screen in ESB as Luke dives deep into his training, Anakin goes on his first solo mission in AOTC, and Rey trains with Luke in TLJ – it fits perfectly.

Then, we get to the third movie. And here’s where the problems begin with the choices they made with her character. In ROTS Anakin is wearing all black, he has a gloved hand -- his wardrobe not only signals his completion into maturity but also foreshadows his eventual turn to Vader. Luke is also wearing all black, at one point he has a cloak, and his wardrobe shows the struggle and trials he’s been through. Luke is no longer the same man he was in ANH. Famously, Luke’s all black wardrobe raises the question of “will he turn to the dark side like his father?” And after he refuses, we see the white lining to understand that he was always good on the inside. If we were to follow this trend (since Star Wars is supposed to rhyme), Rey should have been wearing dark colors. A darker color would have also been a nice callback to the teasing question we had with Luke, but instead the question would have been “Will we see Rey join Kylo on the Sith throne?” Instead, what we got was a blindingly white outfit that was identical to her TFA outfit. Not only does this symbolically point to a regression in her character and the work and training she’s gone through, the stark white paints her as an innocent – a pure creature that is untouched and has a naivety about her and her experiences. More than that, it’s almost identical to the outfit she wears in the flashback when her parents leave, telling us that after the acceptance we witness in TLJ that her parents are gone and her place is ahead of her instead of behind, she’s suddenly regressed back to waiting for her parents to return to her. This outfit did not suite the Rey that we left in TLJ who showed development and experience.

Rey’s Hair: It’s been a common theory that the reason Rey has her 3-bun hair style is because it’s the same hair she had when her parents left; and the reason she kept it was so they could recognize her if they returned. This ties into the same point made that she is wearing the same outfit she had as a little girl so they could recognize her too. The irrational hope that even as she knows (as Kylo unlocks this memory within her) that her parents are gone, she still won’t let it go. The problem with this hair choice for TROS is that Rey had already moved passed this way of thinking. In TLJ we see his beautiful moment of her accepting Kylo’s words to “Kill the past so you can be who you were meant to be”, seconds later after this scene she dives into water (i.e. a rebirth or baptism) and comes out with her hair down. This was beautifully done and was a great way to show the big step Rey had just taken in her character journey. Not only that, but immediately after she lets her hair down, she reaches out to Kylo again and they admit to each other that they’ll never let the other person be alone (i.e. a new family). Unfortunately, the writers of TROS decided not to follow up on this, and instead her character goes back to the same little girl hairstyle she’s had since she was a young child. This felt like Rey tacking a Padawan braid in her hair after she had already ceremoniously cut it off. There was no excuse or reason to justify it either other than that she reverted to a child like state.

She was living with Leia, the Princess from Alderaan, the place with a culture famous for their braids. Would it not have made infinitely more sense for Rey to be sporting an Alderaan-like braided hairstyle? Not only would that have helped TROS’s “New-Found Family” theme they were poorly trying to convey, but it also would have emphasized the relationship and connection between Rey and Leia. It would have been an easy way to show the audience that Rey and Leia had bonded, without them having to film it (which they couldn’t have anyways).

Rey’s Staff and Saber: Now, Rey’s staff has been with her since the first moments of TFA. She relentlessly carries it around with her all across Jakku and it’s her main form of protection. This makes total sense in the TFA timeline. However, about halfway through TLJ we see her shift her attitude towards the staff. There is a moment on Ahch-To where she’s practicing with it, she stops, and instead shifts to using the legacy saber for her training. Not only that, but during her fight with Luke she uses the staff for a moment, only to quickly drop it in favor of the same saber. After which point, she never uses it again in TLJ. By the beginning of TROS, after we’ve clearly seen the legacy saber working and her using it, it makes no sense for her to continue carrying around the staff. The staff was a symbol of her time on Jakku, it was her main weapon of choice before she became a Jedi and before she joined the Resistance. After she goes on her journey for a little bit, in TLJ she moves past that, she sets it aside in favor of the saber since that is where her future is. However – in TROS she inexplicably goes back to carrying it around like a safety blanket. It's another tether to her childhood that the writers insisted on keeping around even though it had no purpose. She uses it one time with Zorii Bliss, but even then in a second she swaps it out for the saber. There was no purpose for her to have this staff with her and more often then not, it hinders her ability to use her saber, the true Jedi weapon. In one scene—ridiculously—she carrying around the staff, the saber, the sith dagger, Han’s blaster, and Chewie’s crossbow and bandolier. She looked like the character from Jumanji with the giant backpack that is just known as the weapons valet.

As for the saber and how it relates to her character regression… In TFA we hear Maz Kanata say “This lightsaber belonged to Luke, and his father before him, and now it calls to you.” She then proceeds to use the lightsaber to defeat Kylo Ren and the Praetorian Guards all on her own. She’s trained with it, it flies into her hand when she calls to it, and she retrieved it after Luke threw it away on Ahch-To. This was Rey’s saber. However, in TROS we get this perplexing line of her returning the saber to Leia (who never owned it?) and saying she’ll earn it again one day. This was wrong on so many levels. Not only did Rey already earn this lightsaber, and it called out to her in Maz’s castle and on Starkiller; but the fact that she doesn’t even assume she’s worthy of holding a lightsaber means her Jedi’s journey is in it’s infant stage in the final film of the trilogy. Compare this to our other main protagonists Anakin and Luke, they’re both masters (sorry, Anakin) at their craft and proficient and confident with a saber. Anakin defeats Dooku when Obi-Wan can’t and Luke has built his own saber and takes on an entire barge of criminals. They’re both exactly where they should be in their Jedi/Hero’s journey at this point in the story. But, in TROS, Rey takes an epic step backwards from all the groundwork done in TFA and in TLJ and is put in the place of a Padawan. Where she should have been prepared to fill in the shoes of master, she’s not even fit to carry a lightsaber without permission from a parental figure. What’s worse, it is brought to our attention that Rey is trying to earn this saber, and in the end, she ends up just burying it in the sand and making a new one anyways. In a weird way this feels like she gave up on that idea entirely, or failed at it, and instead decided to make a new one because in the end she didn’t feel worthy to use it.

Rey’s Maturity/Emotional Mindset: For lack of better word, Rey’s maturity in this movie takes a huge step back as well. Again, if we look at our other protagonists Anakin and Luke, they both start off as young, naïve, and somewhat whiny. Rey, blessedly, never whined but we do see a great amount of youthfulness and child-like behaviors from her in TFA. She slides around on sand dunes, she runs away in Maz’s castle when she gets scared, she plays around with a x-wing helmet. This is the perfect place for her character to begin and balances great with the parallel of Luke and Anakin who both are in similar states. Then, in TLJ, like Luke and Anakin, Rey matures. She’s no longer playing around, she faces Luke head on and fights for what she knows is right, she doesn’t shy away when she’s scared, she enters into a relationship much like Anakin did – signaling her maturity and stepping into adulthood. Rey in TLJ grows up so much in the best possible way. After her hair comes down, and after she shares the hut moment with Kylo, she steps up fully and makes the choice to go and save him, moving away from her master to go on the journey on her own. She faces Snoke with her chin held high and doesn’t cower or get persuaded by him. She never lashes out irrationally and is poised and dignified the entire time. We see this again at the end with Kylo and her during the last force-bond scene of TLJ. This is after they’ve already parted ways and after she realizes he’s taken on the mantle of Supreme Leader. What we see is Rey standing there, poised and dignified, mature and calm as she looks him dead in the eye and closes the door on him. I’ve seen 50-year-old adults less mature than Rey is in that moment – and it is a wonderful moment of her character growth.

This was mentioned by @Forcebond-Shenanigans and I wanted to touch on it a little bit more. Rey in TROS acts completely irrational to Kylo up until…well Exegol basically. In one particular scene, Kylo is calmly standing there (in the weirdest framed shot ever, but that’s besides the point) talking to her normally on his ship, warning her that Palpatine is trying to kill her, and Rey immediately pulls out her lightsaber, bares her teeth, and threatens him. In fact, any time he is present around her, she attacks even though he never tries to attack back. Kylo, in every scene, is just trying to have a normal adult conversation and Rey—for some reason—keeps trying to fight him. It’s undoubtedly immature and goes against everything we’d seen between the two of them in TLJ.

This. Does. Not. Make. Sense.

In TLJ she’s already established a close, intimate connection with Kylo. She’s told him her deepest thoughts and feelings and he’s listened calmly. She already knows she can sit down and have a normal, easy, rational conversation with him even after what happens in Snoke’s throne room. It might have made sense for her to lash out at him if he too had his lightsaber out, or was threatening her, or doing something else sinister. But even when he’s trying to help her by letting her know Palpatine is after her, she still lashes out at him. This, in no way, fits the Rey we saw at the end of TLJ who was able to calmly close a door on Kylo without so much as creasing her forehead at him. Her attitude towards him for 95% of this movie feels like we’re stuck in the middle of the Starkiller Battle.

Rey’s Hero Journey/The Tatooine Ending: For Anakin and Luke, we see their hero’s journey come full circle within their trilogies. Anakin starts off as a child, learns the Jedi ways, becomes proficient at it, and by the end of ROTS is ready to lead the next generation (He just…takes a detour to the dark side instead). Luke as well, begins as child-like figure, learns the Jedi ways, moves beyond the point of needing a master, and by the end is ready to pass the baton to the next generation of Jedi. Rey begins as a child, learns the ways of the Jedi, becomes very skilled at it…then goes back to needed a teacher, is unworthy of her lightsaber, needs the help of other Jedi to fight off Palpatine, and ends the movie going back to the home of her masters who were also a sort of parental pair to her (which is weird, but for other reasons).

Now, Rey was put in this place of taking on the mantel of the Last Jedi. She inherits that from Luke after Luke passes. Presumably, that set her up to lead the next generation of Jedi as that was what Snoke was trying to prevent Luke from doing. She is supposed to pass on that knowledge so that the Jedi can survive. However, by the end of her story she’s simply…not ready. Comparatively, if we look at either Anakin or Luke, they were ready to pass the baton to the next generation. Luke had proven himself to the point where even Yoda says, “No more training do you require.” And Obi-Wan says to Anakin, “I’ve taught you everything I know, and you’ve become a far greater Jedi than I ever hope to be.” Both our protagonists in the OT and PT are clearly shown to be at the end of their training and ready to lead the next generation. Rey, on the other hand, begins TROS still acting like a padawan who’s trying to earn her lightsaber. This was such a bad writing choice as we now finish this story with Rey not in the place of being able to adequately pass that knowledge along to others, and even worse, not even ready to be considered a master at her own craft herself. This would be like Anakin ending the trilogy in a Pre-AOTC state of being. It’s unresolved, it’s unfinished. They backtracked her journey so much she’s not even close.

To further this blunder, we get this extremely bizarre scene on Tatooine. It’s weird from the second we see the ship land and it gets weirder every second we’re there. Rey, who should be a mature leader, stepping into the shoes of Luke and Leia, ready to lead the next generation of Jedi as a master is…sliding around in the sand like she did on Jakku. One might call this a cute callback to TFA, but in a lot of ways all this did was further drive home the blatant character regression we see in Rey. She is now ending her story in the exact same way she started it in Jakku. Comparatively, If we look at Luke in ANH we see him in white, dreamily standing and looking at the twin suns. At the end of ROTJ, we see him dignified and powerful as he watches the force-ghosts. Luke by the end also has a new outfit on that’s drastically different than the one he started with, he’s surrounded by his friends and family, and you can see the change in him. Anakin in TPM compared to ROTS is even more extreme, the little boy is now a full-grown man, a man who got married, who had kids, and is now second in command to the Galactic Empire as he’s clothed in metal. Rey, in TFA starts off alone on a dessert planet, clothed in white, dreamily looking up at the sky. And ends her journey in TROS alone on a dessert planet, clothed in white, dreamily looking up at the sky.

And as if that wasn’t strange enough, the scene gets even more bizarre. At the end of her story, Rey should be confident in who she is, she should be taking on the mantel of master she should be leading others, and she should be at the point in her life where she’s not looking for her parents so she can be a kid again, but instead is thinking about starting her own family (not saying right away, but that’s where her direction should be). This is the natural place for somebody who’s now fully an adult and has gone through all the growth she did. By the end of her story she should have fully replaced her master’s roles and would be taking in her own padawan. Instead of looking for a parental figure, she should be in the place of being a parental figure.

And yet, instead of that, what we’re left with is a moment where somebody asks Rey who she is and she inexplicably turns to her metaphorical parents, as if asking for permission, and then tells this lady she’s a Skywalker. And as much as I’d like to think she took this name because it was Ben’s name and she was claiming herself to be his wife, unfortunately I think the reason she took it was because she was still, still stuck on trying to replace this parent figure in her life.The issue here isn’t with her choosing a new family, which presumably was the point of her story in TROS even though it was botched and spliced together, the issue was that the writers decided to end her story with Luke and Leia, in the weirdest way, almost taking her in as their kid. It might have worked if there was the whole family of Skywalkers there and she was embracing everybody equally, but the fact we only see Luke and Leia (who she calls her masters and who act as the parental figures to her in this movie), and the fact she doesn’t choose Solo or some other new name, one could argue the point that this wasn’t a new name by marriage or a new name by embracing a new identity, but decidedly was Rey stepping into the roll of Luke and Leia’s adopted daughter. The complete opposite of where you’d expect her character growth to end up (e.g. moving forward and starting her own family and being the leader of that family), Rey finishes her story by stepping into the role that is almost always reserved to the role of a child. And it makes no sense for our main protagonist to end up here.

Not only did Rey’s character stay stagnant throughout this movie, in a lot of ways it made a complete 180 to the point where if felt like we were watching TFA Rey.

Overall, this left me feeling unbelievably frustrated at TROS and the disservice it did to all of it’s characters – but Rey in particular. She is such a great character and we could have seen so much more from her than this. She deserved so much more than this. She earned it. Rey was a strong character and a wonderful inspiration to many people and this movie completely sacrificed her story for the sake of fan service. I have never cried more during a movie than I did during this one and all of that can be traced to how bad I felt for all these characters and what the writers did to them. I hope one day we can see them again but in the hands of somebody who takes care of them.

#rey #tros spoilers #reylo #rey nobody

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labelleofbelfastcity · 3 years

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hold my hand, it’s a long way down

1.5k, high fantasy royalty au, most of the details of which were provided by @capybart

read on ao3 here

Kalina smirks as she glides into the room, black furs gleaming around her shoulders and long train hissing across the floor. Riz, reflexively, takes a step back, as his eyes clock the false crown atop her head, the feline smile curving her mouth, and the knife in her hand, flickering in the candlelight.

“I trust you’re doing well,” she says, and keeps approaching until she’s standing right before him, staring him down.

Riz’s heart jumps a beat and his eyes dart around, trying to see where he can go, what he can grab, if it is even likely to move at all before that knife is sliding into his neck and tearing an ugly gash in his throat. “Not with any thanks to you.”

Kalina huffs, mouth quirking to the side, before she slumps down to sit on his bed, shoulders falling and head tilting to look at him. The black gem in the center of her diadem seems to dance like cold fire, drawing Riz’s eyes to it even as he tries to focus on a million and one other things. Unnatural, Riz thinks, with a sickening shock directly to his heart. And then he remembers the things people have always whispered about Kalina, words like witch and sorceress and Shadow Cat. Remembers those words and sees the way her eyes flash yellow in the candle’s flame.

“I’m disappointed in you, kiddo. I thought you’d figure out by now that this is all for you.”

“Where’s my mom?” Riz spits out, as he has done every time Kalina visits him in these much too fancy rooms, this much too fancy prison.

Kalina rolls her eyes, leans back on one arm, flips the dagger in her other hand, “Thought we got past that already.”

“I know you did something to her.”

“I didn’t do anything. Besides, she’s safe. She’s comfortable. What more could you ask of me?”

“I want you to give her back.”

“And I thought it was you, kiddo, who told me not too long ago that people weren’t toys. That they couldn’t be given and taken. Hm. Must be wrong about that.” Kalina flicks the tip of the dagger at him, holding it just a few inches away from Riz’s ribs, where she could slide it straight up and into his heart. “That’s not what I came here for, though. How’s the prince doing?”

“Aren’t you at court with him?” Riz spits out, and refuses to yield yet another step.

“Yes, yes. And he’s doing so well today, too. I’ve never seen a more attentive courter, practically glued to the Lady Aelwyn’s side. Which is funny, seeing as how we had to drag him from his rooms less than a week ago.”

“Fabian’s not planning anything,” Riz says, leaving out the because I am.

Kalina huffs, and taps the dagger against her own cheek, “I don’t know when you’ll learn. Everything you know, I know. I’m in your head, kiddo.”

Riz’s spine snaps straight as a scream he knows doesn’t exist sounds from his left, and then his right, screams that sounds like Fig and Fabian. Screams he only knows because of that day, weeks ago, when the Abernants and their holy warriors in gleaming sun-forged metal took the castle and forced the prince, Riz’s friend, the person Riz was supposed to protect above all else, to stab his father in the heart. Fig had screamed then, in rage, and tried to take the nearest knight out with a swing of her lute, and Fabian had screamed later, when the three of them were back in these rooms, in that soft, silent way of tears and grief and heartache and complete and total betrayal.

“See? That’s what you don’t understand,” Kalina says, standing once again. “That’s what I’m saving you from. I’m protecting your little friends because you’re useful to me. You don’t want to stop being useful to me, do you?”

Riz remains where he is, fighting back the nausea as the screams grow. Now, he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, rooted to the spot by a clawed hand holding tightly onto his mind.

“Do you?” Kalina asks again, and this time she brings the knife up to Riz’s jaw, just under his ear. The cold pricks against his skin and Riz is so afraid.

“No,” he rasps out, and she smiles again, eyes crinkling. The screams immediately stop.

“Good.” The heavy handle of the knife drops into Riz’s hand, and his fingers close over it reflexively. It’s dangerous, to give your enemy a weapon. Dangerous, still, to give them a weapon they have no hope to use in any way that counts. “You can’t get away from me, bud. Just remember that.”

Riz snarls at her, “We’re going to stop you.”

Kalina clucks her tongue and begins to walk away, “The only way you’ll escape is if I want you to.”

The door swings shut behind her right as her hold over Riz’s body drops, and he sags a little, before startling upright again. She must know, there’s no way she doesn’t. Her knowing had not been a factor of the plan, despite everything pointing towards its likelihood. Really, how could Riz have been so stupid? He’ll need a few minutes to change things, modify them so that they can actually escape, can actually get out of here.

Fabian is trapped in this castle. Fig is trapped. Their new ally, the oracle Adaine Abernant, their friend, is trapped as well. He can’t risk their freedom for himself, can’t risk Fabian and Fig’s sacrifices and the dangerous line between family and safety Adaine is flirting with. He just… he’ll figure out another way. He just needs time.

The heavy sound of a wooden lute being swung against a head thunks from outside Riz’s door, and then it’s opening to reveal his friends standing on the threshold. No, no, no, this is happening too fast. He hasn’t had time to plan.

Fig lowers her lute from where it’s raised in the air, hovering around where the now unconscious guard’s head probably was less than a second ago.

“Shit, Riz, we need to go,” Adaine says, hoisting her skirts and sprinting for his window, the same window Riz had been preparing before Kalina waltzed in.

Fabian twirls his red, embroidered, very much not stealthy court cloak from his shoulders, slinging on the black one he’d stashed on Riz’s chair earlier. The cloak that Kalina had most certainly seen because Riz hadn’t bothered to hide it. “We have five minutes.”

Adaine throws the window open and immediately heaves one of her legs out of it, hair whipping slightly in the breeze. She reaches behind her and grabs Fig’s hand, pulling her up and onto the windowsill beside her.

They’ve discussed this plan ad nauseum for weeks. So it’s almost too easy for Adaine and Fig to leap from the window with nothing but a nod, not even noticing how Riz has yet to move from his spot.

“Alright, we’re next, The Ball,” Fabian says, and hoists himself up onto the windowsill, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders in preparation for the leap.

Riz moves, then, takes a step back, hands outstretched in a pleading way that doesn’t connect with the usual brave, cunning parts of himself, the parts that plan a castle escape and wind up as companion to the prince. “You can’t take me with you. Kalina, she’s— She’s in my head. She knows, Fabian. I can’t risk it.”

Fabian’s mouth tugs and he leans back into the room, grabbing one of Riz’s outstretched hands and tugging him forward, to the open window, to their one chance at escape. “I didn’t leave you behind before, I’m not about to start now.”

And Riz remembers, remembers the way he and Fig had fought tooth and nail during those first moments of the coup, before the King had fallen at his son’s hand. They’d bought Fabian a second of time, a moment to run, but he’d frozen, frozen as the knights grappled Fig and Riz, frozen with his sword hanging in the air, the wound on his face a bleeding mess.

“Go, Fabian,” Riz had screamed, Fig shouting as well.

Fabian’s sword clattered out of his hand, and he allowed himself to be grabbed by the knight who cut out his eye, to be dragged alongside Riz and Fig to that throne room, to where Kalina and the Abernants waited with King Bill Seacaster slowly bleeding out on his own steps.

“I couldn’t leave you, The Ball. I couldn’t lose you.” Fabian had said that night, once the tears were dry and Fig snored beside them.

“You won’t. We’re going to get through this together,” Riz had said and curled up tightly into Fabian’s side.

The memory flashes in Riz’s head, and then it’s gone, and Riz is back in his night dark room, wind from the open window brushing against his cheeks, and Fabian’s warm hand wrapped around his, pleading, in his own way, for him to follow.

Riz holds tight to the dagger Kalina had given him, the dagger he plans to hurl straight into her heart someday, and allows himself to be pulled out of the window.

#bellewrites #this was SO FUN #fantasy high #dimension 20 #fic #fanfic #riz gukgak #fabriz #kalina

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the-sympathetic-villain · 4 years

Text

You Belong With Me - Chapter 37

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.

Word Count: 6833

Chapter Warnings: Chapter Warnings: Restraints, Control, Lashing out, Pain, Kidnapping, Mentions of selling a person, Treating a person like property, Forced incapacitation, Crying, Fear, Angst, Cages, Choking, Threats, More Crying, Death mention (Please let me know if I need to tag anything else!)

Author’s note: This one got a little heavier than intended, but I promise our boys are better for it in the end :)

---

Logan stirred, trying to shake the hazy feeling from his head as it hung heavily between his shoulders. Gradually, he finally cracked his eyes open as he forced himself to scan his surroundings. His vision blurred as nausea twisted in his stomach. He paused letting his head slump back down as his stomach settled.

He groaned, trying to sit up as his nausea started to abated. His breathing nearly stopped as he felt a thin rope cutting into his wrists between his legs. He jolted upright, anxiety burning his chest as he twisted his body, unable to make out his surroundings through his blurry vision. Logan felt his heart pounding in his throat as tree bark dug into his back and his legs moved in the dirt underneath him.

“Relax.”

A shiver ran up Logan’s neck and he stilled immediately at Dee's dreary voice sounded above him. His muscles tensed as he bit down into the gag in his mouth. He tried to blink away the wetness that was brought to his eyes but the sudden wave of fear threatened to overwhelm him.

How could I be so stupid? Why would I walk straight into their trap?

“Stay still.”

Logan froze, clenching his eyes shut as he nodded stiffly.

“Open your eyes.”

Still rigid, Logan forced his eyes open, dipping his head to his ground submissively as his vision cleared. A small, shift in the dirt in front of him made him wince, biting into his gag as he attempted to remain motionless.

Slow steps circled around his right side. He instinctively flinched as Dee knelt in his periphery, staring at him intently.

“Look around, kid.” Dee's soft voice sounded next to him. “It's just the two of us.”

Logan didn't move, feeling his breath catch in his throat as he sat paralyzed with distrust of Dee’s words. His skin crawled as Dee leaned closer, moving slowly as he reached around Logan’s head. The man’s movements were gentle as he pulled the gag from his mouth, but still, Logan’s gut wrenched at contact as the panic continued to rise in his chest.

Dee seemed to notice his hesitancy, because he softened his already quiet tone. “Seriously, you're safe with me. I sent Remus away—”

“Why—” Logan swallowed, his throat burning as bile rose in his throat. He kept his gaze trained on Dee in his periphery, wincing as the man rose to his feet. “W-why would you even bother?”

“Simple necessity.” Dee returned in a bored tone. “I needed him to keep an eye on that prince of yours to make sure he doesn’t cause trouble.”

Adrenaline shot a jolt through Logan’s body and his head shot up to meet Dee’s uncaring gaze. “I agreed to do whatever you asked, but if you hurt him, I won't—”

“Don't be so dramatic.” Janus drawled as he stepped away, giving Logan a view of the forest around them for the first time. “As long as you cooperate, Remus is under strict orders to keep his distance from your precious lover.”

Logan curled his knees to his chest and glared at Dee as he glanced around the quiet haze of the woods. The air was cold as he took in the trees through the glow of the early morning light. He grimaced, glancing bitterly at the bandages on Dee’s arms. “Remus hardly has a history of self-restraint.”

“Rest assured. As long as I have access to my power, Remus will do as he's told." Dee seemed to notice Logan’s attention on his arms, pulling his sleeves down and covering his wounds. He sneered down at Logan reaching into the collar of his shirt to pull out an luminescent necklace out from his collar. The jagged piece of glowing amber stood out against the deep, blue light of the early morning. “Do you know what this is?”

Skepticism filled Logan's gaze as he shook his head, curling into himself at the unfamiliar magic. “No, I don’t.”

“This is a signal gem. They're created in pairs and this particular gem has a twin that glows at the same brilliant hue.” Dee eyed the gem with a glimmer in his eyes. “That amulet is in Remus’ hands.”

Logan bit his lip, trying not to give away the chills that ran up his spine as Dee continued. “So?”

“Amber is a particularly fragile gem. Simply dropping it could shatter the amulet, severing it's connection to it's twin.” Dee smirked, his sharp, white teeth growing in the dark. “No connection means the amulet Remus has stops glowing, and if that happens, Remus knows he can do whatever he likes to your dear prince. So—” Dee hissed threateningly. “—let's behave, shall we?”

Logan growled, baring his teeth at Dee before dropping back against the tree behind him. “That's not necessary.”

“What?” Dee hissed as Logan’s head dropped tiredly.

“It's not necessary and nor is this—” Logan raised his bound wrists with a tired snarl. “—I agreed to play my part in whatever game you have planned for me." Logan dropped his wrists into his lap, chewing the inside of his cheek to quell the emotions raging in his chest. “There’s no need for you to torment my friends as well.”

Dee seemed to eye him carefully for a long minute before letting out a sharp breath. “If you continue to cooperate, your friends will not be touched. You have my word.”

Avoiding Dee’s withering stare, Logan felt a lump in throat as his gaze dropped to the ground. His shoulders went slack with acceptance and he nodded, unable to form any meaningful words.

“Good.” Dee muttered, tossing a bag over his shoulder. “Then, get on your feet. We've got a lot of ground to cover before the sun sets.”

A groan was pulled from Logan as Dee's fingers curled tightly around his shoulder, yanking him to his feet. The sudden movement was jarring, nearly sending him flying until Dee’s hand pressed him into tree behind him. Logan gasped, freezing as he caught a metallic glimmer in the tall fae's hand.

“I'd best not see your commitment waver.” Dee's hand remained pressed on Logan’s shoulder, pinning him as he pointed a long, silver dagger towards Logan's face. Logan's chest tightened as the knife lingered near his face as Dee continued. “If I start to suspect your resolve is weakening, I will not hesitate to put you back in your binds.”

Logan flinched as Dee brought the dagger down in one swift movement. His whole body went numb with anticipation until the ropes binding his wrists fell to the ground. He barely had time to process the twist of fate before a cloak was shoved into his arms, leaving him staring blankly at his captor.

“I don't need you freezing to death as we walk,” Dee muttered, snarling as Logan froze staring up at him. “but you'd best start moving before I change my mind.”

Logan jolted at Dee's hostile tone, nodding as he scrambled to climb the small hill to the decrepit, old road above. He felt his heart pound in his chest and increased his pace as he caught Dee’s shadowy figure catching up in the fog behind him

“Move quickly.” Dee's hiss behind him sent shivers down Logan's spine as he increased his pace. “We've two days to reach our destination and we can't afford to linger if we’re going to make it to our destination in time.”

Logan pulled the cloak over shoulders, growling with resent as Dee shoved him forward. He bit his lip and pulled the hood over his head as he sulked forward, muttering under his breath. “It's hardly seems my fault that you planned this poorly."

“Don't press your luck on my generosity, kid.” Dee spat irritably from behind Logan. “I didn't have to give you more time with your bastard friends.”

Logan's eyes went wide at Dee’s heated words and he was suddenly grateful for the hood that now covered his face. He glanced skeptically over his shoulder at the tall figure gliding beside him. His eyes lingered for a moment on the smooth skin of the man's disguised face before turning forward to stare at the ground as they journeyed down the road. Logan tugged at his sleeve, crossing his arms across his chest as his mind raced.

It's not possible. He doesn't actually care.

---

Dee sulked behind his captive, gritting his teeth as he shivered miserably in the cold. The chill had long since settled deep into his bones as they'd walked down the road without sharing a word between them. He had to admit he was grateful that the silence as he passed down the road in abject misery. His reptilian nature never mixed well with the cold, wet weather of the forest, especially when whatever god were watching decided to make it drizzle down on them during their entire goddamn journey. Even then, his despair didn't end their. His distinct disdain for the cold was still thoroughly outweighed by the tugging sensation of the subtle glamour hiding his scales. Holding the disguise didn't require much energy, but he'd never gotten used to sensation of wearing a face that didn’t belong to him. His skin burned and tugged as the layers of skin stretched across his scales.

Fortunately, at the very least, he hadn't had to listen to the kid whine. In the hours they'd been walking, he'd barely made a sound. He'd walked ahead of Dee in silence, staring at the ground, only looking up to occasionally greet the occasional stragglers that had passed them on the road. He'd been wary of the kid’s intentions, but eventually he couldn’t deny that the kid;s friendly nature seemed to draw less attention than if he’d been playing the part of a captive. Dee felt his gaze drift up to the back of the kid’s cloak as he stalked along the edge of the road. Truly, the guy was fascinating to watch. Life seemed to spark in him each time a human traveler passed them, waving and greeting each person in turn as if he knew them. He was downright bubbly with enthusiasm as he greeted them. It was insufferable, and yet, Dee preferred that version of the kid to the one he watched now.

Without fail, each time the stranger disappeared from sight, the kid's shoulders slumped and his head dropped back to the ground. All of the energy seemed to drain from his body, and the shuffle of his feet turned to that of a dead man walking. Dee chewed his lip at the thought. Unfortunately, the description was less of a comparison than it was an observation. After all, whether he knew it or not, the kid wouldn’t survive this encounter. This was his walk to the gallows and Dee could hardly blame him for dragging his feet.

“There’s a town ahead.”

Dee looked up, surprised by the sound of the first words that the kid had spoken to him in hours. “What?”

“The town ahead has a market.” Logan hung his head as his hesitant whisper broke the silence. “We could stop there for supplies if—”

“We're skipping the town.” Dee didn’t miss the way the kid flinched at his sharp reply.

“T-That bag you’re carrying—” The kid paused, almost slowing his pace until Dee growled behind him. “—That doesn't seem like enough supplies for another day. If we could only stop—”

“The second day of our journey will take place in the Other Realm.” He stated dryly, forcing the kid forward as he hesitated. “Any supplies we get here would spoil and be useless.”

“The Other Realm?”

“The Faerie Realm, you idiot." Dee growled, leering down at the kid as he resisted.

“But—"

“We’re not stopping. That’s final.” Dee hissed threateningly. “Now, move.”

“Please.” The kid stumbled backward, voice trembling as he pleaded to Dee to stop. “Grant me one request before we continue—"

“I’m not taking requests,” Dee hissed as he grabbed the kid's cloak, shoving him on the path away from town. “especially not from you.”

“Please—” The kid’s plea was cut short as he tumbled over a root, falling back on the rocky path.

“On your feet.” Dee snapped, feeling his irritation reaching a breaking point. He ached to pull at the skin on his face, and to shed the unnecessary layers of skin hiding his scales. The heat of his discomfort only grew as the kid seemed to root himself down, determined to argue. “We're not wasting time stopping. I will carry you kicking and screaming, if I have to—”

“I'm only asking to—”

“Or perhaps, I'll just give Remus the signal to kill your sweet prince.” Dee growled, catching the man's collar and pulling him to his feet. He dangled his glowing piece of amber just out of the man's reach. “I'll leave the choice to you."

A flash of fear lit up in Logan’s eyes, immediately followed by a glare of seething anger as he stared up at Dee helplessly. Dee watched carefully as the kid's shoulders sank submissively and he pushed himself out of Dee’s grip, making his way down the path away from town. “Fine. I'm going."

Dee's shoulders sank as the kid turned and stalked down the road ahead of him. Guilt pricked at his heart painfully as he forced thoughts of his old friend from his mind. The kid looked so much like Tara it hurt. He could almost feel her disappointed rage through her kid’s eyes.

The thought weighed heavy on his heart. Her sacrifice had spared the kid a few extra years of his life, but it had ultimately it had been in vain. Here he was on the precipice of the inevitable once more. Dee grimaced. The kid was facing death after being dragged in a war he was too young to remember. He didn't deserve this fate. Tara would have been furious. Dee flushed with guilt at the thought of the way his old friend’s cheeks used to grow red when she was upset.

Dee lifted his head, watching the heavy steps of the man walking in front of him. His skin still burned and his discomfort was growing with each step, but he knew taking out his misery on the kid was unfair. He sighed, slowing his pace as he dropped his guard.

“Logan, stop.”

His apology was cut short as a sudden snap of a twig behind him sent a jolt of adrenaline through his body. Dee spun on his feet with a hiss, holding his hand out in front of Logan as he scanned the trees behind him.

“What's happening?” Logan’s worried voice echoed in his ear. “Dee!”

An eerie, hollow sound floated through the air and Dee’s knees were suddenly weak as a dense, heavy magic settled in the air over him, making him dizzy. Hands caught him from behind, lowering him to the ground as his legs folded abruptly underneath him. His eyes fluttered as panic rose in his chest as he recognized the familiar sound.

The Seelie's Song.

“Looks like we've got a live one, boys.”

Hunters.

Dee groaned, barely keeping his eyes open as shadows moved out of the woods around them. The eerie song slowed to a stop as one of the dark figures stepped out of the dark. A woman dressed in black clothing stepped forward, dropping a small, white horn from her lips.

“Stay back.”

Dee flinched as Logan's voice growled at the shadows around them. Through his blurred vision, Dee could only guess there were four or five humans around them. He tensed trying desperately to stay awake as their ring leader laughed cruelly from above him.

“Well, look at that. The faerie boy's pet is loyal, even when his master's on the ground.” A chorus of laughter echoed through the trees above him as the woman paced in front of them, leering at him hungrily. “Not that I blame him. This one's powerful enough to stay awake under the horn's charm. He'll fetch a nice price from the southern royals.”

Dee's breath caught in his throat as realization struck him.

She doesn't know the kid's fae.

Of course not. The Seelie’s Song wouldn’t affect him. The horn's magic only drew energy from creatures of the light and the kid was created from the literal darkness incarnate. Not to mention, the kid's appearance was so close to human only a fae could spot the difference.

“Release your pet and I’ll consider sparing him, faerie boy.” The woman's voice held a certain viciousness as she pulled a dagger from her waist, pointing it down at him. “We're not taking freeloaders where you’re going.”

“You’re not taking him—”

“Silence.” Dee hissed, filling his voice with as much power as he could as he held his glare on the woman above. Compelling Logan may not have any effect, but Dee didn’t mind putting on a show if it might convince her. “Leave now. You’re free to go.”

“But—”

"Our journey is being cut short. I'm granting you your freedom.” Dee hissed, glancing over his shoulder, desperate to cut off any chance for the kid to give himself away. He growled, glaring weakly up at the hunter sneering down at him. “Go home. Now.”

He could feel the kid hesitate behind him as the woman raised the white horn to her lips again. The hollow sound of the song settled into his bones, draining the energy from his muscles. His eyes drooped, nearly giving way to the darkness pulling at the edges of his vision. Desperately, he put his remaining energy into one last whisper.

“Logan, go.” Dee begged. "Please."

“You heard your boss, kid.” The woman's voice grated in Dee’s ears as Logan’s grip on his shoulders loosened. "Get lost.”

“Sorry, Dee.”

Dee swallowed his own fear as Logan lowered him to the ground. His body started to shake as he heard Logan’s slow steps as he backed away, turning to run into the trees.

“Grab him.”

Thick hands closed around his arms as he was pulled to his knees. His head hung between his shoulders as rough hands yanked his arms in front of him. Dee sucked in a sharp breath as heavy shackles closed around his wrists. He nearly slumped forward as the last of his energy left his body, but a hand caught his throat, keeping him upright.

“You’re more impressive than most of our catches.” The woman's fingers gazed his throat as his disguise faded away and she examined his face. “I'll bet I can even talk up your price if I show them your pretty scales.”

“I will make you regret this, you coward.” Dee whispered, eyes fluttering as he swayed with exhaustion.

“Oh, honey. You won't get the chance.": The woman's nails dug into his neck, letting out an uncaring chuckle as Dee winced. “You’re going to be on ship out of the country by sun down tomorrow, and once they torture your true name out of you, you'll be no more than a pretty fixture in some spoiled royal's home.”

“I won’t give them what they want.” Dee protested weakly as his heart dropped in his chest. Reality was starting to sink in as his eyes drooped shut and his shoulders slumped. His eyes dropped to the ground at the sudden realization that this may be the end for him. Certainly, the Seelie Court would search for him, but if he was moved across the sea, they may well never find him. Hell, if they managed to steal his name, it won't matter if he's found.

I’ll be a slave.

“You're not going to be given a choice, babe.” The woman forced Dee's face up to look at her. Another jolt of panic shot straight to his heart as he caught sight of the Seelie's Song in the woman's hand once more. “By the time my boys are done with you, you’ll be begging for them to take your name.”

Fear suddenly rose to his chest as the woman raised the horn to her lips. With a clumsy movement, Dee willed every drop of energy into one last attempt to get away. He pushed himself away from the woman, nearly slipping in the slick mud that had formed from the light gust of wind and rain throughout the day. Dee sucked in a heavy breath, making it only a few steps before the hollow sound filled his ears. The sound resonated through his body and he struck the ground face first, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

---

The sounds of drunken laughter filled Dee's ears as he groggily lifted his head. His body protested even the smallest movement as he pushed himself to his knees. He had no idea how long he'd been out, but he could feel that soreness had settled over his body as if he'd been laying in the same position for hours. He glanced up, barely able to make out the smallest sliver of the glowing crescent moon through the bars above his head. Apparently, they hadn't been very concerned about keeping him from freezing to death. His clothes were soaked through from the rain that had no doubt been pouring down on him from above while he'd been passed out in the cage they'd thrown him in. He allowed his gaze to drift around his hold. Thick, iron bars surrounded him on all sides. Even the floor was sealed off by the heavy metal bars, resting in the cheap wooden cart. Dee squinted into the dark, finally noticing the dense heavy fabric draped along the walls of the case. No doubt they were their to keep prying eyes off their precious cargo.

A sudden crack of loud laughter sent him jolting back against the bars of his cell. He shivered, adrenaline pumping through his body as he curled his knees to his chest. Dee closed his eyes, burying his head into his arms as they rested on his knees. His subtle shivering of fear quickly started to gave way to the violent shudders of the cold as he tried to ignore the cold, wet clothes clinging to his body.

No one's coming to save you.

The sudden thought was like a punch to his gut, sending waves of nausea straight to his stomach. He suddenly dry heaved, still able to hear the grating sounds of his captors’ laughter above his stomach's rebellious attempt to reject the situation in which he found himself.

Gods, you’re a failure. You can't even play the villain right.

Decades of work had been undone by the hunters’ pure luck of stumbling upon them. Dee sucked back a sob at the world’s cruelness. This war had already taken from him the only two people who’d actually cared for him. He hadn't thought he had anything else to lose. Tara was dead and Remy was too busy taking care of his corner of the world to give him the time of day anymore. All he'd had left in his miserable life was his mission to finally end this bloody war for good, but of course, he'd even screwed that up. He'd resigned himself to playing the villain. Bringing the kid to his death would have broken him, but at least the curse wouldn’t have been able to claim any more fae lives.

This war may never end and it's my fault.

The kid was gone, probably back to the castle to live out a long life with his dashing prince. At least, he could be grateful that the kid had gotten to escape. Inevitably, another fae would eventually find his secret, but the kid might have easily have bought himself a luxurious life for a few decades by losing Dee to these hunters.

Pathetic.

Dee stifled back another sob as wetness flowed down his face. A knot twisted in his stomach as shudders of grief racked his body. Years of tension and grief came rushing to the surface as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

---

He had no idea how long he'd sat there feeling sorry for himself. Eventually, he could hear the cacophony of loud voices die down as the subtle, flickering light from the hunters’ fire was extinguished, leaving him alone with himself in the pitch-black night. Numbness had long since settled over him as he leaned into the metal bars, ignoring the way his skin burned in contact with the pure iron bars. His mind had gone blank as he stared into the darkness, waiting for the sun to rise so that he may be carted off to whatever fate awaited him. Dee let out a long, defeated breath. At least he didn’t have to hide his face anymore. The humans may take everything else from him, but somehow the gift of not needing to hide his true self brought him a small amount of comfort as he sank into the darkness. His energy slowly drained away as his panic turned to dread. He knew he should rest, but sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, he stared at the back of the cart, watching as the fabric moved.

Wait.

Without blinking, Dee lifted his head, examining the moving curtain with caution. He bristled, tasting the air as the figure moved toward the entrance. His tension vanished as a familiar scent hit the back of his throat, bringing tears to his eyes.

“Tara?”

Almost as if on cue, the curtain pulled back to reveal Logan's dark figure silhouetted against the pitch-black night.

“I'm sorry.” The kid hesitantly backed away from the bars as he avoided Dee's gaze. “I'm not—”

“Logan.” Dee's voice dropped in disbelief as the kid nodded timidly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I wanted to help,” Logan whispered quietly. His shoulders slumped and he let out a long breath as he turned his attention to the lock on his cage. “though I apologize if I’m not who you expected.”

Dee's heart ached as the kid apologetically avoided eye contact with him. “Don't apologize, kid. Coming for me was far more than I deserved from you.”

The kid paused, glancing up from the lock. A sad smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he pulled his tools out of his pocket.

“Wait.” Dee whispered, silently moving toward the door. “I appreciate what you’re doing but one of those goons could come back. Just get out of here. I'll figure it out—”

“They won’t bother us.” Logan brushed him off, staring intently at the lock as he began to manipulate the pins.

Dee hesitated, staring at Logan’s quiet expression as he focused on picking the lock. “You seem pretty certain of that fact, kid.”

“I spiked their alcoholic beverages with valerian root.” Logan dropped his gaze as the lock clicked open. “Fortunately, their excessive consumption should put them out for several hours.”

“I—You shouldn't have taken that chance, kid.” Dee whispered, staring at him breathlessly. “You could have been killed.”

The kid took a step back, pulling the door open. His eyes dropped to the ground as he fidgeted with his sleeve. “I didn’t want you to suffer.”

“Logan, I—” Tears brimmed at the edge of Dee's vision as he slid to the door. “Thank y—”

His gratitude was cut short as a blood-curdling shriek was ripped from Logan's throat. Adrenaline shot straight to Dee's heart as the fabric fell over the entrance, blocking his view of the kid. Dee leapt to his feet, almost falling through the open door as he rushed out into the night.

Dee dropped to the ground off the cart, jerking his head around to see Logan struggling in the grip of the woman from earlier. The woman suddenly had an elbow closed tightly around his neck as she leered down at him menacingly.

“Well, beast. It looks like your help’s a bit more loyal than I gave him credit for,” The woman hissed holding the kid easily around his neck, squeezing just enough to keep him from struggling. “but I'm running this show and you are staying right where I want you.”

“Listen, just let him go.” Dee rasped desperately, holding up his bound hands in surrender. He held his breath as the kid started shaking in her grip, turning. “Please, you have me. You don't need the kid.”

“Oh, no. Your pet decided to poison my entire crew and he’s going pay for his indiscretions.” The woman hummed, leering down at Logan. Dee shivered as the woman’s threatening glare turn to him. “Now, get back in your cage, beast.”

“Not until you let him go.” Dee resisted, keeping his eyes trained on the kid as he stilled in her arms.

“I don't think so, pest." The woman dropped her hand to her waist, pulling the glistening horn from her waist.

Dee froze, staring in fear at the magic weapon as he held his bound hands up in surrender. “No, wait—”

“Get back—”

The woman's yell was suddenly cut off as the area in front of him lit up in a bright blue light. Dee flinched, covering his eyes as he squinted through the shining light at the woman holding Logan. He gasped as the woman's grip seemed to tense and tighten around Logan’s neck. He watched in horror as the kid twitched in pain, but as the light dimmed he watched as the magic weapon dropped from her limp hand. Dee hesitated only a moment before rushing forward. Swiftly, he brought his heel down on the fragile horn, shattering the weapon into pieces. With the magical weapon destroyed, he spun on the woman with bared teeth.

He hissed a threat, stalking toward her as she let her hand drop from Logan's throat. The kid instantly hit the ground, coughing and rasping, but Dee's eye remained trained on the woman’s horrified expression as she backed away from him.

“Stay back. Don't you dare come any clos—”

“Silence.” Dee hissed as he backed the woman into a tree. The metal of his shackles clanged between his wrists as he pressed the heavy chain against her throat. “Clear out before I end your miserable life.”

“You do better ro kill me,” The woman growled rebelliously as he shoved her away. “Otherwise, I'll be back to get you and your little p—”

“Don’t tempt me.” Dee shot scathingly as he threateningly took a few steps toward her. “Now scram, before you make me angry.”

His heated gaze lingered on the woman as she scrambled away, taking off down the road. He continued to stare until she disappeared into the darkness before turning to the sound of coughing behind him.

“Logan—” Dee turned on his heels and rushed to the man curled on the ground beneath him. He dropped to his knees as he helped Logan curl upright. “Are you okay?”

“It hurts.” Logan heaved for breath, clutching his throat.

“I'm going to fix that for you, kid,” Dee reassured him, leaning forward to help him to his feet as best he could. “but first, we need to get you out of here.”

The shackles binding his hands made the process slow but eventually Dee managed to get Logan’s hand around his shoulder, dragging him from the horrific mess behind them. Dee could feel Logan’s raspy breath on his shoulder, knowing the man wouldn’t make it far without a chance to catch his breath. Fortunately, by some gift of fate, Dee instantly recognized where they were in the woods and shelter was gratefully within a reasonable short distance. He glanced up as a small cave came into view. The familiar opening darkened as he slowly dragged Logan across its threshold towards the rocky walls.

“Easy, now.” Dee whispered in the kid's ear as he gently lowered him to the ground. He rested Logan against the wall, chest aching at the sound of the guy's wheezy, uneven breaths. He raised a hand to Logan's face trying to connect with the kid's unfocused eyes. “Logan, can you hear me?”

The kid’s eyes fluttered wearily, but he managed to nod his affirmation.

“I need you to be patient, kid.” Dee whispered. His voice was soft and kind as he held his wrists out to Logan. “I’m going to ease your pain, but in order to do that I need you to get these off for me. Can you do that?”

Logan winced as he swallowed, looking up at Dee. His eyes glistened with pain in the dim light of the moon, but he grunted an acknowledgement. Dee watched sadly as the kid shivered, leaning forward as he reached for his tools. His muscles were tense as he slipped the anchor into the lock. A pit of guilt settled in his stomach at the sight of Logan squinting his eyes as he struggled to focus.

“Take your time. It's—” Dee's mouth dropped open as the first cuff popped open, falling free of his wrist. “Gods, kid. You’re awfully good at that.”

“—a simple lock.” Logan mumbled, turning to Dee's other wrist. His chest seemed to seize as he leaned over, hacking painfully.

“Relax, Logan. Don't speak yet.” Dee whispered, holding a hand out to help steady his shoulder. “You’re nearly there.””

Logan grimaced. He nodded, swallowing painfully as he moved forward. The process was slower on the second lock. Dee could see the kid struggle to keep his hands steady as he squinted through the dark. He smiled reassuringly, waiting patiently until the lock clicked, falling away.

“Good job, kid.” Dee whispered, reaching forward to lean Logan back into the wall. He quickly squeezed the kid's shoulder in reassurance as he pulled his bag off his shoulder. Digging through its contents, he found a dense blanket and shook it out. Quickly, he draped the blanket over the shivering man and scrambled to his feet.

Within a few minutes, he’d found a stash of dry wood hidden deeper in the cave and had built a small fire. The raging flames crackled and sparked radiating heat from the center of the cave. He glanced up to see Logan staring at him from where he leaned against the wall. Dee stood up, smiling gently as he noticed kid had stopped shivered and was now silently watching him move around the fire.

“Are you ready to feel better, Logan?”

Dee smiled as the man’s eyes followed him cautiously. Hesitantly, he eventually nodded, watching closely as Dee dropped down next to him. Dee wrapped an arm around the back of Logan’s shoulder, guiding the kid's head onto his chest. He felt a pang of sadness as the kid tensed in his arms.

“You’re safe, Logan.” Dee whispered. His voice trembled with regret as he looked down at the man resting nervously on his chest. “You have my word that I won't hurt you.”

Logan nodded stiffly, glancing up at him. There was still a nervousness in his eyes but he settled back into Dee’s chest.

Dee took a long breath, feeling his eyes begin to glow as he called upon his magic. He exhaled slowly, watching as his palms started to glow with an amber light. His hands traced down Logan's neck, healing the crushing damage done by the woman’s grip.

He smiled as Logan let out a relieved sigh, sinking into his chest as the aching pain in his throat suddenly eased. Dee's focus narrowed as the tips of his fingers drifted along Logan’s neck. The bruises that had already started to form began lighten as Dee’s healing hands brushed his skin. The process was slow and tedious, but he could feel the subtle changes as the kid's body repaired itself, encouraged by the pressure of his magic. The pain and distrust in the air started to fade as the kid started to ease into his shoulder. Waves of emotion swelled in his chest as the firelight flickered on Logan's face. He managed to contain the emotions raging in his mind for a few short minutes before a peaceful gratitude started to radiate from the kid, sending tears rolling down his face.

“Kid, I don't know what possessed you to save me.” Dee's voice trembled with shame as his hand stopped glowing and dropped from Logan’s neck. “Given my treatment toward you, I could hardly have blamed you if you'd turned me over to them yourself, but—” Dee hesitated as Logan leaned up off his chest to turned to him. He closed his eyes shamefully, unable to meet Logan's gaze as he mumbled his apology. “—but I'm grateful for what you did, even if I didn't deserve it."

Logan’s silence hung heavy over Dee as he sat with his head bowed and eyes clenched tightly shut as regret coursed through his body.

“I'm sorry. I know there’s no excuse for what I've—”

“Stop.” Logan whispered hoarsely, stopping Dee's half formed apology in its tracks. “I felt how scared you were, Dee. No one deserves to feel that way.”

“You could have been killed—” Dee rasped, finally pulling his gaze up to meet Logan’s. “—or you could have shared my fate.”

“It turned out fine.” Logan shrugged him off, raising a hand to his throat. “I wasn't about to abandon you fend for yourself with that witch.”

Dee stared helplessly at Logan as he curled his knees to his chest, looking despondent. His voice dropped to a whisper as Logan seemed to withdraw away from him. “Logan, I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Logan’s response came a moment too quick and Dee frowned as the kid looked to the ground, avoiding eye contact. “but, um, if you do feel the need to make our efforts even, I would still appreciate the chance to stop in a market on our way."

Dee bit his lip as his shoulder slumped, gesturing to the cave around them. “There are no more towns where we’re going, Logan. Down this cave is the entrance to the Other Realm. From here on, we'll only meet fae.”

“Oh.” Logan's eyes widened as a sudden sadness swept over his face and Dee felt his heart drop at the quiet, crestfallen look on Logan’s face.

“Why does it matter so much to you, kid?” Dee whispered as he watched Logan fold his arms into his chest.

Logan glanced down at his lap. Dee could see him biting his lip, trying to contain his emotions. “I wanted paper and ink.”

“For what?”

“I'd hoped—” Logan muttered, running his fingers through his hair. “—I'd hoped to convince you to deliver some letters.”

“Letters?” Dee's mouth dropped in shock as the kid curled into himself.

“I know I'm not coming back from this.” Logan's hand tugged at the end of his hair. “I know what you want from me. I just—”

“Kid—” Dee protested weakly. His heart shattered as tears flowed openly down his face.

Logan’s voice cracked painfully as a sob was pulled from his throat. “I just wanted to say good-bye to them.”

Dee rushed forward, closing his arms around Logan’s shoulders. He pulled Logan’s head to his chest as another cry escaped from the kid's lips. The kid shook violently in his arms as he held him tightly. Wet streaks flowed freely down Dee's face as the kid cried himself out on his chest, eventually coming to rest as he breathed heavily in Dee's arms.

“I don't want to die.” Logan pleaded quietly.

The kid's soft whisper shattered his resistance and Dee smiled weakly as the wet streaks on his face glistened in the firelight. “You’re not going to die, Logan.”

“But—”

“No. I’m not playing the court's game anymore.” Dee spat, his chest aching as he held Logan close to his chest. “You’re not going. I won’t take you.”

Logan sucked in a heavy breath. “But the hunters—If I don’t—”

“We'll figure it out together. I promise we'll find a way to save everyone else,” Dee whispered, breathing heavily. “but you’re going to make it home. I'll make sure of it.”

Logan stilled in his arms as his sobs subsided. His breathing hitched in his throat as he turned up to Dee with red eyes. “Dee—”

“You—you can call me Janus.” Janus let out a long breath, wiping away his tears as Logan looked up at him with a confused expression. “Dee or Deceit—It's a name I use to keep myself safe, but you can call me Janus if you like.”

“Janus,” Logan whispered with a small smile as he leaned into Janus’ shoulder. “Thank you.”

Janus' lips twitched into a smile as he nodded. He leaned into Logan as he held him tightly. Gradually, they finally started to ease their grip, breathing easier as the drifted to sleep in the heat of the fire.

---

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

You Belong With Me Taglist:

@cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname @ironwoman359 @i-know-im-smart @croftersphoenix @optimistic-violinist @croftersjam15 @actitus-hypoleucos @unbefuckinglieveable @justthatamount @eeveeeclair246 @taxicabinmemphis @theoddkidnextdoor @bluerosesbleedred @bowties--cool @lookingforaplacetosleep @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @007ardra @im-actually-ok @grayson-22 @lunatatic @hope340 @itawalrus @dwbh888

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts #ts logan #ts janus #You Belong With Me #villain writes

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everamazingfe · 3 years

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Magic in the Mundane

Fic Summary: Everyone had something special about them, their own personal bit of magic. Most found out about their abilities early, but Gavin had always been a bit of a late bloomer. Luckily, Michael comes by to help him put the pieces together.

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Words in this chapter: 5521 Pairings: Gavin Free/Michael Jones Warnings for this chapter: None

Notes: Written for Kait (@uy8hg) for the RT Writer’s Discord Secret Sunshine event! All of her prompts were amazing and I spent far too long trying to decide between them, but I'm so glad that I decided to go with this one because it was so much fun to write. Check the source for a link to read it over on A 0 3!

Prompt: Someone discovers a new power or something that they find really cool, and they want to show it off to everyone else, with varying levels of success.

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In a world full of wonder, it wasn’t always easy to appreciate the beauty in the mundane, but those who had magic running through their veins found it quite simple. The way that magic would manifest itself in those people wasn’t always the same, though. Sometimes, the magic was in their personality. Jack had a warmth about him that could make anyone’s day better in a matter of seconds. Trevor’s charisma was off the charts, he was such a smooth talker that it was hard for anyone to dislike him unless they really tried. Other times, it was in their looks. Alfredo had a smile that could light up any room, big and beaming and bright enough to outshine the sun. Geoff had amazingly artistic tattoos that seemed to come alive if one looked at them a little too long (he would always deny this, but there was a gleam in his eye that made everyone think twice about his words). Sometimes, it was something else entirely. Their magic came in the form of special abilities, of genuine magic. Lindsay could speak to animals, using their skills for good a majority of the time, but otherwise causing mischief. Michael could create just as well as he could destroy, rendering entire buildings obsolete and creating new ones in their wake.

There was a little bit of magic in everything, but oftentimes there were those that couldn’t see it in themselves. That was where Gavin stood. He was a smooth talker, sure, but not as smooth as Trevor. His smile wasn’t as bright as Alfredo’s. He didn’t have any magical abilities. Though he was welcomed into their group, he didn’t feel as though he belonged. He didn’t have any magic. They insisted that he was part of their crew, magic or not, and that he was welcome, but sometimes he didn’t want their comforts. He just wanted to be left alone. It was hard enough to be the lone member of the mundane in their little crew, he didn’t want their pity points on top of it. Still, it didn’t stop them from trying to help.

“Maybe you’re just a late bloomer?” Fiona suggested to him late one evening when the sun had already set, laid out on her back on the roof of a building Michael had created just for her. Her magic was her ability to be good at anything she set her mind to, with an unwavering confidence that Gavin admired (and sometimes envied), even when it was misplaced. “Or you could just be totally oblivious to it. That’s always an option.”

He let out a soft sigh, shrugging a shoulder as he turned his head to look at her. “Someone else would’ve noticed it in me by now though, I think. Everyone has something, even if they're not the ones who see it.” Those who had magic were usually pretty good at picking it out in others. It had been how those without genuine magic had discovered theirs. How Jack had discovered his warmth, how Ky had discovered her strength, and so on.

Fiona bit her lip, going quiet. He had a point there, but she didn’t want to admit it. She hated when he was right. “Maybe your magic is just being an idiot?” There was a grin on her lips, but the way that she spoke made it sound like a genuine suggestion. Gavin couldn’t help but burst out into laughter, his and Fiona’s giggles echoing out across the landscape.

“Kind of a shitty magic, don’t you think, Fifi?” He asked finally, when his sides ached from laughing and his lungs begged for air. “I know Michael would certainly agree with you, but… I really hope that’s not it.”

“I don’t know, Gavvy. Could be. But I hope that’s not it too. I think you’re made for something a bit better than that.” Instead of pity, or jokes, she gave him a vote of confidence, and there was a little gleam that formed in Gavin’s eyes at her words.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do!

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The day after speaking to Fiona, Gavin was still thinking about her words. Despite how good it had made him feel in the moment, they’d ended up putting him in a worse mood than usual, and it was hard for him to even begin thinking about the magic he might have held. Was he really meant for something better than the idiocy his friends assigned to him? He wasn’t sure.

He’d set out on a hike, outside of the city that they’d made for themselves and into the woods surrounding it. Some time out in nature always made him feel better, more at ease, more connected to the magic of the world around him. The small nuances on how the ecosystem worked together to thrive always intrigued him, and he was jealous of how cohesive it all could be.

“I’m just a bit too all over the place for it, I guess,” he muttered to himself, taking a seat on a fallen tree. The moss was soft beneath him, and he ran his fingers over it as he talked to himself. Working through his thoughts aloud always made them feel less jumbled.

A figure sat down beside him with a heavy sigh, and a hand was placed over his. “Don’t beat yourself too much, Gav,” Geoff said quietly, wrapping his arm around Gavin and pulling himself close. “We can’t all be something special, otherwise there wouldn’t be anything special at all.”

Gavin let out a long sigh, leaning into the gent when he was pulled in. He’d stopped asking how Geoff could find him so easily long ago. It was the same answer every time, ‘I just know where to look, you assholes aren’t exactly all that hard to find,’ said with that same glint in his eye. “Yeah, I know. But it’d be nice to be able to do something more than exist.”

Geoff hummed softly, rubbing his thumb gently over Gavin’s shoulder. It always made him feel guilty when any of his friends were upset, particularly Gavin, but he’d been so hung up on the same thing for so long. “Are you sure you don’t just want an excuse for the attention to be back on you for a change?”

The lad sat up quickly, pulling away from Geoff and cutting him a confused look. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying! Going around talking to everyone, being all mopey about not having magic? Pretty good way to get everyone to pay attention to you for a change, right?”

Gavin scoffed at the notion, pushing Geoff away from him. “That’s not what I’m doing at all!”

“Are you sure?” He asked, arching an eyebrow as Gavin stood up suddenly.

“Yes.” They’d had a few new members join their ranks, and attention was divided as they worked to expand their little city and network with others, but he hadn’t minded people paying less attention to him. If anything, he enjoyed it. It meant there was less pressure on him to perform. “Now, I’m going. And this time, you’re not allowed to search for me.”

He didn’t even know where he was going, he just wanted to go away. He wondered if that’s what everyone thought, or if Geoff was just trying to get a rise out of him. If they all thought that way, they’d certainly never said anything of the sort, but this was how people were going to treat him, Gavin didn’t want to be around them.

“What a dick,” he muttered to himself, pulling his cloak tighter around himself as he walked deeper into the forest. It was a beautiful green and gold tapestry, the hues blending together to make a simple but pleasing pattern. The threads had been hand-woven by Matt and enchanted to protect its wearer from whatever may come their way, and it did a remarkable job.

As he ventured deeper into the woods, the trees grew taller and thicker, blocking out the sun’s rays and sending a chill through the air. As the coldness began to creep in, the cloak kept him warm and made him feel safe. However, it couldn’t protect him from the turmoil inside his own mind.

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In the city center, Michael was having a different sort of crisis, and his angry shouting could be heard all across the land.

“You said what to him?!’

His relationship to Gavin was indiscernible at best, no one knew whether they were deeply in love or mortal enemies, but one thing was certain: he was fiercely protective of the fact that he was the only one allowed to bully Gavin, and anyone else could only do so with his permission. Whether they were soulmates or archnemesis, Gavin was his boi first and foremost.

“I just suggested that maybe being an idiot was his form of magic! It was funny, we were both laughing!” Fiona said, completely oblivious to the way that Michael was shooting daggers her way. Usually Michael played along with her playful teasing of Gavin, so when he didn’t continue to make jokes, she looked over. “Don’t you give me that look, you’re thinking it too.”

“I’m not, though.” Fiona scoffed, and Michael all but growled. “I’m not. You all underestimate him, and when he does find his magic, you’re going to be blown away. All of you will be.” There was a special sort of conviction to his words, one that was usually reserved for saying the most ridiculous things completely stone-faced.

Michael stormed off after that, ignoring Fiona’s demands for him to keep hanging out with her. Movement came from the bushes on the outskirts of their community, spotted just out of the corner of his eye, but his attention snapped towards it in an instant only to reveal that the movement was caused by Geoff. His eyebrows furrowed as the other tried to pretend like he wasn’t covered in burrs and twigs, like he wasn’t trying to sneak out of the brush and back into the city unnoticed.

“Do you know where Gavin is?” he asked instantly, lifting a hand swiftly to raise a dirt wall behind Geoff, who was trying to retreat back into the bushes as quickly as he’d come out of them.

“Why would I know where he is?” Geoff asked, his voice pitchy and lilted like he certainly did know where Gavin was, but also that he knew that revealing that information would get him in more trouble with Michael than not at the same time.

Michael’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, the ground beneath his feet rumbling and propelling him like a moving walkway until he was nose to nose with Geoff. “Because you know where everyone is, you always know.”

There wasn’t fear in Geoff’s eyes, but the man’s chest rose and fell rapidly with anxious breaths. The staredown was long and tense, though he eventually relented, letting out a long sigh as the wall behind him fell. He wasn’t going anywhere. “I spoke to him in the woods maybe an hour ago, he told me that I’m not allowed to look for him, but here.” He reached into his gear, pulling out a weathered piece of parchment that was rolled and tied with a thin strip of leather. A map, one that he’d made with the same magic that lived in his tattoos, that not only held the lay of the land but also markers for everyone who lived in it. Geoff offered it to Michael, who quickly swiped it from him and unrolled it. “He never said anything about you going after him.”

The lad hummed quietly as his eyes scanned the map for the forest green marker that indicated Gavin’s name, wordlessly stepping beyond the brush and into the woods towards it.

“I don’t even get a thank you?!” Geoff cried out behind him, annoyed by the lack of gratitude. The ground beneath his feet rose suddenly, knocking him off his feet and onto the earth. He cried out, flailing his arms in an attempt to stop himself from falling, but it was futile. Michael was already gone.

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The woods looked easy to traverse on the map, and they most likely would have been if Michael had stayed on the trails, but he opted to make a beeline towards Gavin. The terrain was rocky and there were steep cliffs off the beaten path, but it was nothing that he couldn’t handle. He could mend and mold the earth to make it easier to traverse, creating stairs along the cliff faces for an easy descent. The climate was what was really getting to him. The chill in the air was unbearable for him, only getting worse as the sun began to dip down, and he had a bear’s pelt to keep him warm. Gavin’s frame was thinner and frailer than his own, he most likely wasn’t faring any better.

He lit a torch as night fell, raising up dirt and stone walls around himself to block out the cold and keep himself safe from the nocturnal monsters around him. After jamming the torch into the wall, he unfurled his map and saw that Gavin’s marker had stopped moving and was instead spinning around in frantic circles. Evidently, he was trying to make camp for the night as well. With a swift movement of his hand, miles away on the other side of the woods, similar walls raised up around Gavin, and the marker finally stopped moving. Satisfied that his boi was safe, he settled down, wrapping his pelt around himself tightly for warmth as he laid down to sleep.

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Gavin was startled as the dirt walls rose up around him, terrified that something was trying to trap him within them, though he quickly became at ease when he realized what it meant. Geoff had listened and wasn’t going to be searching for him, but Michael was certainly looking out for him instead. The fear that came from being alone out there dissipated as he ran his fingers down the dirt, pulling out several clumps of roots and knocking bits of earth loose. Dirt walls were less than fancy, but they were a great comfort regardless.

He slept easily through the night with a newfound sense of safety, his cloak pulled tightly around himself for warmth. It worked wonders against the cold. As the sun began to rise, it didn’t emerge from the clouds, the sky grey and dreary as rain began to fall. Gavin could hear the rain hitting the tops of the trees, but even as he began to move none of the drops ever hit him. Above him, the branches of the trees bent and molded, shielding him from the downpours as he walked. No doubt this is Michael’s doing, he thought to himself, a small smile forming on his lips. No matter how much they seemed to argue, the other lad still managed to be protective of him. It was something he was always grateful for, even when the others seemed to give him shit for it.

His pace that day was slower, more leisurely now that he had calmed down some, but he still had no intentions of going back to the city. If Michael was the only one who cared enough to come for him, they could start their own city far, far away. Together. He quickly shook the thought from his mind, pushing his hood down and taking a look around. Though the trees were tall above him for now, he knew that if he just kept going they’d give way to a beautiful, grassy plain. He couldn’t wait to walk on grass again, the dirt and stones beneath him were starting to make his feet ache.

Several yards from where he’d first had that thought, he had to stop, kneeling down to untie his boots so he could re-lace them tightly. Moving slowly, he bent down, not wanting to end up with another cut on his knee from landing too hard on a rock like he’d already done far too many times this trek. But the terrain beneath his knee was soft, and as he looked down at his boot, he saw that there was soft, lush grass beneath him. Not dirt.

“What on earth?” He asked himself, brushing his fingers through it. There was some grass on the forest floor around him, but it was rough and patchy, nothing like this. “Michael’s really outdone himself this time.” With that thought, he smiled to himself before continuing to lace up his boots with deft fingers. Before he stood, he spotted a small wildflower that had bloomed among the blades , and he gently picked it and placed it behind his ear. “What a dope.”

What Gavin didn’t know was that Michael didn’t have the ability to create foliage or flowers underfoot. No one in their community did. And with each step that Gavin took, more of it sprouted up from the dirt beneath him.

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Night fell again soon enough, and Gavin wasn’t sure where he was. He could’ve sworn that the forest gave way into plains at this point, but instead he found himself in the middle of the desert. Stupidly, he’d continued on, just in case the plains were just beyond it, though now he was too tired to turn back.

“Maybe Fiona was right,” he muttered as he sat down in the sand, digging his toes into it and wiggling them for some amusement as he propped his cloak up over himself like an umbrella. It was nighttime now, but it would be morning again soon enough. He didn’t want to end up burnt to a crisp before he even woke up. No walls came up around Gavin this time either, so it was up to him to protect himself.

Gavin leaned forward against his knees, peering up at the night sky for a few long moments. Jeremy had spent many long nights back in the city teaching him the constellations and the stars within them, though he could never tell which ones were real and which ones the lad had made up for his own amusement. Orion was certainly real, but Beauregard’s Chariot was almost certainly not. Almost. He picked that one out, finding comfort in its familiarity, before he decided it was time to get some rest. Toes still in the sand, he laid back, arms crossed beneath his head as he closed his eyes. He had been so focused on the sky that he was unaware of what was happening in the sand beneath him.

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With Gavin’s slowed pace, Michael was able to start gaining on him. He raced through the trees with even greater speed now that he was beyond the craggy cliffs and difficult landscape, the earth moving beneath him to propel him along. By nighttime, he’d closed in on Gavin’s position, and he was stunned by what he saw.

Smack dab in the middle of the desert, where not even cacti could manage to survive due to the horrible heat and scorching sunbeams, Gavin found himself within an oasis. That same lush grass and wildflowers were no longer just underfoot, but in a wide circle around the lad, almost tall enough to completely hide him from Michael’s view. Small trees were even beginning to grow, supporting Gavin’s cloak above him in place of the flimsy sticks he’d set up before.

“Gavin?” Michael called softly, stepping forward with caution in case it was a facade, a trap of some sort. The desert was known for causing hallucinations, for preying on the hope of the desperate. That was the kind of magic it held, and it was very skillful at using it. But as he knelt down at the edge of the circle and reached forward to feel the greenery, sure enough, it was real. “What the hell? Gavin! Wake the fuck up!”

The lad sat bolt upright with a start, catching himself in his cloak and fighting it off with all the fierceness of a kitten. Sleep was still gripping him, catching him somewhere between being wide awake and deep asleep, but he was quickly coming to. “Who’s there?!” He shouted, finally tossing his cape away from himself and looking around in confusion. “Michael?” That wasn’t the last thing he expected to see out there, but it wasn’t the first either. “What are you doing here, Michael?”

It had taken everything in Michael not to laugh at the display in front of him, but he quickly wiped the smirk off his face to look offended when Gavin addressed him so incredulously. “Jeez, don’t sound so happy to see me,” he drawled, rolling his eyes before shuffling forward on his knees. “Mind telling me what all this is?” He arched an eyebrow, gesturing to the small haven among the sand.

However, Gavin had no more answers than Michael did. “I’m not… I’m not sure what it is,” he responded earnestly, glancing between it and the other lad before reaching for his cloak. “I thought you were doing it. You’re not?” Michael shook his head fervently, and Gavin only frowned as he pulled the garment on. “Then who is?”

Michael shrugged a shoulder, humming a soft ‘I don’t know’ before standing, stalking around the mysterious growth. This wasn’t anything that anyone he knew could do, and when he tried to make it happen himself, all he could do was raise the earth itself. He couldn’t make anything grow from it. Which left only one option…

“Come here,” he said suddenly, and Gavin looked at him like he’d asked him to do something insane. “Stand up! Get the hell over here!” When there was still no movement from him, Michael reached forward, hauling Gavin to his feet and yanking him out of the circle. Sure enough, grass sprouted up beneath the lad’s feet, extending the circle and connecting it to wherever he stepped. “Holy shit… Gavin! Look!”

Gavin had thought that Michael was angry at him, scolding him, but the tone of his voice was nothing but excited. Thrilled, even. He followed Michael’s gaze down to his feet, but he wasn’t quick enough to put the pieces together like the other had. “This happened to me back in the forest too! I don’t know what’s going on!”

“You’ve found your magic, that’s what’s going on!” Michael was practically screaming, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking at Gavin with a big beaming grin. “You can make stuff grow! That’s incredible!”

That made things click for Gavin, finally, and his grin ended up matching Michael’s. “I can make stuff grow!” Geoff was going to be blown away, everyone was. He wondered if Michael would be okay with them going back to the city immediately, they’d be able to get there by morning thanks to his abilities. “Fiona was right!”

The other bristled immediately, his grin turning to a frown in a fraction of a second. “Fiona was… Right?” She’d told Gavin that his magic was being stupid, that his special ability was being an idiot. This certainly wasn’t that, not by a long shot. “Gavin, this isn’t stupid. This is awesome! Fiona wasn’t right.”

“What? What are you on about? No, she… She said I was made for something better than what everyone else thought. And she was right! Oh, and she’s had such shit luck getting flowers to grow at her place too, no wonder!” Gavin threw his arms around Michael’s neck, wrapping him in a tight hug that was fueled by nothing but pure glee, and he could only hug him back just as tight. “We have to get back there, immediately. Everyone is going to be so jealous, Michael-boi.”

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Some proper rest would’ve been a great benefit to them both, but Gavin had insisted that they return to the city as quickly as possible. The moving ground beneath their feet made it a relatively quick task, and Michael had managed to find a well-worn trail that made it even easier. They were back in the city by sunrise, and while the excitement had died down in Michael to give way to sleepiness, Gavin was no less giddy. Probably because he’d climbed on Michael’s back at one point and managed a small nap. Lucky bastard, Michael had thought to himself when he’d heard the soft snoring in his ear, but he hadn’t woken him up.

“Michael. Stop here, Michael,” Gavin urged, nearly losing his balance as the dirt beneath him ground to a halt suddenly. They were just outside the city, inside the same bushes that Geoff had attempted to sneak out of a few days prior, hidden from view as residents began to leave their houses to begin their tasks for the day. “I’m gonna get on your back-“

“You’re not taking another fucking nap,” Michael interjected, and the other huffed and waved him off.

“No! I’m gonna get on your back so I can do a grand reveal, you dolt. The flowers appear when I step, and if I step too soon the surprise will be ruined!”

“Hey, assholes!” Jeremy’s voice boomed across the city center, no doubt hearing the commotion, and Gavin quickly began to scramble onto Michael’s back.

“Ow! Watch it, you’re gonna knock off my glasses! Stop!” Michael huffed, swatting at Gavin’s hands as they reached for purchase anywhere they could. He stepped out of the bushes once he was settled, looking annoyed while the lad on his back was nothing but gleeful. “Hey, Lil J! I rescued our favorite dumbass. You’re welcome.”

Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh as Gavin let out a little ‘hello!’ and waved, though he was curious about why the other was on Michael’s back. It wasn’t unlike Gavin to demand piggy-back rides. Though normally once Jeremy was in view, he made it his mission to climb onto his shoulders instead. “Gav, are you hurt? What’s going on?” He stepped up with caution, ready to call for help if needed. Injuries weren’t uncommon, but if Gavin needed to be carried, it must’ve been serious.

“No, the asshole’s not hurt. Not yet, at least. He’s just got a surprise for you,” Michael assured, rolling his eyes. “For everyone, actually. Do me a favor and ring the bell? They’re gonna want to be here for this.”

An eyebrow shot up, but Jeremy was quick to comply with the request. He crossed the city center, grabbing the rope and pulling it once, twice, three times to signal that it was a meeting of utmost importance, but not one that brought bad news. When the bell rang three times, it meant that there were good things to come.

Soon, all of the residents of the city were there, eagerly awaiting to learn the reason for this meeting. Very rarely did the bell ring thrice, and there were hushed whispers and guesses of what was to come. They all fell silent when Michael, with Gavin still on his back, stepped forward.

“I’ve found my magic,” Gavin announced, savoring the look on everyone’s faces as they processed that announcement. Particularly Geoff’s, whose face was twisted into one of apologetic guilt. A sense of satisfaction bubbled up inside of him at that. And of course Fiona was delighted, jumping up and down and pumping her fists, shouting ‘I knew it!’ before she even knew what Gavin’s magic was. It didn’t matter to her. Alfredo and Trevor were also excited, but only because their beloved Dusk Boy had finally joined their ranks, though Jack and Matt simply looked skeptical. He couldn’t blame them, really. Why now? Why did it take so long for him to find it? Those were the questions behind their eyes, and Gavin wished that he had answers for them.

When he felt like he’d let the suspense hang in there air for long enough, he stepped down. For a moment, nothing happened. Matt was about to open his mouth to complain about being dragged out of bed for a grand display of nothing. And then, all at once, a beautiful display of lush grass and flowers appeared at his feet. The more he focused on it, the bigger it grew and the more beautiful it became. No longer was it simply wildflowers, either. In the hours of their journey, he realized he could control the types of flowers that grew. He opted for sunflowers this time. Everyone knew that they were his favorite. It was proof that the magic was his, and not anyone else’s pretending to be his.

The reactions were mixed, and Gavin deflated a little as several people seemed unimpressed and walked off to return to their duties. It wasn’t the most spectacular power in the world, he knew that, but it was his and he liked it. That was what mattered to him. There wasn’t much time for him to mope though, as Fiona quickly rushed him, wrapping him in a hug and lifting him off his feet.

“Gavin!” she shouted, stepping back to inspect the flowers closer. She plucked a few blades of grass, feeling them between her fingers. After a few seconds, she gasped, her eyes lighting up. “You can help me grow flowers at my place!”

Gavin laughed, nodding quickly and beaming at her. He could always trust her to cheer him up. “I can, yeah. No wonder you’ve not been able to grow anything.”

“Yeah, cause you stole my green thumb! That’s hardly my fault.”

“Oh, I dunno about that. You should’ve been keeping a closer eye on it.”

They bickered back and forth, Michael watching with a tired but fond smile, until Fiona decided that she’d had enough and thumped Gavin on the side of the head before racing off. The lad was too exhausted to follow, so he just stepped over to Michael, the foliage underfoot following him as he went. Everyone else came up to congratulate him in time, Geoff doing that and apologizing for the harshness of his words in one awkward convoluted mess that Michael wasn’t even sure was an apology, but Gavin understood what the gent was trying to say. He’d learned to decode Geoff Speak over the years.

Still, the person whose opinion Gavin valued the most was Michael’s, and once the excitement had died down and they’d retreated to their homes to rest, Michael stopped by to give it.

“I’m real proud of you, Gav,” he said, making himself comfortable on the bed next to the lad without a second thought.

“Proud of me?” he asked, snatching his blankets back from the lad as he tried to steal them. Michael always did this to him.

“Yeah. Proud of you. For putting up with the bullshit and finding your magic. Even if it was a total accident.” Michael snorted out a soft laugh and smiled, crossing his arms beneath his head and looking over at the other. “You just lucked into it, just like you lucked into everything else.”

“Including you?” Gavin arched an eyebrow as he met the other’s gaze, desperately wanting to wipe that smug look off his face.”

“Especially me, are you kidding?” That comment earned him a gentle smack to the chest, a kiss to the cheek, and a mutter of ‘I’m going to make a tree grow through your damn house.’

To everyone else, their relationship was indiscernible at best. But Michael and Gavin knew exactly what they were to each other, they didn’t need anyone else in their business about it. They were partners. Not just in life and love, but in their magic as well. As he learned how to hone and control his abilities, Gavin would decorate the city and beautify the buildings that Michael had created. And once he had mastered his skills, Michael began to create buildings specifically for Gavin to embellish. Dirt roofs became his signature style, the gravity-defying feature held together by the roots of the flowers that Gavin planted into them. The city had never looked better, and even those who were initially unimpressed by Gavin’s abilities had to admit that it was perfectly suited to him. He took great pride in rubbing it in their faces.

Gavin was happy to not be a member of the mundane anymore. His spirits were higher, and he felt more useful to the city. His abilities, with more practice, extended beyond flowers and grass and into fruit and vegetable plants. The magic that Gavin held could sustain them all.

But Gavin had always held magic within him, in Michael’s eyes. He had never been mundane. That gleam in his eye when he got another crazy idea to cause chaos was nothing if not supernatural, and his ability to find the fun in even the most boring of situations had proven to be valuable time and time again. It just hadn’t been the form of magic that Gavin had always desired, so he never took note of it despite it always being there. Michael was just glad he could finally see it in himself too.

#ragehappy #rpf #mavin #oneshot #magic au #secret sunshine #secret sunshine event #fic #my fic #my writing #everamazingfe

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bcdrawsandwrites · 4 years

Text

For Unity by @jaywings and me

Rating: T Genre: Friendship, Angst Characters: urGoh, skekGra, skekSil, skekSo, skekTek, skekVar, urVa, urSu, urSol, urZah, possibly others… Warnings: A LOT OF VIOLENCE. Description: One was as vile and repulsive as his brethren. He murdered, and maimed, and reveled in it. The other was as slow and indirect as the rest of his brethren. He hated his dark half as much as the others did theirs. But who they were did not matter, for Thra saw its moment, and seized its opportunity. Beta Reader: ThePrairieNerd

—~~~—

Chapter 8: One, That Became Two, That Became One Again Summary: In which the Wanderer takes the first steps.

—~~~—

His hand was empty.

As he made his way through the Dark Forest, guided only by the light of the Sisters, urGoh found himself rubbing his thumb over his calloused palm repeatedly; the shard he'd carried for only a few days had felt almost like a companion to him. And yet it had shattered beneath his fingers, leaving nothing but sparkling dust in his hand—gone in a mere moment.

And what a strange moment it was.

The shared memory threatened to return, but urGoh pushed it aside. Dwelling on it would do nothing but fill him with an unhelpful, unreachable ache of longing. Instead he focused on the absence of the crystal shard, reflecting on just why it had taken that exact moment to shatter. Had the connection he'd felt extended to the shard, and corrupted it, causing it to break? Or... had the shard served its purpose?

The more urGoh thought of it, the more it seemed to be the latter, and the more unsettled he felt.

It wanted them to unify. Not just the tiny shard—the Crystal. All of Thra. A Mystic uniting with a Skeksis... who ever thought of such a thing?

The idea of working alongside the Conqueror was not something that brought urGoh any comfort, no matter how Thra urged them to. He would, he would certainly try, but he did sometimes question the wisdom of this world. After all, could a creature who had killed so many others truly decide to stop within a matter of days? Could such a monster actually change his ways, and so quickly?

"You better... have a good idea... of what... you're making us... do," he grunted to a passing tree, which merely shuffled its roots in response. "This meeting could end... very badly."

The idea of a Skeksis conversing with a Mystic was absurd to begin with, but to willingly bring the most vile of their kind so close to the Valley to meet again? What a terrible idea! Why had he agreed to this?

But at the same time... he couldn’t shake this feeling—that moment, when they both recalled the same campfire, with the same Gelfling telling the same story, because they...

The sudden ache in his chest made him stumble, and he shook his head, keeping his gaze trained forward. No—he couldn't keep rethinking this. His path had been decided, and there was no turning back now.

As urGoh walked, the first rising sun cast strange, flickering shadows in the trees, winking in and out of view and slipping through the leaves as though they were following him. One shadow broke away from the rest, twining serpentlike partway down the trunk of a tree before a shape landed in front of him with a thump. UrGoh backed up a step, squinting hard.

The first Brother was at his eye-line, and he could not see the figure that confronted him, save for a looming, spiked silhouette. For a heart-stopping moment he thought it was skekGra, having changed his mind and abandoned all sense, returning to attack him again.

“A plod-stomping urRu,” the figure rasped in a low voice. “In the Dark Wood.”

It had to be a Skeksis, but urGoh didn’t immediately recognize it. Sunlight glinted off the edge of a wicked dagger it gripped in its claw.

UrGoh raised a hand to block the light and attempted to duck to one side in order to clear his vision, but the creature simply moved with him with a fluidity that he did not expect.

“This looks like valuable pickings,” it went on. “A Mystic’s floundering tongue would be the trophy of trophies. And the head of a Skeksis would come freely with no miserable squabbling.”

“You are… bluffing,” urGoh said. No Skeksis would purposely bring harm to another Skeksis, surely? Especially by attacking their Mystic counterpart. They seemed to prefer open confrontation.

A beaked, reptilian head was suddenly thrust in his face, eyes narrowed under a mask made from the skull of some unfortunate creature.

“Am I?” the Skeksis spat.

UrGoh shuffled backwards, his tail dragging through the leaves, still trying to get a good look at his aggressor. The mask had revealed the exact identity of this Skeksis, though it was someone he’d never met—nor, truthfully, had wanted to meet.

“How did you… know I was here?” he asked, hesitantly. Had this creature caught sight of skekGra?

The Hunter hissed through jagged fangs. “I followed your lumbering footsteps for miles. The blundering Mystic disturbed the rakkida pack I was tracking.”

“Oh. I am… sorry,” urGoh said uncertainly. He didn’t have much love for rakkida, vicious as they could be, though the thought of more deaths attributed to the Skeksis gave his stomach a sickening lurch. “Perhaps if you go after them now… you will find them again.”

“But they’re no longer a worthy prize,” the Hunter sneered. “They were scared off by a Mystic.”

He lunged suddenly, faster than urGoh could have prepared for, but withdrew with a snarl almost within the same second. A large arrow had sprouted from the ground at his feet.

“Leave this place, skekMal,” the deep, resonant voice of the Archer rang out, as the Mystic stepped into view. He had strung his towering bow, another arrow nocked loosely in the string but not yet pulled taut. “The forest is not yours to command, much as you think it is.”

The Skeksis clicked his teeth. “All who trespass into the Endless Forest beyond their piddly settlements invite death from the shadows.”

“I see no shadows,” urVa growled. “You stand in the light of day.”

UrGoh could see a shadow, however: the one standing before them, cloaked in death.

As they were speaking, the sun had risen higher, now leaving the Hunter in plain view. He stood up straighter, rattling the morbid trophies that hung from his belt—skulls and pieces taken from previous victims that urGoh did not immediately recognize, and he tried to look away, for fear he eventually would.

"I am a Lord of the Crystal, and master of these woods, in light or in darkness," skekMal snarled. "I can hunt what I wish, whenever I wish, hidden or not!"

"I see." UrVa returned his arrow and unstrung his bow. Then, his eyes always upon the Hunter, he marched forward until he had situated himself between skekMal and urGoh. He lifted his head, a challenging gaze piercing his other half's eyes. "Hunt me, then."

For a long moment, the three of them stood silently, skekMal and urVa both eerily still, each a corrupted reflection of the other. Only urGoh moved, glancing back and forth between the two, wondering which of them was truly mad enough to make the first move.

SkekMal suddenly lunged his head forward, letting out a vicious howl, and charged. While urGoh cringed back, urVa stood his ground, and the Skeksis bolted in a wide arc around them, rushing into the depths of the Dark Forest. UrGoh kept an eye on him until his form melted into the trees, while urVa regarded the situation with an almost detached calmness. Finally the Archer turned away, his long bow thudding against the soft ground as he moved on without comment.

"Um... thank you," urGoh said, blinking and trailing after urVa. "I wasn't sure... what would happen there."

"SkekMal is a dangerous creature," urVa said plainly. "His actions can be unpredictable, even among the Skeksis… But even he would not be fool enough to attack..."

UrGoh waited for him to finish; when he did not, he merely followed, keeping an eye on the path ahead.

"You have been wounded," the Archer said suddenly, and urGoh gingerly touched the scratches on his snout.

"My... other half," he mumbled, and urVa gave a quiet hum. They walked in silence for a few minutes longer. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but nor was it much of a companionable one, and it inescapably put him in mind of their previous journey toward the Valley together. It felt like countless trine ago. Had it really been only a few days?

"For what reason do you take the path through this forest, urGoh?" urVa asked.

"Hm. Other than... my being... a Wanderer?" UrGoh slowly turned his head, giving his companion a wry smile. But urVa did not spare him another glance; he didn't seem to be in such good humor this morning, and urGoh sighed. "I am... returning... to the Valley."

UrVa stopped, lifting his head as he faced urGoh at last. "Again? Your wandering path rarely leads you home. What brings you back this time?"

Glancing back the way skekMal had fled, urGoh frowned. "I have... something important... to discuss with urSu."

"A better conversation would be had with the mountainside."

UrGoh cast his gaze downward. "Perhaps. But... even a mountain may eventually give in... if it is worn down enough, or if something large... should impact it."

"Hmm." The Archer closed his eyes. "I see you are still concerned with the plight of the Gruenaks. If the Master has already given his verdict on the subject, I fear nothing but the voice of Thra itself may change his mind, my friend.”

“The Gruenak devastation… has… passed.” UrGoh could not keep the bitterness from his voice. “I return with… a different matter.”

Briefly urGoh considered telling everything, and glanced down at the forest floor to contemplate his words. But the light cast by the first brother upon urVa created a looming, dark shadow behind him, and he shuddered. No. He could not speak here.

"I see." For the first time that morning, a smile crossed urVa's muzzle. "I am keen to see what you believe can move a mountain."

"As... am I." UrGoh blinked. The Archer’s wording had struck him. “You wish… to join me?”

“I will. Perhaps it is now time I returned to the others, as well,” urVa said. “But please… no poetry.”

“No,” urGoh said mournfully. “I… lost it all… in an unintended swim.”

“Ah. That is certainly a shame.”

The two resumed their journey, urGoh confident in knowing that it would not split at the Valley entrance this time. He felt that a weight had been lifted from his shoulders—but was almost immediately replaced by another one as the enormity of his task set in. The thought of trusting any Skeksis was still a rather foreign concept to him. How in Thra’s name might his brethren be convinced?

—~~~—

He looked like an idiot.

He certainly felt like an idiot, especially among the other Skeksis who probably hadn't set foot outside the Castle in who knows how many trine. SkekGra was uncomfortably aware of the mud on his claws, ashes on his armor, the cuts on his face, and the myriad of twigs and leaves clinging to his robes. He could feel the burn of their stares. Would there be a time when he wouldn't traipse back to the castle drenched in all manner of filth?

SkekGra had hoped to return unnoticed, but he should have known otherwise. It was getting too late in the day, and the castle was far too busy. He managed to climb back up through the catacombs unnoticed, but was spotted by guards as soon as he reached the first of the more populated floors of the castle. Now he could only trudge through the cold stone halls like a Podling before the Deturge and hope he wouldn't be questioned.

And also, once again, to make the choice between food or sleep. His cramping stomach suggested which one should take priority. Hastily, he brushed off the worst of the grime and headed for the Banquet Hall.

"So... the murdering scourge of Thra... is afraid of me..."

The deep, slow voice, the chirping of desert insects, and the crackling of a fire echoed in his head.

"The Crystal is fractured... It felt like pain, emptiness, incompleteness... Have you not thought... that it needed to be healed?"

An image of the great Crystal, once a pure, shining white, now bled a deep violet. The memory of the Crystal of Truth dragged down to the Scientist's lab in heavy metal claws, pulsing against the cruel restraints.

"It never occurred to me..."

Someone prodded at his side, hard, and he picked up an urgent, whispered, "Lord Skeksis-ah!"

SkekGra jerked upright, blinking in alarm, his warrior's instinct fighting to take in every aspect of his surroundings. He was seated at his place at the banquet table. Several Skeksis around him were croaking with laughter. There was an upturned bowl of soup in front of him. And his face was dripping.

A Podling face looked up at him anxiously—the one who had poked him awake, no doubt. SkekGra waved him away, heart shriveling slightly in embarrassment as he mopped up his face with a dry part of the tablecloth. Irritably he noticed the others were still cackling. What were they laughing about? He could do an entire series of paintings about the stupid things each and every one of them had done. And whom at this table hadn't ever buried their face in a bowl of soup?

Too bad his own stupidity seemed to be coming more frequently as of late.

After shaking off the mortification, shoving some amount of food in his mouth, and regaining some strength in his limbs, it was of course time to attend the Ceremony of the Sun once again. He stood at his place in the circle, his gaze unwavering, letting strength flow into him that he knew was never theirs to take, and spoke to no one. He did not catch skekTek's eye, ignored any jeers presented by the others, their own insults forgotten as soon as they garnered no response.

"Lord Conqueror!"

A voice called out to him in the corridor as he made his way to his chambers, and he finally stopped, looking down to see a Vapran Gelfling rush up to him. He gave a start as he recognized this one.

"Conall," he greeted, the name slipping out before he even realized that he knew what it was. Strange... he'd never cared much about learning their names.

The Gelfling dipped forward in a bow as he reached him. "My lord, I've just returned from the battalion of Gelfling sent back to the Caves of Grot to rout out the Gruenak stragglers. They told me that no one had reported to you about it, so I immediately sought you out. We..." He swallowed nervously, as though unsure how skekGra would take his next words. "We- we didn't find anything, my lord. And the Grottans swore that they had offered no further protection to the traitors."

Again, the voice returned to his mind: "You spared two. Two of the hundreds... that fell by your swords."

He swiped his tongue over his jaws, and gave his response in almost a trance. “Let them escape…” he muttered.

Maybe they did escape, he thought. Maybe they left those foul caves and found a place to settle, far from conflict.

The Vapran, meanwhile, quailed away from him, face paling and ears flicking back. "N-no, my lord, we did not intend to, but we had orders from Emperor skekSo to return. I'm so sorry, my lord. We won't give up. Every time we're sent out again, we'll keep a watch for them. We'll track them down eventually, and make them pay for eluding the army of the Castle of the Crystal!"

SkekGra's stomach wrenched. "Yes. See that you do."

“And I… I wanted to warn you, my lord…” the Gelfling wrung his hands. “The guards have been saying strange things. Things… about you.”

SkekGra gave a sniff. “I think I can handle a few Gelfling rumors. Now, attend to your duties, Vapran.”

He took his leave from the young guard and, in a haze, found his quarters and loomed in the doorway like a dark shadow.

Oh, Thra, it was a disaster in here. Someone would have to take care of this.

He crossed into the room, placed his weapons carefully beside his wardrobe, and promptly turned to collapse face-first onto his bed.

"You feel... guilty, Conqueror."

Another sickening lurch to his insides.

Vaguely he grasped at the tattered wish for a sleep with no dreams, no visions, no haunted words, no drowning Mystic idiots or cries from the Crystal to rip him from unconsciousness. He wasn't built for this nonsense.

Oh. And I promised another meeting with the Wanderer in some Thra-forsaken corner just outside the Dark Wood.

Eyes tightly closed, his tongue snapped a sharp curse and one fist beat against his bedcovers. When had this become his life?

—~~~—

It was the phrase that skekGra fell asleep to, and blearily woke several hours later with it still running through his mind. He pushed himself to his feet, and finally exchanged his sodden robes for clean ones—the others had been through a lot, he noted, as he laid the forlorn-looking clothes out flat on the bed—and sheathed his weapons back in their proper places before strolling from the room.

Not wanting to have to navigate another conversation or lecture from anyone this time, he took back ways around the Castle, slipping unseen into the Scrollkeeper's library to swipe a map, and then retreating down through the catacombs to undergo another unpleasant crawl out through the Teeth of Skreesh.

An unexpected scent hit his nostrils before he reached the way out, however, and he tensed. Gelfling? He could have sworn he caught a hint of stale Gelfling scent. But that was impossible—Gelfling had always been forbidden from coming down here. Anyone who broke that rule would be thrown from the Castle, along with any members of their family, and with such a black mark on their record would likely never be able to find civilized work again.

He shoved the matter aside and continued on his way.

It would be nice, he thought, to not have to leave the castle like this again. But at least it was secretive, as no one considered that anyone in their right mind would use this path.

"It's been a long time since I've been in my right mind," he muttered, swatting a dangling branch out of his face. Consulting the map he'd borrowed, he pinpointed the unlikely spot for the Wanderer's planned meeting with whatever Mystic he could drag out of its hole, and started off on a path southeast from the Castle.

Was he ready to meet another Mystic?

His teeth clicked. The tips of his fingers twitched. There was a prickling at his back as his spines rose.

He didn't fear the Mystics. What was to fear? The Wanderer himself had stated that anger was not natural to them. And aside the Hunter's strange counterpart, he doubted that they even had a concept of weaponry.

It was the wrongness of it all that unsettled him so. The knowledge that he would have to look into some creature's beady eyes and see the distorted, meandering reflection of someone he knew. Which one would it be?

And why did he dread this decision more with every step?

—-~~~—-

The third Brother barely broke over the horizon as urGoh and urVa neared the Valley. The Archer paused as they drew closer, and for a moment urGoh feared he would turn away again.

However, urGoh quickly spotted the reason for it, and could only stare as urSol the Chanter approached them along the trail, stopping in front of them.

“...Chanter,” urGoh said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. “You have… left the Valley.”

UrSol inclined his head, a slight smile on his face. “I have taken four steps beyond the border. Hardly a long trip when compared to the Wanderer.” He looked up, his eyes shadowed. “Did you find what you were looking for, urGoh?”

UrGoh paused, his neck dipping slightly as though weighed down.

“...No,” he said after a moment. The Chanter blinked in sympathy, and urGoh went on. “But I did find… something else.”

UrSol's gaze turned to urVa, regarding him with a tipped head. "You found... the Archer."

"...Yes," urGoh said. "But that is... not all. I must speak... with urSu."

At that, the Chanter heaved a sigh. "I may speak in many voices... but none of them can reach Master urSu." Yet he smiled at urGoh, and continued, "But that does not mean the Wanderer will not succeed." With that, he resumed his original course, passing the other two Mystics and heading up and away from the Valley.

Though urGoh knew he could not delay long, curiosity overcame him and he turned to face the Chanter. "Where do you... go?"

"To seek new songs outside the Valley," the other said without turning around. "And new company. But I will not be gone long. Perhaps a few trine."

"Avoid the forest," urVa said, eyeing urSol seriously. "No song is worth an encounter with the monster that lurks there."

UrSol paused. "I fear not the shadows," he said, and did not stop again.

With the departure of the third Mystic, the two made their way further into the Valley, watching as the slow life of their fellows went on as usual. UrZah the Ritual Guardian did not look up from his sand painting, though the Weaver waved in greeting as urGoh and urVa passed by. While urGoh was glad to see the other urRu again, his mind dwelled on other matters. "Where... do you suppose..." he began, but trailed off when he saw the Archer had stopped. UrVa's gaze was turned upward, and urGoh followed it, blinking in surprise.

UrSu stood on the ledge above them, regarding him with an expression urGoh could not read.

"Wanderer," he said. "You rarely return home without purpose." He did not question urVa's presence, and urGoh's mane prickled.

"I have come... to show you something," urGoh said. "Something... of great importance..."

"And what have you brought to our Valley?" urSu asked.

"I did not bring—" urGoh nearly said “him,” but caught himself just in time, "—the… important thing... with me. You must come with me... beyond the Valley."

The Archer snapped his head toward urGoh alarmingly fast, eyes wide. Every other urRu within listening distance did the same, their heads raised and snouts pointed almost accusingly at urGoh. UrVa opened his mouth to speak, but urSu was faster.

"It is one thing for other urRu to leave the Valley," he said. UrSu's gaze had an uncharacteristic hardness to it. "I have permitted some to leave... against all counseling, whether from clouded judgment and dissatisfaction, seeking perpetual solitude, or a futile wanderlust… the Storyteller, the Swimmer, and the Monk, passed beyond our sight... the Archer, living alone, the Peacemaker… the Chanter, ever guided by his ill-formed emotions, storming off after another argument… And to say nothing of you, Wanderer, as it’s in your very name.” His gaze never left urGoh. "But to ask for me to pass beyond the Valley’s borders…”

"He would be killed," urVa said plainly. "A Skeksis would surely seek him and swiftly kill him. To take his power."

UrGoh looked him in the eye. "But you... have faced your own dark half, and driven him away."

The Archer regarded him for a moment before humming and turning aside.

"Master urSu," urGoh went on, facing his leader again. "This is of... vital importance. Thra itself... demands it."

UrSu heaved a long sigh through his nostrils. "Thra has not spoken to me of such things."

"Thra... has spoken... to me."

The Valley went still. Without looking, urGoh knew the others were staring at him, and he knew how absurd his claim sounded. But he continued to stare into urSu's eyes, his own gaze serious, pleading. If urSu would not at least see what he was going to propose, there was no hope of his ever listening.

The Master returned his gaze for an agonizingly long moment, and urGoh held his breath. But slowly, slowly urSu turned away, his heavy steps plodding across the wooden walkway. Heart suddenly heavy, urGoh lowered his head, shutting his eyes against the sheer frustration and sadness welling up within him.

A better conversation would be had with the mountainside, indeed.

"Show me, then."

Straightening, urGoh spun around as quickly as he could, almost falling over himself, to find urSu watching him again and leaning heavily on his staff.

"Show me what Thra has shown you, that it has kept secret from me."

UrGoh blinked stupidly, his mouth falling open and throat producing no sound.

"Then I want to see as well," urVa said somberly, shifting the walking stick that doubled as his bow. "Lead the way, Wanderer."

The knot in his chest loosened itself a little, the burden easing, and urGoh nodded. "Yes... right... away."

—~~~—

What was he doing?

Every step brought deep dread seeping back into his bones, displacing the relief he’d felt, his jaw set with his teeth clenched together.

Not one of them spoke. The calm camaraderie that urGoh had felt with urVa on the trek back to the Valley had vanished, replaced by a cold fragility, three slow-moving figures set on a single destination, all lost in their own reveries and none too happy to be going.

This was a mistake. The thought wound itself through urGoh’s head and felt heavy on his tongue, as though desperate to be spoken aloud to send the others home. He glanced behind him to see urVa’s face set in grim determination, his eyes slowly roving from side to side as though to watch for threats. UrSu by contrast had his gaze set straight ahead, watching neither urVa, urGoh, or their surroundings for that matter.

This was a mistake. I am leading both of them into a Skeksis trap.

UrGoh slowly shook his head, tossing out his mane. A trap? No. SkekGra could not restrain and capture three Mystics at once, particularly when one of them was the Archer. And he certainly couldn’t kill them without harming himself, along with a highly revered and feared Skeksis in the Hunter, and his own Emperor.

Unless the death of Emperor skekSo was the point.

UrGoh glanced again at urSu, with urVa following in his wake. This was why the Archer had come along—to grant the Master all the protection he could offer. But skekGra did not even know that urGoh had planned to bring urSu to the meeting place. UrGoh hadn’t told him.

“And he’s… changed,” urGoh said aloud, as though speaking the words might make him believe them.

“What did you say?” the Archer said evenly. UrSu said nothing.

“I said… so much... has changed,” urGoh said, his fingers curling.

UrSu spoke up then, still gazing ahead. “Eternity does not change. The stars, the planets, they sweep across the sky in an endless rhythm. We are nothing to the great expanse of the universe, the creatures who dwell here even less so. Our lives are a whisper that makes no impact, until we are called to act by a mediator of the cosmos.” He tilted his head to look straight at urGoh. “So what is it, Wanderer, that you wanted to show us?”

The Master’s response had drawn the small party to a stop—uncannily close, urGoh realized, to the meeting spot he had set up with skekGra. UrGoh drew in a deep breath and slowly, slowly, turned to face the others.

“We are here,” he said simply.

“And there is something… waiting for us?” UrVa’s face had darkened, though his expression was not altogether readable.

UrGoh hesitated. “I am… not sure yet. I… will go check.”

He turned quickly to avoid the looks in their eyes and pushed through the bracken and curtain of leaves up ahead, coming to a stop when he reached a clearing and a strong, sour scent hit his nostrils.

The forest here was silent, as though nothing wanted to reveal its presence.

There was no doubt. SkekGra was here.

As he had this thought, a nearby branch shifted and suddenly the Conqueror was there, slipping out into the daylight, eyes bright and accusing. He tilted his head up, taking a sniff of the air. With a jolt urGoh remembered how much better senses of smell Skeksis had than most other creatures he knew—certainly better than Mystics.

“I thought you were bringing maybe one Mystic,” skekGra growled. “What kind of trickery is this? Was this a trap?”

UrGoh stretched his neck higher, looking the Skeksis straight in the eyes. “Those I have brought… fear a trap from you.”

The Conqueror went rigid, his eyes aflame with fury and horror. “How many others did you tell about me?!”

“None… yet.” He held unwavering eye contact. “I have told them… nothing. But we discussed... that we should share our revelations... with the Mystics. So I… have brought them.”

“What, all of them?” SkekGra shook his head hard. “We didn’t discuss anything! This was your idea, which you simply flung at me while I was in a hurry—”

UrGoh interrupted. “It is… time.”

Before he could change his mind, he turned and let out a low note from deep in his throat, the sound reverberating through the trees and causing the leaves to tremble. SkekGra cried out and flung his hands over his ears, baring his jagged fangs.

Before urGoh’s call had faded, urSu and urVa strode through the trees and stood behind him, the disheveled Skeksis in full view.

Neither Mystic betrayed any hint of surprise, though the worn, spiralling creases in their faces had hardened. SkekGra, however, looked alarmed; in a flash of sunlight he had drawn three blades—a short sword along with two daggers clutched in his secondary arms—and dropped into a defensive stance.

At some point, out of urGoh’s sight, urVa had nocked an arrow, though he did not yet draw it.

No one spoke. No breeze blew, the atmosphere heavy and taut as if the air itself were the Archer’s bow. UrGoh felt as if the slightest movement would snap the fragile strings holding them all at bay and the clearing would erupt into chaos.

He made the tiniest gesture toward skekGra, his eyes on the two Mystics.

“Here… is what I wanted you to... see,” he said, his tongue lame in his mouth. He half-expected the Archer to run him through with an arrow where he stood, perhaps not even bothering to loose it first.

"...A Skeksis," urSu said, and urVa tightened his grip on his bow.

"Yes," urGoh replied, twitching his tail in a vain attempt to rid himself of the excess tension in the air. "This is the skekGra, the Conqueror... my other half."

"This was a terrible place to meet it," urVa said, his voice a strained growl.

"Why?" skekGra asked suspiciously, and if it were possible, the tension only increased in the small clearing. Something was going to snap. "If you're worried about the Hunter, I don't think he comes out this far."

"He... hmmm." Slowly urVa lowered his bow, but only by a fraction. He doesn't, was probably what he had been planning to say, but he'd evidently thought the better of it, not wanting the Skeksis to know what he was actually worried about.

"Can you stop pointing that thing at me?" skekGra demanded, glancing from urVa to urGoh. "You’ll end up hurting him too, you know."

"Your weapons are still drawn," urVa retorted.

At that, skekGra pulled back slightly. "Listen, I don't know which ones you are, but..." He ground his teeth furiously. "...But my Emperor would have my head if the others found out I attacked you. I'd be attacking one of my own."

UrVa did loosen the pull on his arrow upon hearing that, lowering the weapon in surprise, but urSu's gaze hardened. "I do not believe it. No Skeksis has honor."

"This again," skekGra growled, but slowly sheathed his weapons. One talon, however, rested on the hilt of his sword.

"What does it mean, again?" urVa questioned, this time turning to urGoh.

"SkekGra and I met yesterday," he admitted. "It was then... we decided... to speak with you."

The Conqueror clicked his beak sharply. "Oh, yes, this was truly something we agreed upon, with full understanding of each other."

Slowly urSu turned his gaze upon urGoh. "Is this... what Thra spoke to you of?"

"Thra... spoke to us." UrGoh took a small step, merely shuffling his feet, realizing moments later that he had moved slightly closer to skekGra. "Both of us. We... were given... visions."

There was silence for a moment.

“Thra does not give us visions,” urVa said. “We are not truly a part of this world.”

"Any vision received by a Skeksis is sure to be one of corruption," urSu said, finally looking skekGra in the eye. Apparently the Conqueror could see a certain something in the Master's eyes, for he took a step back.

"I... I did see corruption in my vision," skekGra admitted after a moment. "Thra itself falling apart at the seams. Death everywhere. Even the Skeksis..." He swallowed. "We rotted where we stood." His gaze grew distant for a moment, before hardening, as he looked at urSu accusingly. "I'm sure the same was happening to you lot as well."

"It was... a warning," urGoh said quickly, before a fight could break out. "Thra showed me... that the Crystal... needed healing."

For a moment urVa and urSu were silent, the two turning their gazes upon each other. UrSu's face was unreadable, but urVa raised an eyebrow in interest. "Yes," he agreed. "The Crystal... does need to be healed."

"But not by one of our own," urSu said. "That is not our destiny."

"So what do you propose we do?" skekGra snapped. "Sit around and hope someone patches a bandage on it?!"

UrSu glared at him. “Nor is it a task that the Skeksis will accomplish. We must wait for the Crystal... to call."

"That is not... what Thra... told us," urGoh said. "It said... we must strive... for unity. All of Thra. The Gelfling—"

"The Gelfling have Aughra to aid them," the Master interjected.

"Aughra yet slumbers." UrVa said. His head lowered, but only for a moment.

"It is not our call."

"Oh, listen to yourselves!" skekGra snapped, teeth bared in a hiss. "Do you Mystics ever do anything other than mumble, walk in circles, and chant nonsense? When are you going to do something about all this?”

"A Skeksis would lecture us on taking action?" UrVa’s gaze was piercing.

The Conqueror’s eyes flared. “If even one of you bitter, long-necked sloths would stand up and act, you could march up to the Castle of the Crystal itself, and—!” He faltered.

UrGoh stared at his dark half. What?

He shook his head—it wasn’t important now. "What the Conqueror means,” he said, “is that... we are taking steps... to solve... the problem."

"The only steps we must take are the ones that will lead us when the Crystal calls us," urSu said simply.

"Thra... has told us otherwise." Looking between the Master and the Archer, urGoh curled his tail around his legs, mentally preparing himself for what he would say next. "Thra... wants us to unify... not just the rest of Thra... but the Skeksis... and the Mystics... together."

UrVa lifted his head, his eyes wide, while urSu's expression did not change. More alarmingly, he raised not only his head, but his entire body, his four hands braced against his staff. At his full height he towered over skekGra, and the Conqueror's feet dug into the dirt as though he wanted to be swallowed by it.

"It... is not... our... time."

The words hung heavily in the air, the solid weight of them bearing down on the shoulders of everyone in the clearing. UrGoh felt they would crush him, and nearly sank to the ground.

"Do you believe it, Wanderer?" urVa said, finally breaking the deafening silence. "That we should unite with our dark halves?"

"...Yes," urGoh replied, and froze at the look urVa gave him in return. Only then did he remember the encounter with the Hunter, a Skeksis who showed none of skekGra's fear of harming his own kind. "Um... Thra... told me..."

"Was it indeed Thra?" urSu stared down at him; he had not lowered himself in the slightest. "Or was it a product of your endless wanderings?"

"It's true!" skekGra blurted. "I saw it too. Thra won't leave us alone about it!" He gestured toward urGoh. “Show them the thing you had last night, that little glittery crystal shard! That looked important.”

“I… can’t,” urGoh said dolefully, glancing down out of habit at his empty hands. “It… shattered.”

“Oh. That’s helpful.”

UrSu stared at skekGra again, unmoved, and the Skeksis visibly balked. "I do not believe a Skeksis would be granted such a vision. Thra... has not said such to me."

"I wonder why," the Conqueror snapped, regaining his composure at once.

UrSu slowly dropped back into his normal posture. He looked wearier than urGoh had ever seen him. "A Skeksis is not to be trusted," he said finally, and turned to urGoh. "You must never again speak with your other half."

"What?" urGoh said, stunned.

"UrSu is right." UrVa took a step forward. "Was it not you yourself who spoke of the evils this creature has done? The blood he has shed?"

Even without looking, urGoh could feel skekGra's gaze upon him. His toes dug into the grass, his tail curling tightly. Once again, he saw the two Gruenaks huddled in a corner deep in the Caves of Grot, still mourning their lost family member. Even more, he could still see the shoreline of the Silver Sea, drenched in red with more than the light from the setting suns. "I... did... speak of such things."

"Our shadows... have reveled in bloodshed." There was nothing accusatory to urVa's voice; it was steeped in sorrow. "We should not wish to join with that."

UrGoh shook his head. “We… would not—”

"Nghhh—you’re missing the point!" skekGra cried. "You think I'm glad about the things I've done? Will none of you cretins believe me? Thra is... it's... look, I don't want that future it showed me, either! All right?"

UrSu and urVa's stares were upon him again, boring into him for a long while, until even urGoh felt uncomfortable. It was urSu who broke the silence: "Even now... you prove that the Skeksis act only in self-interest, and can do nothing good."

Something bolted up from the tip of urGoh's tail and all the way up his spine, and his chest burned. "At least... he does... something!" he snapped, glaring at the Master. When urSu stared back at him, he was tempted to back away, but held his ground. "We have done... nothing... to help Thra... for hundreds of trine. What does it matter... if something is done... in self-interest... if it is done at all?" His tail lashed, and he did not wait for a reply. "SkekGra... has decided... to join the cause... of Thra itself. That, I believe, is good. What... have you done... Master?"

Silence hung in the clearing. It was broken not by speech, but by a strange, soft crooning sound that emanated, to urGoh's shock, from the Conqueror's throat.

The Skeksis stepped forward, leveling himself with urGoh once again.

"There is one more thing we could try," he said lowly, and urGoh wasn't sure if it was meant for everyone to hear or for him alone. SkekGra looked down at him, the corners of his beak folded in a grim line.

And he held out a gloved hand.

"...Ah..." urGoh couldn't keep the single word from escaping with his breath. Icy claws like his dark half's talons pierced his heart, driving deeply into it. His eyes locked on the offered hand, and all it implied, and he couldn't move. The other two Mystics were like statues as they watched the proceedings.

"UrGoh?" skekGra prompted, and urGoh wondered if this was the first time the Skeksis had used his name. "UrGoh—take it, will you? This doesn't look good."

He felt as though he were drifting away on the tide, at the mercy of the waves. To take that hand was to offer alliance—friendship—to this creature that had slaughtered hundreds, thousands, and relished their suffering. To sever himself entirely from his own kind and tie himself even further to this shattered perversion of a being that differed from himself in every way. All in a bid to save this world from darkness.

He reached out and took skekGra's hand.

A great surge of feeling erupted through him, a warmth, a light as brilliant and blazing as the Crystal of Truth had once been. UrGoh took an astonished breath. This feeling… he hadn’t felt like this since—

In an instant he was jarred from the vision as skekGra pulled his hand away and the world returned to normal. Dazed, urGoh forced his focus back onto urSu and urVa. What had they seen?

“There!” the Skeksis said beside him. "You want unity? There's some unity!"

UrSu blinked at them slowly. “I did not see unity,” he said. “I saw hesitation—a lack of conviction. And a desire for selfish victory rather than benevolence.”

UrGoh bristled; next to him, skekGra cried, “WHAT?”

He went on, “I held a Mystic’s grubby hand and this is your reaction?! You only see what you want to see!”

UrGoh shifted uncomfortably. “We’re… working on it,” he said.

The Master shook his head, slowly, as though sorrowful. Finally, he turned away. "You... neither of you… will ever understand."

He started to leave, but glanced back only once. “If you decide to come back, urGoh, you may not be welcomed… unless you can convince me you have changed your mind.”

With that, the Master stamped his staff into the ground, and headed back toward the Valley without another word.

Frustration welled up through every fiber of urGoh's body. All four of his hands clenched into fists. He turned to urVa, ready to speak again, but his voice died when he saw the Archer's expression.

"...You believe I should join with the Hunter?"

There was a faint, desperate hope to urVa's voice. Hope that urGoh would prove him wrong.

For a moment, urGoh wanted to say no, that he would never ask his friend to even attempt such a thing. But he knew—he knew he could not waver.

"Yes."

UrVa stared at him, and silently turned away as well, his bow striking the ground sharply beneath him.

Once again, the clearing was silent, and urGoh could only stare hollowly at the spot where his companions had disappeared through the woods. Something was again bubbling up within him, but it was neither anger nor frustration. It filled his stomach and chest and throat until it finally burst through his mouth in a booming, echoing call.

Birds and fliers scattered from their roosts, and the tension was finally gone.

"Well," skekGra said, startling urGoh—he'd almost forgotten the Skeksis was still there. "So much for that."

Gritting his teeth, urGoh sighed through his nose before swinging his head toward skekGra. He felt exhausted—more than he had been in a long, long while. To his surprise, skekGra did not look the same, but was instead watching urGoh with an expression he found hard to read.

"...Did you feel it too?" he finally asked.

It took urGoh a moment to remember. “Yeah,” he admitted. “For… a moment.”

SkekGra nodded slowly, then hesitated. "And... did you really mean what you said? You think I'm... I'm better than the Mystics?"

UrGoh tipped his head, embarrassed and a little ashamed. "You... act more than any of us... certainly." Oddly, he found strength in his own words. "I believe... you can be good. What is the point... of unity... if you cannot?"

SkekGra gave what might have been a laugh, but without any humor. “Good? What is your definition of ‘good’?” He fiddled with the hilt of his sword. "I dunno. I'm... still figuring this out." His tail flicked. "...Now what?"

"That..." urGoh began, and paused. "...I do not... know." He tilted his head one way, then another. "We could... talk to... the Skeksis?"

Staggering back, skekGra grabbed his bony chest with his talons. "Do you have a death wish after all?!"

UrGoh frowned, a tendril of irritation curling in his own chest. “No.”

“You must, or that wouldn’t have even crossed your mind!” SkekGra’s beak snapped. “Those lumbering Mystic friends of yours were merely disappointed. Set foot in the Castle of the Crystal and they’d tear us both apart!” He paused dramatically. “Tear us apart separately, so we’d feel each other’s pain as well as our own!”

Raising a brow, urGoh said skeptically, “They would not… do such to one of their own.”

The Skeksis’ nostrils flared. “Oh? So sure, are you? And what of skekNa’s counterpart, urNol? What is he, the Herbalist? Noticed anything missing about him lately? I suppose his hand dropped off of its own accord? His eye vanished overnight through some… some fluke?”

UrGoh lowered his eyes. He had received word of the Herbalist’s plight, but had not looked into it. He remembered skekGra’s previous lamentations about the cruelty of Skeksis punishments and, for the first time, began to wonder…

SkekGra drew himself up higher, his eyes dimly lit with a familiar sort of victory. It was a light that flared and then died once more, as the realization of what that victory meant sank in. “Thra may have chosen to unite us, but the others will never be convinced. Never, Wanderer. It’s not in their natures!”

UrGoh’s breath caught. “And yet… it is in… ours?”

That gave them both pause.

“This was never in my nature,” skekGra said quietly. “I shouldn’t still be here talking to you. I should follow the winding trail of those urRu to see where you things like to vanish beyond our sights. I should bring you all to the Castle in chains.”

They looked at each other.

“I would… like to see you attempt… to chain up the Archer,” urGoh said mildly.

“Who’s chaining up longnecks?” a cantankerous voice demanded, making them both jump. “What’s all this racket?”

Both skekGra and urGoh spun around, the former brandishing his weapons again instinctively. But just as quickly he lowered them, and urGoh raised his head in astonishment.

Before them stood an old crone, her mane of gray hair curling around two spiraling ram horns and framing a face that once had three eyes. One eye had been put out over a thousand trine ago, while another was dimly lit, but still seeing. The leftmost eye, meanwhile, darted accusingly between the Skeksis and Mystic before settling on the latter.

“Well? Why are you shouting up the forest while some of us are on important business?”

UrGoh realized his mouth was hanging open.

"...Mother... Aughra,” he said. “You’re… awake.”

“Yes, awake and needing to know what’s going on beneath the stars rather than through them,” the old woman replied. “And you can start by telling Aughra…”

She stopped, turning to eye skekGra and then back to urGoh.

“What disaster has befallen Thra that a Skeksis would consult with a Mystic once again?”

#skekgra #urgoh #urva #the dark crystal #the dark crystal age of resistance #aughra #ursu #skekmal #ursol #fanfic #my writing #my art #for unity #AAAAAAAAAAAAAA SORRY THIS TOOK AGES TO POST #2020 was ... a year

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