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animeyanderelover · 3 years

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This must be the first time that I managed to finish an Anime in only five days. My favs are Misa, L and Near.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, manipulation, stalking, sabotage, Yandere being mean, clinginess, gaslighting, blackmailing, kidnapping, death

Yandere Death Note Hc’s

Light Yagami

✍️I have so much to say! The first and most outshining trait should be very obvious. Manipulative to the point where he’ll break you if he has too. He’s very charming so it won’t be hard for him to quickly get close to you and your parents. A good relationship with you starts with a good relationship with your parents. He’ll have everything perfectly planned to make sure that his darling falls for him. Also a very controlling one. He will control a lot of things in your life, probably not all, unless you force him too. It will feel like you have some power in this relationship, but you don’t. He can also be a really cruel one. It might happen often that he is one day all over you and the next he is completely ignoring you just to have you begging for his attention. He loves it when you rely on him and submit to him. He has one of the most unhealthy obsessions with his darling and with his intelligence and charm it won’t be hard for him to get his s/o telling him everything he wants to know.

✍️Also a very possessive one. No one can have his darling since they are going to be his god/goddess which will rule on his side over the world. His delusions are a whole chapter for itself, but his delusions will decide how good he’ll treat the s/o. He believes he’s a god and he expects them to treat him like one. Better worship him or else he’ll get mad. But the more I thought about it, the more I can see him as someone who’s delusions will from time to time take a complete 180 degree flip and in this moments he’ll be an absolute worshipper for his darling, being blinded from their perfection. Enjoy these moments when you have them.

✍️Light is surprisingly okay with the s/o meeting their family and friends, but only when they don’t start spending more time with them than with him. But these are the only exceptions because if it’s anyone else who isn’t a family member of yours, his or one of your friends then he’ll get jealous quickly. But he’s so good to overplay it and with his charm it honestly won’t be hard for him to quickly get his darling away from them.

✍️Normally he only kills criminals or people who are a threat to Kira, but isn’t trying to take his darling away from him a crime too? If not, the worst crime? You should be careful with how affectionate you are with someone if you don’t want them to die on a heart attack, accident, suicide or whatever Light can think off. Everyone who dares to make a move on his darling or even looks at them in the wrong way will drop like a dead fly.

✍️He can fool everyone with his act and charm and I think he might be able to make it look like a ‘normal’ relationship where he’ll pull the strings behind every action you make and will make you spend every free minute with him, having wrapped you up so much in lies that you want to spend ‘willingly’ every minute with him. If his darling should ever start try to break up with him or suspecting he’s Kira and isn’t a supporter of him then things will get really swiftly really bad and he’ll threaten his darling to kill their family and friends, forcing them to spend time with him if they don’t want to feel responsible for someone’s death.

✍️As long as you love him and don’t suspect him of being Kira, only if you don’t support him that is, then Light can be the perfect boyfriend for you, charming, handsome, intelligent. But if you’ll ever try to leave him or are against Kira and find somehow out that he’s Kira then he’ll peel his ‘perfect boyfriend’ image off and will show you his real face. He’ll threaten everyone you love to keep you by his side. Stay better in your line or else he’ll punish you and/or kill someone you’re close to so you can learn your lesson. Your opinion is important to him, after all you’ll rule the world with him, but he also wants you to accept his opinion.

L Lawliet

🍰I was beyond mad when he died. L is a stalker and an obsessive one. He has cameras and wires placed everywhere in his darling’s house, observing their every word and movement. He has some connections and will use them to get every file about them. It won’t take long for him to know everything there is to know there about the s/o. Family, friends, favorites, fears, hobbies. Everything! And the more he finds out the more he gets obsessed. Just in case he might create some dirty secrets about his darling’s family if they should try to leave. He’s also really manipulative. He knows his darling’s thoughts from the way they’re acting and moving and can estimate what they’ll do next and will take advantage of it if it’s necessary.

🍰He’s smart enough to know that his feelings aren’t normal, but for some reason he can’t stop. There are times where he can’t concentrate when his darling isn’t near him and where he’ll feel highly frustrated without them. He’s a desperate and touchy one. He might not look like it, but he just really wants his darling’s love and since he’s most of the time just alone in a room filled with computers and TV’s, isolating himself most of the time he’s beyond touchstarved and there will always be some physical contact. If his darling rejects that he might just handcuff them to him. At least like this they can’t try to get away from him when he wants another hug. He’s also overprotective. He deals with a lot of dangerous cases and knows that if someone finds out how special his darling to him is they will be targeted so he’ll ensure their safety.

🍰He watches his darling all the time and knows their schedules and who they meet during the day. He’s just so good in analyzing people and knows exactly from what he sees if someone likes his darling or the other way around. He won’t mind if they spend time with other people, but that’s only when the s/o doesn’t get to friendly with them or they don’t get too friendly with them. If that’s case then he’ll start feeling sour.

🍰If someone gets too close to his darling or if he notices that someone in his darling’s surroundings plans to harm them he’ll quickly dig some dirty secret about them up or will simply create one and will make sure that everyone will hear about it. He won’t kill, he’ll rely more on manipulations to simply dirty that person’s name.

🍰He will try to make you come willingly to him. He’ll create scenarios where you’ll get in a tricky situation and have no choice, but to rely on him and of course he’ll be there for you. If that doesn’t work then he’ll resort to blackmailing and will tell you about something that happened in your parent’s or friend’s past you don’t want people to find out or he’ll use the false rumors created and will spread them. Then you’ll have no choice, but to ask the famous L for help. If all this doesn’t work then he’ll be willing to kidnap his darling. But then he has everything planned perfectly. An excuse to why you suddenly disappeared and an excuse to why you most likely won’t be seen for a while.

🍰He knows everything about you and that’s just terrifying. There will be times where you’ll wake up at night just to find him staring at you intensely. Escaping won’t be from any use because L has the plan already figured out before the thought has even started to form in your mind. Trying to ask Watari won’t be useful either since he’s loyal to L. He has every possible reaction from you already planned out and a way to handle it. Get used to sweets because he’ll feed you a lot of them. Get used to him being a huge cuddle bear around you. He’s very blunt with you and his emotions for you. If you want to get out of this room filled with sweets, monitors and files then proof to him that you don’t leave him. He knows if you lie or not, but if he’s convinced that you are genuine then he might let you out, but not without a tracker and some wires on you. Just for safety.

Misa Amane

💄Misa is the obsessive and possessive type of Yandere. She will be very obvious with her obsession for her darling and is for sure someone who will take their things, letting them know that she’ll borrow their sweater for a while, but she’ll never give it back to them. Won’t allow anyone to take her sweet little darling away from her. No one should dare. She’ll kill anyone who tries to.

💄Also lovestruck, desperate, delusional and clingy. She believes in love at first sight as well as that you’ll love her just as much as she does. This girl here is all over you and will be highly affectionate with you, especially in public since she never got the chance to do that with Light. She’s honestly such a sweetheart for her darling and will do anything to make them love her even more. She’s so needy for her darling’s love and affection and she can’t endure her day without this.

💄Misa gets jealous as soon as her darling starts talking about someone else in a bit too affectionate and adoring way, at least in her opinion, and she’ll instantly become more clingy to her darling.

💄Don’t waste your time with other people or she’ll get rid of them. She won’t go as far as killing her darling’s family, but it’s a constant fight between her and her s/o’s family. But her darling might be able to convince her to not kill people who made her jealous. But in order to do that they need to show her that they only love her and no one else. If they succeed in doing that then Misa will be walking on clouds and will forget about the person.

💄Kidnapping isn’t needed. She’s popular and everyone knows that the both of you are together so the question here is if you are stupid enough to break up with her and deal with the rage of her fans. The darling also needs to prevent Misa from killing everyone who even dares to look at them so they won’t be able to leave her side. She also wants to go out with her darling to do couple moments so that everyone can see that the both of you are together.

💄Misa wants just to be loved by you and will do anything to make you satisfied with her. She has money and fame to get you everything you could possibly want. She’ll shower you in affection and is a total angel for you. She’s so cheesy with her love confessions and will do everything with you that she couldn’t do with Light. Pyjama parties, wearing couple outfits, feeding each other. She’ll do everything. Luckily you are able to talk her out of killing if you just start being affectionate to her. She just wants love.

Mello

🍫Mello is the overprotective Yandere. He is part of the mafia and that is already enough to increase his protectiveness over his darling. He’s also the harsh and gentle one at the same time. He is really impulsive from time to time and can say the one or another mean word to the s/o, but he can also be very gentle if he wants to.

🍫He’s also the possessive, desperate and touchstarved Yandere. He’s always constantly battling with Near about who’s the better one and constantly lands in second place so now that he has his darling he’ll make sure that he gets to have them for himself. But that also leads him to be surprisingly needy for his darling’s praises and love since he hates to admit it, but he often feels secretly insecure about many things so to know that his darling loves him would help him to feel more confident.

🍫Mello gets so quickly jealous, it’s ridiculous and will most likely cause a scene, yelling at anyone who even just briefly glances in his darling’s direction. Better pull him quickly away because if the person dares to speak back he’ll get violent. If you don’t want him to punch every single person better stay away from other human beings except him.

🍫He gets jealous fastly and is ready to go very violent. Different from Near and L he’s much more willing to kill and if someone even dares to flirt with you that person will have to deal with a broken nose and the loss of a few teeth. It will end in a carnage if someone dares to hurt his darling.

🍫He’s overprotective and possessive, both traits which are bound to lead him to kidnapping his darling quickly. He does feel guilty to take them away from everyone they’ve ever loved, but he’ll try to convince himself that he just does it to protect them. Good luck trying to escape him and the mafia.

🍫Mello will never admit how much he yearns for your praises and touches, he does have some pride and it’s interesting how he often pretends to not care, but his hugs and kisses are always so passionate. His words and actions don’t always match, but please remember that you’re his everything. If he gets in his softer mood he’ll spoil you with presents he knows you’ll love.

Near

🎲Near is very similar to L. He’s the obsessive and stalker kind of Yandere. Just like L he has cameras and wires in every corner of his darling’s house to watch them, taking notice of everything they do. He has some connections to get every information that has ever existed about them, but even after knowing them better than they probably do therself his curiosity is still not satisfied, that’s how deeply he’s obsessed. Also the type to steal things that belong to the s/o. Pictures, toys, letters. He has a whole drawer only for this purpose. He treasures all these things very much so no one is allowed to touch them. Just like L the aware type who knows that this is actually wrong.

🎲Desperate and touchstarved for his darling. He has troubles admitting when he wants his darling to touch him and would try to be subtle with it at first by looking intensely at them. If they don’t get the hint he’ll just tell them very bluntly what he wants from them. He wants the s/o’s attention on only him and will feel sour if he doesn’t get it. He’s like a child, needy for your love and attention. I can also see him as a possessive and lovestruck one. He might be really smart, but when it comes to the human being and emotions he’s clueless, he has never experienced love before, but he knows for sure that he likes the feeling that the s/o stirs up in his chest. Absolutely infatuated with his darling to the point where he at one point thinks he needs them.

🎲Near is like a child and as mentioned feels sour when the s/o gives their attention to someone else, but he has problems with expressing his feelings so his s/o will never notice, but the other person will notice how his gaze feels like it’s going to burn holes into them.

🎲He relies more on the influence and connections he has. This guy who always flirts with them in class? Suddenly they are accused of drug dealing. The person who you seem to like a bit too much? Suddenly heavy evidence appears that they have been meeting up with a few not very trustable guys.

🎲It is bound to happen sooner or later and it will happen without a warning or signs that something is wrong. Near tries at first to get a spot in his darling’s heart by using all the knowledge he has to become a friend of them and they won’t suspect anything. It’s scary how carefully he has planned all this. He’ll most likely drug his darling and makes sure to leave no clue. It will be like they’ve just vanished into thin air and it’s very unlikely that they’ll ever be found again. He has most likely some house build up just for the reason so the s/o can live there from now on.

🎲Near is honestly similar to a child. He wants to be taken care of and wants to be loved. But he also understands that after kidnapping you, you need some time and he’s willing to wait for you. He really likes touching you, tracing his finger over your skin or touching your hair. He’s completely enraptured with you. If you act up too much he’ll lock you up in an empty and dark room until you’ve learned your lesson. You will love him. It’s only a question of time.

#yandere death note #yandere light yagami #yandere light #yandere l #yandere l lawliet #yandere misa #yandere misa asame #yandere mello #yandere near

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a-master-procrastinator · 3 years

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Long ass post about the Eternal family not being a copy-paste from ATLA (aka I like the memes but my god can you please stop)

Because some people truly think that Vaylin is off-brand Azula, Arcann is Zuko and so on.

It's. Called. A. Trope. (I mean how often do we come across abusive manipulative fathers in media? Mothers who couldn't much to change anything? Children, desperately looking for their parent's approval no matter what?)

Of course, you have to consider the fact that the writing of ATLA is simply better than of KotFE/ET, so this might have been one of the reasons why people say that.

Spoilers for Avatar: The Last Airbender, Knights of the Fallen Empire and Knights of the Eternal Throne expansions!

Okay, so here's my unprofessional, maybe biased, not super deep take.

(not going to mention that all of them are members of royal, ruling family, kinda obvious)

What roles do they play in their stories? Well, both Valkorion and Ozai are main antagonists, but their presence throughout the story is very different. Ozai is rarely shown in first two seasons, we don't even see his face until season 3. He doesn't have a direct connection to the protagonist, they only meet at the very end of the show, and Ozai's role is to pose a threat to the world, while Aang's is to save it. Valkorion, on the other hand, is constantly on the screen, interacting with the main character, challenging their viewpoint and influencing them directly. His end goal is similar to Ozai's (destroy everything and be the only ruler of the his nation), but with one major difference - he's trapped in Outlander's mind, so to achieve his goal Valkorion attempts to take control of the main character. Their interactions play important role in the story, and we spend a lot of time with Valkorion.

In addition to that, their relationship with children are also not exactly the same. It seems like Azula is Ozai's favorite and Zuko is a failure in his eyes until he meets his expectations, and the same goes with Vaylin, Arcann and Valkorion, right? Well, partially. Indeed, Valkorion and Ozai's treat their sons in similar ways (are disappointed in them until they meet their expectation by doing something that goes against their morals), but when it comes to Vaylin and Azula, it's not that easy. See, Valkorion claims that Vaylin was always his favorite creation (even though we know it's actually his empire), and he certainly seems to take pride in her potential in the Force. But her power is the very reason he's afraid of his own daughter, and in this fear Valkorion literally locks Vaylin away and allows to put her through physical and mental torture just to make sure she won't become a threat, won't overpower him. Maybe he thought of her better than of Arcann, but she wasn't his favored child for sure. I don't want to say that Azula hasn't experienced abuse from Ozai, but for the most part he clearly favored her over Zuko. He has never shown fear of Azula's power and abilities (or at least I haven't noticed), quite the opposite - allowed her to do a lot, as long as she brings results.

I could also mention their slightly different characterization (mostly that we get more characterization of Valkorion, get to learn his motivations, views, philosophy and all that, also he's portrayed as more nuanced, even if he not really is) and role in their respective governments (ozai is one of many Fire Lords and arguably not the greatest, while Valkorion is a god to citizens of Zakuul, their only Immortal Emperor), but those are details, and I think you get the point.

What's similar: role of the main antagonist, manipulative and abusive father, goal of destruction of everything that isn't their nation/empire, relationship with disgraced son.

What's different: presence in the overall narrative, relationship with the main character, relationship with daughter, role in their societies.

Senya and Ursa are even less similar. Yes, they both are mothers who love their children, but have to leave them, but these are probably the only things they have in common. Just as with Ozai and Valkorion's presence throughout the story, Ursa is only shown in flashbacks (for obvious reasons), and Senya is one of major characters in KotFE and (a bit less major) in KotET. Ursa leaves because she has to kill Azulon in order to save Zuko, and later isn't present in the story (I'm aware that her fate is told in comics, but we aren't talking about it). Senya leaves because when she tries to take children with her, they refuse, and she understands that she can't force them to, nor she can help them to break free from Valkorion's manipulations. For a long time she's absent from Arcann ad Vaylin's lives, but at the time of game events she attempts to save her children and stop the madness and destruction they've caused, and it isn't a small part of the story.

I also want to add that their relationship with Ozai and Valkorion are also different, but can't say much about Ursa. I heard that she didn't choose this marriage and suffered emotional (and maybe physical???) abuse from Ozai. I can say with confidence, though, that Senya genuinely loved Valkorion, and strangely enough, he seems to at very least respect her. But, of course, this wasn't the best marriage either.

Plus, we see more of Senya's relationship with Vaylin than Arcann or Thexan, but with Ursa we see her more with Zuko than Azula. Just a detail to remember.

(also Senya is simply a better character but that besides the point, moving on. in this house we stand Senya)

What's similar: role of loving and caring mother, abandoning their family at some point.

What's different: presence in the overall narrative, relationship with husband, characterization in general.

Boy, where do I even begin. Vaylin and Azula are similar in that they are both extremely powerful (one is firebending prodigy, the other is potentially stronger than Valkorion), both are cruel "craaaaazy" (i hate that cliché), both are younger sisters, have serious mother issues (seemingly more so than father issues), both go through betrayal of people they could always rely on, which eventually leads to their downfall. But when I took a look at their personal arcs, it became clear that they aren't the same (unfortunately, Vaylin's arc is very rushed and underdeveloped, but we'll have to go with what we have and my personal view, sorry).

There's a really good video about writing corruption and madness, and I'm going to base my thoughts on it. To summarise it: a good corruption arc should have 4 components:

- the character has a specific goal (or a goal and subgoals);

- in pursuit of said goal they become the cause of a significant event that brings serious consequences;

- as the result of these consequences, character abandons their morals, ideals or a code in pursuit of goal;

- character either will not achieve their goal or will succeed, but it won't be enough to satisfy them.

And then the author brings Azula's arc as one of the best examples of compelling story of corruption (so basically, she represents it perfectly). In short, Azula's main goals are perfection and control, and subgoals help achieve the main ones. In pursuit of these goals, Azula causes Mai and Ty Lee to betray her (by pushing them too far to do something they wouldn't do), which then causes her to become paranoid, which makes her to attempt controlling everything and everyone around her, *breathes* which makes her lose control over herself and ....

Now, I thought if Vaylin's arc could fit into a corruption one, and next part will be based a lot on my assumptions and personal view of her character (plus rushed writing doesn't help), but I think yes (or at least mostly). The difference is in goals, ideals and details.

While the story strongly makes us think that Vaylin's goal is freedom (or control over her life and everything around her) or power and destruction, I think it's actually self-determination (which was said by Tenebrae in 6.2) and feeling safe. Let me explain (and here I thought this would be a short comparison). Sure, when Valkorion caged Vaylin on Nathema, he took choices and control over her life from his daughter. But let's not forget whom Vaylin blames for this (even more than Valkorion): her own mother, and I think this details tell us that the most important thing that Vaylin lost on Nathema is feeling safe. Then, after Arcann brought her home, I assume Vaylin still didn't feel safe enough under Valkorion's rule, still too afraid that he'd simply send her back to that hellish place.

It's when Valkorion is struck down Vaylin finally has a feeling of personal safety, even if she isn't the one on the throne. Why? Because back on Nathema there were two people who haven't turned on her - Arcann and Thexan (yes, this is also a huge assumption, bc the game states that only Thexan visited her, but it doesn't make much sense).

I've always noticed (and I'm not alone in this) that her behavior in Fallen Empire is different from the way she acted in Eternal Throne. Most likely bc of rushed writing, but I see a character driven reason here. In first of these expansions, Vaylin is the second person in power on Zakuul, and with Arcann being in charge, person she can trust more than any other living being, she feels safe - she can test her power, and now Valkorion won't prevent it, she can do pretty much everything she wishes, and the most Arcann will do about this is mildly complain (without blaming her). Really would be nice if we got to see any normal hobbies of Vaylin (like wasn't there something about books or art?), but I digress. She might have some questions about Arcann's tactics, but they get along just fine. The important thing to note is Vaylin not seeking to hunt the Outlander personally, to rule or conquer the rest of the galaxy, or trying to achieve absolute freedom or power. She's kinda there.

This, however, changes when Arcann doesn't allow Vaylin to kill Senya. Their relationship was getting somewhat worse towards the end of KotFE, but this is a turning event Vaylin caused by attempting to strike her mother. By saving the person Vaylin blames for all the trauma from sending her to Nathema, Arcann threatened her feeling of safety. And now Vaylin starts to believing that to achieve safety she now needs to kill people who hurt her (that's why she's so determined to find Senya and Arcann), take the throne and hunt down Outlander (she was manipulated by SCORPIO to these subgoals).

(The following is the weakest, I'll admit, but I hope I can at least express what I see). So, in trying to achieve goals she didn't want before Vaylin loses in self-determination, being either driven by overwhelming anger or manipulated by others (SCORPIO or Commander on Odessen), desperately trying to accomplish anything, or even goes against her morals (like by erasing GEMINI's free will protocols, when earlier she agreed that freedom to choose is important; or breaking the deal on Odessen). All of these result in her downfall.

But even this isn't the end. The key difference between arcs of Azula Vaylin lies in it's resolution, or that Vaylin have a chance to overcome corruption in the main narrative (and Azula doesn't. again, not including comics here, sorry). After death, Vaylin is again controlled by Valkorion in Outlander's mind. First time physically (she can't resist it), second time mentally. This is where Vaylin has to choose - kill brother who betrayed her and Commander who killed her, or go against Valkorion, person responsible for almost all of her pain and trauma. She has t choose by herself, and I think it's a good start.

Now, before 6.2 we all thought Vaylin was dead for good, but that story update hinted at possibility of her coming back to life. What I like to think is that now that she dealt with people responsible for her trauma (helped defeat Valkorion and actually for once listened to Senya), Vaylin can now have a different life, finding herself with support of someone she doesn't hold a grudge against and who treats her well (Satele, I mean).

I'm so sorry for going into details, but I needed this long explanation to present the point (and I suck at explanations). As said before, this is my version of her arc, and most likely wrong interpretation, but even with personal freedom of choice, Vaylin character differs from Azula a lot.

Need I mention that Vaylin relationship with Arcann and Valkorion are drastically different from those between Azula, Zuko and Ozai?

(Also a little detail - with royal family of Fire Nation, Azula is the golden child, while with Tiralls it's actually Thexan, not Vaylin).

What's similar: role of extremely powerful, emotionally damaged daughter with little to no regard towards others, close people betraying them, resulting in their downfall.

What's different: characterization, role in the narrative, relationship with father and brother.

Arcann and Zuko is the most difficult part, but I still believe that calling Arcann just a cheap copy of Zuko is incorrect.

So, they fall into role of less successful son, always getting disapproval from father, being in shadow of more talented sibling, both obsessed with capturing the main character but ending up helping them end the war after going through a redemption arc with help of caring family member. Even both have scars on left side of face. Yeah, seems similar. I still think they are different characters.

Let's start with their relationships with family. In Valkorion section I said that his attitude towards Arcann is similar to that of Ozai towards Zuko, so not going to spend too much time here. However, there's slight difference - Zuko didn't kill his father even he had a perfect opportunity (bc it wasn't his goal), Arcann did (bc it was one of his goals), which says something about their characterizations.

Zuko and Ursa were shown to have a good mother-son relationship, and it played a role in Zuko's character. With Arcann and Senya, we don't really know (not much was shown in expansions). We know Arcann didn't hate his mother, but possibly didn't have warm memories of her either. The reason is most likely, like Senya said, her children wanted nothing to do with her (which is a bit untrue about Vaylin, but okay) and leaned more towards Valkorion. We need to remember that on Zakuul Valkorion isn't just one of many great leaders, he's the greatest, and seen as a god by most citizens, so safe to assume the same would apply to his children as well.

Zuko and Azula's siblingship (i'm out of words) is a bit similar to Arcann and Vaylin's in way of brother knowing that his sister isn't good, but still caring about them (even if not showing). At least it's what I saw. What's different is how Azula treats Zuko, compared to how Vaylin treats Arcann. I think Azula showed compassion or concern for Zuko maybe twice, but I'm not entirely convinced that it was 100% sincere. Vaylin, on the other hand, seems to trust and care about Arcann (with bits of sass and questioning his life choices), and switching to complete opposite after him saving Senya. Also, I don't she ever called Arcann a failure in their father's eyes.

Now I want to say that their roles in stories aren't the same either. Sure, both are introduced to us as antagonists, but in reality, Zuko was never a true antagonist (we get to learn this somewhere mid-season 1), when Arcann remains the main antagonist for whole of KotFE. Zuko didn't start a war and didn't participate in conquest of other nations too much, his main goal was to capture the Avatar so to restore his honor (and deserve his father's forgiveness). Honestly, I think it's safe to say the Zuko is one of two main protagonists of ATLA. Why does Arcann want to capture the Outlander? Solely because his father's spirit still lives inside this person's mind, and the best solution to keep Valkorion away from the galaxy is not letting the Outlander free (hence the carbonite freezing). And Arcann doesn't want or need Valkorion's forgiveness when he attempts to kill him (or kills him, depending on your choice. anyway, his action directly leads to Valkorion's "death"). And right after that he becomes a ruler of Zakuul and begins the conquest of Republic, Sith Empire and everything he can reach (the reasoning behind this is still unclear to me though; maybe because he was raised with ruling Zakuul in mind and he didn't anything else, idk). Point is, he's responsible for war and main's character imprisonment, which makes him the main antagonist of KotFE. They have it the opposite ways - Zuko starts as disgraced prince, supported by a little group of people, and in the end he's recognized and appreciated by his nation, and Arcann starts as respected by his empire, later becoming less and less loved, until some groups start rebelling his rule, and in the end he doesn't get to rule Zakuul again.

This leads me to their morals. See, Zuko didn't have the worst morals in Fire Nation, even more, he expressed care for loyals soldiers of his nation before getting punished by Ozai. During first season (and about a half of second one) his views on other nations are what he was taught before. However, these views are challenged by travelling in Earth Kingdom, witnessing people suffering from war Fire Nation started and hating its people (you already know all of this), and with this he comes through final stage of redemption when he's back home. Unfortunately, Arcann doesn't go through this, and he's shown to be more ruthless.

Alright, when it comes to their redemption arcs, well let's say they are different (both in quality and the way they go through it), I'm just a bit tired of long explanations at this point. Zuko's arc is one of the best ever put on television, and Arcann's... well, it definitely has potential, but is criminally underdeveloped (there are other people who will explain it better than I ever could).

What's similar: role of disgraced son, living in shadow of their sibling, serious injuries on the left side of face (though with different meanings), obsession with capturing the main character, having a redemption arc.

What's different: role in the narrative, role in their society, characterization, relationship with sister and mother, different end goals (before redemption), paths to redemption.

#ah. ofc it didn't show in the tag bc of the youtube link. ofc. gonna be down bc of this)#hey look at me rambling about something only maybe 2 people take seriously #also i noticed that parental characters are better in swtor and children characters are better in atla. do what you want with this #it's 3:30 am i should be sleeping but here instead writing this #(forgive if i have some spelling mistakes. brain shutting down but i won't be at peace if i don't post it right now)#okay so if you have thoughts on this... you really don't have to waste time on this #i really only wrote this because i was annoyed by some peeps on reddit claiming vaylin is off-brand with a straight face #(and then posted this on tumblr bc i don't want to suffer those people on reddit)#what am i doing with my time #(not gonna tag atla bc it's not really about it)#swtor #arcann #vaylin #valkorion #senya tirall #kotfe #kotet #pauletta's babbling #pls send help #(or oc aks to give me some free serotonin but no obligations ofc)

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sparkedupsilver · 3 years

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Fixing Vikings 6B (or atleast trying to)

Okay so me and @dottiechan have watched the Vikings season finale and were - like many people - less than overjoyed at how it went. I'm not going to delve into everything that didn't sit right, because I'm sure plenty of people have made some very valid posts already explaining that. Here, however, I am going to reveal my take on what might have been a better (??) ending for the show, drawing on conversations me and the wonderful @dottiechan have been having. A lot. Obviously, spoilers for all of s6 I think. Just a warning, it's a long one.

Not sure how much I'd change for the early episodes beyond some obvious character building stuff. More on Ingrid. More on her and Gunnhild bonding. That storyline changes so that there is no rift - Erik is not strong enough to tear them apart, not when Ingrid knows who he is and tells Gunnhild. He is either killed for his crimes or banished. Harald re emerges, stakes his claim to Kattegat. The wedding scene happens, but it's turned into him being sacrificed/killed instead. The women present as a united front, and the rest of their arc in the series is them falling the rest of the way in love, dealing with issues in Kattegat, and the birth of the child. (It looks, thankfully, nothing like Harald. If it's a son, they call him Bjorn.)

Hvitserk and Ivar actually talk more in Russia. Hvitserk about what happened during 6a with his addiction and fears, and about Thora. Ivar expresses regret, explains the power trip and madness he had spiralled into during his time as king. It's not quite forgiveness, but it's a start. His final conversation with Katya ends with him finally being able to see her for who she is - that is, not Freydis. The camera cuts away to show that Katya is played by a different actress who looks similar (her "true self", not as Ivar has idealised her). His relationship with Igor is the same. They decide to go back to Kattegat in hopes of finding where Ubbe went, and to make some kind of peace with the dead Bjorn. Gunnhild and Ingrid regard them with suspicion and distaste, but agree that they can stay for a short time to honour their status as sons of Ragnar. Hvitserk has his chat with Bjorn's burial mound (which we've never seen inside of since episode one and never will again! That bitch is properly laid to rest all comfortable this time!), and has an encounter with a god that doesn't end in sex but does reaffirm his faith and direction. Ivar has a simultaneous conversation with Bjorn on the beach of Kattegat, mirroring the one from the end of 6a. They put forward their plan to raid England to Gunnhild, who sees it both as an important piece of the Lothbrok legacy and a way of getting Hvitserk and Ivar off her back. She has control of Harald's men, after all, and sends them off with the agreement that they never come back.

Meanwhile, Ubbe makes it to Greenland. Asa does not die, but does start to get sick when they are there, shaking everyone's faith in the endeavour. Kjettil still loses it and the others flee, only this time they pause to take essentials for the boat. They still forget to take the sunstone/it gets lost early on. They have a similar experience of being lost, of losing people despite lasting longer due to having some food and water. We have lots of little scenes of Ubbe cuddling an ill Asa, with an arm around Torvi and baby Ragnar. They find land, at very long last, but it's impossible to tell where it is. It looks almost familiar though, and it isn't Othere's golden land. It's actually Ireland, and they get chased out by the Irish who are already sick to death of Northmen invasions. They decide to go back East to England for safety. That's right, we're getting an Alfred and Ubbe reunion.

It's a surprisingly happy affair - Alfred is glad to see them alive still, and Ubbe is weirdly proud of how his kingdom thrives. The East Anglia settlement still stands, and Alfred agrees to let them stay until they have all recovered and can make their way back to Kattegat, where Ubbe has decided to pay his respects to Bjorn. We also get proper introductions, with Alfred showing Ubbe his son Edward (who has... strangely bright blue eyes...), and Ubbe showing him baby Ragnar, and a slowly recovering Asa, who Alfred remembers from last time. Things get a little stilted after a while, though - Ubbe and Torvi are no longer Christian, and Alfred is more devout than ever, after having to harden against ceaseless Dane and Northman attacks. The Greenland refugees move out to East Anglia to avoid any building tension.

Unfortunately, it's right where Ivar, Hvitserk, and the army land, hoping to drum up more viking warriors. There is a very tense reunion between all three of them, with Ivar and Hvitserk trying to coax Ubbe to join them. Ubbe tries to convince them that England is not worth it, that they have something close to peace already and that they should attack the Irish instead. Either way, lots of grievances get aired.

Sigurd's death is finally brought into the light by all three brothers. Ubbe gets a chance to go off about the fact that he feels like he had to raise them all, about how everything revolved around Ivar when they were younger and they couldn't properly grieve Sigurd because of Ivar's feelings. Ivar gets to voice his own pains around growing up without the use of his legs, how he hated being pitied, how Aslaug smothered and babied him or left him alone entirely. Hvitserk talks about how torn he has always been, about how he's always followed someone around and how without one of them to guide him he doesn't feel whole. He talks about going under the ice, and Frankia, and how he has spent his whole life afraid of the next thing, so he pours it all into being a fearless warrior and relying on his brothers. It's both exhausting and bonding.

Here's a possible ending:

Ubbe caves and joins them. He's viking, it's in his blood. It would be both honouring Ragnar and surpassing him to finally take England, so they try it. The battle at Eddington happens almost the same way, with Ivar's tricks working at first. However, Alfred has the numbers and knowledge of the terrain, and eventually overwhelms them. Alfred and Ubbe meet on the battlefield. There are references and maybe even flashbacks to their time together. Ubbe hesitates. Alfred doesn't. His death does, however, fuel Hvitserk into fighting harder, despite how obvious it now is that they're losing. Ivar rushes to Hvitserk's defense, finally coming face to face with Alfred as he tries to save his brother. Alfred is injured and fended off for now, but Hvitserk is close to death, and begs Ivar to run. The last son of Ragnar retreats, regroups, and heads to Ireland, vowing revenge but knowing he'll never take it. He will, however, make a damn fine king of the Irish (if I remember correctly).

Not everyone escapes with him. Torvi, injured and desperate, tells Othere to take her children and go with Ivar, because the East Anglia settlement will no longer be safe. We don't see if he succeeds.

Flash forward so many years. Wessex, the villa. Edward is a young man now, Alfred an older, distinguished king known for his great deeds. There is another boy, about the same age. Piercing blue eyes, blond hair. Undeniably Ragnar's descendant. He wears a cross over his fine Saxon clothes, and when Alfred calls him to take a look at the old Roman papers, he calls him Athelstan.

Across the sea, we see an equally aged Ivar the Boneless, staring out from a cliffside. He has lived a surprisingly long life, and looks well for it. Beside him sits a young woman. Bright blue eyes. White blonde hair. She knows her family's name, her history. She is Asa Bjornsdottir, and she has been raised by her uncle. Now, she's getting ready to take revenge. The show ends with them sat together, overseeing her new fleet, Ivar spinning one last story.

Obviously this has it's own plot holes, and there are things that would have to still be addressed, like Othere and how Floki would make his reappearance (let's be honest, it can't end without him). It could end with another Brother's War, with Ubbe siding with Alfred, or any number of variations, but there's my attempt in broad strokes to maybe fix some of the bigger problems I had with the ending.

#vikings #vikings history channel #vikings hbo #vikings spoilers #ubbe #ivar #hvitserk #gunnhild #ingrid #alfred the great #ivar the boneless #sigurd deserved better idk what else to say. so did... most of these characters actually #much love to my dear Do for putting up with my ramblings #yes gunnhild and ingrid are gay can we have one nice relationship please i'm begging #harald finehair

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nimmy22 · 3 years

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A Mistake: Chapter 2

summery: Set before the events of spencer's mansion. Slight AU where the Birkin's most recent babysitter gets more than she ever bargained for on one stormy night as she watched over Sherry. Cara was ready for a blackout but she almost got her life snuffed out when two forces attack the Brikin’s home, their goals unclear. All Cara wanted to do was get Sherry to safety but with the phone lines dead, she has to rely on herself. Will Albert Wesker be an ally? Or will he add Cara to the list of things needing a "clean up"?

I hope you enjoy!

Reposted from my account on AO3 under my username doomer.

https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomer

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She sighed in relief for a split second as the weak beam returned, only to feel all the breath being snatched from her lungs. A six-foot-man, heavily armed and dressed in black fatigues, came straight for her, face obscured by a ski mask. A scream bubbled its way out of her throat, only to burst prematurely as the intruder raised a gun to his lips. She forced her lips shut, feeling hot tears build up before they trickled down her cold cheeks.

She was terrified, but that terror only grew when she remembered she had left Sherry all alone. She cursed herself at her stupidly but then again, they would have both been caught by the gunman.

The intruder circled Cara, making a low whistling noise as his eyes drank in her form. He and the others were sent here on a mission, having already collected half the payment. All he had to do was collect the goods and deliver them to receive the other half of the payment. The girl was a spoil, and extra bonus, he was all too willing to snatch. She should blame the Bikinis. Anyone affiliated with Umbrella or their employees sealed their-

Cara grabbed a nearby vase while he was too distracted and smashed it against his head with a great amount of force, knocking him to his knees. But trained as he was, he was again back to his feet even before the shards hit the floor with an enraged shout.

Cara blindly sprinted away into the darkness, randomly bumping into the furnisher. She hasn't been in this house long enough to memorize its layout just yet, especially in the dark. All reason jumps out the window when such monster of a man is giving chase.

She ran as fast as she could and only paused when she didn't hear him coming after her anymore. Her ragged breathing was the only one consuming air in the room. From the smell of overly ripe bananas, she realized she was in the kitchen. A memory sparked in her mind, and she rushed to feel along the wall for the landline she had seen several times.

A tiny bit of hope sparked as her hands met the smooth plastic. Her fingers immediately began pressing buttons she knew by heart. It was someone she believed could give her more immediate help than a 911 call. She called Chris Redfield, a member of the S.T.A.R.S Alpha team. He was her best friend's brother and certainly would know what to do.

To her disappointment, a single ring was all the phone could give before the line went dead. It felt like a lifeline had just been cut.

'I could still grab Sherry and run,' Cara thought as she ran upstairs. Now with her eyes better adjusted to the dark, she was better able to avoid bumping into things. Several feet away from Sherry's bedroom, Cara's hand was already reaching out for the doorknob.

Before her hand closed around the handle, another wrapped around her throat with a crushing force. She gasped for breath as her airway fought against the pressure, narrowing by the second. she didn't recognize the man, realizing that the intruder had come with friends. Slamming her against the wall, he used his other hand to increase the pressure on her throat, and soon her vision became a blur. With the little bit of strength she had, she delivered a swift kick to his crutch.

That would have worked on the run-of-the-mill robber, but these men were trained mercenaries. He easily blocked her with his knee. A full-toothed smirk mocked her as her consciousness flickered worse than the flashlight had. Her bitterness left her with a bad taste in her mouth. The world had taken too much from her already, but it still wanted more. Always wanting more.

Air flooded into her airways, no longer constrained. She slid down the wall with the sensation of something warm and wet splatter against her face. At first, she thought they were just tears. She gasped for air, clammy hands running over the bruising over her neck. She shut her eyes as the world spun around her.

Her eyes snapped open as she heard a thud, realizing the man had fallen to his knees. Cara crawled away quickly, expecting him to attack again. She blinked several times to clear the blurriness into focus.

Time seemed to slow down as she stared wide-eyed at the man kneeling in front of her. The hands that were seconds ago determined to end her life were wrapped around his own throat, failing miserably to stop the blood from gushing out like a fountain. There was someone else here, someone who was not on their side, but that didn't mean they were on hers.

"H-help m-me." he choked on his blood, reaching a hand towards Cara. Seeing the figure behind the man slowly walk towards her, she slapped the desperate hand away and scrambled to her feet, ready to run. She didn't get far and screamed as she too met the end of the man's blade already slick with blood.

A man with slicked blond hair, not a strand out of place, and an unreadable hardened expression stared at her from behind a pair of expensive shades. He used his whole body weight to pin her to the wall, nestling the knife right below her chin, sharp end nearly slicing the skin.

"W-who are you?" Cara whimpered; voice strained like a mouse about to expire. Her breathing came out ragged as she licked her dry, cracked lips.

"You must be Sherry's new babysitter," His voice was deep, soothing, and pleasant, so unlike this very situation. A thousand questions flooded Cara's mind, but she was too afraid to ask. Too afraid to give him any inspiration.

Her eyes darted to the door, and she felt a heavy feeling settle into her stomach. She was so close to Sherry, but so was the threat. Cara couldn't even help herself, and the little girl may end up paying the price for it. She hated herself for being so useless.

Footsteps rounded the corner, revealing three armed men with their guns, and they were trained on Cara and her assailant. Within a blink of an eye, the knife was gone from her neck, finding its new home buried right between the eyes of one man. He dropped to the floor with a thud, expression frozen in a state of confusion.

"Fuck! This motherfucker got Stennely and Adam. Let's fuck him up!" One of the men shouted.

Cara was shoved backward aggressively by the blond man without another glance her way. Producing a gun of his own, he began firing with precision catching a man in the temple. The others took cover, getting ready to return fire.

Cara didn't wait to watch the rest of the fight and raced into Sherry's room, slamming the door. "Sherry? Oh god, please tell me your alright," She cried, eyes darting from one point to the next in search of the little girl's form. Then she remembered the little girl hid under the bed. Holding her breath, she quickly lifted the covers and glanced below, only to let out a sob as she realized the little girl wasn't there.

"Sherry!?" Cara cried louder, overwhelmed with panic and-

"Cara!" a quivering voice called out. Cara whirled around to see pale little hands pushing the closet door open, Sherry's head peaking out.

"Oh, thank god!" Cara said, feeling the crushing weight of guilt lifted. She shouldn't have left the little girl alone. With a gentle smile, she reached out to touch Sherry's tear-streaked face.

"I heard all the noise and got so worried about you. Oh no! Your hurt. " Sherry gasped, wiping something off Cara's face, her fingers coming off red. The high schooler shuddered with the memory.

"I-it's.... not... it's not mine. Don't worry. But we've gotta leave right now."

"But daddy said not to leave the house. We can stay hidden in the closet." Sherry said, opening the door wider. The ongoing gunfire moved further away to a more distant part of the house. The fact that the gunfire did not yet stop threw the idea of hiding right outside the window. Literally. There was definitely no hiding here.

"I know, I know, baby, but there are bad people in the house," Cara said and led the little girl to the window. "We have to get out before they find us." she held the girl in a tight embrace before she heaved the window open, kicking the screen out. Sticking her head out the window, she spotted a drainpipe within reach making its way down from the roof. The rain was falling without mercy, already drenching her hair and weighing down her eyelashes.

"This is a bad idea, but I see no other way," Cara said, throwing her leg out the window, and then the rest of her body followed suit. "Just do what I do and don't do what lands me splat on the ground,"

The little girl looked unconvinced, but she followed. The pipe groaned as Cara used to climb down. While the descent was only from the second floor, it felt like years were passing and not minutes. The rain forced them to make slower, calculated moves as it made the metal slippery. Any mistake could lead to something breaking or worse.

Soon Cara's feet touched the ground. Her mind was alert and ready to bolt, but her muscles screamed from the strain. As soon as Sherry was grounded, they raced to the neighboring home. Cara banged on the door, calling for help

No one came to the door, despite the two flashy cars parked outside. Not wasting time, she ran to the next house and the next, banging on doors and windows, only to meet the same outcome.

'The fucking posh fuckers of Raccoon too stuck up to get involved when other people's lives are in danger. Not even for a child, they were willing to help,' Cara thought bitterly, feeling even more helpless. She just wanted to make a single phone call to Chris- to anyone!

A black van sped through the residential street, contrasting with all the bright sport cars parked in front of the expensive homes. It squealed to a stop as soon as it spotted them. The doors slid open, revealing armed men dressed in black army fatigues and bulletproof vests. They ran towards the girls with purpose, guns aimed and ready.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be. Give up the little girl, and we won't hurt you. In fact, you're free to go." One of the men said, approaching the girls slowly. Cara had a strong feeling that he was lying and that he will make sure she won't see the sunrise ever again.

"Help!" Cara banged on the door again, knuckles bruised and sore, but she didn't stop.

"Save your breath. No one will help you. These stuffed fuckers of umbrella are too self-conceited to even help one of their own. They have no sense of loyalty. Now, why would they help you? Just give us the girl." The man taunted, drawing closer to them.

"Over my dead body," Cara spat before grabbing the little girl and sprinting.

"Big mistake." He smirked, a vicious gleam in his eyes. With his finger on the trigger, he trained his gun on the two fleeing forms.

Bang.

The mercenary's hand split from his body, having been a recent target of Wesker's sniper rifle from where he hid atop the roof of the Birkin’s home. The mercenary screams didn't carry far before Wesker cut it short, delivering a second shot into his skull.

"The mistake is yours, thinking you could snatch my dear little niece and kill her favorite babysitter," Wesker said, a sinister smile playing on his lips.

They were right about Umbrella lacking any sort of loyalty, but he would not hesitate to kill for what was his and his dear friend William.

A clean-up crew was already on its way, but Wesker wasn't going to make it too easy for them. He had been cooped up in the STARS office for too long this week. Having time for little else and dealing with tiresome subordinates and chief of police constantly breathing down his neck at every turn. He was just about ready to snap. And these men came at just the right time to ease his boredom, just a little bit.

#albert wesker #resident evil #albert wesker x oc

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adapembroke · 3 years

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Reading Tarot Like The High Priestess

My first exposure to the High Priestess in the movie The Mists of Avalon, a retelling of the myth of Arthur from the perspective of the women in the story. The character who most embodies the High Priestess in the first part of the film is the high priestess Vivian. She is powerful, mysterious, and magical. Like the Magician, the High Priestess is a master of all the elements, but, while the Magician’s magic comes from tools, Viviane and her priestesses use none. If they want to light a pile of sticks on fire, they uses their mind. If they want to lower the mists, their only tools are their hands. The source of the Magician’s power is external. Even if the Magician works with metaphors, the metaphors he uses are ones that have meaning in the outside world. Viviane and her priestesses find the source of their power internally. When a young priestess fails to light a pile of sticks on fire because she is distracted by visions of her brother, Viviane doesn’t tell her to get better at using her wand. She tells her to concentrate, to control her mind.

The power of the mind and intuition, this is the power of the High Priestess.

The High Priestess’s Magic is Intuition

How do you talk about intuition? It’s so different for everyone. Some people have a very physical experience of intuition. When they’re about to do something wrong, they literally feel it in their gut. Other people see colors or hear a skeptical grumbling noise from a guide. Some people just know things and have learned to trust that, even if they can’t give a reason. Some people are particularly adept at noticing signs and omens. Some people need tools to help them hear their intuition. They practice automatic writing or morning pages every morning, or they start their day with a Tarot reading, or are very particular about knowing what all of the astrological transits are and how they effect them.

All of these diverse ways of hearing from inner wisdom is beautiful, if you know what your style of intuition is, but it can be a nightmare for someone who is just starting to figure out how to work with intuition. You need intuition in order to know what your style of intuition is, and with so many options, it can be really difficult to figure out where and how to listen.

The dictionary is no help with this whatsoever. The word “intuition” comes from the Latin word intuit which means “contemplate,” which is a compound word of “to look” and “upon.” So, intuition is the thing you look at, but what are you looking at, exactly? Definitionally, intuition is like an onion. You try to get to the center of it and find nothing but air. The dictionary isn’t wrong. The messages of intuition may (or may not) be dramatic for the person experiencing them, but intuition is private, subjective. There is really nothing for anyone else to see.

Intuition relies on what the political theorist Hannah Arendt called “a silent dialogue between me and myself.” It is in this idea that we begin to get some insight into what intuition really is. It is a way of communicating with yourself. Arendt called this silent dialog “thinking,” but intuition is more than thinking. Thinking is communicating with your rational self. Intuition communicates with parts of yourself that have nothing to do with rationality at all, the sides of yourself that are a little closer to the animals and a little closer to the gods.

The first type of intuition, the animal side, is often called your “gut.” I call it the “animal side” because it’s the kind of intuition animals have. It’s the part of you that has an animal sense of people and places. It’s highly attuned to danger and safety, friend and foe. It’s the part of you that will not shut up about avoiding that stupid stairwell at work, even though you never run into anyone there, and taking it shaves five minutes off your walk to your bus. It’s the part of you that looks at someone you’ve never met and says, “That person is bad news.” Or it’s the part of you that’s kind of like a golden retriever, who meets someone for the first time and desperately, happily wants that person to be your friend.

The second type of intuition, the divine side, is what people usually mean when they say intuition. It’s a little bit ethereal and mysterious. It’s the part of you that knows this pendulum is for you and not that one. It’s the part of you that knows your friend really needs a hug, even though they haven’t said anything and everything about their body language says they’re fine. It’s not rational. There is no rational reason why the pendulum with the quartz stone and the moon handle is better for you than the amethyst stone with a quartz handle, but something in you knows, even before you try the pendulum, that one is for you, and the other one is not.

The more mystical expression of intuition has historically been associated with women. Some, even today, call this type of intuition “women’s intuition” and deny that people who aren’t women have access to this type of knowing at all. This is wrong. Intuition has nothing to do with estrogen or gender signaling. Everyone, regardless of their gender has intuition, but if you don’t identify as a woman, you may have a difficult time finding people in the media who use intuition to make decisions and look like you. Until this problem is fixed, sitting with the lack of representation can be, itself, a way of working with the high priestess.

The Dark Goddess

One of the High Priestess’s symbols is the moon. This marks her as a priestess of the Dark Goddesses. Dark Goddesses like Ceridwen, Hekate, and the Morrigan are comfortable with the darker side of human nature. Hekate is the goddess of witches who aren’t necessarily nice. Ceridwen is famous for her anger, and the Morrigan chooses those who are to be slain on the battlefield and eventually merged in the lore with the ban sidhe, the fairy monster who wails for the dead.

Why does the High Priestess come now in the Fool’s Journey? Why do we jump from the optimism of the Magician to a priestess of the goddesses of anger and death?

To answer that question, I’ll add another chapter to the story about Silicon Valley from “Reading Tarot Like The Magician.” In the beginning of the life of a technology startup, things look shiny and wonderful. You’re the Magician. You have this wonderful idea, and you know that no one else in the world has ever thought of anything like it. You feel like a genius. All you need to do is raise your hand on the right street in Palo Alto, and you know that all of the bankers are going to come running with their checkbooks begging you for the privilege of giving you cash.

You start to do the work. It goes well. You start to actually manifest some things in the world.

Then disaster strikes. You find out about a rival who came up with your idea six months earlier than you did. You make some appointments with bankers, and you feel like you’re speaking a foreign language when you talk to them, and they can’t understand what is so genius about your work. You learn that your idea isn’t actually that easy to implement. It’s hard work, and you’ve already quit your job, and you don’t own anything but your laptop and a box of frozen burritos. Your apartment is a tiny corner of somebody’s garage the size of a cubicle that you share with fifteen other startups.

You reach a dark night of the soul, and you come face to face with what kind of person you are when you’re miserable and under pressure. Ideally, you acknowledge your negative emotions. You figure out how you’re going to deal with being so angry, depressed, and jealous without causing anyone harm. At the very least, if you are going to keep going, you have to turn inward and face yourself. You need to connect with the part of yourself that wants to continue doing something difficult when so many things in the outer world—including rationality itself—seem to be against you. The part of us that stands between us and the darkness, between our rationality and the things we know that transcend rationality, this is the High Priestess.

Many people first encounter the High Priestess archetype during dark times in their lives. Until they go through those times, their lives simply don’t give them a reason to turn inward, and they have no reason to do the kind of intense contemplation that making friends with this archetype—and developing intuition—requires. If they come out of it, they will be more powerful and more intuitive and in more control of themselves than they’ve ever been, but like the High Priestess, they must do this work without tools.All they have are their will and their hands and their eyes and their gut.

With one exception.

The High Priestess’s Book

The High Priestess’s only tool is a book. Why this exception? The reason for this comes back to the dictionary definition of intuition, which is so deeply connected with “contemplation.”

Contemplation in most usages is just another word for thinking, but it also has a deeper meaning. In Druidry and some branches of Christianity, contemplation is a meditative act that is often assisted by reading sacred texts. This practice is sometimes called lectio divina, which translates as “divine reading.”

Divine reading is another gateway to developing intuition, one that is not quite as soul-tearing as the dark night of the soul. Engaging in that “silent dialog between me and myself” is difficult when you’re first starting out, and it can help to start by having a silent dialog between yourself and a book.

In divine reading, you turn your attention to a passage from a sacred text or poem, and after you’ve read it once, you go back and turn your attention to word or phrase or sentence that draws your attention. You don’t try to justify your decision rationally. You just go with the thing that stands out to you. And you think about the passage for a long time. If you think about it long enough, you find that you are, eventually, no longer dialoging with the book at all but dialoging with yourself. If you allow the dialog to go on long enough, you usually discover the reason why you chose that passage in the first place. Even if the reason for your choice remains mysterious, the decision to honor your intuition enough to act on it be an essential first step in learning to hear and work with your intuition.

The High Priestess in Divination

Like the Magician, the High Priestess is a beginner. She stands at the door of intuition. She accesses the waters of intuition behind her—and their attendant goddess—remotely, through the moon on her head and the book in her hands. Some come to her and ask her mediate between them and the Dark Goddess, but she knows there is only so much help they can get from the outside, and so she directs them back to their own wisdom.

As diviners, it is essential that we have a working relationship with intuition. Intuition tells us which cards to read or stones to throw. It guides us to the most important areas of a birth chart to focus on, and it tells us that this interpretation of a card is right and not that one, but there are times when intuition itself is the answer. There are times when a reading refuses to give answers and redirects our clients—or ourselves—to that deep inner knowing.

“Know yourself,” the High Priestess says. “Trust yourself.“

When you work with the High Priestess while doing divination, you are fundamentally alone. When you are learning her lessons, circumstances will conspire to make sure that you have a lot of alone time, or you may find yourself withdrawing into the darkness to commune with yourself. Don’t fight it. Darkness and quiet and solitude are necessary to begin to hear your own voice, and it is only after you have explored the dark corners of your soul that you can begin to hear the sides of yourself that rule your intuition and speak without words.

This post was originally published on Aquarius Moon Journal on 21 February 2020.

#witchblr #tarot

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tripleaxeldiaz · 4 years

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all was golden when the day met the night

chapter 2/5

read on ao3

start from the beginning

The bell above the door to Armageddon dings as Eddie steps inside, met with the blast of air conditioning and loud music (he recognizes the band, it’s one Buck has played for him before. 10 Years Sturdy? Something like that.). He’s exhausted after a day of back-to-back-to-back deliveries, including two weddings, some kind of charity gala, and a funeral. He does arrangements for funerals often enough, but he still can’t get over the way his stomach turns every time he walks into a funeral home. The memories of being in one, after his last tour especially, mourning his brothers and sisters in arms never leave him alone. They coil around his brain, reminding him that they would be here if he had saved them, if he had been a better leader, a better soldier.

So he’s physically and emotionally exhausted, and all he wants to do is pick up Chris, go home, shower, and sleep for 48 hours. It’s only Wednesday, and he does have work in the morning, but the thought is still nice.

He heads towards the back room, waving at Chimney who gives him a salute back, not looking up from whatever he’s doing on his client’s calf. The guy hisses in pain, and Eddie snorts as Chim rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

As he enters the back office/lounge, he sees Chris and Buck hunched over the table against the side wall, heads leaning together, the surface covered in discarded sketches and crumpled drawings deemed too terrible to save. He sees them like this more often than not, whether in this room or The Greenhouse’s back room or his kitchen table, but it never fails to settle something in him. It’s been Chris and him against the world for so long, it’s nice to have another person in their corner, someone they can rely on. Not to mention, Chris has been Buck’s shadow pretty much from the word go, and Buck always seems genuinely happy to hang out with him. The day they met, Chris spent almost a full hour asking Buck about every tattoo he could see, Buck patiently explaining each one in as much detail as he could give an eight year old. When he offered to show him some of his paper drawings and give him some pointers on his own, Chris had looked at him like he couldn’t quite believe he was real, like he had just offered to draw him a new constellation in the night sky.

Like father, like son.

“He really loves that kid.” Eddie turns towards the soft voice behind him, sees Maddie with a small smile on her face. “I think he likes having someone to teach that doesn’t talk back as much as Chim and me.”

Eddie smiles as he looks back, sees Buck offer a hand for a high five before ruffling Chris’s hair affectionately. “He’s an easy kid to love, that’s for sure.”

“Dad! Come look, Buck taught me how to draw snakes!”

Eddie walks over to the table, peers down at pages of cartoon snakes in various positions. He can see the progression of Chris’s practicing on the pages, going from shaky and unsure to something more realistic as Buck guided him.

“You were halfway there dude, you just needed some help with the movement,” Buck says as Chris preens.

“These look great, buddy. Can you stick them in your backpack so we can get going?”

Chris gathers up his good drawings, pushing the rest of them into the trash can under the table. He picks up his crutches and makes his way to the other side of the room to his backpack and coat.

“Thanks again for watching him, I really thought we’d be done with deliveries by the time school was over,” Eddie says. Buck just shakes his head, a smile similar to Maddie’s on his face as he watches Chris.

“It’s never a problem, Chris is awesome. He offered to hold a girl’s hand that Maddie was working on because it was her first tattoo and she was scared. And then I got to draw with him! That’s definitely a win for me.” Buck looks back at him, and Eddie feels the warm glow of his smile try to sink into his chest. It would’ve, too, if he wasn’t still on edge from his visit to the funeral home. He can feel that his returning smile doesn’t meet his eyes, and Buck looks at him for a moment before setting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie tries his best not to melt at the touch, but feeling the heat through his shirt doesn’t make it easy. “Hey, you good?” Buck asks quietly. “He can keep hanging here for a while if you need some alone time.”

Buck doesn’t know everything. He knows Eddie did two tours, and Eddie had let him draw his own conclusions on how that may have affected him. Whatever Buck thought, he didn’t know the truth, didn’t know the poison sloshing around in his soul, the constant reminder of the light he left behind in Afghanistan and the blackness he brought back instead. And Eddie will do everything he can to keep Buck in the dark, to make sure he never sees those ugly parts of him that even Eddie can’t fully face.

But god does he make it hard. When he looks at him like this, earnest and open, like he can see right through Eddie, all he wants to do is break. Let the poison come spilling out because he knows Buck will help him clean it all up and get rid of it, maybe for good. But he’ll get burned in the process too, and Eddie refuses to let that happen.

So he just shakes his head, forces his smile to a normal size, pats Buck’s arm that’s still holding onto him. “I’m alright man, but thanks. We’ll see you tomorrow, say goodnight Chris.”

“Bye Buck! Thank you!” Chris wraps his arms around Buck’s middle, while Buck bends in half to squeeze back.

They leave with a wave, say their goodbyes to Chim and Maddie too as they walk out the door. Chris doesn’t stop talking about his afternoon with Buck until he’s tucked into bed. As Eddie goes to bed himself, he tries not to think about a warm body with blonde curls and legs for days taking up the spot next to him, wrapping him in his arms, keeping him safe from the monsters that wait for him in the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~

His brain doesn’t really care what he does or doesn’t want to think about, it seems.

The dream starts as it often does: he’s in the desert, hiding from enemy fire behind the wreckage of his helicopter, surrounded by the corpses of comrades that he couldn’t save. The others, still alive, are looking at him, outraged and not fighting back, like they already know he’s led them to their deaths. Bullets ricochet off the metal, and one by one the bodies fall, blood spilling out of them, flowing towards him. He’s surrounded by noise and heat and death, and the blood keeps coming, soaking into his boots, staining his skin. He drops his weapon, knowing there’s no use in fighting back. He waits for the inevitable bursts of pain when the bullets finally get him, but after that, he knows it’ll be nothing but blissful, all encompassing silence.

Except this time, when he falls into the darkness that usually wakes him up, he’s not alone. He catches glimpses of sky blue eyes, a lopsided grin, a birthmark that looks like a kiss from the heavens. He sees skin covered in intricate patterns and designs, the ink coming to life as he reaches out to touch. He can’t quite reach it, but it doesn’t matter because he feels safe. Protected. This presence, this warmth that’s surrounding him, makes him feel centered in a way that he hasn’t since...he can’t remember when. And he can’t do anything but sink into it, wrap himself up and burrow into it like he knows he won’t allow himself the same luxury when the sun comes up. It feels like home, like salvation. Like the thing Eddie’s been needing to make him feel right again.

So he takes. He knows it’s just a dream, so he takes and he takes, and he doesn’t feel bad.

When he wakes with a start, hands twisted in his sheets, he desperately tries to hold onto as much detail as he can, but it’s all slipping away as he becomes more and more conscious. Some things stay — the eyes, the smile. The overwhelming warmth. And there’s an ache, too. A longing, physical ache that still lingers in his chest even now that he’s awake.

He tries to breathe through it, but then he remembers whose eyes those are, and it pulls him under all over again.

“Shit,” he whispers into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ache is still there as he opens the shop the next day, dull but ever present. He’s pretty self aware, so the depth of his feelings for Buck isn’t news, but he really thought he’d have gotten over it by now. He thought Buck would have stopped in one day to get flowers for someone that wasn’t Eddie, and Eddie would have been crushed, but he’d have been able to start the process of moving on.

But Buck hasn’t done that. He’s gone on dates, but no more than one or two, always claiming they “just weren’t right for each other.” And Eddie’s dumb heart fluttered every time he said that, and his feelings kept growing and growing, and now they’re physically hurting him and haunting his dreams.

He’s so, so screwed.

The bell above the door dings, and of course it’s Buck, the one time Eddie doesn’t actually want to talk to him. Eddie feels the ache grow, feels it pushing at his ribs, but there’s also that warmth and sense of safety from his dream. That feeling he always gets around Buck, no matter what. It’s hot and cold at the same time, and he can’t even begin to figure out how to process that.

“You know, if you keep glaring like that, you’re gonna scare off your customers. Your smile is a much nicer greeting in the morning.”

Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes, not fighting said smile that spreads on his face. It’s almost scary how easily Buck can get him to relax. “Says the man with the leather jacket and a nose ring.”

“Hey, I have a very sunny disposition, even if the clothes don’t match. Plus nose rings are cool, not scary.”

“Whatever you say. Here for your flowers?”

Buck smiles brightly, and there goes Eddie’s heart again. “Yep. Whatever you’re feeling.”

Eddie reaches towards the cases of flowers and pauses, because the only thing he’s feeling is how much he wants to grab Buck by the collar and kiss him until they can’t breathe. How much he wants to wake up next to him, cook breakfast with him, make a life with him. How he’s the first person he’s even thought about showing his darkest parts to because he’s getting tired of carrying them all by himself, and he trusts Buck intrinsically to shine his light on them and start to make them better. Start to make Eddie better in the process.

He cannot, however, say any of that out loud. So he settles for the next best thing.

Aster, gardenia, and pink camellia. Trust, love and longing. It’s unbelievably on the nose, but as he hands the bouquet to Buck, he feels a little lighter. Not like he’s getting over it, but like the pressure of holding it all in has been released just enough that Eddie doesn’t feel like he’s drowning. When Buck waves goodbye, he smiles a little easier, because he did tell Buck, in his own way, and he didn’t have to subject him to any of his mess to do so.

So maybe this is fine. Maybe he can handle these one-sided love declarations that only he understands. Maybe, maybe, he can make this work, until his heart decides it’s had its fill and starts to move on.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s definitely not working.

Because rather than working it out and moving on like he thought he would, rather than feeling the relief he felt the first time, he just wants more. With every mallow, moonflower, and red tulip he hands over to Buck, he wants to let him know exactly what they mean, exactly how Eddie feels about him.

But anytime he even entertains the idea of coming clean, that little voice in his head reminds him that it doesn’t matter because he’s not enough. If he tells Buck how he feels, he’ll just laugh in his face because even he knows that Eddie wouldn’t be able to give him everything he wants. No matter how supportive he may seem, Buck will take one look at the shredded bits of Eddie that he keeps locked away and leave, because no amount of goodness and light will ever be able to put them back together in a way that resembles someone worthy of that goodness.

Eddie’s never been able to ignore that voice, so he listens and keeps his mouth shut and keeps hoping that one day, he’ll give Buck a bouquet and all of his pent up feelings will just disappear along with it.

A month on, and that day still hasn’t come. It’s cool this morning, so Buck’s leaning over the counter in a hoodie and black beanie, shivering slightly, and Eddie wants to wrap his arms around him and warm him up himself. Or better yet, take him up to his apartment, wrap him in his comforter, and never let him leave.

They talk like normal, and Eddie’s glad he can keep this part up, that their friendship hasn’t suffered any outward damages just because he can’t get his shit together. Hen joins them while Eddie is wrapping Buck’s flowers, and pauses briefly when she sees what Eddie picked out — orange lily and marigold, desire and pain. A strange mix, but it’s exactly what Eddie’s feeling. He wants Buck so bad it’s starting to hurt.

Buck, thankfully, just smiles as Eddie hands the bouquet off. “These are perfect. Not quite as perfect as our friendly neighborhood florist, but they’re coming in at a close second.”

Eddie just shakes his head, blushing as always. Buck winks, waves to Hen, and steps out the door, letting in a hint of chill as he leaves.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Hen turns to Eddie, fixing him with a pointed look that almost makes him flinch.

“What?” he asks, straightening up the front counter just so he doesn’t have to look at her too long.

“I know what flowers mean too, you know, and I see the ones you keep giving to our favorite tattoo artist.”

Eddie breathes out hard through his nose, rests his head on the counter. It takes more willpower than he’d like to stop him from banging in on the hard surface a few times.

“You really should talk to him.”

He looks up at her, vaguely panicking at the thought. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Because his friendship means too much to me, and to Chris.

Because I refuse to open myself up and drag him down to this hole with me.

Because I’m not what he deserves, and I never will be.

“It’s complicated.”

Hen shakes her head, shrugs as she turns towards the back room. “All I’m saying is, he’s in here all the time, and flirts with you like it’s his job. I don’t think that’s all for nothing.”

She heads to the back, leaving Eddie to wallow. Maybe she’s right, maybe Buck does feel even a fraction of what Eddie feels, but that doesn’t change anything. Buck is still one of the best people he’s ever met, and Eddie is still full of unfixable darkness.

And he’s still so, so screwed.

#buddie #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #9-1-1 fic #9-1-1 fox #eddie doesn't know what's going on in his head and honestly? relatable #the flower shop #ficcery

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lizzieraindrops · 3 years

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Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Destiny (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eris Morn/Ikora Rey Characters: Eris Morn, Ikora Rey Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Hello destiny sapphics; allow me to introduce myself, Femslash, if nobody is going to write the content i want to see then i will create it myself, listen. it’s about perceiving the weak and wounded places in someone you love, and lavishing love and care upon them even when they won’t admit they need it, it’s about the Mutual Support, it’s about being kind to them even when you don’t know how to be kind to yourself, Light Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, oh and ikora has the most Distinguished Bisexual energy i’ve ever seen so jot that down, it doesn’t come up but you needed to know, this is all just a bunch of softness and tenderness don't @ me okay, Grief/Mourning

Summary:

Five storms Eris and Ikora weathered and one they didn’t need to.

The Shadowkeep weblore lives in my head rent free. Set post-Taken King and mostly during Shadowkeep.

“As I told Asher, there is a storm coming…” “Oryx is dead. We’ve weathered the storm.” Ikora is upset. She has yet to understand the bigger picture. “Yet his sisters would see his will done. There will always be another storm.” “Then let’s weather it together.” -Shadowkeep Narrative Preview #1

Chapter: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | +1 |

Set early Shadowkeep. Happy Ikora returns day!

As the afternoon sunlight sweeps across her study in slow motion, Ikora thinks on time, and distance. Their immensity and insignificance are so deeply, paradoxically interwoven. Leaning over the many strike reports on her heavy wooden desk, she thinks on decades passing, centuries, and the way the earth still turns under the sun every day the way it always has. She knows that even without encouragement, the sun has always been running down to eventually collapse into darkness. Yet the process is so slow that she has not witnessed the slightest telltale change to indicate it in all her long life, and unless they are all very unlucky, she likely never will.

She considers the great stretch of space from her desk chair in the Tower to the near reaches of the Oort Cloud at the edge of the solar system, the pitted stones of which her own eyes have beheld in her youth. That great span is not so different from the kind of invisible gulf that oft forms between people. Ikora will sense that spaceless distance yawning wide even between herself and someone mere paces away. With some time and thought, she can often close it again. Compassion and carefully chosen words, thoughtful gestures; they hold more power than most people credit. But other times, no matter what form of communication she employs to attempt to bridge that void, people cannot or will not hear her. It is endlessly galling. It can happen with anyone from intractable faction leaders during a Consensus meeting to dear friends she does not want to lose to her own Traveler-forsaken ghost.

Despite any physical separation, she knows that felt distance would collapse if only she could understand and make herself understood to those she cares about. If only she could find the right way to reach them. Then she remembers all over again: the too-frequent sensation of reaching and reaching and reaching and not even being met halfway.

Ikora thinks about the universe’s tendency toward entropy, and the way time and space have torn people away from her again and again, be it by kilometers or eternities. She cannot forget the way she lost her mentor, her closest thing to kin, to his obsession with the mysteries of temporality long before he physically left the City. She remembers the way someone she could have loved was already leaving before Ikora could ask her to stay, vanishing to parts unknown. She considers her own time on Io during the Red War: Lightless and lost, desperately seeking a connection to anything that would give her hope or answers. All she found was herself even more alone, feeling farther from everyone than she ever has.

Then, Ikora recalls the way Cayde and Zavala seized her in a doubly crushing hug the moment she returned to Earth and stepped onto the unexpected refuge of the Farm. There she was, weaker than ever and harshly humbled by her own insufficiency in the face of insurmountable odds. Yet they not only reached out to her, but caught her as she fell into their arms broken. Maybe, in their own way, they had been reaching all along, and she had been turning away unknowing. She didn’t know how she’d gone so long without letting herself lean on them.

Now though, with her closest friend ripped out of her life and buried in a few years of grief, she still doesn’t know how she’s going to do it again. There’s only so much of each other’s pain and weariness that she and Zavala can hold.

She thinks of the way it felt when Eris returned, feeling their separation in time and space draw to a close while a buffer of uncertainty remained. Truly, after the years of silence following their painful parting, Ikora had never expected to see the woman again. Yet Eris came back. Now she lingers at the edges of Ikora’s space, in the back of her mind; sometimes closer. Ever drawn back to the Moon, Eris comes and goes; but now, she remains within reach.

Eris has always been hard to keep up with. Impelled by her immense grief and rage and pain, she drives herself so hard in pursuit of vengeance or closure. Ikora has always admired her tenacity in reshaping her suffering into a knife of purpose, one effective and deadly beyond even the means of most Lightbearers. Eris’ knowledge and sacrifices are what enabled them to defeat two gods of the Hive. And still she strives to further eliminate the possibility of her cruel fate ever befalling another. But it pains Ikora to see her still flinging herself into the fight with fury while foregoing her own healing.

It feels different, though, to be around her now. While as fierce and focused as ever, something has gentled some of her edges while sharpening others. It’s evident that Eris’ return to the Moon has spiked her dread with memory. Sometimes she is as wary as she was when she first returned from the Hellmouth, hissing at shadows. But her conversations with Ikora turn soft and halting far more than they ever did before. Perhaps she has found some measure of peace, given a few years with the defeat of Crota and Oryx to turn her avenged grief over and over in her hands. Or — as Ikora distinctly suspects — she, too, regrets the harsh words of their previous parting and thinks of reconciliation.

Maybe it’s just that Ikora is hearing her more clearly now. Or perhaps Ikora herself has just finally learned how to listen. What she hears is something that could be, not an answer, but the beginning of a conversation.

Shadows grow longer and Ikora moves from her desk to one of the soft chairs in her little library of an office. Ophiuchus compiles in a small flurry of Light, and she brushes a hand over his shell as she passes by. He watches her settle into the chair to watch the setting sun through the window. They do that sometimes: just watch each other. It has only been a few years since they started speaking to each other again after many decades. It’s still hard. But now that they have, their silences are friendlier. Ikora isn’t sure that they’ll ever be as close as they were before they pulled away from each other. But she’s still glad for what they have now. This is the kind of thing she promised herself she’d do better at after the Red War, so she’s been trying even harder. If she’s going to rely on anyone, her own ghost should be first among them. All the time they spent so far apart right next to each other has left its mark. But this is one of the few rifts that Ikora has been able to even begin to repair, and she treasures every rebuilt link.

Ikora thinks about the way Osiris tore time and causality itself apart to breach one of those unfathomable distances and bring back someone precious. With a little help, he saved someone thought irretrievably lost beyond a thousand layers of temporospatial distance. And yet, Ikora cannot help but see the way Osiris still struggles to close that gulf even when Saint is right in front of him, impossibly alive. As guardians, they are given so, so many second chances, but they are still far from infinite.

Ever since the day she formally became Vanguard, Ikora has been telling herself she’s not going to let herself repeat his mistakes. She keeps a firm grip on her emotions, leashes her ego, puts the City and its people’s safety first. She has failed many times, but succeeded more often; the Last City stands yet. But it’s been so hard to reconcile those imperatives with the harsh lessons of the Red War: sometimes, she is not enough; and sometimes, having others in her corner with her makes them enough, together.

Perhaps she should have paid more attention to those smaller lessons before then. Losing her Light, however temporarily, showed her just how fragile the greater ones are without that groundwork. No matter how mighty, a tree that does not anchor its fine roots into the ground will bow before a stiff wind.

When the dust had settled and her Light returned, she swore to herself that she’d learn to let herself need other people. Intellectually, she knows it makes her stronger, even when she feels weaker. But losing Cayde so soon after that decision demolished what progress she had made. Time and again she ends up trapped in her own attempts at self-sufficiency, alone whether or not anyone else is there.

Ikora already knows what she wants, what she needs. She knows she needs people. And she knows she wants someone.

She just doesn’t know how to go about it yet.

#ikora rey #eris morn #destiny 2 #eris/ikora #ikora/eris #erikora #ikoris #destiny the game #destiny fanfiction #lizzie's adventures in writing #HAPPY IKORA DAY #look. ikora needs a hug #fun fact i wrote this before the splicer trailer drop so the sun thing was UNINTENTIONAL #anyway as always [shoves this in your face] CARE ABOUT THESE LADIES #long post #destinewt

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warlock-enthusiast · 3 years

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Toss a coin to your Blood Hunter

the ever generous @kasiael bought far too many coffees on ko-fi :P and will receive some stories during this year and probably the next.

She asked for the first meeting of two D&D npcs!

Fandom: Dungeons&Dragons homebrew campaign / Hella x Zaos

Rating: M (light gore, strong language)

------

She was in deep shit.

Really, really deep, supernatural shit.

Hella hid behind some debris, hoping that the ghouls wouldn’t catch her scent.

Why had she managed to maneuver herself into such a tight corner? She should’ve waited for reinforcements. Some more members of their Blood Hunter order, ready to fight at her side.

Of course, she was young, barely 20, and a bit too arrogant, and she knew about that, but she also showed remarkable skills and control of her growing powers, so this should have been a standard job.

Her mentor Alarik surely would yell at her for acting brash and without thinking and make her read through volumes of monster lore with the idea of boring her to death.

Well, if she survived.

Death by ghouls or by books. Well, tough choice.

Right now the group of ghouls had followed her scent through some old, elven ruins. Lush and overgrown with greenery and flowers it seemed like a relic of better times. Nowadays frost covered most of her homeland. Was this place an old temple? Hella had sketched some of the runes and statues earlier, hoping that a wiser Bloodhunter could make sense of them.

All Hella understood were words about a forgotten, smaller deity granting blessings for a good hunt.

How ironic.

But some rich merchant had paid them a handsome sum to keep his business routes safe. Hella guessed that that guy wasn’t the brightest or most experienced. Dertona itself offered less safety and more snow, ice and gruesome nature combined with ancient monstrosities. Any merchant would be advised to settle down in the south, maybe near Ebrus.

Dertona never rewarded the soft or weak.

A ghoul growled and grunted right next to her.

“Fuck.”

Hella closed her eyes, wondering if she should let go and unleash her inner beast. Trust her inner monster to defeat other monsters. She’d been bitten two years ago and still faced problems controlling herself in wolf form, indulging a lust for blood and flesh. If everything went wrong, she’d slaughter the nearby village men by men.

She couldn’t risk hurting innocent people.

No. Hella pressed her lips together, suppressing another memory of slain people.

“Concentrate, breathe.”

Fleeing didn’t appear to be an option, neither did wolfing out. That left some bottles of alchemistic fire and her trusty swords.

Better fight them then. Night would soon cover everything in darkness, which only granted them more of an advantage.

“Need help?” A smooth voice cut through her thoughts and Hella flinched, cursing herself for not monitoring her surroundings. Quickly, she drew one of her swords and craned her neck to find an … elf?

Standing just above her, seemingly not a care in the world, features handsome and delicate. “What? Who… what?” “Just a simple elf, wandering around and helping ladies in dire need.” He inched closer and Hella smelled herbs and salt on his clothing and skin. Elves were known for their sneaking skills, though it still amazed Hella how he’d manage to get close to her without alarming some ghouls.

Hella threw a bottle of holy water into his general direction.

It exploded against his chest, covering him in pieces of glass.

“Eh?” “Just making sure you’re not one of them.”

He had the audacity to smile. “I’m not.”

“Fantastic. Then help me please.”

The strange elf nodded and grabbed her hand. He seemed stronger than his lithe build implied and pulled her to her feet. Never say no to a potential ally, as Alarik would say. Not to mention her own desperation at her less than stellar prospects.

Their combined motions attracted their enemies. A whole pack of fleshy, undead beasts, ready to tore their throats out and to eat their guts.

“Here they come.” Hella raised her swords, closed her eyes and concentrated on keeping her heartbeat slow and steady. Every mistake meant certain death and failure.

And she wasn’t born for failure.

The first attacker died quickly, sliced in half by her blade.

Her new ally preferred using a bow and killed the second with two arrows. He showed fantastic marksmanship and took position on some old stones. His steady aim helped keep some of the ghouls at a distance.

Hella never lost footing but pushed and sliced and relied on her years of training. Blood soaked the ground.

With him at her back, Hella found new confidence, a new focus flowing through her veins. Almost as if magic surrounded them both, vanquishing all her tiredness and somber thoughts.

She caught the elf’s gaze. “Only a few left.”

“After you!”

Hella used her own blood to further strengthen her strikes, cutting her skin above her wrists. Drops of blood danced on her swords as she killed another one.

One of them broke through. He collided with Hella, sending her straight on her backside, while moving far too close to the elf. Claws cut through leather and skin and the elf used a hidden knife to push it through its skull.

He patted the dead ghoul’s head. “Ouch. Not nice.”

“You’re okay?” “I think so. Just a nasty scratch.”

“And your back?” “It’s fine.”

The elf raised the corners of his mouth and inspected their fallen attackers. Some of his arrows seemed to be intact and he started to collect them.

With their enemies dead, Hella took a moment to inspect her unlikely saviour. Tall and slender with dark, longish hair and very grey eyes he looked so out of place and more suited to the crystal city down south. Not to mention that his tan skin spoke of other regions too.

Hella coughed to hide her staring and offered him a handshake. “Ah, thank the Gods. What is your name?” “Zaos.” Unfathed by her inspection, he nodded and took her hand in his.

“Glad to have met you.”

Zaos laughed and it echoed through the ruins. “I’m sure it’s a pleasure.”

What an arrogant prick. Hella moved a few steps away to clean her swords, trying to sound casual, while also luring him into sharing information. “And you from around here?” “Yeah, here and there. I don’t exactly have a home?” His eyes wandered to the sky. “Not any more, so I prefer the road to actually settling down. I keep meeting interesting people.” “I see.” Hella furrowed her brow. “A mystery then.”

Zaos smiled, eyes too bright. “A riddle, if you will.”

So, he wouldn’t share his story yet. Maybe he belonged to the forest and was a hidden beast as well? Or a part of the Feywild, which bled into her world from time to time.

Would alcohol loosen his tongue? Trying to get more information couldn’t hurt and he wasn’t hard to look at, which came as a bonus.

Hella patted his shoulder. “Care for some wine?” “Is this an invitation?” “Yes, follow me to my camp and have some wine with me. I can take a look at that scratch mark and hopefully you won’t murder me in my sleep.”

“I’d be grateful and don’t worry. In general, I don’t murder people in their sleep. I wait for them to wake up.”

Hella snorted. “Haha.” “Lead the way.” Zaos bowed and something in his eyes reminded her of a wolf.

#d&d #aesis #cat as a dm #zaos #lady hella #headcanons

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makaylajadewrites · 3 years

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Muted Blue Chapter 3

and i was never sure whether you were my home or just a stop along the way

-Christiane Starl

After a day and a half in the hospital, Spencer was deemed ready to go home — wherever that was. Throughout those days, Spencer had told them more about the operation, but it wasn’t nearly enough to help them deduce any new conclusions or even reveal anything they didn’t already know. Reid sat through a cognitive with Prentiss in an attempt to recall details from the day he had been abducted, but halfway through, they had to stop and Spencer cried for Morgan to come back, which he did without any hesitation. Prentiss hadn’t been able to gather much from it, and they honestly hadn’t expected much anyway since it had been over a year ago when he was first abducted.

Reid was scared though; how was he going to live on his own again? Everything had been taken away from him, and he had absolutely nothing. His apartment had been cleared out, all of his belongings gone, and he almost certainly couldn’t go back to work right away. He had only been a teacher’s assistant, but it was just a stepping stone on the way to his true calling; an FBI agent, specifically within the BAU which he was guaranteed a spot if he passed the academy — which he had no doubt he would, considering so many requirements had either been waived of dismissed. But that dream was long gone now. Maybe in another life, he would have that opportunity.

He currently sat on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed in a pair of gray slacks and a purple button-up shirt that JJ had supplied him, a pair of converse on his feet. It was so utterly him and he wondered how she had managed to provide him with such fitting clothing. It was his style, something he wore almost everyday, and now that he thought about it, she probably picked up on his wardrobe choices through pictures of him, before all of this. The shirt was clearly not one made for avians though, since two slightly small slits had been cut into the back of it. It was a little tight around his scapulars, but it would do for now at least. He was alone right now; Morgan had left the room to meet up with his team, and now that Spencer was thinking more clearly, he knew he couldn’t rely so heavily on Derek. Derek was an FBI agent, and as much as he wanted to cling to him, he simply couldn’t. It wasn’t anything personal between he and Derek Morgan, as much as he wanted it to be. Derek was simply doing a job, and Spencer happened to be the unfortunate victim.

“Hey, are you ready, Kid?” He heard Derek’s voice filter through the room from the partially opened door, and he looked up with a small smile, both nervous and confused.

“For what?...” He questioned, rising to his feet. Derek didn’t realize it before, but Spencer was about the same height as him, although their body types couldn’t be more difficult. He was large and muscular, often spending most of his free time working out or running. But Spencer was delicate like an orchid, requiring specific care needed for him to flourish. He was tall as stated, willowy and slender. God, he was so gorgeous… He had been beautiful before, but after just a day of recovery, he was already radiating a warm glow of pretty youthfulness.

“To leave,” Derek said with a little chuckle, watching as those wings seemed to be a telltale sign of his emotions. That had cocked slightly, the right a bit more than the left, when he questioned Morgan, and now, they had lifted up, just slightly, as if to demonstrate a rise of joy within him. Well, the brightening smile on his face could also be a bit of a sign too…

“Where am I going?” He asked, following along with Derek as he guided him out of the hospital room, not missing the subtle brush of Derek’s large hand against the small of his back. In the hospital, he made sure to keep his wings tucked close to his back to avoid hitting something or someone — it was simply a natural reaction for avians to do as such in social situations, more as a common courtesy to others since their wings were more powerful than most realized. Speaking of Spencer’s wings… They already looked a bit healthier too, although it was mainly because of Reid’s nearly two hour long pruning session the night before. Morgan had watched him with utmost fascination as his slender fingers dipped into his feathers, effortlessly plucking those that didn’t belong and fussing up the ruffle of his plumes. It was quite cute, honestly, and he would never forget the satisfied hum that passed Spencer’s pretty lips when he felt more comfortable with himself.

“Home. Well, not your home. My home. Until we’re able get you settled somewhere on your own,” Derek said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. Spencer looked somewhat taken aback, but he didn’t have the chance to respond before he was surrounded by Morgan’s team, those he now recognized as the famous David Rossi, unit chief Aaron Hotchner, SSA Emily Prentiss, police and media liaison Jennifer “JJ” Jareau, and technical analyst Penelope Garcia. They instantly looked to him with smiles on their faces, and he blushed both out of embarrassment and the excessive attention he was getting — good attention, anyway.

“Hey, Spence, are you ready to go home?” JJ asked him kindly, obviously taking a liking to the boy even if they were right around the same age. She had grown to be quite protective of Spencer, possibly just as much as Morgan, but it was clear that Spencer depended on Morgan a bit more simply because he was his savior. Spencer looked a bit anxious, but he quickly bobbed his head in a nod since he was in fact ready to live in a house again.

“Y-Yes,” he answered quietly, a thin-lipped smile on his lips. He relished in the feel of Morgan’s hand on his back, but when he went away, he suddenly felt alone again and looked towards him with a muted expression of confusion and hurt. But Morgan didn’t seem to realize, since he was now talking with the plump blonde woman, or Penelope Garcia, as she had introduced herself. They seemed to be flirting, talking in cutesy riddles and nudging each other, and Spencer realized that they must be a couple. Their body language suggested as such, and the near permanent smiles on their faces did too. He sighed softly, feeling a sense of loneliness that he hadn’t realized was there before now. He didn’t understand where the sudden disappointment came from, but perhaps he was in too deep with Derek already.

The psychologically sound part of his mind tried to reason with him by reminding him that this was just a defense mechanism because of everything he had been through. Freud’s theories on homosexuality to gender to human development had been discredited, but his theory on defense mechanisms was sound, and they had been expanded by greater psychological minds like Adler and Jung. This was reaction formation — it had to be. He had been so utterly devastated, defeated, torn apart by the very fibers of his being, yet he was converting that trauma into infatuation with Derek Morgan, simply because he was the figure he associated with his freedom. No matter how desperately he tried to convince himself of that though, it would never reach him thoroughly. It was already too late, and he already craved that sense of dependency he had towards Morgan.

In the mid evening, they arrived at the man’s house, a single story cottage with a cute mahogany porch and a burnt orange door. It was nice, cozy, and when he stepped foot inside, he had nearly forgotten how comforting a home could be. It wasn’t his own of course, but the touches of familiarity and belonging were hard to miss. Traces of Derek were spread all throughout the home; from the diet regimen and workout calendar on the front of his fridge to the dark blue comforter neatly spread over his king size bed. He had been given a tour of the house, happy to know that the guest bedroom made up for him was right across from Derek’s room. It would luckily him a greater sense of safety, although he still feared his inability to sleep.

“I hope you find it comfortable. If you need or want anything at all that will make you more happy here, please let me know,” Derek said, standing in the doorway of the guest room as Spencer slowly wandered inside, his wings drooping a bit as he spread his hands over the bed, letting himself sink down into the mattress. He felt tears burn in his eyes, since he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so comfortable — well, he could. But he rather not

“It’s so soft,” he nearly sobbed, pressing his feathered cheeks into the comforter. He heard a soft hum behind him, and he lifted his head just in time to see Derek sit himself down at the foot of the bed, his upper body turned so that he could see Spencer. The avian looked up with wide, watery eyes, and he smiled. Derek swore his entire world stopped in that moment, when he saw such a beautiful sight that had been vacant from Spencer for far too long. If he had his way. He would make sure Spencer never hesitated to smile again.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said softly, and he watched with somewhat disbelieving eyes as Spencer’s wings extended outwards, the one draping itself over Derek’s lap. Spencer kept their eyes connected, that small smile never leaving his face. This was an act of confiding, of complete and total trust that Derek had not been expecting, but he certainly wasn’t going to take that for granted. So, to accept that offer of trust, Derek’s hand ran over the speckled primary feathers, and now that he was close enough to appreciate his wings, he could definitely see the resemblance Spencer had to a barn owl. The auburn feathers splashed with rustier browns and snowy whites were incredible, and over the crest of them, he swore they almost shined blue. Those sweet chocolate brown eyes held an infinite amount of majesty and the drew Derek in and then slowly let him go, although he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go. Avians were such magnificent creatures, and to this day, Derek would never be able to understand how they had been treated so miserably over the years. Spencer didn’t deserve that — no one did, regardless of species.

“In captivity,” Spencer started softly, sitting up slowly and crossing his legs, his wings coming up and around their bodies like a shield that encapsulated them from the rest of the world until they were alone together, “I remember thinking ‘I wonder if I’ll ever see the outside world again.’”

“Spencer…” Morgan said, almost as if it were a warning. He didn’t want the boy to push himself, but Spencer shook his head, determined to get this out.

“Whenever they would hurt me, or forced themselves on me, I would think of the last time I saw the moonlight and how utterly complete I felt flying beneath it. I want to do that again, Morgan. I want you to be there with me when I gain the strength and courage to fly again,” Spencer said in a near whisper, and Derek couldn’t resist the urge to touch him just once more. His hand cradled that face like it were the most precious thing in the world, and Spencer didn’t seem to doubt that either.

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there with you every step of the way, Angel.”

Derek gave Spencer something no one had before. He gave him peace, like a calming flight under the moon and stars, even though he would never be whole again. Derek found him in the midst of a storm, and he drug him out and promised to stand him upright again. The world had not stopped for him, but Derek had, and that was all he needed.

And Derek would forever see him as an angel, soaring beneath skies of muted blue.

fin

<-Chapter 2

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #moreid #Spencer reid #Derek morgan #Derek Morgan/Spencer reid #wingfic #Derek Morgan x Spencer reid

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puddygeeks · 4 years

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Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 29: Wᴏʟғ Iɴ Sʜᴇᴇᴘ's Cʟᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ

Masterlist

Episode: We Are Grounders - Part 1

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for.

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The night seemed to drag on forever as I pushed myself to keep working. I’d lost the feeling in my hands hours ago and my eyes stung from exhaustion. I was constantly aware of the impending danger of attack from the grounders and the risk of being outside the camp walls gave me a healthy dose of fear that kept me awake. Many of the others had either given up or swapped out with someone else, leaving as one of the last few determined workers remaining in place. I was relieved when daylight broke but I knew that Bellamy would find me when he was ready to talk about next steps. I assumed that, like me, he wanted to squeeze every last moment of preparation out of camp that he could so I continued planting landmines with bleary eyes.

“Indigo!” I could barely tell where the voice was coming from through my exhaustion. I glanced around, unable to see the source of the voice but it seemed to be far away. “Indigo!” The call came again and I knew that I had definitely heard it this time. I stood up and turned towards camp. McIntyre emerged from the gate and sprinted towards me in a frenzy. “Indigo! It’s Murphy, he killed Myles and he’s taken Jasper hostage in the dropship! You have to talk to him, he listens to you.” She blurted and my stomach flipped as her words washed over me.

All feelings of tiredness dissolved and I was immediately on high alert. I bolted through the minefield without even considering the danger and sprinted into camp. I could hear shouting in the distance and my mind raced through a million scenarios of what could have happened. I was terrified that I may have misjudged Murphy and that my defence of him may have cost Jasper his life. I hoped that I could still reach him but as I turned McIntyre’s naive words over in my mind, I expected that any chance of reasoning had long passed as I considered the seriousness of what Murphy had already done.

As the dropship came into view, I was shocked to find that the door was open and I watched in horror as Bellamy strode inside. I willed my body to move faster in a desperate effort to apprehend him but I was already at my limit thanks to the sleep deprivation of the last few days. I witnessed someone tumbling down the ramp and Octavia surged forward to catch them. As soon as she lifted them to their feet, I recognised that it was Jasper in her arms. I realised with a crushing panic that Bellamy had traded himself for Jasper’s safety and suddenly Murphy’s change in behaviour made a sickening sense. I knew in my gut that he had been biding his time to get to Bellamy this entire time and I felt a rage boiling inside of me as I threw myself at the rapidly closing ramp, bouncing off it with a thud.

“Bellamy!” I screamed and lashed out in attacking the door, before Octavia attempted to pull me away. “Please, please tell me he didn’t just hand himself over?” I interrogated in terror as I glanced over my shoulder at Octavia and she nodded back tearfully. “God fucking damn you Murphy! If you even think about harming him I’ll tear you apart! You’ll be begging for the grounders when I’m done!” I snarled as I pounded at the door and my words came out with a fury that I couldn’t control. Octavia and Jasper dragged me backwards and I fought against them, lost to the madness of my anger. I landed on my ass and the impact snapped me out of the desperate behaviour. I panted in an attempt to regain control and instead felt myself descending into panic. I pulled my legs into my chest and my hands wound into my hair, tugging at the roots in stress.

“This is my fault.” I wheezed, barely able to get the words out through the manic thoughts that ricochet around in my mind. “I defended Murphy, I protected him, I pushed others to trust him and now I’m going to lose Bellamy to that vile little rat.” I felt myself shaking in terror and my eyes filled with tears. Jasper crouched down and put his hands on my shoulders to steady me.

“This isn’t your fault Indie, we’re gonna get him out of there.” He smiled reassuringly at me, despite the obvious nervousness in his eyes.

“Oh, Jasper!” I gasped, gripping him back in a wave of relief. “I’m so sorry, did he hurt you?” I ran my hands over him to check for any visible harm, hardly able to keep up with my back and forth of my emotions.

“Nothing major, considering he wanted to kill me.” He smiled and I released him from my worried grip. “Raven has found a loose panel, I think we can get in that way. Bellamy knew about it before he went in, so he’s just gotta keep Murphy busy until we can back him up. We’ll get him back for you Indie, so don’t panic yet.” He explained in a calm voice and I startled at this news. I used his steady position to pull myself to my feet.

“I’m coming with you.” I stated firmly, wiping my face and searching for any sign of Raven in the immediate area.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He queries as he scanned me sceptically. I could understand his concern but I was driven by an overpowering need to do something.

“Oh I’m sure, I need to get my hands on Murphy.” I insisted and I felt my voice drop to a low, dark tone as I spoke. “Let’s go.” I prompted and Jasper reluctantly led me to the back of the ship where Raven managed to pop off the panel as we approached.

“There you are, no time to waste.” Raven called back to us, opening the hatch and crawling in on her front. Jasper crawled alongside her and as the passageway was narrow, I had to wait for them to get all the way inside before there was space for me. The very first moment that I saw an opportunity I threw myself inside and crawled through as rapidly as I could. Once I reached Raven and Jasper, there was enough space to crouch and I scanned the space for a way into the main ship. I could hear Bellamy and Murphy speaking above and my stomach lurched at the arrogant tone in Murphy’s voice.

“I’ll have to shoot through the floor. I just need to figure out where Murphy is.” Jasper whispered, frantically searching for somewhere to aim through. I fell into step with him in my eagerness to stop Murphy. Raven gripped onto Jasper’s shoulder to halt him and she nudged me to gain my attention. She indicated up at hydrazine containers above our heads and I sighed in frustration at the sight of them.

“Bad idea.” She hissed, tapping on the containers and it was clear from the sloshing sound that they made that they were nearly full. “Holy crap, there’s tons of it!” She breathed in an excited manner.

“The engines fired late on the way down.” Jasper explained as he scrutinised the containers. He suddenly turned to face Raven, catching on to her excitement. “We can make more bombs!” He gasped and I saw hope glinting in his eyes even in the darkness.

“Can we focus on how you’re gonna get me up there to kill that bastard first?” I hissed, drawing both of their attention with my exasperation. Although I was glad that we’d found something useful, I couldn’t even consider it when I knew that Bellamy was in grave danger right above me.

“Sure but from now on, no shooting. You got me?” Raven instructed, glimpsing between us both for a sign of acknowledgement. As she waited for confirmation that we wouldn’t take any drastic actions a gunshot sounded above and I flinched to face the ceiling in horror.

“Get me up there!” I snarled as I broke into pacing around the space, examining every inch of the wall and ceiling for any possible entrance points. I felt my hands shaking as I ran them across the panels that made up the ship's interior and I knew that I was barely holding back the bubbling storm of emotions inside.

“Indie, you need to stay calm if we’re going to figure this out.” Jasper whispered as he appeared at my side and tried to slow me down, whilst Raven busied herself with some kind of fuse box behind us. I could hear Octavia’s frantic voice through the radio above as I searched and I knew that we were sharing a similar feeling of despair, although she relied on me to save Bellamy from certain death.

“You want her to know you’re okay? Start tying.” Murphy’s condescending voice was clear even through the floor and I struggled to contain the panic as it blossomed in my chest.

“God, he’s going to kill him.” I hissed as I rubbed my head in an attempt to calm down, but I felt as if my brain might explode from the stress at any moment. I couldn’t think straight despite my desperation to come up with a plan.

“I’m fine, just a misfire.” I heard Bellamy’s firm voice respond from above. He spoke in a way that would’ve sounded calm to most people, but I could feel the nervousness in his words and I felt myself becoming breathless. “Now, stop worrying about me and get back to work, all of you.” He ordered, pausing to clear his throat. “And tell Raven to hurry her ass up.” He added with a poignant tone. I thinned my eyes at Raven and she sighed as she continued to fiddle with the wires.

“All right, that’s long enough.” Murphy spoke again, the cool tone of his voice sending chills down my spine. “Tie those two ends together.” He instructed and the realisation of what he was forcing Bellamy to do struck me in a wave of dread. I had to cover my mouth to keep myself from gagging as the unwelcome image of the situation above filled my mind. Jasper came to my side and put a careful hand on my arm.

“He’s making him tie his own noose.” I whispered in clarification, feeling a hot tear roll down my cheek. “Jasper, I have to get up there, I can’t just sit and listen to this.” I hissed between panting as I felt panic overwhelming me again and my chest compressed. I hadn’t felt this powerless in many years and it was a painful reminder of the way I’d felt watching my mother suffer before I had the courage to end it.

“Raven’s working as fast as she can, she’s gonna get that door open, we’ve just got to be ready.” Jasper replied softly whilst observing me closely to see if I had calmed down. When I continued to panic, he decided to try another method. “Or you can put that devious mind of yours to good use and find us another way in.” He prompted with an encouraging smile.

My eyes widened at his words and I slowly came to my senses as they sunk in. I have to find a way to get to them. I separated from Jasper and wandered the space anew, forcing myself to tune out of the conversation above. I caught sight of a small beam of light and all of my focus honed in on it. I ran my hands along the edge of the panel where the light was coming from and could feel air pouring through. “Air vents!” I breathed, remembering that Octavia would use these to sneak around in the skybox. “Jasper, help me get this open.” I called under my breath and he rushed to my side to help me.

Together we strained against the panel in a desperate bid to move it and I could feel that it was starting to budge. I felt confident in the knowledge that it would have been designed to open for maintenance, but the ship was so old that I doubted this had ever been done. With one last desperate push, the panel popped out to reveal a tiny passageway. It wasn’t clear where it led, but there was a bend that light shone in from. I scanned the entrance to see that there was nothing to grip and the space was directly vertical from my position. I glanced back at Jasper for suggestions and he shrugged defeatedly.

“I want you to feel what I felt, and then…” Murphy’s voice carried clearly from the newly opened space. “Then I want you to die.” My eyes widened at the words and I realised that if the sound was carrying that clearly, this passage must lead to them. I made the impulsive decision that I was getting through it, no matter what it took.

“Jasper, boost me up.” I instructed firmly and he studied me doubtfully.

“I can’t get you up as far as the bend, how are you going to move up there?” He questioned as he scanned the space and furrowed his brows in concern.

“I’ll figure it out, we don’t have time to plan. Just get me as high as you can, then stay here and be my backup for Raven’s plan.” I demanded and my words bolted him into place.

He lifted me onto his shoulders with a struggle and launched me up into the cramped vent. I leaned over and managed to wedge myself across the space with my back to one side and feet and hands on the other. It took constant strength to maintain my position and my body shook at the strain. I moved in tiny, controlled movements as I tried to wiggle myself upwards. It was impossible to ignore the events above now, as the sounds echoed through the chamber. I heard something being dragged across the space before Murphy’s stern voice spoke again.

“Stand on it.” He demanded and I already had a clear image in my head of what was happening in there. I heard two steps and could see Bellamy stepping up to the noose in my mind. “Put it over your head.” My breath hitched at the next order and I urged myself to move faster, pleading with any god I could name to protect him. I was almost at the bend now, I just needed a little more time. I concentrated on keeping my grip; one wrong move now would send me flying back to the bottom and would alert Murphy to our presence inside the ship.

“This is insane. The grounders could -”

I heard Bellamy attempting to reason with him before shots were fired again, causing me to involuntarily flinch. I clung to the wall with every muscle in my body and could feel several beads of sweat running down my back. My legs shook in exhaustion and I took a few deep breaths in a dire attempt to calm myself.

“Put it over your head.” Murphy repeated and I breathed a sigh of relief. I took this as confirmation that Bellamy was still managing to stall him and tried to reassure myself. I had to believe that Bellamy could do this, he was holding his side of the bargain, I just had to get to him. I heard the telltale sounds of movement, before Bellamy spoke again in a frustrated tone.

“Happy now?” He spat and I felt my panic blossoming in my chest. This could only mean that the noose was around his neck and I could easily imagine the smug expression that Murphy would be wearing. We were definitely running out of time. I finally reached the bend in the passageway and met my biggest challenge so far to manoeuvre myself onto the horizontal platform that faced me. I put one foot in the section, and one on the wall behind me and tried to steady myself.

“You’re so brave, aren’t you?” Murphy sneered as I leaned my arms forward, stretching my body to it’s breaking point. With a multitude of muscle tearing movements, I launched myself forward and splayed onto the next section. I peeked up to find a grate just above me and took in a sharp intake of breath. I was almost there. “I mean, you came here thinking you’re just gonna turn this whole thing around, that you were stronger than me and maybe one of your friends would come and help you.” Murphy continued rambling in a taunting manner and I shifted onto my knees to reach the grate. I tried to simply lift it in vain hope, but I was quickly disappointed to find that it was screwed down. I grabbed the knife from my belt and began slowly turning the bolts with the point of the blade.

“Well, what are you thinking now Bellamy?” Murphy sneered as I realised that I could see into the space now and was horrified by the scene before me. Bellamy stood on a crate with a noose made from several seatbelts around his neck and Murphy gripped the other end with childish delight. He yanked gleefully at it causing Bellamy to shift onto his tip toes, desperately clinging onto the crate for balance and I could hear his strangled gasps for air. My hands were trembling again and I cursed my fear for slowing me down. Bellamy struggled to keep his hands inside the noose to protect himself and Murphy paced the room, enjoying the act of watching him.

“You know, I’ve got to hand it to you Bellamy. You’ve got ‘em all fooled.” Murphy moved tauntingly close as he spoke and I descended into screaming in my mind. I was still only on the first screw. “They actually look up to you almost as much as they look up to Clarke. Yeah, well, we know the truth, don’t we? You’re a coward.” He spat just as the first screw finally came out in my hand. I quickly moved onto the screw in the opposite corner, hoping that if I could just get enough movement I may be able to prize it open.

“I learned that the day you kicked out the crate from beneath me.” He remarked with bitterness filling his voice. I moved much more frantically this time. My nerves were dissipating now that I knew it was possible to get the screws out with my knife. My fingers bled from my grip on the blade but I carried on without any consideration. “Isn’t that what you said? That you were just giving the people what they wanted, right?” Murphy continued with his verbal attacks and I found myself growing annoyed with his words as well as furious with his actions. The version of Bellamy that he wanted to punish no longer existed; he’d grown so much since Murphy began his exile that it felt as if he were punishing the wrong man.

“I should have stopped them.” Bellamy breathed and I could hear the regret in his tone. I couldn’t help worrying how this level of guilt could affect his mental state and I hoped that he would be able to remain focused.

“Yeah, it’s a little late for that now.” Murphy retorted and I kept working on the second screw. I prayed that Bellamy could keep him busy for just a little longer.

“You think they’re just gonna let you walk out of here?” Bellamy questioned and I was thankful that Raven informed him of the plan in advance so that he knew to keep Murphy talking. I doubted there would’ve been much conversation here otherwise.

“Well, I think the Princess is dead...but I know the King’s about to die, so who’s really gonna lead these people, huh? Me, that’s who.” He spat confidently and I struggled not to scoff out loud. I berated myself for falling for his act. He was undoubtedly delusional if he truly believed that the camp would treat him as a leader after this. “And yeah, maybe I'll have to kill your grounder-pounder little sister-” He began in a jeering tone and I knew in the seconds before it happened that Bellamy was about to lash out.

When he kicked at Murphy, it signalled that I was out of time. I knew that as soon as he stopped focusing on keeping him distracted, it wouldn’t be long before he was killed. Murphy jumped back out of his reach and leapt at the end of the rope, pulling it tight. Bellamy’s boots barely grazed the stall now and he snatched at the noose in a panic. I inhaled sharply as I witnessed the moment unfolding in horror, when the second screw finally dropped out.

“Of course, I might have to kill your crazy girlfriend too...but then again, she seems pretty fond of me since I got back, so maybe I’ll just keep her as a pet.” He provoked. I felt sick to my stomach at his insinuation and I was repulsed by the idea that I’d given Murphy the impression of interest as well as causing Bellamy to react in jealousy. I was about to thread my fingers through the grate to prize it open when a spark from below caused Raven to cry out. Murphy quickly realised that they were not alone in here and he glanced down at the floor with a sadistic smile.

“I’m guessing that’s her right now, looks like I’ll have to kill her after all.” He drawled, storming over in the direction of the sound and firing randomly at several sections of the floor. I put my hands over my head and curled into a ball, anxiously waiting for the gunfire to stop. I heard the sound that Bellamy had trained me to recognise as a gun jamming and I decided that stealth was no longer an option.

I slid onto my back, unable to see the two men any longer and risked kicking the grate. It lifted slightly and so I kicked it at full force with both legs over and over. I was shocked that the loud clanging sound of my attack didn’t draw Murphy to investigate and I became aware of Bellamy choking with a wave of dread. Between kicks I recognised the sound of a punch and hoped that it was Bellamy turning the tide. There was a slight creaking that echoed from above as I finally kicked the grate free, sending it flying out of sight and I frantically scrambled through the opening. As the room came into view, I spotted Murphy manically climbing the ladder out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t focus on him as my attention landed on Bellamy. He was hanging from the noose in a limp fashion with his face pointing at the ground in a lifeless expression.

“No!” I screamed in horror as I pulled the pistol from my belt. I hadn’t fired it since he trained me and felt nervous as I pointed it in his direction. I remembered him telling me that the time would come when I would need it and how he praised my excellent aim when I had the right motivation. I couldn’t think of any motivation that could ever be stronger and so pointed the gun at the clasp on the belts, took a deep breath and fired. As the bullet bounced off causing the belt to snap open and release Bellamy, I ran forward to catch him before he could hit the floor. I was unable to take his weight and so I used my body to soften the impact, lowering him to the ground. I laid him flat on his back and he stared up at the room, remaining perfectly still.

“Breathe! Please Bellamy!” I shrieked as I pleaded with him but nothing about his lifeless demeanour changed. I straddled him in preparation to do CPR as I wracked my terrified mind to remember how. Two breaths, thirty compressions. I leaned down to pinch his nose, as I blew two strong breaths into his mouth and promptly sat back up. I heard panicked voices from behind, but I couldn’t tell if they were real and I didn’t have the awareness to tear my attention away from Bellamy. I knitted my hands tightly together and just as they touched the centre of his chest, he coughed violently as he tried to sit up.

“Oh thank you, thank you!” I yelped as I frantically climbed off his lap so that he could turn onto his side and I rubbed his back as he gasped out for air. In my blind panic, I hadn’t even noticed that the door was now open. Jasper and Octavia ran to his side in a panic, dropping to their knees to check on him. I was shaking wildly as adrenaline coursed through me and I couldn’t make out a single feeling in the whirlwind of emotions that tore through my mind. Bellamy didn’t even seem to notice our presence at his side. As soon as he could move, he turned onto his hands and knees and hollered up at the hatch above.

“Murphy!” His voice was guttural and wild, adequately conveying the fury that radiated off him in waves.

He dragged himself up the ladder and was able to force it slightly open with the strength of his rage. Now that I could see that Bellamy was safe and had no ill effects from his brief time in the noose, I was able to push the fear aside momentarily. Instead, his determination reminded me that Murphy was still inside the camp and my anger returned, refuelling me for a fight. I ran from the dropship in a red tinged haze and I couldn’t feel anything other than the need to get hold of Murphy. I knew that there were outdoor grips on the ship that were designed for use during space walks and I climbed them in a frenzy. I could hear Bellamy’s furious threats even through the walls and I continued climbing until I had almost reached the top floor where I knew Murphy was hiding.

As I neared the top level the grips ran out and I searched the ship’s exterior for a way inside. I bashed various panels to check for any movement, but nothing seemed to budge. Without warning I was thrown from the ship by a blast that rang out across camp and fell to the ground, landing on my back in the dirt. I was dazed, unable to properly focus my eyes and there was a sharp ringing in my ears. I could make out a hole in the top of the ship that hadn’t been there before and saw a figure jump out of the hole to break into a run out of camp. I knew this would only be Murphy and so despite feeling winded and disorientated, I forced myself to my feet. Once I stood up straight, I felt my vision clearing and I stalked toward the gates. Although I moved slowly at first, by the time I neared them I had completely returned to my senses and marched towards them in fury.

“I’m gonna kill you Murphy!” I bellowed as I approached, only to be apprehended by two guards who blocked me from exiting the camp. “What are you doing? I have to get out there!” I growled frustratedly as I attempted to force my way past them. A firm set of hands pulled me backwards out of the struggle and I was turned by my shoulders to face Bellamy.

“Indie, you can’t go out there, the grounders will kill you.” He reasoned, gripping onto me tightly to hold me in place. He scanned my face with a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes and I felt my resolve weakening slightly at the sight of him.

“I can’t just let him get away, not after what he did to you.” I argued, feeling tears fill my eyes again as the image of him hanging in the ship flitted through my mind. I shook my head to force it away and Bellamy’s brows furrowed in concern.

“I’m okay, you don’t have to worry about me.” He stated gently before forcing his face into a reassuring smile as he met my emotional eyes. “As for Murphy, the grounders will deal with him.” He declared and I sighed in defeat.

“Someone’s coming!” A frantic cry from one of the guards drew our attention and he turned toward the gate. Several members of camp moved into formation, approaching with guns raised and I waited with baited breath. I’d already been through so many emotions today, I didn’t know if I had it in me to fight the grounders too. “Hold your fire! Clarke and Finn! Open the gate, get it.” I turned to peek at Bellamy with wide, hopeful eyes and we both remained rooted to the spot, hardly able to believe what we’d heard. Jasper jogged over to stand at my other side and as the gate slid open, I almost collapsed at the sight of our two missing members.

“Hey, we heard an explosion, what happened?” Clarke questioned as she ignored the surrounding campers who celebrated their return. Instead, she ran straight to Bellamy for an update and it was strangely comforting to witness.

“Murphy happened.” He announced in a manner that revealed his disbelief at the state of events. Clarke widened her eyes at him and he shrugged. Jasper suddenly rushed forward to hug Clarke and without thinking I hugged Finn tightly. He seemed taken aback but returned the embrace with a chuckle under his breath. As soon as she was free, I hugged Clarke in quick succession as my relief overflowed.

“It’s so good to have you both back.” I breathed as I glanced between them thankfully and I noticed Bellamy’s entertained expression from the corner of my eye.

“Where have you been? Where’s Monty?” Jasper asked, hovering around them nervously and I quickly peered behind them to find that he wasn’t there. I had hoped that only their names had been announced, but it seemed that Monty truly wasn’t with them.

“Monty’s gone?” Clarke replied in a confused voice and I put my hands over my face as I felt my stomach drop.

“Clarke, we need to leave, now. All of us do.”

I heard Finn’s voice but I couldn’t bring myself to care about what they were discussing. All I could concentrate on was Monty. If they hadn’t seen him, I knew that meant that the grounders likely left him to die in the woods, like they had Myles. I lost all hope of him returning and the enormity of that realisation was too much to bear. I turned to face Jasper who seemed to be having the same internal crisis that I was and without a word he pulled me into a hug. I stayed wrapped up in him as the others discussed whether to leave camp or not and we shared a moment of mourning for Monty. We only broke apart to force ourselves to pay attention when Bellamy addressed the crowd.

“This is our home now. We built this from nothing with our bare hands! Our dead are buried behind that wall in this ground, our ground! The grounders think they can take that away? They think that because we came from the sky, we don’t belong here. But they’ve yet to realise one very important fact: we are on the ground now, and that means we are grounders! I say let them come!” Bellamy exclaimed, earning cheers from the riled crowd. I managed to smile at him, despite the whirlwind of emotions that was ravaging me on the inside. After listening to Murphy berate him earlier, I couldn’t help but notice how much he’d grown in the time since we arrived on Earth. I could honestly say that I was proud of both the leader and the person that he was now.

“Bellamy’s right.” Clarke declared as she stepped forward and I was surprised to find her standing with him for once. “If we leave, we may never find a place as safe as this. And God knows in this world, we could be faced with something even worse tomorrow. But that doesn’t change the simple fact that if we stay here, we will die tonight. So pack your things, just take what you can carry. Now.” Clarke urged. I was disappointed with how her message flipped from start to finish and the feeling only worsened when the crowd dispersed without question to follow her orders. Only Bellamy, Finn, Octavia, Clarke and I remained in the centre of camp, staring at each other in a tense silence.

“Help me!”

A small cry caught our attention and we turned to see Raven limping into camp gripping her hip. We moved to surround her and I realised with a feeling of horror that she had been shot when Murphy fired into the floor of the dropship. The guilt of my actions threatened to crush me under its weight, as I analysed that I may have been able to protect her if I’d remained by her side. My solo mission barely took me to Bellamy’s side sooner than her plan and even if she’d still been shot, I could’ve at least found help for her sooner. I almost burst into tears as I considered how long she had been trapped there, desperate for rescue whilst we reunited in campgrounds. Finn immediately lifted her into his arms and carried her into the dropship, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. The overwhelming guilt that fell on my shoulders was the last emotion to push me over the edge into despair. Clarke moved to follow but Bellamy blocked her path with a scrutinising look.

“Clarke, leaving here is a big mistake.” He appealed to her calmly but it was clear from her expression that she wasn’t interested in his opinion on the matter.

“The decision has been made.” She answered coldly before she attempted to push past him and I was frustrated by her unreasonable behaviour. He stepped back in front of her stubbornly and I remained frozen to the spot.

“Crowds make bad decisions, just ask Murphy.” He pleaded and I watched with sympathy as his brows furrowed together. It was painfully obvious that facing the consequences of that mistake today haunted him as I feared. I agreed that this was an overly rash decision and desperately wanted to back him up, but I couldn’t find the strength to step in. “Leaders do what they think is right.” He added firmly with a glimpse in my direction and my heart skipped a beat. I almost burst into tears at hearing him repeat the advice that I’d given the night before and I was thankful that I’d been able to help.

“I am.” She replied with an icy determination. She took one last annoyed glance at him before she stormed toward the dropship and left us alone.

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tanadrin · 4 years

Text

The first part of our voyage west was to be by sea. The greater part of Altuum lies between the Windlands and Nebressa, and where the long arc of the former meets the continent, the high mountains and deep God-Forests of Dap Ngara and Dap Mbeki form a barrier that is all but impassable, except to the people of those countries, or those on whom they bestow certain favors. It is said the greatest of the God-Trees are as high as mountains, and beneath their boughs are spaces that are vast and dark, and filled with strange creatures unknown to the world at large. Otherwise, many would no doubt choose the overland route, for the route by sea is filled with danger. In the autumn, typhoons arise in the southeastern part of the sea, and rise north toward the equator; year-round there is the risk of pirates. And, of course, in the deeper parts of the ocean, sailors say there are terrible monsters that dwell under the waves and devour ships from time to time; and this is why most vessels prefer to go along the coast. But I do not consider such tales entirely reliable.

When the Sea Kuthra came to the Windlands, they founded many towns along the coast. The greatest of these, which became the entrepot for the middle part of the peninsula, was the port of Kaklune. We tarried there for four months until we found a ship traveling to Presh, whose captain seemed capable, and whose pilot knew the route well. Have you heard the tales of Ctarra, the hero of the Gelar Isles? They say there are a thousand tales of him, though I never heard above two dozen. I believe few of them, but if you had told me that the crew of this ship had once sailed under that mighty mariner, I might have believed you. They knew their craft well, and their ship, though weathered, was in fine condition.

We hoped at first for an uneventful journey. For two weeks we sailed northward along the coast, stopping briefly at Yamakul and Harone, where the crew unloaded timber from the south, and took on cloth and dyes to carry westward. The captain explained to me that the wood was good only to fill the hold for a short distance, and would be of no special value in Nebressa, where better timber is had from the Oethar hills anyway. But the cloth of the northern Windlands is of good quality, and could be traded for supplies anywhere between Harone and Presh; and sold for a handsome profit in Velannu or Nebressa. The ship seemed lighter and swifter after that (though perhaps that was simply my imagination), and the weather was fair when we departed Harone.

We went around the outer isles of the Ngaran Bay, and so caught no glimpse, even from a distance, of the God-Trees; I was certainly saddened by this. After that, we were beyond the Windlands for good. The country between the Windlands and southeastern Oethiam has little in it. To the north, on the great Conn plain, there are large towns, but the lack of good harbors on the coast and a history of vicious warfare, the captain told me, means that there are few places worth a stop, at least for the sake of commerce. For the next few weeks, she said, we should expect only to go ashore to take on water or to collect provisions. Was this not the land of the Tiger-People, in the tales of Ctarra? I asked; and the captain laughed. Yes, she said; once it was, perhaps, but they are long gone.

Alas, one danger that has not changed since those days is the risk of pirates. Our ship was fast, her crew experienced, and none of them shrank from danger; but the ruin of that region, owing to the wickedness of its princes, had made many of the people desperate, and we were but a few days past Tibray Head when we spotted pale sails behind us. At this sight, the captain fell silent and seemed to be deep in thought, but the pilot told us there was little to fear: that the pirates often watched ships from a distance, but rarely attacked unless they had very great numbers, or thought their target unusually ill-prepared. For two days, I glanced occasionally aft, and did my best to share the pilot's nonchalance. On the third, midmorning, we spotted sails ahead of us, as well, and more joined our companions to the rear. Now the pilot himself fell silent, and the crew began to work swiftly, steering us out toward the open sea where there would be more room to maneuver. There was little talk among them, and that made me really afraid.

I will pass briefly over the next part of the tale, because you know the outcome. Despite the crew's efforts, it was clear after a few hours we would soon be overtaken. The captain took us back toward the coast, hoping to lose our pursuers among the islands there; but this plan failed. The pirates grappled the ship, and there was a terrible battle. A good part of the crew was killed, and the ship was badly damaged by cannon-shot. I was wounded, but only lightly. But the pirates suffered enough that they decided in the end our cargo was not worth the price they would pay, and withdrew. In the aftermath the captain put us to work at once clearing the bodies; we needed to find safe harbor, if we could, before they returned.

That was my first experience of real violence, and though it was not my last, it remains in some ways the worst. These were not soldiers; they were but sailors, united under a common bond of friendship and many trials weathered together, and the pain of the wounds on the bodies of those who survived was not half the pain of the grief they endured at the loss of their friends.

By a stroke of great fortune, there was a small town just up the coast, nestled in a narrow inlet. The captain went ashore, and after some quick negotiations with the headman of the town, we were assured of safety so long as we remained. A small gift of cloth, spices, and southern metalwork expanded the hospitality of the inhabitants considerably. They offered aid in repairing the ship, and gave over an empty house for our use.

But our misfortunes only increased from there. In the morning, we woke to find the captain feverish and disoriented; a local fever, perhaps inflamed by grief. It was only after several days that she began to recover slowly, but by this point it was apparent that it could be many weeks before the ship was ready to sail again, and even then it would have to return to the Windlands first, to hire the additional crew necessary to make the trip to Presh. In this time, my sister and I had been in close consultation with the town's leaders, who were of the opinion that for the time being the overland route, which would at least take us as far as one of the small ports on the inland sea, was safer by far. A new king of the Conn had driven the bandits on the roads away, so while the number of pirates was greater than ever, and the season of typhoons was not far off, we could be reasonably assured of our safety, especially if we traveled in a caravan. Some of the townsfolk were going north to market soon; from there, no doubt, we should find a larger group headed west, for the people of the eastern plane often made the trip in late summer.

So we went north. It was five days' travel to the market-town--whose name, alas, I could never pronounce--and nine more days of waiting there. An ill-tempered merchant took us on reluctantly, because, he said, the gods would be sour with him if he let two such utter fools as us come to harm on the road. But he made us purchase some of his horses, and I do not think the price was very good.

And so in this way, after another three weeks of travel, we came to the country called Vadue. Now, the small states and the free cities of this region had for the most part been unremarkable to us. Despite the tales of the Windlands, none of the people here dressed in tiger-skins, or had four eyes, or had their feet on backwards; they were for the most part ordinary folk such as might have been found in the lowlands of our own country, though they ate more root vegetables, and grew more grain. But the people of Vadue are very different from all the people around them.

Vadue is located on a small plateau that rises from the surrounding lowland quite steeply on three sides; the steepest is the eastern side, which was, alas, the road we had to take. It is ringed with high, wooded hills, and the interior is a little lower; and there a swift river rises, flowing westward through a narrow gorge. Once, it must have been a very populous country. There are great ruins of stone to be found nearly on every hilltop and in every valley, but now it is much reduced. Its people live in only a handful of small cities, surrounded by terraced farms that stretch down the slopes of the hills. They shun the large inner valley, for reasons they refuse to discuss with outsiders. And in Vadue, children are kings.

So the saying goes. I did not appreciate its meaning, and thought it perhaps metaphorical, or a legend like that of the four-eyed northmen, when I first heard it. The Vadueans have a reputation for honorable hospitality, so when we came into that country we immediately sought out a village to rest in for the evening. The first one we came to was a small collection of houses, built in the middle of a larger ruin of stone, with many of the materials obviously taken from the surrounding pile. The village square appeared to be the former hall of some great palace, which was now open to the sky. We were met there by three village elders, who form the customary greeting party for travelers, and taken to a place of rest. I looked around us as we walked through the village, and noted nothing unusual about the families therein. Except the ruins, nothing worth remarking upon presented itself to me.

We ate the evening meal with our hosts about half an hour before sunset. As I spoke nothing of the language, I relied on those of the party who could interpret for us to ask questions about the country and its history. Vadue was old, they said; the ruins in which they built their houses had been built by the Vadueans themselves, long ago. In those days, they were a more numerous and wealthier people; and though their number and their fortune had declined since then, their written history was continuous since that time, and the rites of their ancestors preserved. I thought that this was a remarkable claim, as it was difficult to see how such an ingenous people as the ruin-builders could give way to such unremarkable descendants. But our translators were tired from the day's journey, so I enquired no further.

It took us two more days to reach the largest town in eastern Vadue, which is Oqelans. If the account of Vaduean history was accurate, Oquelans must have once been a very great city indeed. Overgrown streets stretched high up into the hills around it, and the broken ruins of towers crowned some of the hilltops. Now the town was confined to a valley between two hills, that at the bottom dropped into a deep ravine, through which a swift, narrow river raced. The town was at the top of the ravine, on either side; narrow stone bridges, as old as the ruins but in better condition, criss-crossed it in many places. Oqelans was accustomed to a greater number of travelers, and so their greeting-party was institutional: three delegates stand in the square, and greet travelers both in the tongue of Vadue and the tongues of the nearby lowlands.

Now, the caravan was to stay in Oqelans longer, and I was footsore and extremely glad of the opportunity for a few days' rest. My curiosity about the country had also been piqued, so instead of staying in the merchant-house, we took lodgings in a smaller guesthouse which overlooked the ravine, and which was on the main street of a quieter neighborhood. The proprietor of the guesthouse and her husband spoke the lowland tongues passingly well, and I had picked up a little of them since joining the caraven; and together with some other linguistic odds and ends we managed to converse. Yes, the husband said, it was true that the present-day Vadueans were the sons and daughters of the ancient ruin-builders. Astonish you, it may, he said; but the techniques of our ancestors are not entirely unknown to us. We could perhaps rebuild the ruins, if we wished.

I asked why they did not. Why should we? said the proprietor. We have no need of enormous cities; we are not so numerous as we once were. But they were grand in their day, I said. Yes, they were, the proprietor agreed; but cloth needs weaving and fields need sowing. This is a Vaduean expression, for the ordinary work of life which must be done by all. We spoke also of religion; the Vadueans' beliefs are not very systematic, though they are not especially superstitious. Most of their rites are concerned with paying respect to their ancestors, and honoring their dead heroes. And what, I said eventually, of your governors? Have you kings or princes here in Vadue? No, they said; there are the local assemblies, and the town elders, and the magistrates before which criminals, oathbreakers, and faithless merchants are sometimes brought. But we have no kings, and no hereditary princes. I have heard in Vadue that children are kings, I said. They laughed at this. They called over their son, a boy of about seven or eight, and asked him if he was a king. No, he replied; today I am a bear. And he went off growling in what was indeed a rather bearlike fashion.

It is not unusual when collecting stories of other lands to find that they disagree with one another, or with the world. Unless the collector is very well-traveled indeed, and can verify by personal experience each account they hear from another land, even the most careful one will occasionally find sour lies in the basket of sweet truths. Some lies are so improbably we can discard them at once, like fruit rotted all the way through, while some appear true but are false; the rot is hidden, so to speak. And the careful historian will note that there are occasionally stories which are on their face preposterous, but which turn out to be entirely accurate: a bruised skin, hiding good flesh within. And there are many such truths, for the world is wide and inevitably full of stranger things than even the wisest can imagine.

I took a walk in the city the next day; and I returned to the guesthouse before noon, and sat on the steps watching the people pass to and fro down the street. I would like to say I was an assiduous chronicler, observing the subjects of his chronicle carefully. In fact, I was merely tired, and impatient for lunch. But I noticed a curious thing, as I sat. There were not many children in Vadue. In the lowlands, I had heard an expression: the one poor in wealth may be rich in sons and daughters. At home, in the Windlands, we had a similar saying: count not the prince fortunate, nor the rich man happy, unless he have many sons. Why was Vadue, not poor in any other measure, poor in this one?

After we had eaten lunch, I asked the proprietor about this. She did not understand the question at first. I used the wrong word, and took me to be asking why few families had children. But she knew many families, they said; all had at least child. I searched for different words; why, I asked, was the quantity of children I saw in the street so low? Is it? she replied. It is, I said. The farmers just to the east have five or more children as a rule. She frowned; were they so cursed, that their children died so young? No, I said; I do not know how many of their children die. I mean, the number who live. At this, she seemed disbelieving.

The confusion between us was not slight, but after much back and forth, I gathered this: that the people of Vadue generally have between one and three children. Two is most common. Four is uncommon. Five or more is exceedingly rare. Children die more rarely in infancy, and the Vadueans attribute this to the religious rites they have around the collection of water and the quality of their medicines, of which I cannot speak directly because I had no occasion to observe them. And the Vadueans do not refrain from having more children because children are hated; they are loved no less in Vadue than elsewhere. But by special preparations, and avoiding the inseminating act when lying together, most husbands and wives prefer to limit the number of offspring. And this, I thought, perhaps explained the mystery of the great ruins. The Vadueans, I concluded, had impoverished themselves: for if they had on average only two children, or a little more, only a small amount of accident or disease, or simply failure to have children of their own, would mean that the size of each generation was a little less than the size of the former. And very gradually--perhaps so gradually they did not notice--the population of the country must have declined, until it inhabited great cities it could no longer afford to maintain. Woe to the people of Vadue! I said to myself. A sorry tale, although one with blessedly little bloodshed.

The night before we were to depart, the proprietor's grown son and daughter came to visit their parents. As was the custom, every two weeks they dined with them; and they brought their children with them. So I had occasion to observe three generations together, and what I saw caused me to question the tale as I had understood it earlier.

The grandchildren were doted upon by all, even their parents. And like many families, they told me, they lived together in a common house with other parents of young children; together they shared the labor of raising them. And that labor was considerable indeed. For though they were only of modest means, these children were educated in letters and sums, and apparently also in the history and poetry of the country; and in song and had even scraps of astronomy and knew a few words of foreign tongues, though they had never left Oqelans. And this was not considered an unusual thing. So I enquired further after the practices of childrearing in Vadue; and they said that every child, even those of the meanest peasant, was afforded some kind of education. And they explained the methods of education in that country, which were gentle and patient; and when I asked how children were punished when they disobeyed, I was astonished to find they were never punished at all.

I asked again, with different words, thinking I had misunderstood; but my interlocutors were stern and clear. No child in Vadue was ever hit or whipped. Even the stupidest, meanest, most recalcitrant child could expect to be met with patience in tutors, parents, and strangers alike. Even to raise one's voice to a child was considered a failure, worthy of a small amount of disapproval from one's neighbors. Disobedient children were simply re-instructed in the behavior they ought to show. And if a child did poorly at their lessons, it was the tutor that was considered to have erred!

I was so surprised at this, that I was asked about my own childhood, and I found myself reflecting on things I had not concerned myself with for many years. I thought on how my parents, whom I loved, and even now consider kind and wise, had beaten us when we misbehaved. I thought on learning my letters in the rectory school, and the blows of the switch on the wrists or ankles intended to sharpen my attention when I made a mistake. I thought of the children in the village I saw, who worked alongside their parents, whose labors were as great, given their capacities, as those of the grown men and women around them. My hosts were greatly saddened by these accounts, though I consider my childhood and that of my friends to have been happy. And then I understood what it was meant, when travelers said of Vadue, that in that place children are kings. If you are accustomed to raising children with the stick as well as with love, this seems like a land where parents cringe and simper before their children, where the righteous order is inverted.

For you see, Vadue is a land I believe to be unusually peaceful. Its mountainous character shields it from invasion; and it has little in the way of wealth that cannot be got more easily from surrounding countries. For all that, it is relatively prosperous: after all, it need produce little, to feed a population that does not grow. And because of their peace, and because of their prosperity, the Vadueans have little need for, and a great loathing of, violence and killing. They whip no slanderers, and brand no thieves, just as they slap no children, nor condemn even the most unrepentant murderer to die. And because of the care and labor undertaken on their behalf, and the sanctity of their person, travelers who have seen only this most obvious feature of their country--the few children, who run free, and have an education that would befit a noble in any other land--the only state which most visitors can name, which approaches that of a Vaduean child, is the state of royalty. And this I at last understand is what the sages mean when they say we shall all be kings in Paradise: not that we shall command and have license to be capricious, but that we shall be free from the caprice and cruelty of others.

I believe that once, Vadue was not like this. That long ago, the people that lived in that country were like their neighbors. By some stroke of fortune, their civilization rose to a very great height, and they were prosperous for a long time; and for love of their children, as all parents have, they doted on them more and more; and consequently, they had fewer, so they could give more to the children that they did have. The offices of state withered away, and they abolished them. That which they prized changed. They prized the family more, and the day-to-day life more; and they spent less time consumed in the fear of vengeful gods, or with carrying out the policies of the tyrants they no longer had. And without need of an ever-growing population to sustain, and without fear of an invasion that might destroy their customs and habits, they permitted the monuments and towers of their ancestors to gently decay. For these were ultimately in the service of vanity: vain princes and vain legacies, vain glories that flattered the nation, but fed not a single starving soul, nor sheltered a single head from the rain.

So they no longer build great monuments. They have their arts and their sciences, but these are pursued either for the joy in themselves, or for the joy they bring one another, rather than to serve as instruments of greater powers. When they have surpluses, some of it is stored, and some distributed according to need, and some sold; and the exact manner of division and distribution differs from town to town, depending on custom and circumstance. So though they have their poor citizens (and their rich), they have no beggars, and no one ever starves. And though they inflict no punishments on the bodies of their criminals (and they assured me that they have criminals, and laws, and courts, like any other country), you may still travel the length and breadth of the land without a bandit slitting your throat for the clothes on your back. For, they believe, it is only when you treat a man as a beast that he becomes one. That bloodshed cannot answer bloodshed, if it is one's aim to forestall it further. They raise their children in the manner that they do, for their most ancient priests long ago said that authority cannot teach alone, and pain is the least useful lesson of all, but patience is the road to wisdom, and love its crown. Despite their laxness, their country is peaceful and their children well-behaved. I cannot say how all these marvels are accomplished, for we did not remain in Vadue long, but nothing I saw in my time there gives me any reason to doubt them.

From beyond its borders, Vadue looks like a poor nation dwelling in its own corpse. But this is perhaps true only if you think that a nation is it princes, that its greatness and its wealth is measured only by the greatness and the wealth of its mightiest inhabitants, rather than its lowliest. If you are of the opposite opinion, Vadue is something of a rarity in this world: a truly happy place.

But of all my tales, I have found, this is the one most widely disbelieved. Yet I have seen it; though I would perhaps doubt it otherwise. In Vadue, children--and men, and women, the lowliest and the highest alike--are kings.

–Tâw Ras, yab Arah; Journals of the Long Pilgrimage, 2663 oE.

#final e's are always pronounced in my conlangs #'harone' and 'vadue' would both be spelled the same in IPA #in case you were wondering #too lazy to search and replace an acute e atm #tanadrin's fiction

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yanara126-writing · 4 years

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Reperire Regem - Lemon Balm (2/6)

Broder really should've gotten out of this before he started to care about the guy being possessed by a god. And yet, for some reason, he can't really regret not doing so.

5 times Broder found Waidwen (and 1 time he did not)

The first official journey of the Divine King does not go well, and Broder meets both the god and man.

Read here or on Ao3. (7624 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

It was a beautiful, sunny day and Broder was thoroughly on edge. He knew there was likely no reason to be, there had been no notable issues on this trip yet, but he really wished his king would stop vanishing into thin air.

He was standing in the middle of the village square, arms crossed and tapping his foot, while looking contemplatively around. The villagers were going about their business around him, organizing the evening’s feast, and throwing him nervous looks every once in a while, but he really couldn’t be bothered to give a damn at this moment. He’d sent out the few men that had accompanied them to search the surrounding areas and had personally looked through every building in this damned town and had asked everyone he could get his hands on if they’d seen anything. Of course, no one had. He felt like he was about to chew through his lip soon if nothing turned up.

He couldn’t keep standing here forever though, the villagers had dutifully ignored him for now, but soon they would need the space for the rest of the tables they were carrying here. A few were already laden with delicious smelling food, everything simple and without much diversity, but the best these people could provide.

And the best was only appropriate, as they’d decided. With the newly crowned god king visiting, the whole village was buzzing with excitement. The houses were decorated with religious symbols, either made from rough cloth or painted on, everyone was wearing their best clothes, and of course, a feast to his honours had been planned for tonight.

Now if only said king hadn’t disappeared the second Broder’s back had been turned. With a sigh he resolved to go check the nearby field’s again, before he got hit over the head with a table, and turned around, when a young human woman came up to him, nervously glancing down at his sword and then back to his face.

“Excuse me, sir? I heard you’re looking for... for the king...” She tripped over the words, and from the gleam in her eyes Broder could tell it wasn’t just in fear of him. She swallowed once before continuing: “I saw my sister and her friends going to the forest with him.”

“Oh thank fuck, finally.” With that exclamation of both relief at finally having a lead and still remaining dread over what he would find, he turned around and started off into the direction of the forest right behind the village. Only to stop again when he realized, that was probably not a good impression to make. And unfortunately, impressions were now part of his job. He turned around and nodded to the befuddled looking woman. “Thank you for your help.” She nodded, still intimidated, so he thought it better to just make an exit.

“They usually play by a small hill, behind the church!” He thanked her with another nod and then made for a strategic retreat.

On his way past the houses he felt like he was back in the Living Lands, dodging tables and chairs and the people carrying them like the vines and animals back then. He did not miss those few weeks. The nervous buzz in his body didn’t make the memories any sweeter.

After having escaped the chaos of the village, he found himself before the tree line and a very obvious trail further in. At least he wouldn’t have to search for the way it seemed. Though neither would anyone else, which made Broder’s nerves flare up again. Really, what was the man thinking? Going completely alone was one thing, still far riskier than Broder would like, but with a bunch of children running around, their position would be significantly harder to defend in case of an attack.

With fast steps Broder followed the trail into the forest, the damned purple cape that had been forced on him catching in the trees again and again, and not long after, he began hearing quiet giggling and the sound of small feet tapping over the leaf covered ground. After the trail bent around a particularly large tree, Broder stepped out onto a small clearing at the foot of a hill. In the middle of the clearing was a larger rock, in front of which sat his charge, back against the stone, and patiently letting two children braid his hair, while the third excitedly ran across the grass, picking flowers. It would’ve been cute, if Broder wasn’t still convinced something terrible was going to happen.

The king was no doubt aware of his presence, but made no move to react. With a deep breath so as to not show his displeasure overly much, Broder stiffly walked across the clearing, suspiciously eyeing the tree line. Only once he stood directly before him did Waidwen look up to Broder, eyebrow raised, as if daring him to comment on his position. The children were ignoring the knight completely, apparently having not deemed him worthy of attention, since they already had a willing victim for their artistic outburst. Broder swallowed his rising annoyance before speaking.

“I really wish you would inform me of where you’re going. Your Highness,” he said, voice almost as dry as the Readceran summers. The title he stated deliberately as an afterthought. He didn’t dare omit it completely, but still wanted to voice his irritation somehow.

“That would defeat the purpose of going though.” Waidwen looked away from him again, head held high and staring sightlessly towards the edge of the clearing, yet with a tenseness in his shoulders that betrayed his uncomfortableness. Good, maybe then he’d get it into his head.

“And what purpose is that? To get yourself killed?” That got Waidwen’s attention and his head snapped back to glare at Broder. The kids shrieked as his hair was pulled from their hands, undoing some of their hard work and spilling flowers all over the ground and the rock they were kneeling on. Waidwen only spared them a glance to make sure they hadn’t fallen off before focusing on Broder again.

“We both know that I’m not going to die, even if someone got the drop on me.”

“Even so, what about them? Can you guarantee for their safety too?” Broder nodded to the two children, who’d slid of the boulder to collect and sort their flowers. They were obviously listening, but knew better than to interrupt the heated debate. The elven boy who’d been collecting blossoms before had worked his way to the other side of the clearing, where he was desperately trying to reach one on a tree branch above him.

Waidwen froze and looked over the kids, the stubborn defiance bleeding out of his posture. His eyes grew glassy for a few seconds, concentrating on a voice only he could hear. He blinked a few times and then lowered his gaze to the ground, remaining quiet and stiff, as if awaiting a beating. Broder sighed.

“I don’t do this because I want to bully you, but you need to understand that you’re a target now, as is everyone around you. Aedyr is hardly going to give up and I can promise you, they’re not the only ones who’d love to have you out of the way. Maybe they’re not a threat to you, but they are to others and I can’t protect anyone if I don’t know where you are.” Broder made sure to soften his voice a bit while still remaining stern enough to get his point across. He really didn’t want to needlessly antagonize his king, especially since he looked more like a kicked puppy than a god king. “Look, back in the castle I’m sure we can figure something out so you don’t have me constantly breathing down your neck, but please don’t sneak off anymore when we’re in middle of nowhere.”

Waidwen nodded, reluctantly pulling himself up again, when a loud shriek and a thump sounded from other side of the clearing. Both Waidwen and Broder quickly turned around, to see the elven boy sitting on the ground, an arrow stuck in the tree right in front of his nose.

Without wasting time Broder unsheathed his sword and made to run over, but Waidwen was faster. With a speed Broder couldn’t help but be impressed by he jumped up and sprinted to the child, just so managing to pull him out of the way of the next arrow. After a millisecond of hesitation Broder remained with the other two and pulled them behind the boulder for cover, pushing them down and out of reach, at least for now. He highly doubted there was only one attacker, and he cursed himself for letting himself be distracted. He glanced around, but focused immediately back on his actual charge, who had picked up the boy by now and was running back to the rock as a defendable cover, face tight with concentration and guilt. Broder just wished he hadn’t been quite so right with his suspicions. Waidwen was almost back when Broder spotted an assailant.

“Down!” he yelled, and Waidwen dropped without a second’s hesitation, arms around the crying boy to shield him from the fall. With only a hair’s breadth of distance a fireball flew over his head, hitting the rock and scorching its surface.

Before Broder could jump to his aid and pull him up again, two hooded fighters came at him from the other direction, forcing him to shift around and meet them head on, to not let them reach the kids behind him. As much as it pained him to turn away from his actual charge, the king had been right. He could hold his own if necessary. Hopefully. The children could not.

He parried one blade and immediately pulled away to block the other one, grunting from the strain. Whoever these people were, they were no slouches, but Broder was better. He had to be.

He fought for every little piece of space, not letting them get any closer, but it was already starting to wear him out. Two against one wasn’t easy, and he also had to dodge the occasional arrow, yet couldn’t rely on his usual method of out-dodging his opponents. The scrapes from near misses were starting to pile up too, hindering his movement further. He had to think of something soon.

Behind him Broder could hear terrified sniffles and strained grunts interspersed with sounds of steel clashing and scraping, which told him Waidwen was busy with attackers as well. At least that meant he hadn’t failed yet, and with new determination he went on the offensive.

Then a blood curling scream sounded from behind him, causing Broder to almost freeze up. He barely caught himself and managed to stab one of his assailants in the gut, who had dropped his guard just long enough to look over to the scream’s source. The other one immediately fell back and moved further around Broder. That gave him the chance to turn as well, after pulling his sword out of the now lifeless body, without letting his opponent out of sight, and check what had happened.

What he saw almost made his heart stop. Waidwen stood facing the boulder, leaning on it with one shaking arm, with the other still limply holding the dagger Broder had insisted he carry. Beneath him, curled up in a shaking ball, lay one of the children and behind him stood a tall aumaua whose hood had fallen off, revealing a crazed, triumphant grin. The reason for it wasn’t hard to guess. In Waidwen’s back stuck an axe, plunged in so deep the blood was already running down his back in rivers, though the blade was still blocking the worst of it. His face was scrunched up in agony, breaths shallow and pained.

Broder was still desperately calculating how he could possibly still save his king and preferably the children, when the question was answered for him. With a furious roar Waidwen started glowing like Broder hadn’t seen since the coronation. His whole body was alight, not softly this time, but harshly, eyes burning with divine fury.

Broder watched with wide eyes as the god, for it couldn’t be anything else, grabbed behind himself and pulled the axe plunged in his back out without even a flinch, and let both it and the dagger fall to the ground unheeded. When he turned his attention to the would-be-assassins the rest of the world started to move again.

The now weaponless axe-bearer stumbled back, making space for the swordsman Broder had faced off against and the wizard a bit further back. The archer was still nowhere in sight. Broder stepped forward, intending to take care of the man before he could procure another weapon or flee, but once again his king was faster. With a flick of his arm a blinding light enveloped the attacker and he crumpled without even getting a chance to scream. The swordsman took the opportunity though and swung at his midsection, which he just barely dodged, almost slipping on his own blood which had soaked the leaves on the ground.

The scuffle that followed had nothing skilled about it anymore and Broder wanted to cringe. The hooded swordsman had given up on any semblance of elegance and was just barely managing to dodge the waves of energy that had already felled their companion. The only reason they were still alive and even managed the occasional hit, was that Waidwen had obviously no combat training whatsoever. A god he may be, but his attacker was obviously very determined and skilled enough to trick him again and again into missing with his random and clumsy swings.

The wizard was keeping their distance, preparing a spell while avoiding becoming a target. The archer was still shooting, but as they were now aiming exclusively at the god, who swatted the arrows away as if they were merely insects, Broder reluctantly decided to ignore them for now. After a short look at the sobbing but otherwise unharmed children, he went for the wizard.

The sudden show of power had apparently waned their attention, for they only noticed him once he had already reached them. They managed to block Broder’s swing with their grimoire, but the spell they had been preparing fizzled out harmlessly. With their attention divided between trying to hit Waidwen and defending themselves against him, it didn’t take Broder too long to get behind their defences and finish them off with a well-placed swipe across the throat. After kicking the grimoire away from the corpse for good measure to avoid any last bursts of magic, he turned around to see what he’d missed.

The fight was still going on, though both parties seemed to grow increasingly more frustrated and uncontrolled. Just as Broder stepped forward to assist, an arrow managed to lodge itself in the god’s shoulder, causing him to growl in frustration and whirl around towards the tree line. For a second the light glowed even stronger and apparently the god king saw something Broder didn’t, for he raised his hand again and with a thump a body fell out of one of the higher trees. That movement however gave the other attacker enough time to swing their sword in a way that Broder was sure would cut the king’s head clean off if it connected, god or not.

With speed born purely from desperation Broder jumped forward and rammed right into the other fighter, who lost their grip on their weapon and instinctively tried to shove him off, to no avail. Having dropped his own sword in favour of speed, he pulled a knife from the hidden sheath on his thigh and slashed their throat before they had chance for a meaningful struggle.

Heaving for breath, he waited a few seconds to be sure they wouldn’t get back up again and then turned around to check on the others, to find the god king completely motionless and staring at him. Broder froze even as blood uncomfortably soaked through his clothes, uncertain about what to do. He’d only seen something like this once before, at the coup and back then he’d been the centre of attention only long enough to mutter a short yes before the focus had shifted. When the god took a step in his direction, Broder had to suppress a flinch. Though he had no reason to believe the being would hurt him, the glowing, the pupilless, shining eyes and the blank stare were more than unsettling. The fact that he’d just seen the being kill just by waving at people certainly didn’t help.

The god stopped in his tracks though, and after a second or two the light faded, taking with it a pressure in the air Broder hadn’t even noticed in his adrenalin fuelled state. Waidwen swayed on his feet and then dropped to his hands and knees, heaving for breath. When he let out a tight groan, Broder’s thoughts snapped back into the usual post battle rhythm and he remembered the arrow stuck in Waidwen’s shoulder. Shaking himself out of his stupor and pushing away all unhelpful feelings of anger and fear, he got off the slowly cooling body he’d still been sitting on and knelt down next to Waidwen, pushing him up as gently as possibly, so as to not disturb the arrow. Waidwen didn’t object and let himself be manhandled into an upright position any resistance, but Broder still didn’t dare remove his hand, in fear he would just fall right over again. With a quizzical gaze Broder inspected the wound. The tip had sunken into the flesh completely, not quite out the back again, leaving a bloodied hole beneath the collar bone.

“Just pull it out, it’ll heal right up.” Broder looked up at hearing the tense words, seeing Waidwen still stare very deliberately away from him.

“It’s not gonna be pretty. I’ll have to shove it through the rest of the way, which will hurt like a bitch and bleed like it too. You sure it’ll heal immediately?” It wasn’t like he thought the other man was lying, but he also didn’t want to risk his king bleeding out on the forest floor because he had miscalculated his own healing abilities.

“Yes. The sooner it’s out, the sooner it’ll stop bleeding, just do it already.” Broder didn’t think Waidwen ever separated his teeth saying that sentence, and so decided to stop wasting time with questions. He broke off the tail the end of the arrow, eliciting a sharp exhale from Waidwen, and then positioned them in a sort of awkward hug, so he had a good grip on the remaining arrow and the back of Waidwen’s shoulder, where the tip would come out. Broder could feel Waidwen tense even more against him, and though that was hardly ideal he couldn’t exactly blame him for it. From this close Broder could feel the other man’s heartbeat sounding like that of a skittish rabbit and in an awkward attempt to calm him down a bit patted his shoulder, while breathing slowly and deliberately. The tensing he could compensate for with more strength if need be, but if he started twitching while he was holding the arrow shaft it could move the tip and injure him even further.

“On three. One, two-“ And with as much strength as he could muster in this strange position he shoved the arrow through. As soon as the tip was out on the other side, he grabbed it and pulled it out completely. The whole thing didn’t take long, but Broder knew from experience that it still hurt like crazy and so wasn’t surprised when Waidwen screamed into his ear as soon as he shoved. He had to give it to him though, even through the pain and no doubt fear, he didn’t move even a little, remaining completely still through the ordeal.

Broder hastily threw the arrow away and they remained on the ground for a while longer. Waidwen slumped over bonelessly, leaning heavily on Broder’s shoulder, who watched in morbid fascination as the wound he’d just made started glowing and healed shut in a matter of seconds. Much like the axe wound must have, for even though the shirt was torn up and bloody, no fresh blood welled up. He didn’t budge though, even after the hole in Waidwen’s shoulder was healed, and just waited patiently until Waidwen would calm down enough to get up on his own, keeping a steady grip on the young man. They sat in silence, just shamelessly soaking in the comfort of being assured they both survived, of feeling the other’s warmth and weight, for a moment forgetting that they were, in all honesty, strangers. The blood that soaked through his torn shirt stuck to his hand, filling the air with even more of the metallic tang Broder had grown too used to. Judging from the retching sound, Waidwen was very much not used to it.

After a while Waidwen lifted his head, looking over the carnage, brooding so hard Broder could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. He kept his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, letting him absorb the situation. Broder knew enough to conclude that this was his first deadly battle, and the first kill was never easy, no matter how it was done.

Suddenly Waidwen gasped with alarm and whirled around, still on his knees peering over to the boulder, where the three children huddled together, quietly sobbing, but all very much alive. Looking everywhere but Broder he got up and walked over to them, hand outstretched to do what Broder wasn’t sure, but instead of calming down the kids only cried louder and inched away. Waidwen froze, obviously unsure about what to do. He had that strange, far-off look again for a second and then hesitantly backed off.

Broder sighed and wiped his sticky with blood hand on his pants. It was ruined anyway. The reaction of the children hardly surprised him, frankly he too was quite unsettled about what had happened, no wonder they were scared out of their wits. Time to do emotional damage control...

Waidwen was still standing around awkwardly, looking again like a kicked and abandoned puppy, and Broder really needed to talk to him about that at some point, but for now a pat on the shoulder and a reassuring look would have to be enough. Thankfully, it seemed like it was and Waidwen relaxed, nodding defeatedly, but apparently accepting the situation and stepped back further to allow Broder to deal with the traumatized children.

Fortunately, they took to him better than to Waidwen, and Broder spent the next minutes crouched on the ground, arms full with three sobbing children, doing his best to console them while still keeping an eye on his surroundings and his charge. He could already feel the headache coming. But better a headache than dead children or kings.

After a while of shushing, rubbing backs and, in Waidwen’s case, sightless staring into nothing that probably shouldn’t concern Broder as much it did considering who was doing it, he picked up the child crying the most, the elven boy Waidwen had taken an axe for. He lifted him on his back, told him to hold on and took the other two by the hand. Though he doubted anyone else would come for them right now, remaining here, surrounded by corpses, wasn’t going to do anyone any favours. He would have preferred to search the bodies immediately, but that would have to wait until his king was safe.

“Wai- Your Majesty?” He cursed himself for the slip of his tongue, but it was just so hard right now to remember this was a king in front of him, and not a fresh recruit on his first battlefield. Said king flinched a little at his words, yet all of a sudden, all the gloom, all the helplessness, all the misery fell off him. Where before his posture was hunched and closed off, now it was open and confident, the epitome of the god king he was heralded as.

“Let’s go.” And go he did, with a stride so determined and self-assured no one would be able to guess that just a minute ago he’d looked ready throw up.

Broder could only blink at the sudden change in demeanour. He was so bewildered, he only came out of his stupor when the little girl holding his hand pulled him along, since Waidwen himself had already reached the tree line and the small trail. With a start Broder hurried after him, determined not to let himself be distracted again, at least until they were safely back at the village, where other people could stand guard while he devised a strategy to respectfully inquire about his king’s mental state.

When he got closer to Waidwen he noticed something else that was off. He seemed... shiny. Not radiant like before, but far more subtle. His hair was slightly lighter than it should’ve been, both in colour and in weight, making the remnants of the braid bounce just enough to be noticeable. Even the torn flower petals still tangled in his locks looked livelier than before.

Waidwen turned around and Broder almost shuddered when he saw his eyes. They were as shiny as the rest of him and it made Broder far more uncomfortable than he wanted to admit. He knew the reason behind it, knew that there was no malicious intent in those eyes, but still they unsettled him. There was something wrong about their cool confidence, when he knew the young man they belonged to as anything but.

When he turned away again Broder was ashamed to be glad for it. He wanted to walk the way in silence, just focus on their surroundings so something like before wouldn’t happen again, but he was sure that as soon as they were back in the village they would be jumped by the villagers and he feared there would be no calm minute for the rest of the day. There were some things that needed to be said before.

“Your majesty, I suggest we return to the capital first thing tomorrow.” Broder steeled himself for protest, yet nothing came. Waidwen just continued walking without giving any reaction. Broder frowned. “Your majesty?”

“I heard you.” Waidwen still didn’t turn, his voice calm and distant, and Broder sighed. Though the young man hid behind that mask of his, Broder could recognize that kind of behaviour. He was sulking.

“I know you wanted to check the fields yourself, but it’s just too dangerous. We’ll find someone else to do it. You’re hardly the only capable farmer around here.” The silence continued, only interrupted by the occasional sniffle, and Broder reluctantly decided to leave it for now. He’d said his piece and pressuring him would hardly sway the young king in his favour.

They walked the rest of the way, out of the forest behind the church again without any disruption. The bustling from the townspeople could be heard even back here, making Broder realize that even though he felt about a decade older, not much time had really passed.

Waidwen came to a halt at the corner and looked down at himself. Broder stopped next to him and quietly agreed with what his king’s scrunched up face clearly portrayed. Him walking out there with torn and bloodied clothes was not a good idea. For both them and the morale of the villagers.

With obvious uncertainty and a slight tense in his shoulders Waidwen turned to Broder, eyebrows raised questioningly. Broder gave a short hum and considered their options. The tiny inn where their group was lodged was placed right in the centre of the village, in plain view of everyone in the town square, which in this moment was essentially everyone. After some deliberation he turned to his king.

“How good are you at sneaking?” Waidwen gave him a doubtful look.

“Not good enough to sneak through that.” Broder just cocked his head, unimpressed. “Acceptable, I guess,” Waidwen finally conceded. Broder nodded.

“Good. I’ll give you five minutes to go around and get behind the inn. Then I’ll go find the kids’ parents, make a bit of scene.” Which shouldn’t be too hard what with the now completely silent and disturbed children, and his also bloodied clothes. He raised his hand, which was now free as the human girl had latched onto his leg instead, and patted the elven boys head a little, who was holding so tightly onto him, Broder was almost fearing for his air supply. “While everyone’s busy with me, you can sneak in behind them.”

The king hesitated a little, giving the children a worried look, but then nodded and quietly slunk away, vanishing around the other side of the little church.

The next five minutes were… tense. Not in the way of expecting another attack, but more because Broder didn’t really know how to handle the kids, beyond just physical affirmation. He could hold them all day if necessary, but somehow, he knew that just wasn’t going to cut it. Most young recruits were at least somewhat prepared for their first battle, those who weren’t didn’t typically survive them. Those young recruits who lived got a chance to blab their problems to someone, a cup full of whatever alcohol was available in the region, and then usually fell into bed with whoever was down for it.

That wasn’t going to apply in this situation for obvious reasons. Although… maybe he could at least start with the first part. Talking was a good idea, right?

“You know, it’s okay to talk about it. You don’t need to with me, you don’t need to now, but don’t bottle it up if you want to, okay?” he said, using the calmest voice he could muster with the elven boy still pressing his wind pipe shut. After few seconds of quiet waiting, he could feel the human girl nod against his leg, the child still clinging to his other side hummed a little, and even the elven boy on his shoulders moved in a way that Broder was willing to identify as a nod.

Not wanting to prove himself a hypocrite he remained silent for the next minutes. After he deemed enough time had passed, he squared his shoulders, gently pried the girl off his leg and took her hand again, and made his way to the town’s square.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Finally, after answering the same two questions (“What happened?” and “Is the king all right?) over and over again, he had been able to flee into the inn. Leaning against the wall next to the entrance he took a breath, only to immediately gag. The stench of his bloody clothes had only become worse with time and with the blood having dried, they were sticking to his skin as well now. Exasperated he lifted a hand to drag through he his hair only to stop himself at the last second and grimace. While he had wiped his hand, blood was stubborn and getting it into his hair as well would not make his life easier.

With a sigh he pushed off the wall and started making his way up the stairs to the private rooms. He slept in the common room downstairs, together with his soldiers, but handing back the children, calming the villagers and ordering his troupe to clean up the mess they’d left behind had taken longer than expected. He longed to peel off the filthy shell his clothes had become, but first he needed to make sure his king’s emotional crisis was managed. Preferably without any divine incinerations. He didn’t think that would be a problem, but… A frown creased his face as he remembered the fight. Better not risk it…

Standing in front of the door leading to his king’s room, he found nothing but silence. Whether that was good or bad he couldn’t say. Tugging on his blood crusted shirt to make himself at least a little more presentable, he knocked on the door.

“Come in.” Following the muted invitation Broder pushed the door open and stepped into the room. The only piece of furniture in the room was a crude wooden bed with coarse bedding that was halfway hanging off the frame. On it sat Waidwen leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, still in the filthy trousers and staring at his ruined shirt in his hands. Seeing him like this made it even harder for Broder to reconcile the shining god king incinerating his enemies with the young man in front of him. With his shirt off it was all the more obvious how skinny he really was. The loose shirt usually obscured the details, but now Broder could see his skin stretch taut across his ribs, and once again he was reminded just how much the people of this country had suffered. Automatically Broder’s eyes shifted to Waidwen’s shoulder, where not long ago an arrow had stuck. Not even a scar remained, the skin completely unblemished.

Suddenly something hit him in the face, and for a second Broder was terrified he’d again missed an attacker, but the second went by, and he noticed that what had landed on him was a fresh, woollen shirt. Pulling it off his head he saw a small but smug grin on Waidwen’s face, his hand still raised from the throw.

“You look about as shitty as I feel.” Broder had to snort at the pure absurdity of the moment. He tugged on the cloth sticking to his chest, causing it to make a vague cracking sound and Waidwen cringed, pure disgust radiating off him as the divine energy had before. “Please wash that off, I get nauseous just listening to that.” He nodded to something next to him and Broder’s eyes fell on a bowl filled with water, for which the bedding had been shoved to the side. A wet cloth hung over the side.

He hesitated, but quickly pushed the doubts aside. He’d been ordered to clean up, so clean up is what he’d do. It wasn’t like this was any stranger than what he’d been doing for the last few weeks.

So he put the shirt to the side and pulled his filthy one off with considerably more cracking of the soiled fabric. Lacking an appropriate place to leave it, he threw it into a corner to take away later. The washcloth was already a bit spotty, clearly having been used, but still clean enough to do its job, as was the water. Wiping himself off the worst of the blood and grime, he stared at the darkened water, dimly wondering how much of the red belonged to the young man next to him, who was once again staring at his torn-up shirt. Tears that had been caused by an axe burying itself in his back. Which reminded him…

As soon as he didn’t feel quite so sticky anymore, Broder soaked the cloth in water again and turned to Waidwen.

“Turn around real quick, would you.” Waidwen looked him, suddenly tense again and leaning slightly away, and Broder could see suspicion rise in his eyes. Though it was hardly his business, he did wonder what experiences could make this simple request seem so worthy of distrust.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve had an axe in your back and I’d like to make sure it’s really healed. Besides, I doubt you got all the blood off from there.” The blood mixed in the water and on the cloth seemed not nearly enough for the amount he’d seen gush out from the wound, and though he’d watched the wound in his shoulder heal in a matter of seconds right before his eyes, he’d still prefer to make sure. He never had been one for magic, much less gods. Not that he actively disliked them, but it’s hard to trust something you yourself have no true understanding of.

“It’s fine.” Some of the tension bled out of Waidwen’s posture, but he still kept himself guarded with his back angled away from Broder. The insistence did nothing to assure Broder of the words’ truth. He’d seen too many fresh recruits hide their wounds out of a misplaced sense of pride.

“Just let me check to make sure.” It was almost like trying to talk down an abused cat, which made the situation all the more surreal. Though weird as it was, it wasn’t technically new. The only difference was that he’d certainly never done that with an employer.

“You think I’m lying?” Waidwen narrowed his eyes.

“No, I just don’t think you can turn your head like an owl.” Broder frowned, making sure to exaggerate the movement for effect. “That’d be a weird skill to get from the god of light.” Waidwen let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh. Possibly. Hopefully.

All of a sudden, the tension in the room changed. It didn’t leave, but refracted into something else, something Broder was eerily familiar with by now. An uncanny weight settled around them, though this time it thankfully didn’t touch him. Instead Waidwen just got this strange, faraway, and oddly sparkling look in his eyes again, as he stared off into the middle distance. Feeling awkward and this time lacking any other task Broder could only wait for the moment to pass, the wet washcloth still in hand, which was slowly dripping onto the floorboards. It was strangely uncomfortable to know that someone directly in front of him was talking to someone else that he couldn’t hear, even more so as he knew who, and especially what, he was talking to. It wasn’t quite as unsettling as seeing him blaze and rip people’s souls out, but in the end, it came down to the same source.

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long for the weight to lift again, but not before brushing over the surface of Broder’s consciousness, as light and warm as the spring sun, and with just as much potential to burn if he strayed too close. He let it pass over, keeping as still as possible, all too aware that any defence would be useless at best. Then it was over, and with the presence Waidwen’s resistance seemed to leave as well, as his shoulders dropped, and he just sagged into himself.

“Fine,” he muttered and scooted forward on the bed, just enough to make space for Broder. Not wanting to risk him changing his mind, Broder kept quiet about what had just happened and carefully slid behind him, pulling the bowl along.

Giving him a quick once over, Broder had to admit Waidwen had done a good job cleaning himself up. A few rusty red patches remained where had no chance of reaching them himself, but the majority of the blood that must’ve coated him was already gone. With quick movements he wiped off the few bloody spots left, taking note of the way the muscles clenched under his hand.

With the way Waidwen’s back looked it didn’t surprise him. The axe wound hadn’t left a trace, much like the arrow hadn’t, but instead his skin was littered with other scars, thin, white lines stretching over different lengths, scattered all over his back. All of them were faded and clearly at least a few years old already, perhaps more. They covered nearly all of the skin from his shoulder blades down to the waistband of his pants and were far too numerous to be of only one occasion.

Broder refrained from commenting or reacting at all, steadily continuing to gently wash away the proof of the prior massacre. While he himself did not carry such scars, he’d known others who had, and none had appreciated any mention of them. These weren’t marks of bravery or heroism won in honest battles to be proudly shown off around the campfire, but rather reminders of suffering the bearer hadn’t been able to defend themselves against.

Once he was finished, he threw the cloth into the bowl, moved out from behind Waidwen and sat himself beside him on the edge of the bed, leaving a bit of space between them. Though he wouldn’t mention the scars, still he’d come here for something else. How to broach the subject though… With the way Waidwen still sat completely rigid, Broder doubted he wanted to talk about it, much less with him.

Sitting in complete silence and watching the young man out of the corner of his eyes, seeing how clearly uncomfortable he was, Broder made the decision to take a leap of faith. Waidwen had taken a risk with turning his back to him, even though he clearly didn’t trust him that much. Taking a risk as well could be just the show trust needed in this moment. It might not make everything better at once, but a groundwork of trust was what kept mercenaries alive, both on the battlefield and off, so why shouldn’t it help now?

Very much aware of the uneasy gaze still following his every move, he untied the flask hanging from his belt and took a big swig from it, letting the liquid burn down his throat. When he was done, he offered it to Waidwen, the strong smell coming from the open lid identifying it as something very clearly not state sanctioned.

For a while Waidwen just stared at it with an incredulous look, and Broder began to fear he’d made a mistake, but then, the incredulity giving way to determination, Waidwen took it. Leaning his head back he took a big gulp-

Only to immediately choke on the liquor and harshly cough up the little liquid he’d already swallowed, just barely managing to save the flask from falling and spilling its content all over the floor from his shaking. Broder’s hand twitched, reflexively moving to pat him on the back, but he caught himself and cringed. Perhaps he should’ve warned him instead of just handing the flask over…

Once he managed to get his breathing back under control, Waidwen straightened again and grimaced, smacking his lips to get the bad taste out of his mouth. With a slightly horrified look he handed the flask back.

“The fuck is that?” The unrestrained show of pure disgust combined with the fact that he’d never heard the young king curse like that before, was absolutely hilarious to Broder and he couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face.

“A bunch of Arrack and some Grog mixed together. Sorry ‘bout that, I’ve been drinking this shit for so long, I forgot how strong it really is.” Somehow the first curse had broken a great deal of boundaries and the atmosphere was significantly lighter than before, even as Waidwen was still scowling at the bottle, mumbling something about an assassination attempt on his taste buds, but there was no real heat behind it.

With the tension significantly lowered and his gamble having payed off, Broder felt confident enough to take another one. Keeping eye contact with Waidwen he calmly put one hand on his shoulder, keeping his touch light and taking care to keep his fingers high enough to not come into contact with any scars.

At first Waidwen’s shoulders tightened again, muscles freezing up as he fell silent. Almost immediately though the strain fell away once more, and with a sigh all of his energy seemed to evaporate, leaving behind only undisguised exhaustion. Once all defences where down, it was a strangely intimate moment. Though they’d been physically closer when Broder had pulled the arrow out of his shoulder, there had been an urgency and stress and fear, that had buried all sense of actual intimacy. The skin under his hand was warm, almost feverish, even though it was fall and hardly hot anymore, and Broder himself was already feeling the slight chill from sitting around bare-chested. Though it went against every one of his instinct, he reminded himself that that was probably normal for a guy being the avatar for a god. Someone who could heal from an axe to the back in a matter of seconds would hardly have issues with a fever.

Not wanting to push his luck, he pulled his hand back and pushed to his feet, stretching his arms with a pop.

“Well, I should go and prepare our departure tomorrow. You should rest up, there’s still that feast in two hours.” Waidwen just sighed, put his face into his hands and nodded. Taking that as his dismissal, Broder turned to leave- Only to feel something hit him in the back of the head again. Pulling it off, he saw that it was the same clean shirt he’d put to the side to clean off. A glance back proved that Waidwen was wearing a tired but smug smile. Broder laughed quietly, admitting to himself that he was fonder of the young king than was probably good.

Acquiescing to the wish expressed with soft violence he unfolded the shirt and pulled it on. With some struggle he succeeded. It was clearly one of Waidwen’s, who was quite a bit scrawnier than Broder, so the cloth stretched tightly over his ribcage, so tight in fact, that Broder was nearly certain it would rip before nightfall. But for now, it held, and for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to deny the gift, no matter how impractical.

With one last smile and a very stiff bow, he bid his king, his new friend, goodbye and left the room, dreading the rest of the day a little less.

#Pillars of Eternity #Waidwen #Broder #fanfiction #writing #original male character #male friendship #hurt/comfort #fluff #allusion to child abuse #graphic descricption of violence #protectiveness #Waidwen really needed a friend #so I made him one #please give me some feedback I'm starving here #I'm completely floundering but I really wanna do this so I will #but some help would be appreciated #sorry I don't want to complain you're all great #it's just in the middle of the night and I'm tired

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project-ohagi · 4 years

Text

Hayato Yamagata x Reader - Soulmate AU {Haikyuu!!}

[Soulmate AU: Wherein you have the first words your soulmate ever speak to you, written on your wrist].

Trigger Warning: Self-Harm.

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Although the day was long, the evening seemed longer - significantly so.

Volleyball practice had ended a while earlier, yet here he was, remaining in the building to run some errands. The dormitories weren't far, so it wasn't as if actually minded. Glancing down at his wrist, a solemn sigh passed his lips. Gentle fingers traced the inscription: the first words his soulmate would ever orate to him, the words fated to spark an inevitable romance, which would blossom and blossom. Despite currently being unfamiliar with his predestined partner, his heart soared at the very thought of them. He knew, instinctively, that no matter their appearance, to him, they would present the most beautiful divinity.

Their aura would be unmatched in compassion towards himself and others - this was Hayato's sole expectation. Besides that, he couldn't care less. His heart thundered with the determination to shower them the utmost love and affection. He would treat them as a god, a goddess, a mixture of the two, or some genderless celestial. Whatever their manifestation, he would love them, both passionately and unconditionally.

However, the phrase engraved into his wrist was quite unsettling.

'No, please don't touch that!'

Without context, it sent insuppressible shivers all the way down his spine. Obviously, worry consumed him - it always did. He couldn't comprehend the truth of the message. Yet...an ache tugged so violently at his heartstrings. Those words bled pain, desperation. If they, his future, needed help in any way, then with his fiercest conviction, he wished to bestow it upon them. He wanted to find them, to cradle their frame tightly, close to his chest, so that his raging heartbeat could echo in their ears, acting as the proof of his love. He desired nothing more than this, and to witness the majesty of their smile. It made him giddy, like a young child arresting its parents' attention.

...Until his mind played back the phrase, droning on in miserable notes, as an amalgamation of all the world's depressing songs.

His yearning for the information of what agonised you so greatly was causing slight mishaps in his daily life. You had yet to physically enter the scrapbook of his life, but he could almost feel your energy...fragments of your pain. It was suffocating, sometimes. But still, he didn't completely understand. Meeting you, at this point, was absolutely imperative; he figured that it could potentially be the difference between life and death. Another abysmal thought began to plague his already-throbbing mind - what could you be referring to? What would cause such wretched words to tumble from your lips, and would they be in retaliation to a forceful act on his end? He really hoped that wasn't so. If he traumatised you to the extent at which your very vocals trembled, then, soulmate or no, surely your heart wouldn't ever allow itself to love him.

That imagining was a cursed reel, and he vowed never to replay it. Besides, there couldn't have been any point to worrying so tirelessly, when you were still yet-to-be-discovered. Hayato could hazard a guess that, at the least, you weren't in his class, and, perhaps some mystical connection might have compelled you towards each other, if you ever passed in the halls. Therefore, he decided that either you simply didn't occupy a space in the third year, or you didn't attend Shiratorizawa, period.

Although his brain favoured the latter, his heart pounded for the former, since it would obviously make finding you so much easier. Hayato had been raised to place faith in his gut instinct, and right now, his gut seemed to produce two words: foreign and danger. He was unsure whether this meant that you were of a different lineage, or that you attended another school, and consequently would be alien to him.

But, danger...

...There was no doubt - you were in a precarious situation, or on the losing side of a violent, bloody battle. He prayed for your eternal safety, day in and day out. You would forever arrest his unconditional support, no matter the circumstance.

Shaking off these depressing pictures was difficult, but necessary, because torturing himself over them during your omission from his life, would only affect his health and grades on a greater scale. Hayato trudged around the building, finding the papers and other things he needed, and prepared to head back to his dormitory. So much of his mental energy had been wiped out already, and he was exhausted. Lying down on his lovely, soft bed sounded blissful.

Instead, mere moments after falling, he registered that what he was kneeling atop wasn't a bed, but in fact...a girl?

Embarrassment permeated his very core. He never achieved much with women, mainly due to his sharp glares (yes, the unintentional ones - perhaps he had the masculine equivalent of resting bitch face), but this was just...oh my lord, why? He refrained from punching himself, only since terror had gripped your features, and he didn't wish to disturb you any further. He scrambled to his feet, apologising profusely, and reaching out a hand, to help you up. Those almost-feral, chocolate eyes ghosted over you, and in an instant, he was transfixed. You adorned the regular, Shiratorizawa uniform, but it appeared to be slightly larger than you needed. Your sleeves were very long, he noted, and he couldn't see your wrists at all. Luscious, (h/c) locks swept across your face, partially shielding your (e/c) orbs from view.

"Eh...are you alright? Can you stand?" His genuine concern captivated you, but you were panicked, tears welling up amongst the glittering constellations.

When you failed to respond, he started rubbing his neck, in an effort to soothe his nerves. This was a situation unlike any other (he was often a lot more careful of his surroundings), but his aid seemed to offend you, for some reason, so what could he actually do? The waterfall, which dripped from your eyes, was something he desired to wipe away. He detested this - watching you suffer in relative silence. Why weren't you letting him help? Couldn't you speak? Was something about his actions, his words, so wrong? After a minute or two of deliberation, he decided to perch himself on the floor, in front of you.

"Do you need somebody to talk to? Should I go and find a teacher?"

The words remained lodged in your throat, slowly suffocating you.

You squirmed uncomfortably, every movement revealing slightly more skin, although you didn't appear to notice. Hayato's eyes travelled to your wrists, now exposed, and his blood ran cold. His compassionate nature kicked into overdrive, and he immediately locked on to your arm. Meek sounds of discomfort rolled off your tongue, as the knife-inflicted wounds seared with pain. He was speechless, left gawking at your arms, specifically the one he had grabbed. Despite his concern, he proceeded to squeeze your wrist (albeit, absentmindedly - he was far too focused on the actual cuts). His fingers moved closer to them, as his mind scrambled desperately for any trace of logic.

Fear widened your eyes, causing you to whisper-yell, "No, please don't touch that!"

Hayato's mind ceased its constant rotations.

His eyes graced your own, partly in astonishment, partly in worry. He remembered all his previous musings with great sobriety - he was right to be concerned for your safety. Although, it hadn't ever truly crossed his thoughts, that you could have been your own arch-nemesis. That was just...it was awful, the fact that you felt such hopelessness, to rely upon a knife to release the agony. The deadly war in which you were engaged...it was against yourself, and that knowledge hurt immensely. He wished to place gentle kisses along all those beautiful, yet disheartening battle scars.

They were beautiful, he affirmed, because they were a part of you. They had been carved on to your flesh, and in spite of their secrecy, you owned them. With enough time and care, they could be removed, but they were a testament to your survival. You had lived, through everything which tried to kill you, and that made you strong - stronger than him, by far.

With determination, he maintained the eye-contact.

"You can talk to me, about anything. I'm not going to judge you. Everyone feels pain - people just cope differently."

"You - You're not disgusted? Scared?" Your voice quivered, emotions spilling to the surface.

"No, of course not. Those scars are yours, and you're beautiful. I'm not scared of them - I love them, like I love you."

This boy, he was honestly too sweet. Someone of your position, your weak constitution, didn't deserve he who behaved so admirably. He possessed a strength with which you could never compete. He was everything you had ever wished for in life. But...you couldn't keep him, and he couldn't keep you.

Not in this lifetime.

Before the illusion vanished, before it was too late and regret began to fester, you smiled, as brightly as possible. You wanted to leave him with something positive, if only for a mere second. Hayato mirrored your expression, ears burning crimson with the inclusion of your little "I love you too.". A question danced on the tip of his tongue, but he was never allowed to pose it.

"Hey, Hayato! What're you doing over here?" Said male turned, meeting the perplexed gaze of a certain, infamous red-head.

"Tendou?" He muttered, equally as confused. "I'm helping someone I bumped into."

A strange look came upon the boy's face.

"Well, did she run away before I got here? I didn't see anyone!"

The chocolate-orbed one paused, asking, "No...she's right her-"

Although, when he tried to glimpse your divinity once more, he found nothing but an empty spot. There was no indication that you had ever been in the general area, but he hadn't noticed you leave. Tendou surely would have seen you...?

Was madness consuming him?

#Yamagata Hayato #Hayato Yamagata #Shiratorizawa #Haikyuu #Haikyuu Imagine #Self-Harm #Angst #Fluff #Soulmate

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darkparablesthorst · 4 years

Note

So since everyone on is on the thirsty list and ya need requests, can I please aske for dating headcannons for everyone's favorite Snowy Queen, Snow White?

THIS GOT LONG HOLY HELL TOOK ME 4 HOURS

Constructing her Personality

Alrighty ho! I’m not going to add her history here anymore as I believe that that the game provided detailed information about her life before she turned into the Snow Queen and what her life led to after being freed from the False Mirror. Her actions in-game show that she strongly cares for her family and will go to great lengths for their sake. Desperate to cure her son of his comatose, she clung to the promises of the False Mirror even if it meant gambling her soul and the whole world away to save her son. Even when Floralia fell and Snow possessed no leads to her brother Ross Red’s survival, she still went to the fallen kingdom to look for him herself. Snow White is a hardy woman who will fight tooth and nail and freeze hell all over (hehe) to ensure the safety of her family.

I feel like Snow places huge importance on blood relations, mostly because they are the only people who remained by her side in all her immortal life. The Mountain King, her father, sacrificed his kingdom for her sake, and this testifies to their deep familial bond between father and daughter. At his death, Ross Red and Gwyn are the only surviving members of her family and the people she has ever intimately known who still survive to this day. That said, she is not quick to be friendly with strangers, unless she owes them a huge debt (like the detective), or are familiar with her family. With strangers, she maintains a stern, impassive, yet kind countenance, cordial yet impersonal. However, she warms up easily with who her family considers as friends and treats them extremely well. For example, she sponsored Gwyn and Gerda’s extravagant wedding where royalties from all kingdoms were invited to. That’s some extreme mothering right there.

However, she keeps grudges, and no family is exempted from that. I feel like she still resents James a bit for what had happened to Gwyn. Also, when Rasputin crashed the wedding, Snow Queen had no reservations in fighting him although he was her uncle. She will destroy anyone who compromises the safety and happiness of her small, tight-knit family, no matter who they were.

All in all, we have a fiercely caring queen and mother who is determined to brave all odds for the sake of her family. Of course, the responsibility of maintaining her precious family leaves little time for meeting new people. Add to that her reserved and icy personality that she presents to strangers, and it might prove difficult to approach the Snow Queen. Gain the trust, love, and approval of her family, and you may have a chance of warming her heart.

Dating Headcanons

Snow is the type of woman to spoil her lover. She has the power and wealth to give you whatever you want and does so with pleasure. She also fusses over you, making sure that you have eaten well and gotten the proper amount of sleep. Her maternal instincts kick to overdrive if she sees a single bruise on your body. She may get overbearing, so be sure to calm her down and assure her that you’re fine.

She doesn’t expect anything in return, but if you give her a gift, she will be overjoyed. It doesn’t have to be any expensive items as long as it’s from you. But if you handcraft something for her? Say, paint her a portrait, make her a sculpture, craft her jewelry, or brew a potion to exfoliate her skin, her brain will reset and she will legitimately b l u s h. The first time you saw it, you were just as baffled, but she looked so adorable with her face flaring up that you got embarrassed as well for staring too long.

She’s a respected queen, so you’re going to have to dress to impress. You get to wear the finest clothing known throughout the kingdoms perfectly tailored to your size. You and Snow will be the most beautiful couple in any balls you attend, and the spectators will know you belong together through your matching/complementary clothing and regalia if your entwined arms and loving glances are not enough to clue them in. You might feel concerned that she’s giving you too many clothes, but she really enjoys dressing you up in gorgeous silks and make you look your best.

Dates for you and Snow White are private affairs that aren’t at all extravagant. Too busy for that. Your dates (not counting the balls and events you attend for social and political matters) would be enjoying each other’s company in her study as you drink tea. If she’s feeling more stressed, she pops off the cork of aged wine from her personal wine stash and rant about her worries, frustrations, and anxieties. They mostly concern the safety of her family, the matters of wicked curses and ancient treacheries popping out of nowhere (the dp universe is saturated with family drama and it involves magic my fucking GOD ) and, sometimes, when she’s particularly drunk, she bitches about James and his curse and his stupid face gods why did i fall for that idiot

Snow is cute when she gets drunk, but she is just as much as a pain in the ass when she is. She gets whiny and clingy, and it would have been cute if she’s not spilling the glass of wine she insists on holding all over the cushions as she attempts to cuddle you (”Snow, they’re velvet! You’re going to have to replace them if you don’t put the wine glass down!”).

Most of the time, you keep yourself sober and just short of tipsy to revel these rare moments of vulnerability. You fondly watch as her uncontained giggles break through her icy demeanor and her pristine diction slurs. When the morning comes, you rise before Snow. You retrieve the painkilling elixir from the dresser, prepare her a glass of cool water, and peel a fresh orange, and set the items on the nightstand. When she wakes up, groaning from the hangover, it was your turn to fuss over her. You hand her the elixir, mindful of the dosage she gulps down, give her the glass of water next, and feed her each slice of orange. Her face is contorted in discomfort at first, but it gradually relaxes as the headache disappears and makes way for the awareness of your caring actions. The both of you cuddle afterward, only parting when one of the butlers knock at your door to remind you of your duties.

That said, you’re Snow’s most trusted confidante. She tells you everything and trusts that you’ll swear secrecy to whatever you hear. If she’s having difficulties with a certain matter, your encouraging words and affection lift her spirits. Knowing that you are there with her to share her burdens gives her comfort and propels her to see her problems through.

I feel like this queen is touch-starved. In private, she clings to you at every waking moment. If she’s busy reading through letters and contracts, she has her hand on your thigh as you read a book beside her. When you’re strolling in the garden, enjoying each other’s company amidst the beauty of the castle flora, she has her arm entwined in yours. When you’re both in bed, she cuddles to you and leeches off your warmth until you both fall asleep.

I feel like Snow studies magic, herbology, alchemy and potion-making in her free time. She has an extensive collection of books about said subjects in her library. When her schedule isn’t too tight, she goes on excursions by herself to research and collect ingredients and new species of plants. She values learning and curiosity and desires to see the same spirit in her partner. If you accompany her in these adventures, you can help her in logging in information, stocking supplies, and holding her stuff for her. When you’re out camping, you get to stargaze and identify constellations in the sky.

Before you make it to Snow, you have to gain the good graces of her family first. Gwyn will be more forthcoming, but good luck dealing with Ross. Even if you already are dating Snow, he will always have his reservations about the relationship. Nevertheless, he doesn’t dislike you as much as he disliked James. It’s just his protectiveness over his sister showing. To earn the complete trust of Ross would require you to perform an act of self-sacrifice. Are you willing to lay your life for Snow? Will you compromise your own interests for her sake? Succeed, and not only will you obtain the loyalty and good graces of the fearsome Ross Red, but Snow would also admire and love you more.

Dating Snow would mean being Gwyn’s foster parent. You get free access to dote and fuss over Gwyn, and on really good days, you and Snow get to do it together. Gwyn will be frozen in embarrassment, but he is grateful for having such caring people in his life.

WIth you, Snow gets to loosen up more. Once, you managed to convince her to create a Snow Wonderland inside the castle. Everyone was absolutely thrilled and joined in the fun. The best thing about it is you convinced her to do this stunt in July, in the middle of summer. It was truly one of the more exciting things that happened inside the kingdom.

Snow needs a partner, an equal who she can trust and rely on. By herself, she survives well enough, but with a partner, she wants to thrive gloriously. The both of you will be a formidable power couple.

#dark parables #blue tea games #snow white #dating headcanons #shadowroxz13 #answered #my writing

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tommyquackson · 5 years

Text

unrighteousness | t. holland | part 7

Not My Gif

summary: a perfect angel isn’t as perfect as she’s lead to believe, and there’s no other angel who knows more about imperfection than the one who fell

warnings: SMUT! mentions of violence, the stark family :)))

note: this has a MINOR endgame spoiler...so be careful i guess? also we have a 2 more parts :(( enjoy tho!!!

As days turned into weeks, you became the official unofficial Queen of Hell. You helped carry out decisions when Tom was busy, you hosted small parties, you’d even been in charge of a few small meetings with Sam and Harry and the captains of the army. Your favorite part however, were the weekly village visits you made. The people loved and adored you as if you’d been there forever, bowing and curtsying as you walk past and greet the townspeople. You loved walking on the black pavement in your heels and dress, buying small trinkets at the market. You mostly helped the people prepare for the war, feeling guilty it was your fault. You built underground shelters where families would be safe, helped grow and harvest extra food to stock pile, and helped charm people’s homes for protection and health.

“Queen Y/n! I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow?” A 12 year old girl named Morgan called at you, her family ran the farm with all the animals the small town relied on.

“I was getting bored sitting in that castle waiting on Tom to finish his work, so I decided to come down for an extra visit.” You scoop her on your back and carry her towards the farm house her and her large family lived in. 4 other children came running out of the front door to greet you.

“Good morning Mr Stark, Mrs Potts. How is everything today?”

“Oh Your Highness, please. Tony and Pepper” Tony speaks smiling at you as you set Morgan down.

“Then please, y/n.” You smile as Pepper hands you a water. “How can I help? Is the animal shelter coming along well?” I ask ruffling Howard’s, their oldest sons hair.

“It’s almost done, should be done by tomorrow afternoon. You don’t need to do anything, you’ve already done more than we can ask for.” Tony speaks sincerely at you.

“I know, I just- Hell is going to be under attack and it’s all because of me. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to anyone down here.” You look at the floor.

“I want to fight in the war! I could kick some angel a-“

“Howard Stark, I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next.” Pepper gives him a look only mother’s can give.

“I was gonna say wings, mama.” He speaks lowering his voice.

“As long as I’m here, you won’t even have to worry about those Angels. No child will fight an adults war. But, I could use your enthusiasm at our Ball next week, will you come, and escort me?” You ask the boy. He agrees quickly begging his parents.

“Are you sure?-“

“Nonsense, Tony. You can bring the whole family and they’ll be out of your hair for the night. Our workers are having a separate area for all the children. The whole town is invited.” You say.

“We’ll be there y/n. Thank you” Pepper says touching your hand.

“Now, I’d better go help Morgan and Nat with the horses and cattle.” You stand and kiss both parents on the cheek before walking out the the fields where the 2 girls are play fighting.

“Now shall we milk the cows or tend to the horses first?” You say scooping Nat up into the air. You all agree cows first and walk to milk them, talking to the girls about any and everything.

“So, have you and King Tom kissed yet?” Nat asks making kissing noises. Your face turns red.

“Yes, we have.” Your face gets very warm.

“Are you in love? Is it true love?” Morgan squeals jumping up and down, you nod to the cow she’s supposed to be milking giving her a “get back to work” look.

“I don’t know, Love isn’t always simple. Me and Tom aren’t like your mother and father, we have some weird circumstances but we do care for each other, i just think it’s better if we focus on the safety of Hell” I say filling the bucket with the sweet drink.

You continue your whole day with the Starks. Doing chores until it’s dark.

“Thank you both for dinner, I better get home before Tom throws himself off the balcony from going insane without me.” You kiss each child’s head and hug the adults.

“Of course, our home is yours as well. Have a great night y/n. Thank you for your help today.” They see you off, watching you walk back towards the castle.

As you walk through the main doors, you’re greeted by Haz.

“Oh thank satan” He sigh heavily at the sight of you.

“I was ready to punch Tom in his face with how much he was telling us he missed you. Please never leave that poor demon again.” He laughs, offering you his arm so he can walk you to Tom presumably. “How was your day though?” Haz asks, looking down at you. Harrison is truly becoming a good friend to you, always there to tease Tom and joke with you.

“Good, I did lots of chores. So, very exciting” You smile a small skip in your step.

“Did you know, you’re the only person, nevertheless a royal, who likes chores?” He laughs at you.

“I never had to do anything in Heaven, I stayed on my knees all day and then went to bed, it’s intriguing.” You laugh and elbow Haz. As you get closer to the throne room, you can hear Toms voice.

“Don’t be an idiot! Needing a competent person is not missing them, just cause y/n can do all of your jobs better. It’s simple stuff!” He groans, you can hear the desperation on his voice. Haz opens the door and gestures for you to enter. When you walk in, you see Tom facing a few demons, lecturing them on how to do who knows what.

“Won’t you cut them some slack Tom, no need to be antsy just because I went into town” I say interrupting his small speech. He whips around at my voice grinning like a mad man. He runs and presses me into a forceful kiss, heavy breathing and hands in hair. He pulls away and rests his forehead on mine.

“I missed you” He whispers.

“I’ve heard, how much work do you have to do?” You ask curling the ends of his hair around your fingers.

“Im dismissed, you lot can figure this out quickly and then head home. Goodnight everyone.” Tom shouts out to everyone in the throne room. He looks back at you and picks you up bridal style, walking you through the halls until you get to his room.

As soon as his bedroom door is shut he pulls you into a kiss.

“Tom, goodness, you haven’t even asked about my day.” You giggle as he moves to kissing your neck, surprising you.

“How was your day, angel?” He asks kissing your cheek and jaw.

“Lovely, thank you. I would ask about yours but I think I have a clue.” You say grabbing his head to make him look at you. He pulls his lips to a pout and gives you puppy dog eyes.

“What’s gotten into you Tom?” You ask quietly.

He lets out a heavy sigh and pulls you to his bed, laying down with you on his chest.

“I missed you darling. Everyday i find my self getting closer to you. I miss you any moment that I cannot see you and i’ve never felt this way.” He speaks kissing your head and rubbing up and down your arms.

“Tom, ha-have you ever been in love?” You ask looking up at him.

“Only you, angel” He grins widely.

“You love me?” You whisper in amazement. Your heart begin beating faster and your wings rustled behind you.

“I do, I don’t know where your heads at, but I love you y/n.” He pulls you up as he sits against his headboard.

“I love you too Tom, more than anything in the world” You speak confidently. He grins and pulls you into a kiss. You grab his shoulders to keep yourself supported. The world seemed to disappear around you, the only thing you could feel was Tom. You felt his large hands on your jaw and bottom of your back, pulling you as close as physically possible. You felt his lips pushing against yours and the small vibrations of him groaning. You could feel his muscles under his shirt as you gripped his shoulders. You could feel his hips pressing against yours, moving with each deep breath you both took. You push your hips closer to him, causing him to buck his hips up.

You pull away and gasp, friction against your core shocking you. You’d never felt it in your life, a sin that was forbidden for you. It was so wrong and unacceptable, the higher angels would tell you it never felt good and your heart would shatter at the forsaking of God. If it was supposed to hurt, why did this feel so good. Why did it excite you? You’d never thought about another person in the way you feel about Tom, lust. A deadly sin, but now you were more than happy to die for this cause.

“Tommy, I wanna do it.” You speak as he kisses up and down your neck, sucking and nibbling at the skin there.

“Do what angel?” His hands moved from your back to your thighs, gripping and rubbing slowly.

“Sex. I want to have sex, with you” You breathe out, your whole body heats up but you can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed. Tom looks at you and smirks, his face only looked like trouble but you wanted it, wanted all of it.

“Yea? Want me to fuck you?”

You gasp at his words, and the shiver that they sent down your spine. Your core felt almost uncomfortable, you needed him to do something, anything to relieve the pressure.

“Answer me angel.” He pinches your thigh making you jump.

“Yes Tom, I want you.” You practically moan out at him. He groans and pulls you back for a deep kiss. He pulls away and quickly takes off his shirt. He helps you out of your working shirt, leaving you in just a bra and your shorts. He kisses lower on your neck and collarbone, whispering how flawless you are. His hands go right back to your hips, but now he slowly moves them against his. You gasp and sigh again, the continued friction finally releasing the pressure you had.

“Wanna take off your shorts” He mumbles. You sit back and pull them off and throw them on the floor with the rest of your clothes. You look back at Tom and see him staring at you. You look down and cross your arms lightly. He lightly smiles and pulls your arms away.

“Can you take yours off?” You whisper at him. He smirks and slowly pulls them down his legs, watching you watch him.

“You’re so gorgeous baby, gonna make you feel so good.” He pulls you down so he’s over you. “Can I touch you angel?” He asks kissing your nose. You nod your head quickly and immediately put your hands in his hair, wrapping your fingers in his fluffy curls. He leans on one arm and allows one of his hands to trail from your face to your chest. His thumb rubs over your bra, making you push your chest up at him.

“My responsive little angel.” He kisses you before fully grabbing your boob, kissing the top. You whimper at the feeling and allow yourself to immerse yourself in the pleasure Tom is giving you. It’s almost magical how good he makes you feel. He moves down a little then kisses right above your belly button and lets his hand sneak down further, over your underwear. Your hips jump and you moan out at his slow circles he’s making.

“You’ve soaked through your panties princess,” He groans out, his head falling on your stomach. His hand slips into your underwear, and runs through your folds. Your heart is practically beating out of your chest, your breathe is struggling to leave your lungs and your body heat is hotter than the air outside.

“Gonna slip a finger in okay?” He moves up and kisses your cheek, and slips one of his finger inside of you, causing you both to groan loudly together. His finger slowly pumps in and out easily. “So fucking wet”, you moan and your stomach flutters and jumps at every movement you feel. Your brain clouds over, unable to form any coherent thoughts.

“more please” you manage to stutter out inbetween moans. Tom slips another finger in, stretching you out a bit more. He watches you as you close your eyes while he picks up the pace. Your head falls back but your hips move in time with his hand. Your lower stomach begins to turn and coil as his hand moves faster and faster, your thighs begin to quake and your moans get louder. Tom curls his fingers and hits a spot on your walls that makes you nearly scream. The only sound your able to make is his name, over and over, sounding just like the prayers you’d heard humans make day after day. Without warning, your stomach snaps and your mind goes blank, you only feel pure euphoria. You feel your juices gush onto Toms fingers. He slows his hand down to a stop.

You tried to ask Tom what that was but aren’t able to form the question.

“Yea angel, you came for me. Your first orgasam. Took it like a champ. Such a good girl.” His voice is raspy and his eyes are bright red. His chest heaves as he moves back up your body. He pulls your bra off and then your underwear, leaving you completely naked. His briefs are incredibly tight, showing you the outline of him. Your eyes widen at the size.

“S’okay angel, gonna make you feel better than you ever have. gonna take real good care of you” His accent is stronger than you’d ever heard it before. He pulls his underwear down and his cock bounces up against his stomach.

“You ready baby?” He asks kissing your nose and cheek. You nod quickly and bite your lip. Tom grabs himself and rubs his tip across your core, spreading all your wetness around. He slowly presses the tip against your opening, stretching wider than his fingers. You spread your thighs as wide as possible to give him more space. Once just the end is in he groans and lays his head down in your neck, one of your hands grabs his bicep while the other grin the back of his neck.

“So fucking tight” He mumbles, making heat rush straight through you. He continues to slowly push into you, moaning right into your ear. Once he’s almost fully in he stops and just sits there. You take deep breathes trying to adjust to the sensation of him sitting in you. You accidentally clench causing him to moan loudly.

“Fuck angel, you do that again and I just might blow” He rasps, finding one of your hands to hold.

“Tommy, please” You whine, lightly moving your hips, fully adjusted to the feeling.

“Please what?” He presses his forehead to yours.

“Fuck me” You whisper against his lips. His hips snap at your words, making your moan out.

“You’re gonna kill me sweetheart” He begins moving his hips slowly, your heart falls and rises with each thrust he delivers to you.

“Gonna make love to you first, show you this pussy is mine” He speaks between each thrust.

“Oh god” You groan as he begins thrusting faster.

“No god down here, angel. Just a devil” He gives you his signature smirk and pounds into you, one hand gripping your hip. Your legs wrap tight around his waist.

“Fucking love you, everything about you. So pretty, so kind, so strong.” He mutters compliments in your ear as you get closer again.

“Tommy, please getting close” You screw your eyes shut and he rubs your jaw.

“Yea? Gonna come on my cock angel? Lemme see you baby, wanna watch you fall apart.” Your moans get louder and louder as his thrusts get harder and harder.

“I’m so close Tom!” You nearly shout. He angles his hips and hits the same spot as before, turning your moans to screams.

“Open your eyes, look at me baby” He grips your jaw a little tighter. You open your eyes and as soon as you meet his eyes, you fall apart, body trembling and screaming his name repeatedly. If you thought your first orgasam was near magical, this one was ground-shattering. He groans and yells your name as he finishes, warmth filling you up. You both hold each other tight as you come down. You whimpering and legs shaking, Tom breathing heavily.

Tom slips out of you and flops to beside you and pulls you close. You both allow your heartbeats to regulate and beat together.

“You’re officially unholy, angel” He smirks kissing your temple.

“What an oxymoron.” You giggle.

“I love you” He speaks rubbing your arm.

“I love you too” You happily sigh.

“Come on, lets go take a bath” He smiles, picking you up to carry you to the bathroom.

You bathe together and slip back into bed. You fall asleep almost as soon as your head hits a pillow. Tom watches as you sleep, breathe slow and deep. Your face squished against his pillows yet so relaxed. Your nightgown is slipping off your shoulder and he can’t help but smile. You were his little angel, he had no idea he could ever love someone so much. He wanted to marry you, start a family and rule his kingdom with you right by his side. He hates God for putting you through all of that bullshit. You were nothing but kind and loving, your demon side just making you brave and daring. You were far from evil, yet they ripped your wing off just like they did to him. He’s nervous but ready for the war. He has no idea when the angels will come kicking on Hells gates but he’s ready to tear them limb for limb and watch them burn. He’d been having his demons and witches working double hard to hide Hell from them, but he know as soon as he dropped the charms and magic, they’d come flooding in. He watches your wings flutter as you dreamed. He stared at them in awe. He loves your wings, how the flapped a bit when you were excited, how they shuttered when you were coming under him. He just loved you, everything about you. Mostly he loved how much you loved him back. He was sure you were the love his life, his soulmate. He’d kill anyone who dared to hurt you, or even looked at you funny. He found himself falling asleep, pulling you closer into him.

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