#chance to finally grow and leave behind his terrible methods

[eldragon-x]

thinking about that wretched triangle again

[rainbowchewynuggets]

TMA Encore #15

Everything feels smaller and emptier now. Further away than ever.

Jon spends a long time looking for Martin, calling his name. He hasn’t heard anything back. He feels like he’s being wrung out like a rag as the Entities revoke their favor in him. His head hurts terribly.

There’s a grinding sound rising behind him. As he zig zags around in search and the sound steadily grows, he starts getting scared that he’ll never find Martin. That something happened to him.

Jon finally feels his hand brush something warm. Martin’s hand. He turns around and clasps it as it clasps at his. They can hear each other. See each other. They’re relieved to see the other alright.

They decide to go look for the others. On the way, Jon retells his revelation to Martin, who listens intently.

They get interrupted by the grinding sound catching up, and the terrain pounces on them to drive them further away from Not-Jon. As they run, they encounter many branching paths. Rather than agonizing over which are right and which could lead them to worse traps, Martin suggests that they not overthink it and just pick the ones that appear to be the best choice based on the information they have in hand. Jon’s stomach turns, but he agrees. He refuses to grant the enigma his doubt and indecision. He squeezes Martin’s hand and lets him pick the lane.

Their method proves true. They quickly escape the upheaving terrain and–amazingly–find Tim and Sasha.

~

The two are aghast to see Jon and Martin in one piece each. The boys don’t have much of a plan for the moment, but they want the two of them to come along before the landscape catches up. Tim and Sasha hesitate.

Martin: What’s the matter?

Tim and Sasha have the grace not to let Jon know that they heard his tape, but they ask if he detonated the TNT after he split off in the tunnels.

Only then does Jon’s stifled memory resurface. He saw the blast from halfway down the tower shaft. The explosion had reached him before the emerging hellscape did. He remembers the scorching and crushing pressure. They all remember.

None of them could have survived. They’ve been fabrications within the Entities’ sphere of influence the entire time. It could explain why Jon and Martin’s avatar status progressed so quickly and why it has gone back out with the tide. Their minds have been kneaded so that they couldn’t realize it on their own, even as they clambered over the wreckage that killed them.

It’s a deflating revelation. If any of them manage to escape, there’s no telling how much of what they do will directly serve the Fears. Even without Jonah, the Institute, or the Mother of Puppets in play, their fates are still not their own. At the same time, how can they throw away the hard-won revelation that they do–no matter how small–have agency here? At least enough to walk away, to refuse to act. It could make all the difference, and it’s certainly more than Not-Jon has shown himself to have.

They talk it out.

There are two options. They could stay here as the creature digs his way out in hopes of not spreading the Extinction themselves. There’s a chance he’ll die here, leaving the rest of them to handle the hunger until they too pass away. If Not-Jon escapes or Not-Martin succeeds him, they’d be difficult to stop. Or, the group could try to monitor their manipulation and escape, themselves. If they’re fast, they might be able to trap the doubles before they get out–assuming that they won’t invent a reason not to.

The safest thing to do from there would be to avoid involvement with any other rituals or disturbing activity, no matter the circumstance. It would be too much of a risk to participate, even with good intentions. As much as they’d all love to put this behind them, the probability of actually doing it with how much they know seems… unlikely. There’s a good chance they’ll inherit the full brunt of the hunger.

On the other hand, how can they justify not acting on their knowledge of the Entities in some way? They could, as Not-Jon had said, save lives.

It could all be part of the Fears’ plan to have them escape, Tim argues. But then, what about the plan to have Jon take over? It’s possible for them to have two plans, Sasha simply replies. 

Jon explains that the Fears have no plan. He saw it himself–they’re creatures with as abstract a concept of their prey as their prey has of them. Avatars make plans on behalf of the Fears’ desires. Even if their motivations are somewhat influenced, they aren’t being “puppeted”. Martin agrees. If the Fears had that kind of control, they would have won already. As long as the four of them try to stay actively aware of their impulses and shortcomings, they might be alright.

Sasha asserts that it won’t be that simple. They just destroyed a massive site of power and became part of an irritant to residing avatars. Trouble’s going to seek them out.

Sasha: For all we know, they’re already on top of us out there.

Martin: Or it’s been no time at all. There’s no way to know how much time has passed in the real world.

Tim: I guess we could just bolt and hope they never find us. The avatars wouldn’t necessarily know what we are just because they get headrush when we happen to pass by.

The other three perk up in surprise at Tim’s comment.

Tim: That doesn’t mean I agree. I still don’t think we'd be able to keep it together out there.

They continue to debate the same points for some time with no consensus. There will be massive risks no matter what they do. The near certainty of failure burns in the back of Jon’s mind. The possibilities nag and bite.

His attention drifts, tracing a path back the way they came.

He knows he could still corner the creature if he tried.

Martin: Jon. Jon.

Jon stops staring off.

Jon: Right, sorry. What were you saying?

Sasha: We can’t agree on going. But we’re willing to… try it. We try to find a way out without letting the place get to us.

Martin: Which might work better this time if we know what we’re doing.

Tim: And if we can’t do it, we stay.

Jon rubs his neck.

Martin: You don’t think we should do it.

Jon: No. But that probably means we should go for it.

Utilizing a mix of Sasha and Tim’s methods and Jon and Martin’s methods of counteracting the hellscape, they begin trying to find their way out. If they’re lucky, they might find the hole in the wall from before–or some other loose trapping that could be pried apart as the hellscape twists itself tighter and tighter around them. The wet parts are starting to dry, making them brittle.

They can’t find a stable path, of course. The journey quickly becomes intimidating, and the environment punishes that to the fullest extent of its ability. It’s grueling and frustrating and never seems to get them any closer to their goal. Jon constantly has to fight the impulse to abandon the others, especially as the Fears descend upon him to remind him of what they want. But he stays. He fights not to pry, but the same thing is happening to the other three inside their heads. And they stay. They face their obstacles and the danger they pose head-on, with the unfounded certainty that they can handle it. It becomes a kind of shared psychosis. Their blind faith allows them to put more trust in each other, which bolsters their fluidity as a team. That trust only deepens with time. Their mission demands it, as their exit eludes them for days, weeks, an eternity. They never escape, but they survive.

~

Not-Martin watches from afar with the burgeoning sight of the Eye. Long invasive fingers pull at his consciousness, seeking refuge from the rapidly decaying vessel they chose, used, and have wasted. Not-Martin knows that it’s happening at some level, but he can’t really feel it.

He had tried hard to stay in his cell. But there he was, outside of it, once again steeling his nerves to kill his partner a second time and looking for something sharp. That is, until the group caught his attention.

Hearing their discussion felt like white noise at first. It took a while for the meaning to sink in. He watched as they shakily put their theory into action. Without the paralyzing logic of the enigma in play, they seem more... themselves. Not that he really remembers what that means.

Not-Martin fully expects them to fail. To give in, to be crushed or show signs of insidious sway.

The group continues to evade the hideous alien presence that now saturates the very fiber of their being. Of his being. He keeps watching, a motionless phantom waiting for its grim reality to reach the foolish occupants of the haunted wreckage.

It always happens. Why would this time be any different?

As time passes, the definitive proof of this radical solution that he knows won’t arrive doesn’t arrive. The group falters. They fall apart.

Not-Martin lets out a deep sigh. He hadn’t noticed himself tense up.

He catches himself hesitating  to move on as the victims of the enigma languish in tatters.

Knock it off, he thinks. He shouldn’t be drinking this in. He has work to do.

But before he can tear himself away, the members of the team change their scattered course. Slowly, difficultly, they come back together and start again. Their observer counts their inches of progress as they face their first obstacle. They fail to be defeated, moving on to the next. Their quest is the same as before, with its tiny little victories. Only now, Not-Martin isn’t watching for failure.

A nagging feeling prompts him to wonder why.

His punishing journey has taught him that the only way to progress against the Fears is not to care what happens next. These four people fighting tooth and nail to see an uncertain future reawakens a piece of him he’d been trying to kill for ages–something he had set out with into the unknown, but had had to leave behind in order to continue.

That piece remembers how repulsive the Lonely feels. It’s the part of him that felt something at seeing the passions of others reflected in himself, despite his isolation. The desire to realize his own passions despite the dread that always held him back.

Life. His life.

He’s been dead for so long, the remains of a failure long ago. But now, he feels acutely aware that he’s still here. Still acting. Just as they are.

How much of that time has he spent trying to destroy himself? Watching his partner destroy himself? For what? They still became part of the trap. Betrayed the promise they had made to defy evil that had threatened to swallow them. The future he had hoped for that had carried him out of the Lonely’s shore and through the apocalypse.

One way or another. Together.

But it isn’t over yet. They’re still here. They still have that promise to keep. They could still have that future, however brief. They could be themselves again.

And the thought of that, looking at where he is, nearly scares him to death.

Not-Martin feels something burn inside a frozen hollow place that grew over the years of detachment. It’s barely there, but a drop of warmth feels like a fire when you’ve become accustomed to the deepest cold.

It’s so hot, he falls to his knees with tears in his eyes.

He clutches his chest, desperately trying to hold on to the precious feeling as instinct tries to force it back.

He feels paper-thin, like he could expire in the breeze.

Nevertheless, he gets to his feet and sets off toward the root of the island, high above him.

The creature slithering and scraping in the darkness below him answers without pausing.

NJ: Go back, Martin. It’s almost over.

Not-Martin–or just Martin, here–can’t find it in him to argue, looking at the circumstances. He’s too winded from the climb anyway. He settles back against an outcropping of busted wood.

Jon notices the lack of response, but only turns his head for a moment as he tears at the last of the rubble with unraveling hands.

The shade on the ridge sits silently. There are arguments he knows he needs to make and vanishingly little time to make them, but he suddenly can’t find the will. It’s all he can do to hold on to his warmth as it drains the cold determination that was preserving his inertia.

Below, the shrapnel flays away more of what’s left of his partner with each stroke. It kills him to watch. He looks away, but it kills him all the same.

To his surprise, Jon slows to a stop and speaks first.

NJ: Have you seen what the others are up to?

Martin picks himself up a bit to answer.

NM: Yeah. I was surprised, but it seems to be working so far.

NJ: They’re persistent, I’ll give them that.

He sighs tiredly.

NJ: Still can’t risk letting them out, though.

NM: They kind of make me miss the old days. Never thought I’d say that.

Jon makes a haggard noise that he thinks might have been a chuckle. A long silence follows.

NJ: I miss the way we used to be, too. I’d nearly forgotten.

His voice is quiet and fragile with regret. Martin can barely hear it.

NM: It’s working, Jon…

NJ: For how long?

Nothing.

Martin’s guard drops, and his partner can feel what’s going on inside him.

Jon turns himself around in the pit with concern. His many green eyes wink up from the darkness.

NJ: Martin, what did you do?

His voice is alarmed, and it wakes Martin up.

NM: I’m letting it go. The whole plan. I don’t… I don’t want this anymore. I want us to make it through this. It doesn’t have to be the end yet.

NJ: It’s too late for that. You’re going to get killed if you turn back now.

NM: No. I’ll be fine. They’re right, Jon. Neither of us are going to pull off what we’re trying to do. The Fears only have more of us the more we think we’re pulling away.

NJ: It’ll be even worse if we give up. We can’t just unleash this thing.

NM: We don’t have to give up, either. I was wrong. This is how the Entities win, Jon. It’s how they always win. It’s our fear. We play their games and fall right into their hands because we’re scared of what’s going to happen. So this time, why don’t we just go on and find out? Maybe we can try to get back a little of what we’ve lost while we’re at it.

The man within the creature can feel the meaning of the words. Emptiness reawakens with longing for all the things that both of them were so committed to think weren’t possible for them.

NJ: How can you believe that?

NM: I don’t. But we don’t have to. We’ll just do it anyway.

NJ: Martin, stop.

He feels weaker by the second.

NM: We promised. This is our last chance.

His partner extends a hand toward the pit.

NM: I can’t come down and get you this time. You have to come up.

Jon hesitates.

They’re right there. Just behind the door.

They knock again.

The rapping of Their fingers shakes the tenuous shape of the wreckage loose. Martin falls, followed by a crunch.

NM: I’m–I’m stuck.

Jon knows. Pain. Blood. The cuts are deep. His partner is going to die.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The creature is paralyzed, the consequences of loss and failure shrieking at each other at the forefront of his mind.

It’s happening again. He has to choose. If he shares the burden with Martin, it would relieve the vulnerability. Martin will live, sustained only by the maddening burden of Jon’s mistakes–and so will the Fears. If he leaves, Martin will die. No matter which he chooses, he’s still being drawn forward by fear.

Jon has never been more sick of it.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The sound of screeching, straining metal echoes up from the pit.

Martin: Jon?

Jon’s knifelike fingers claw at the rubble, showering him with brick and glass. The components that lead into his back–buried deep in the remains of the Institute, connected to beings beyond reason–drag behind him like an anvil. Partway up the climb, still far from his partner, he runs out of leash. He pulls with the final ounce of strength that never seems to leave him to hoist the entire mess upward, but he only ends up breaking some of what’s holding him together. It falls and clatters in the darkness.

This will destroy him. He knows it.

Martin: Jon, can you hear me?

Jon: I hear you. I’m coming. Just keep talking to me.

The certainty of defeat has sobered his panic.

Martin: You remember the cabin?

Jon: Before or after I read the mail?

Martin: ^smiles^ Before.

The wreck comes loose, and Jon slides down.

Jon: I remember getting stranded on the road the night we got there. We had to walk to the nearest town. It was terrible.

He starts up again and loses more parts.

Martin: Yeah. It wasn’t so bad, though, looking back.

Jon: Well, not compared to the walking we did after the cabin.

Martin: That doesn’t seem as bad either, now. There… there’s a lot I don’t regret about the times we’ve had to go back. Or the time we spent driving each other up the wall at the Institute. I think I could do it all again if you were there with me.

Jon: ...I would too.

Martin doesn’t seem to hear him.

Despite it all, Jon aches to walk straight into the eye of the abyss with Martin’s hand in his again. Even though they’ll fall apart. He wants it more than anything.

He just has to make it a little further.

Something yanks him downward. He clings as tightly as he can and cranes his head back to see the speck where Martin is. With that movement, he snaps a crucial thread holding him together. Layers of his horrible body separate with each movement. He burns, the foul soil in his chest smoldering to dust. He doesn’t care.

He keeps moving. Just a little further.

His hands fall away on contact, leaving weak spindly limbs of armature to climb with. His body is a tangle of loose snares that rapidly shakes apart. Cords and ventricles tangle and burst. The tether that leads back down into the dark remains intact as the creature is left with less and less of himself for ignoring his keepers. The pain reaches new unbearable heights. Pieces continue to fall as he slowly climbs.

Martin hears the clatter come closer, even as it grows thinner. Gasps and shudders echo up the walls of the heap. He stretches his best arm downward as Jon reaches up.

————

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(Two parts left!)

Index

[infinitewarden]

Osiris isn’t Savathun.

Great! Now that I have your attention:

Man you guys tire me out about Osiris. If you truly believe this is Osiris I don’t mean to sound like That Guy that’s like “you don’t know what you’re talking about” but... You don’t know what you’re talking about.

So.

Let’s talk about how much Osiris cares about the City and humanity and why the Osiris in Epilogue is not actually Osiris.

Alright. Let’s start off with context. I think it’s super important to see what we do know as Osiris’s views. From my heavy analyses of him since 2020 I can confidently say these are what he views as the most important things a person can do:

Keep promises

Speak their truths

Protect the City & Humanity

Know that the Vex are true Evil.

Now, I won’t be doing a breakdown of each one individually but I will be talking a great deal of how important honesty is to Osiris, the City, and his views of the Vex.

Speaking honestly and bluntly.

I don’t know how many of you were into Destiny before Beyond Light, so if you were unaware of this it’s not your fault. However I’ve seen a very strange change in tone when it comes to how people view Osiris. Before Season of Hunt people hated - and I mean hated - Osiris. Why? Because he was blunt. They viewed his bluntness as rudeness.

To see a sudden switch to him being secretive and scheming is... alarming, to say the least. (And to see people think that this is the norm is also alarming but in other ways.)

The Osiris before Hunt was not secretive and scheming. He sought knowledge openly. He sought, specifically, the truth. I must stress just how open he was about his plans. First I’ll give you a few in lore examples:

I admit, I found your questions divisive and disloyal, and I feared you might be capable of breaking our unity when the City's position had grown so tenuous. Why divert attention away from the Traveler, our only hope? And then it got worse, dabbling in thanatonautics, Ahamkara-lore, chasing after Xur and the tricks of the Nine. Launching expeditions into the Reef and beyond at a time when ships were irreplaceable. Your quest split Guardians along ideological lines. This was your greatest crime: Hunters chose to pursue your visions instead of protecting refugees, Titans assembled teams to chase the legendary Vault of Glass instead of striking the Fallen, and Warlocks turned away from the study of the Traveler in favor of  your  ultimate obsession... learning the exact nature of the Darkness. ... Perhaps what drives a Warlock to madness is truth.

Osiris.

"Do not romanticize this burden. We wield a weapon." The Speaker shakes his head. "The Light wields you, Osiris. You are what you make of it. A glorious extension of its majesty, in many directions." Osiris paces at cadence with his words. "Then it would do well to speak clearly. To better direct me." The Speaker cocks his head. "Without will? Then it would be no better than the Darkness." "I am asking only for guidance; it is a delicate game we are playing." Osiris's voice, distressed. Regal again, the Speaker motions to the stone garden. "Will you sit with me?"

13: Margins Part II.

And, while I don’t particularly like using the Fall of Osiris comic as a source, it does have very important lines on his viewpoints that I find relevant yet.

Fall of Osiris #1.

Hell he was open about his plans to fuck with time itself to bring Saint back.

Sagira narrowed her eye at the rogue Lightbearer and lowered herself to Osiris’s shoulder. “Why’s he here?” she asked quietly. “I asked him to consult on the engineering work,” Osiris replied, crossing his arms. “You sicko,” the other man declared, walking a circle around the Warlock, his eyes darting along every surface of the Sundial around them. ... “Just one more question, then. Why all the fuss?” “I owe him.” “I owe a lotta people, Warlock. You’re opening the gates of hell with a Vex key.” “When the Traveler brought me back, I had no friends. No family—” “No one had anything in the Dark Age.” “But Saint was always there. And I saw him grow from neophyte to demigod.”

The Sundial.

"You haven't left the Forest in years," Ikora said to Osiris, the only one to address him directly. "I need help," Osiris replied. "I know," Ikora responded, hands clasped behind her back. She stared intently at her former mentor. Back in her Crucible days, that uncompromising gaze was often the last thing her opponents saw. Aunor glanced sidelong at her superior. Harper coughed and looked down at his datapad. "Two years ago, Guardians entered the Infinite Forest," Osiris continued. "They aided me in defeating the Axis Mind Panoptes, preventing a Vex apocalypse from befalling this system. "In the process," he looked between each of them in turn, "Some Guardians reported a body they found in the Forest depths." Ikora sighed. "Saint-14 never came back from that last mission to Mercury. We finally knew why. I reacted to it the only way I knew how."

Desperate Times.

“I do not understand all of this code. This is Geppetto’s specialty,” Saint-14 says while standing bent over a wide desk covered in data tablets. Holographic images of the Lighthouse shimmer in the Hangar lights. “We could use the Crucible right now. Your trials. This will be very helpful. You mean to stay, yes?” “I will. Long enough to show you how to implement the simulation; but tonight, I must disembark,” Osiris says. “So soon?” Osiris tenses his jaw in forced silence. He twiddles with code. “I’m worried about what Vance found.” Saint places a heavy hand on Osiris’s chest. “Let go of your obsession. Do not leave chasing phantoms again.” “Phantoms… You think the Darkness is satisfied? This is just the first move. I need to know the next before it’s made.” “If there is something you fear, let me help you. We face this together.” Osiris’s mind drifts to the Dark anomalies. Saint doesn’t need another burden. “The safest place for you is the Tower, Saint. Time... tends to renege on its gifts.” “So, your mission is dangerous?” Osiris considers lying. “Potentially.”

Immolant I.

There are many more sources I could list on his bluntness and honesty but there’s honestly too much. What is important to extrapolate from all of it is this:

OSIRIS SPOKE THE TRUTH NO MATTER IF IT GOT HIM IN TROUBLE. IT IS ONE OF THE MAIN REASONS HE GOT EXILED.

Protecting the City & Humanity

Idk where people get the idea that he’s abandoned the City and humanity. And I don’t understand where people think it’s “typical Osiris behavior” to choose to put the City in danger.

I want to make something very clear here:

Osiris was exiled. He did not abandon the City. And though others view him as abandoning it, that wasn’t his intention. He never intentionally abandoned it. Everything he did was in pursuit of a brighter future for humanity. Let’s look at one of his lines from the Sundial activity during Dawn.

“By the time I left the City, many believed my practices to be sacrilege. But my methods have prevented countless futures not unlike the one you walk now. When it is laid out before you, would you not sacrifice anything to see this future shut?”

The Sundial.

He left because he weighed his options and he saw that humanity would have better use of him if he left. He cares A great deal about the City. He cares almost too much about it. He would never give Lakshmi the technology to cause it harm, especially knowing that she’s unstable. And I’ve seen some people think he’s playing 5D chess? In what world would he ever choose to bring harm upon humanity for some sort of... agenda; which I’ve already cleared up earlier, he’s open about his plans.

Let’s look at more known lore about Osiris’s feelings of the City & humanity.

"You've wrapped your mind around an idea of your own making. I have always tolerated this fawning 'movement' of yours, but this is a step too far." Osiris seethed. Brother Vance was awestruck. He stared blankly at Osiris, unsure of what he could say to quell his anger and dissolve his frustration. "What I have discovered…" "…is dangerous enough to destroy every man, woman, and child in existence. You're meddling with forces outside your grasp," Osiris reprimanded. "I warn you here and now, remove yourself from this Lighthouse. Find a simple life. Start a family. Write music. Leave Mercury and this fool's errand behind."

Chapter 8: Idolatry.

Osiris was furious to find out Vance was experimenting in his name by endangering people for his goals. And he was especially mad that he would dive into such dangerous areas so much so that it had the potential to destroy humanity.

"It's truth." Osiris considers this. "Truth seems subjective these days," Osiris says, finally observing his entourage for the first time. Among them, a small group of men and women, stand two wayward Guardians—Warlocks, it appears—and a child. Their forlorn faces resonate with him. Castaways and believers. The weeks since his departure from the Last City have worn on him. He was used to working alone, knowing he could fall back to the City's resources should he need them. Now, adrift in the expanse of purpose, he finds himself longing for a place he could return to. A sanctuary.

Chapter 2: Postexilic.

Here’s a few lines from Season of Dawn:

“The Traveler, mutilated. Mercury, a desolate warzone. This is the bleak future the Cabal wants for us all. We do not know what has become of humanity here. I hope we will not find out.”

.

“There are many terrible futures, but I have not grown numb to seeing them. The future the Cabal wish for is a nightmare for humanity.”

.

“If the Traveler fled the system, there is a chance that the Darkness would ignore our region of the galaxy entirely. It would sacrifice our second awakening, our ability to wield the Light, but potentially continue our Golden Age. There are too many variables at risk, but it's a variant path worth investigating in the Infinite Forest.”

.

“This battered Mercury is a blueprint for our system. Lightless, bowed, and nothing more than fuel for an endless war. It must never come to pass.”

The Sundial.

There are many. Many. More lines I could put here about how much Osiris doesn’t want to see humanity suffering. And especially how he doesn’t want the City to be at risk. But I think you get the picture.

Know that the Vex are true Evil.

So. We all know Osiris as “the Vex guy.” His whole thing is on fighting the Vex. However it seems people think that he’d be okay with using them for grounds of a higher purpose? Or something? I don’t know, everyone I see rebuffing Osiris’s actions with Lakshmi don’t seem to be interested in explaining this one.

So anyways. Let’s talk about how Osiris views the Vex as true evil compared to other species.

“The Fallen are not so different from us. How hard would you fight if the Light were taken from you?” “Those stories ring false to me,” said Saint. “They are not a noble people. I’ve fought them, and so have you.” “I have not fought them all,” the Warlock replied, pulling his hands apart to create an intricate web of hovering cubes and points of light. “They are nothing, no threat—not like the Vex. Not like the Darkness.”

Vanguard Commander.

[u.2:06] Have you spoken to the House of Light, like I asked? [u.1:07] I would rather not speak with Fallen. [u.2:07] They may need our help. Their cause is just. [u.1:08] What happened to “trust no one?” [u.2:08] What happened to your sense of right and wrong, hero?

Maintenance Operations Log 30037.

The unenlightened wonder at my so-called "fixation" upon the Vex. They believe our gravest existential threat is the Hive, for those beings have made a pact with the Darkness itself via the medium of the Worm Gods (according to Toland, at least, and I see no reason to doubt him in this). But Darkness is not merely absence of Light. Darkness is an entity unto itself. Put simply, Darkness is not Nothing. But the Vex? The Vex seek neither Light nor Darkness. They seek Convergence, the reduction of all life to its simplest, most meaningless form. An entelechy of zeros and ones. "Evil" is a word for sentimentalists and fools. But, in the ontology of the sentimental, the Vex are more deserving of the term than the Hive. Given a choice between Darkness and Convergence, I would choose Darkness. It is a logical choice. Yet for this they banish me.

Kairos Function (Hunter).

This one is important because Osiris doesn’t subscribe to the idea of “good” and “evil”, and that he would go so far to say that the Vex are Evil shows just how much of a threat he views them as.

It’s just. Mind boggling to me that people think that Osiris would be okay with a Vex invasion. That Osiris would encourage Lakshmi to open up a rift to “send the Fallen away” (Despite being one of the earliest sympathizers!) Osiris isn’t ineffable, he’s just a man trying to do his best to help humanity. His actions aren’t difficult to understand, they have been written to be very clear and with understanding his motives.

Saying that it’s natural for him to be secretive and have contradicting opinions and actions is just. Wrong. It’s not him. It’s not how he’s supposed to be understood. Even in Curse of Osiris I don’t think his actions didn’t make any sense.

This is going to sound very mean but I want to be 100% clear: If you think that Osiris would actively choose to put the City in danger of the Vex, if you think that he would actively choose to stand calmly and watch as his lover was about to die to the very things he spent millions of lives to save... You don’t understand Osiris. Go back and reread his lore.

I leave you with this:

The Vanguard is dubious of our intent and ability, fearing corruption and displacement. They do not trust me. You were held in similar contempt for speaking your truth and empowering free thought. You know what it feels like to be chastised and labeled a traitor. We are mere steps away from a disintegration of our institutions, and they cannot see destruction staring them in the face. ... For so long, we have clung to the Light, denying the strength offered by the Dark. By using Stasis, we will end this war. We see this contest for what it truly is: a game, played by our adversaries. And we have been the pawns. We are pawns no more. This is not a battle I want to wage without you, although we may not have a choice in the matter. Wherever you may be, please come back to us.

To Osiris.

[belit0]

Commission for @GlitterBomba!

Part 2 of this!! I don't feel it's as angsty as it should be, but for some reason, my creativity wanted it that way? It's been a long time since I've last written, and this was definitely a challenge... First part was produced way too long ago, so it was also challenging to connect with what I felt when I wrote it! But here it is, and I hope you like it, GlitterBomba. Thanks for trusting me!

My Ko-fi page~ Buy me a coffee if anyone wants part 3 ❤（っ＾▿＾）

It took you days to awaken from your deep sleep, days which became weeks, and weeks transformed into months. There was no hope for your life among the healers, but the tenacity and insistence of those elders who saved you forced them to continue providing methods and energy, herbs, talismans to keep you breathing.

Impossible to explain how that mortal blow did not steal your last breath, not when the perpetrator was the greatest tyrant in the current world, the monster everyone learned to fear and flee from. In the small place where you are kept hidden, rumor has it the treacherous one repented as soon as his hand affected your body, causing you not to succumb immediately.

It wasn’t until after he vanished, shrouded in lightning and hatred, when one of Ashura’s subordinates came upon the scene of your sad fate. A pool of blood acting as a bed over a pale body, devoid of any warmth and life. Everyone was quick to write you off for dead after such an event, and only when one of the village elders took your pulse did he find your incredible attempt to resist despite all odds.

Keeping you along with the new leader and his people would not be a good idea. Not when you barely escaped with your life from the beast. In case he came back and besieged his younger brother, it would be better if he didn’t find you there. That man proved to have an unquenchable thirst for revenge.

Tempting fate once is more than enough.

That led a group of elderly men, those who defended your slight pulse when everyone thought you were dead, to ask Ashura’s permission before disappearing and taking you to a safe place, making use of some of the village healers to ensure your health. 8 men of different ages vanish with you, swearing on their lives to do everything possible for you to open your eyes again.

Winters turned into warm seasons, and autumn leaves were waning. Two whole years quickly go by before your consciousness returns. The world is different. You understand through your guardians that life passed with you as a ghostly presence, a bedridden legend they fought all this time to preserve.

No one mentions what happened to you, though. No one names him.

To everyone’s surprise, you don’t really ask about the village; you don’t ask about your birthplace and your home. You don’t ask... about him.

Your healers discover you memory was damaged after exhaustive examinations beyond your comprehension. Theories why this happened are various in your little home; some argue the loss of blood hurt your brain, others believe the trauma of that betrayal forced you to block it all out, and there are those who think maybe you ignored the past on purpose.

Still, there is an unspoken rule forbidding the mention of what happened, of the village, of those two brothers. After experiencing hell, what would be the benefit of forcibly bringing you back to that horrible past? In this remote place, you have the chance to start from scratch, and your rescuers believe it is the least you deserve.

Little by little, you gradually learn everything all over again. Your own name, your age, information about those around you. You ask with animosity about everything you don’t understand, and the only thing there is reluctance to answer is when you want to know about who you were before... this.

Healers get the problem off their shoulders, rushing you to ask such questions to the older people. They shoo you out of their humble hut with nervousness and red faces, panic in their eyes.

Seniors sigh as they stare into nothingness, sadness and nostalgia, painting their countenances with something you cannot grasp. Some even drop a couple of tears to the rhythm of a depressing whisper, “oh poor child...”

The scene makes you feel so guilty you end up consoling them, assuring it’ s not a big deal and you don’t need to be told. That your life in this small place with them is all you need to be happy, past or no past.

Regardless, it is the scar monstrously painting your stomach which makes you uneasy. While tracing the edges of that sensitive skin with your fingertips, you feel its reason for existence is on the tip of your tongue. As if reminders of what happened to you are lingering there, buried in your head, but creeping closer to your memory every time you look at your navel.

What happened? What terrible thing could have left such an enormous mark on your skin, but not in your head?

It’s frustrating.

Eventually, curiosity to explore beyond your own narrow world peaks. It’s quite natural, considering four older men and four medicine buffs rarely make for an interesting group of company. Older men drink tea most of the day, when they’re not napping in the sun, of course. The rest read rigorously and debate among themselves about their newly gained knowledge.

Getting permission is a complicated task. They are terribly afraid of your departure, scared of your fate, frightened of what dangers you might encounter.

But how to keep you there forever, when you have seen the vivid movement the closest town has?

Perhaps it was your rescuers’ mistake for allowing you to go exploring within the boundaries they considered safe, yet you inevitably discovered such a place, so close and yet so far away, so full of people and... life. Persons of all ages walking from one side to the other, food you never saw before displayed in various stalls, children playing with each other, unaware of the surrounding universe. Everything looks completely natural, as if folks are used to this kind of lifestyle since long ago, and you wonder if you ever lived in a similar environment.

Just what hides in your past?

After insistence and great pleas against the overprotection imparted on you, they understand it is simply hopeless to make you give up your idea unless they expose all those shocking events, unless they explain from what kind of danger it is necessary for you to hide, from whom it is imperative you escape.

No one knew anymore about that demon after his disappearance the same day, and it is uncertain where he is. Whether he is hiding or far from your current home, it is unknown to anyone, and it would invoke bad luck if your guardians expected you to meet him face to face once you get away from them.

Preparation of weeks and many directions, you finally depart from your unnoticed hideout in the world, leaving behind anxious seniors and worried healers.

It was agreed you could explore for a couple of months, but your eventual return is a binding closure on the deal you reluctantly struck. Each new destination brings with it new discoveries, tastes, experiences. You always find charitable souls willing to help when you are short of food, water or shelter, people who offer to give directions when you get disoriented, people who share stories with you on lonely, nostalgic nights.

With each step you take in the outside world, less you understand what your guardians are afraid of. Everyone is well meaning, and no one seeks to take advantage of your innocence. It is incomprehensible why this was denied to you for so long, and every time you think of your precious little home, an emptiness grows in your heart.

Weeks slowly pass, and having experienced so much in such a short time, you find the need to recount it to those you consider your family. As initially agreed, it may be time to return, to prove the world is not as terrible as they feared.

A few miles from homeland, just as you feel you are walking the grounds of your family again, you stop at a stream to get a drink of water, determined not to slow down until you reach your destination. It is too much of a thrill to witness those 8 insane people bickering and arguing. You absentmindedly smile as you rinse your face.

In your distraction, you cannot hear footsteps approaching at your back. It’s not like you would have detected them if you were paying attention either, for the person stalking you is deliberately careful, calculating.

Turning, your face affects directly into a solid mass of muscle, sending you tumbling down the riverbank again. Any woman would have assumed the worst when connecting glances with a man who invades her personal space unannounced, but from your mouth comes a concerned “Are you okay?”

The man, who is watching you as if a ghost were sitting next to you in the water and you were unaware of it, bleeds. Profusely, indeed. Both of his hands are deeply cut, distinct wounds on his palms dripping thickly to the ground.

There is no answer to your question, and the man’s countenance is difficult to decipher. His eyes glow a red which fades too quickly to analyze, his complexion is completely pale and unhealthy, his hair points in all directions, forming a long brown tangle which you deduce has not been combed for some time. For moments, it is as if there are words trying to pierce his lips, but the stupor of the individual continues.

“Your hands... we really should take care of them, shouldn’t we? Aiya, let this humble one help you heal.”

There is no reaction as you stand up and take him by the arm, guiding him to a large rock away from the water and helping him to sit up. His gaze is still completely fixed on your face, searching for something you’ re oblivious to. His mouth opens and closes rapidly, agitated breaths accompanied by sounds resembling syllables.

“Look at this mess alone... sir, you should be cautious walking along the bed of these waters. They are treacherous, hm?”

Ripping off one of your sleeves, previously dampened when you fell into the water, you use the cloth to clean his wounds. There’s not much you can do here, out in the open and in these conditions, but judging by the man’s appearance, he was probably recently attacked. When you mention your little home a few miles away, the man doesn’t refuse or accept.  

Still, when you head back to the road, you find the fellow following you from behind, head down and staring at the ground. In his hands he tightly clenches the cloth of your sleeve, and blood stains the fabric completely at this point. You talk about the healers in your place, and how they can help him get better, but no matter how much you try, the man never responds. You ponder whether, perhaps, the situation he experienced before he ran into you may have been intense, and you attribute his perturbation to that.

After walking without pause all afternoon, your silent companion always keeping your own pace, your destination appears in front of you. From afar, you can see the elders sitting on the engawa of their cottage, sharing tea and quietly waiting for dusk. All is silent, and your announcement of arrival is the only thing disturbing the atmosphere.

Your arms wave vigorously to catch the attention of those you regard as family, a splendorous smile planted on your face, walking at an increased speed to catch up with them. An extended curtsey bow is given before them, and only after raising your head you dare to give them all a group hug, false formality forgotten as much as your guest.

The man slowly approaches this scene and analyzes the faces of those present as the embrace takes place. Had you not been turning your back on him, you may have noticed the change in his countenance, coldness creeping over his features from one moment to the next. None of the elders noticed his noiseless presence, not even having sensed it to begin with, and it is not until one of them finishes smiling and opens his eyes to come face to face with their worst fear.

Suddenly the hug is interrupted when this old man lets out a shriek, trying to back away and losing his balance. You follow his line of sight while turning, and find that innocent-looking stranger again, disoriented. There are screams all around you. Seniors are horrified and collapse on the floor next to each other, completely surrendered to the gaze of the demon fixed on them.

“Don’t behave like that! It would appear it wasn’t you guys who taught me manners... I’m so sorry, sir, they’re not used to dealing with travelers, let alone wounded ones... if you’d be so kind as to follow me?”

Throwing a withering glance at the group of elders, you direct your guest to the house the healers occupy. True, your little family is not used to encountering men in the state this very one is in, but you never expected such an exaggeration. A bit of unkempt hair and blood, pale skin, and they’re all screaming on the floor?

The reaction of the healers is not much different, and after reprimanding them for behaving so shamefully, you get them to treat the man’s hands. Leaving them alone so as not to disturb the setting, you make your way to the third and final cottage, your own. Since the other houses occupy four people each, it would be problematic to ask them to accommodate your own guest, and you take your time assembling an extra bed, improvising with blankets.

Nighttime is delightfully quiet, and as the door opens without warning, you greet the individual with a smile. Elders have taken the trouble to bring food for both you and him, announcing neither they nor the healers were in the mood to share dinner together.

The man’s hands are bandaged, his palms completely covered, and his thumbs trapped in the wrappings. He looks uncomfortable, and it shows in his inability to do anything on his own. His chopsticks are impossible to hold as he kneels on the floor and tries to eat, and after many urgings from you, he nods silently and almost imperceptibly, allowing you to help him.

“You see... you’re here, eating my food, under my roof, safe and comfortable... and I still don’t know your name...”

Teasing is imminent in your voice, hoping to relax him, if only a little. As he takes another bite and chews, his eyes are fixed on the table, like trying to hide from your presence.

After analyzing the end of your day alongside this presence, you assessed this man must be terribly shy, perhaps someone properly introverted. Still, observing his features, you get a strange familiarity, a feeling making you let your guard down and relax in front of him. A secret knocking at the door of your mind, demanding to burst in front of you but being invisible at the same time.

“... Uchiha...”

Without expecting an answer anymore, after several minutes, his voice surprises you. It sounds like that of someone who rarely uses it, raspy and rusty, as if it had been forgotten long ago, and not even the man himself remembers its ringing.

“Um?”

“Lord Uchiha...”

His name, you realize. Formal, a title.

Lord Uchiha continues in the same position, just like his words had been an illusion. It is impossible to keep giving him food, his attitude surly and refusing, and you wonder if he plans to spend the entire night in the same position if you allow him to.

Demandingly, you get him up and offer him your bed for the night.

He tries to take the spot you set up on the floor, and displays physical strength far beyond what you thought he had. There are firm muscles hiding under his stained white tunic, and they flex slightly every time he tries to change the course you both walk. He is probably holding back, you realize, for the way his forearm tenses. The stubbornness of this individual… as if he were someone unaccustomed to taking orders, leading rather than listening. Either way, he ends up tucked inside your room, buried under sheets and quilts so he doesn’t get cold.

You find your own resting place after closing the door and leaving your guest. There is not much room inside your small home, and yet, the greatest comforts are offered to those who really need them.

That night, a fearsome nightmare assaults your dreams. A pitch-black claw pierces your stomach from both sides, long nails tearing through skin and tissue like cloth. Blood pools at your feet, solidifying and making escape impossible. You feel your lips move in a choked scream, and a single word escapes your throat along with another red waterfall.

“... Indra...”

[inanabsentia]

They couldn’t tell how a half year spent obsessing over him, over destroying themselves had changed them, how those days had permanently transformed the person they were.

Ophelia

A sequel and alternative ending to an Overhaul x gender neutral reader in which Overhaul’s S/O commits suicide by drowning themself in the bathtub of their shared room. Except this time, he saw.

LINK TO OPHELIA ACT ONE

Who knew that silence could be so deafening.

He hadn’t spent much time with you ever since he had started taking on the project on producing anti-quirk bullets. No one could blame him though, he was one step closer each day to becoming the ruler of the underworld, the messiah who would illuminate light onto the detrimental impacts of the filthy heroic society which had overglorified quirks and their use.

It was his time to shine anyway, his time to bring glory back to the man who had raised him and the environment which invited him with open arms.

After all, what better way is there to pay back to his pops whom he holds close and dear to his heart? Even if that meant using underhanded methods.

Chisaki Kai Overhaul mentally went through the checklist In his mind, mulling over whatever he had accomplished during the day, pondering where he should go next. Right now though? Rolling in bed beside his Angel didn’t seem like such a bad idea though, he had missed—

Oh yeah...His Angel was patiently waiting for him in their shared bedroom, probably staying up late like most nights just to greet him. He should hurry up, he doesn’t like the sight those dark eye bags of yours as a result of waiting up late for him. His emotional side found it rather endearing this act of yours, but his logical side (which he used much, much more) was adamant on making sure that you were not sleep deprived because of him.

But that didn’t settle the feeling within him. That familiar feeling of dread, like the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. Kinda like that feeling when you knew a thunderstorm was approaching and you’re still in the middle of the woods, left unprotected without an umbrella and left at the mercy of the rolling thunderstorms and the downpour of rain which resembled sharp daggers piercing deep into your skin.

Yeah, something akin to that. He didn’t like that feeling though because his logic couldn’t seem to comprehend and explain this particular feeling. He’s tried to brush it off, focusing more on trying to make his way back to the shared bedroom between you and him. But he had to admit that the feeling never really went away, it just settled there in his stomach, a growing pit of trepidation and Fervor intensifying deep within him to the point he couldn’t deny its presence anymore.

His mind was convoluted with dark imagery of the worse possible outcome scenarios— his production coming to a sudden halt and the hardwork and research he’s put in years for being rushed down the drain. Pops never really waking up from his comatose state as induced by Chisaki Overhaul himself, never getting the chance to see the new profound glorify Overhaul had created within the Shie Hassakai.

But what about Y/N?

His Angel? The one person who had been by his side for the longest (asides Chrono), having been by his side during his best and his worst, illuminating his life and giving him a reason to keep striving forward, to keep going on. Your angelic presence alone had instilled something akin to excitement within him, he felt like he was 10 again, yet he feels this like he’s never felt for the longest time.

It was a good feeling though, it had warmed him and filled his entire being with serenity and tranquility. He liked the effect you had on him and he cherished you. He liked you, a lot and he wanted to rule his new future with you by his side, proudly standing tall next to the messiah of his shared vision, sharing the joyous moment of having been able to finally achieve it all.

But why did it feel so...off now? The joy he felt was only short-lived and that feeling of dread came back again. It came back to haunt him again, reigniting those horrific imagery (that he desperately tried to bury to the crevices of his mind), tormenting him, filling his entire being with chaos and madness. It felt wrong. If felt oh so wrong.

He reaches your shared bedroom and hesistates before reaching for the door knob, silently noticing how the light which peered from the gap between the door and the floor and become much dimmer. Of course, He was observant to the minute details, he had to be in this line of work.

And with the courage he mustered to twist the handle and push the door, the sight of the dimly lit bedroom greets him, the only light illuminating the room coming from the bathroom at the side. It wasn’t usual for his angel to be taking a shower so late in the night but then again, there were no sounds emanating from the bathroom.

No rain-like sounds from the shower head, no hard soap scrubbing sounds, no melodious singing coming from his angel, nothing.

Except for a few bleak and desolate water drops, falling into a mass of water.

It was eerie. It felt wrong on it felt so off.

Drip drip drip!

He inched his way closer to the bathroom, the room was so silent he could hear his heart palpitating and thrumming against his chest fervently.

Drip drip drip!

He noticed the unmade bedsheets, the solemn books left hapzardly strewn across the floor, very unusual from the methodical and neat way you would organise your belongings.

Drip drip!

“Angel?”

Drip!

And then his heart with absolute horror fills.

Time stood still. Who knew that silence could be so deafening. The sight of your desolate and despondent eyes greeted him, all devoid of life as life your very soul had been sucked all up, leaving behind a mass of human meat sack, waiting to be disintegrated into an abyss of nothingness. Your poignant expression to him made you seem like you just wanted to curl up and disappear into an air of absentia.

The painful moment which lasted for an eternity for both individuals finally seemed to end once he propelled himself forward and wrapped you into a tight and warm embrace, an oddly comforting gesture considering how cold you were due to how Long you had been sinking yourself into the bath tub of water, imagining it as if it were the large ocean, carrying you away from your woes whilst your worries melted and washed away with the tides.

Just a few minutes ago, you wanted to bring an end to your misery and life. Now though? You were glad he’s here and that you were here for this. And so was he.

“Oh angel..,” were the first words he spoke, his voice cracking which went by unnoticed by you due to how intimate the gesture was. Your warms tears soaking his already damp shirt, your fingers curling around his body as you squeezed the shirt behind him at the familiar term of endearment.

“Kai, I was only ever thinking about you, you know?” Your cries muffled as he pressed your face into his chest, cooing and soothing you as he listened to your misery. Oh how miserable his Angel must have felt! The guilt wrenched his heart and the feeling intensifies, now his own tears welling up in his eyes and threatening to fall too.

Deep down though he knew, he knew that he needed to express to you a love that’s reciprocated, a love that’s worth wanting. He needed to be better.

And he vows that internally to himself by gently grazing his fingertips underneath your eye bags to brush away the tears cascading down your cheeks. His lips shook and he struggled to find the words to say. But he had a inkling; a feeling that you understood he knew how much he had fucked up.

For some time, he was uncertain. But now, he’s sure that it was him and them. Them and him. And Hand in hand together, they’re floating through the cosmos. 

END

Thank you for readin this! 😜

Link to another Overhaul x reader Semi-angst oneshot in which after losing his arms, Overhaul hallucinates his (non gender specific) S/O comforting him into a paradise far, far away, reminiscing about another universe where they are so in love. Entitled: Doleur Exquise

Taglist for this ff: (anyone may request to be included for future works too! I write for Dabi, Shiggy and Birdman!)

@snow99fire

@glassartpeasants

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Shielded: Chapter Six; Spring Watch.

Anonymous said to imagineclaireandjamie:

A hard man is good to find. [Mae West]

--

Jamie woke with a start, the alarm blaring in the background.

The dream had been intense and had left him panting, a sheen of sweat on his skin as he pushed the duvet aside and stood. As always it was light outside, the sunrise half blinding him as the blasts of orange and red permeated the old curtains. Washing the night from his skin, he plunged himself beneath the pounding rivulets of water coming from his power shower, his body temperature receding slightly as the morning wore on.

Fortunately Claire wouldn’t be awake yet and he could slip from the house almost unnoticed. He needed to get a good day of work done, and to forget the memory of his dream before he faced her again. The mere thought brought colour to his cheeks, the heat in his belly reminding him of how incredibly realistic it had been.

Delicate pink skin appeared without his permission and once more he could feel the remnants of it haunting him as he slid his wellies on and closed the door softly behind him. Working in a daze, he prepared his cows for milking, the heat of the morning fading slightly as the clouds rolled in. The animals barely paid him any mind, going about their own business as he fed, watered and tended to them.

She hadn’t snuck into his bed, as she had in his dreams, but she had infiltrated his thoughts and no matter how hard he tried, sporadic jolts of her came unbidden throughout the day as he worked.

She’s married, he told himself, although the argument felt pretty weak in his own mind. In the abstract she was, he could tell that she still thought herself that way despite starting her new life. Without knowing it, she often rubbed her wedding ring finger - though the ring had long since been removed. It was obvious she was struggling with the transition and who could blame her, it had only been a couple of weeks. She was still hesitating on her name whenever he spoke it out loud to her, the subtle twitch betraying her.

But she was beginning to thaw, the shocked reaction he received when he spoke to her growing less and less as time went on (which, secretly, made him smile).

The baby lambs were out in force as he pulled the sandwich from his rucksack - one Claire had made him the night before. He smiled to himself as he perched on the fence, watching his first time mums as they paraded their babies around the perimeter of the field. Food somehow tasted better when someone else had made it for him, the slight differences in style allowing him a great enough change in routine to be noticeable.

She, it seemed, had a penchant for adding multiple salad products on her ham sandwich. Whereas Jamie was always in a rush at 4am, trying to collect his thermos as well as various food items to keep him going for the day, usually he would just throw slices of meat on top of bread without much thought. Lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber and *butter*, however, made all the difference. He even had potato salad on the side and a bag of what looked like homemade crisps.

Before Claire had arrived, John had given Jamie a very brief update as to her situation. Knowing a limited amount, he gauged that the difficulties she’d encountered recently hadn’t really set in yet and, instead, she was going through some sort of nesting, using her time at Lallybroch to cook and clean, ensuring that her mind is actively kept away from thinking about much at all.

His mind needed something similar as the image of her pottering about in his kitchen whilst he was away brought to the fore those visions that had him startled awake this morning before his alarm had even a chance to ring and he shook the picture of her bare skin from his thoughts, turning back to his task list.

The orphaned lambs were thriving now. Most had been ‘adopted’ by other nursing mothers but he still had two rogue ewes who were waiting for collection - Rupert, his nearest (mostly by proximity but also by friendship) neighbour had offered to take them for him but had yet been unable to drive over to collect them. In lieu of this, Jamie had been spending time hand feeding them every day though he worried each time he left them that he might return to something unmentionable.

Luckily, they’d survived another night in the small outhouse and he crawled in between them, the straw poking and prodding him as he settled with the warm milk bottle. The first, the largest of the two, squirmed in excitement, rushing to plonk herself by his side and suckle noisily at the teet.

“Easy now, lass, there’s enough for the both of you.” He soothed, watching as she butted the bottle, falling to her knees as she fed. Sheep were notoriously terrible pets, losing their fear of humans when in contact for too long and he had worried this close contact wouldn’t be good for the ewes, but watching the smaller of the pair sit helplessly in the corner made him think of Claire.

An idea came to him all of a sudden as he moved towards the lone female. He could, if he wanted, take the lamb home that evening and leave her in Claire’s care. Not only would it give the poor wee thing a greater chance, it might give her something else to turn her attention to in the day. There was a large chance he’d lose this one if he didn’t do something drastic.

-- --- --

An odd feeling settled in her stomach from the moment she woke up. Though she couldn’t put her finger on what the issue was, she felt a strange atmosphere hovering around her. Her skin prickled as she got out of the shower and she immediately felt as though there was something she should be remembering but couldn’t quite hold onto the memory.

She’d heard Jamie leave this morning, which was odd in itself. Usually she was fast asleep at dawn, not waking until much later when the house was quiet and she was alone. But she’d been woken this morning by some forgotten thought or dream that she couldn’t picture from the second she’d opened her eyes.

After barely speaking for two weeks, the weekend had been a welcome change.

Conversation had not been forced or odd, Jamie had allowed her time for quiet reflection and had seemed really quite pleased with her suggestions for the upcycling of his old furniture.

She felt useful, finally. A feeling she hadn’t had in some time.

Putting herself to work, she opted for cleaning downstairs for the best part of the morning. There was still a lot of dust residue from the sanding epic they’d had on Saturday, even spending most of Sunday dusting and hoovering hadn’t removed it all, so she pulled the dyson from under the stairs and tried to be as thorough as she could be.

Like cooking, she had never considered herself to be fluent in the art of housewifery. Before...when she had been able, her time had been dedicated to studying. There had been a cleaner for such tasks and, even afterwards, she hadn’t *needed* to be useful in that way. Here, though, there was nobody else to clean, do the dishes or cook and she found that losing herself to each task kept her mind (and body) active.

Sitting with the remnants of her crisps, she decided that was the dish she’d been most proud of since her introduction to the kitchen. She found herself thinking of Jamie and hoped that he was enjoying them too.

Their food deliveries now consisted of a greater variety of produce and she’d been able to add some colour to his lunch - which she had been making every evening and putting into the fridge for him to take when he left in the mornings.

She felt pleased as well as shocked at how easily she had moulded to fit her new life here.

Happy with her efforts, she turned her attention to the bookshelves in the back living room. There were titles dating back hundreds of years. Thick leather covers with yellowed pages sat proudly amongst the newer softback novels. She could tell which books had been read just by glancing at the spines, though there had been fingerprints in the thin layer of dust that had been there only hours before.

They were categorised, it seemed, by the surname of the author, carefully and methodically organised so that each time a new title had been purchased, it had been added in the right spot though there wasn’t room for many more.

His taste was eclectic, from non-fiction books on farming, agriculture, holistic medicines and horticulture to the classics (neatly bound with multiple editions ordered together, oldest first) including Jane Austin, Victor Hugo, Descartes, Melville and Hemingway. Jumbled in were some biographies but she’d assumed those belonged to either his parents or sister as none had been touched for some time.

Her fingers ran over the spines, stopping to hover over the drawing and painting books she’d first read when learning to doodle on the post-it notes in the first few weeks. She didn’t stop until she reached a relatively new title that she hadn’t noticed before. There was ruffling on the edge, a clear sign of frequent use, and some damage to the corners. Pulling it from the shelves, she settled into the comfy armchair, her cup of tea now cool enough to drink, and began to read.

It was modern, eloquently written with intricate plot weaving from the moment she turned the first page. The front cover clearly denoted that of a romance but there was intrigue and art as well as carefully homegrown characters. Before she’d had time to digest the prose, the front door opened and closed and she blinked. The clock on the desk ticked loudly and she noticed that hours had passed without her knowing.

Placing the book back on the shelf, she decided to leave it where it was for the time being and come back for it before bed. Though the visuals she’d imagined for herself stayed with her as she stretched and went in search of Jamie.

A loud noise caught her attention and she burst out laughing as she walked into the kitchen to find him wrestling with a small lamb.

“A new friend?” She said, her shock fading quickly.

“Ah; lass, I need ye!” His words were breathless, his cheeks a vibrant pink from the exertion of keeping the lamb from darting off and wrecking the joint. “I have a challenge for you, if you’re up for it!?”

[kookiebunnii]

duty to the kingdom || choi youngjae

→ summary: one of the things you hated the most was being looked down upon. unfortunately, as a princess, there were plenty of times where one of the royals would treat you as if you hadn’t a thought in that pretty head of yours. you absolutely despised it. imagine your outrage then, when the king picks your betrothed for you one fateful day. even if you rarely defy the king’s orders, this felt like a personal challenge to your independence and free choice. as you fight against your arranged marriage to prince youngjae, you eventually begin to wonder if your hardheadedness and anger are misplaced.  

→ pairing: prince!youngjae x princess!reader

→ genre: arranged marriage au, lots of self-reflection and fluff

→ word count: 5.4k

→ warnings: n/a

→ a/n: proud to make my 100th post about youngjae. slightly late birthday fic, but i hope y’all will continue to give him the love he deserves!

✧✧✧✧✧

The royal court is nothing if not prone to gossip. Every day, you’re forced to be in attendance despite every fiber of your being aching to be in bed instead with a good book. Not only would it be far more interesting, but you also wouldn’t have to worry so much about sitting prim and proper in front of the kingdom’s gaggle of royals.

Appearances were everything here.

Sitting beside the king, you chance a glance at him as you give up on following the topic of the current conversation. It feels like it is only yesterday that your father had laughed and played with you in the castle’s rose garden, your mother smiling through the windows as she watched the two of you. But now, his hair is streaked with grey and his face aged with wrinkles. You couldn’t remember the last time you heard his booming laugh; a rarity ever since the queen passed.

“Y/N, there is an important matter I must speak to you about.”

Not expecting him to address you like this, you hurriedly bow your head in acceptance. A soft ‘yes father’ escapes your parted lips, hoping that it does not catch the attention of any court ladies in the vicinity. They were like a fish to water with rumors, so you learned your lesson at an early age not to ever trust them with important issues.

The remainder of the discussion ends on a rather promising note, as the king gathers a lot of promising intel on his supporters’ current situations and his neighboring kingdom’s allegiances. Enduring the mindless chatter of the royal court was most definitely a chore, but it is also essential in maintaining power. The one with the most knowledge will always be one step ahead.

You rise alongside your father, watching as the owners of estates across your kingdom bow in reverence. Even if they were doing this out of fear for your father, and not you, the action motivates you to wield the same authority someday. When you are this kingdom’s ruler, you will not tolerate anything less that what your father achieves.

Following the king out of the throne room, you dismiss a servant as she rushes to follow after you. As she leaves after giving you a deep bow, you begin to feel the tingle of anticipation against your spine. You rarely held private conversations with your father, given how busy he has been managing his duties. The crops did not grow as well as anticipated this year and there have been plenty of potential threats against the kingdom, so to say he had his plate full would be an understatement.

He leads you into his study, and you take some time to briefly examine the bookshelves surrounding the room. Each row is neatly organized based on subject matter, from battle tactics to formal letter writing. There used to be an entire bookcase dedicated to children’s stories when you were young, since you loved hearing your father read to you before bed. You wonder momentarily where those books are now.

Breaking out of your stupor, you notice the king standing with his back facing to you as he observes the palace grounds from the large windows behind his desk. Closing the door behind you with a soft locking sound, you walk forward to stand beside him. The soldiers are making their rounds, following neatly divided paths leading to various areas of the palace. Their march is methodical and focused, and the rhythm is hypnotizing.

“How have you been faring?” the king finally asks, regarding you with his usual gaze.

“Well enough. The tutor has been doing great. He says I am improving very fast,” you note, pulling your eyes away from the window to meet your father’s.

“That is good to hear,” he says before adding, “You will make a great queen.”

The king’s praise is hard to come by, especially as he has grown more demanding of you as time passes. With each year, he expects you to become more informed about your role as a member of the royal family and more mature about your decision-making for the kingdom’s future. You do your best to hide your satisfaction, but it is difficult.

“Thank you, father.”

He makes a noise of affirmation before looking out the window again. You cannot pinpoint exactly what he is observing, so perhaps he is simply seeing something in his mind’s eye. The sigh that follows worries you, wondering if the news he wanted to speak to you about was actually a bad one.

“With every great ruler, is a great partner,” he states simply, and from his melancholy tone you sensed his continued sadness regarding your mother’s early death.

Your heart sinking to the pit of your stomach, you fold your hands and nod.

“I’m sure you are aware of our talks with the closest kingdom to our North. Alongside our treaty agreements to share grain stores and defend each other in the case of invasion, we have also discussed formally uniting outside of a contract.”

The puzzle pieces were slowly snapping together in your head, and the dismay traps itself within your vocal cords. You are afraid to speak, afraid that if you voiced your concerns, it meant that your father had truly used you as a bargaining chip.

“Prince Youngjae will make a good king. I’m sure the two of you will bring about a second Golden Age for our people.”

When you finally say something, the deathly monotonous sound of your words sounds like that of a stranger’s. Amid your disappointment in your father, you have become a stranger to yourself.

“No. I object to this union,” you grit, nails biting into your palm as you struggle to maintain the little power you thought you had. Yelling and crying would just expose your weakness and lose what credibility you had.

“It is not a suggestion, Y/N,” if it were possible for the king to look even more weary than he did earlier, than it surely accurately describes his current state.

“Father you cannot seriously hand me over to a complete stranger. A man I do not know, do not love.”

His silence just angers you further, as you begin to feel increasingly alone. Not only will you never be able to confide in your mother again, but now you have lost your worth to your remaining parent. If he truly wanted what’s best for you, he would not have added you to a bargain like a prized cattle for sale.

“I have done nothing but obey you, your majesty. Do not confine me to a future of unhappiness,” you warn, hoping that your anger masks the fear and hurt you feel at this development.

Instead, the man you once affectionately called father simply barks, “It is a command. The marriage will be held a month from now. I suggest you correct your attitude before then.”

You allow yourself to let the first tear fall when he finally leaves the room, leaving nothing but a swish of his robes and the loud slam of large oak doors.

✧✧✧✧✧

“You’ll sooner see me die than marry that man.”

To your servant’s credit, she does not acknowledge your angry words. Instead, she continues to help you get dressed for the day. While you continue to criticize the king for doing this to you, yourself for being too weak to defend your autonomy, and eventually your betrothed for even daring to be involved, she finally speaks.

“Your highness, you do not know if Prince Youngjae deserves the way you speak of him.”

You hesitate, acknowledging that she did bring up a good point. Arranged marriages in and of themselves are horrendous affairs in your mind, the lack of free will causing you to complete turn your nose up on the idea. The prince could be a decent individual, but he could also be a gruff man with zero awareness of your feelings. If he is anything like the dukes your father entertains daily, you would sooner escape for a life of exile than stay as a sitting duck.

“Perhaps not. But Luce, I’m being commanded to marry a man I’ve never met. Is that not, in and of itself, an injustice?” you inquire, watching as she gets on her knees to smooth out the remaining wrinkles at the hem of your dress.

When she finally stands, dusting off her apron as she does so, she gives you a small curtsy before replying, “Pardon me for my honesty, but there are far worse things in life. Perhaps for a royal, the loss of the ability to choose and make decisions for oneself is a terrible punishment. However, I advise you give the boy a chance. It is in your best interest to make this work.”

“Luce, we’ve grown up together. You’ve been my personal servant since we were both 13. You know that I cannot allow decisions affecting my future to be made for me. I have spent hours studying, confined to books when others play outside on sunny days. Am I not allowed to think for myself for a change, instead of the kingdom?” you want your closest friend to agree with you, if only to reassure you that you had a right to be outraged.

“Born to two of the king’s servants, my purpose is to serve the royal family until I die. Born to Utopia’s king and queen, your purpose is to serve Utopia’s people until your last breath,” Luce finally gives you a small smile as she pins the last gold leaf into your hair, “You will do the right thing. I know it.”

Brushing the wetness appearing in your eyes, she chastises you softly for ruining the makeup she used to try and get rid of the puffiness from yesterday’s bout of crying. You swallow thickly, thanking her for preparing you for the morning before getting ready to meet the king’s entourage for breakfast. When the door to your room opens, Luce returns to her demure position a few feet away from you, looking everything like the perfectly submissive servant castle etiquette instructs her to be.

Breakfast is a sordid ordeal. Stirring your porridge with distaste, you nibble on the freshly baked bread from the kitchens and think about your meeting with Prince Youngjae in a few hours. You originally considered openly refusing to go or disappearing conveniently as soon as you spot his carriage entering the castle walls, but after Luce’s words this morning, you’re forced to reconsider.

Picking apart the remainder of your honey bun, you realize that, regardless of whether this man assigned to you turns out to be decent person or not, you harbored no romantic feelings for him. Marrying him would then become nothing but an obligation, and you would be nothing but a task he completes for the sake of his kingdom. You did not want to share your bed with a stranger for the rest of your years, nor bear his children for the sake of duty. When would your royal duty end and your free will begin? It all seemed terrible.

When breakfast is finally removed and you have no choice but to meet the royals of the neighboring kingdom your father discussed yesterday, you regret eating that pastry. Even though you’d only had a few bites, the anxiety was causing you to grow nauseous.

Maybe if you threw up on the prince’s shoes, he’d cancel the engagement.

Hiding your smile behind a gloved hand, you do your best to keep up with the strong amble of the king before you. Servants bow at the two of you as you pass through the corridor, only continuing their work when they are out of your sight. These people depended on you completely for shelter, safety, and purpose. Luce’s earlier warning rings through your ears, and the heaviness of the responsibility of your birthright feels more stifling today than any other day.

When you enter the throne room, you notice that it looks shinier than it had yesterday. Perhaps for the sake of good first impressions, it was subjected to a thorough cleaning the night before. Your father returns to his seat on the throne, and you allow yourself to imagine yourself on that seat in a few years’ time. Would the throne feel heady with limitless power or cold with loneliness?

The seat you typically had next to the throne has been removed today, so you simply stand next to your father with your hands crossed over your abdomen. As soon as you’ve adjusted your skirts, the guards open the doors and you do your best to maintain the neutral expression on your features—regardless of who steps in through the entrance.

As the trio approaches the throne, they incline their heads in greeting to the king. Acknowledging Elysia’s king and queen, you return their gaze with a deep bow of your own. Pausing for a few long seconds, you finally straighten to immediately regard their son who was standing only a few paces away.

The first thing you notice, albeit with some shame, is that he is very good-looking. His locks are slightly tousled in a stylish way, and are as dark as his eyes that are openly observing you as well. A small smile graces his lips, a lightly pink contrast to the fairness of his skin. Briefly wondering how a man could look so calmly attractive, you only break your unabashed stare when your king speaks.

“Welcome to Utopia. The princess and I hope the travel was without issue,” your father says, giving your future in-laws their due respect.

“Elysia and Utopia have always been close neighbors. Visiting is no trouble to us,” Elysia’s king replies, and even through your first impressions, he seemed to be a kind yet commanding individual.

“We are honored to finally meet Princess Y/N, she is as lovely as they say,” the queen adds, and the way she openly beams reminds you too much of your own mother.

Heart stinging, you whisper, “You are too kind, your highness.”

The remainder of the discussion revolves mainly around the adults in the room, as you begin to feel like a toddler waiting for your parents to stop talking to the other adults. Doing everything you could to avoid looking at Prince Youngjae again, you could feel him taking short peeks at you, and it makes you oddly nervous. You wonder what his first impression of you could be.

As if that mattered. Your ultimate goal was to prevent yourself from being saddled to him.

When the conversation finally ends, you only let the sigh of relief escape when the royal family exits to have a tour of the palace grounds. Your father chuckles at your response, standing to rest a hand on your shoulder before asking, “Was that really so frightening?”

“My duty is cementing our treaty with Elysia. I still do not consent to marriage,” you reply, looking your father in his eyes in direct challenge.

Instead of striking fear into the old man, he simply gives you an amused smile before exiting. You are left standing alone, left behind to consider your next step.

✧✧✧✧✧

Turns out, Prince Youngjae would be staying for the next month within the castle. You wondered whether Elysia was foolishly trusting or rightfully confident in simply leaving their heir in the hands of another kingdom’s rulers. As you head to your room to retire for the night, you hesitate in front of one of the best guestrooms you had to offer. The man you were to wed was inside, miles away from the home he grew up in. You wonder if he is afraid.

Settling in your favorite chair by the fire, the pages of your newest novel feeling crisp against your fingertips, you fail to notice how quickly the night moves. You reckon it is fairly late when you finally finish, setting the book on your table. You used to play chess with your mother on this table. It is well worn with age, but you couldn’t throw anything away that held essences of your time with her.

If she were here, she’d never let this happen.

Stretching out your limbs, you rub your weary eyes and wonder if the kitchen would have leftover slices of the pumpkin pie from dinner earlier. It was extremely well-made tonight, perhaps due to the need to impress, but you only confined yourself to a single slice.

Slipping on a warm shawl, you open your bedroom door slightly to examine the hallway. Empty except for the pale moonlight slipping in from the giant windows, you tiptoe against the marble floors. Even in the middle of the night, you need not see clearly to find your way. You grew up within these walls, each nook and cranny familiar in a way that you knew them like the back of your hand.

You are only a few steps from your heavenly dessert, the creaminess of this year’s pumpkin crop on the tip of your tongue, when someone’s voice stops you in your tracks. Ducking your head around the corner, you notice an unfamiliar figure sitting within a small alcove, looking up at the stars outside the vaulted glass windows.

Draped in shadows and moonlight, he sings a bittersweet song. Even though you didn’t recognize the words, you are transfixed on the intricate melodies that are holding you in place. The singer is talented for sure, given the ease of each delivered note and the sugar hanging on his clear tone. It is like nothing you have ever experienced.

When the tune ends, you’re left with a sense of unexplainable emptiness. You have half the mind to demand an encore when the figure turns his head to acknowledge you for the first time.

“Princess, what are you doing up so late?” Youngjae asks, surprise shining in his eyes as he scrambles to his feet and gives you a bow. His slightly clumsy movements are a bit endearing, as you press your shawl to your mouth to cover the smile underneath.

“Ah, you know…just having a walk,” you grimace, wondering if he’ll judge you if you were telling him you were trying to have a second helping of dessert.

“Interesting choice,” he grins.

You wave him off, hoping he understood that he didn’t need to be so formal with you. He seems to understand your insinuation immediately, because he returns to his spot in the alcove before waving you over. You hesitate, wondering if you wanted to be caught in such a compromising way.

Screw it, you needed to figure out where he learned to sing so damned well.

Tucking your skirts underneath you, you take a look at the beautifully round full moon hanging in the sky before regarding Elysia’s prince for the second time today. If it were possible for someone to look better up close, this man would be the prime candidate. His eyes are shining with stars and kindness, and in his casually neat shirt, he is the epitome of a princely figure.

“What were you singing earlier?” you ask, fiddling with a stray thread on your shawl.

He pauses for a moment, as if wondering whether he should tell you, before he answers, “An Elysian lullaby. My mother used to sing to me as a child. This one was my favorite.”

“It’s beautiful. I don’t speak Elysian but, you sing really well—better than any performer I’ve ever heard,” you admit, hoping you weren’t putting a dent in your plans by complimenting the prince.

His singing ability had to be acknowledged, so you’ll give yourself a pass for now.

He blushes, and the way he shyly laughs is adorable. Your next breath lodges in your lungs as you try your best to stop the sudden increase in heart rate you experience. Maybe you should’ve just gotten your pie and returned to your room.

“Thank you, princess. That’ll be a source of great encouragement for me,” he says, giving you another interesting look before he returns his gaze to the night outside. You wonder if he’s homesick, and you figure that he probably is. As much as you hated having to spend the next month surrounded by the reminder of your impending marriage to a stranger, he probably had his own share of trouble. He was trapped within a foreign land, with no allies to his name. Completely and utterly alone, perhaps the least you could do was make him comfortable. Even if you didn’t love him, that didn’t mean you couldn’t at least treat him respectfully.

“Have you ever performed?” you inquire suddenly, and the suggestion seems to catch him off guard.

“No, it’s unheard of for a royal to perform. That is usually reserved for the court jesters.”

You laugh, imaging the prince in a jester’s costume and telling jokes in front of the royal crowd. It was certainly a funny thought, but you were also slightly disappointed that Prince Youngjae’s singing might never be shared beyond his intimate family. It truly is a tragedy for the world, not to hear such talent.

“Do you want anything from the kitchen? In case you haven’t had enough at dinner, I’m sure there’s plenty of leftovers,” you hint, hoping that he agrees so you can have your planned pastry.

“I’m quite alright princess, thank you.”

You try not to let the disappointment appear on your face, and even though you’re typically very good at hiding your emotions, Youngjae seems to catch on immediately. When he hums in acknowledgement, you hide your face when he asks, “Did you want something princess?”

You shake your head adamantly, “I’m quite alright as well, prince.”

A grin quickly appears on his face, as he teases you further, “Are you sure? I do remember someone finishing their slice of pumpkin pie in less than 10 seconds. Perhaps we should call one of the scribes to commemorate such a prestigious record.”

“Maybe we should call the scribe to commemorate the nosiest royal to be alive this century!” you quip, quickly clapping a hand over your mouth when you realize how disrespectfully you’ve spoken to Prince Youngjae. As you wonder how quickly the man would squeal to his parents, and realizing you could’ve completely ruined Utopia-Elysia relations, the sound of loud hearty laughter saves you from your thoughts.

You had thought someone had caught the two of you, but you quickly realize that the laughter is coming from the prince himself. He holds his stomach in laughter, mouth wide open as his eyes momentarily disappear with each laugh. You watch, completely mesmerized, as pure amusement pours from the boy. He suddenly seemed so much younger, laughing like this.

Beginning to giggle yourself, you quickly pressed your hands to his mouth when you see candlelight flickering in the hallway. Pulling him upright, you dash off to the bedrooms as quickly as you could without making too much noise. You hated to find what rumors would develop if the two of you were found together this late in the evening. To his credit, the prince mirrors your speed and silence all the way to the guest bedroom.

Checking to ensure you weren’t followed, you whip your head back towards him. He’s still hiding his grin behind his hand, and doing a poor job at it, when you glare at him.

“Did you really need to laugh that loudly?” you hiss, but the boy simply looks like he’s about to start laughing again.

You sigh, unable to hide how funny the situation is to you, so you just giggle and dart off with a wave. Pumpkin pie forgotten, when you finally return to the safety of your room, you stay up to stare at your ceiling. Turning over in your sheets, you wonder-- when was the last time you felt that much excitement?

✧✧✧✧✧

The next time you see him, Prince Youngjae is taking a stroll through the palace gardens. Even though the blooms aren’t as spectacular as they are in spring, your mother had chosen equally beautiful flowers that blossomed during the winter. You catch him admiring the cheerful winter jasmines lining each row, framed by snowdrop flowers. Considering whether approaching him would be the right move, you once again throw caution to the wind when Youngjae catches you staring and gives you a small wave.

“Do you have a favorite?” you ask once you’ve walked close enough for him to hear you.

“Not really,” he replies, letting go of the fallen petal in his hand, “It’s enough for me to admire the beauty each one offers.”

“Well said,” you say with a grin.

“We didn’t get your dessert that night. My apologies, princess,” he jokes, and it strikes you then that the prince is a cute but mischievous sort. He appeared to love riling you up, but only as far as you would allow him.

“Not a great first impression,” you admit, letting yourself fully appreciate his laughter now that the two of you were in a more proper environment.

Finding a place to sit and talk further, you allow yourself to acknowledge the truth that you really did enjoy this man’s presence. Even though you were holding onto the notion that you needed to prove that you weren’t just an airheaded princess waiting to be married off, perhaps under different circumstances, Youngjae could’ve been your friend. After all, it wasn’t everyday that you met a royal who wasn’t stuck-up or entitled. It seemed that this prince genuinely appreciates everything life has to offer, and he isn’t afraid of having fun with what he finds.

“Call me Y/N. I think after the trouble we went through, it seems fitting enough,” you say, once the conversation takes a short lull.

“You’ll have to call me Youngjae then,” he adds, and you show your agreement by repeating the new title he offers you. He seems to like the way it sounds on your tongue, because his eyes are aglow with delight.

“Do you miss home?” you ask afterwards, curious to see how your new friend is faring.

“Definitely. No matter how many times I’ve left Elysia, I always miss it with the same fervor,” he admits, and you appreciate the way he opens up to you. It was almost as if he were unafraid of appearances in front of you, and his abrupt honesty was completely foreign to you.

“You leave often then?”

“A few instances. I’ve had to be involved in some skirmishes at our borders recently,” he sighs, and it appears that Youngjae is also not a big fan of warfare. You note that as well, realizing how much you were growing to admire each of the characteristics of this new prince.

“I suppose that’s why all of this is happening…making alliances to appear strong,” you briefly relent, acknowledging that as much as this union would hurt your pride, it had its use. It was not a frivolous decision for either part, which only made your choice that much more difficult to execute.

“If it’s to protect my people, it’s a sacrifice to make,” he agrees, “I apologize that you will not be marrying for love, Y/N, but I promise I’ll do my best to not make it torturous.”

He tacks on a joke at the end to ease the tension, but it doesn’t hide the fact that his words make your heart waver. Youngjae recognizes what you were giving up and he sympathizes with you. Unlike you, however, he was accepting his fate. Even though he doesn’t mention it, you know that he is giving up his free will as well by agreeing to marry you. He would also be closing the door of “what if?” because he cared for the citizens under his protection.

You think back to the servants who never fail to curtsy in your presence, the cooks who always let you have a taste of whatever’s cooking because they didn’t stand a chance to your puppy-dog eyes, and your closest friend Luce who always takes care of you without a complaint. You remember how her worn hands glide across your skin with the finest skincare in the land, just to ensure that your skin stays youthful at the expense of hers. Your heart pounds with pain.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, as you struggle not to cry in front of Youngjae.

He grasps your wrist in confusion, worried eyes seeking yours when he says, “Did I say something wrong?”

You pat the back of his hand and try to smile amidst your guilt. Nodding slowly, you say, “I thought that I deserved to fight against this marriage because without my autonomy, I’d be nothing. But your words, you made me realize that perhaps there are greater things.”

He looks at you with the utmost care and sympathy when he replies, “Agreeing to this doesn’t make you weak, Y/N. You will be the strongest queen Utopia has known because you sacrifice for your people.”

When he hugs you in a much-needed, warm embrace, you don’t stop him.

✧✧✧✧✧

The month passes by in the blink of an eye, and before long, you’ve let Youngjae into your life more than you’d like to admit. The boy made you much more playful, as you began skipping some of your studying to join him in playing outside. He seemed like an energetic individual, always wearing a smile and excited to see you. You did your best to keep your distance, but ever since he opened up to you it almost felt natural to do the same.

The day of the wedding rolls around, and even as Luce and a few other servants help you get dressed for the special occasion; you can’t help but doubt whether you were making the right decision. Of course, there would be worse men to be in an arranged marriage with, but ultimately this was a choice that would stick by your side for the rest of your reign. You shouldn’t tread lightly.

“Luce…” you mumble as soon as the other girls leave to let her braid your hair in an elegant bun in peace.

“Today is a special day in your life your highness…your life and Prince Youngjae’s,” Luce begins, giving you her reassuring smile as she braids silver flowers into your braid.

“I know that, I know this is important for our kingdoms, and yet I feel afraid.”

“Fear is understandable. It’s important to fear because it will push you to act. You are not just making a decision for yourself, but for thousands of people,” she finishes with your locks before finally giving your shaking hands a squeeze, “You have never let us down.”

You give Luce a grateful hug, thankful for her comforting words. When you stand, admiring the long train behind you, the reality of everything begins hitting you all at once. You were marrying Youngjae, the man that recently makes your stomach burst with butterflies and your palms sweaty just from looking at him. You were crazy enough to think that you could eventually love him, and you hoped to the heavens that he considered you in the same way.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I wouldn’t worry,” Luce muses before opening the door as your entourage stands at the ready outside. You would fire back at her to say that you weren’t worried at all, but the sight of the dozen knights standing in full armor to escort you to the grand ballroom is enough to dry your mouth completely.

You knew that the ballroom would be transformed for the wedding, but you didn’t expect the beauty dazzling from the high ceilings. Each corner had a fresh bouquet, the beautiful pastel roses making your eyes widen with wonder. The guests consisted of the royals whom previously paid you no heed, but now are openly observing you with interest. You knew that they now respect your new position, and you would soon have to play palace politics. The dread paled in comparison to the surprise that catches in your throat when you see the groom standing at the altar.

Youngjae is dressed in a standard princely attire, but the sparkling crown atop his head and the big grin on his face make all the difference. Seeing him standing ahead of you, waiting for you to be by his side, force you to reconcile with your feelings once again. You were falling for him, from the moment he sang you his favorite song and laughed without a care in the world, you were smitten. He not only acknowledged your fears but reassured you through them, and for that, he was more than deserving to rule alongside you.

“Ready?” he whispers after receiving your hand from your father.

With one look at his deep brown eyes swirling with affection, you announce proudly, “I’m ready.”

✧

[blackberry-gingham]

if you haven’t already, could you do something with being childhood bffs with george and it developing into romance?

Aw, this is cute 🥺 of course!

Ik I've done the teddy!george to Beatle George romance, so for this I'm going to do like actual kids to like high school/teddy! George romance :)

Also, this is super long sorry, but idk how to do a cut so oof 💀 anyway, enjoy!

---

You've known him since forever, the boy with the raven hair and funny eyebrows.

You're earliest memories go back to growing up on the streets of Liverpool. Causing trouble on the playground, getting into mischief behind your mother's backs...

He was your best friend. Still is, as a matter of fact. Until the day everything changed.

You're story starts off on a playground, during a mild day in mid August. The sun is shining brightly and the birds are chirping and flitting through the trees happily. If only you could say the same for your mood.

The old swing set creaks methodically as you and George go back and forth.

It's your last summer before your senior year of high school. You two have been going to the same school this whole time at least, but you can't help this nagging feeling that you and George are going to drift apart after school.

He's changed so much since you were kids.

Lately he's made some... other friends. It's not that that's bothering you of course. No, it's more so that they're all teddy boys. And now, so is George. Not to mention they fancy themselves a start up band, which has only been eating up more of George's time away from you.

Besides, you have no idea what to expect with this final year. Honestly, you're scared as it is, and even the thought of losing your best friend is too much to bear.

"Whatcha thinking about square?", George detects the worry undulating off of you, despite the neutral expression on your face. He knows you too well.

You snap out of your thoughts and paint a smile on your face, "Oh, nothing! Are you looking forward to your final year?"

George fixes you with a look. He doesn't believe that nothing's wrong, but knows to not push you if you don't want to talk about it. "Suppose so, although more just to get it over with. Oh, that reminds me! The lads and I have a gig lined up in a few weeks, can you believe it?"

You're heart drops, and you fear you can already feel him slipping away. "That's wonderful George, I can't believe it!"

His face lights up, "Isn't it? We're going to the top I tell you, I'm sure of it!" George digs his boots into the mulch abruptly, and you slow to a stop as well. "Um, I don't suppose you'd come to the gig, will you?"

You fix him with a suspicious look, there's something afoot here... "When and where?"

"The pub downtown, two months from tomorrow, at 3 am", George's voice gets quiter as he goes. The old him would know not to ask something like that in a million years. After all, your parents would never allow it. And if you got caught...

"George... I-"

He cuts you off, suddenly feeling bad it seems, "No no! I-it's alright, I shouldn't have asked. It's not right, you have school and all"

"So do you, ya know", you lean in and laugh a bit, trying to lighten the mood. Thankfully the tension seems to melt and George laughs, brushing off the accusation. At last he stands and offers to walk you home. You agree and take a few steps after him...

...Only to trip over an old piece of tarp sticking up from under the mulch.

You let out a yelp, but before you hit the ground, George catches you. He helps you up right and holds onto you for a moment to make sure you're steady, "That was close! You alright square?"

"Fine, thanks to you", you laugh, then kick some mulch over the exposed tarp. "Damn thing..."

George laughs and the two of you walk on, "Say, do you remember when we were kids and you fell off that same swing set?"

"Ugh, how could I forget! I still have the scar on my knee", you pout.

"Really? I didn't know it was that bad"

"It certainly was! Don't you remember, after I fell you picked me up an-"

"...Carried you all the way home?", George finishes the thought for you.

You smile distantly, reminiscing on better days. "Yeah..."

The two of you talk a bit more about your younger days. All sorts of fun and embarrassing stories come to light as you make your way through town. For a moment, you feel like you're with the old George again.

And then, it all screeches to a halt as you arrive on your doorstep.

"Well, here you are then!"

"Yeah... Um, see you tomorrow per chance?"

George's face falls, "Oh... Actually I have practice with the lads... Then I'm helping with chores around the house all this weekend. M-maybe we can hangout again next week?"

The smile you give him doesn't quite reach your eyes, even as you agree that that sounds like a good plan.

It turns out that date does get pushed back a bit more, but you're thankful to have at least one last day together before school starts up again. Things are normal for a while. Well, the new normal, that is. George tries to be in three places at once between you, the lads, and school, and you're worried for him.

You keep waiting to see which of the three he's going to drop to take a load off his schedule... And you're deathly afraid it'll be you.

But somehow he manages to juggle all three, and before you know it, the night of the gig is upon you. George brings the topic up with you momentarily at school, just to give it another try. You’ve been feeling so estranged from him lately that you want nothing more then to say yes...

You just... can’t.

George says he understands, but he can’t mask the disappointment in his eyes. It’s the last look you see from him that day. However, that night, is a different story.

Clack... Clack. Clack clack... Clack.

A strange noise rouses you from sleep and you get up to investigate. It’s coming from the window... You peak outside to find George out in your yard, throwing rocks at the glass. He sees your outline and starts waving his arms franticly. Quickly, you check the time. It’s 2:03 am.

You heft the window open and George immediately starts chattering. “Morning square! I’m on my way to the pub, I thought maybe you could just sneak out with me since you want to go!”

“Are you mad? You’ll wake the whole house!”, you whisper angrily.

George drops his voice a bit too, but refuses to leave. He says a few more suave and charming words, but more then anything, you can’t deny that you do want to go with him... It takes a little convincing, but you make up your mind to go. You disappear to throw on some going out clothes and navigate your way down out the window and over the roof. It’s a little trick you learned from when you were young.

You haven’t done that in ages...

At last, you and George race off to the bus stop and as though sneaking out past midnight wasn’t exciting enough, the way he grabbed your hand to pull you along through the dark sent your heart soaring.

And when you arrive just in the nick of time the gig to start, you almost hate to admit how much fun you’re having. To think, you almost missed this... The boys are amazing up on stage and the crowd loves them. While you must say, they are all good, you didn’t take your eyes off of George the entire time.

One of the teds, Paul you think, steps up to the mic. “Thank you, you’ve all been wonderful! But before we go, there’s one last song we want to play for you... This goes out to all the sweethearts tonight, it’s called Love me do!”

It’s not on the itinerary, but the crowd whoops and applauds regardless. You focus your attention back to George and he winks at you. In that moment, you experience a feeling you’ve never had in your life. Your blood runs cold, yet you feel on fire. Your fingers and toes tingle, yet you still have complete control over your body. You feel weightless, and yet as though you could collapse.

The song is wonderful, but you were hardly able to pay attention, you were so busy mulling over what that wink meant...

When everything is over, George hurries to catch up with you after the show. He seems so alive.

"You were amazing up there Georgie, absolutely wonderful!"

"Really? You liked it?"

"Of course! I didn't know you were so talented! Why have you never played for me before?", You laugh, but George seems to grow shy all of a sudden.

"I didn't think you were interested... But uh, now I know, I suppose!", he laughs, trying to mend the awkwardness before you can interject. "You know what? We should be getting you home, yeah?"

You whip around to look at the clock. It's nearly 4:30. When you turn back to George, he can already see the panic in your eyes. Without another word, you both race out to the bus stop and wait anxiously to catch a ride.

George tries to make a little small talk and reasure you, but you're having a hard time loosening up. All you can think about is what'll happen if you're caught...

And when you get home, your worst fears are realized. Your dad is sitting on the front porch and the lightning your room has since been turned on. George goes to hold your hand, but you nudge him away as you trudge to your doom.

Your dad doesn't say a word. You already know how much trouble you're in. He looks at George with a deadly scowl etched into his face.

"Sir, I'm sorry, it was m-"

The door slams in his face, and all George can hear is the sound of yelling from the other side as he's forced to walk away.

You're not allowed to see George outside of school for a looooong time. Which is almost fine with you. You can't believe you listened to him...

George tries to apologise to you fervently the next time he sees you, but you blow him off. It takes a few days before you speak to him again, and George feels crushed. That night couldn't have ended more terribly. There was so much he wanted to tell you... But, he can't let you go.

Over time you come around to better terms with your lifetime friend. It takes some work, but George is determined to restore your trust in him. And slowly but surely, your grievance becomes forgotten. He hasn't spend this much time with you since you were children. And honestly? He hasn't been this fun since then either...

He takes you out for ice cream on weekends. You go to the park after school together nearly everyday, that you can. And once you're officially allowed to spend time with him, he even invites you over to watch practice with the lads.

And before you know it, winter has passed and spring is nearly gone too. It's the end of the year and there's one last hurrah to come before graduation. Prom season is upon you.

You know who you want to ask you, but you fear it's too much to even hope. But then, one sunny day...

Clack... Clack. Clack clack... Clack.

Curious, you get up from your desk and wander over to the window. You throw it open and look out. There in the lawn, George stands with a large, handwritten sign above his head. He looks up at you with big, puppy eyes, and he's never been more afraid in his whole life.

Prom? The sign reads.

You scamper out of your window, and nearly trip in your excitement to say yes. George drops his sign and catches you before you hit the ground. You jump up, alight with excitement, "Yes, yes!", you can't stop bouncing, even as George holds you steady.

George smiles at you with an affection you've never seen before. He doesn't say a word. Instead, he picks you up and gives you a spin while you yelp in surprise. When he puts you back down, the two of you share a long look and you think, there's no one in the whole world you'd rather give your first kiss to.

As though he can read your mind, George leans in slowly, giving you an option. But you can't contain yourself, you rush forward and throw your arms around his leather covered shoulders. The smell of his musky hair gel and warm leather jacket wash over you as he holds you tight.

It's the kind of embrace you'd grow familiar with. You don't know it now, but you'll find yourself wrapped in it for the rest of your days.

[hamatoclan76]

Karai (2012) Appreciation post

Karai is one of the most iconic characters of TMNT 2012 due to her ambiguous morality and complexity. She´s one of the characters that changes the most in the story. Her personal motives often remain uncertain: even when she´s one of good guys, her methods to accomplish her goals are still questionable. She´s one character who is constanly walking in a thin line between ¨good¨ and ¨bad¨. 

Karai made her debut in the first season in the episode ¨A new girl in the Town¨. Leo first met her after having an argument with Raph over his role as leader of the group. Karai took Leonardo by surprise, beating him easily to the ground but in the last moment she decided to leave, much to Leo´s surprise.

This made Leonardo question himself if Karai was really as evil as she pretended to be, seeing that there was a chance for her to get redeemed. Later, in the same episode, Karai decided to help him with fighting Snakeweed by throwing a knife and left the scene, saying ¨Sayonara¨ (goodbye in japanese) to Leo.

Karai, as trained kunoichi, knows how to manipulate people into doing what she wants. As Splinter described: A Kunoichi is a master of deception and Karai is good at it.

She´s aware that Leo has feelings for her and often used this to her own advantage to gain information or make the turtles fall into a trap. In ¨Alien Agenda¨ she used this to steal Kraang tech and then left the brothers when a mutant started attacking them.

In these episodes it was shown that Karai was Shredder´s daughter. Their relationship seemed to be very complicated, almost toxic to some extent, as Shredder seemed to threatened her many times with punishing her if she didn´t obey his commands. Karai seemed to be afraid of him but she would rebel against him from time to time. 

The thing is that even in season 1, she frequently questioned Oroku Saki, like why didn´t he cared about the Kraang or about how they were planning to make an invasion in New York City. She´s was a rebel teenager, who enjoyed doing things her own way. She even once tried making a temporarily truce with the turtles to fight against a Kraang ship in ¨Enemy of my enemy¨.

One of her main goals in season one and two was to get revenge on Splinter for ¨killing¨ her mother: The true was that when she was a baby, Oroku Saki took her away from Hamato Yoshi and killed Tang Shen,Karai´s mother in the process. 

Karai was raised to think that her own father, Hamato Yoshi, was the one that killed Tang Shen and Oroku Saki was her actual real father. Since she was little, Shredder made her believe her purpose in life was to avenge her mother by destroying Splinter.

This started to change around season 2, when Leo kept telling that Shredder was just using her to hurt Splinter. Karai had it´s own doubts but she didn´t really changed her mind until she saw that Splinter still kept a photo of when he was still a human and Tang Shen was alive.

By seeing the photo, Karai realized that Shredder had been manipulating her the entire time only to get revenge. The moment she learned the truth, she decided to help the turtles to fight against Tiger Claw, who was tracking them to find the lair.

After getting captured by Tiger Claw and held prisioner by Shedder, she still remain rebellious, trying to find any way she could to escape from her prision. Their relationship also changed drastically, Shedder became abusive to Karai, keeping her behind bars and not letting her see her real father.

In his own twisted way, he cared about Karai, but he didn´t see her as her own person with her own feelings and desires. For him, she existed to be an extension of him, she was a tool to carry out his plans for revenge.

In ¨Vengeance is Mine¨ the turtles helped her to escape from Shredder´s lair, Karai went to met Splinter. The first she did was giving him a hug, happy of finally be able to be with him.

However, she wanted to end Saki for having manipulated her into believing that Splinter was her enemy. Splinter warned her that revenge was not the answer, but for the Kunoichi, her feelings of anger and hatred were too much to resist the urge of making Shedder pay.

In a tragic accident, Karai fell into mutangen and becames a mutant snake, her behaviour turned animalistic, hurting everyone she considered a threat. However, she appeared to still have some level of self-awareness, as she was able to recognize Leo, Mikey and Splinter in this state.

In season 3 when the brothers were trying to hunt her down and use the retromutantgen on her, she shown to able to turn back into her human form momentarily and was capable of communicating with them despite losing herself to the mutation.

A few episodes later she was captured by Shredder and infected with a mind control worn, which made her follow his orders without question and hunt the main protagonists.

While she was mind controlled, Karai returned to her old evil ways. She was shown to be a cunning, intelligent and a very dangerous foe since she could change between her muntant and human form, easily defeating most of the Hamato Clan.

Once Splinter freed her from the mind control brain worm, Karai turned good back again, becoming a recurrent ally for the turtles in Season 4.

In season 4, she goes on a trip to Japan to seek for her close friend,Shinigami, and recruit foot soldiers to rebuild the Foot clan. In Shredder´s absence, she became the new leader of the clan with the intention changing it and getting rid of Shredder´s empire.

While Karai is an ally this season, she still does very questionable things. She became obsessed with getting revenge on Oroku Saki, often putting others on danger (Broken Foot). After realizing that taking down Shedder factories wasn´t worth of her time, she decided to go after Shedder himself without involving her family anymore.

In season 5, in ¨The Forgotten Swordsman¨ it was implied that she sent assassins to end her old master, Hattori Tatsu, to prevent him from reclaming the Kuro Kabuto. After having a fighting Tatsu, Karai felt terribly sorry for going after him since it only caused problems to her friends at the end.

From that moment forward, Karai focused on rebuilding the Foot Clan and helping the turtles with their missions. She´s determinated in restoring the Clan´s honor once again and fixing the errors of Shredder´s legacy.

In conclusion: Karai is one of the most complex characters in tmnt 2012. She starts as enemy who becomes an ally and a friend by the end of the series. She goes throught multiple changes, from learning the truth about her real father to growing into mature leader for Foot clan. 

[thekitteninlove]

I admit that i kinda ship Dalim with Amon too, so i made a naughty fic about those two too. Since i prefer writing one shots these fanfics don't have anything to do with each other (unless i say that they're broken into several parts)

Warning: smut, oral sex, spanking (sorry, Dalim 😖)

Dalim was in Amon’s room, trying once again to convince him to stop doing illegal experiments on humans. Just insisting that he cease what he’s doing wouldn’t get him anywhere, so in order to persuade him he needed to emphasize the benefits that he’d get by doing legal experiments instead.

“But, My Lord, you have nothing to lose if you do that. On the contrary, we won’t have to go through the trouble of silencing the ones who find about that and we won’t have to hide those from the authorities either. Please think about it. I believe-“ Dalim’s words were suddenly interrupted by his lord’s harsh voice. “Silence. I didn’t ask you anything.” Amon didn’t understand why he was so insistent. Did he care about those people? But why would he care about some strangers? He turned his gaze towards his underling to see if his expression gave him any clues as to why he was telling him such things, but he couldn’t read his expression. If it was someone else he would make them leave right away, without listening to a word they said, but with Dalim… it was different. He listened to him. Well, until his patience ran out, which didn’t last long since he had a short temper. Still, there were many instances where Dalim managed to persuade him to do things he wasn’t eager to do at the beginning. He wondered why he was listening to him and why he was still alive with no limbs missing after all the blunders he’s made. He let Alice escape so many times. If it was someone else, Amon would’ve cut their head off a long time ago. But he forgave Dalim and kept giving him another chance. Maybe for the first time in his life he felt something for someone other than hatred.

Dalim looked at his lord, hoping that he’ll change his mind or at least appear like he’s taking what he said into consideration. But all he could see on his face was annoyance. His obstinacy frustrated him, but he was careful enough not to show it on his face. His lord was easy to anger and dangerous so he needed to be extra cautious. ”Could I ask why you rejected my proposal?” Dalim asked in a calm voice.

“Dalim, do you really think that people would volunteer to take part in such experiments?” Amon sounded amused, as if his underling just asked him a stupid question to which the answer was obvious. Dalim has been nagging him about this for a while and he still couldn’t understand why he was so bent on stopping those experiments. Was he afraid that they’ll get discovered?

“If we make those experiments safer then I’m sure there will be people who will volunteer and if we offer a compensation for them then even more people would come” Dalim said, hoping that this will get him to reconsider his methods.

Amon was so exasperated that if it was someone other than Dalim he’d behead him. But there weren’t many people as knowledgeable about magic as Dalim and he was hard to replace, so he left him be. Besides which, they’ve known each other for years, so he learned how to serve him well. He wasn’t called his right hand man for nothing. Their relationship was quite beneficial for him, so he didn’t want to let go of him. Amon gave Dalim a wry grin and said “I might just take your proposal into consideration if you add more benefits to it”

Although he was hoping to get his lord to agree to this, Dalim was still surprised to hear him say this. He almost couldn’t believe his ears. Was he serious or was he lying? Either way, he couldn’t let this chance slip by. “Do you have something specific in mind, My Lord?”

“Entertain me. I’m in a foul mood. If you manage to get me in a better mood then I might agree to your suggestion”

Dalim was in a bind, the only thing he knew would uplift his lord’s mood was torture, but he didn’t want to be tortured. So then what should he do? He looked at his delicate and beautiful features which reminded him of a pretty young woman and which made him feel some urges that were difficult to control. An idea crossed his mind, but he hesitated before acting on it. He was afraid that his lord might not like it and that he’d end up getting punished, so he tried to be really careful. He approached him slowly and put his hand on his cheek, which made Amon’s brows furrow in confusion. Then he closed the distance between them even more and pressed his lips against his, drawing out a gasp of surprise from him.

Amon didn’t know how to react at first. He was shocked by how brazen his underling got and he’d have made him regret he ever did such a thing to him if the one kissing him wasn’t his favorite disciple and if it didn’t feel so… good. He wasn’t kissed before and this was a new experience for him, so he let him do what he wanted. For now.

Amon’s reaction to his kiss startled Dalim. He didn’t expect him to react so favorably to it, so this encouraged him to do more. He put his hand in his long silky hair and drew him even closer, deepening the kiss, while his other hand was roaming over his supple body. His lord was as dangerous as a praying mantis during the mating season, so he needed to be careful. Those insects chop off the head of their male partner after mating if they don’t run as fast as their legs can carry them. If he shows any signs that he dislikes this form of entertainment the he’d have to run as fast as he can. The possible danger he put himself into added a lot of excitement to this meeting. This made his heart beat faster in his chest as he tried to make the most of this rare chance he got to do naughty things to this dangerous beauty.

So far, Amon was quite enjoying the kiss, which was getting hotter by the moment. However, he was also feeling a growing desire to make things more interesting, so after a while he decided that it was time to take the lead. He pushed Dalim away and said in a authoritative voice “Kneel before me”. Dalim was startled by this sudden turn of events, but did as he said. Although he couldn’t call himself a loyal man, his lord was the only person he was loyal to. Even though Amon possessed so much knowledge about magic he used it for such terrible things. He wished he could make him change his ways and make him use that acute intelligence of his for good things, which was why he was obeying his every command. The sensation of leather around his neck snapped him back to reality and realized that his lord just put a collar on him, to which was attached a chain leash. His lord then came up behind him and put his hands in handcuffs. He looked up to find his lord smirking at him and holding the other end of the leash in one hand, while in the other he was holding a paddle that looked like it was made from hard leather. “If you’re a bad boy, I’ll have to spank you” he seemed like he was having fun, so that was good. “Now you’re my dog and you should answer my every command with ‘woof’”

That was the strangest command he’s ever been given, but he obeyed him nonetheless and said woof. If that was what it took to get him in a better mood and hopefully agree to his suggestion then he’d do it.

Amon had been planning to make him do this for a while now and he finally found the chance to do this. What he liked most about his right hand man was his wild, untamable nature. It was so much more challenging and fun to tame a rebellious man than an obedient one. The sense of achievement he got from succeeding at that was far stronger and he really liked that feeling.

His lord looked so alluring, yet he was so dangerous, he was like a femme fatale and Dalim couldn’t take his eyes off him. Amon decided to seek another kind of entertainments from what he usually seeks, so he took off his robe before sitting on his bed. He then unzipped his trousers and pulled Dalim closer by the leash. He was completely under his control right now, which is exactly how he wanted him to be all the time. “You should do as I say now, Dalim. Entertain me down there too” Amon said in a commanding tone. Dalim obeyed him as he usually did and used his skillful tongue to pleasure his lord, who was still holding him tightly by the leash.

Dalim’s mouth made Amon feel a delightful sensation spread through his body and envelop him, making him want more. He pulled Dalim even closer, telling him to take it in his mouth. This made the pleasure coursing through his body intensify, which drew out some moans from him. Meanwhile, Dalim was feeling the growing need to satisfy his sexual desires, but with his hands tied up behind his back he couldn’t do anything but move restlessly. This grabbed Amon’s attention, who got a kick out of watching Dalim squirm helplessly in front of him. This was the reason he used those handcuffs on him. “What’s wrong, Dalim? Need some help down there?” he sounded as if he was mocking him, but at the same time the burning desire within him made his voice sound huskier than normal. Dalim wondered how he was supposed to answer that when he had him in his mouth and couldn’t pull away because his lord was keeping him close with the leash. This situation was quite frustrating for him and he wished he’d come soon. To his surprise he felt something between his legs and he realized his lord put his foot there and began to move it, eliciting some moans from him and making some delightful sensation flow through his body. Feeling Dalim moan against him was making Amon shiver with pleasure, so he continued to move his foot to make him moan more. Dalim continued to use his mouth and tongue to pleasure his lord, while Amon was giving him a really nice massage between his legs with his foot. This continued until he felt Amon’s grip tighten on the leash as he came in his mouth, filling it with a salty and nutty taste. Then his grip finally loosened and Dalim was able to pull away. As he did that he looked up and saw him breathing hard on the edge of the bed. Dalim wanted to do more dirty things to him, but he knew that if he did that he’d get in real trouble and probably lose a limb or two, so he stayed put. Dalim took this opportunity to gaze at his lord, who was wearing an expression he’s never seen before and which was making him more aroused. Amon noticed how Dalim was looking at him and decided to torment him some more.

“You look like you want something. I might just give you what you want depending on how good you’re at begging” Amon sounded and looked as confident as a lord can be despite his… disheveled appearance.

“Please keep moving your foot between my legs” Dalim would’ve asked for more, but he was afraid of how he might react to a naughtier request. However, as he soon was about to find out, Amon had other plans for him. His request wasn’t entertaining enough for his lord, so Amon did something else. He got up from his bed and went behind Dalim to take off his handcuffs

“Take off your robe, Dalim”

His lord’s sudden order baffled him, but did as he said. However, the next instant he felt himself being pushed on the bed from behind and as he tried to get up Amon grabbed his hands and cuffed him to his bed. Dalim felt the bed shift as his lord climbed onto the bed behind him before he heard his imperious voice again “Lift your hips”. Dalim could only guess what he was up to now, but the scenarios he thought might unfold from this turned him on even more. Amon took off Dalim’s pants and underwear, then he began to move in and out of him, holding his hips tightly. This drew out some moans from both of them and made Dalim grip the sheets beneath him due to the intense pleasure he was feeling. “Oh~, My Lord~”. Suddenly, Dalim felt a sting on his bottom as Amon spanked him using the paddle.

“I told you to say woof, didn’t i?” his lord said in his usual imperious voice

Daim almost forgot about that, but immediately said woof to appease his lord and avoid his wrath. Even so, he didn’t stop as he found another excuse to spank him. Not that he minded though, since he wasn’t hitting hard. Actually, his lord was so passionate Dalim was getting hotter and sweatier as the pleasant sensations within him were steadily intensifying. He clutched the sheets more tightly as he felt himself getting closer to the height of sexual excitement. Since Dalim began to moan louder, Amon bent forward and put his hand over his mouth, muffling the lewd sounds he was making.

“I didn’t know you were so noisy in bed, Dalim” Amon sounded amused while he spanked him once more with his paddle.

As Amon continued to move in a sexually stimulating way, Dalim was overcome by an intense and pleasant feeling that spread through his body and released all the tension from within him.

Meanwhile, Amon has been relishing in the wonderful sensations given by his own motions and in seeing this untamable man submit to him. He loved being in total control of… everything. That way he could do whatever he wanted and no one would order him around like a servant. His movements became erratic as he approached his climax and he bit Dalim’s neck to leave a hickey that showed he belonged to him. The same intense feelings as Dalim had a moment ago came over Amon too as he set aside his paddle and gripped the covers instead.

After a few more thrusts Amon pulled away and removed Dalim’s handcuffs. Upon turning around towards Amon, Dalim was mesmerized by how charming his lord looked right then. He noticed that Amon was still panting heavily and trying to regain his composure. His red cheeks were making him look more appealing than ever and Dalim had to restrain himself from going over to him and kissing his now red lips. Who knows what he’d do to him if he did something of his own accord. If his lord truly were a female praying mantis then he’d be in danger because he was so enchanted by his beauty he couldn’t move. Finally, his lord broke the silence when he said “Alright. I’ll take your suggestion into consideration”. His declaration startled Dalim as he didn’t expect him to agree to it; he only hoped he would. Before he could say anything, Amon added “But first you need to promise me you’ll never betray me”

Dalim sighed. His lord had some serious trust issues, which made him wonder what made him like this. Nevertheless, he promised he’d stay by his side for as long as he wanted him to. However, he didn’t mention that he was willing to betray him if he proceeded with his plan to destroy the country. The reason he stayed with him was to persuade him to work for the sake of the country, but if he didn’t succeed at that then there was no point in him staying at the tower. He just hoped that he’ll eventually listen to reason and change his ways. It would be such a waste to put a genius like him behind the bars.

After that they both went back to work and acted as if nothing happened, but deep down inside they were still thinking about what transpired between them. Dalim couldn’t get the image of his dangerous, but beautiful lord blushing and breathing hard in a disheveled state on his bed, while Amon decided that he found a new way to entertain himself.

[theeasternempress]

Bandaids and Safety Pins

Summary -  On one of Jason’s patrols as Red Hood, a thug gets lucky with a knife and managed to slice him and his leather jacket. Fixing the damage to his jacket turns out to be much more difficult than he anticipated. 

Author’s note - So you know how everyone kind of makes fun of Arkhamverse Jason for having a bandaid covering a rip in his shirt and a safety pin holding together a tear in his jacket? What if the reason he can’t fix them is because of his nerve damage and other injuries? Enjoy :)

 AO3

This was one of those nights that Jason had to remind himself that he actually liked Gotham and wanted to see the city improve. Well, he only liked it sometimes and that was thanks to the chili dog cart on the corner and the orange tabby cat he would occasionally see in the window across the street. But most nights, he’d be happy to see this city turned to ash.

But tonight was one of those nights that no amount of chili dogs or orange cat sightings could cheer him up. Patrol had started as usual and he’d managed to intervene in three attempted robberies, a kidnapping, and even an arson attempt before everything went to shit. 

He’d found a group of men spray painting the brick walls of a business and although Jason usually didn’t care about vandalism, he’d dropped down from the building he was perched on when he saw that it was a Planned Parenthood. A few of the men had crowbars and one had a sledgehammer, which led Jason to believe that the intentions of these men were much worse than just spray painting derogatory things about women.  

He scared one of the men when he was suddenly behind them and taunted, “What’s going on over here, boys?” 

All of them stopped what they were doing and turned to face Jason. They didn’t look like much of a threat, but Jason knew not to get cocky. Joker taught him that lesson when he was 15. 

“We ain’t doin’ nothing wrong, Hood,” one of the older men replied with a thick Gotham accent. 

“I beg to differ. How ‘bout you put all of that stuff down and I let you walk away with your heads. Sound like a deal?”

It seemed that a few of them were more than happy to drop whatever it was in their hands and leave, but the four men with crowbars gripped them tighter and one man pulled a bowie knife out of his jacket. 

Jason shrugged and cracked his knuckles with a, “Have it your way.”

 One of the men charged at him, but Jason was quick to fire a bullet into the hand holding the crowbar and then bash his head in with the end of his gun. He dropped to the ground with blood pooling around his head just as another man approached him. He swung the crowbar up with every intention of bringing it down on Jason’s head, but Jason caught his hand and shot him in the abdomen. Once he hit the ground, Jason stomped on his wrist to break it and ripped the crowbar from his grip.  

Despite seeing their two friends go down in seconds, the final three men didn’t back down. The two crowbar-wielding men attacked together while the man with the knife went to Jason’s back. He’d managed to knee one man in the groin while shooting the other in both ankles, but he didn’t have time to attack the man behind him before he slashed across his left shoulder blade. He hissed in pain, but didn’t hesitate to turn around and step away from the man before shooting him in the head. 

All of the men were either unconscious or bleeding so badly they were in shock, which gave Jason the chance to go through all of their wallets and collect any money they had. He slipped in under the door of the Planned Parenthood and grappled up onto a nearby rooftop. The money might not completely cover the costs of the damage, but it was the best Jason could do. 

Jason groaned and bent over in pain when he landed, clutching his shoulder in an attempt to stop the pain. It didn’t feel that deep, but any damage to his shoulder hurt immensely. The winter weather was making the pain in his shoulders act up and feel like the joint was practically frozen in place. Every little arm movement felt like searing pain, and this injury would only make things worse. 

A little voice in the back of his head told him to just finish patrol as usual and treat his wound later, but the logical side of him knew that he had to start treatment sooner rather than later in order to not face the consequences. 

He stumbled his way back to his apartment, clutching his shoulder in an attempt to stabilize it. It might have taken him longer to get home, but it was better to be careful than tear his wound open any further. 

He shrugged himself out of his gear and assessed the damage to his shoulder. Luckily, the cut wasn’t too deep and the bleeding had nearly stopped on its own. It was in a terrible spot to have to stitch up, so Jason was grateful that it wasn’t deep and would heal on its own. 

He rewarded himself with the hottest shower he could stand and cleaned his wound carefully, applying a good amount of antibiotic ointment and wrapping it in gauze once the area was dry.  

With the minimal amount of damage done to his shoulder, Jason knew that meant that his precious leather jacket had taken the brunt of the attack. Flipping his jacket over in his hands, Jason saw he was correct when he was faced with the huge gash across his jacket. 

Jason sighed and pulled his sewing kit out from one of his drawers. It was small and simple with only a few different colors and needles, but it got the job done. 

He dumped out a spool of black thread, sewing scissors, a long needle, and a needle threader. With how unsteady his hands were, Jason was grateful for the needle threader because he knew he’d never be able to thread the needle without it. Even when Alfred was teaching him how to sew when he was younger, Jason had never once been able to thread a needle by hand. 

Jason cut a decent sized piece of black thread and although he had a bit of difficulty with threading the needle, he was ready for the second dreaded part of sewing: tying a knot. Once again, Jason thanked Alfred’s endless patience and knowledge for teaching him multiple different ways to tie a knot. 

Despite using the easiest method Alfred had taught him, the shaking of Jason’s hands made it take longer than it should have. Jason knew that his shaking and tremors were only aggravated by the cold weather, but their true origins lay in what he suspected to be nerve damage and possibly early-onset Parkinsons. At this point, his hands were shaking so badly that the needle in his grasp would have flown across the room if it hadn’t been clenched in his fist.  

Jason was frustrated with himself for taking so long to complete a simple activity. He buried his head in his lap and groaned, feeling the urge to hit something grow stronger by the second. He didn’t realize just how hard he was squeezing his hand together until the needle pricked his finger and he opened his palm to reveal nail marks embedded in his skin. 

He sighed deeply and took some deep breaths in an attempt to stop his shaking and calm himself down. He had all the time in the world to get this done, he just had to be patient. 

Jason threw all cares about patience out the window a minute later when he had pulled the needle through his first stitch and the thread slipped out of the needle’s eyehole. He was tempted to scream in rage, but he knew it was way too late at night for that. Still, he wouldn’t mind the neighborhood reputation as the Enraged Screamer if it meant he could get some of his anger out.  

He rethreaded the needle and began again. The material of the jacket made it hard to pull the needle through, but Jason was determined to continue. 

Three stitches went by without a problem before the thread fell out again. Jason laughed, only so he wouldn’t scream, and took a minute to calm himself down. His shaking only got worse when he was angry. 

Jason fixed his needle and went slower, taking his time to ensure he had a good grip on the end of his needle. For a few stitches, everything was fine.  

When the thread fell out for the third time, Jason couldn’t help himself when grabbed it and he yelled, “Listen here, you fucking piece of trash: you have one job, now do it!”

Tears of frustration streamed down his cheeks as he yelled and cursed at the string. He buried his head in his still-shaking hands and sobbed. The Joker had taken so, so much from him, and this was just another thing lost to him. He threw the needle across the room with a heaving sob, not caring where it landed. 

In his frustrated state, Jason cut the thread and ripped it out of his jacket to reopen the hole again. He’d barely made any progress and there was no way for him to finish. 

This was the life he was left with; unable to fix a simple problem and then being reduced to tears over it. Maybe that’s why Bruce replaced him so easily. Who wanted a Robin who cried whenever he got angry when you could have a rich one?

It took a few minutes for his tears to stop, but the anger and bitterness in his heart continued. Having a breakdown wouldn’t help him fix his problem, it would only make it worse. 

With that thought in mind, Jason began searching his apartment for anything else he could use to fix his jacket. His mind jumped to ‘stapler’, but he doubted he had one here. 

The search stopped when he found a box of safety pins in the back of one of his drawers. Jason figured if he used a couple, it would be good enough to fix his jacket. 

He poured a few into his hand and started threading them through his jacket. To his surprise, they actually worked pretty well. It’d never be as good as actually sewing the hole closed, but that was never gonna happen.  

With his jacket fixed to his satisfaction, Jason tossed it aside and climbed into bed. His heart was still beating like mad and his hands were still shaky, but he had to at least try to go to sleep. Maybe his dreams would be better than the day he’d had. 

[sunflowersupremes]

Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.

Just the boys being dorks and getting stuck in a wall.  

Kinktober 2020: Stuck in a Wall & Toys Whumptober Day 28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops

Tags: Modern AU, NSFW

Characters: Geralt, Dandelion

Series: Witcher in Quarantine

Read on AO3

As part of his bribery to convince Dandelion not to break quarantine, Geralt had agreed to let the man help him to fix up the old house. He’d expected it to go poorly, because most things involving Dandelion did (in fact, he’d hoped Dandelion would grow bored within a few days. He had not).

What Geralt hadn’t anticipated was Dandelion trying to squeeze through the old wall they were working on. It had a large hole it in, nearly at waist height, that Geralt was trying to decide the best method of covering it. At some point in the past it might have served a purpose - he vaguely recalled it being part of a dumbwaiter, but the rest of the holes had been patched up.

So they had decided just to board over it, Dandelion on one side and Geralt on the other. He’d turned his back for just a moment then turned back around to see Dandelion’s head and shoulders poking out of the wall.

Apparently he’d decided he ought to squeeze through to surprise Geralt.

It did surprise him, but then Dandelion had gotten stuck.

Once he finished laughing at him, Geralt went around to the room Dandelion had been working in to see if he might be able to get him out easier that way.

He wasn’t presented with any solutions, only Dandelion’s ass wriggling about as the man whined and protested. His hands were apparently stuck in the wall, since Geralt couldn’t see them on either side, leaving him completely incapacitated.  It seemed that in the process of wiggling through the wall Dandelion had knocked loose part of the old dumbwaiter which had slid down and pinned him. It would be an easy enough fix, he’d only have to go up into the attic and raise the pulleys, but for the time being it was most enjoyable to watch Dandelion struggle.

Unable to resist, Geralt landed a sharp smack on his butt.

“Ow!” Dandelion’s voice was somewhat muffled, given that his head was on the other side of the wall, but Geralt could hear his irritation. “What was that for?”

“Stupidity,” he replied, giving him another smack.

“Rude,” the singer grumbled. “Geralt, get me out.”

“Why should I?” retorted the Witcher. “At least if you’re stuck in a wall I won’t have to worry about you wandering off to go into town.”

“Geralt!” He struggled pathetically for a moment, then went limp. “I’m stuck,” he whined.

“I thought we had already established that, bard.” It usually amused Dandelion when Geralt used old fashioned terms like “bard” but at the moment he seemed too frustrated.  

“No, Geralt, I’m really stuck, like Winnie the Pooh in Rabbit’s hole.”

Winnie the Pooh? Geralt snorted. “How old are you again, Dandelion?”

The poet attempted to kick him, but Geralt stepped back easily, then landed another slap on his ass, then left his hand resting there.

“Geeraalt.”

“Hmm, I’m considering it.”

“Considering? Considering what?”

He didn’t speak, instead pressing his thumb between Dandelion’s asscheeks, above his hole.

Dandelion yelped as he felt the pressure through his thin leggings. “You wouldn’t! Geralt!”

Well, thought the Witcher with a grin, he didn’t actually say no. Kneeling down, he peeled back Dandelion’s pants, pressing kisses against his exposed skin. The singer whimpered and struggled.

“Settle down, Dandelion,” he said. “I’ll give you what you want.”

“How do you know what I want?”

In answer, the Witcher bit his ass, pulling a breathy moan from his friend. “Geeraalt.”

“Yes, Dandelion?”

“You’re cruel.”

He laughed, scratching Dandelion’s back and pushing himself up. “Where are you going?” Dandelion shouted as he stepped away.

Geralt didn’t answer, deciding it would annoy the singer more if he remained silent. He grabbed what he needed and then made his way back to his friend. Dandelion was clearly unhappy, even from only behind able to see his lower half. Geralt sat the toy he’d brought on the ground, then drizzled a bit of the lube over Dandelion’s backside.

“Please,” Dandelion whined.

“Please what?”

Dandelion sniffled. “Geralt, this is not comfortable-”

“Just say your word and I’ll stop.”

But Dandelion’s safe word didn’t make an appearance, so Geralt scooped up a bit of lube on one finger before pressing it inside the singer’s ass slowly. Dandelion twitched around him, groaning.

Geralt rested his free hand on Dandelion’s back, rubbing soothing circles, until the man was nearly limp. Then he added a bit more lube - despite Dandelion’s grumbles that he was slick enough - and pushed in a second finger.

“Now,” Geralt said, slowly spreading two fingers. “We need to have a talk about something.”

“We- what? Is this the time?” Dandelion asked breathlessly.

“You can’t go fooling about in this house, Dandelion, it’s not safe. There’s all manner of things that could hurt you. I imagine you thought it was terribly clever going through the wall, but don’t make a habit of practical jokes.”

“Geralt-”

He withdrew his fingers and struck Dandelion’s ass firmly. “Am I clear Dandelion?” he asked.

“Ow! Yes, Geralt. I’ll behave.”

Geralt didn’t believe him for one moment, and landed several more slaps on the poet’s backside.

“Geeeeraaalltttt.”

He finally stopped the punishment, deciding instead that he’d rather make Dandelion feel good. Dropping to his knees Geralt pressed a kiss against Dandelion’s hole, drawing a long, delighted whine from the singer. “Oh Geralt, please,” he moaned.

Geralt pressed lazy kisses up and down Dandelion’s thighs, using his fingers to carefully tease his cock and balls. After a few moments he slowly pressed his fingers back inside Dandelion, curling them until he found the bundle of nerves he’d been looking for.

Dandelion cried out with delight and Geralt smiled. It didn’t take much to stretch Dandelion enough - the singer liked a bit of burn when he was entered, and he was good at relaxing his muscles, so soon Geralt was unbuttoning his pants, sliding them down just enough so that he could pull out his cock.

After applying a bit more lube, he lined up with Dandelion’s hole. “Relax,” he urged before slipping his cockhead in past the tight ring of muscle.

Dandelion let out a keening wail. Geralt paused, waiting to see if the man’s safe word would be used, but after a moment (during which Dandelion attempted to press back against him) Geralt decided it was safe to keep going.

He pulled out, gripped Dandelion’s hips, and slammed in roughly.

His friend cried out in pain, then, before Geralt could ask if he was alright, gasped, “More!”

Geralt didn’t need to be told twice. He set a brutal pace, fucking into Dandelion’s welcoming body.

He didn’t bother dragging it out, he’d already been hard since he’d see Dandelion’s ass wriggling about in the wall. Besides, he had more plans for the afternoon than a long, lazy fuck (not to mention, he preferred to keep that sort of entertainment in an actual bed).

After a few breathless minutes, Geralt felt his balls tightening and he pressed himself as deep inside Dandelion as possible, digging his nails into the singer’s tender flesh to make him whimper and clench.

That was enough to push him over the edge and Geralt groaned in ecstasy.

He took a moment after his orgasm to get himself under control, then wiped himself clean and buttoned his pants back up.

Dandelion, unable to touch himself, was still hard and desperate. “Geralt- Geralt- I- oh fuck I’m so hard,” he babbled breathlessly. “I can’t- Geralt touch me, my hands- stuck- please.”

Geralt rubbed his back slowly, then knelt down and picked up the toy he’d brought earlier. It was one of Dandelion’s that the man had brought with him, and Geralt hadn’t gotten a chance to try it out before. As a self proclaimed sex expert, Dandelion had all manner of toys, which came as a surprise to Geralt who didn’t understand why so many of them needed to be charged. The one he’d picked out even had a remote control.

He studied it for a moment, as Dandelion continued to writhe and beg. Once he was certain he’d figured it out, he carefully pushed it inside Dandelion’s ass. He stepped back, slipping the remote into his pocket.

“Hey!” Dandelion yelped. “Geralt you bastard! Take it out!”

Instead of obeying, Geralt landed a hard slap on his ass. “I think not,” he said. “I’m far happier knowing where you are, after all, so that you can’t sneak off and try to go to town.”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t think you do,” Geralt replied, eyeing his still hard cock. Knowing it would annoy Dandelion, he pulled the man’s leggings back up, pausing only to squeeze his cock and press one last kiss to his ass. Although tempted to make Dandelion remain pantsless, didn’t want to risk him getting cold (and it would annoy him to have lube and cum in his leggings, which was a good excuse for them both to soak in a tub). Then he landed one last slap on Dandelion’s ass and strode away.

He returned to the room he’d been working in earlier, where Dandelion’s head was poking out. His face was flushed and streaked with tears and dust and he had a pout on his face that no adult ought to have been able to pull off.

Geralt pulled a stool across the room and sat beside him, gently cupping his friend’s face.

“Geeraalt,” he whined pathetically.

“Pipe down, Dandelion,” the Witcher soothed, stroking his cheeks. “I’ll get you out in a few minutes.”

“Geralt my cock is going to fall off,” Dandelion moaned.

The Witcher snorted. “Don’t be so dramatic, Dandelion,” he scolded.

“I’m being completely serious, Geralt, this- this isn’t funny, it hurts,” he whined, giving the Witcher a pleading look.

Geralt discreetly slipped one hand into his pocket and clicked the button on the remote. It must have been almost instant, because Dandelion lurched and cried out.

“Feeling better?” Geralt asked, tilting his head.

Dandelion groaned. “What- ah- what color- was the toy?”

“Purple.”

“Oh gods.”

Geralt studied him with a frown. “Is that bad?” he asked worriedly.

“I like this one,” Dandelion mumbled breathlessly.

Geralt nodded, pleased that he’d not accidentally upset his partner. Then he stood and turned his back on Dandelion, picking up the discarded tools that he’d set aside when Dandelion burst through the wall. As the singer watched in horror, he started patching up the smaller holes in the wall, left over from nails and screws (and a few from a fist fight he’d once had with Eskel).

“Oh my god,” Dandelion gasped. “Geralt you aren’t actually going to- Geralt!”

“I said I’d get you out in a few minutes, Dandelion,” he said. “I’m certain you can entertain yourself until then.”

[marvelhead17]

The Tale of Eossimar (Original Female Character x Bofur Fic)

Prologue

Word Count: 5k

Warnings to cover the whole fic: Fake relationships, half-blood children, mild violence, fight scenes, male/male relationships, Dwarf gender concepts, battle of five armies fix-it, pre-battle of five armies, near death incidents, talking to dead people, mentions of paradise/heaven.

The eldest of the boys perched his little sister onto his lap, the thick woollen blanket draping over his shoulders and providing an extra layer of warmth from the brisk winter just outside closed doors, his younger brother was pressed close to his side, and sharing the blanket by curling the remains over his brother’s smaller frame. The girl tightly gripped the blanket to her chest as she stared in awe at their aunt sitting on a chair before them, and they hung onto every word she uttered, despite having heard the tale a hundred times over, the way it was told never ceased to stop their enjoyment of it.

Her hands gestured in the air as she leaned forward to recount the legend of Erebor, the silver flecks that adorned her short brunette hair shimmering in the firelight; it was the Erebor she knew of before the great destruction that had fallen upon The Lonely Mountain.

“It was a great land ruled by Thrór, the King of the Dwarves, nearly a century ago, and their riches came from the mountain in which they dwelled– glistening streams of gold travelled down the walls inside of the great mountain, and the deeper the dwarf miners travelled within it, the more valuable and precious the gems and jewels were to be found. And as more gold was mined over the years, the dwarves continued their path further down, into the very heart of the mountain, where only the most dedicated, fearless and strongest miners would dare to search-” she paused to see if the children were paying attention.

The young girl rested her chin on her palms as she hung onto the words, enthralled by the tale although knowing it by heart already, the boys were listening intently and nodding ever so slightly as to encourage their aunt to carry on.

“Until, one day… a large precious stone that blazed a pure white light was discovered by a dreadfully worn-out dwarf, and Thrór had eagerly claimed it as a sign of his right to rule over Erebor, the Arkenstone as all know it to be called in this age, the very heart of the mountain.” She let the information sink in,

“And soon after that, is when the dragon-sickness began to stir from inside the King; he soon began to grow suspicious of those who worked the chambers containing the vast wealth, believing that he had thieves amongst him. He became wary, and constantly appeared to be watching over his shoulders for a traitor; it transformed the King into someone the Dwarven people no longer recognised…”

She lowered her voice to that no louder than a harsh whispering, ensuring that the children leaned forward to hear her words clearly; “Not long after, word travelled across Middle-Earth of the countless treasures inside Erebor, to the ears of one of the Great Dragons of the North, Smaug the Terrible, as he was so aptly named. And that fiend laid waste to the City of Dale, the bustling trade centre inhabited by Men, before he continued his onslaught onto Erebor just north of the city.

“And the beast’s only desire was to claim the gold that lay inside the mountain, he blew enormous flames that singed everything in their path, engulfing delicate silks and turning them into worthless ash, the tall stone buildings that had stood for over two centuries crumbled and crashed from the unbearable heat-” Standing from her seat, she spoke quicker and louder, “The people of Dale grabbed only the essentials as they fled their homes lived in by the generations before them, mothers clutched to their children, while fathers and sons guided them to the docks so that they could make a safe escape, the city was in panic – save for one man.” She kneeled down to them, raising one digit on her hand to emphasise the significance of one being facing a great dragon, the youngest boy sucked in a deep breath in anticipation.

She sprung to her feet, “His name was Girion, the Lord of Dale… and he’d found purchase on one of the watchtowers of the city, he planted himself firmly as he readied the mounted Dwarven wind-lance. And then, he loaded a specially made black arrow into place, forged strong enough to pierce the tough hides of dragon-kind, and those few arrows that the Lord possessed were the very last of their kind, as their makers had long since passed, their method of forging taken with them to their graves.”

“And what did Lord Girion do next?” the younger boy asked and she smiled.

“Lord Girion fired the first arrow right at the beast and it flicked off of the dragon’s scaly skin like a smooth rock over calm water… unable to leave a mark on Smaug- the second followed suit and successfully hit the monster under his left wing, exposing a tiny patch of soft flesh for a final blow that would surely have taken him down-

“However, before the third and final arrow was even lifted by the brave Lord, the dragon had taken his chance to strike his enormous tale and destroy the building from underneath Girion’s feet swiftly. Leaving no hope for the City, only ruins,” she seated herself back into the chair with a shake of her head, her disappointment evident.

“And what of the Dwarves, Auntie?” the little girl turned to her with wide eyes, “Were they injured?”

She nodded solemnly and patted her lap gently, the girl clambered from her elder brother’s lap and moved to sit on her aunt’s, her arms wrapping around the girl carefully.

“Aye, many of the Dwarves were injured lass, mostly during the panic that the attack had caused; and plenty had barely escaped with their lives; my father, yer grandfather, being among the few to escape with his life,” she told her, the girl nodded, staring down at her hands and twining them together in discomfort.

“And what of the King, Thrór, what came of him?” asked the boy.

“We know exactly what happened to the King, we’ve but heard the tale a hundred times over,” the eldest elbowed his brother in his side and rolled his eyes to meet the ceiling, “Thrór had to be dragged out by his grandson, Thorin, with much effort, and the next in line Thráin, Thrór’s son, followed them closely behind as they watched their birth home being taken from them and their people.”

“That’s right Lumlin,” she nodded, “And can ye tell us what happened after, Maethríen?” she turned her head to the girl and smiled.

“Yes, Auntie!” she leaped off of her aunt’s lap and mimicked the stance she had seen her aunt do earlier, “Debris rained down from the heavens around the Dwarves, all the while they tried to reach safety in the expanse of empty lands that lay ahead,” she proudly announced as she perched herself back onto her older brother’s lap.

“That’s right,” she nodded, “And Lorin?”

“Fire consumed the lands that once thrived in people and wealth, happier days. That’s what ugmil ‘adad used to say, according to amal,” the younger boy added, eager to be a part of the story telling.

“Aye, and he of all Dwarves would know, as that was where he was born,” the children bowed their heads for a silent moment, never having met their grandfather but having grown fond of him through memories shared by their aunt.

“Auntie, can I tell the rest of the tale, please?” Lorin begged, she nodded and waited for him to continue speaking. “With their home now lost to them, the Dwarves set out into the wilderness to return to the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria, but the cunning orcs had beaten them to it!” he jumped up from his seated position and raised a fist in the air, shaking it about, “And the worst of the lot was there, Azog the Defiler, he swore that he would end the line of Durin-”

“Ooh- I do not care for this part,” Maethríen squirmed in her brother’s lap, burying her face into his chest as protective arms encircled her and stroked her back tenderly.

“Mae, please,” Lorin whined at his sister, he cleared his throat and shuffled his shoulders, continuing, “The foul thing started his reign of terror by killing Thrór, beheading him and raising his head as a claim to victory; and instead of running away in horror, Thorin mustered all of his courage and his might and wielded his weapon to face the Orc leader,” he took a quick breath, “Azog was powerful yes; however, Thorin was resourceful and quick on his feet, when disarmed of his shield he grabbed for an oak branch he’d found on the ground, and fought with great heart, earning him his name… Oakenshield,”

Lumlin at this point had gently nudged his sister from his lap and set her aside, she pouted but watched as her elder brother stood to his feet, “Thorin Oakenshield swung his sword and cut Azog the Defiler’s left arm clean in half, he was blindsided and dragged away by his army of orcs… presumed to have died from his fatal wounds,”

“Aye lads, and since that fateful day Thorin Oakenshield had the grave task of becoming King to the surviving dwarves, as his father Thráin had become mad from grief and disappeared without a trace,” they remained in silent awe, “Thorin became a great king at a terribly young age, and for the next few months he led his people across Middle Earth, finding and making do with places for them to live, eventually settling in Ered Luin for temporary dwelling, at least that is what they had thought. And so, for the next sixty years Thorin strived to work hard for his people and sought work from Men,”

The children settled down in their original positions on the floor and waited patiently for their aunt to finish recalling the endeavours that Thorin went on to do for his people, and how he would never forget the day that Smaug had changed their lives for the worst. Never forgiven and never forgotten.

“Auntie, is there more news of the travelling Company?” Lumlin asked, shifting to sit more upright in full attention.

“Aye dear,” she nodded, delighted to hear that he wants to know more.

“I told you Lorin,” Lumlin pushed the shoulder of his brother playfully, whose response was merely sticking out of his tongue and crossing his arms. “You owe me five gold coins,” he held out his hand expectantly.

“Alright Lumlin, I’ll give you your five coins tomorrow, I haven’t got anything on me just yet-”

“Brothers, please! We came here to listen to Auntie tell us more stories and you’re spoiling it!” Maethríen threw her hands in the air with a huff of annoyance; they stared at her in surprise before bowing their heads down guiltily.

“Sorry Auntie,” they apologised in unison.

“Thank ye laddies,” she nodded appreciatively.

“So tell us Auntie, what is the latest word?” Lorin asked, resting his head on his palms, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked up to his aunt.

“Let me see… I did tell ye of the first whisperings that told of dwarves entering the Shire, the dwellings belonging to Hobbits, specifically to a home in Bag End?” she asked, though already knowing the answer.

“Yes, that’s correct Auntie,” Lorin nodded.

“And I did tell ye about Thorin Oakenshield, along with his company of twelve dwarves, also accompanied by an unexpected fourteenth member, a Hobbit from the very same Bag End?”

“Yes, Auntie,” Maethríen piped up, nodding her head.

“What about the trolls who attempted to roast the dwarves for a feast?”

“Yes Auntie,” Lumlin nodded.

“And, I did tell ye about the rumours of the Dwarven Company, and Hobbit, dining among the Elves in Rivendell, and causing a little ruckus?”

“Yes Auntie,” they said together in an annoyed tone.

“Auntie, can you please continue the story?” Lumlin sighed as he stared at her.

“Alright, alright Lumlin, just ensuring the details were clear to yer minds still, yer Auntie is getting old ye see?” she winked and laughed, earning a giggle from her niece. “Now, have I told ye about what happens after Rivendell?”

“No Auntie!” Lorin sat up, leaning forward to now listen more carefully.

“I see, then that is where I shall continue,” she smiled, “Well, the word is that the dwarves continued onward from the lushness and safety amongst the Elves in Rivendell, to continue their perilous journey along the Misty Mountains, where they faced rough storms, and where they nearly fell to their deaths as Stone-Giants fought to win territories,”

“Stone-Giants? But Auntie, those are just myths told to scare dwarflings from straying whilst walking mountain passes,” Lumlin shook his head in disbelief.

“Aye, that’s what I thought to be true as well dear, but Middle-Earth has ears and eyes everywhere, so there is nothing untruthful with the words that I am sharing with ye on this night,”

“Remarkable,” Lorin whispered in awe.

“There is more,” she waited as they edged closer once again, “They managed to find safety within the caves of the mountain, and as they rested they did not know that they were soon going to be facing hideous Goblins, like moths to a flame, an alluring idea to sleep without watching over their shoulders during the night, and it had clouded their better judgement,”

“Did the Goblins capture them?” Maethríen gasped.

“Aye, and they too nearly took the lives of the dwarves,” they stared at her with widened eyes, “Thankfully Gandalf the Grey, the wizard who had been the one to arrange the company for the journey to begin with, came to their aid and saved them from the awful Goblin King,”

“But then, are the Orcs with their pack of Wargs still hunting down Thorin and the company during this time?” Lumlin asked worriedly.

“Aye, they are,” she nodded, “Both exhausted and terrified, the dwarves had reached the outside of the caves to a slowly setting sun, and the Goblins dared not follow lest they wished to die from the sunlight touching their skin,” her face became serious as she spoke her next words.

“However, their peace did not last very long, as the Wargs had caught on to their scent and led the Orcs straight to them, the dwarves and poor Hobbit so far away from home clung to dangling trees on a cliff’s edge, fearing that this is where their journey, and their lives were to end…”

“They cannot have met their ends!” Lorin practically yelled, his excitement becoming hard to contain, “Not Thorin Oakenshield, he is a fighter, a warrior, a King amongst Dwarves,” he insisted with wide eyes, his jaw slacking slightly.

“Yer absolutely right Lorin, and the King indeed fought hard against Azog once more, and he almost perished, had it not been for the wit and bravery of one Bilbo Baggins…”

“But Auntie, aren’t Hobbits much smaller than Dwarves?” Lorin asked

“Aye dear, as I said, he is a very brave hobbit to take on an orc,” Lorin nodded in amazement, “He wasn’t strong, but he distracted the Orcs long enough for The Company to escape, and I do absolutely believe that Gandalf had something to do with that, as they were rescued by The Giant Eagles of Legend,”

“They rode with The Giant Eagles?”

“Aye, they were carried to safety further away; Thorin was on the brink of death by the time they had reached the flat peak,”

“But surely Gandalf wouldn’t let the King die, right Auntie?” Lumlin asked in concern.

“Certainly not,” she assured them, “He used a touch of his magic to bring Thorin’s soul back from the heavens to Middle-Earth…”

“And then what happened Auntie?” Maethríen asked.

“And then-” she jumped up unexpectedly, making them all startle in their seats, “The lot of ye had to go to bed!”

“Ah, no!” Lorin groaned.

“Aye, ye young ones need yer rest if ye ever want to be strong warriors someday,” she nodded sternly.

“So that’s all?” Lumlin asked, “They made it to a mountain top, where are they now? Surely there must be more!”

“That’s all I know laddie, now off to bed, the lot of ye.” She chased them out and laughed, standing at the doorway to her small home as she watched them run off to their home just across the way from hers.

A familiar face stood just outside the entrance with a shaking head, and she looked to them with a raised brow, “What?”

“You know I don’t appreciate you exciting them before their bedtime,” the woman crossed her arms and sighed. “And when are you going to give up this silly dream of yours?”

“I’ll hold onto it till I take my very last breath if I must,” she said very seriously. “And if it matters at all to ye, it was also our father’s dream,”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t put ideas in their heads, they’ve been unruly these past months. Besides, Father is long gone, you need to wake up and realise that he’s never coming back.”

She narrowed her eyes, “It’s not my fault that they crave adventure Lúthrien, I too grow tired of seeing these walls that protect us, and they’re still young; ye can’t blame their curiosities on me,”

“Alright, alright you’ve made your point.” The woman sighed, shifting in her stance, “Can I still ask for you to watch them tomorrow? That is, unless you wish to do your duties yourself, they are yours after all-”

“I’ll watch over them, don’t ye fret,”

Lúthrien nodded and spoke in her preferred tongue, Elvish, “{Thank you, goodnight sister},”

“{Goodnight, sister},” she nodded and closed her door quietly; she sighed to herself as she entered her bedroom.

Perhaps I should visit Lake-Town soon, I’m sure they miss me there. She thought to herself as she changed swiftly into her sleepwear and climbed into bed.

She stared at the stars that twinkled in the blackness, wondering if any news of the company would come soon. After minutes or hours she did not know, but sleep overcame her followed by a dreamless night.

Dawn broke through the window and alerted the start of the new day; she rolled from her bed and changed from her sleepwear, before washing her face hurriedly with some cold water to waken her for the day ahead.

As she exited her room she was assaulted by a pair of arms circling around her waist, she laughed and grabbed around the figure to lift her niece into her arms, and placed her against her hip with ease.

“What’s this, a Goblin attacking me from below?” she nuzzled her head against her niece’s. “Ye caught me off guard lass,”

“Auntie you’re so strong,” the girl giggled in surprise.

“Of course, ye have to be when ye’re a warrior,” she grinned and scanned the room briefly, “Where are those pesky brothers of yers?”

“Hey- we’re not pesky!” Lorin whined from just behind her front door, he stuck his head out and revealed his hiding spot, crossing his arms with a wooden practice sword in hand and pouting slightly.

“Well that’s one of ye,” Nari nodded. “Where’s yer brother?” she asked and the boy shrugged. “Don’t play with me now, I know ye know,” she rolled her eyes as he denied yet again, and ambled towards the front door with Maethríen still on her hip.

“Aha!” Lumlin jumped from the left where she couldn’t see, he startled Nari momentarily, but she still managed to grab a hold of his wooden sword with her free hand. “Ugh no, Auntie!” he tried to tug it back but she had a firm grip on it. “Lorin this is all your fault! You were supposed to distract her- not get caught out immediately!”

Nari let go of the mock weapon and he stumbled backwards and regained his footing, neatening his clothing as he glared at his younger brother, she lowered her niece to the ground once again.

“Now, now lads, ye can only blame yerselves for what happened,” she chided, “But ye also seem to forget that yer Auntie is unstoppable,” she brushed Lorin’s hair wildly and he swatted her hand away.

“Auntie will always beat you, silly boys,” Maethríen stuck her tongue out at her brothers, as she rested her hands on her hips, impersonating her mother.

“As soon as Mother allows us to train with Auntie, then we’ll get better,” Lorin said determinedly.

“You mean if Mother allows us to train with Auntie,” Lumlin sighed, “We should be grateful that she thinks these are just toys and not for practice,” he gestured to his battered wooden sword.

Nari felt her stomach grumble and she looked at them, “Have ye all eaten breakfast then?” they all nodded, “Well maybe I can get ye something else while we’re there, I’m starving,”

“We’re going to the market?” Maethríen asked, Nari nodded, “Oh maybe we can say hello to atarwhile we’re there! He’s always busy,”

“That’s because he’s working Mae,” Lumlin shook his head, “How else will he feed us?”

“Come on, it’s a beautiful day and we can’t be standing about doing nothing about it,” Nari gathered them and walked behind them as they quickened their pace.

A few of the stall owners that had noticed them gave their usual greetings, while others busied themselves marketing off their products with other villagers, and Nari found herself drawn to a stand selling freshly baked breads. The smell nearly made her mouth water, and she happily purchased her favourite bread, the stall owner smiled and then stiffened as his eyes caught something behind her.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“It’s that lad of yers again,” he told her, “’suppose he didn’t expect to see ye here,

“Thank ye, keep well,” she closed his hands around the money and looked around the marketplace in search of the children, and spotted them standing at their father’s stall.

She walked on, barely glimpsing at the dwarf that seemed to be staring holes into her head, and tore some of the fresh bread off to eat. By the time she reached the stall she had finished it and wiped her hands together, before briefly brushing away any rogue crumbs from her clothing.

“Morning Nikolas,”

“Ah there you are Nari,” he smiled, “I thought these rascals were with you today,” he bent over and kissed his daughter on her head, making her giggle, “Are you keeping well?” he asked, looking up at Nari.

“Aye, thank ye, and yerself?”

“Yes,” he stood up, catching sight of the dwarf from earlier, “I suppose you haven’t spoken to him today?”

“Not yet, I’ll get round to it once I’m done with yer little menaces,” she said and he nodded.

He leaned forward, “Lúthrien said she’s helping yer mother today, and they’ll be indoors all day. Make of that what you will,” he winked and she smirked.

“Thank ye, come on children,” they walked on, after waving their goodbyes, and she looked down at her niece, “So what do ye want to do, mm?” she brushed the girl’s hair.

“What if we want to do something Auntie?” Lorin asked.

“We’re always doing what you want,” Maethríen pouted and then perked up, “I want to go see the animals!”

“Of all things, you have to choose the smelliest?” Lumlin wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“If that’s what Mae wants that’s what we’re doing lads, I don’t want to hear any complaints,” Nari scolded, “Besides, I heard that the sow has given birth just a few days ago,”

Maethríen gasped, “So they’ve got little piglets? They’re so cute, and pink!” she squealed.

“You’re a piglet,” Lorin rolled his eyes, “You even squeal like one,”

“Hey,” Nari tugged his ear quickly.

“Ow!” he wriggled and she let go.

“That’s not how ye talk to yer sister, apologise,”

“Sorry for calling you a piglet, Mae,” he spoke quietly, barely making any eye contact as his foot brushed across the floor.

“Now, is that how we apologise?” she asked, crossing her arms and looking down at him.

“No Auntie,” he cleared his throat and spoke louder, “I’m sorry for calling you a piglet Mae,” he gazed down at his sister and she grinned at him.

“I forgive you Lorin,”

“See? Look how easy that was. Now…” she paused, a grin spreading on her own face, “I’ll race ye to the farm, last one there is a rotten troll!” she ran on as she finished her sentence, and the children yelled out in surprise, immediately giving chase to try and catch up with their Auntie. She beat them and they stood panting for a few minutes to catch their breath.

“That wasn’t fair Auntie,” Lumlin said, “You didn’t give us any chance to prepare for that,”

“You’re only upset because you’re the troll now,” Lorin teased, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as his older brother glowered at him.

“Well next time we’ll make a more formal race, how about that?” Nari asked and he agreed, “Good, then I’ll have witnesses to prove that I’m faster than the lot of ye,”

“Ooh- I can hear the piglets!” Maethríen shrieked, “Just over there!” she climbed onto the first beam of the wooden fence, pointing in the direction of excited squeals inside the barn. “Auntie, can I go see them? Please?”

“If Haga says it’s alright,” the girl ran around to enter the main barn, “Just try not to get your dress dirty!” she called as the girl disappeared from sight, and she resigned, looking to her nephews.

“So who’s telling her that we get our breakfast sausages from the pigs?” Lorin asked, hanging on the fence.

“Nobody,” Nari said sternly, “Ye know very well that that would upset her, that’s cruel Lorin,”

He rolled his eyes, “She’ll get over it, I had to,” he leaned over the fence to pet the calf that had wandered over to them. “It’s a wonder that animals can be cute, but also tasty,”

“It’s when you start talking that way, that makes me wonder if you’re really my brother sometimes,” Lumlin shook his head at his brother, scratching the calf’s chin gently, it closed its eyes and leaned forward. “Besides, it’s not a lump of meat; it’s a living, breathing creature, just like you or me,”

“I’m glad one of ye is taking to heart what I say,” Nari sighed and looked down at the calf, its big brown eyes stared blankly at her and it gave a little moo, she gave it a soft pat on the snout and it licked her hand. “Ye are quite cute, ye know,”

“There ye are!” a familiar voice spoke and she smiled as she turned to see her brother.

“Callon,” she greeted.

“I heard ye have the children for the day, and wanted to join ye,” Callon smiled as the boys acknowledged him, and surveyed the area, “Where’s Mae?”

“Torturing the piglets,” Lorin answered, “I do hope she doesn’t try to bring one of them home,”

“We’ve already got a family pig,” Lumlin shoved his brotherly lightly on the shoulder.

“I am not a pig!” he shoved his brother back harder.

“Hey, don’t push me!” he jumped off the fence and used both hands to push his brother off as well, and soon enough they were having a shoving match with each other, that was getting more aggressive as it progressed.

“Boys,” Callon shook his head and they stopped bickering.

“He started it,” Lorin muttered.

“I don’t care, I’m finishing it,” he glanced to the sky in silent prayer, before looking between the two clearly bored and irritated boys. “Tell ye what, why don’t we go see if old Haga has his little gallery set up then?”

“Now that sounds like an idea,” Nari agreed.

“I bet you can’t even hit down one can,” Lumlin looked at his brother as they ran off to the barn.

She was about to follow when Callon stopped her with a gentle hand on the shoulder, “I saw Cáleb lurking around, has he bothered ye today?” he asked quietly.

“Not yet, but I’ll speak to him when the day is over,”

He moved his hand away, “I think that’s fair enough,”

“Ye’d think after this many years he’d learnt his lesson,” she started to walk on when a shadow flew over her head, she instinctively stretched out her arm and the owl landed gently on it. “I didn’t expect to see ye for a few more days at least,” she gently rubbed its head and it nuzzled against her.

“Maybe they’re closer than we expected?” he asked as she frowned at the owl.

“Perhaps,” she retrieved a few pellets from her pouch and fed it to the owl, “That’s for being such a clever girl,” the owl made a content clicking and walking onto her shoulder, nuzzling under her ear and settling down, “Do ye have any word for me girl?”

As the owl squeaked and clicked into Nari’s ear, her eyes widened as she looked at her brother, then it cosied up comfortably against her head.

“What is it, bad news?” Callon asked.

“They’ve just made their way into Mirkwood,”

“On their own… Isn’t the forest growing ill there?”

“It is,” she thought for a moment and her eyes lit up.

“Nari, I know that look in yer eyes, what are ye thinking?”

“I have to go after them,”

“Nari-”

“Callon, there’s a fair chance that they’ll get lost there, besides, what if the Elves capture them? Then our chances of returning home will be gone, King Thranduil will not take lightly to them being there,”

“Alright,” he sighed, “Do what ye must, but for Durin’s sake be careful,” he pulled her in for a hug, forcing the owl to move away with a surprised chirp, and fly above them. “I’ll keep an eye on the three of them,”

“Thank ye,” they let go of each other before pressing their foreheads together, “I’ll be back soon, promise,”

“Stay safe,” he said as she walked away, he watched as her owl flew just above her, before she started running and disappeared out of sight.

The few moments of silence were disturbed, “Uncle? Where’s Auntie?” Maethríen asked from behind him, he looked down at her and smiled, kneeling down.

“Auntie will be back soon,” He looked at the path she had vanished along, “She’s just gone on an adventure.”

___________________________________________________________

>> Chapter Index << >> Next Chapter (1) <<

[littlesparklight]

Death of Heroes: Achilles

Apollo and Paris kill Achilles, Thetis grieves (set right after his death, so before she and her sisters go to grieve by his corpse).

***

When Achilles was felled by Paris, Apollo stood behind him. It was not that Paris needed the god's assistance, for he could have killed Achilles with none at all; it was that Apollo had been promised Achilles' death, and he would have it. And so it was Paris' hand, Paris' bow, Paris' arrows that killed Achilles.

But it was Apollo who drew the first arrow back. It was Apollo who let it go. It was Apollo who guided the lethal arrow, to let it fly at the angle needed to drive the warrior to his knees when the tendon in his heel was severed. The second arrow Paris let go with a song to the trembling string from which the arrow flew, a terrible finality in the straightness of the shot, and it was Apollo who drove the arrow so deep not even divinely-crafted armour could have shielded Achilles from the blow.

It was Apollo who killed Achilles for Troilus' murder, and the god was radiant as Achilles fell, blinded by the light.

And Thetis, sitting distantly underneath darkening waves that were already roiling with the tension of settling fate, felt it. Shuddering like she was the one who had been struck by the arrows, she bent over herself, a hand clutching at her face.

"No. No, no, no, no!" Thetis had thought foreknowledge would arm her like she had armed her son, but like the divinely crafted armour made by Hephaistos' himself had not been enough in the face of divine retribution, so divine forewarning had, in the end, left her as vulnerable as her son.

"Thetis?" Agave leaned in close, a hand on her shoulder, worry knotting her brows, but Thetis could scarce articulate to herself what had happened, even less voice her new sorrow to her sister.

"My son! Curse my womb, curse Peleus!" Crying out, her other hand dug into her hair, pulling it out of the gleaming strings of pearls that held it in shining bunches around her head, yanking down toward where the first of the silver bands were, tearing at her hair. "Father Zeus, why?"

If she hadn't rejected him - no, no, that wouldn't have worked. She had been as tempted by him as she had by Poseidon, and even if Zeus wouldn't have made good on marrying her off to a mortal for rejecting him, there was still Themis and her awful prophecy, the words that had doomed her irrespective of divine affront at being rejected. If she and Peleus had just managed to convince their son to remain in hiding on Skyros for long enough to have the other Danaans leave! Curse the craftiness of Odysseus! She had been sure, so blessedly relieved and sure, that having Deidameia, his young son, and Patroklos all in one place had been anchoring him and making the heady ambrosia of glory if not less attractive, then just unwanted enough he would have refused any overtures to convince him to go back for another attempt at Troy if he was found. Five years was not an insignificant length of time for a mortal, after all. A fulfilling family life was not the glory and honour of war, no, and mortal men valued it so highly, but it was not insignificant either. He had been in love with both of them, Patroklos more than Deidameia admittedly, but his feelings for her hadn't been insignificant, and both would have been assured a long life and more children than only his first, had Achilles just stayed long enough to be passed over. Then they could have travelled back to Phthia and it would have been good.

But no. No, of course not. Achilles had been just barely twenty by that point, younger still when he first landed on Skyros; of course war and the glory he could win from it was what he'd wanted more, especially since Patroklos would be with him either way.

"Damn the man for interrupting me!" Clawing at her hair until Agave and Actaea gently pulled her hands away to hold them, Thetis realized she now had the majority of her sisters around her, and their parents were coming in as well. "My son is dead! If my husband had just let me---!"

She moaned, her throat choking up as she sobbed, and around her, as understanding spread, her sisters sympathetically drew breath for wailing. It was almost soothing to hear her growing grief echoed out and magnified. Doris and Nereus were now behind her, her mother's cheek pressed against her head, her father's wrinkled hand on her shoulder. She'd been so angry, so very angry, when Peleus had interrupted her in the only method to make a mortal or mostly-mortal human immortal without the blessing of the ruler of the sphere. It had been going well, much quicker than if Achilles had been mortal only, for his divine qualities were protecting him from the flames and soaking up the ambrosia much quicker than he otherwise would have, and the fire was burning away the mortal qualities so well. If Peleus had noticed only a few nights later, if only he had left her to her task, if only.

But no, he had interrupted her and she'd been so furious she hadn't even known what she'd done before she was in her father's arms, far away under the waves of the Aegean and in the familiar gleaming palace that was still home.

She'd gone back later, of course. Sat on rocks and watched Chiron teach her darling to fire a bow, sung along while the boy learned the lyre, held him during failure and encouraged him to go back and try again. Sat beside Peleus at feasts while Achilles and Patroklos wrestled like young wolf pups on the floor. She wished she hadn't. She wished she'd been angry enough to thoroughly abandon both husband and son, for then this might have hurt less, then she might not even have cared, might not have listened as Achilles finally tried to beseech a mother he didn't even know, but she had gone back to both - Peleus later, to be sure, and she never stayed for any length of time at any given visit, but she'd gone back. For she'd missed them, and she'd missed what she'd had, what she'd tasted of a life with a husband and son.

"Curse my foolish, precious son!"

Why could he not have understood the worth of a long life, lived well-loved? Why had he not refused Athena, telling her to get someone else to kill Apollo's son? Why had he not at least dragged the boy out of the temple? Why had he let Patroklos go alone, or at all, out on the battlefield, curse the man's compassion and honour! Why, why, why. She knew why. Achilles had gone to Troy, and had thus sealed his fate. He'd repeatedly refused any chance to turn back at every turn he'd been given the opportunity, valuing everlasting, ephemeral glory in the stead of a long, earthly life.

Shoulders shaking, Thetis sunk in over herself and cried.

[vmheadquarters]

We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected!

Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Chapter Seventeen of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @iimdestinyfreereally​.  And stayed tuned next week for Ch.18 from @happilyshanghaied​ ​ -tag, you’re it!

—————————————————————————————————— CHAPTER SEVENTEEN by @iimdestinyfreereally​

Veronica woke with a jump, disturbing her still-throbbing ankle and Logan’s snoring across the room. “Sorry.” She winced, easing herself off the loveseat as Logan roused slightly from sleep. “Just gonna head to the bathroom,” she whispered, and watched as he sleepily nodded his okay. Faint sunlight streamed through the window; Veronica guessed it was only a little after dawn. She’d slept like a rock for a few hours, but with a new day’s light came a return of last night’s problems. They were still trapped in murder country, with a rapidly-rising body count and any number of viable suspects. The cast of characters was growing as long as her arm, and she still couldn’t trust anyone but Wallace, Mac, and Logan. Dick was dropping off her suspect radar. Veronica tried not to underestimate anyone, but with the plot thickening rapidly and Dick just being thick… Veronica wasn’t sure she could picture him doing any of it, especially hurting Madison. She trusted him about as far as she could pick him up and throw him, but she wasn’t sure he had the motivation or stick-to-itveness to plan a complicated murder party weekend. Wallace, Mac, Logan, and tentatively Dick. Not a very long list of allies in a creepy old murder house, Veronica admitted to herself.

With a long look at Wallace and Logan, both propped up and sleeping uncomfortably in the vintage chairs, she tried to hobble quietly down the hall to one of the main bathrooms. 

Creepy old murder house, she sighed into the silence of the hall, watching the eyes of a grey-faced statue as she walked by. It didn’t watch back, but she maintained it was creepy. Veronica hoped the others had been true to their word about keeping two people up for watch duty at all times, but she knew they were all probably just as exhausted as she’d been. Carefully locking the bathroom door behind her, she smiled, relieved, at the pile of fresh towels in the basket and shook her head. Remember when this was just a fun little vacation? A weekend getaway with a game-y escape room schtick? Even outside of Neptune none of them could escape the shadow of murder and mystery, as hard as they tried. With a creaky twist, the faucet gave way to cool water, and Veronica let her mind relax a touch as she rinsed last night’s grime away, then pressed her face into the clean towel. Nothing about the weekend so far had been fun or relaxing, from the weather right on down to the murder victims; it had all been pretty tragic. Seeing Logan always had its perks, and she missed him more than she’d even realized. Even snowed-in-with-murderers was cozier with Logan. That had to be some kind of superpower. But with no way off the island, and no way to phone the authorities, Veronica didn’t want to wait for more bodies before taking action. This killer always felt a step ahead of her, leaving a bloodtrail leading her down a dark hallway with another fun surprise at the end of it all. She was starting to hate surprises. Thinking again about the sunken boats, she chewed her lip and fussed with her hair in the bathroom mirror. The murderer had meant to strand the teens by sinking the boats, but that just meant the murderer had to have their own way off the island. There had to be some back door out of the death trap, and Veronica found a little hope in that realization. Mentally, she started organizing a list of next steps. First, she needed to see if Mac was okay, and if she remembered anything else about her attacker. Her description of a tiny blonde Lilly Kane didn’t make sense to Veronica, but she didn’t doubt Mac’s eyesight. Just her blow to the head, she admitted. Veronica knew that meant she had to question Duncan too, an idea which brought on more than a little discomfort. Putting him out of her mind had been easy the past few years, but seeing him still felt complicated. She was glad he wasn’t dead; part of her felt relief, but confronting him about his role in both the fake murders and the real ones was going to be unpleasant. Where was the tiny Lilly Kane, and what role did she play in all this? Veronica only hoped Duncan would be more forthcoming during this mystery than he’d been during their past ones. Although it would be impossible for him to help less, Veronica reminded herself. Her mind kept going back to the long list of suspects, and the ever-growing list of victims. Madison Sinclair? It hadn’t been all that long since Veronica had wished her dead, or at least wished her a terrible perm, but seeing her actually dead? Dressed as a maid? The dots were hard to connect, even for Veronica Mars, super-sleuth extraordinaire and card-carrying private eye. None of this was random, it all felt planned. Methodically calculated. Definitely the hard route to mass murder. Veronica gave herself the chills by accident with the morbid thought. Giving herself a final dust-off in the mirror, she felt a little lighter leaving the bathroom and limping back down the hall to the library. With a playful wave and obscene gesture at the greyscale statue on her way, Veronica dared herself to not be afraid of this place. Smiling at Logan and Wallace still snoring, she contemplated lying back down and getting a few more hours of sleep. But after reaching for the blanket on the loveseat, the light feeling in her chest sank, rapidly. A small, white envelope rested atop the blankets where she’d been sleeping just a little while ago; it was addressed to Enid Curtis in fancy, curliqued writing. Veronica checked over her shoulder and around the room; whoever had left her the note was gone, so she tore into it, dread swelling in her chest. Did you sleep well? Soon you’ll be at your final rest, unless you win the game I came to play.  Will you bet your life on it? Will you bet Mason’s?                           -Mistress X Resisting the urge to crumple the note in her palm, Veronica sighed and reread it to herself a few times. The fake murder mystery was over, wasn’t it? So now real murder was supposed to be a game? Couldn’t Mistress X just clean up at poker like everyone else with a healthy competitive streak? But Veronica held the answer in her hands; danger written in plain ink, on plain paper. The thought of losing Logan, or Wallace, or Mac froze Veronica’s mind. Maybe there wasn’t time for a full investigation, with ample interrogations, and tracking of timelines, and crossing off suspects from a list. Maybe Veronica only had time to get the people she cared about out of the house and off the island. It was still snowing heavily outside, as if to emphasize the point they were still stuck. Stranded. Trapped. “Guys.” Veronica plopped herself back into the loveseat to give her ankle a break. Eyeing the room around her, she realized Mistress X might still be watching, might still be playing. “Guys.” She tried again, waking Logan and then Wallace, eliciting grumbles from both of them. “I found another clue, this one personally addressed and hand-delivered.” She brandished the letter, and Logan was first awake enough to read the note. Pressing a small, good morning kiss to the corner of her mouth, Logan’s face fell after reading the note. “Nope, nope, no thank you.” Wallace shook his head, stretching. “I’m gonna need at least two seconds to wake up before I deal with any psycho murderers, or new creepy-ass clues. Two seconds.” He stretched wide, huffing a sigh as he noticed Logan staring wide-eyed at the letter. “Well? Doesn’t really look like a ticket home.” He plucked the note from Logan’s hand, and Veronica lifted her brows in question when Wallace handed the note back to her. “Mistress X is extra getting on my nerves.” She ran her fingers over the letter. It all felt so personal, somehow, and Veronica felt herself a little shaken by that. She’d faced evil before, at least she’d suspected it’s presence in Aaron Echolls; but this felt almost like they were being hunted, or taunted. They were being played with, and that drove her crazy. “It’s just a threat.” Logan smoothed his hand over Veronica’s shoulder, eyeing the bruising on her ankle. Even in crisis, Veronica knew he wanted to reassure her, protect her, any way he could. Epic. She shook her head, but she wasn’t easily reassured. “Someone was in here while you guys were sleeping.” Veronica fought a shudder, leaning into Logan’s touch. “I could’ve just missed them in the hall. We can’t give them that chance again,” she decided. “We need to get everyone together, and figure this Mistress X out. I think we’re being watched, maybe even now.” Veronica didn’t buy that luck and good timing were responsible for the letter being left while she was in the bathroom. “There you guys are,” Dick cut in, leaning into the library. “Jeez, what’d you guys see a ghost or something?” He looked between the three of them, a scared expression creeping across his face as if maybe they really had. “Anyway, doesn’t matter, come on, you guys gotta see this.” He started back down the hall. “Is Mac okay?” Veronica leaned on Logan, after jumping up too fast for her injured ankle. Steadied, she silently smiled to erase the look of concern from his face, and fit her hand into his. Tucking the note from Mistress X in her back pocket, Veronica debated just how much she should share with the entire group. “The Mac Attack is fine, she just needed a little TLC, if you get what I mean.” Dick waggled his eyebrows over his shoulder at Logan. “You mean you gave her some band-aids, Neosporin, and Tylenol?” Veronica’s tone warned Dick about all kinds of negative-type consequences for him if he had anything else to say. She could always take him off her ally list. Frowning, Dick shook his head; Veronica Mars was a party-pooper, it was one of her biggest character flaws in his eyes. He resumed leading them down to the servants’ quarters, then remembered something. “Actually, we’re out of Neosporin, but anyway, you gotta see what the Mackster found,” Dick said, gesturing them into the room, and making a flourishing gesture in Mac’s direction. “Bond, I gotta tell ya, I think we might be in a little trouble here.” Mac was frowning at her computer screen. “And don’t call me the Mackster.” She grimaced at Dick. Logan and Veronica shared a look between them, steadying each other. The bodies piling up had actually given her some indication they were in a sticky situation, but Mac’s face was pale and scared. Maybe things were somehow worse than murder, death threats, fake names, and high stakes. Maybe Veronica had been lucky so far to only have been pushed off one balcony. “When you say might…” Wallace scowled, as if he had all kinds of bad feelings about Mac’s frown. “Nothing we haven’t survived before, right? Whatcha got, Q?” Veronica hobbled to the seat next to Mac, bracing herself for another curve ball.

[sleepyarthur]

This is probably a little bit too late for Father’s Day but I’ll go ahead anyhow. John is a terrible father.

Now before everyone raises their pitchforks, take a look back at John’s life since Jack was born. He did a lot of shitty things a terrible father would certainly do. He left them for a long time. Didn’t care for his son initially and wouldn’t even spare 10 dollars to buy Jack new clothes. John embraced toxic masculinity to a tee as he argues with Abigail regarding his bounty hunter work (”I’m a goddamn man!), and dismisses Jack’s prospects on becoming a writer, referring to the stories he would make as “silly” as if it was unmanly. His son called him sir instead of the regular names like dad or papa or even at least father, when he called him “Pa” when he was younger. From what I learned, this method of a child calling his/her own parents by sir or ma’am is reminiscent of old American history of strict and monotonous parent-child relationships. Even though John means well by teaching him how to shoot properly and do ranch work, his style of teaching leaves much less to be desired for Jack, and he never grew interested or enthusiastic about them. Contrast his actions with Arthur’s. Arthur played as Jack’s surrogate father and picked up after him and Abigail when John willingly abandoned them. He was, and has been pretty much affectionate with Jack and treats him with gentle love and care like he was his own son. Arthur is mightily protective of him, preserving his innocence as much as he can, going so far as to not shoot Ross and Milton in the back when he had the chance to because Jack would see his violent nature face to face. He wished Jack to not grow up like him or his father, encouraging him to follow Hosea’s teachings, preferring a book over a gun unlike most men did in that era. He didn’t mind Jack not caring about fishing at all when the boy went off to make a necklace out of flowers which would have been called “girly” or unmanly at those times, and even delightfully encouraged it. He went above and beyond to make sure Jack wouldn’t become an orphan, saving Abigail from the hands of Milton and eventually leading John back to safety when he found that he was still alive. It is clear that John isn’t the best dad there is, but the game is called Red Dead Redemption after all. John’s sacrifice for his family was certainly what defined him as an iconic father in many people’s eyes, but that event has a lot more depth than its raw appearance and perceived purpose, In fact, John’s sacrifice was unnecessary. He chose to do it anyway. He could have easily escaped with Abigail and Jack. The two managed to ride out of the ranch without any of the agents seeing them, because if they were seen, they would have been pursued. Even then, most of the men were off their horses and watching over the barn, so even if they did manage to catch them running, they could have widened the distance between them long enough to make sure they will never catch up, or the very few that would catch up can be easily dispatched by John on horseback. Afterwards, they can just find another spot to hole up in for a couple of months, get themselves a new identity and start fresh again. Why didn’t John try to save himself at all? It’s because he’s seen it before. He looked back, and there it was, like a reflection of a mirror. This was the same thing Arthur had been trying to get them out of, and the same thing that they’ve had to endure for years since the downfall of the gang. As he fought against the agents in his own abode, he was beginning to fill in the pieces and understand the source of their unending plight. It was John himself.  He knew he was the danger to their family. It was the culmination of so many broken promises John had made to Arthur to take his advice - to not look back. Small mistakes that grew to momentous proportions, leading to even bigger mistakes that he could not retract from. He can’t seem to separate himself from this image he created of himself, of a violent warmonger with a penchant for breaking laws and causing trouble wherever he went. He figured that he may never change, just as Arthur never did until his last breath. Dutch was well aware of this and told him before he died; he can never change what he was, he can’t erase the past, and he can’t fight it, because that’s what Dutch had also been trying to do for years since Arthur’s death. The paradise Dutch referred to in his final speech was nothing more than death itself - it was outlandish, but it also made the most sense from all of the things they’ve been through. One could probably grimly think that perhaps, truly, death is the only escape from the hell any outlaw had unfortunately brought themselves upon. This revelation only really pushed him to choose to leave his family behind on the minuscule hope that everything will end with him when he’s gone, but we all know how it ended. It is certainly one of the most powerful things a father could ever do, making all the faults of his parenthood forgivable in some way after making such a brave and conscious decision of his own accord to save his own family. But before I end with that, from here, we can see the clear parallels - when John left Arthur, and when Jack left John. From brother to brother, then father to son, it seems none of them could truly break free from the life of an outlaw... “Outlaws for life,” seems like.