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balanceoflightanddark · 11 days

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Monsters We Create Chapter 20 Update

Apologies for the delay. Again. I...broke my foot and it took me a while to get myself together. That and I'm going on vacation to Alaska next weekend so...yeah.

But I do have Chapter 20, which is roughly about 50% done. Maybe. So to hold everyone in the meantime, here's a little snippet of the chapter as a sort of appetizer. Forgive me if it's a little rough.

They walked a good distance away from the war tent. Yet not once did Kori let her guard down. Zuko, Mai, and Ty Lee. Three names she had a lot of good reason to be wary of. One was the Fire Lord, obviously. It wasn’t too long ago when he nearly got Yu Dao destroyed out of his own stupidity. The other two? She could understand Azula being difficult, yet to turn their backs so suddenly and completely was beyond her.

When they came to an abandoned training ground, Zuko turned around. “Alright. We’re here.”

“If you think you can get me to stab a knife in Azula’s back-”

“Listen! I’m not here to talk about Azula. At all. I meant it when I said she’s going around unbound. It’s just…well, you know how she is! I can’t trust her with all these rogue armies running around. Somebody’s got to keep tabs on her,” Zuko explained.

“Besides, we’ve got Mai here if Azula needs some knives thrown at - OW!” Ty Lee rubbed her arm after Mai gave her a swift and rather hard elbow.

Zuko simply sighed from their little spat. “The point is, if you can keep Azula in check, that’s great. I only have the guards there so it can keep those generals off my back. And hers. They wanted her thrown back into that asylum.”

“You could’ve just told her that, but whatever,” Kori muttered. It amazed her. He says that he wants to do good, but then has some secret or leaves some lasting remark that invalidates it. No wonder he and Azula were so dysfunctional. Seemed like the only way they could even interact was through backstabbing, betrayals, and fighting. If this was what they were like when they were allies, she didn’t want to see how they were when the pleasantries failed and fire was being thrown.

Agni help her no fire was thrown today yet. She certainly didn’t see it in the Fire Lord’s eyes right now. They were…well, dull. His shoulders were a bit slumped. It was as if he aged a few years in the span of a few days.

“Can we forget Azula for a few minutes? It’s not why I called you out here.” Zuko swallowed as he collected himself. “I know you’re part of that movement the assassination attempt came from. Your father talked quite a bit about what you’ve been up to.”

“I assure you, our movement was to protest and prevent innocents from being harassed by Fire Nation guards! None of us had any intention of murdering anybody!” Kori still couldn’t believe it. Who’d be stupid enough to make an attempt on the Fire Lord’s life? She wasn’t a fan of his either, but nothing he did indicated he was personally overseeing what was going on in Yu Dao. A bit ignorant and heavy handed, but not responsible. It’s one thing if he stepped in personally and started threatening people.

Yet an attempt at his life without any solid reason for? That was inviting for the army to come in and stomp on their movement. Who knew how many civilians would be caught in such an escalation?

“I know. It’s why I want you to look into it.”

Kori, out of surprise or bafflement, let Zuko continue. “I get it. The Fire Nation hasn’t done Yu Dao much good. I’d even wager you and your people have done more for the benefit of this city in a few months than my country has for over a hundred years.” His eyes went downward for a moment, as he swallowed a lump in his throat.

Yet it only lasted for a moment before he took another breath. “Figure out what’s going on and who sent that kill order. I’ll do things on my end with the assassin. Maybe together we can bring whoever did this to justice.”

The rebel wasn’t sure what to say. It sounded too good to be true. Indeed, after running his proposal through her head, she saw the problem. “I appreciate the offer, Fire Lord. But as long as that captain and his thugs roam the streets, there’s only going to be more violence. Whoever’s doing this wouldn’t be able to get away with it if the guards didn’t build this pyre of theirs.”

“They will be brought to justice,” Zuko responded. “I’m going to try and override this curfew and get a tighter leash on the officers. If you can work on your end and help me bring this mastermind down, that’ll give them less incentive to crack down on your people.”

When he ended, he once again remained silent and waited for her response. Mai and Ty Lee stood on the sidelines watching the whole thing, giving Kori more eyes that were on her. Truth be told, she still couldn’t trust him. Who could? Everyone said he had the hallmarks of his father right down to how he ascended to the throne. And who could say they bring peace when they wear a crown drenched in blood.

Yet he didn’t wear the crown now. No grandeur. Nothing. He was baring his true intentions out to her. If nothing else, she could trust that. “Alright. All I can say is there might be some Fiery Raptors within their ranks.”

Ty Lee snorted. “Of course, Azula would pull something like that.”

“It’s not what you think,” Kori interrupted, making sure they all had her attention. “I wanted some people to back us up in the protests in case things got violent. She offered to have some of her men to back us up and I said yes.”

“Can’t say I blame you there. You go up against soldiers, you’re going to need some muscle.”

“Who’s side are you on?!” Ty Lee yelled at Mai, her frustration with her reaching a boiling point.

The emotionless girl just gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’m just saying it as it is. From what I’ve heard, the Mayor hasn’t exactly done a good job of keeping the peace on his end. Can’t blame Azula for taking advantage of something that was already there. We certainly did.” Ty Lee promptly shut up from Mai’s assessment, looking a bit downcast herself.

Kori also had a harsh truth slapped in her face. Her father. Mayor Morishita, the one most responsible for Yu Dao’s woes. He’s the one who ultimately had control of the garrison and determined who was in charge. If it weren’t for him, that captain and his goons probably wouldn’t be able to run rampant and bully the citizens into submission.

Still, it was a hard truth to swallow. Needless to say, his actions were part of the reason her mother left a long time ago. True, she made her peace with it when she saw what her father’s cronies were willing to do. Yet it still hurt too much to ignore.

Something that Zuko noticed. “You know your father’s going to have to go on trial for what he’s done. Right?”

Forcing down her queasiness, Kori crossed her arms and tried not to look like she was hugging herself. “I understand.”

“Good.” Then, the Fire Lord did something rather unexpected. He walked up and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. It was…surprisingly warm. Kori wasn’t sure what to make of it before she saw the scar on his face. Seemed as though she wasn’t the only one who had issues with her parents.

A similar story was told with Mai and Ty Lee, who gazed at her with soft eyes. Kori wondered: what was it about the Fire Nation that equaled parental issues? She had her father. The girls had their parents. Agni help Azula and Zuko for getting stuck with Ozai as a father.

Azula.

“Before I agree to this, there’s something you need to promise me,” Kori declared.

Zuko looked a bit surprised but then gave an uneasy nod. Having got his attention, the rebel dropped the ultimatum. “Give Azula a chance. Stop treating her like she’s the worst thing in the world. And stop treating her like a bomb about to go off.”

“...you know I can’t do that,” he admitted with pain in his voice.

Yet Kori stood her ground. “Nobody’s asking you to forget. I’m simply stating that if you want this thing to work out, you need to uphold your end. That means no threats. No harassments. No lies. And no dangling her over a cliff. Got it?”

He shuddered when she threw out that last demand, but that didn’t soften her glare. Especially when she saw Mai and Ty Lee paralyzed in shock. Oh yeah. Azula told her about his little stunt that almost got him killed. She didn’t care if it was a low blow or not. If it meant he wouldn’t pull the same garbage twice, then so much is the better.

As for Zuko, he didn’t say anything for white seemed like an eternity. Then he gave a defeated nod and said, “Alright. As long as she isn’t a problem.”

Satisfied, Kori turned to rejoin her friends. Since that’s what friends do after all. Though not before she said one last thing. “I do mean it. You try anything without any incentive…just remember what happened with Godzilla. It won’t end well.”

And so she left, leaving the trio behind. Truth be told, she didn’t enjoy having to lay out the cold truth. Yet Zuko struck her as somebody who needed to be slapped in the face and have a rock hammering into his skull in order to get the point across. Agni knows how many of those blockheads she had to put up with growing up.

Mentally she kicked herself for having to go from one blockhead to ANOTHER blockhead. If there was one thing Azula and her brother had in common, it was digging in and covering their ears when they didn’t want whatever ideas they had in their head to be challenged. Sort of made things a bit depressing that it took a kaiju of all things to get them to cooperate.

Let’s just hope they haven’t killed each other by the end of this, Kori prayed.

#azula #atla #zuko #kori morishita #kori atla #mai #mai atla #ty lee #atla fic #crossover fic #godzilla #godzilla fic

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okay-j-hannah · 1 year

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Episode 4: The New Heir

Doctor Who : Multishot

Eleventh Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 3790

Warnings: the spanish flu pandemic of 1918 and lots of references to characters in Downton Abbey - I apologize if you’ve never seen the series but I would highly recommend it 🤩

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: Follow the lives of the Crawley family and their servants in their Edwardian country estate as they search for the next heir, who will be asked to learn from the Lord and will be encouraged to be friendly with the eldest daughter.

Episode 3: As You Wish

Episode 4: The New Heir {You Are Here}

Episode 5: The Unknown Subject

The sound of tinkling forks and knives sang throughout the dining room. The rich mahogany table was bedecked with a number of alluring dishes and delicious scents. The guests were all alight by candelabras and the newly installed electric light.

(Y/N) cut a piece of the roasted chicken, tasting the rosemary instantly. The kitchens never disappointed in Downton.

Nor did the company. Seeing as life on the estate was frightfully dull without the people, (Y/N) took pleasure in the conversation. She enjoyed recognizing each of them as people from her own life.

Most of all the Doctor.

He sat beside her, taking on the persona of John Smith once more. “Please send my compliments to the kitchen,” he said politely, “You’re quite right – jammie dodgers are my favorite. I appreciate the homemade touch.”

The table rounded with laughs. (Y/N) looked over and eyed his plate full of desserts. He was lucid like her. Truly the Doctor playing the part just like her.

She turned back to the guests. “How have you enjoyed our gardens, Lady Cassandra?”

The heavily laden woman pursed her lips. She was covered in furs and feathers, practically getting in the way of the food she was pecking at. It was a surprise she could move her eyelids at all with the amount of makeup packed there.

Clearly she was a woman desperately holding onto her beauty as she fell out of her prime.

“I prefer roses over your tulips. But they’re beautiful, nonetheless. I didn’t expect the grounds to be so sunny in the country. It’d dry me out if I didn’t have my butler with me.”

(Y/N) held back a snicker thinking about her sniveling little comrade, Chip. The Doctor cleared his throat, apparently thinking back on the troubles the Lady Cassandra had caused in their own reality.

“You must visit our Downton Village Flower Show,” Lady Crawley said. She was the one supposed to be (Y/N)’s mother – she was one of the few (Y/N) didn’t recognize from her own world.

“I made a report on that,” Sir Octavian recalled from down the table, “And I will say the Lady Cassandra has a point about roses. They were the flower that won the show.” He played the local head of the newspaper in this reality.

(Y/N) took a sip of her wine, “If I’m not mistaken, you have a likeness for gardens, Sir Octavian.”

The man nodded, “I rather enjoy taking strolls. Particularly through statues and fountains as well. I’ve recently acquired a set of stone angels for my own garden.”

The Doctor spoke suddenly through a full mouth, “Weeping angels?”

“Yes, fascinating, aren’t they?” Sir Octavian remarked.

(Y/N) swallowed her chicken. If only the Sir remembered what the weeping angels did to him in the real world.

Mrs. Smith spoke, “I would be interested in seeing a piece about the local hospitals in the newspaper – if you don’t mind me saying so, Sir Octavian.”

“Mother, please,” the Doctor spoke quietly, “You can engage in your advertisements aside from the dinner table.”

His mother was being played by Harriet Jones.

“I apologize – Mother can be rather headstrong about the good causes.”

“I do believe you inherited that trait,” (Y/N) mumbled his way.

Lady Crawley spoke loudly to change the subject, “How have your tours of the village gone, (Y/N)?”

The Doctor responded, “Splendid, really. You’ve got countryside that will last for hundreds of years. Just imagine how they’ll grow and be preserved as national parks one day. An honorable way to preserve the ancient grasslands of England.”

The table had gone silent, forks and knives still.

(Y/N) kicked the Doctor beneath the table.

“Forgive me – just voicing silly antics Lady (Y/N) and I came up with on our adventures.”

“Adventures?” Lord Grantham, (Y/N)’s father, spoke, “Is that what you’re calling your daily outings?”

(Y/N) smiled, “That’s what they are more or less. The latest included a picnic overlooking the village. We tried to attract the rabbits with leftover salad clippings,” she snickered.

The table now shared their fondness for each other. It was no secret they were all in support of the pair to end their friendship in marriage. John Smith was the new heir to Downton and would inherit the title and estate from the family.

Should (Y/N) marry him, the family would have proper cause to remain at the house.

It was peculiar to play a part in a story where they should end up married. (Y/N) certainly didn’t mind, but she wondered what the Doctor thought.

He lifted his glass of wine, took a rather large sip, and spit the entirety of it back into the cup.

~~~

Amy was undoing (Y/N)’s hair, braiding it into a style to sleep in. “I’ve heard some wonderful things about your time with Mr. Smith.”

(Y/N) smiled, “I’ve heard similar things about you and Mr. Williams.”

“The valet?” Amy said with forced surprise, “Heard what things?”

“That you’re to be married,” (Y/N) eyed the woman through her vanity mirror, “That Father has starting searching for a cottage you two could stay in near the house.”

Amy sighed heavily, “Who told you?”

“I was the one who asked for cottage advertisements from Sir Octavian today on Father’s behalf.”

“Fine,” Amy grinned, “Now you share. I’ve noticed how Mr. Smith watches you when he thinks nobody is looking – if you don’t mind me saying.”

(Y/N) turned in her seat, “I rather like your forward nature, Amelia. Just don’t let Mother hear you speak like that.”

There was a knock at the door and a whispered voice, “(Y/N)?”

Amy was frozen and hesitant as she neared the door that was already opening. There stood the Doctor.

“Oh, hello,” he said in an animated voice. “I mean, I’m sorry – could I have a word with Lady (Y/N).”

“Let him in, Amelia,” (Y/N) spoke softly, “And I’d rather you keep this event to yourself, please.”

Amy nodded, letting the Doctor in and shutting the door behind her. Not before she shared a smirk with (Y/N).

The Doctor strode in, rubbing his hands together. (Y/N) took a relieved breath every time she saw him act like himself now. It was comforting after spending a couple realities of him not knowing the truth.

But it was still peculiar with how different he looked. He was still wearing his dress clothes – a suit with an ironed collar and shiny brass buttons – and shoes polished to see your reflection in them. His hair was combed and styled in a professional manner; it made her miss seeing it bounce about as he got into his usual eccentrics.

“Right,” he said quickly, “Splendid work playing the part. I thought a few times there we’d been spotted for being frauds but thankfully we were spared an immediate time jump.”

“You mean the times you ate nothing but jammie dodgers, spit back up the wine, and prattled on about the future national parks of the England grasslands?”

The Doctor threw a hand in the air, “Not important. I only meant to congratulate you on keeping up appearances.” He made to exit the room, but (Y/N) grasped his arm.

“What, that’s it?” she said with sudden anger, “You haven’t been cleverly thinking of some escape plan?”

“We’re surviving with the plan we have.” He held onto her head and planted a kiss in her hair. “Enjoy the fun while we’re stuck here!”

And he bounced for the door before she could lash at him with something more harsh. She still had yet to say something about her mysterious conversation with River Song. She very much wanted to hear from her again.

Not that she didn’t mind the luxury of Downton in the meantime. It was rather enjoyable going on rides or picnics with the Doctor while being treated like royalty on the estate. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to be just (Y/N).

(Y/N) and the Doctor. Companions traveling through time and space.

~~~

It was shaping to be a rather dull weekend as (Y/N) walked the grounds. Looking towards the skies she noticed incoming storm clouds. Clouds that were abnormal for the current season.

The Doctor had gone to meddle in the cottage affair with Mr. Williams and Amelia.

It left (Y/N) with a sense of boredom as she wandered. That was until she heard strange sounds coming from the estate.

She flew around, pebbles scattering around her feet. It sounded like… well, it sounded like the tardis.

She ran for the house, finding herself the staircase immediately and following the sound as it grew louder. She reached rooms that only the servants dealt with. Running through corridors and bumping into footmen and maids.

“Pardon me, Miss.”

“Sorry, Miss.”

“Lady (Y/N), is everything all right?”

(Y/N) ignored them all, hearing the wheeze of the tardis louder and louder until she reached a tearoom. She stood against it, catching her breath and hearing the sound warp.

She braced herself and opened the door. There in full glory was the tardis. It stood glowing and ominous as the day she saw it concealed in the trees.

Closing the door behind her, she whispered, breathless, “River?”

There was no answer.

“River, please,” she pleaded, reaching the box handle and pulling. It remained locked tight. “Hello?” (Y/N) knocked.

“Hello?”

“River!”

“(Y/N), finally!” River laughed, “I’m sorry our last conversation was cut short.”

(Y/N) sighed, leaning against the police box, “We don’t have much time. The dream doesn’t like us asking questions… or making escape plans, for that matter.”

“Have you gotten the Doctor to see the truth?” she spoke within (Y/N)’s mind.

“Yes, though I don’t think he sees the entirety of it.”

River grumbled, “What’s he going on about now?”

“Well, he refuses to think of another way out other than playing our characters assigned to us.”

“No, no – that’s just a mode of survival,” River said, “We can’t talk here. I can already feel the connection getting severed. You need to be somewhere away from the place you woke up.”

(Y/N) nodded, “Somewhere away from the estate.”

“Get somewhere far as soon as you can. Then I’ll try and reach you again – good luck, sweetie.”

(Y/N) felt a tug in her heart. River became silent and when (Y/N) blinked, the tardis was gone. She was left alone in a tearoom.

It was imperative that she got to a faraway location. Feeling out of breath, she ran for the staircase once more, the house slippers dainty on her running feet. She had to lift the hem of her dress as she ran outside, noticing how the grumbling clouds ahead seemed closer, and angrier.

Not trusting herself to remember how to ride a horse like in the last reality, she took off for the tree line on foot.

Trying to convince a chauffer to drive her would be impossible, besides she had to be alone when she sought after River Song. The delicate hairstyle that Amelia braided was coming undone as she fought against the hills and grass and incoming wind.

If the Doctor wasn’t going to do anything about an escape plan, then she was going to have to step up. She didn’t want to be stuck having to pretend in each new existence. She wanted the Doctor back. The Doctor and their old life.

Finding cover under a grove of trees, the light became considerably darker as the storm clouds sat heavy above her. She was far enough from the house now that perhaps the dream would be preoccupied with trying to locate her.

Then there was the wheeze of the tardis again.

“River!” she shouted, unafraid in the sanctuary of the woods. Quite like in the last reality, the tardis appeared nestled between the trees.

“(Y/N)? Brilliant, you were able to get away.”

“But I don’t know for how long,” she replied, running to the blue wood and placing a hand there. “Tell me how to get out of here.”

The tardis warped as River’s voice came through like a static walkie-talkie. “I told you there’ll have to be a big shock. (Y/N), I think you have to scare yourself awake. Like waking from a nightmare.”

(Y/N) leaned against the spaceship, ignoring the light spackle of rain that began to fall. “How am I supposed to scare myself awake?”

“I have my theories,” River continued, the metallic sound of buttons being pressed could be heard through the trees. “But none of them are pretty.”

“What can I do?”

“You’re going to have to die.”

(Y/N) felt the breath stick in her lungs, the smell of damp soil and rain filling her quickly emptying brain.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the natural survival instinct. Like if you were trapped underwater, your body has a natural self-preservation instinct to get air back in your lungs. In this case, your body will wake itself up if your dream state is compromised.”

She soaked up the information, “And the Doctor?”

“I can imagine finding you dead would be enough of a shock to wake himself up.”

(Y/N) now leaned her head against the tardis, the rain beginning to fall more forcefully, “How do you suggest it happens?”

“For the last couple hours I’ve been working on how I can manipulate the conditions of your dream. I could make something plausible happen to you – something realistic to the reality you’re in so the dream isn’t suspicious.”

“Seems a little farfetched.”

“I’ve been manipulating the atmosphere from inside the tardis. Has the weather changed at all since we’ve been talking?”

(Y/N) gave a choked laugh, “It started to rain.”

River sighed, “Excellent. You should expect to get sick in the next day or so.”

“By your doing?”

“Precisely,” River said, “I hear the Spanish flu is all the rage in this time period.”

(Y/N) grimaced, “That doesn’t seem like a pleasant way to go.”

“But it’ll wake you up,” River urged, “We’re running out of time. I’ll see you soon, please keep the Doctor in check.”

The tardis was beginning to fade beneath her fingers, “Sure, thank you River,” she said, backing away and under the full deluge of rain. “You better make it quick.”

The spaceship was fully disappearing now, and the massive droplets of rain were feeling colder by the second. Being drenched in the cold would surely weaken her immune system. And then all River had to do was put someone with the flu virus in her vicinity.

With so many members of staff and incoming guests at Downton, that part was simple.

The trek back to the estate was much more grueling than running from it. With the combination of the rain and the slip of her soaking slippers, she was a mess upon entering the house.

Having fallen in the overflowing hills, the white of her tights were torn and muddy. The delicate soles of her shoes were compromised and left her toes wet and cold. Her hair fell from their braids, left damp and curled against her face.

She resisted the shivers as a lady’s maid gasped at the sight of her.

“Lady (Y/N)!” It was Amelia, “What happened to you?”

“Good evening, Amelia,” she replied, “How was your house hunting?”

The lady’s maid ran over to grasp her arm, “Abysmal – the rain ruined the fun. We just returned. My lord, you’re chilled to the bone.” She pulled on her arm, towards the stairs, “Let’s get you warm. There’s a cold going around and I’d hate for you to catch it.”

(Y/N) smiled ironically at her maid. The year was 1918 and the Spanish flu pandemic was fully on its way. River knew what she was doing.

“I hope Mr. Smith hasn’t returned,” Amelia continued, guiding (Y/N) into her bedroom. “I’d hate for him to see you like this.”

“Would you now?” (Y/N) sighed, the forward nature of her maid – gossiper that she was – could be just what she needed now. “Why is that?”

“Well, on our ride today…” Amelia began, gathering dry clothes and stoking the fireplace, “I told you of my suspicions of his affections toward you. Now there isn’t a doubt in my mind.”

(Y/N) waited for the maid to help her into her nightgown. “Quite the spy you are, Amelia.”

“I beg your pardon, miss. But it’s true – that man has got his heart set on you something fierce.” She fixed the buttons on the nightgown and got a towel to dry (Y/N)’s hair. “I know he’d fret over you if you fell ill.”

“Kind of him,” she said quietly, seeking the softness of the bedsheets. “I’m terribly tired, Amelia. Please send apologies to my family. I don’t believe I’ll attend dinner tonight.”

“Of course, M’lady,” Amy bowed, “I’ll ask that they don’t disturb you.” She made sure the fireplace was full and hot before exiting the room.

(Y/N) laid there trying to get warm. A headache was already growing, and a tickle residing in her throat.

~~~

River worked fast.

Within the next three days a fever grew to exponential degrees. She was wracked with insomnia and coughing fits. She was prone to nosebleeds and sweating through the sheets.

A medical doctor listened to her lungs and met with the group of people waiting for the prognosis outside the room.

With the door ajar, (Y/N) could just barely make out the conversation.

“She’s entering respiratory failure,” the doctor whispered, “Pneumonia has ravaged her lungs. I’d expect things to get a lot worse within the next day.”

Other worried mutterings filled the space. “How long?” came the determined voice of John – the Doctor.

“It’d be a miracle if she made it through the night.”

And that’s why the pandemic was so historic. People would catch the flu and a few days later would die. It killed them quick.

The family thanked the doctor, but John was quick to request time alone with her. The door was shut and (Y/N) could feel the pressure of someone leaning in beside her.

Nimble fingers found her clammy hand, “(Y/N)…”

Her feverish head rolled on the pillow, rasping when she said, “Doctor?”

“I don’t understand,” he said quietly, holding her hand more fiercely. “I didn’t think this would be a part of our script.”

“It’s just a dream, Doctor,” she coughed, “I’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that,” he said darkly, “We don’t know what’s keeping us here.”

She fell victim to the pneumonia, coughing savagely. The Doctor grabbed her arm as if he could pull her to him and make it all better. He felt hopeless. He felt angry.

“We need to change the reality,” he ground out. “We need to leave this script.”

“That won’t change anything,” she rasped. “We have to let this play out.”

“I can’t,” he said quietly.

The fever was making her delusional, but it sounded like the Doctor was teary.

“Stop,” she said breathlessly, her eyes closed against the heat in her head. “Leave it be.”

“I can’t,” he repeated, “I won’t.”

She was fading, about to succumb to another bout of terrible, sickened sleep. She weakly wriggled her fingers within his grasp. “This is how we escape.”

The Doctor froze beside her, the wetness developing behind his eyes stalled. “What do you mean?”

“River…” she whispered, falling deeper in her sickness.

“River?” he said, “You’ve contacted River Song?” He stood from where his was kneeling, “What has she been telling you?”

(Y/N) had fallen under, the wheeze of her breath the symphony of her bloody lungs. The Doctor leaned over her, furious at being left out of a conspiracy. He was shaking, unable to look at the speckle of sweat against her temples, unable to look at the bluish tinge of her lips or the dark circles under her eyes.

Was it River’s doing? Was she the reason (Y/N) became fatally ill? She was smart enough to trick the rules of the dream state.

“Oi!” he suddenly yelled, “Hey!” He left (Y/N)’s bedside, screaming up at the ceiling, “You’re being manipulated. This was a revision of the dream. Someone is trying to invade. Please…” he breathed heavy, looking towards the sky. “Please don’t let her die.”

~~~

(Y/N) woke up sitting in a rolling desk chair. She was dressed in a professional women’s cut suit and a brown file folder was on the round table in front of her. She was in a meeting room with glass walls and a flatscreen tv.

She rubbed at her temples, the last remnants of the Spanish flu fading away. “What the hell…” she grumbled.

The door suddenly flew open, a group of people all similarly dressed in professional attire coming in with their own file folders.

Jack Harkness, Donna Noble, Amy Pond, and Rory Williams.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Jack winked, sitting beside her, “Did you sleep here?”

“Must’ve,” she said, massaging a crick in her neck, “We’ve been swamped with the press.”

Donna scoffed, sitting down and kicking her feet up, “You’re telling me! Those scavengers will pick our bones clean to get the tiniest detail on this case.”

“Hey, you’re the best liaison we have,” Amy nudged her friend, “I just can’t believe they asked the DAU to help with the case.”

(Y/N) scrunched her brow, finally reading the ink stamp on the front of her file folder.

DAU: Disaster Analysis Unit.

“This is a high profile case,” Rory said, opening his side bag to find his glasses, “They need as much help as they can get.”

“I don’t fancy the world ending because of some lunatic in a cocktail dress,” Donna said, flipping through the folder, “I mean who decides to be on the run from international governments in four-inch heels.”

“Classy,” Jack said with a grin, “If I was a criminal, I’d want to do it in style too.”

The door opened again, and (Y/N) had to consciously keep her mouth shut. The Doctor came walking in, file folder in hand. He was in a clean, pressed suit, his hair combed to the side and the lightest bit of scruff growing on his face.

He looked so un-Doctorish, but terribly attractive.

“Good morning, team,” he said with a commanding tone. He must have been the head of the DAU team. “We’ve gotten our next case and have pressure from all sides to apprehend her before a doomsday occurs.”

He went to turn the tv on, “Previously our unknown subject, she’s been identified after her last attempt to devastate England. She was caught trying to plague major cities with vials of disease she developed at her university. She tried to cause a worldwide pandemic.”

(Y/N) gulped, already guessing who their unknown subject was.

The tv flickered on and plastered to the screen was a picture of the suspect:

Professor River Song.

~~~

Tag List:

@caswinchester2000 @aria253264 @bippity-boppity-boopa @kaqua @cameleonfrenzy @zerocanonlywriteshit @ryou-cosmos @multifandomfix @mythandmagik @wanna-plan-world-domination @bb-skyrunner @murder-swan @v-gremlin @elisaa-shelby @mxacegrey @onebigfangirl @unknownfacelessstuff @emilythezeldafan @lilac-skies-xd @wherethefuckisthething @science--hoes @shyposttree @gabrielislovegabrielislife @v0id-sp1rit @watchoutforthefanfics @yeehawbrothers @charleslec-airlines @a-disturbing-self-reflection @beeblisss @xxcandle-flamesxx @megoshh @kneelforloki @technikerin23 @relminnie @violetwaldosia @i-killed-ramsey @stalkerspy101

Remember to check out my tag list so you’re updated when a fic you like is posted on my blog! Tag List

#eleventh doctor x reader #eleventh doctor x y/n #eleventh doctor x you #eleventh doctor fanfiction #eleventh doctor angst #eleventh doctor fluff #eleventh doctor #BBC Doctor Who #doctor who eleventh #Doctor Who fanfiction #Doctor Who fanfic #doctor who x reader #doctor who x downton abbey #doctor who #downton abbey #downton #downton abbey x reader

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kraken17 · 5 months

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Godzillathon - The Showa Era

This month I started a Godzillathon, a series of reviews of all the King of the Monsters movies from Toho Studios. In my Letterboxd you have the reviews with more detail (in Spanish), but since I just finished with the Showa era, I thought I'd share some brief comments here.

Godzilla (1954) - ★★★★★ (10/10)

The original. An undisputed classic. A masterpiece. Terrifying, embracing its idea of the monster as a metaphor for the horror of the atomic bomb and its consequences. Top 5 of the whole kaiju eiga genre.

Godzilla Raids Again (1955) - ★★ (4/10)

In hardly less than a year we went from metaphorical horror to the most generic monster mash. It wouldn't be a problem if it weren't so bland/boring. Tremendous downgrade. Anguirus is cool, though.

King Kong vs. Godzilla (1963) - ★★★ (6/10)

Basically a Kong movie with Godzilla as a guest antagonist (the real villain is capitalism). It has things that have aged very badly (the racial representation and use of blackface) and unbalanced pacing. It is saved by its last ten minutes. The US cut adds extra hilarity.

Mothra vs. Godzilla (1964) - ★★★★ (8/10)

Mothra is made of awesomeness. Godzilla is a charismatic asshole. Once again, the real villain is capitalism. The main metaphor gives way now to a satire of the Japanese economic boom of the 1960s and its ecological impact. Fun from start to finish.

Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster (1964) - ★★★½ (7/10)

We lose the satire and social commentary, but we gain an iconic villain and embrace space opera and sci-fi without qualms. Fun monster mash and Godzilla's first step in his transition to an anti-hero status. He's still a jerk, but he's our jerk.

Invasion of Astro-Monster (1965) - ★★★ (6/10)

The spectacle wins out over any subtext, which has all but disappeared. It introduces what will be a recurring element of alien invaders making use of giant monsters. Memorable for being overall a fun film and perhaps the craziest of what we've seen so far, but not much more. Also, Godzilla dances.

Ebirah, Horror of the Deep (1966) - ★★½ (5/10)

Originally a Kong movie rewritten for Godzilla and it shows. Tropical jungle island adventure. Villains that could come out of a Bond movie. Godzilla in full heroic mode. GIANT LOBSTER. Fun, but doesn't leave much of a lasting impression, although Ebirah has its fans.

Son of Godzilla (1967) - ★★ (4/10)

Not as horribly bad as I feared, but not a good movie. Horrible design decisions, unremarkable antagonists (except for the giant spider because it’s a giant spider), and abusive monster parenting. It tries to squeeze in a bit of environmental commentary, but it's dull and infantilizing.

Destroy All Monsters (1968) - ★★★ (6/10)

The Avengers of the franchise. I wanted to like this movie more than I did. Two very uneven first and second acts of a story with a recycled plot (aliens + monsters under mind control) saved by a resolution that is memorable as fuck. You almost feel sorry for Ghidorah. Almost.

All Monsters Attack (1969) - ★½ (3/10)

The absolute low point of the franchise. It's like a bad dream/recap episode. Tries to do some slice of life with the monsters as a metaphor for childhood anxieties in a plot that shoehorns gratuitous kidnappings into it. Good intention but disastrous execution.

Godzilla vs. Hedorah (1971) - ★★★★ (8/10)

A return to form! Hedorah is an excellent metaphor for uncontrolled pollution and contamination. A bit dissonant, with Godzilla as a kid friendly hero (he flies!) in a terrifying plot, with body horror, human casualties in large numbers and an apocalyptic feeling. And that poor kitty...

Godzilla vs. Gigan (1972) - ★★★ (6/10)

Recycled plot of aliens (cockroaches!) using a giant monster. AGAIN. But it's fun and Gigan is memorable as one of Toho's most extravagant kaiju designs: anthropomorphic alien chicken with cool visor instead of eyes and knives. How many knives? All the knives.

Godzilla vs. Megalon (1973) - ★★ (4/10)

What the fuck. Total drift to Saturday morning cartoon standards, but poorly done. It's basically a pilot episode for Jet Jaguar, which is endearingly crappy. The plot? The usual, but swap aliens for ancient underwater civilization. Godzilla looks almost too adorable. Note, it actually has a message: nuclear testing is bad.

Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla (1974) - ★★★½ (7/10)

Twentieth anniversary and introduction of an iconic villain! And the plot... Guess what the plot is? Take a fucking guess. The aliens are now gorillas, just because. At least it's well executed, it's good fun. Also, King Caesar. I like King Caesar, even though he feels like a discount version of Mothra at times. Surprisingly gory in the fights.

Terror of Mechagodzilla (1975) - ★★★½ (7/10)

Direct sequel to the previous one. The end of the Showa era is a fun but a bit uneven film. Too much focus on a boring Titanosaurus (one of Toho's blandest kaiju designs). Good balance of monster fights and a human plot with touches of humanism and trans-humanism, and a tragic sacrificial ending.

#Godzilla #godzilla showa #showa era #Gojira #Gojira 1954 #godzilla raids again #king kong vs. godzilla #mothra vs. godzilla #ghidorah the three headed monster #invasion of astro monster #ebirah terror of the deep #son of godzilla #destroy all monsters #all monsters attack #godzilla vs hedorah #godzilla vs gigan #godzilla vs megalon #godzilla vs mechagodzilla #terror of mechagodzilla

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inkblot22 · 1 year

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I've recently had a Thought That Will Not Leave about a reader who was murdered in their world, wound up in TWST, but still bears the scar of their murder if that makes sense? Imagine being interrogated on where you got that wound, or having to hear from Crowley all the time about how he'll send you back home but you KNOW you CAN'T go back because you're Very Very Dead.

Okay, first of all, this is like my favorite thing. I don't know how to explain it, I just love creating death/near death scenarios?

Secondly, this is going to be LONG. Some of our boys are either too dense or too polite to say anything, so the placement of the scar has to change. Sorry about this taking so long, but since a few of them aren't as in-depth as I'd like, there may be a part 2.

TW for MC death, graphic discussion and depictions of violence, murder, scars, poison, knives, guns/bullets, large lizards, mention of drugs, a few tropey moments, the Leech twins and Rook because they freak me out and I know I'm not the only one, and also I get way too into a few of these scenarios.

~HEARTSLAYBUL~

You could still feel the blade burrowed in your throat. It was a sharp pain, something that was metallic on your tongue and forced your eyelids to stutter closed. You woke up here, and it took Ace pointing it out right after winter break for you to notice that you had a mark where the knife pierced you and poked out the other side of your neck. You barely had time to primp, and your collar mostly covered it, so you really had never paid it any mind.

You had to run to the bathroom at your next break, pulling your collar down slightly so you could see it: a thickened strip of skin, paler than the rest of your skintone by so many shades, with a darker echo tracing along the outer rim of the mark.

Looking at it made you feel sick. You just couldn’t escape your fate at all, could you?

You stopped talking after you’d seen it. Your stomach hurt and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You lasted without any big problems until the unbirthday party when Riddle and Trey approached your table, one looking angry and the other looking concerned.

“Hey, Prefect,” Trey’s soft voice and calming smile plucked a chord inside you, something heavy and dull and sorrowful. “Are you doing okay?”

You began to weep. Loudly. You could feel the eyes looking in your direction, but the ones that burned the most were your friends.

You could feel a steady hand on your arm, leading you up and away from the garden and inside the dorm. You accepted a handkerchief and sloppily wiped your face with it before attempting to speak.

“I’m so sorry-”

“What the devil is the matter with you?” Riddle snarled. You knew he wasn’t really angry.

Before you could respond, Ace cut in, “If this is about me pointing out your funky scar, then I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off, eyes flashing down to look at the scar again.

“Yeah.” You mumbled. There was a tense silence before you shifted to lean back in your chair, sighing, “Sorry about making a scene. I got killed.”

“What?” Deuce blurted out.

“Yeah,” you sniffled, “My, uh, my dad. He and I never really got along and we lived together and that just made it worse. He lost it one night, came home high as balls and did me in while I was pretending to be asleep.”

Everyone but Grim looked at you as if you’d sprouted a second head as you spoke.

You giggled, stifled a second peal of laughter, and sighed again, “You know, after years and years of him threatening to kill me, you think I would have believed him at some point, right?”

“That’s not fucking funny.” Ace said.

“Watch your language!” Riddle barked, “You’re dead in your world.”

“Let’s not state the obvious,” You said, laughing a little before growing overly serious, “I just need to never go back. With the rate Crowley’s going, it’ll never happen, but still… still…”

“We can’t let that happen,” Cater said aloud for you, a winning smile on his face as he tapped his nails on the arm of the chaise lounge he was laid across, “Don’t worry, Prefect… we won’t let that happen.”

~SAVANNACLAW~

You sort of just smelled. It wasn’t necessarily a bad smell, but you smelled like blood, which wasn’t good either.

You could notice it, faint scent on your clothes, in your sweat. Grim never stopped complaining about it, but you figured it was stronger for him anyways. If a day went by where you didn’t hear him referring to you as “the walking wound” or “blood-bag” after not getting his way, you’d be worried about his wellbeing. But it was just another part of life until Leona’s rude ass had to say something to you about it.

You and Grim had been tasked with interviewing Leona for something or other, probably something about his brother, but the minute you exhaled to gear up to begin your questions, he interrupted.

“I know I call you a herbivore, but you don’t need to overcompensate for that by eating so much raw meat. Cut back on the iron.”

“What?”

“You always stink like a fresh kill. It’s distracting.”

“Oh. That’s not because of my diet. Pay attention, I’ve got some questions for you.” You proceeded with your interview, foolishly assuming that Leona would have dropped the matter entirely.

He did the opposite. You seemed to have forgotten that Leona was a strategic planner, every bit of information turned into a bargaining chip or other method of gaining dirt in trade for gold.

Which is why your hidey-hole in the locker room after a joined PE class was darkened by three shadows.

“They’re changing, Leona. This is not the time.” Jack yanked Leona back by the arm, inciting a staring match.

“Ah, hello, prefect!” Ruggie said, ignoring the scene behind him in favor of sidling next to you on the bench as you tugged on a fresh pair of socks, “Did you hurt yourself during Vargas’ ‘special training’?”

You sighed, “No. He just had me running laps again… like last time.”

Leona broke away from Jack’s hold and sat on your other side. Jack very obviously stifled a noise of disbelief when you looked over at where he was standing.

Your attention was dragged back to Leona when he flicked your ear, “So, why do you smell like blood today?”

“You mean all the time?” You stuffed your sweaty, blood-reeking gym clothes into the plastic bag you used for your clothes during class, “Ruggie, do you mind if I tag along when you wash the rest of your clothes today?”

“Of course not,” He snickered, “You do smell like blood, though.”

“I know.” You buttoned your shirt the rest of the way down and snatched your tie from under Ruggie’s hand, “It’s not my fault I’m dead.”

There was a pause, a little longer than a normal one, before Jack growled out a low, “What are you talking about?”

You shrugged, “My sister-in-law tried to poison my sibling, but, uh… we had traded plates because the food on my original plate was touching. Maybe ten minutes into dinner, I couldn’t breathe and all I could taste was blood? And then I woke up in a coffin. Believe me, though, if I could stop smelling like blood, I would. Isn’t that right, Grimmy-wimmy?”

Grim straightened from his drooling and panting and stomped a back paw, “Shut up! I told you not to call me that, you lowly servant of a blood-blister!”

“See? Not even a human anymore.”

“So is that why you excuse yourself whenever Crowley talks about you going home?” Jack asked.

“Yeah. There’s nothing to go back to. Pretty sure I’m sleeping in a pine box in my world. So I don’t need to go back, and I really don’t need all of you constantly reminding me that I smell."

If you could count Leona’s calculating gaze as admonished, then you would. All of them looked at least a little put off by that. Maybe they'd stop fucking bothering you about it.

~OCTAVINELLE~

One of the first instances where Azul and Jade deemed it safe enough for you to be left alone with Floyd, he immediately closed the distance and pressed his finger against that dot on your forehead.

“What’d you do, Shrimpy? Try to kiss a squid?”

“Why- no, Floyd, that’s not-”

“Looks like it. What kind of squid was it?” He prodded, pinching the skin of your forehead so it would warp the spot.

“Floyd, stop it. I didn’t try to kiss a squid.”

Azul and Jade walked back in, still mumbling between themselves.

Floyd, unsurprisingly, didn’t let up. He let go of your forehead, only to grab your face with one big hand, “You can’t lie to me, dummy. You even smell like blood-”

You shoved him away with all your strength, “It’s not from a stupid fucking fish, Floyd. My best friend and I were playing with her uncle’s stuff and she found a gun. We didn’t think it was loaded and- and-” You burst into sobs, nearly tearless. “All I can think of is how bad she has to feel!”

“So would you go back if you could, prefect?” Jade asked.

“Fuck no.” You sniffled, “My head’s blown off in my world. There’s nothing for me there.”

"Gee. Sorry, Shrimpy."

~SCARABIA~

Your fingertips were blue-violet. All the time. Beyond that, your skin was always mottled with raspberry-toned splotches, but still, Kalim and Jamil invited you to dinner, along with Grim.

It was delicious, as always. You carefully watched as Jamil tested the food for poison, then began to eat.

“Prefect, may I ask you a question?” Kalim murmured. His tone felt strange, more demanding than curious. You’d often seen the side of him that was playful and easygoing, but you seldom saw the heir to a powerful family.

You blinked and sat straighter, “Yeah?”

“Are you anemic or is someone poisoning you?”

You faltered for the barest moment, then laughed, “Uh, ha… funny story, actually. I did get poisoned, just not here.”

“Did you drink coconut juice?”

“Oh- no, I didn’t… I couldn’t. My doctor- I was bedridden in a hospital and my doctor was obsessed with saving me, but he also needed something to save. I think it was the sugar packets? Or the teabags, or something. He put something in my food. The last thing I heard was some conjecture about heavy metal poisoning.”

Jamil slowly rose from his seat and grabbed your hand, turning it over in his own, “Well, they were right. Looks like you were fed cadmium and mercury. What a shame.”

“So how do we fix it?” Kalim asked, looking to Jamil.

“I don’t think you can fix death.” Jamil returned to his seat, gray eyes flicking over to yours, “Can we?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, you can’t fix death. My time has long since passed, too. I’m in dry rot back in my world.” You giggled, “I’m basically a zombie!”

Jamil did not look amused, but you got a chuckle from Kalim.

~POMEFIORE~

Not to say that Rook was a bad person, but you were constantly on edge around him. This wasn’t unusual for a lot of students, but it was special, in your case.

Rook’s affinity and fondness for the bow reminded you of a lot. It reminded you of the look of glee on the hunter’s face and the panic flooding your veins. Whenever you saw Rook, your adrenaline spiked and you could barely breathe.

Of course it was just your luck that you ran out of clean clothes and detergent. Vil had this thing against anyone looking disheveled, so last time he caught you in public after you’d had nothing but bad luck and the washer in Ramshackle broke, he made a promise to you. You could use Pomefiore’s amenities and detergents and soaps or whatever so long as it would keep you from looking a mess.

You cried in front of him that day. He cared more than Crowley. You got lucky, too. They invited you to dinner after your laundry was finished, and you had two mouths to feed, so of course you accepted and dragged Grim along.

“Would you also mind trying on some clothes while you’re here? I have spare items that I’m looking to get rid of.” Vil asked while you loaded your clothes and a few of Grim’s ribbons in.

“Sure.”

“Well, come along, then. Rook is still working on dinner,” Vil turned on his heel and you trailed behind him, Grim following you.

Vil respectfully waited on the other side of a privacy screen as you tried on a few shirts, exiting in a particular low backed one.

You did a short spin, awkwardly posing, "I haven't seen you wear this one."

Vil didn't say anything. He stood up, walked over, and spun you around so he could look at your back.

You felt his cold fingers trace three lines, heard him take in a sharp breath, and then he shoved you away and turned around.

"I'll ask him to leave you alone. If I had known he had done that to you, then I wouldn't have been inviting you over as often… But he wouldn't have usually done this sort of thing…" He mumbled.

"Vil? What are you talking about?"

"The marks. They're shaped like arrowheads."

"Oh. Good luck. I don't know the guy who did this to me."

"What?"

You shrugged, "I got kidnapped and monologued at like I was in some cheap horror film. I'm not the victor, obviously, since the hunter won."

"So… Those are not from Rook?"

You nodded, "Yeah, they're not."

~IGNIHYDE~

“You have to be cheating- you have to be- NO!” You howled into your headset and slumped in your new chair, “Idiaaaaaa why?

“All you have to do is git gud,” He responded, a laugh in his tone.

“You should go easy on them, big brother.”

“Ortho, you’re not helping. I wanna win because I won, not because Mr. Hothead went easy on me.”

“Heh.” Idia snorted, “Okay, you ready?”

“Yeah!” You and Ortho cheered in unison.

Your birthday, something of which you had never thought you’d see again, had passed with Idia giving you his old gaming setup, including his old PC. He wanted to build a new one, he said.

You nearly had a meltdown when this happened. Every day, you were faced with your mortality in the form of a large splotch on the left side of your head. Not your face, the whole side of your head. It sort of came down to a point that was peppered across your nose and cheeks, like spray paint in a few shades lighter than your natural tone.

So, no. You didn’t think you’d have another birthday. But it came, and your two friends were there to spend it with you, albeit virtually in one case.

Ortho sat next to you, wide chartreuse eyes occasionally flicking to look at you. You were known for your mood swings and pounding migraines ever since you woke up in that coffin with Grim trying to take your clothes. Grim was sith Idia, gorging himself on sweets. You heaved a sigh, but Idia cut off your thoughts.

“So did you think something bad was gonna happen today?”

“What do you mean?” You noticed his avatar dart into a nearby pavilion, “I hate this map.”

“We can change it.” Idia amended, “After this round. When Ortho showed up, you seemed really scared, almost like you were going to cry. Is it because of whatever’s going on with your head?”

“Oh, like the headaches and the big ugly scar? Yeah. I guess it’s because of what happened?”

Idia’s avatar stopped moving and you braced yourself, but the question didn’t come from him.

“Prefect. What happened before you came here?”

“Oh… I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, really. Got an ax to the skull. I didn’t see who did it, I was facing the other way, talking to some little kid, trying to help him find his parents.” You sighed, “Traumatizing shit, unless it was the kid’s parents who did me in. I won’t get to know.”

You heard Idia whistle and the combat sequence began when you caught his in-game avatar. As he proceeded to beat you down, you heard some machinery within Ortho whir.

“You’re deceased in your own world. This is a second chance for you.”

“Yeah.” You hissed at your low health, then smiled at Ortho, “It really is.”

~DIASOMNIA~

The minute Malleus noticed the mark on your hand, he politely averted his eyes. Lilia and Silver were gently bantering as the two of you read. Sebek demanded to “stand guard,” although considering that he was trying to protect one of the most powerful mages in the world, you couldn’t help but consider him a little wacky.

Your opinion of Sebek soured further when he strolled up and grabbed your wrist, “What is this?”

“What?”

“These scars. What are they from?”

“Do you know what a komodo dragon is?”

“Yes.” Malleus said, “Do they exist in your world as well?”

You nodded, “I was on a… walk, let’s say. One of them bit me and I bled out.”

“Why wasn’t anyone else there to help you?” Lilia pondered.

You smiled at Silver, face down on the table, then shrugged and turned back to your book.

“Sometimes you have to be alone. I wasn’t careful, and then I died. Simple enough.”

Malleus nodded, “The next time you decide to go for a walk, call upon my name. I will accompany you.”

You smiled wider, “Oh? Thanks, I guess.”

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checkoutmybookshelf · 1 year

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Ok, having sat with it and thought about it, I want to talk about Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story for a sec.

There are things the show does astoundingly well. Everything about young Lady Danbury and young Charlotte, for one. The handling of women's relationships, sex, women's pleasure and desire, and sex after a marriage has ended were all done extraordinarily well. I particularly liked the interactions between Regency Lady Danbury and Regency Lady Bridgerton where they really talked openly about sharing their stories and talked as openly as possible about wanting sex and experiencing desire. All of this was done well and spoke to the whole of women's experience, it didn't suddenly kneecap sex and sexuality just because you're not 18 with a mint condition uterus anymore.

I think there were also things the show did really poorly. For one, I think not explaining where Reynolds disappeared to between the past and present is generously a massive plot hole and at worst a stealth version of the bury your gays trope. We objectively spent too much time with Reynolds and Brimsely and their relationship to not have some explanation of what happened there.

I also think that the handling of George's "madness" (and I use the term intentionally here, not with its sanist modern connotations but because that would have been the historical term and we don't have a more specific term to apply to it. I believe some scholars also use mad and madness in a reclaimed sense, so I also choose to give the show the benefit of that doubt and use both the historical and reclaimed sense. Terminology can get tricky, so I wanted to explain myself here.) Doubled down on ableist assumptions and tropes in subtle but nonetheless present ways. I won't get too deep into analysis here because I'm typing on my phone and that's a pain, but examples include the following:

- George's mother tends to infantilize him, insist that he is dangerous, and facilitates both the actual torture of her son and the removal of his bodily autonomy where his mental health and madness is concerned. Then the show frames it as a concerned parent looking after her child--who is a grown ass man at this point--and does not really go out of its way to say that she or the social assumptions and expectations are in the wrong for their treatment of George. The doctor gets blamed for being a torturer by Charlotre, which he absolutely is, but there lacks an indictment of the systems and social mores that prompt their treatment of George. It's not enough to point a finger at an individual and say "we removed the bad man, it's all better now." There are norms and systems involved in the harm that were not addressed, and we cannot allow parental mistreatment of disabled kids to go without condemnation.

- the show goes out of its way to tell us over and over and over that George is somehow dangerous, that he might hurt himself or others. His knives are dull. His windows are sealed shut. There are locks everywhere. You know what the show doesn't do? It doesn't support the gazillion number of times that someone says the George might hurt someone with evidence. Statistically speaking, disabled people are far more likely to experience violence than to perpetrate it, and while the show muddies this a bit with Charlotte's actions and attitudes toward George, there is a tacit reiteration of the myth that mad people are dangerous. It is the year of our lord 2023. We cannot keep spreading this myth.

- So this might be subjective, but I think the fact that every time George frames how.own experience of madness as lesser, a deficit, or a burden really highlights internalized ableism and the more general ableist and medical model framing of disability as a deficit that is located in an individual body and must be "fixed." I don't love that messaging, and as a chronically ill woman, I do not love it when characters in my media bemoan how much of a burden they are to everyone around them. That's ableist, pure and simple, and again, we cannot keep reiterating and reaffirming that this kind of framing is acceptable. It's not.

- There was also a bit of a narrative inclination to lean on the "the live of the right person can fix/mitigate a mental illness" which like...don't imply that meds and humane treatments aren't important. They are. Drink your water, take your meds.

I think that overall, Queen Charlotte did some amazing work with women's empowerment and Charlotte herself did some work to disrupt some ableist assumptions (I admit, I appreciated her line "let him be mad, if madness is what he needs." Thank you for meeting him where he was and for yeeting Dr. Evil's ass to the curb. Also, they didn't magically cure Goerge! Or kill him! Low bar, and probably only because of show continuity, but credit where credit is due with not leaning into the kill or cure trope.). That said, there were some insidious things that reiterated and reaffirmed ableist tropes and assumptions, and I would wish for those to be handled better on future.

#queen charlotte: a bridgerton story #queen charlotte spoilers #queen charlotte netflix #queen charlotte #king george #ableism in media #ableist parents #ableist nonsense #ableist tropes #ableist bullshit #fuck ableism

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pvrkacciosan · 1 year

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The Heart of the Lioness: ☽⋆24⋆☾

Blackmail it shall be

The Heart of the Lioness Masterlist

Previous Part

The deck was a flurry of overwhelming panic as bodies swarmed onto watch the oncoming Armada, from which there was no escape. Not as a single rowboat approached. Bearing little more then a messenger.

Something wasn't right, Brielle could feel it. Like a prickle of uncertainty she stayed close to the railing listening to the others as they planned. In no way was her blundering panic helped as Fenrys yet again refused to meet her stare from across where she stood. His unmoveable presence stayed deathly still, those broad arms folded securely across his chest.

Eventually she stopped looking all together, choosing to move to the side of her spies, the four Pride members standing as one. Closely packed that no one else took any notice of when a letter was passed between them.

Brielle had shoved it into the inside pocket of her cloak for the time being, edging herself back into the conversation around them.

With the initial panic mulling over, Brielle spied the flash of golden hair as Aelin dipped back inside, Whitethorn in tow. With their movement, many dispersed, leaving small pockets of bodies gathered.

The Pride members included.

Ignoring the presence of Fenrys when he passed to following those going inside, Brielle waved away the concerned looks on the faces of the spies. The trio spoke nothing of the interaction or rather lack there of.

"I need you guys to get rest." Despite the mask of metal covering half of her face, Merle managed to reflect a surprising amount of emotion through her features.

"You expect us to wait around knowing you're scheming?" She lifted her good eyebrow high, folding both arms across her chest. The strap of knives there, shimmering in the dull moonlight above.

The weight of the letter was getting heavier, at their refusal to leave, Brielle pulled out the envelope, nicking her nail beneath the seal she ripped it clean in a quick swipe. Pulling the parchment from within, she made quick work of the information.

It was nothing she hadn't gotten before, the information nothing shocking. It was the most recent spy reports she had sent for from Doranelle, the secrets alite a fire in her blood.

"What's our play?" Alexi was bouncing foot to foot where he stood, a attempt to keep warm. Vera who still only worn the silk like azure dress, rolled her eyes at him.

"You go sleep," Brielle suppressed the smile on her lips,

Merle's smirk was devious, ruffling his hair with a hand, "We all know the child needs his beauty sleep before a fight"

Alexi swatted Merle's hands away, "Get off! I don't need beauty sleep" his demand was like a toddler insisting they were not tired, whilst trying to evade the claws of sleep.

Vera laughed lightly, a sound which eased into Brielle's blood,

"Watch it, he's getting cranky now"

Alexi swore, rubbing a hand across his forehead, across the horizontal crescent shaped tattoo there. "Fuck, I need Colden back. I can't deal with you females alone."

"So. . . do you spend a lot of time alone with your hand? Or do you need Colden to help with your females then too?" Vera laughed, Alexi scowled back playfully.

Brielle quickly folded the letter back into her pocket, jerking her head towards the steps leading into the rooms, "Seriously go rest up, I need to think without the bickering noises of you children,"

Alexi gawked to retort when Merle jabbed a pointed elbow into his ribs, cutting off his breath, the pair moved off shoving one another followed by Vera.

When they finally disappeared below deck, the full weight of the situation hit Brielle, slumping down onto the steps leading to the top landing. She dropped her face into both hands, exhaling against them.

Maeve was going to wield everything she had against them and make them pay for their disloyalty. This, she knew with absolute certainty, so much her stomach cramped. It was a blessing she had been passed out earlier or perhaps she might have had something to eat already.

No one has managed to get one up on the Fae Queen for centuries, why now would that be any different?

In the decades since she had been blood sworn, there had only been a handful of times where Maeve had shown enough emotion to display her nerves.

Pulling the letter from that inside pocket once more, the handwriting was curled more then if should and the sentences weren't all in straight lines. Has it been written in a hurry perhaps?

She knew this handwriting, had read it many times. It was always the Pride members who wrote the notes after gathering information from their division of spies. Teyra was usually very particular about hers being neat. Something wasn't right.

There was heavy steps rising onto the deck, Brielle hid the letter in her furled fist. Rowan appeared, broad shoulders dropped with a determined expression marring his features.

He froze when he spotted her. Neither spoke. She caught the quick attention switch when he looked across the water to the ship. Turning to look it was then she finally realised just how many of them bore the House Whitethorn flag under Maeve's own.

Brielle tilted her head, contemplating his plan. Not as ludicrous as one may think, for hers was by far worse.

It was then that Vera reappeared. Brielle's commander insignia on a ceremonial sash in hand, accompanied with Brielle's Fae forged sword. She tried to tuck it behind her back, but Rowan had already seen them.

He switched his gaze from Vera to Brielle with a lifted brow,

"What are you planning, Seseri?"

At the mention of the old language word for sister, Brielle paused. Rowan had never called her that before.

It took Vera walking closer and holding the things to her, to finally snap from the stupor.

"Something widely stupid of course" her reply almost made her laugh, but Rowan's gaze stopped her. "What about you?"

He hesitated with an answer, the air becoming lodged. "I won't let it all be for nothing. This can't be the end"

She could only take a quick second to mull over his words, it was a statement which she couldn't agree with more. Not just for Aelin and the state of the world, but she also had many things dependant on his Queen of fire. And too much planning had gone into this for it to be wasted.

"This isn't going to be the end."

She looked back to Maeve's Armada. And there was a flicker of a thought, that perhaps this might be.

Brielle took a step closer, taking the sword and sash from Vera. Rowan squinted at the objects in confusion and curiosity but still didn't ask.

"I intend to come back" his expression shifted, yielded nothing, " But if I do not, I leave you in command of my spies for the time being. They will follow your command." A quick nod from Vera was confirmation.

"And Fenrys?"

At the mention of her mate, Brielle tried to not stiffen, lifting her chin. "He knows where I stand. We have said our good-byes before. He will understand"

Rowan gaze softens, "This is simply a rough patch. His love for you is far greater then you realise"

She turned to the railing as she heard him shift.

"That's the problem."

Vera eased down onto the little row boat opposite Brielle. Distributing their weight across the wooden row boat.

The cool water splashes against the prow, as they take an oar each, pulling away from Aelin's fleet of ships and towards those of Maeve.

There wasn't any way to explain how they were feeling, Brielle felt every nerve inside her coming alight with worry the closer to rowed. But that wouldn't be enough to deter her. It was the Lioness that had taken over now, for she could get a job done.

She flinched when a droplet splashed her cheek, Brielle shifted to watch the approaching ships. Saw the stars flicker when a shadow flew through the dark sky. She knew Rowan was watching her from one of his cousin's ships. And prayed he had managed to drop the ladder for them.

They steered away from the main bulk of the Armanda, rowing through the valley of Whitethorn ships for coverage. Continuing on towards the back end of the group.

Vera slowed her rowing, allowing for them to turn silently in the water, avoiding detection from all those with Fae hearing was an action they heeded with caution being caught now would probably entail an arrow between the eyes.

They both flinched when the small boat hit the side of the ship, the movement of the waves knocking the wood together, Brielle stood grabbing for the ladder Rowan had unlatched for them, making sure the sash was securely around her, the Commander insignia on full display. Marking her a rank higher then many of the males on this ship alone.

She would not allow them to fail not after everything they had all put on the line, so when the next wave rocked the boats closer, Brielle began to climb. She did so quickly, pulling her body over the railing once at the top,

She stayed low and quiet, this deck was empty of any watches, unlike those of Aelin. Perhaps the fae arrogance would get the better of them. Unsheathing a dagger from her back, Brielle rose slightly, she moved to make space for Vera coming up.

Her reserve of magic was drain but she scraped at the dregs, the bottom of the barrel to that little bit that had began to return her strength, clawing its way up she shot the magic skittering across the desk, feeling for any living sources.

It felt hungry, and wild. A fire of her own. The magic latched itself onto two guards, stationed at a door. She ripped the oxygen from their blood cells, knocking both fae soldiers unconscious. She heard the bodies thump when Vera climbed over the railing with more grace then she showcased.

They moved with ease, Vera making herself into Brielle's shadow, following and replicating her every step, to the floor boards she stepped on. With little time, they were standing above two fae guards, staring at the door they had once stood guarding.

Captain's quarters, the lionesses' smile was feral.

Sheathing the dagger, she swung the door open and took a long stride over the males bodies, The table of Captains all turned their heads in unison as she prowled in.

The Captain of Maeve's ship shifted when she halted, Vera leant into the doorway behind her, hand rested lazily against the apex of her exposed thigh.

The four males observed both females with a deadly stillness, Brielle gave a bored exhale. The males all pinned her where she stood.

"Brielle—"

"Commander Brielle." Vera snarled, the male sat up straighter, the tension rising high when he stood,

Brielle was quick to snap a leash of her magic around him, he stiffened. The other three at the table stopped, gazes flicking between Brielle and the standing Captain.

Captain Zakurio fought against the restraints of her magic, but Brielle held it in place while she addressed him with a hard glare,

Stalking slowly towards their table, she plucked up Zakurio's glass, giving it a quick sniff, she downed it in one. The alcohol, something similar to a type of rum, burned the back of her throat but continued walking around the table.

The other Captain didn't move, their own breathing was hesitant.

"What can we do for you Commander Brielle?" Captain Martin, an older male asked, the one of the three confident enough to lean forward, easing his elbows onto the table.

"Funny you should ask that" she held the glass back down onto the table.

"No doubt now you've noticed the predicament everyone is in."

If the Captain wanted to speak out against Aelin, their retorts where cut short when Vera pulled a dagger free, toying the tip of the blade against her finger, tapping her nail with a rhythmic ting!

"I think the question is," Brielle made a gesture with her hands, she continued to circle the table, ignoring Captain Zakurio, "How can you help yourselves." for a second they looked puzzled, confused even.

She stopped at the head of the table, taking up a seat there. Relaxing back into the chair, it creaked, the Captain continued staring with a masked confusion they were unable to hide.

She refused to keep the smirk from spreading, "Go on, Ask me." Her voice was a whisper, a damning, a curse. One which these Captains either bow to, or break.

"How per say, Commander Brielle may we help ourselves?" Captain Martin's compliancy was so heartening, Brielle might have actually felt bad.

"Well" she clasped both hands, "I do hope, you said goodbye before you left" The silences was like the swipe of Death's scythe.

When they did not feed the silence, Brielle clicked her tongue, "The only way any of you are going to help yourselves is by not fighting tomorrow."

Zakurio strained to talk against the magic around his body, Brielle pinned him with her stare, unblinking she shot the magic into his jaw making the muscles cramp his mouth shut. She ignored him once more, looking back to the others.

"And if we fight against you?" Captain Tommen, leaned back, he had always been an arrogant prick, the silent type who thought he was better then everyone. Lorcan trained that one.

"Then you will find out exactly why Maeve swore me in, in the first place."

"You really think your threats towards us matter" Captain Tommen cocked a brow, smiling straight at her, did he perhaps believe the charms would get him anywhere. She had dealt with males far worse then he, and he was just pathetic.

"No but I'm sure Darla would love to hear about the women you've been seeing behind her back. Three kids as well, she must love you." She hooded hr stare though her lashes, giving her nails a quick uninterested glance.

Captain Tommen froze, "How did you..."

"Ah, you see" Brielle tilted her head, golden hair dangling down over one shoulder, "I have these wonderful things called Spies—"

"You bitch!" he snarled, banging a clenched fist onto the table, the glasses rattled.

Brielle tutted through her teeth, pouting "Such a temper," Captain Tommen, reached for the sword strapped to his side, the magic ensnared him before he had time to push his chair back, he dropped just as the guards outside had.

Captain Martin, Zakurio and the youngest, all looked down at Captain Tommen's still body. Before slowly meeting her gaze once more.

The youngest Captain who Brielle hadn't cared to learn the name of, only knew he had previously taken over for his father, fresh blood. He better get his alliances set. When he looked to her she expected him to stay silent,

"Why would we fight for a losing side?" despite his taunt, Brielle could see the flicker of uncertainty in the back of his mind. Testing just enough to keep himself from magics way.

"Because this side, knows what happened to you the year you settled, when—"

"Enough. Please" his plead was met with her silence, pushing her palms into the table, Brielle snagged a bottle quickly rising to stand, she took a swig from the drink,

With nothing else said she moved for the door holding the beverage to Vera, the female taking it sending her Commander a flashing smile and wink.

"You will regret this" Zakurio spat out when Brielle's magic shifted, drawing away from the Captain's,

Pulling on the cold, emotionless face of the Lioness, Brielle sent them a fleeting glance over her shoulder,

"I don't think I will."

She stepped back over the guards, Vera sized up the Captains before following, leaving them gawking and tending to Captain Tommen's unconscious body.

As the night stayed dark and cold Brielle and Vera moved ship to ship, bargaining and threatening. Whatever was necessary. Many of the Captain's balked at the mere mention of their secrets, that they never thought would surface.

The two females were leaving the fifth ship, the sun rising.

They had to get back before the fighting started, Brielle could already see the row boat moving towards Aelin's ships, gathering themselves both females moved quickly around the corner, stopping at the presence in front of them.

Shadows swirled, "I was wondering when you would be joining us." Maeve drawled, from where she stood, two familiar figure stood behind her. Brielle shifted to shield Vera behind her.

Her blood turned to ice, and the air solidified in her throat, when Teyra and Isaiah met her stare over the shoulder of the Fae Queen.

☽⋆❈⋆☾

Merle took up position beside Alexi, on the ship Rowan commanded they prepared themselves when the fight began coming to them. The line of ships flowing closer, the edge of death.

The tang of magic and a flurry of arrows pierce the air,

She trusted Brielle with her life, the Fae female had saved hers more times then she could count, when she hadn't returned, Rowan had followed his promise keeping the remaining Pride members with him. Relaying order to them like ever other soldier on the ships.

In the distance Merle could hear the shouting of Aedion and Fenrys on the other ships, Felt the boom of Dorian's magic, the chill the ice splintered through the air.

The oncoming ships were growing closer and closer,

Even with the Whitethorn nobles fighting against their own ships, and a few unflagged ships joining their efforts, shrinking Maeve's fleet by not even half.

There was a rumble of magic as Rowan and Dorian collided their magic into the fleet, a ship burst into splinters on the water surface as the royals worked in tandem with one another, but that didn't stop the first of Maeve's ships from colliding with their own and the first few soldier straggled onto the railing.

Merle pulled free a few arm length blades, Alexi twirled his signature curved swords. one for each hand, and moved,

"Remember, go for the weak points" he yelled over his shoulder, racing for the first Fae Warrior.

Alexi appeared thin and weak, but what he lacked in size he sure made for in speed. Outwitting the warrior but simply ducking behind and driving both blades into the males ribs.

Merle focused on her own weapon, throwing a dagger with precision to strike the warriors in the shoulders, many dropped their blades, the nerves in their arms going unresponsive.

The fighting raged on, the noise of clashing steel, yells of pain and those dying out aloud.

It blocked out the senses for anything else, Merle couldn't bring herself to look around as she continued slashing through muscle, picking up a long blade off the deck she swung up, using her whole body weight to push power behind every slashing hit.

Alexi was near her still, he had somehow lost one of his curved blades, but that didn't see to dampen his speed, instead he seemed better for it, faster. His movements swift, he curled towards her, backing up, until they were almost back to back completely.

Merle heard him swore aloud when a booming roar pierced the sky. Merle looked up expecting Lysandra to have shifted into some giant beast, until she spotted the looming shadow of a wyvern, One that matched nothing to the female shifter.

He flew straight for the fleet, his fast decent followed by twelve others. The Wyverns and their riders flew hard and fast, slamming into the side of the ships, slashing through ropes, snapping masts and sending the fae warriors aboard into a panic.

Merle wanted to scream out in happiness, while Alexi paled beside her at the sight. They had little time to contemplate the Witches arrival as they threw themselves back into the fighting. Merle crashed her way through the fighting until she paused, glancing back up to the clouds above when a dark shadow overpassed, a fourteenth Wyvern soaring down to their ship,

Merle passed a look to the Thirteen, a couple paused watching the newcomer with caution, they did not know this Witch. But Merle did.

Manon Blackbeak and her Thirteen may not take too kindly to knowing another Ironteeth was in fact a member of the Lionesses' infamous Pride. Vale flew low, the Wyvern landing on the prow of their ship. Merle raced closer to her friend.

Vale's dark hair was braided back, the Wyvern moved its head aside, Allowing Merle full view of the Blueblood Ironteeth Witch.

"You've looked better." Vale quipped, the three scars running vertically up her throat bobbing when she spoke, Merle could never be one to judged scars, the flesh beneath her mask burn and she clenched her fist to stop from reaching to cup the metal.

"Not like you to show up late to a fight,"

Vale's laugh was an odd sight to hear in the ongoing swarm of fighting, Merle turned to watch Alexi's attention, he did glance up and when she waved for him, he took one look at the Wyvern and Witch shaking his head violently from side too side.

"We must go now."

Merle spun back to face the Witch, furrowing her brow,

"Our Commander needs us." Vale looked across to the line of ships that continued to be hammered down by the Wyverns and their riders, Merle walked forwards, tucking her blades in tight,

Climbing up onto the Wyverns back, taking Vale's hand for a faster mount, she eased down behind her friend, it beat its wings and up they went,

Vale pulled the reigns towards the line of ships, Brielle had to be there somewhere. It was up to them to find her. They had to.

"Missed you" Vale yelled across the roaring of the wind, Merle hugged herself closer into the Witch's back, letting her body speak for itself.

. . .

Taglist: @dreamiezpsycho@lunaralaraspace@mis-lil-red@mali22@the-fae-are-taking-over

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#throne of glass #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys x o.c #empire of storms #tower of dawn #kingdom of ash #aelin #gavriel #rowan #sarah j mass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction

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writernopal · 1 year

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🍄Chanterelles🍄

A study that I did today focused on bringing dynamic elements to dialogue and writing the dreaded duel/action scenes. I'm not sure if this will make it into AASOAF 3 as canon material but I figured I'd take this as an excuse to practice a bit of characterization with Magdalene and Sartor since they are newcomers to the cast! Enjoy or don't! Do whatever you want!

WC: 2412 CW: animal death, language, mild gore, violence Characters: Mariel, Axtapor, Magdalene, Sartor

The forest came alive around us with the gentle din of the barely waking fauna, fog still rolling between the trees. The scent of pine and other such stout evergreens filled my nose pleasantly as the leaves of their deciduous neighbors crunched beneath our careful and deliberate steps. His just a few feet ahead of mine, confidently leading the way as if these forests had hosted him his entire life.

“It’s a lovely morning,” I remarked with a smile, hoisting my skirts in my hands as we went.

“Quite! I told you it was worth slipping away!” Sartor called back, “See there?”

I took another step through the thickets, steadying myself with a single forearm against a nearby tree. He pointed down a gentle slope to a small, shaded clearing. Even from here, I could see the chanterelles we’d been searching for dotting the landscape. Plump and yellow, like meaty spring flowers.

“How did you know there would be so many here?” I asked, coming to stand beside him.

He dropped his arm and let out a satisfied sigh. “Trade secret, I’m afraid.”

“O-Oh.”

He tossed a glance my way and barked a laugh. “You see those logs? With the moss?”

I nodded.

“They like to grow on those.”

“Is that so?”

“The woods here are just like the ones outside of Eves Moore. They are easy to find there too.” He started his way down the hill. I followed. “I spent a lot of time in those woods.”

“Because the town was so lackluster?” I teased with a smile.

He laughed and turned around, walking backward as we neared the bottom of the slope. “Of course! What are towns compared to bundles of fungus?!”

I giggled as he turned back around and made for the nearest patch of mushrooms. “My goodness, there are so many!”

“Mhm!” He exclaimed as he knelt down, fetching a small curved knife from a pouch at his waist. He began to cut at the base of a few mushrooms with a practiced ease.

“Oh, what sort of knife is that?” I asked as I knelt down at a cluster close by the one he’d chosen. I pressed down on my skirts as they puffed out to settle them around me.

“A foraging knife.” He replied in a focused manner as he freed a few mushrooms from the log they’d made their home on, “Ser Achart said I shouldn’t waste battle-tested steel on plants, so I saved up my silvers and bought this first chance I got.”

“Have you noticed a difference since using it?” I asked, pulling the small dagger Axtapor gifted me from the belt at my waist. It was rather different from his—pointed and sharp, similar to a paring knife.

He shrugged. “It’s mostly the same. I suppose the hook on the end helps get closer to the base of the plant. A more precise cut.”

“Hmm.” I turned my attention to the cluster of chanterelles before me. With one hand, I delicately gripped the head of a single mushroom and, with the other, sliced away at its base. Once freed, I tossed it in my basket and continued, making my way all around the cluster.

“But it still takes just as long…” His voice traveled as if he’d just turned his head to one side. “In any case, it makes Ser Achart happy I’m not dulling valuable steel anymore.”

“She seems rather particular. Axtapor uses his knives for just about anything.” I lowered my head to peek under the crown of a shorter mushroom.

He chuckled. “He’s not a knight.”

“That’s true, but he is skilled and knows all about different weapons…and he’s rather resourceful.”

He tossed another mushroom into his basket and fixed his eyes on me. I didn’t entertain the look, pretending instead that I’d not seen it.

“Look, I’m not going to argue who is better between Ser Achart and Lord Oxlo—”

“Lord Axtapor.” I corrected him as I placed the final mushroom into my basket and wiped my knife clean, “In the Empire, men are addressed as ‘Lord’ followed by their first name.”

“Well, we’re not in the Empire. And here, men are addressed as ‘Lord’ followed by their surname.” He countered from his squatted position.

I stuck the knife into my holster and smiled pleasantly at him. “Lord Axtapor.”

He wiped his knife clean and stowed it away in the pouch it had come from, tossing me a tight-lipped and capricious smile. “Lord Axtapor.”

A small but forced laugh rose from my throat as I got on my feet and dusted my skirts off. He returned it with more zeal, clearly attempting to project some superiority. I cleared my throat as I made my way to the next patch of mushrooms, doing my best to conceal a frown.

“As I was saying, I won’t argue who is better between Ser Achart and Lord Axtapor. That wouldn’t be fair to your lord. He falls sorely short behind my ser.” He said as he overtook me with a self-satisfied look on his face—eyebrows nearly risen into his hairline and eyes closed in a carefree way.

“Ser Achart is quite brave, but I don’t believe she can count the storming of Seyes Palace as one of her many achievements,” I said as we knelt down to collect more mushrooms.

“Nor can you count leading a battalion of six hundred men and sacking the city of Catelesmar among Lord Axtapor’s.” He replied in a huff.

“Axtapor is an expert sailor.”

“Magdalene knows how to steer a chariot.”

“Well, Axtapor is a talented hunter!”

“Magdalene is too! And she’s a great shot!”

“As is Axtapor!”

“Well—!”

A threatening growl vibrated its way through the air. I froze, as did he.

“Did you hear that?” I asked in a whisper.

He quickly nodded. “We have to get out of here— Gods above! Mari! Run!” He yelled as he abandoned his basket and shot up to his feet, pointing at something behind me in a panic.

I looked over my shoulder and screamed. A massive bear was charging straight for us! I scrambled to find my footing as the pounding of the creature’s giant paws could be heard behind us. Sartor danced on impatient and fearful feet, shaking his hand in my direction.

“Hurry!”

I clapped my palm to his and he swept me off my feet, carrying me under his arm as one might an oversized bedroll. Our screams bounced with each step he took, staying just ahead of the bear’s roaring. I chanced a glance back and saw the mass of brownish-black fur bounding after us, somehow gaining speed.

“Sartor, faster! It’s catching up!”

“BEAR! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!” He shouted at the top of his lungs.

At first, I thought he was silly for doing that, but we weren’t that far from camp. There was a chance someone might actually hear us and come to our rescue.

“Help!” I screamed, “A bear! There is a bear!”

“ORRAN BE BLESSED, A BEAR!” Sartor continued.

I drew in another breath to call out for help once more when I noticed that we’d not gone up the hill we’d come down. “W-Wait! Sartor, where are we going?!”

“Away from the bear, you little idiot!”

“This isn’t the way back to camp!”

“Who cares! We outrun the bear first, then figure out how to get back!” He said, tossing a glance behind him.

“Look out!”

“Shit!”

We collided hard with a wooden fence, bursting through it on impact. Each of us grunted in pain as we tumbled across the nearly bald but grass-covered ground. My instinct was to lay there nursing what would surely become many bruises, but there was no time for that now. I struggled to my feet, bumbling my way over to Sartor, who was now limping.

“Your leg!”

“I know! Keep going!”

“No—!”

We screamed as the bear roared once more, barreling its way through the broken fence. I grasped Sartor’s tunic, struggling to pull him along. The fence meant we were close to town, we just had to keep going!

“Come on!” I shouted.

“Just go!”

A flash of lavender painted itself across my vision. A familiar and fierce hissing followed as I watched Axtapor collide against the bear’s body. I shrieked, both out of shock and worry, as the creature shook off the blow and ran toward Axtapor. He whirled around, sidestepping the creature, and struck it decisively with his tail. It bellowed painfully as Axtapor faced it once more.

“Stand clear!” A voice called out from behind us, accompanied by the galloping of angry hooves.

I whipped around, catching the surprised and awe-stricken look on Sartor’s face before laying eyes on the heroic-looking Ser Achart. She was seated astride on her dappled mare, dressed in riding pants and a loose tunic, an arrow-knocked bow resting against her cheek. Sartor pulled me out of the way, landing us both in the grass. I braced myself against his arms, trembling as the bear reared up on its hind legs. It was nearly a foot taller than Axtapor.

“Take the bloody shot, Achart!” Axtapor called out.

He and the bear collided. Axtapor hissed, the comb on the back of his head, neck, and spine raised threateningly as his tail whipped violently behind him. The bear roared, beating him over the head, neck, and chest with its massive paws. Pained grunts flew from Axtapor’s throat as his muscles knotted angrily beneath his scales. He struggled to steady himself beneath its blows.

“Take the damn shot!” He commanded. This time a high-pitched cry escaped him as the bear planted a bite on his shoulder, shaking its head to tear his flesh.

“Axtapor!” I screamed.

With some summoned strength, he gripped the bear’s fur, lifted his feet off the ground, and sliced into its belly with his claws. The bear released him as it cried out—the two stumbled back, reeling from the exchanged violence. Axtapor stiffened his tail against the ground to hold himself upright as he struggled to catch his breath. Ser Achart rode in an arc behind Axtapor and fired two quick shots at the creature. But they did not more than enrage it.

It charged forth once more, rising as before, but this time Axtapor did not grapple with it. He launched himself at the beast, clamping his jaw shut around its neck and burying his claws into its shoulders and chest. It wailed loudly, struggling to separate itself from Axtapor. My eyes darted to Ser Achart just as the bowstring’s twang cut through the chaos. Both the creature and Axtapor hit the ground with a dull thud.

“No!” I wrestled myself free of Sartor’s grasp and ran toward the heap where they both lay.

“Mari, wait! It’s not safe!” Sartor warned.

The bear’s body began to twitch, stopping me in my tracks—a loud growling, the knocking of another arrow, and then a triumphant scream. Axtapor threw the bear’s corpse off of him, announcing his victory over the beast with violent coughing. He sat up and spit out some gruesome mix of flesh and fur, wiping his gore-stricken mouth with his forearm. I’d never felt more relieved, despite how covered in blood he was. I was just glad to see him alive. I glanced at the bear, spotting the final arrow buried deep in its eye. The blood drained from my legs, and I dropped down to the ground.

“What were you two thinking?” Ser Achart scolded as her boots hit the grass.

She was standing just beside her mare, arms crossed with a frown on her face. The horse, no worse for wear or nerves, had already started munching on the grass at its feet.

“We— we were collecting mushrooms…” I admitted like a caught child.

“At sun up? Told ye’s nay to venture out at this hour.” Axtapor chided, still panting from the ordeal as he found his feet.

“The patch is just a mile from camp. We were about to come back.” Sartor retorted as he rubbed his injured leg.

“These woods are dangerous. You should have taken an escort.” Ser Achart continued.

“We were just foraging.”

“Sartor.” I hissed and shook my head at him, hoping he’d understand that we were in serious trouble.

“No at sun up, ye daft cunt!” Axtapor yelled, “Ye nay even know these woods proper! If’n we had no turned up as so ye’s both would have been dead!”

Ser Achart flicked her eyes at Axtapor but didn’t seem to disapprove of his choice of words or the volume at which he expressed them. Sartor looked like he was already trying to nurse his ego back to health, so I doubted he’d have more to say.

“We’ll be more careful next time,” I replied, fighting away tears as I observed the bite mark on Axtapor’s shoulder.

“There will no be a next time,” Axtapor replied at a lower volume, clearly doing his best to avoid frightening me. He bundled a kerchief to his wound, grimacing as he put pressure on it.

“It was an accident…” I pleaded softly.

“You will take Ser Fonsa with you next time.” Ser Achart said, eyeing Axtapor with a nearly imperceptible scowl as she put a cape around my shoulders, “Let’s go.”

“Get the bear.” Axtapor barked at Sartor.

“My leg is injured.” He replied with a sneer as he got on his feet with some effort, “Come on, Mari.”

“Sartor, he’s hurt,” I said.

“Why can’t we just leave it here?”

“Creature as so nay needed to perish! Least we can do been to honor it by usin’ it whole. Now do as ye been told and gather it to ye!”

Sartor tossed an incredulous look at Ser Achart, who was waiting patiently on horseback. Her quick absolution from the conversation was surprising, even though I supposed it was in her nature to do something like that.

“I’ll help—”

“Nay. Let him handle it. Go on.” Axtapor gestured toward the camp with his chin.

I chewed my lip and did as he asked, listening as Sartor struggled but eventually heaved the bear across his shoulders.

The camp ate from the creature for several days, its fat was rendered, and the pelt was made into a fine coat for me. Less as a gift and more as a reminder not to wander off again. So that was the last time Sartor and I foraged together unsupervised…that they knew of.

#my writing #writing community #writeblr #aasoaf #axtapor #mariel #magdalene #sartor #cw: animal death #cw: language #cw: mild gore #cw: violence

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twenty-words-or-less · 2 years

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Top 5 Best Films of 2019

Okay, so I don't normally do this, but I've seen so many films this year that I thought I would summarise them by making top 5 lists. This one deals with my top 5 best (or favourite) films of the year.

IMPORTANT: I shall keep these as spoiler-free and short as I can.

5. Midsommar

A film that feels like it was made by a 50+y/o European that was actually made by a 30+y/o American. I initially thought it was kind of 'eh'. However, it did lodge in my head, and the more I thought about it and the more analyses I read/ watched, the more I liked it. It grew on me much like grass grew on our poor beleaguered protagonist in the numerous hallucinations she has over the course of the film.

4. Booksmart

Like the female answer to Superbad only with zero period jokes (thank fuck). Legitimately funny, rewatchable, and the lead characters have great chemistry. Shame that only ten people saw it, but roughly seven of those people - including [REDACTED] and I - enjoyed it immensely. Special mention goes to Billie Lourd, who was a fucking delight to watch in every scene she was in.

3. John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum

A coherent, beautiful-looking action film that manages to be as good as its predecessors, which is highly unusual in a film series. I still care about the characters at this point, and I'd be happy to follow these characters through many more installments.

2. Doctor Sleep

The only TRULY good 2019 Stephen King adap, do not @ me. Despite one incredibly distressing scene, I would probably buy this on DVD or at least rewatch it. It's good to see Ewan McGregor get work again, especially as a ravaged, PTSD-ridden Dan Torrance, and it's fantastic to see Rebecca Ferguson get good work after the shitstorm that was "The Snowman" and the dull-as-fuck, grossly overrated "The Greatest Showman". Again, it's a shame that only five people saw it (basically). Genuinely good film.

Honourable mentions before we get to my #1, in no particular order:

Ready or Not: Samara Weaving gives it her all in this blackly comic slasher. I want to see her in more things. Also, on a more superficial note, her wedding dress in this was really pretty, even ripped to shreds and completely soaked in blood.

Crawl: A surprisingly good creature feature that was an absolute blast to watch. Also, the dog lives, which I am very happy about.

Knives Out: the best thing Rian Johnson has done since Looper. Strong cast and beautiful to look at (the film, I mean, not the cast), even if I did get a little lost near the end. Oh, and it automatically improves lad culture if you change the title to Get Your Knives Out For The Lads.

Child's Play: a remake that actually managed to update the setting and keep the things that made the original, well, the original? Holy shit. Also, the end credits song is incredibly catchy.

Avengers: Endgame: as anyone who knows me knows, I'm a slut for superhero films. Long as this was, it stuck the landing; it was a 3hr thank you for sticking with the franchise despite most of the films being 'eh'. Also, I LOVED Cap's ending, just saying.

And now, the most important one...

1. Brightburn

Or as I like to call it, We Need To Talk About Kal-El. Jackson A. Dunn was uncannily perfect for the titular role and the gore effects were fantastic (the car scene in particular). It works as a standalone film and the groundwork for any sequels, which I would happily go and watch, btw. I'd been looking forward to this for months, and I got exactly what I wanted from it. End of.

Whew, this turned out to be longer than I anticipated! Thanks for reading if you made it to the end. This has been my top 5 best; I shall post my top 5 worst later today (I'm seeing "Cats", and I anticipate it making the list). 🎵 Stay tuuuned... 🎵

~Mikey

#best of 2019 #2019 #mikey #midsommar #booksmart #john wick chapter 3 parabellum #doctor sleep #ready or not #crawl #knives out #looper #avengers endgame #brightburn #from the vault

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the-resurrection-3d · 11 months

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I've been trying to work on my Jonah fanfic for the fanauthor workshop and dfsjldfjhj something about the voice doesn't feel right to me? I'm probably just being overly critical.

Anyway, here's what I have so far if anyone is interested:

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They will not understand why I ran. Doesn’t matter. If You say You are not playing a cruel trick on me, then I feel I must know You better than You know Yourself. But I think I know which it is.

Let’s draw our attention to the rules of offerings: But if you cannot afford a sheep, you shall bring to the Lord, as your penalty for the sin that you have committed, two turtle-doves or two pigeons, one for a sin-offering and the other for a burnt-offering. Let’s imagine a scene from the turtle-dove’s point-of-view: nestled and nervous in a set of old, wizened hands, the fingers so bony they feel like dull knives pressing against its wings. Or maybe the hands are young ones, the palms still coated with dust from the day’s work, the callouses new enough to still be rough. Regardless of what kind of hands it begins in, old hands take over. Old hands wring its neck and turn it into smoke on the altar. Old hands drain its blood down the side and throw its crop to the east and pull on its wings until the rest of its small body tears cleanly open, like ripping down the worn seam of an old sack. All this to see if it smells good enough; all this because someone could not not lie, or cheat his neighbor, or keep away from his neighbor’s wife.

If the turtle-dove pecked at the priest’s fingers until he had to let it go, would You question why it flew away? Oh, but it’s only a dumb animal. My mistake. A human is smart enough to know when it cannot run away and yet is dumb enough to try anyway. It’s funny, isn’t it, how I fell right out of my bed? I had to remind myself as I was gathering my things not to rush—to stop to wash my face, to press unsuccessfully at the little red bumps along my chin, to comb my hair and pick out my best robes. Let’s do this with dignity. Let’s put on a show.

I hope I’ve been hilarious. Must say, I drank enough to giggle myself to sleep during the storm, until they dragged me from bed and propped me against the shard of a shattered mast, all the sails so wet they were gray. Everyone praying without a single goat to slaughter—asking me who my God was, who I prayed and feared, as if my words could be material without blood to weigh them down.

Was it funny? I hope it was. I laughed myself after I told them the truth and they drew sticks to see who would kill me.

The water hit me like Mother’s vicious slap. I sank my nails deep into her hide as revenge, her skin re-braiding as quick as it could be broken.

My first death, I left dried yellow vomit on the floor and red tracks on my skin and brown tracks in the dirt of the floor. My second death, I left nothing: just bubbles rising out of my mouth, popping as they breached the surface.

My third death, I left bits of my shirt on the whale’s dull, crater-carved teeth.

You just had to make sure I could feel her breaking my spine, didn’t You? Now that’s funny.

#whaleposting

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andrastesflamingknickers · 1 year

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Atop This Mountain; A Hero Is Born (4/4)

The Inquisition of Old

Obligatory AO3 Link

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It was just at the break of dawn, as the first rays of the morning sun crested over the horizon, that Cian rose from his seat on the edge of Athim’s aravel, his knives sharpened, a bow sat beside him, the quiver now full of arrows. Ready to hunt, to bring back whatever game the Green Dales would provide. Other hunters lingered around the camp, some perched atop other aravels, others on vantage points surrounding the camp, bows ready and eyes searching for any sign of danger. They had only just arrived but a day ago, and the clans safety was still uncertain.

Others of the clan were moving about. The hunters and warriors had been awake for an hour, but the rest of the clan rarely woke before dawn. Mothers lulled their children to wake, though a few of the younger ones were already running around, enacting the battles the hahren told them each night by the fire, of Emerald Knights and Arcane Warriors, fighting to keep the people safe. Some of the older members were, sluggish as one was in the morning, getting ready to work, some going over supplies to find out what they had, and what they would need the hunters to gather.

He caught pieces of dirty jokes over pairs who seemed to have been getting closer, of arguments over stolen blankets, or complaints of misplaced tools needed to repair a loose wheel.

Sitting by one of the fires was Athim, sitting on an old stump and nursing a warm drink in her hands as she watched the tendrils of flame dance. Their Keeper was off to the side, conversing with her First; a young, scrappy girl no older than twelve, her face clean of any blood writing. She’d come to the clan only a year ago, sent from Avenus after her magic began to manifest. She was nice enough, and had had become a part of the clan so seamlessly that one would have thought she was born there. She listened to and took in everything Deshanna said like a sponge soaked in water.

A few of the hunters were gathered around Sulvin’s table, replacing dulled hunting knives with something sharper, or a new bowstring for their bows before they left.

The aravel creaked behind him, and hands landed on his shoulder, pressing down, “Good morning, Cian!” Renan greeted loudly as she stood where he had just been seated, leaning her weight on him, stretched out in the air. She laughed as she did so, giddy, melodical.

Cian grinned, and moved just slow enough that she could detached from him and not fall from the aravel. “Aneth ara,” he greeted in return, watching as his friends long, brown hair flowed in the gentle air. His grin turned crooked, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you doing all the way here? Shouldn’t you be helping Vianna with the halla, or has she still have you banned from feeding them?”

“Psh! It was one time!” the woman complained with a pout. “It’s not like the herd is as large as it was, either, not since we gave half our halla to clan Sabrae, harder to make that mistake again with fewer halla to keep track of.”

He raised a brow, “That doesn’t sound like something the Halla Keeper’s apprentice should be saying.”

She just rolled her eyes before reaching into her satchel, moments later she was tossing him an apple. “I’ll be going back to help her in a bit, I just wanted to check up on you before you set out. You probably haven’t even eaten anything yet—and you know that’s just asking for a poor hunt if you’re distracted by hunger.”

“It makes for a better hunt,” Cian countered, but he took a gracious bite from the fruit regardless and watched the clan. He spotted a younger elf lingering by a warrior, watching with longing, and nodded in his direction. “Fenvas is still getting his vallaslin tonight, right?”

“As far as I know, haven’t heard anything about it being pushed back,” Renan agreed as she followed his gaze. “He’ll make a good addition to the warriors, he’s already bigger than most them.”

“Size isn’t everything.”

“Of course the pipsqueak would say that!”

Cian shoved her, but it only made Renan burst into laughter. As annoying as the remark was, he couldn’t help but offer a slight grin as well. It was hard to stay mad at her.

The laughter slowly stilled as Keeper Deshanna approached, her aged face full of warmth, a gentle smile on her face as she watched him. “Garas quenathra, Cian?” she asked kindly, her arms folded together into her sleeves, and Cian felt his own smile falter.

“I—I’m sorry?” he asked. Why was he here? That made no sense, where else would he have been. “Sorry, Keeper, I don’t quite understand.”

Her smile widened; flickers of green started to brush against the blue sky. “You’ve done your clan proud, da’len,” Deshanna said as she reached out to rest her hand on his arm. “You saved us. You saved everyone, and we could not be prouder of you. Have no regrets, Cian, and let your spirit rest.”

The rest of the clan had stopped conversing, stopped working. Hundreds of eyes fell on him as their faces blurred and merged. Only the Keeper and Renan remained beside him, remained themselves.

Renan smiled, soft and sad, and held her hands out. In one was an elegantly carved oak staff. The other held a cedar branch. She carefully placed them both into his unwilling hands. “Ma serannas, Cian, for being my friend. Falon’Din mala ghilana mir din’an.”

He tried to drop them, but couldn’t, his fingers frozen around the wood. “Renan, Keeper, I’m—I’m not dead,” he tried to plead, but a look at his own arms and—and he was translucent. There, but not. A ghost.

Cian reached for them again, only to slip and fall to the ground, into the ground. A hole—a grave.

“Falon’Din enasal enaste,” Keeper Deshanna recited as she raised her hand, tracing symbols in the air over him as faceless elves shoveled dirt onto Cian. “Sleep, now, da’len, and may the Dread Wolf never find your trail.”

Cian woke with a start, panting for breath as he sat up. His chest was heaving, and his clothes damp with sweat. It was just a dream, he told himself, though the panic did not subside. A dream, and nothing more. He was here, he was alive.

He was alive.

How was he even still alive?

Still heaving for breath, Cian slowly looked around. The room was warm, a fireplace on one wall carried a small, flickering fire. The smells of the room were foreign, but the pain was familiar—and everywhere.

Not just his hand or arm. His whole body ached.

But it wasn’t as sharp, it wasn’t as burning or disorientating as it had been. It was something tolerable. He… he could live with that. The pain didn’t make him wish for death, at least, so that was something.

Letting his eyes adjust, he slowly looked around his surroundings. He was clearly not with his clan, not anywhere Dalish. A human settlement, maybe? An alienage—no, it looked too nice and to be an alienage house. It certainly wasn’t the prison cell he had first woken to. He was even on a bed. Talk about an upgrade! It was a rather cozy little home abode, by the looks of it. An old desk sat in a corner with papers and ink, a box for belongings, a coat draped over a hook on the wall. There were books and rugs, and everything of warm colors.

He was rather… surprised, to put it mildly, that this was where he woke up to. There weren’t even ropes or chains to keep him from leaving. Cian was still a prisoner… right?

Running a hand through his hair, he looked up at the sound of scuffling on the wood, and caught sight of a young elf, maybe thirteen at best, coming in through the door. The only door, as far as Cian could tell. The girl was humming a tune, and carried a box that, while sizable, didn’t look particularly heavy.

That same box crashed to the floor, followed by the sound of glass shattering within, when the girl looked up and saw Cian, letting out a loud, startled cry as she backed away. Absolutely terrified. Cian wasn’t sure what the girl had been told of him to cause such a reaction.

“O-oh, I, my apologies!” the girl said, her voice carried an accent Cian didn’t recognize. She looked as frightened as a mouse, ready to flee, wanting to flee. “I didn’t know you were awake; I swear!”

Cian shifted on the bed, he pushed the blankets aside, grateful he was dressed in something, even if it was not the clothes he’d worn when he was last conscious. “Don’t worry about it,” he assured the girl, finding his own voice rough and hoarse. How much time had passed for it to be so dry from disuse? “I only just woke—”

To his absolute horror, in the most bizarre and downright unsettling moves Cian had ever seen be done to him; the girl dropped to the floor on her hands and knees, and pressed her head down to the wooden planks of the floor. She was bowing—oh, Creators, the girl was prostrating. To him.

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing,” the girl pleaded, breathless, her head just inches away from the box she had dropped, a desperation to his voice, terrified of what Cian would do—as if Cian would do anything to her “I am but a humble servant.”

This has to be a dream—a damned nightmare! Cian thought, watching the girl, horrified at the sight of a fellow elf bowing to him like he was something to worship. He was nothing, nobody. Cian was just a bloody hunter! “Where,” he started, and swallowed thickly. “Where am I?” he asked, carefully broaching the question, worried that one wrong word would send the girl running away.

The girl lifted her head to look at Cian, before dipping it away just as fast, like it was some kind of crime to look up at him. “You’re back in Haven, my lord,” the girl answered, her body trembling as she added in a rush, “They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand.”

Shit! The mark! Despite it all, Cian had nearly forgotten it, unbelievable with how much trouble it had been causing him.

He raised his hand and looked to his palm. The mark was still there, and it glowed in response to him, as if wielding its own sliver of sentience. But it was—smaller wasn’t quite the right word. It was still there, a long green line like a wound still healing, with green veins spidering out from it. But the spread stopped just past his wrist, faint, green cracks along his skin.

It ached, yes, and Cian suspected that was something that wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. But it wasn’t anywhere close to the agony it had caused before. That was a good sign, as far as he could tell.

“It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

Cian looked back to the girl immediately. Three days? Had it really been three days? His stomach twisted, nervous knots tightening inside of him. “Then… are we safe?” he asked.

The girl hesitated, and Cian knew the answer, even before she put a voice to the words. “The Breach is still in the sky, but that’s what they say,” she confessed, and Cian felt disappointment crash over him.

He hadn’t succeeded. Not completely. That wasn’t good—wasn’t what he wanted. He’d failed. He had one job, and he failed it.

Afraid of the darkening mood, the girl scrambled to her feet, her head remained bowed even as she scurried backwards, putting distance between herself and Cian. “I’m certain that Lady Cassandra can tell you more. She wanted to see you when you’ve awakened,” she offered, gripping her hands tightly together. “She said ‘at once’.”

If Cassandra could tell him more of what was going on, then Cian had no reason not to go and find her. And where might I fight her?” Cian asked, carefully pushing himself off the bed, satisfied that he was steady on his feet.

“In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor,” the elf stammered, still backing away, terrified of him. “’At once,’ she said, ‘at once’.” With that, she turned and ran out the door, slamming it shut behind her in her mad scramble to get away.

Alone, again, Cian shook his head. Too much was going on, but he at least had a few moments to sort through his own mess of thoughts and try to work out what happened, and maybe what was going on. Cassandra already waited three days for him to wake, she could wait a few minutes longer for him to get his bearings.

Plus, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to deal with the Roderick fellow.

A few minutes were spent rummaging around the room, and he found little more than a handful of coppers and some twine that he stuffed in his pocket.

There were a lot of papers on the desk, and Cian skimmed through most of them. One of them talked about what sounded like medical jargon, and he could only assume it was meant to be about him, but he paid it no mind in the end, either. It ultimately made no sense to him, so he found no reason to add it to his growing list of anxieties.

The pressing question was simple; was he still a prisoner? The girl had looked upon him with such fear that he might as well have been an Archdemon for all the difference it made. Was this just a moment of kindness, and he was going to be cast in irons as soon as he reached Cassandra, shipped off to Val Roy-whatever to be killed like the Chancellor demanded, her promise of a ‘fair trial’ be damned?

He found it hard to believe that whatever he managed to do with the Breach would have absolved him of any suspicion and blame.

The Breach was not gone. Was it to be as Leliana had said; they would remain in Haven to figure out what their next course of action at sealing the Breach would be? It couldn’t be as simple as Oh, that didn’t work, let’s try this instead, could it?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Reaching the hook on the wall, Cian took the coat waiting. It was a bit big on him, but it would work to stave off the chill of Haven. There was a green and brown satchel that had been hidden under the coat on the hook. His satchel. Cian felt a rush of satisfaction to see it. It had been a gift, handmaid, from back in the clan, and he would have loathed to have lost it.

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he gave one final once over of the room, to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. There were no daggers, or knives, or any sort of weapon to be found. Understandable, they wouldn’t want to leave their prisoner armed.

“Best not keep the scary lady waiting,” Cian murmured to himself, steeling his nerves as he opened the door and stepped out into the cold, morning air.

Standing outside from the door were two soldiers facing him. Heads bowed; closed fist crossed over their chest. Beyond them were crowds of people lining the dirt path. Soldiers on either side, heads lowered with the same gesture.

Wait, Cian knew that gesture. He’d seen the soldiers to that to Cassandra, to Leliana. They were… saluting? Him?

He turned behind himself, just to make sure there wasn’t someone important in his shadow, but—no. He was alone. They were definitely saluting him. Was this a dream—it had to be, yeah, he was dreaming. Otherwise, he truly did not understand what happened to make human soldiers salute a Dalish elf, one they had held in custody under suspicion of murdering the damn Divine just three days ago.

Beyond them, he could see the Breach still in the sky. Swirling and green—but calm. It was still a glowing, green hole in the sky, an open door for demons, but it was no longer the eye of a storm. No crackling lightning or earth-shattering thunder. It was just… there.

It wasn’t a good thing, but it was an improvement to how it looked when he first woke up.

Cian looked from the sky when he realized people were murmuring, and he realized that it wasn’t just soldiers who were standing outside the house. Behind the line of guards were people. Just normal, everyday people. Staring at him, gawking, whispering. The tones both awed and scandalized, and just… afraid. Like the elf girl. They didn’t know who—what he was.

Swallowing, Cian walked, One step, then two. Whatever was going on… he wasn’t going to be afraid. He wasn’t going to let them know he was afraid. He was a hunter of Clan Lavellan, a proud Dalish elf.

Squaring his shoulders, keeping his head raised high, Cian walked to the two soldiers who had been at the front, directly in front of his house waiting for him to come out—and just how long had they all been waiting, anyway? He probably shouldn’t think too hard on that.

“Hello,” Cian greeted the two, his tone chipper despite his racing heart. “I was told to speak to Cassandra in the Chantry, where might I find that?” Because, while it made sense that Haven had a Chantry, he had no idea what to look for, how to identify the building.

“Of course,” one soldier nodded, turning from Cian to point further away, to a building that seemed to tower above the others. “You will find the Chantry there. Sister Leliana had suspected you would need aid, and so the soldiers have made a path for you,” he added, and motioned to the lines of soldiers further down.

The sight just made Cian want to run back inside and not come back out, but he couldn’t do that. So, he just nodded, offered his thanks, and began walking.

He kept his head up, he nodded to a few as he passed, he smiled. He did everything to mask how frightened he was as he walked, to act as if this was all perfectly normal and not something to be concerned about.

People continued to whisper as he spoke, and though he wasn’t actively trying to eavesdrop. he heard many mentions of a Herald… or maybe they were just saying Harold? That could be, too. It wasn’t his business, Cian told himself, don’t get involved. Just get to the Chantry, figure out what else he had to do so he could go home.

“That’s him.” Someone whispered, loudly, though he couldn’t make out who in the crowd said it, everyone seemed to have been pointing and gawking that they blended together.

“They say that when he stepped out of the fade, Andraste herself was watching over him! That She sent him to us!” someone else spoke up—and were they talking about him? Oh, Creators, they were talking about him.

“Shush! We shouldn’t disturb him!” Another hissed, and Cian couldn’t agree more. Just please, for the love of all that was holy, stop talking.

“That’s him, innit?” Someone else spoke further down the line, between a line of tents. “He stopped the Breach from getting any bigger.”

“Wasn’t he supposed to close it entirely?” Disappointed and confused as opposed to the awe of the others.

“Still a lot of rifts left all over. Like little cracks in the sky.” A woman mused over the rippling, hushed chatter.

Someone responded to her quickly enough. “He can seal those too, though. The Herald…”

“He stopped the Breach, power given to him by the Maker Himself.” Now that made him shudder and flinch. He was Dalish… mixing in the Maker and Andraste felt weird. But he couldn’t say anything, not to them. That was asking for trouble.

All throughout it the soldiers kept a solid line, a shield between him and the crowds, making an easy-to-follow route through the small little town—and small it was. Little houses, plenty of tents, and one tavern that he could tell. He was surprised by how quaint it all looked, and honestly? He could have easily seen his clan living content lives in a settlement like this.

Eventually, though, he reached the Chantry, identifiable by the number of sisters and brothers standing about outside its doors as they murmured and talked to themselves. “Chancellor Roderick says the Chantry wants nothing to do with him, or with us,” one whispered, her voice full of fright. The girl beside her reached out to touch her arm, and assured her that Roderick had no say in the matter.

Two guards stationed on either side of the doors opened them when Cian approached.

He was met with the smell of incense filling the air, of herbs and the musty scent of old books. It all made him feel dizzy in the head for a moment, but only for a moment before he recovered. The building itself was beautiful, it felt like an injustice to deny it that much. Simplistic, yet elegant.

Vaulted ceilings, smooth arches. Stone floors and stone walls, with red rugs and numerous torches and candles keeping it all alight. There were seats of course, a few with little prayer books by them; chairs and stools, and a few doors on either side.

At the end of the long hall were the Chantry banners, beside statues of a woman, Andraste, he could only assume.

Even though he was Dalish; Cian knew the Chantry. Not intimately, not by any means. But he knew enough of the lore and myths, and he knew enough of the worship to know that the building being so empty was unusual. Alien. It felt wrong, and Cian hated the uneasiness that came with it all. A building such as this should have been bustling with sisters and worshippers, not... this.

It was the door at the very end that he figured he was to go through. Not by any distinguishing markings or helpful people to point to it. No, his only base of assumption was through the rather obnoxious arguing that he could hear from the opposite side of the building. Still, though, Cian hesitated. He lingered by the door to listen, to get a sense of the mood, of what to expect.

Of course, none of it was good.

“Have you gone completely mad?” the familiar, outraged voice of Roderick hollered, his voice echoing against the stone. “He should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine!”

“I do not believe he is guilty,” Cassandra, and he was surprised by how certain she was in that claim. Touched, even. From declaring him guilty on the spot, ready to cut him down, to now defending his innocence, what growth in such a short amount of time. Impressive, really.

“The elf failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky,” Roderick pressed, and it made Cian falter—because he was right. Cian had failed. The Breach, though calmed and pacified, was still there, and who knew how long it would remain still? It took everything he had—it nearly killed him!—and he still failed. “For all you know; he intended it to be this way!”

Untrue, Cian wanted to yell. He never wanted any of this, not the mark, not a hole in the sky, and he sure as hell did more than Roderick trying to fix everything, so how fucking dare he continue to accuse him like that!

Fueled on by anger, Cian pushed the doors open loudly and marched in, his shoulders squared, and chin held high. He scanned the room, a massive table full of papers and scrolls, numerous candles. Cassandra and Leliana on one side, a pair of guards at the doors, and Roderick—Cian’s gaze locked on him immediately—at the head of the table.

“Chain him!” Roderick demanded of the guards as he pointed at Cian. “I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial!”

“Disregard that, and leave us,” Cassandra countered immediately. Her voice was firm, but unlike Roderick, she wasn’t screaming her head off to make her point heard. The guards saluted and went, shutting the doors behind them and making it clear who in the room had their loyalty.

Being alone in the room with the three of them didn’t make him feel any less anxious, but Leliana’s warm expression and silent greeting helped him keep his mask of control on, helped him keep a tight chain on his nerves.

Glowering at the closed door, Chancellor Roderick let his gaze fall to Cian, and then to Cassandra as he approached her. “You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” he warned, and Cian decided that he liked the man even less than he already did. It was amazing how much Roderick was wracking up disapproval points in such a short amount of time. Truly a record.

Cassandra held his gaze, and the ferocity in her eyes was far, far more intimidating than anything the Chancellor had to offer. “The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat,” she said, giving Cian another stab of guilt over his failure, and her expression sharpened impossibly more. “I will not ignore it.”

“I did everything I could to close the Breach,” Cian reminded as he approached the table, crossing his arms over his chest as he let his gaze linger on Roderick for a few moments longer. “It almost killed me.”

Roderick shifted to face him; his face twisted in ugly disgust. “Yet you live,” he accused, clearly, oh so clearly disappointed by that one detail. “A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.”

“Have a care, Chancellor,” Cassandra said, her tone warning. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

Because of course it wasn’t. Cian wanted to ask what it was, what other threat could they have to deal with along with the Breach. But he didn’t need to in the end. Leliana approached, her gait graceful and silent, answering his questions before he even asked them.

Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect,” she noted, standing beside Cassandra, and watching Roderick. “Perhaps they died with others, or have allies who yet live.”

Cian was impressed how Leliana’s words were deadlier than any knife or arrow he’d seen.

The cherry to top it all off was how Chancellor Roderick reeled back, his face shocked at the unspoken accusation. “I am a suspect?” he demanded, absolutely offended by the notion.

And really, Cian was honestly just as surprised. He wouldn’t have thought any of the humans would point to someone in the Chantry and accuse them of a crime as horrible as this. As much as Leliana scared him, he certainly liked her and her boldness. There needed to be more people like that, as far as he was concerned.

“You, and many others,” Leliana answered simply.

“But not the prisoner?” Roderick screeched in outrage, gesturing wildly at Cian.

Cassandra shook her head, “I heard the voices in the Temple,” she pressed, and by her tone, it sounded like she had gone over this many times. “The Divine called out to him for help.”

The man’s grimace worsened, if that was even possible. “So, his survival, that thing on his hand? It’s all, what? Coincidence?” he demanded crossing his arms over his chest, pointing out how ridiculous it all sounded.

“Providence,” Cassandra said, and fuck, she sounded so sure of it. “The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour.”

Cian swallowed sharply; his mask slipped as the shock hit him. The Maker. That was—what… how was he supposed to respond to a claim like that? He was a Dalish elf, he had his own pantheon of gods he was supposed to worship. The people of the Andrastian faith hated his people because their belief went directly against the Chant of Light’s whole ‘proselytization of all of Thedas’ plan. They lost their home because of their ‘heretical belief’, and now Cassandra was claiming he was their savior?

He wanted to laugh but…

Oh, Creators, he hated how much it made sense. The Beyond, the flaming woman—was that… was that actually Andraste? Could he… is what Cassandra was saying… true?

“You…” Cian started, nervously twitching his fingers. “You really think the Maker would send someone like…me?”

Cassandra nodded as she turned her attention to him, that sharpness in her eyes had softened. “The Maker does as He wills,” she said as way of answer, not that it did anything to quell the nerves and confusion Cian was confronted with. “It is not for me to say.”

“Even if that means a Dalish elf is Hischosen?”

She nodded, again as she turned to approach a table against the opposite wall, doing…something. He couldn’t see what. “Humans are not the only ones with an interest in the fate of the world,” and, dang, she was right. The Breach would affect everyone, no matter their faith or lack of. It really shouldn’t matter what he was, he supposed.

Still, though, it left him stranded in a sea of uncertainty.

And with a lot of things he’d need to unpack.

“The Breach remains,” Leliana continued, “and your mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

Chancellor Roderick growled at her. “This is not for you to decide,” he yelled, and Cian was more surprised he wasn’t stomping his feet yet. He certainly seemed the sort of shemlen who thought that being the loudest meant they were the ones in charge, that louder meant important.

His pathetic complaints were ignored, drowned out by the heavy thud as Cassandra returned with a tome larger than anything other book he’d seen before. She dropped it to the table, just narrowly missing the Chancellors fingers. By the leathers, the insignia, and the locks to keep it safe, it was clear it was an important book.

Cassandra ran a finger along the symbol on the cover. “You know what this is, Chancellor?” she asked, but did not give the man a chance to answer. “A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn,”

She advanced on the Chancellor, each step measured, yet so quick that he couldn’t just scramble away fast enough as he was backed into a literal corner. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order,” Cassandra declared, jabbing a finger into his chest with each proclamation. “With or without your approval.”

The air was thick. Cian didn’t need to be of their faith to know how her words looked. She was effectively saying that if the Chantry didn’t agree, it could stuff it. And really; Cian admired that, even if it scared the shit out of him.

Still, he half expected Roderick to do something. The man looked from Cassandra to Leliana with righteous fury written on his face. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t physically confront Cassandra, and he had no real authority over her in any sense of the word. He was essentially powerless within the room.

After several long, agonizing moments, the man gave them all one final look of disgust before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

With him gone, the air in the room relaxed. Only a little. There was still a tension to it all, a wire pulled taut, with no knowing of what would happen if it broke. No one said anything, not for the longest moment.

Eventually, Leliana broke it as she circled the table to the book, her eyes on Cian the whole time, as if she knew he had questions. She probably did. There was no reason for her to think that he would have any idea what the Inquisition was. “This is the Divine’s directive; rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos,” she said, running a hand down the cover as Cassandra rejoined them. “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice,” Cassandra finished for her, and both turned to look at Cian. “We must act now. With you at our side”

Cian had questions; his questions had questions. Every word they said left him spiraling deeper and deeper into confusion and wonderment. “What even is the Inquisition of old?” he asked, latching on to the first one he could.

“It preceded the Chantry,” Leliana said, and that gave Cian even more things to wonder. Preceded the Chantry, did that mean they were with Andraste, or her disciples, or… he wasn’t even sure how to think of it. “People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.”

Cassandra nodded and continued for her. “After; they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order, but the Templars have lost their way.” she said, and boy did that not make him feel better about any of it. “We need those who can do what must be done. United under a single banner once more.”

Was he… Was Cian being asked to reform the group that attempted to massacre his people? He really did not feel all that great about it if that were the case. “You’re trying to start a holy war,” he said, before he could stop himself. His mind was still on stories of the massacre within the Dales, of the Exalted March that stole from his people the land they were promised.

“We are already at war, and you are already involved; it’s mark upon you,” Cassandra shot back, and… she was right. They were at war against the Fade, against the demons that came out from it. “Whether or not it is a holy one… that depends on what we discover.”

It was still a lot to take in, and it left Cian questioning so much of what he knew and believed, but underneath all the details and questions, the heart of it all was clear; close the Breach, save the world. Try not to die along the way.

He straightened his stance. “Well… when I woke up, I sure didn’t picture this outcome.” How could anyone have thought to be thrown into this kind of crazy? No one ever woke up and found ‘world about to end, you are possibly the only hope to save it’ on their list of things that would happen.

Cassandra stepped closer to him, offering him her hand. “Help us fix this,” she said—she asked him. “Before it is too late.”

He hated the pressure of it all. The weight of being responsible for so much.

But… it wasn’t as suffocating anymore. The Breach was stable, for now, and the mark wasn’t actively killing him. He wasn’t a prisoner, desperate to prove his innocence. It didn’t feel like everything was crumbling around him, where every second was vital to the survival of the whole world.

For some strange reason, Cian almost felt like they could do this. That he could do this. Perhaps their certainty was rubbing off on him.

Stepping forward, Cian took her hand. Whatever happened next, they’d do it together. “I’m in,” Cian said, squeezing her hand in his. They’d form this Inquisition, they’d close the Breach, and they were going to hunt down whoever was behind it, and make them regret it. That much he promised.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Inquisition #lavellan inquisitor #Fanfic #The Wrath of Heaven Quest #Inquisitor Cian #Cian's Adventures In The Inquisition

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alexander-the-great-blogs · 2 years

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Wherever To Buy Goat Meat and What To Search Out For?

In case of the edge getting dull, an essential software to possess combined with the slicer is a cutting instrument that can be used to sharpen the knife of one's meat slicer. You can find all sorts of cutting tools which come in a number of dimensions and proportions for particular knives and knives. Be mindful whenever you lose the edge from the meat slicer.

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#meat #food #carne di angus

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linkedkeysau-official · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022- Linked Keys Edition

Days 11/12 - sloppy bandages/makeshift splint and cave-in

TW: incorrect treatment of an injury, amputation of a limb, panic attack/claustrophobia

The air was full of dust and screams of pain, and the tension between Wild and Warriors could be cut with a knife. It hadn't been Wild's fault necessarily; it could have been literally any of the heroes. But by chance, Wild had been the one to spot something shiny inside of a cave as the Chain was passing, and decided to investigate. Warriors, Sky, and Tracks had accompanied him, though when Wild tried to blow up the rock that the shiny object was buried inside, the roof of the cave collapsed, trapping the heroes in darkness.

Immediately Warriors had blamed Wild for getting them into this predicament, especially when the three had only just become aware that Tracks' right leg had gotten wedged beneath a few of the fallen rocks. In the span of about 30 seconds, they had gone from curiously investigating what could be buried treasure to being at each other's throats and with one of them injured. Still, the latter took priority. Warriors could yell at Wild onceTracks was deemed okay.

"Okay, Tracks, try to stay calm, and don't move. I'm gonna try to get this rock off of you." Wild said quietly to the engineer. He could use stasis if he had to, but that rune could be a bit finicky, so Wild was going to try to simply push the rock out of the way first. Tracks didn't seem to be able to respond, though he let out a whimper of pain as if he were trying not to scream. He knew his leg was broken, yet it felt like it had been completely shattered with how much it hurt. He didn't care what Wild had to do at this point, he just wanted this damn rock off his leg, he just wanted the pain to stop!

"I'll help. On three, we lift together." Warriors said, coming over to assist. Nobody could see well in the darkness, the only light coming from Wild's Slate, but Warriors found his way over to where the two were and was able to grab ahold of the rock, "One… Two… THREE!"

With a mighty grunt and all the effort the two boys could put into it, they managed to get the rock a short distance off the ground, just enough for Tracks to wriggle out, scooting backwards before flopping down on his back, breathing heavily through the pain. Hot tears stung the corners of his eyes. Just that little bit of movement had made it feel ten times worse. He knew the rock was off of him, but his leg still felt as if it were being squeezed by an immense pressure, and he had to grit his teeth trying to hold back a scream as he felt someone place their hand over it.

"Shit. Yeah, that's a pretty bad break," The bone wasn't out of place from what Warriors could tell, but he could feel the cracks. More than one… "Wild, do you have any of those hearty elixirs? And maybe a weapon— a spear or something— you don't need or that's close to breaking?" Warriors asked.

"Yeah, here. I don't have an elixir but I do have this spear." Wild tapped on his Sheikah Slate a few times, handing over his frostspear, which had a crack in the shaft near the middle.

"Perfect." Warriors stood up and slammed the spear down over his knee, snapping it in two. He then removed his scarf and wrapped part of it around the icy tip. He then knelt down beside Tracks.

"I need you to lift his leg up for me." Warriors ordered. Wild did so, sending more pain shooting through Tracks' entire body. His leg was beginning to feel a little numb, which was a bit of relief from the pain, but Tracks had a feeling that was a bad thing. Not to mention it wasn’t quite enough to eliminate the pain and pressure, the fierce throbbing that made him feel like he was being repeatedly stabbed by thousands of dull knives with his leg tied up painfully tightly in rope.

Wait, it was being tied up…

In the haze of his pain-addled mind, he was vaguely aware of something cold against the inside of his leg, two stiff objects on either side, and what felt like some sort of rope or cloth being tied around this support system. Someone had made a makeshift splint to keep his leg immobilized.

“There, that should at least keep it in place until we get out of here. Kind of lucky it was an ice spear you had, Wild. The tip of it should hopefully keep it from swelling too much too.” Warriors said.

“Don’t worry, Tracks, it’s only gonna hurt for a little while. Once we get out of here, Hyrule will be able to treat it properly.” Wild assured him. Tracks wasn’t sure if anyone could see him, but nodded. It hurt too much to speak. The pressure in his leg was even worse. The cold was beginning to burn, and Tracks began to shiver from it. It was so cold, so, so cold… But it was supposed to be helping, right? Why was he feeling worse? Why was he losing feeling in his leg? What was happening to him?! Panic gripped him like an iron fist. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong… But Tracks couldn’t figure out what. His brain simply would not work. All he knew was he felt cold, and horrible, and dizzy. He couldn’t see a thing, and yet he felt as if he were spinning. He tried to close his eyes in hopes it would make it stop. It hurt… It hurt so bad, and yet at the same time the numbness was increasing. More and more he felt as if he were still being crushed.

His head was spinning.

His body felt frozen.

He couldn’t feel his leg anymore, the pain reduced to an obnoxious, prickly tingling.

His brain couldn’t take any more of this… Tracks could feel his consciousness slipping. Though hopefully, that would get rid of this horrible feeling for a while.

With Tracks now silent, aside from the quiet, increasingly steady breaths that indicated that he had passed out, Wild and Warriors could hear a soft whimpering near the back wall of the cave. In all the panic surrounding Tracks, they had completely forgotten about Sky. And it sounded like the Skyloftian Knight wasn’t doing too well either…

“Sky? Are you okay?” Wild asked.

“Are you hurt?” Warriors asked. Sky did not respond to either. He was sobbing, and Wild could feel him trembling as he put a hand on his shoulder.

“Let me out… Please let me out, I can’t… I can't do this…” He muttered in a panicked whisper. A wheeze came out with almost every breath.

“Sky, calm down. The others are coming, and they’re going to get us out.” Wild said.

“Let me out… Let me out…! I don’t wanna be trapped in here! I can’t… LET ME OUT!!!” Sky wailed. A cough escaped his lungs, coupled with an even worse wheeze. His breathing problems were acting up again…

“We’re gonna get out. I promise.” Warriors wrapped his arms around the Skyloftian knight, holding him close as he rubbed circles on his back, like he always did when Mask had a panic attack, “You’re okay, Sky. Just focus on my voice. Wild, is there any way you can call for help with that thing?”

“Uh… Yeah, actually. I think Wind’s necklace can connect to it.”

“Try to call the others.” Warriors ordered before turning his attention back to Sky, who was still hyperventilating, tears soaking Warriors’ tunic and the wheezing only getting worse, “Shhhh, it’s okay, Sky. Deep breaths. In… Out… In… Out… There we go. You’re okay.”

“Wild! Thank the three you’re okay!” Wind’s voice could be heard, though slightly garbled and unclear.

“Where are you guys?” Twilight asked.

“We got trapped in a cave. The entrance collapsed, and we can’t get out.” Wild explained.

“Are you all okay?” Time asked.

“Tracks has a broken leg and is unconscious. Sky isn’t doing too well either; he’s having a panic attack, or something, and he can’t breathe.” Wild shook his head.

“Alright. We’re looking for you now. Try to help Sky and Tracks as best you can, alright, Cub? We’ll be there soon.” Twilight promised.

Minutes passed— though it felt like an eternity— before a sound was heard outside. Rocks grinding against rocks before a small hole appeared and light streamed inside. A face appeared on the other side of the hole, belonging to Future.

“They’re in here!” He turned to someone else outside.

“Hang on, you guys, we’re gonna get you out!” Wind called inside. He and Legend (with the help of their power bracelets) and Twilight got to work on attempting to move the rocks, soon joined by Four’s Colors, Minish, Time, and even Wild from the inside. Soon enough, they had a hole big enough that the boys could slip through. Sky stood up, bolting for the exit with tears of joy streaming down his face. Finally, he was free…

“Goddesses, he’s so cold… Why is he so cold?!” Wild muttered as he and Warriors lifted up Tracks and carried him out as well. His lips had a bluish tint to them, and he had stopped shivering long ago. No doubt the frostspear had a hand in that, but it was strange that it had frozen him to this extent. Something definitely wasn’t right here.

“Wrap him up in your cloak. We need to get that spear off him. I don’t know why he’s so cold either, but he’s definitely in a hypothermic state.” Warriors said. Wild removed his cloak and began wrapping up Tracks in it to help warm him up until the group got a fire started, “Someone get a fire going. HYRULE! We need you!” Warriors called out.

“Holy…! He’s freezing! What happened?” Hyrule asked as he appeared at Tracks’ side, “Are you sure it was just a broken leg? A simple fracture shouldn’t lead to hypothermia like this even with ice put on it.”

“Pretty sure. Then again, it was pretty dark in there. I couldn’t really see. All I knew was it felt broken.” Warriors said nervously. Goddesses, if he had messed up and caused even more damage to the Engineer, he would never forgive himself.

“Pulse is erratic, but weak. Something is definitely wrong… I’m gonna check out that leg for myself—” Hyrule removed Tracks’ right boot and rolled up his pant leg, revealing something far worse than anyone expected. Tracks' lower right leg had turned a horrible shade of purple and was swollen to almost twice the normal size in places. The spot where the tip of the spear had been, meant to cool the broken limb and stop the swelling, now looked extremely frostbitten. Warriors wanted to vomit as he saw this. That was definitely not a simple leg fracture.

"Warriors, let me ask you something. Were you even paying attention when you were treating this?!" Hyrule demanded, actually sounding angry (you know you're in trouble when Hyrule gets mad at you).

"It was dark! I couldn't see!" Warriors argued.

"Did you know his leg had been crushed?"

"Yes, Wild and I moved the rock off of it ourselves!"

"So you knew he had a rock so heavy that you and Wild had to work together to move it, and you still treated this like a simple leg fracture?! Wars, you…!" Hyrule spat, "I can't heal this! His leg is beyond what my magic can fix!"

"So what are you saying?" Wild asked. Hyrule sighed, finally calming down as his anger was replaced with a somber look.

"He's saying, if Tracks is going to survive… We're gonna have to cut off the damaged limb." Warriors guessed.

"That…" Hyrule sighed, "That would be his best chance, yes. I wish there was another way but this is way beyond anything that my life spell or a potion could fix. Maybe, maybe if we had a fairy, but…"

"We don't." Legend finished, "At least not one with healing capabilities." Hyrule nodded.

"Well if this really is his only shot…" Time gave a disheartened sigh, "How can we help, Hyrule?"

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

Tracks woke up already bundled up in blankets, tucked into his bedroll. His brain was still in a fog, but at least he was warm again, and the pain had mostly faded. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but it was long enough for the others to rescue him and heal his injuries… or so he thought. His broken leg didn't hurt anymore, but… he couldn't move it either. He couldn't wiggle his toes. He couldn't… He couldn't feel anything below his right knee. He began to panic. Why couldn't he feel his leg? What happened to him?!

"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay. You're out of the cave. Hyrule did his best to heal you. You're safe." Wind appeared at his side, giving him a comforting smile. Everyone else was staring at him with a mixture of concern, relief, and… was that guilt?

"What… What happened? After I passed out, I mean." Tracks asked.

"After we got out of the cave, we figured out that your leg was a lot worse than we originally thought." Warriors confessed, "Hyrule… did what he could, but…" he trailed off. Tracks dared to peek under the blankets and saw, to his horror, that his right leg wasn't injured. It was gone. Everything below his knee had been amputated, leaving nothing more than a bandaged stump in its place. Tears welled up in the engineer's eyes. How could this have happened? How could it come to this?! One moment he was walking around in perfect health and now… Well, he wasn't sure he'd ever walk again. Shit, what was he going to do now? He was no use to the others with only one leg!

"I'm so sorry, Tracks. This is my fault. I wasn't paying attention. I didn't take the time to notice the severity of your injuries, and I only made it worse. I am so, so sorry." Warriors buried his face in his hands. Tracks couldn't even respond. He didn't want to be angry at Warriors. They were in a desperate situation. But when his mess-up had cost Tracks a limb?!

"No, this is my fault. I was the one who led us into the cave. I was the one who accidentally caused the entrance to collapse. If there's anyone to blame, it's me." Wild stood up. Tracks, again, didn't say anything. Both were at fault in his mind. If either of them had done things differently, Tracks might still have his leg. He wouldn't be left like… this! Useless. Weak. Disabled.

"Hey, you know what? Okay, yeah it does suck that you had to lose your leg. But you know what? You're alive because of it. That's something at least." Sky told him. Tracks huffed as he turned away, sinking back into his mess of blankets.

"...Wish I wasn't." He muttered. The camp went silent. Sky stood up and went over towards Hyrule,

"Did… we do the right thing? I know it saved his life, but—"

"Of course we did. I've seen soldiers lose limbs multiple times in the war. It might be difficult to adjust to and cope with, but they are always better off. He just needs time, and support." Warriors explained. At least he hoped that was all the engineer needed…

"We'll give him all the time he needs. And we'll all be here for him." Wild nodded.

"Right." Wind agreed. Tracks had heard the conversation behind him, and while he was still extremely upset, he couldn't help but feel a warmth in his heart at the sound of everyone's promise to be there for him. They really did care…

#linked keys #loz au #not lu #whumptober2022 #LK #LK Wild #LK Sky #LK Warriors #LK Tracks #tw: amputation #tw: claustrophobia

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minsyal · 3 years

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The Fugitive: Finding Home, Pt. 2

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Warnings: strong language, Resident Evil-esque violence and descriptions of gore, and dark/sexual themes

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime trip turned dark. You're quickly exposed to the sinister and mysterious world of a cursed village under the control of dark leaders. How long will you last and will you ever return home in one piece?

The Fugitive: Finding Home Masterlist

Part 1 - The Beginning

“Mother Miranda, I’ve been requesting new maids for at least six months to this day.”

“That’s because you keep eating your other ones.”

You were shaken awake.

“I think that my castle would be best suited for her.”

“Oh, so you can bleed ‘er dry? You think that would really be the best use of anyone’s time?” A familiar voice retorted.

“Good morning!” A shrill voice squeaked as what felt like wood kicked at your face. “She’s up! She’s up! She’s up!” It exclaimed excitedly with a bounce, the voice became softer as the skittering of feet scrambled away.

“Ah,” the unfamiliar smooth woman’s voice cooed as your eyes adjusted to your surroundings. There were what looked to be six figures in the room. Miranda stood before you, perched upon a stage-like area that once housed what you could only imagine was a priest or preacher. To the left sat a cloaked woman with a blob of white resting in her lap. Another woman, also adorned in a white garb, sat towering over the rest, the light constant trickle of smoke danced upward from her vintage cigarette holder. On your right sat a familiar face, the man from the village who had saved you only a few hours prior. You’d come to know him as Lord Heisenberg. He maintained the large woman’s gaze, but the look held no love or any remote sense of familial belonging. Instead, his eyes were set ablaze, even behind the shaded rims of his glasses. Lastly, a shorter creature with a large hunched back moved ungracefully around. Its long gangly arms accompanied by its deformed face only aided in the growing unease.

The dull ache of your shoulder only distracted you from the bindings of your wrists for a moment. Your attention was quickly drawn to the rough ropes that dug their thorny threads into the soft skin of your wrists. Everything ached, mentally and physically.

“I do think she would be best suited with me.” The tall woman repeated herself. “There’s no doubt Moreau wouldn’t be able to handle her, and likely not the rest of you either.”

The hunched creature whirled back, throwing a forlornly glare in the woman’s direction. You supposed that was Moreau.

“You think I couldn’t handle her?” Heisenberg shot back, bent forward to rest his weight on his heels. His relationship with the large woman was clearly tumultuous given his outburst and her subsequent reaction.

“You always get them.” The shrill voice called. It was the doll; the fucking doll was talking... not that this should surprise you at this point. “She should come with us! We need more friends.”

“You’re not included in this conversation.” The tall woman mocked with a fierce glare shot violently at the doll as its mouth hung slack.

“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Thus far, nobody had managed to answer your simple question. The lot turned toward you, the majority with piercing stares. “Guess not.” You muttered, becoming quite fed up with the range of emotions you had been experiencing over the past day. If it kept going in this direction, you’d surely have to be treated for whiplash.

“She’s already proven to be a considerable pain in my neck.” Miranda loudly projected. Her steps were a clear juxtaposition to her tone, falling light on the church floor as she approached. “One villager is unable to walk, another dead.”

“Dead?” The words fell before you could stop yourself. She didn’t answer.

“Please,” Heisenberg leaned back once more, his hand moving to the interior of his jacket, “the dumb thing practically laid down when she was attacked by a lycan.” His fingers fumbled around the darkened paper of a cigar. Yellow, blonde streaks flashed upon his face as the distinguishable clink of a metal lighter was flicked. “I wouldn’t call that too capable.”

“My friend pushed me.” You argued, once again mentally reeling for the outburst.

Heisenberg let out a huff of smoke, intentionally blowing it in the tall woman’s direction, “sounds like a piss poor friend.”

“Enough.” Miranda had taken to her spot at the front near the alter once more. “The girl shall go to Alcina.”

A wicked smile crossed the tall woman’s face. “Thank you, Mother Miranda. It is so good to have you back.”

“Where are you from?” One of the girls ushered you through the depths of the castle. She wore a simple gown with stitches at the bottom, holding together the frail fabric that looked to be decades old.

“America.”

The girl cocked her head to the side like a newborn. “I don’t know of that town.”

Upon arrival you were escorted down to what was described as the maids’ chambers. In a small stone room, you were assigned a cot, given a chest, and told to change into uniform. Your arm ached and spasmed as you lifted the lid of the trunk open. Somewhere between being shot by the villagers and being transported to Castle Dimitrescu, the bullet was removed from your shoulder and replaced with gauze that limited the mobility of your arm. The distinct oily feeling of grease caused friction between the bandages and your clothes; the ache of alcohol still stung, causing a sore numbness.

The Lady insisted all maids conform to the strict code of dress. Long, unflattering dresses, short heels, and sometimes a headscarf if hair wasn’t pulled tautly into a bun at the base of one’s neck were a few things to name the least. You always wore the headscarf, which was a thin piece of grey lace that attached at the peak of your hairline, cascading over your shoulders to land at waist-length.

The rest of the day passed slowly. You learned the ins and outs of the castle, became acquainted with the sparse staff that only consisted of women, and met Alcina’s daughters from a distance. The next two weeks passed the same way.

Wake up, clean the castle, serve Lady and her daughters, go to bed. That was your routine. Though, the sounds that seeped from the halls at night prompted unwavering curiosity. Heisenberg had mentioned the ill-fated maids that had the luxury of serving the Dimitrescu women back in that church. Nothing at this point had you doubting that was the case. But you assured yourself daily that you would not accept the castle’s fate; you would get out of here one way or another.

You had only been at the mercy of Lady Dimitrescu once to this day. A small spat broke out between maids and the arrival of the head of house had the women squealing lies of how you were the one to start it.

“She stole our rations!” The girl with the wide nose accused her chubby finger outstretched in your direction.

“I didn’t steal anything, you dirty fucking liar.”

“She did. We were squabbling over how she should be punished.” The other girl replied, tucking a shaking hand behind her back as she straightened her poor posture.

“A thief,” Alcina regarded you, “that’s a shame.” Knives skid across the thin skin of your forearm. “Another outburst like this and there will be harsher consequences.” Red stained her tongue as she ran the claw through her cherry-red lips.

As she sauntered down the hall and out of sight, you uncurled your arm from your chest, wincing at the large crimson stain it left on your dress.

“Fresh face.” The words ricocheted off the wall in front of you. Footsteps steadfastly approached from behind. He walked with an effortless swagger, legs slightly bowed with each lyrical step. You’d gone for the quiet route after the situation, finding that silence often pleased those that ruled over the castle. “Here I was thinkin’ it would take you a little longer to lose that fight.” He stepped closer; the unmissable smell of tobacco seeped from his lips. “Looks like I was wrong.”

Instead of words, you held his gaze through unimpressed eyes. Hues of yellows, greys, and greens met yours from beneath his rounded glasses. You could see more of him from here. A large scar ran from the right of his face to the left, the lifted skin healing over leaving memories of whatever had happened. In fact, the majority of his face was plagued with scars. One ran from the bottom of his lip down to his chin, disappearing beneath the stubble of his beard. You wondered if his disdain toward Alcina was founded by those wretched claws of hers. His hair was wirey with shades of brown and peppered grey streaking through the ends. Quite honestly, he was an attractive man.

“I’ve got a name, you know?”

“I don’t think I cared to ask.”

“Then I suppose you aren’t deserving of one either.”

“Well,” he tapped at your chest with a gloved finger, “I think you’ve got a little spunk left in you, sweetheart.”

“Call me Y/n.”

“No last name?” He deadpanned.

“L/n.”

He nodded, but you felt as though your words had passed through him like a ghost.

“Karl.” He gave a lazy bow, tilting the rim of his hat. “But I think you probably already knew that.”

“Gossip and information don’t come easily from the maids here. Sorry,” you pressed your lips together, “I didn’t know.”

Karl gave a shrug.

“Do you know what happened to my friend?” The thought had been playing on your mind for the past few weeks.

He raised an inquisitive brow and turned his head to peer out the shaded window. “The so-called friend that left you to become lycan chow?” A hearty tut left his chest. “I think she’s assimilated into the town.”

“Dumb bitch.” You breathed.

“There’s that spark.” He stood tall with an artificial sense of pride. It had been a long time since somebody in the village was willing to use such crude language in front of any of the Lords, let alone Miranda. It almost astonished him that they’d let you live after the killing of Adelina’s brother. The gun misfired; it wasn’t really your fault.

Another week of growing suspicions and two newly missing maids, you finally attempted to seek out the dungeons that everyone spoke of but warned to stray from. You had to know what was going on here.

“Lost?” Heisenberg’s voice appeared at your right side. His chin almost rested upon your shoulder; the stubble of his beard scratched at your neck. “This isn’t a place I’d get lost in if I were you. In fact, it’s not even a place you should be exploring.”

“Are you going to run to Alcina if I do?” You didn’t face him, why would you? The hallway was cramped, restricting of any sort of movement other than in the direction you were going.

“Me?” He leaned backward to stand at full height. Your body cursed silently, wishing nothing more than to have him close again. How he wasn’t hitting his head on the rafter just inches above floored you. “I hate that bitch. You do what you want, but I won’t bail you out when you get caught.”

“Good thing I don’t plan on being caught then.” You descended the metal ladder, only looking upward for a moment to catch a glimpse of Heisenberg leaning over the opening. An eerie smile was plastered on his lips, it was almost smug.

The dungeons were as you imagined. Cold water trickled down some of the walls, likely due to cracks in the castle’s foundation accompanied by the ever melting of the outside snow. It smelled of mothballs and garlic, something musty was clinging to the air. You noted a few turns here and there, attempting to memorize the path you had taken in case you needed to make a swift escape. What didn’t help was the skid of your maid’s clothes along the rigid floor.

Muffled cries put you further onto the edge. The narrow hall gave way to a large room filled with arched stonework. Metal bars shot from floor to ceiling, hinges creaked as the sound of hands banging against them filled your eardrums. You didn’t want to go further, scared of any repercussions should any of the jailed women recognize and rat you out.

Turning to head to the ladder, you collided with a chest. “Leaving so soon?” Heisenberg again.

“Shh!” You slapped at his chest with a closed fist, only realizing what you had done when the action was completed. He looked rightfully amused. Everything that you had learned of these “Lords” up to now told you to act less casually with him, to put on an air of respect at the very least. But there was something surprisingly human about him. Something that told you it was okay despite it potentially not being so. At this point, you were only prolonging the inevitable.

“What?” He started, swiftly being cut off by approaching footsteps. Firm hands grasped at your arms, pulling your face forward into his chest. “Open your mouth and I’ll feed you to whatever’s coming.” He said through his teeth, trapping your arms between your two bodies.

The room grew dim, the wall behind your back became close even though you had not moved at all. Heisenberg’s grip was strong on your forearms, causing you to inaudibly hiss as his thumb dug into the slash Alcina had left weeks prior. The footsteps were accompanied by the soft cries of a woman, gasping pleas of being let go falling silent on the ears of her assailant. A minute passed; the dungeon fell soundless.

“You can breathe now.” His lips lingered close to your ear, once again sending a rush of chills crawling down your skin. He knew what he was doing.

“I’ve been breathing.” You breathily retorted sounding as if you had just run a marathon.

“Whatever you say, doll.”

The wall behind you gave way, moving on its own. You turned; the materials that had been pressed to your back laid themselves on the ground. Heisenberg’s smile was unmissable. “Go ahead.” His voice was gravely, gruff, a slight melancholy dismay underlying. Heisenberg desired for you to implore what just happened, but you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. You refused to see him as anything but normal, for if you did give in to the village’s mental games, you’d likely find yourself going mad. He was a man, you told yourself, nothing more.

“I thought you weren’t going to bail me out?”

“I wasn’t.” He tightened his grip on your arms. “But I figured it’d be a shame to lose such a pretty face so soon.”

“I, I’m sure you say that to all the girls here.” You couldn’t hold his gaze at this distance. Perhaps Adelina was right, you were rather frumpy and unexperienced.

A huff came as he exhaled, a thoughtful tug of his lips upward accompanied it. He didn’t answer, a reoccurring event with those who inhabited this town.

Heisenberg had been keeping his trips to and from the castle a secret. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure why he felt so inclined to bother with the outsider woman who appeared in the village one fateful evening. Perhaps he was growing bored of his daily routine with no results to show. Maybe he was enticed by the well of knowledge you held of the outside world. Maybe it was something else, something human. The Lord’s weren’t allowed to stray far from the village. The other three lived delightfully oblivious, completely okay with never exploring the unknown. Heisenberg, on the other hand, was not. Your friend, Jess as he recalled you calling her, was far from interesting to him. It didn’t take a genius to tell how low her I.Q. had to be. She conformed easily to the village and by all accounts had been down talking you to the others she met. She quickly fell into the same brainwashed daze of worship.

It had been another turbulent week of utter chaos around every corner. Nobody knew of your adventure into the depths of Castle Dimitrescu and you had no intentions of spreading any gossip among the maids. They all seemed to have it out for you anyway. You were the “outsider,” as one described it. It was so blatantly evident to them that you were not going to conform to their ways. And that disturbed them.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t your fair share of punishment to this point. In actuality, you had received a significantly greater amount of beratements and surface wounds from Alcina and her daughters. You thought to Heisenberg often, continually wondering how your life would differ had Miranda bestowed you upon him. He was irresistibly charming in his own twisted sense. Every word that escaped his mouth heavily contradicted his actions. You received a good number of swats to the hand stemming from woeful daydreaming of the man you hardly knew.

He could be dangerous, you’d tell yourself before slipping into yet another sequence of fervent and unrelenting thoughts stemming from the mysterious man. He was a Lord, one placed in a top position according to the village’s hierarchy. You just weren’t sure why.

There had been countless times the man had sauntered into the castle, “accidentally” run into you, and held brief conversation.

The other maids were assholes. Though you had concluded this swiftly upon entering the castle, their recent actions only solidified your feelings.

It had been only a day since Heisenberg’s last visit. He strolled into the castle, easing his way past the maids as they hurriedly passed by. They paid him no mind. The evening sun had begun to set in the sky. Lady Dimitrescu had gone out for the night, instructing her girls to hold down the castle while she was away. The three of them had descended into the dungeons, not to be seen again until morning. This left the halls free and roamable for the savvy Lord.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Your voice caught his attention. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Marybeth.”

Shrill voices argued back and forth behind the kitchen doors. The sound of muffled giggles fell on his ears; it was an unusual sound within the castle walls. The girls must be relaxed knowing they’re safe from punishment tonight. At least, that’s what they thought.

In a second, the hinges of the door burst off, sending the heavy frame crashing down to the tiled floor. Shrieks came quickly and died on their lips as soon as the girls realized who was there.

“Lord Heisenberg.” One woman bowed her head, concealing something within her hands as she placed them in her lap, clasped tightly together. “Lady Dimitrescu has left for the evening.”

“I know.” His brow raised at the scene set before him. You stood to the rear of the kitchen, clearly irate at something the woman who regarded him had done. Five other women were huddled with the one who spoke, following her lead and averting their gazes. No aroma of cuisine drifted from the empty cauldron, only the stale scent of curing meats clung to the air.

“What’s going on in here?” He looked directly at you from beneath the lid of his hat.

“We were cleaning the kitchen.” The maid spoke through shaking breaths.

After a pensive moment, he waved his hand. “You’re dismissed. Except,” he held his hand at your chest as you attempted to pass, “you.”

The girls stumbled over the door, making quick work of getting back to their quarters and away from the Lord. You listened as the audience of feet trampled away. None of the girls here knew how to walk in heels causing for a rather elephant-like clomping of shoes wherever they went.

“What really happened?”

“Do you care?”

“Not particularly, but color me curious.”

“Don’t get them in trouble.” You demanded through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to deal with the aftermath.”

He chortled. “You seem more afraid of them than you are of me.”

“You’ve not given me a reason to be scared.”

Your back pressed to the wall, a glass chalice fell, shattering against the floor. The lapels of his jacket and dog tags pushed to your chest were still cold from the frosted night air. “Do I need to give you a reason?”

“I just,” embarrassment rose in your cheeks, “would you stop doing this?” There was no budging the man. His strength far outweighed yours, easily acting as if your pushing against his chest was nothing but a soft breeze.

“Doing what?” A smirk grew on his lips. God, he loved this.

“This!” Your clenched fist banged on his chest, not rattling him in the slightest. Droplets of claret liquid ran from your palm to your elbow. “Dammit, Karl. Move.”

The use of his first name was new. A solid hand closed around your wrist, bringing it up to eye level. He tilted back, adjusting his vision. The raise of his brow signaled that he wanted you to open your hand. Complying, you cringed as the reddened skin screamed for relief.

“They did this?”

“It’s no different from the other injuries I’ve gotten here.”

“It’s deep.” He reached into the pocket of his trench coat. “Don’t let anyone know you’ve got this.” A silver tin slipped from his hand to yours, you pried at its ridges with your nail.

Heisenberg disappeared after that, taking off with a dramatic throw of the castle doors as he disappeared into the dense forest. He had given you a tin of salve and a bandage.

“Lady Dimitrescu has requested your presence.”

The Fugitive: Finding Home Part 3 - Foreign Thoughts

I'm so excited for where this fic is going...

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#karl heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #heisenberg #re8 #re8 heisenberg #Resident Evil Village #resident evil heisenberg #lord heisenberg #resident evil 8 #re8 imagines

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

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Lucien Vanserra Sass Appreciation Post

For more serious Lucien content see my other posts:

What the fuck is happening in the Autumn Court series Part 1 (Eris) and Part 2 (Lady of the Autumn Court)

What stories are left: Lucien

When Lucien introduces himself:

"Lucien," my captor said quietly, the name echoing with a hint of a snarl. "Behave."

Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. "My apologies, lady." Another joke at my expense. "I'm Lucien. Courtier and emissary." He gestured to me with a flourish. "Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold."

When Lucien is intrigued by Feyre:

"Well," Lucien said, his remaining russet eye fixed on me, "you don't look half as bad now. A relief, I suppose, since you're to live with us. Though the tunic isn't as pretty as a dress."

When Lucien wants to know if Feyre thinks he's hot:

"Thank you for the meal," I said. It was all I could think of. "Won't you stay for wine?" Lucien said with sweet venom from where he lounged in his seat. I braced my hands on my chair to rise. "I'm tired. I'd like to sleep." "It's been a few decades since I last saw one of you," Lucien drawled, "but you humans never change, so I don't think I'm wrong in asking why you find our company to be so unpleasant, when surely the men back home aren't much to look at." At the other end of the table, Tamlin gave his emissary a long, warning look. Lucien ignored it. "You're High Fae," I said tightly. "I'd ask why you'd even bother inviting me here at all-or dining with me." Fool-I really should have been killed ten times over already. Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this"-he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face-"surely we're not so miserable to look at."

When Feyre leaves their first dinner together:

He gave a distant nod and motioned for me to leave. Dismissed. Like the lowly human I was. Lucien propped his chin on a fist and gave me a lazy half smile. Enough. I got to my feet and backed toward the door. Putting my back to them would have been like walking away from a wolf, sparing my life or no. They said nothing when I slipped out the door. A moment later, Lucien's barking laugh echoed into the halls, followed by a sharp, vicious growl that shut him up.

When Lucien notices Feyre checking him out:

Lucien paused, and I found him smirking at me, making the scar even more brutal. "Were you admiring my sword, or just contemplating killing me, Feyre?"

When Lucien is a sarcastic motherfucker:

“So is this what you do with your lives? Spare humans from the Treaty and have fine meals?” I gave a pointed glance toward Tamlin’s baldric, the warrior’s clothes, Lucien’s sword. Lucien smirked. “We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings–”

When Lucien describes Amaratha perfectly:

"What happened to the magic to make it act that way?" Lucien let out a harsh laugh. "Something was sent from the shit-holes of Hell," he said, then glanced around and swore. "I shouldn't have said that. If word got back to her-"

When they run into the Boggee:

"I heard its voice in my head. It told me to look." Lucien rolled his shoulders. "Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn't. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day." He gave me a wan smile. I didn't return it.

When he gives Feyre a title:

"Are you a warrior, though?" Would you be able to kill me if it ever came to that? Lucien huffed a laugh. "Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons." He patted the hilt of his sword. "Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

When Lucien just needs someone to spar with:

“Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?" "Do you ever stop being such a prick?" I snapped back. Dead—really, truly, I should have been dead for that. But Lucien grinned at me. "Much better.

When Lucien and Feyre spend quality time together:

Over the next three days, I found myself joining Lucien on Andras's old patrol while Tamlin hunted the grounds for the Bogge, unseen by us. Despite being an occasional bastard, Lucien didn't seem to mind my company, and he did most of the talking, which was fine; it left me to brood over the consequences of firing a single arrow. An arrow. I never fired a single one during those three days we rode along the border. That very morning I'd spied a red doe in a glen and aimed out of instinct, my arrow poised to fly right into her eye as Lucien sneered that she was not a faerie, at least. But I'd stared at her-fat and healthy and content-and then slackened the bow, replaced the arrow in my quiver, and let the doe wander on.

When Lucien diagnoses Faerie problems perfectly:

A brush of ice slithered across my nape. "He would be that brutal?" Lucien studied the wine in his goblet. "You don't hold on to power by being everyone's friend. And among the faeries, lesser and High Fae alike, a firm hand is needed. We're too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else."

When Lucien is told to Back Off, so he exacts his revenge:

Lucien's russet eye was bright, though the smile he gave me didn't meet it. The face of Tamlin's emissary-more court-trained and calculating than I'd seen him yet. "I'm unavailable today," he said. He jerked his chin to Tamlin. "He'll go with you." Tamlin shot his friend a look of disdain that he took few pains to hide. His usual baldric was armed with more knives than I'd seen before, and their ornate metal handles glinted as he turned to me, his shoulders tight. "Whenever you want to go, just say so." The claws of his free hand slipped back under his skin. No. I almost said it aloud as I turned pleading eyes to Lucien. Lucien merely patted my shoulder as he passed by. "Perhaps tomorrow, human."

When Lucien hides:

"I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border-official emissary business," he said, setting down the hunting knife he'd been cleaning, a long, vicious blade. "I got back in time to hear your little spat with Tam, and decided I was safer up here. I'm glad to hear your human heart has warmed to me, though. At least I'm not on the top of your killing list."

When Lucien and Feyre become friends after he tells her how to trap a Suriel:

Another riddle-and another bit of information. I said, "It's a good thing that while you have superior hearing, I possess superior abilities to keep my mouth shut." He snorted as I took the knife from the table and turned to procure the bow from my room. "I think I'm starting to like you-for a murdering human."

When Lucien is day drinking and living his best life:

“Would you like me to grovel with gratitude for bringing me here, High Lord?" "Ah. The Suriel told you nothing important, did it?" That smile of his sparked something bold in my chest. "He also said that you liked being brushed, and if I'm a clever girl, I might train you with treats." Tamlin tipped his head to the sky and roared with laughter. Despite myself, I let out a quiet laugh. "I might die of surprise," Lucien said behind me. "You made a joke, Feyre." I turned to look at him with a cool smile. "You don't want to know what the Suriel said about you." I flicked my brows up, and Lucien lifted his hands in defeat. "I'd pay good money to hear what the Suriel thinks of Lucien," Tamlin said. A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle's contents and chuckling with a muttered, "Brushed.”

When Lucien is incredibly casual for a guy going to an orgy:

What?”

Lucien laughed. “Yes—all those female faeries around you were females for Tamlin to pick. It’s an honor to be chosen, but it’s his instincts that select her.”

“But you were there—and other male faeries.” My face burned so hot that I began sweating. That was why those three horrible faeries had been there—and they’d thought that just by my presence, I was happy to comply with their plans.

“Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle. Though it’s not the Great Rite, our own dalliances tonight will help the land, too.

When Lucien is the mom friend:

"You look . . . refreshed," Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I shrugged. "Sleep well?" "Like a babe." I smiled as him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien's eyes travel inexorably to my neck. "What is that bruise?" Lucien demanded. I pointed my fork to Tamlin. "Ask him, he did it." Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. "Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?" he asked with no small amount of amusement.

When Lucien loves drama:

"Accountable?" I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. "You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!" Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. "While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room," Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair. I couldn't help it. Didn't even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my senses. "Faerie pig!" I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlin's growing smile, I left.

When Lucien bolts:

“I had to keep my hands clenched at my sides to avoid wiping my sweaty palms on the skirts of my gown as I reached the dining room, and immediately contemplated bolting upstairs and changing into a tunic and pants. But I knew they’d already heard me, or smelled me, or used whatever heightened senses they had to detect my presence, and since fleeing would only make it worse, I found it in myself to push open the double doors.

Whatever discussion Tamlin and Lucien had been having stopped, and I tried not to look at their wide eyes as I strode to my usual place at the end of the table.

“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

When Feyre goes to a party:

"Cauldron boil me," Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. "She looks positively Fae." ...

I squared my shoulders, disinclined to let him see how much his words or voice or sheer well-being impacted me. Not yet. "I'm surprised I'm even allowed to participate tonight." "Unfortunately for you and your neck," Lucien countered, "tonight's just a party." "Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?" Lucien winked at me, and Tamlin laughed and offered me his arm. "He's right,"....

"So there's singing and dancing and excessive drinking," Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. "And dallying," he added with a wicked grin.

When Lucien plays a prank:

"I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself," I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I'd had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick-enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool...."

When Feyre gets drunk of Faerie Wine:

“Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that.”

“Always looking after your best interests,” I said, and pointedly chugged the contents of the glass. It was like a million fireworks exploding inside me, filling my veins with starlight. I laughed aloud, and Lucien groaned.

“Human fool,” he hissed.

But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge. That was what I would capture next.

“I’m going to paint you,” I said, and giggled—actually giggled—as the words popped out.

"Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered, and I laughed again.”

When Lucien is hungover and third-wheeling:

Lucien kept rubbing at his temples as he ate, unusually silent, and I hid my smile as I asked him, “And where were you last night?” Lucien’s metal eye narrowed on me. “I’ll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.” Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, “With some company.” He gave me a sly grin. “Rumor has it you two didn’t come back until after dawn.” I glanced at Tamlin, biting my lip. I’d practically floated into my bedroom that morning. But Tamlin’s gaze now roved my face as if searching for any tinge of regret, of fear. Ridiculous. “You bit my neck on Fire Night,” I said under my breath. “If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing.” He braced his forearms on the table as he leaned closer to me. “Nothing?” His eyes flicked to my lips. Lucien shifted in his seat, muttering to the Cauldron to spare him, but I ignored him. “Nothing,” I repeated a bit distantly, watching Tamlin’s mouth move, so keenly aware of every movement he made, resenting the table between us. I could almost feel the warmth of his breath. “Are you sure?” he murmured, intent and hungry enough that I was glad I was sitting. He could have had me right there, on top of that table. I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me. “I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said.”

When Lucien drops one of the best lines in the book:

"I see," I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it, and I glared sidelong at him. "You've been noticeably absent again." He used the dagger to clean his nails. "I've been busy. So have you, I take it." "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. "If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?"

When Lucien doesn't know what is coming in the future:

Downstairs, Lucien snorted at the sight of me. "Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm." "I'm not sure the human realm would know what to do with you," I said. Lucien's smile was edged, his shoulders tight as he gave a sharp look behind me to where Tam was waiting in front of a gilded carriage. When he turned back, that metal eye narrowed. "I thought you were smarter than this."

When Lucien admires Feyre's attitude:

“Don’t you understand what Rhys is?” “I do!” I barked, then sighed. “I do,” I repeated, and glared at the eye in my palm. “It’s done with. So you needn’t hold to whatever oath you swore to Tamlin to protect me—or feel like you owe me anything for saving you from Amarantha. I would have done it just to wipe the smirk off your brothers’ faces.” Lucien clicked his tongue, but his remaining russet eye shone. “I’m glad to see you didn’t sell your lively human spirit or stubbornness to Rhys.”

When Lucien is a fashionista:

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

When game recognize game

“Cursebreaker,” some murmured. “Blessed,” others whispered.

I made a show of looking surprised—surprised and yet accepting of the Cauldron’s choice. Tamlin’s face was taut with shock, the Hybern royals’ nothing short of baffled.

But I turned to Lucien, my light radiating so brightly that it bounced off his metal eye. A friend beseeching another for help. I reached a hand toward him.

Beyond us, I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it.

Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.

When Lucien is scared of Amren:

“I think Amren would probably deny that she feels any affection for us—”

“Amren is a bedtime story they told us as younglings to make us behave. Amren was who would drink my blood and carry me to hell if I acted out of line. And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

“We don’t—we don’t enforce protocol and rank here.”

“Obviously. Rhys lives in a town house, by the Cauldron.” He waved an arm to encompass the city.

When Lucien is a little murderous:

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

When Lucien volunteers to go on a quest:

“You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—”

“I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.”

My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.”

A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.

When Lucien makes a friend

“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”

“You sound like an acolyte.”

Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.”

#lucien vanserra #sass appreciation #this is 90% acotar #I didn't include ACOFAS or ACOSF because his sass is not as strong #other than calling Rhys and Feyre assholes #kp analysis #acotar series #mtp

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