#i am so full of rage and malice and resentment

[clownprince]

"you can't just ignore massive narratively consequential chunks of a characters' story that you don't like or disagree with" actually i can. and i do. and it's very easy ^_^

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

A week later, they finally enter their room in the palace.

Geralt is still covered in blood, nervous and angry. His movements are sharp and jerky. He is unusually quiet.

When Emhyr sighs behind his back, he skillfully ignores it. When Emhyr tries to take his hand, he pulls his hand out of his and takes four big steps away.

"My Wolf..."

"Don't."

"Geralt."

"Don't dare! Don't-! Just leave me alone!" Geralt roars like a wild animal. He understands, with a distant part of his emotion-clouded mind, he understands that his words have no meaning, only resentment; in the end, he insisted on escorting Emhyr to any place wherever he went, and did not allow anyone to stop him on his way to their bedroom. He is trembling, emotions overwhelm him. He killed all those idiots who dared to try to kill Emhyr; and now, with an inhuman part of himself, he regrets that he killed them so quickly. The rage that had overwhelmed him still had not gone away.

Emhyr... Emhyr is not angry. He is exhausted. There are deep shadows under his eyes, he reacted not even half as energetically as usual, thought longer over the choice of words.

Emhyr sighs and quietly goes to the corner of the room, to the fireplace, where he sits on a chair and looks at Geralt. Without malice, without resentment, without rage or fun. Just looks and waits.

Geralt rushes around the room, his words are impetuous, they have more emotions than meaning.

"You, bastard, you knew it! And you knew what I would do for you! And you poisoned me! You fuckin' poisoned me! Have you ever thought in your life that you could just ask me?! Have you ever thought for fuckin' once in your fuckin' life that I could truly grieve over your death - even if you only faked it! - without strengthenin' emotions?"

Geralt stops abruptly twenty minutes later and turns abruptly to Emhyr. Now he looks broken.

"I thought," he begins in a broken voice. "I thought I... 'd lost you."

Emhyr thinks that Geralt's conversion lacks tears.

The heartbroken widower. How new is this idea for the Witcher..?

Emhyr returns to reality only after hitting the back of his head against the back of the chair, and his shoulders begin to ache from Geralt's grip.

"You're not even listenin' to me!"

Geralt growls - really growls - pushes Emhyr into the chair once more and takes a few steps away, nervously burying his fingers in his hair.

Emhyr blinks.

"Geralt, I am listening to you."

"Never! You never fuckin' listen to me!"

"Geralt..."

"Never! You promised that you'd warn me 'bout important things. Your life is an important thing."

The voice stops, Geralt stops and turns to Emhyr. He looks at him with the look that he looked at him in Stigga castle, after the death of his friends.

"Why?" The whisper in the room.

"Why?" he repeats.

"Why?" and Emhyr heard tears in his voice.

He raises his hands from the armrests in an inviting gesture, and Geralt quickly goes to him and sits on his lap, pressing his nose to Emhyr's neck - so that he can feel the pulse. Emhyr hugs him and strokes his hair and back.

Geralt is shaking with emotions that he can not even understand; he has hardly ever felt them so strongly, so much.

"Sh-h-h-h."

"I thought..." he sniffs and tightens his hands around Emhyr's shoulders. "I really thought I'd lost you."

"I know."

"What will I do without you?"

"You could stay here and help Cirilla. Perhaps she would have found a way to include you in the royal family, so that you would have full access to everything you need and no one would have any desire to hinder you. Or you could continue on your Path. Maybe you would have met someone else interesting enough to start a relationship..."

"Emhyr..."

"Good."

Emhyr falls asleep after half an hour of slow stroking, and wakes up only because of the movement nearby. Geralt got up and tries to lift him in his arms. Together they walk to their bed, hand in hand. Clothes are left lying on the floor when they get under the blanket.

Geralt puts his head on Emhyr's chest and runs his thumb over the bruise in the form of the palm on his shoulder.

"Sowwy..."

"It's okay. I think I deserved."

"Mh-h."

Geralt turns his head slightly and kisses Emhyr's chest.

"Don't dare to die, my Sun."

"I won't, my Wolf. Sleep."

Well I'm glad you cleared that one up, he's NOT dead, I can dry my eyes... Also I'm writing something similar at the moment for my 5-First-Times fic, and I didn't want to publish yours before I finished (people might think I copied you) but in the end, this is too good and as I said, it's better than what I'm coming up with ;)

[happyficwriterbird]

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types

Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia

Tags: Hurt/comfort, Geralt is dealing with his heightened emotions, alternative ending of "Hold my hand!"

AO3 [ENG] | Original Tumblr Post [ENG]

A week later, they finally enter their room in the palace.

Geralt is still covered in blood, nervous and angry. His movements are sharp and jerky. He is unusually quiet.

When Emhyr sighs behind his back, he skillfully ignores it. When Emhyr tries to take his hand, he pulls his hand out of his and takes four big steps away.

"My Wolf..."

"Don't."

"Geralt."

"Don't dare! Don't-! Just leave me alone!" Geralt roars like a wild animal. He understands, with a distant part of his emotion-clouded mind, he understands that his words have no meaning, only resentment; in the end, he insisted on escorting Emhyr to any place wherever he went, and did not allow anyone to stop him on his way to their bedroom. He is trembling, emotions overwhelm him. He killed all those idiots who dared to try to kill Emhyr; and now, with an inhuman part of himself, he regrets that he killed them so quickly. The rage that had overwhelmed him still had not gone away.

Emhyr... Emhyr is not angry. He is exhausted. There are deep shadows under his eyes, he reacted not even half as energetically as usual, thought longer over the choice of words.

Emhyr sighs and quietly goes to the corner of the room, to the fireplace, where he sits on a chair and looks at Geralt. Without malice, without resentment, without rage or fun. Just looks and waits.

Geralt rushes around the room, his words are impetuous, they have more emotions than meaning.

"You, bastard, you knew it! And you knew what I would do for you! And you poisoned me! You fuckin' poisoned me! Have you ever thought in your life that you could just ask me?! Have you ever thought for fuckin' once in your fuckin' life that I could truly grieve over your death - even if you only faked it! - without strengthenin' emotions?"

Geralt stops abruptly twenty minutes later and turns abruptly to Emhyr. Now he looks broken.

"I thought," he begins in a broken voice. "I thought I... 'd lost you."

Emhyr thinks that Geralt's conversion lacks tears.

The heartbroken widower. How new is this idea for the Witcher..?

Emhyr returns to reality only after hitting the back of his head against the back of the chair, and his shoulders begin to ache from Geralt's grip.

"You're not even listenin' to me!"

Geralt growls - really growls - pushes Emhyr into the chair once more and takes a few steps away, nervously burying his fingers in his hair.

Emhyr blinks.

"Geralt, I am listening to you."

"Never! You never fuckin' listen to me!"

"Geralt..."

"Never! You promised that you'd warn me 'bout important things. Your life is an important thing."

The voice stops, Geralt stops and turns to Emhyr. He looks at him with the look that he looked at him in Stigga castle, after the death of his friends.

"Why?" The whisper in the room.

"Why?" he repeats.

"Why?" and Emhyr heard tears in his voice.

He raises his hands from the armrests in an inviting gesture, and Geralt quickly goes to him and sits on his lap, pressing his nose to Emhyr's neck - so that he can feel the pulse. Emhyr hugs him and strokes his hair and back.

Geralt is shaking with emotions that he can not even understand; he has hardly ever felt them so strongly, so much.

"Sh-h-h-h."

"I thought..." he sniffs and tightens his hands around Emhyr's shoulders. "I really thought I'd lost you."

"I know."

"What will I do without you?"

"You could stay here and help Cirilla. Perhaps she would have found a way to include you in the royal family, so that you would have full access to everything you need and no one would have any desire to hinder you. Or you could continue on your Path. Maybe you would have met someone else interesting enough to start a relationship..."

"Emhyr..."

"Good." 

Emhyr falls asleep after half an hour of slow stroking, and wakes up only because of the movement nearby. Geralt got up and tries to lift him in his arms. Together they walk to their bed, hand in hand. Clothes are left lying on the floor when they get under the blanket.

Geralt puts his head on Emhyr's chest and runs his thumb over the bruise in the form of the palm on his shoulder.

"Sowwy..."

"It's okay. I think I deserved."

"Mh-h."

Geralt turns his head slightly and kisses Emhyr's chest.

"Don't dare to die, my Sun."

"I won't, my Wolf. Sleep." 

[rhmg-au]

Prequel part 1.

Thinking of some endings for the final confrontation, would try to get them out once I complete the prequel first.

This AU belongs to @rhmg-au . Please follow them, reblog their art, give them fanart, support them in any way possible, etc.

TW: Torture, blood, gore, restraints

(Mod Swanno: Edited with the read more option due to length and content!)

Eyes fluttered rapidly in the dark, the aching pain ran rampant throughout his entire body, the tears in his uniform exposing his skin to the coldness in the room from the lack of heat inside. Two figures seem to be in front of him, chatting with one another.

He let out an involuntary groan of pain, causing the two to turn to them. They look familiar.

“Awake already, Price? Thought you’d be knocked out for at least for few more hours.”

At that statement, the memories flooded back to him, as if he was in the sea in the middle of a big storm, only he was alone on a boat, the lighting and crashing waves wanting to throw him off the only thing keeping him from drowning.

The fighting, the snapping, the discovery.

———

A knock was heard on his door, he was in one of the rooms made for soldiers who needed to rest after a tiring mission or just stay for a break from their duties. His mind was wandering in its own little world, trying to think of ways to get rid of that monster he calls his general, he’s not noble anymore, after what he witnessed him doing to a Toppat, though he is a criminal, it was still so cruel to strip him of his memories and forcefully turn them to their side, and how it was carried out was…too brutal to watch or even hear for that matter. How could he live with himself after such a heinous act?

Those thoughts were carried to the back of his mind when that sound caused by a hand repeatedly hitting the door from the other side to get someone else’s attention inside.

“Rupert? May I come in?”

It’s him, it’s time to play the role of the actor again.

“You may, general.”

Galeforce entered the room as soon as the request to come inside was approved by the soldier, closing it behind him. His smile looked so normal that no one would ever guess that he did so many terrible acts behind that mask.

“What is it you need, sir?” Rupert asked, straightening his posture, and making sure to wipe his face clean from any form of an expression full of hatred. He cannot reveal his true feelings towards the man, or anyone for that matter. They can be loyalists to him, blinded by their duties to ever consider siding with him. No one is safe to talk to about his issues.

“Are you…actually loyal to the government, Mr. Price? I was informed by Dr. V that you were acting quite strange these past few days, and she has a suspicion that you’re a traitor.”

These words caught Rupert off-guard. They knew? How…how could they know? He thought he hid it so well, concealed it from everyone, how, just how?! Did someone snitch on him? “I, I am loyal sir. I was just thinking about my next missions those past days is all.” He was praying that he would buy it, he couldn’t risk to be found out of his resent. He knew it wouldn’t be anything but bad.

“Then tell me…do you know about the latest piece of technology we developed?” What was that supposed to mean? Naively, he shook his head, realizing too late that he made a crucial mistake by doing that.

Galeforce’s smile contorted into a smirk, one that is full of malice. That never meant good, at all. “A device that allows us to know who is lying by just hearing their words and their tone. Think of it like a lie detector, but a better version.” He took out the little gadget, the design was rather basic, just a square shaped piece of metal with antennas sticking out, a screen was visible with lines rapidly going up and down. Such a simple yet complex device. And it’ll be used for an occasion like this. “It’s still in the alpha stages, consider yourself honoured since you’re the first one we’re using to test it.” He took a good look at the lines. “And would you look at that, judging by the way the lines are moving, it detected that you’re lying.”

“No, no sir, are you sure it’s just a misinterpretation? An error?” Rupert knew that he was screwed, yet he still tries to deny it. Anything to get him out of this situation. Anything.

“Sorry to say, Price, but Dr. V told me these lines represent when someone is lying. It is no bug for sure.”

That was the answer he was dreading to hear.

“Now, do you remember what happens to those who are traitors? Or, for you, a potential traitor? You have quite the disdain for me, and that leads to backstabbing.” Galeforce pocketed the device, that grin turning sadistic now.

There was nothing left to hide. He saw through his facade, and now he has the information that he harbours distaste for him.

“You really think I would let something like that slide? What you did was absolute torture! How could you consider yourself to be human after what’d you done?! He may have been a Toppat, but you didn’t have to go to the extreme! What the hell is wrong with you?! Did you even think about how the Toppats feel?! That you took away someone who was so valuable to them, both personally and usefully, did you ever consider that?! Tell me, was there a time you even felt some sympathy?!” He couldn’t contain his rage anymore, he had to snap. It was in there for too long for him to ever hold it back, he may hate the Toppat Clan, but even he couldn’t deny that what Galeforce did crossed the line.

Galeforce didn’t responded, instead he took a step forward. Then another one. His face blank, showing no emotion, no care, no concern, no astonishment, no happiness, only apathy. Before he eventually leapt out and attacked him, like a wild animal would when it sees potential prey.

Rupert didn’t hesitate to fight back, both of them knocked to the ground. He raised his hand to counteract the opposing one ready to strike, catching it in time before it could land a hit on his face. Immediately afterwards, he caught the other hand that threatened to finish what the other arm wanted to begin.

“You could’ve been a valuable soldier here, had you not raise this hatred inside of you.” Galeforce taunted, ripping his hand out of his grasp and grabbed his hair that still stuck out from his hat, pushing his head forward.

“What was I supposed to do? Watch you turn someone into a relentless slaughtering puppet to do your dirty work? That isn’t how anything should go!” Rupert gave him a hard punch, directly on the nose. He wasn’t sure if he broke it, but blood poured out from the openings, a good indicator to confirm his suspicions.

Galeforce didn’t get knocked out, though the sudden punch to the face disoriented him for a few seconds, giving the resentful soldier enough time to rip himself out of his grasp and push him off, making a break for it to the door.

He didn’t make it, because of course he didn’t.

He was yanked back by his uniform, the grasp so tight and so harsh that he felt the cloth made to create this suit tear, and before he knew it, he was thrown against the wall, black starting to tease around the edges of his eyes from how hard his head hit the concrete.

“It’s the least I could do, trust me, I would do much worse.” Blood dripped down from his nose, staining the floor with the crimson substance.

“I don’t need to see them to know you’re a horrible person. I’ll beat the shit out of you and I’ll expose you and your heinous deeds.” Rupert shakily got up, it was rather hard when you’re close to blacking out from a strong hit on the head, but it was manageable.

“Still being cocky as ever? That’s biggest downside to you, always so certain you can do everything no matter how impossible it may seem. How cute.” Galeforce’s smirk increased in size as he approached him, taking him by the neck and lifted him off the ground, feet barely touching the floor. The soldier threw his hands onto the wrist of the general, suffocation is very likely if he was not released soon.

“It’s…not impossible…to get you…dismissed…” With his windpipe blocked, air couldn’t get inside to his lungs, affecting his breathing and speaking abilities.

“Dismissed? Why, so many ridiculous ideas run through your mind these past few days huh?” Galeforce released his grip on Rupert, letting him fall to the floor gasping for breath for a moment.

“They’re…logical…not ridicu…lous…” Regaining his strength albeit a bit slowly, he threw his fist at the general, aiming for his chest. The sleeve on the arm of his clenched hand was caught, yanking him to his feet so violently that another tear was made in his uniform, as well as causing pain to his arm due to how hard it was pulled, almost out of its socket. It took all of his willpower and gritting his teeth to not scream from the pain travelling up the limb.

“You must be forgetting that I’m a general, the public believes me as a good-intentioned nobleman who brings criminals to justice. Nothing can ever convince them otherwise.” Galeforce brought his face close to the soldier’s, letting him see that wicked grin close up, which only succeeded in letting his glare darken. He took ahold of his arm, tightening the grip instantly, as an attempt to prevent escape.

“Not if I get evidence, your acts are inhumane, no one deserves a fate like that.” Rupert spat, bringing his knee up and kicking him right in the stomach, using all of his strength in that one blow.

This action caused Galeforce to stumble back, releasing his grip on his arm in the process. Taking this opportunity, the soldier opened up the door, running out of the room. He needed to get out of here, now.

The attempt at escape didn’t work, as the general caught up with him easily, sending him crashing to the floor as he felt a heavy weight fall onto his body, He looked up, the black around his eyes more prominent.

Before his irises could see who was there, even though he already knew who, a fist collided with his head, causing the void in his eyes to finally take over.

The last thing he remembered before blacking out were these words:

“Really thought you could get away? Now, you’ll face the consequences.”

———

Everything was made clear now.

“What is this place?” His voice sounded weak, probably from the lack of water. “Are you going to robotize me like Green? Is that it?”

“No, something much worse. But now that you mentioned it, it would be a great idea. For now though, we have something else planned.” Galeforce answered, that grin so sinister it might as well be considered taking a spot on the most evil smiles list, if one was created that is.

“I would like to turn you into walking weapon, but I still need to monitor Green for the time being. Consider yourself lucky.” Dr. V added, sharing the same smirk as the one on Galeforce.

Rupert tried to throw a fist in either of their faces, but when he did, his hand never moved. Instead, he was greeted with the coldness of a metal cuff holding his hand down on one of the arms of the chair he was sitting in. It’s likely his other wrist was also in the same state as his left one. Though it should’ve been expected, it still shocked him. He was being restrained.

“Oh, I forgot to mention that you aren’t going to be able to leave. You’ll spend the rest of your days here rotting away while we make you realize just how stupid you are to doubt my acts of protection.” Galeforce informed, as if the feeling of the bindings on his wrists weren’t made clear to him enough.

“Protection?! You call that protection?! You hurt someone beyond the point of acceptance and you call that protection?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Despite his throat hurting after such an outburst, Rupert called him out on that statement of absurdity. Still thinking he’s a hero after everything? Even criminals don’t deserve that happening to them.

“It’s for the greater good. Besides, would you want a cyborg to be roaming free with those crooks?”

“He’s still human!”

“Criminals aren’t humans if they don’t have morals.”

“And you aren’t human if you feel no sympathy for them! Think about the hardships they went through that forced them to turn to crime and we never noticed! If anything, it’s the government’s fault!”

“…Dr. V, do your work.”

“Yes, sir.”

The blonde took out a pair of surgical scissors from her lab coat, walking over to the soldier, who is now struggling in the cuffs that held him in a one spot.

“Let’s begin the lesson, shall we?” Dr. V said, holding the surgical scissors over his face for a moment before snipping a part of his skin with them, blood immediately dripping out from where she made the cut.

Rupert grounded his teeth together, not wanting to give either of them the satisfaction of hearing him in such pain. He knew it would only bring more trouble if he gave them the reaction they wanted to hear, so no screaming. Just endure the pain all enough for something else to occur that causes them to leave. Like boredom or duties.

When no strong reaction came from the soldier, Dr. V dug the blades of the scissors deeper into his flesh, sliding it along slowly and painfully, intending to stop at his cheek if no signs of a scream comes soon. This was only the beginning. The next stages are much, much worse.

Despite the fiery pain growing inside of him from the scissors digging into his skin, Rupert still didn’t give them what they wanted out of him. His teeth were gritted so tightly together to suppress it the best he could. Blood started to leak into his mouth, that metallic taste made clear from the get go. He has to stay strong, this wasn’t the worse thing that happened to him. Seeing Dave getting fired and him going missing were much worse than experiencing torture…

Nothing, no reaction. “You’re stronger than you look. Impressive, but not too impressive.” The doctor pocketed the now bloodied scissors back into her lab coat, the remains of the crimson substance staining the white colour of the garment. She then took out a scalpel, this time instead of his face, she targeted his arm, plunging the sharp edge of the blade onto his shoulder.

The soldier bit down on his bottom lip as to let his teeth rest from the pressure they were under from grinding against each other for so long. Blood slipped out from the bottom lip due to how hard he was biting down on it, the metallic taste more prominent now.

Dr. V’s face contorted into frustration. “Don’t bother trying to hide your pain.” She advised, taking the scalpel out from his shoulder, that crimson substance affecting colour of the metal to make this surgical tool, now just like the scissors sitting inside of her lab coat. She clenched her hand into a fist and made it collide with his cheek, the one that isn’t soaking with blood from the cut. The force in the punch was hard, bound to create a bruise.

Rupert felt his head snap to the side momentarily, causing him to quickly look back to the woman in front of him. “How do you call this revenge if you only really want the Toppats?”

“Anyone who sides with Toppat Clan is called revenge.” Dr. V answered, making an incision on both of his wrists as he spoke, acting and speaking nonchalant about it. “I told you, masking your pain would make things worse. Cooperate with us.”

“You just need to give him a little push in the right direction. As I said before, he’s as stubborn as Green when he was a Toppat.” Galeforce said, his first words in a while.

“And how do you suppose we shove him where we want him to go?”

“Allow me to handle it. I’ve known him for quite a while now.”

The general stood in front of Rupert after Dr. V backed away. He leaned in close to him, whispering something in his ear, his breath causing a shiver to run down his spine. Surprisingly, his eyes widened at what was said, horror written all over his expression.

“Y-you, no you couldn’t-”

“Don’t worry, I trust him enough. But if I find out he’s been going behind my back…”

“Don’t you fucking hurt him! It’s me who you’re mad at, so just do whatever the hell you want with me but leave him alone!”

“I will take action if that’s the case, and what can you do in your current state?”

“This.” Rupert lifted his legs up and slammed them into Galeforce’s chest, the general taking a few steps back due to the impact. Man that hurt…

He looked up after a few seconds, Dr. V coming by his side to check if he had any injuries, pocketing the scalpel beforehand. “Chain his legs too. I’m not letting this happen a second time.” He checked his belt and took a pair of handcuffs from them, handing them out to her.

Dr. V nodded hastily, snatching the restraints quickly and cuffed the soldier’s ankles to the legs of the chair, despite his trashing interrupting some of the progress. “There we go.”

“Someone will find me here, and you’ll regret all of your actions.” Rupert promised, the glare so dark you could probably see a shadow brooding across his face. He’d struggled for a little bit more before giving up, the burning pain playing a part in why he stopped.

“You are in basement of lab, no one knows of this.” Dr. V said, immediately crushing any hope that he may have. Green most likely doesn’t know of this too. “Let’s continue now, shall we?”

Before she could pull out the blood covered scalpel however, Dr. V was stopped by the sound of beeping. “One sec.” She took out the communicator she brought down here, in case of the event someone made a call to her while they were doing what they were doing.

“Hello, this is Dr. Vinschpinsilstien speaking, how could I be of service?”

Rupert saw this as an opportunity, an opportunity to get outside help. It doesn’t matter who it is, the Twins, Victoria, Hayden, Charles or even Green, he can get out of here if he just yells at the communicator. He hated asking for assistance for anything, if he had to be honest, but at this moment, he needed help, he can’t escape by himself.

He was about to shout, to scream, to cause a scene to get the attention of whoever is there, but at the last second, his mouth was harshly covered by Galeforce, both hands were on him to block out his cries for help. Still, he called out anyway, muffled by the hands on his mouth, barely creating any noise.

“…Ah yes, I will be at the lab Green, just come along and I’ll attend to you.” The line cut off soon after Dr. V finished her call with the cyborg.

The opportunity passed…gone.

Galeforce released his hands from Rupert’s mouth as soon as the call was finished, allowing him to take in deep breaths and finally talk properly. “I’ll…I’ll scream down here and…Green will hear me. It doesn’t matter that he’s rewired, he will notice that something’s wrong with me down here.”

“And that is why you shouldn’t speak so soon.” Dr. V said, taking a piece of cloth out from her lab coat, using it as a gag as she wrapped it around his mouth, muffling his words once again. As soon as she finished tying the knot, she and Galeforce left for the door, opening it up to reveal stairs, his only way to freedom if he can get out from this stupid chair. Light temporarily pouring into the room as it was opened up, but soon it was closed, denying any  light from projecting itself into the room, leaving him in the darkness again.

What now?

———

Every passing day was torturous.

Literally.

Beating after beating, his blood spilling out from his system, eventually creating blood stains on the floor, chair and his uniform. The smell of the dried up crimson substance still lingered.

Any cry for help was muffled from the gag, guaranteeing that no one could ever find him here while Galeforce and Dr. V continued to teach him the lesson.

Every gash, every bruise, he even got some broken bones some days.

Whenever they went away, he cried and cried to himself, tears mixing in with the dried blood that stains his face. His spirit breaking down everyday. He still held onto hope, but it seems his grasp on it is fading away slowly.

“Someone…please…find me…I can’t hold out for much longer…”

[thebibliomancer]

Archaia’s Jim Henson’s The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance #12

The Journey into the Mondo Levidian Part 4

In this installment, they do not journey into the Mondo Levidian at all. Maybe this should have been titled Into the Guts and Back Again: A Gelfling’s Tale.

In part one, newly All-Maudra’d Mayrin deals with a Sifan separatist crisis but also plenty of unresolved mother-induced insecurity issues. She charters a ride with Captain Kam’Lu to speak to the separatist leader Fenth but a sea monster sinks the ship.

In part two, Mayrin and Kam’Lu are adrift at sea on a raft following the sinking but then they get eaten by a sea monster. The two meet the monster gut dwelling Boblings and learn that they have a limited time before the Mondo Levidian returns to the deeps and then there’ll be no escape for a trine. With the Bobling King’s daughter Gunda, the two set off on a journey out of the Mondo Levidian.

In part three, Mayrin, Kam’Lu, and Gunda set off on a journey to the Mondo Levidian’s porticol and fight a lot of Zoa. Mayrin and Kam’Lu become friends on the basis of name-shortening. And Mayrin flies Kam’Lu out of the closing porticol to save him from Zoa and prove her mom wrong.

So they’re out of the giant fish so what more is left of the story at this point? The answer is beneath the keep reading.

So let’s get started!

Dot arrives on SkekSa’s totally sweet monster/ship which she is very proud of.

SkekSa: “Greetings and welcome to the greatest behemoth in the Silver Sea, Ambassador Dot’leth! You’re aboard an unstoppable ship built with Skeksis ingenuity. Does our mastery of nature itself make you tremble in awe?”

Dot: “I assume you mean the second greatest behemoth in the Silver Sea, considering the attack on the Sifan ship that cost the lives of All-Maudra Mayrin and Captain Kam’Lu --”

SkekSa: “Well, yes, that was reported... but the captain of this ship has yet to find any proof of the alleged creature that destroyed the Sifan ship.”

Now, at first blush, this seems like SkekSa slipping up and accidentally admitting culpability like Prince Humperdinck in Princess Bride and his fastest ships.

But when the Mondo Levidian emerges from underwater, SkekSa goes from ‘what the heck’ to ‘i WANT that.’

SkekSa: “Second-greatest behemoth in the sea... bah! What does that ignorant old Vapran know about the sea! The only monsters here are --”

Mondo Levidian: -emerges-

SkekSa: “Oh. What other secrets are hiding in this infernal world...?”

And

SkekSa: “It’s been many trine since SkekSa discovered such a wonder -- and a majestic creature such as this deserves a naming ceremony! Vassa... You will be mine! The Mariner sails only the greatest creature -- er, ship -- in all of Thra!”

I had been assuming that the Mondo Levidian attack was a conspiracy by SkekSa to seize power for her preferred Gelfling clan. But it seems like it was just crazy random happenstance that she and Fenth got opportunistic over.

Also, holy crap, Dot has a full name?

And Fenth and Dot are implied to have History, being a little awkward around each other.

Over on top of the sea monster, Mayrin and Kam’Lu discover that the Zoa (led by the Zoa wearing clothes. The Necrozoa?) are following them up and out of the porticol. Mayrin and Kam’Lu have to take to the air again to try to escape to SkekSa’s ship.

Watching all of this happen, SkekSa settles on ‘bored of this.’

SkekSa: “New plan. SkekSa doesnt’ care anymore about your Gelfling squabbles.”

Fenth: “But...! But....! You said I could have power! We had a deal!”

SkekSa: “And SkekSa is bored of politics. I want that creature. I will be unstoppable, and all of Thra will be mine to explore! Entire lands waiting to be named -- named after me!”

I kind of like that SkekSa’s priorities are 1) Giant monsters, 2) Naming a lot of shit after herself, 3) The Sifan, I guessss. 2.5) is probably ‘ugh Skeksis politics uuugh.’

Mayrin manages to lead most of the Zoa swarm in front of the Mondo Levidian which jumps up and eats them.

She lands on the deck of SkekSa’s ship and has a moment with Kam’Lu.

This very good friendship has just become a kissing relationship.

It has been a hell of an enemies to lovers for them, huh?

The remaining Zoa and the Zoa-in-clothes, identified as being a queen Zoa? land on SkekSa’s dreadnought and Mayrin declares that the Zoa stand before a United Thra “Vapran courage and Sifan honor!” and for the Zoa to turn back or be destroyed.

Then there’s a massive Zoa vs Gelfling fight scene with SkekSa yelling for them to get off her ship.

I adore her.

Fenth gets upset that Mayrin is uniting the Sifa and Vapra and decides ‘hey, all kinds of things can happen in the heat of combat’ and throws an entire ass sword at Mayrin’s back.

But Kam’Lu blocks the attack with the goo shield (which he evidently kept). And its a bit of a broken pedestal moment considering Kam’Lu’s personality in issue one was ‘hey did you hear this cool stuff Fenth is saying??’

Kam’Lu: “Vile traitor! I trusted you! I believed in your lies and your wisdom! I thought you would lead us to something better... But you are the poison to all Gelfling-kind -- a poison I can no longer willingly imbibe!”

Good for you, Kam’Lu.

The war against the bugs ends when Mayrin stabs the queen Zoa in the eye and yells a defiant speech to her.

Mayrin: Queen, I am not one for violence -- But I will resort to it if I must! I will do whatever is necessary to save my kind -- just like you. We are the same! Please! Turn away! Turn away and end this needless bloodshed!”

And the queen Zoa does.

Whether actually moved or cowed by Mayrin’s speech or because she’s smart enough not to go in for sunk cost, the queen and the remaining Zoa take off.

Good job, Mayrin.

Although, it is funny that you tried to sue for peace when you earlier described the queen Zoa as “a monster filled with blind hate, resentment, and beastly rage. Something born in the pit of despair and darkness... Something that knows only hunger and power.”

But it won’t be the first time that Gelfling were way off in regards to the Arathim slash offshoots, nor the last.

Still, it feels right that the final boss of Mayrin’s plot was a giant monster queen wearing her mother’s clothes that she fends off by confidently telling to buzz off.

Fenth tries to blame the whole situation on Mayrin for leading the bugs to the ship, which is technically true. But Kam’Lu has become Mayrin’s biggest supporter because the boy believes with all his heart.

Kam’Lu: “You’re wrong! Mayrin is here because she had to save us at all costs! She is here because she is fighting to keep the seven clans together! She has been through a bizarre adventure, struggling through the stomach of monsters unknown!”

“I was just like Fenth -- I distrusted Mayrin because she was a Vapran. But Mayrin has saved my life too many times to count. She proved her strength in the toothrakes! She outwitted the horrifying King Bobling! She fought bravely and earned the respect of the greatest warrior of Bajula! She is what the Sifa clan needs. What all Gelfling need! In the darkness of the Mondo Leviadin, Mayrin led the way. I believe in her.”

“LONG LIVE ALL-MAUDRA MAYRIN!”

“And I swear, from this day to my last, when my body is taken by Thra, that I will fight for her -- by her side. As her friend... Her captain... Her...”

And then he trails off there because Mayrin holds his hand and the poor boy only has so much processing power.

Also, he kinda embellished Mayrin’s accomplishments by saying she outwitted the “horrifying” Bobling King. That guy was a kitten.

The Sifan Maudra is intrigued by all this love biz and asks Mayrin what she would do if the Sifans do decide to leave the clans.

Mayrin: “If we are to separate, then the seas will weep for the lonely Sifa clan. The mountains of Ha’rar will shake in the bitter Vapran gales. We must be the shining light of Thra -- together!”

“We are the living monuments of everything that touches us, be it the good and warm that gives us hope... or the malice and greed that drives us down darker paths. And... I wear my mother’s colors. I know it. I feel it -- I accept it. But I am not my mother.”

“I promise that I will bleed for you! I will fight for you! I will break my body in half to ensure that you have yours! To sail the sea as you see fit! So please, give me the chance to prove it to you! Give me the chance to fail and to succeed! if you do... Perhaps we may all grow old together -- knowing what unity is meant to be... knowing what love is --”

WOO!

Fenth is less than thrilled. Not just for his thwarted ambitions but because SkekSa has thoroughly gotten sick of him and is probably annoyed that she had to sit through all these speeches without even getting a giant sea monster.

She grabs him and drags him away through the crowd while everyone is distracted being jubilant.

SkekSa: “Take a long look at the Silver Sea, Fenth -- It will be many trine before you witness it again... Skeksis friend SkekTek the Scientist has plans for Gelfling who fail!”

Huh. Wonder what that means. This is way too soon for draining to be on the table.

Later, WEDDING TIME!

On the cliff above Raunip’s pass, the Sifan and Vapran come together for the wedding of Mayrin and Kam’Lu.

Dot assumes that Mayrin chose the venue so she can fly Raunip’s Pass with the power of love but Mayrin chose the venue so she can deliberately not do that because she’s done following her mom’s path.

Mayrin: “You have taught me the most important thing, Kam’Lu -- that I am the only one responsible for the path I fly. That we must all chart our own path -- and that we cannot do that when the dense cloud of grief fogs our vision. And that to be my best self -- no matter who it is that I am -- I must be myself. Faults and failures and scars and all. Understanding that acceptance is not the same as failure. We must think of the future of our kind.”

Its also implied that Mayrin is already pregnant as she declares that she’ll name her firstborn Seladon, after Mayrin’s mother.

... It is incredibly ironic. Mayrin declares that she’s going to set her own path and then chooses her mother’s name for her daughter. The daughter that she’s going to repeat a lot of Seladon I’s parenting mistakes with, giving Seladon II a whopping case of insecurity and unfortunately no character building adventure with a hunky sea captain.

Hm. I wonder what happens with Kam’Lu. That whole family situation probably would have been less of a timebomb with him around. Alas, the sea is a harsh mistress. Full of fish and salt.

So, the last arc of Archaia’s Jim Henson’s Dark Crystal Age of Resistance comics. I still have two of the YA novels to read but with the cancellation of the show, who can say when there will be more comics.

But the comic ends strong. We visit another parent when they’re young and get to see more wild Thra life. We get to see SkekSa! She’s a delight. We get to see another side of the Sifan than the brief appearances in the show.

Thanks for the good times, Archaia’s Jim Henson’s The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance comic.

[blackvalyrians]

​Rumors and whispers, and well, reality suggests that Rhaenys is Aegon's favorite wife. And Visenya resents it. She loves her sister (even if she thinks that at times that Rhaenys is a shallow fool), but she had never been fond of sharing, and as the elder sister, Aegon should have been hers by right.

Visenya woke up to the sound of shouts and yells in the shadow of the night. She sprung from the bed, unsheathing her sword, Dark Sister, and stormed out into the Targaryen camp.

In no time, she made her way into her brother's tent, where a young man lay sprawled on the ground before him, a sheath of arrows at his side. Men stood guard at the entrance, but the only people in the room with the stranger where Orys and her Aegon and Rhaenys.

"What happened?" Her voice was harsh as she walked around the stranger and stood next to her brother.

The stranger was pale of pace and black of hair with eyes that were the color of hard stone. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn't place it, so she dismissed it.

"Torrhen sent an assassin under the cover of darkness." Aegon's words were cold, but his eyes were like a burning violet fire, reflecting his wrath. Her brother could be generous to those who bent the knee, but people that defied him were served with fire and blood.

Torrhen Stark. The King in the North. There had been reports that he had gathered an army of 35,000 in the North to stand against them. It was a foolish choice on his part, and it seemed the Stark King had learned nothing from Harrenhal or the now infamous Field of Fire. Was this his last pathetic stand against them? A lone assassin?

Rhaenys gave the Northern assassin a pitiful glance. "What is your name?"

The young man spat upon the ground. "Brandon Snow," he hissed his eyes like a raging storm.

"A bastard from the North," Aegon said flatly before he held his blade at Brandon's neck. "What were your orders?"

"I had none. It was my plan alone." Brandon glared at him defiantly. "I came to kill those unholy firebreathing monsters you keep. You wouldn't be so brave without them."

Rhaenys inhaled sharply, Aegon's eyes narrowed dangerously, Orys' brows rose in surprise, and Visenya shook her head. Kill their dragons? It was preposterous.

The eldest Targaryen couldn't hold her tongue. "You're an even bigger fool then." She waved mockingly at his arrows. "Those simple arrows couldn't hurt a fly, let alone full-grown dragons." And well-armored ones at that.

Brandon Snow snapped his head towards her, a hateful glare upon his face when he suddenly inhaled sharply. His grey eyes widened. "Vivi?" He stuttered out.

Visenya's eyes widened, and her heart skipped a beat. Could it be? She stared at his face, and her heart sunk further. It was him. How could this be? How had she not recognized him?

She truly looked at the man on the ground and cursed inwardly. He was older, but there were still hints of the man she had met eight years ago at the Citadel in Oldtown.

In all her years, Visenya had never backed down and could face anything. Tonight, she didn't dare to look at her siblings much less her brother's face. They had never called her by such an intimate name, and the suggestion that a mere bastard knew her on such terms didn't bode well.

She looked down at Brandon. "You shouldn't have come here," she said simply before she turned and strode out of the tent into the night, desperate for fresh air. Yells of "Vivi" echoed from the tent, and then they were suddenly silenced. Good. For if Brandon had continued, he was like to end up in Balerion's gut.

Visenya strode through the camp until she heard the familiar sounds of Vhagar along with Balerion and Meraxes. Before she could think to mount, a hand caught her and whirled her around, and she found herself pressed against a tree, by none other than her brother, with her disapproving sister standing to the side.

"Let me go," she snapped, though she knew it was futile to struggle. He had her at a disadvantage, and even if she was loathe to admit it, he was stronger than her.

"Go where, Vivi?" Aegon's voice was soft, but there was a deadly undertone beneath it.

"Don't call me that!"

"Why?" Her brother's eyes narrowed dangerously. "A common bastard can call you that, but not the blood of the dragon?"

"I haven't seen Brandon in years," she retorted. "He means nothing to me." It was the truth. They had met once when she had left Dragonstone for Oldtown five years ago.

"Yet he still remembers as do you," Aegon pointed out coldly. "Must have been quite the time Visenya, for you to let such a person become so familiar." Visenya was at a loss for words. Was that jealousy she detected in her brother's voice? She would laugh if the situation weren't such a serious matter.

The silence continued for several moments. "It was love," her brother said tightly. "You loved him."

There was nothing the eldest Targaryen sibling could say to that. She pushed against Aegon's chest, trying to break free, but his grip on her remained firm.

"Now, you want me in your arms, brother?" Her voice was soft, but there was an edge of steel behind it. "We don't have time for this. You have a war to win."

Aegon glared at her before he pulled back. "You will find that any capable man can do two things at once." He strode back towards camp without a backward glance.

Visenya glared after him before she finally made her way back to camp. The main tent was empty save for an unconscious Brandon Snow and her younger sister, who was sitting lazily upon a chest, giving Visenya a curious if scolding look.

"I won't hear it, Rhaenys," Visenya said, turning her fierce gaze on the youngest Targaryen. "How could I know that Northern fool would try and kill our dragons?" She had expected their enemies to wait for any sign of weakness, but not Brandon. He wasn't even a thought in her mind these past few years.

Rhaenys snorted. "True, but that's not the issue, and you know it." Her eyes narrowed. "When were the two of you lovers?"

She rolled her eyes at the red and black cloth of the tent. "It was seven years ago before I even married Aegon. There is no cause for complaint."

"If you really believe that Visenya, then you are a fool, and I never took you for one," Rhaenys said with a shake of her head.

Visenya scowled before she turned her attention to the prisoner on the ground, the man who had been her lover.

Brandon Snow was bound tightly and from the looks of it, beaten badly. Her lips formed into a thin line, and for once, she felt something that was akin to pity. She grabbed a cloth and dumped a pitcher of water over it before she took it to Brandon and wiped his bloody face.

His eyes opened, and a stormy gaze met her own, and she arched an eyebrow at him. "Tell me the truth: Did Torrhen Stark send you?"

"Have you always been this way?" He shot back as he struggled against his bindings. "When we were together, you never mentioned any intentions to conquer and pillage the continent."

Her laugh was sharp. "The dream to conquer and unite Westeros was Aegon's. As a good wife and sister, I supported him." In a matter of seconds, she dropped the cloth, drew her sword, and pointed it at his neck. "Now, answer my question."

Brandon glared at her until finally, he looked away. "It was my own intention. Torrhen had nothing to do with it."

Visenya regarded him thoughtfully. It very well could be true, but could they afford the risk of believing him?

"I loved you, Vivi," Brandon said, pulling her from her thoughts. "You know I did."

She looked at him for several long moments before her expression softened. Visenya wasn't known for it, but sometimes, the occasion required it. "I know," she said quietly. "And I did love you." The Dragon and the Bastard Wolf. It could never work. What they had was short and delightful, but nothing more than fantasy. A temporary escape from the world they knew.

"You can't be allowed to live," she stated, keeping her sword on his neck.

"I suppose not," Brandon agreed, though there was a hint of worry in his eyes. "But my brother? You will not blame him?"

Yes, he will bear the blame. Her brother will not take the risk. Neither would she advise him to. "The only thing that I can promise is that your brother will live a longer life than you."

Brandon stared at her before he finally closed his eyes. "How am I to die?"

"That depends entirely upon you," came the cool voice of her brother as he strode into the tent, followed by Orys.

"I interrogated him," Visenya informed Aegon. "He came of his own will. Cut his head off and be done with it."

"I think that is sound advice," Rhaenys said quietly, shocking her elder sister.

"You are too familiar with him," Aegon said icily, glaring at Visenya before he turned to Brandon. "This will go badly for you."

Brandon let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not afraid of death. I prepared for it before I even came here."

"You prepared for your death, but what of your family's?" Aegon's voice was soft. "Did you prepare for theirs?"

"No." Brandon's voice wavered before he stared at Viseyna, the accusation clear in his eyes. "You promised!"

Visenya pursed her lips. "Aegon..."

Her brother held up a hand, his eyes flashing with anger. "Take him to Balerion," He ordered, and the guards stepped forward, hauling a struggling Brandon to his feet.

Once they were gone, Visenya whirled on her brother. "Balerion?" She asked tightly. "Was that necessary?" It was unbecoming of him. Aegon could be harsh with his enemies (and it was something she generally approved of), but he had what he wanted from Brandon.

"Leave us," Aegon ordered, giving a pointed look at Rhaenys and Orys. The latter two quickly left, leaving the fiery siblings alone.

The silence was long as Aegon glared at her, his eyes hard and filled with malice. "You love that bastard." It was a simple statement. And yet she could hear the underlying anger, jealously, and hatred underneath.

Visenya arched an elegant eyebrow. "Aye," she agreed. "Years ago. But then another man replaced him in my affections."

Her brother's eyes flashed dangerously. "Who?" He asked through clenched teeth.

The warrior queen could barely refrain from rolling her eyes. "It's you, you fool," she said simply. "Only a dragon could love another dragon, though sometimes I wonder about you."

Her brother took a step closer to her. "Wonder about what?" His voice was soft, but Visenya was wise enough not to mistake it for tenderness.

She met his gaze challengingly. "Don't make me say it," she hissed. "Is Rhaenys not your queen of hearts?" Her blood and rank deemed jealousy beneath her, but Visenya could not help it.

Within mere moments, Aegon had crossed the distance between them and pressed her against one of the supporting poles that held the great tent up. It was the second time that night, and it felt intimate.

Her chest rose and fell harshly, her breasts brushing against his warrior's chest. His eyes were a violent, possessing flame, and in them, she saw a reflection of her own willful and penetrating gaze. They were the blood of the dragon and a fitting match for one another. She would bring fire and blood to an entire realm to gain it's submission to Aegon. How could anyone question that she loved him? When had she ever been known to fail in her duty? And there was no mistake; it was her duty to love Aegon.

A few harsh pulls and tugs and her clothing was nothing more than a pile on the floor. She felt a shiver run down her spine, but it wasn't because of the cold air of the night on her skin. In typical fashion, she returned the favor, and her brother's clothing joined her own on the ground.

And perhaps it was her pleasure to love him as well.

[starffledust]

What Is Advice to Fallen Stars? (Sandy & Emily Jane)

[originally posted on Ao3]

Original Summary: When she turned back to him, her gaze was stern as stone. “What happened this time that hung up so much of your mind?”

Sandy glanced away with a grimace.

“It's not him, is it?” she hissed. The identity of “him” went unspoken, but visions of Nightmare Horses—their golden eyes outlined with red—sprung to mind beside the other terrors of long ago.

A small smile touched Sandy’s expression, and he shook his head with a silent laugh.

Sandy stared at the picture, frowning.

It was simple, really: a book made of Dreamsand, floating before him innocently with the Guardian’s G on its cover.

Our experiences differ, but the common ground of our pasts becomes the same story.

Well, that’s what he had meant. What he had actually “said” or what Bunny had perceived was irrelevant. He seemed to understand well enough.

Oh, and that look. Just a touch of understanding and relief, then an invisible connection between Bunny and Earth that should be reserved solely for his own planet.

But it was too late for that now, wasn't it? For both of them.

If it was not attachment for a planet that Sandy felt, then it was attachment to journeys and people. He had always been flexible, but severing him from the stars only snapped the band which held together his heart. Despite Bunnymund’s attachments, he had still retained that certain level of familiarity with the ground and relics he stored away; Sandy had naught but a large island of sand which had once made up the fastest wishing star.

Dreams whispered around him, but Sandy paid them no mind as he sat contemplating on the floor of his room, near the large window. The beach did not glow like normal, and the mermaids were silent. His only company was the floating book of Dreamsand.

“You’re not still brooding, are you?”

The book fell away, but Sandy himself didn't startle. He turned a patient eye to the intruder. In the silent communication of sand and wishes, he spoke: Reviewing is not brooding, Emily.

Mother Nature dropped down beside him, sitting cross-legged atop the cushioned sand floor. How she had snuck past the seashells without alerting him, Sandy did not know. He didn't quite need to.

“You know how talkative the fish are,” she said with a voice deep and level like the largest valleys of Earth. “If you but step awkwardly, the tree roots will know and tell me in seconds. Especially after that whole recent charade with the Nightmares.”

The local dolphins are rather nosy, he commented with a nod. Her mention of Nightmares flooded his mind, turning the thoughts of home and companionship into battlefields of Nightmare Men and hosts of Fearlings. I know nothing for roots, though. Plants are your area.

“More than that,” Mother Nature muttered bitterly, looking away. When she turned back to him, her gaze was stern as stone. “What happened this time that hung up so much of your mind?”

Sandy glanced away with a grimace.

“It's not him, is it?” she hissed. The identity of “him” went unspoken, but visions of Nightmare Horses—their golden eyes outlined with red—sprung to mind beside the other terrors of long ago.

A small smile touched Sandy’s expression, and he shook his head with a silent laugh.

Emily Jane—not Mother Nature now, for that one would never allow such a display of vulnerability—exhaled loudly. “Thank the stars for that.” Her head dipped, dark curls shadowing her face. She looked back up with curious, pursed lips. “What was it then?” Her eyes flicked up to the full moon, then back to him. “One of the other ones?”

The other ones, Sandy repeated in the most obnoxious, undulating sensation that only silence could produce.

Emily scowled, but an amused smile pulled at her face. “Shut up!” She elbowed him in the side and pulled a lock of her long hair to hide herself. “You know who I mean.”

Sandy rolled his eyes with a fond shake of his head. For a spirit so old, she still retained enough childlikeness to be unchanged. Yes, Emily, it was one.

“Oh, stop it, you ass. I know your secrets.” She nudged him again, letting the veil of her hair fall away. “ Now, who was it?”

Bunnymund.

Emily blinked. “I half expected the new one. Or the younger one.”

A question mark formed unconsciously above Sandy’s head, despite his insistence to speak with her directly. Those are both Jack, he said.

“Isn’t that Saint Nikolaas young compared to most of them?”

St. North. First name Nicholas. He raised a brow. If you rely on the Dutch name, you may as well say Santa.

“Animals don't use such complicated names, don't look at me so.” She huffed.

There was silence for a moment, only broken by the distant sound of breaking waves. Her eyes traveled slowly across the shoreline, no doubt marking its dullness and empty spaces where usually creatures of both present and past would reside.

A golden fish hopped out of the water as Sandy subconsciously mourned their absence. Then it was gone.

“So, what did he do that made you so concerned?” Emily finally asked, tilting her head toward him with pure curiosity on her face.

Sandy took a breath and looked up, where the ceiling gave way to the darkened sky, marked with clusters of stars.

Emily followed the gaze with narrowed eyes. “What?” She glanced back at him.

Do you miss them? he whispered in the sand.

Emily’s normally pale countenance darkened burgundy and pink like a frail leaf in autumn. “I—Sandy, you know I—” Her mouth sputtered in silence for a few moments.

He turned to her slowly, holding her bewildered stare. I miss them, he said, resolute. I miss the speed, the wishes, even the army. I miss the simplicity, the freedom. I miss him, I miss you. And sometimes, when I feel incredibly lost, I wish for a world of contained fear.

Emily’s eyes glistened with liquid sorrow, no doubt remembering it herself. She swallowed. “Am I lost then?” she asked quietly.

I’m here.

“But you’re just as lost as I am.”

He looked away. What could he even say to such a truth? Sometimes I think I have finally found the way, he said instead. Earlier, I told Bunnymund I did not miss the company of Star Pilots.

“And?” she prompted, sensing he was not done.

I think I lied. Sandy turned back to her, head bowed to the ground as his hands rubbed together in his lap. I told him to find familiarity in the present, despite separate journeys; but here I am, more open with you—with whom I have shared centuries—than with even a Pooka.

“You wouldn’t lie to him.”

I didn’t at the time.

“What changed?”

Sandy deliberated his response for a few moments. This was the most he had “spoken” in decades, but the pain of silence was too much to bear right now. Dreams are inconsistent things, he said slowly. They have no age and no definition. I cannot tell you what did or did not influence me. I think only the stars know.

Emily stared down at him, hurt and rage painted clearly on her windblown face. “So…” she drew the word out, making him look up. “He asked you about then?” Her words were harder than her last few attempts.

Sandy nodded.

“And you indulged it?” Her face grew darker pink, nearly red, and her back straightened where she sat.

He’s hurt.

“He should know the sensitivity of such a thing!” Her hands flew to the ground, and thorny stems sprung through the sand.

Yes, but he’s HURT. Emily, Sandy pulled at her hands, bringing them closer and clasping them between his own, malice doesn’t make questions like his. It’s only desperation.

“Desperation for what? More pain?” Her hair moved on its own accord, like it was caught in a turbulent wind; Sandy could feel the sand of his island quiver with the mighty waves below.

Neither pulled away.

Emily, Sandy said again, softer, a small ripple in the sand which sent the thorns back underneath. Emily, we're all hurt. But denying one the comfort of another heals nothing.

For a moment, he believed she would argue, her chest heaving with the stifled rage of every volcano on the planet. But Emily stayed quiet, anger slowly crumbling to resignation.

She sighed and muttered, mostly to herself, “He’s still an idiot.”

So he is.

“They’re all idiots, but that one in particular—and he’s a Pooka from the Golden Age! He should know not to bring up such things.”

I don't see why not.

Her arms circled her legs, pulling them closer to her chest. “The past is full of pain and suffering. And you have even more time to account for than me. No wonder his reminder struck you to moping!”

The phrasing made Sandy shudder, images of flaming hulls and sails tipping in his mind’s eye. Just outside the window, stray Dreamsand moved to form a cascading trail of fire, quickly dissipating with a chiding thought from Sandy. My sorrow is not his doing, he said weakly.

“Of course it is!” She grasped back at his hands. “You said yourself you were fine before he made you doubt.”

If I doubted at all, then it was my own. Sandy inhaled deeply before continuing: Surely, you can understand his position. He is a lost Pooka with no family or friends. In regards to the Golden Age, I am his closest ally. But he can’t always understand me, and my presence cannot be enough.

Emily settled at this, but the tell-tale ripple of her dress told of hidden resentment. “Why not?” she spat. “It’s not like he’s going to get anything better.”

Sandy sighed to himself and let both of their hands drop. He had expended all of his explanations already, and now even the comfort of silent words would not yield to his command.

A long second passed where no one spoke or argued, and the tension surely withered away.

“I miss it, too,” Emily broke the silence first.

Though he said nothing, Sandy nodded for her to continue.

She coughed once. “I mostly miss the excitement. Like when I’d sneak out to play with the Star Fish or when we traveled together answering wishes.” Her frown fell away, her face relaxing with temporary contentment. “I miss my mother, and I miss our victories against Pirates. I miss Typhan.” Her eyes sobered as tears broke from them. “But I can’t miss my father. Not after everything. At least that stupid Pooka has a good family to remember; I only have a half-dead shadow and a blind Constellation to whom I am a bastard Sister of the Heavens.”

Still, Sandy said nothing, but he placed a hand back on hers.

She looked down at the gesture and smiled, wetness still running from her eyes. “But,” she began, reaching down with her other hand to cover the two, “I guess I can understand why the Pooka can’t adjust.”

A question mark appeared above Sandy’s head.

“Well,” her mouth twisted into a smirk, “I have one thing he doesn’t.” She brought his hand between them, clasping them together again. “I have a Captain Sandy.”

When the words finally registered, Sandy smiled widely with a silent laugh. And I have an Emily Jane, he said.

The sentiment went unspoken, but they both thought it the same: “A friend.”

[magics-protector]

Show Me The Way (Part 1)

Pairing: Gadreel x Reader 

Warnings: Language, Mental Health (mentions of past trauma), does not follow cannon storyline because I want Gad to be happy

Word Count: 1,225

Summary: The Reader is the Winchesters cousin and meets Gadreel after Sam and Dean locked him in the bunker to get answers out of him and soon after, she’s tasked with getting information out of him. However, upon meeting him, the Reader realises that Gad isn’t as bad as Sam and Dean made him out to be. 

There was a loud sound that echoed through the halls of the bunker that rang out at about 1 in morning.  

Y/N shot up from her bed, the memories of her already terrible sleep fading into the back of her mind for now as she bolted out from her covers, grabbing the oversized flannel that was gifted to her by Sam that rested on the edge of her bed.  

Her legs carried her to the dungeon as Dean has labeled it, the pads of her bare feet leading her towards the loud sound and as she got closer, she slowly started to realize what the sound was.

They were screams.  

Pounding on the door, Y/N barely got a word out before Dean swung the door open. He and Sam walked out of the room and closed the door before Y/N could even catch a glimpse as to what or who was inside. She looked up at her cousins and shook her head.  

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”  

Sam looked over to the clock across the hall and grimaced. “Later than we thought it was.”

With a frown plastered on her face, Y/N shook her head. “Obviously.” She looked over Dean’s shoulders to see if the peep hole was open, but it wasn’t. She nodded towards the door. “Who’s in there?”  

Sam and Dean glanced back at the door before Dean opened his mouth to answer and answered with malice and anger in his tone. “Gadreel.”  

With just one name, Y/N’s blood went cold. She looked at Sam with sympathy but he looked away. He had been distant ever since the whole possession mess. Y/N assumed it was the guilt from what happened to Kevin – she didn’t know the young prophet but it was obvious that he was family to her cousins.  

“We wanted to get all the info that he got from Meta-dick but it isn’t working out.”  

Angels were resilient, centuries of fighting off hell and various other creatures can turn anyone into a cold heartless warrior. Y/N knew that, she’s watched it happen, so maybe they needed a new approach. Y/N looked at Dean and then to Sam. “Let me try.”  

Instead of the protective protest she had grown so used to, Y/N watched as Sam and Dean looked at each other and without warning, opened the door to the dungeon. She glanced at her cousins for one last objection but it never came, only Dean’s cold stare and Sam’s puppy dog eyes. Realizing there would be no objection, Y/N tightened the flannel around her body and walked in to see the angel strapped down to a chair inside a ring of holy fire.  

Y/N was shocked to say the least. Gadreel, despite being covered in what she assumed was his own blood, was strikingly handsome – well his vessel was. Turning her head to check if the door was shut and confirming it was, she rushed over to a bucket of water the boys saved for interrogations and brought it to Gadreel, stepping over the little ring of fire with absolute care. With the wet rage that soaked in the water, she lightly dabbed the blood off his face. Gadreel’s eyes snapped open and stared at the girl in front of him with confusion.  

“What are you doing?”  

Damn, even his voice is sexy Y/N thought.  

“What does it look like, genius?” She said. “I’m cleaning you up.”  

Gadreel tilted his in confusion. “Why?”  

Y/N looked down at her hands and then back to the angel. “Because, you need help and you haven’t given me any reason not to.”

And with that, Y/N went back to work on cleaning the shocked angel. “Now, we may as well pass the time by sharing stories. How about you tell me about what Metatron told you?” Y/N said in a soft voice.  

Gadreel’s eye wandered away from the female hunter, looking down in shame. “I’m afraid I have no information to give. Just like I told the Winchesters, I have not worked for Metatron or seen him in two weeks.”  

Y/N trailed her eyes to land on the angel’s and saw them dilate. He was telling the truth. She looked down at the soaked rag in her hands.  

“So,” Y/N’s voice was quiet, almost regretful, which drew in the angel’s attention. “Sam and Dean have trapped you for nothing?” There was anger on the edge of her tone but she did not let it take control of her voice.  “They’ve locked you up for something you didn’t know?”  

The angel nodded slowly, amazed and shocked at the fact that this little human actually felt remorseful towards him. Never in his long lifetime has anyone ever felt pity or remorse towards him. He was always the angel who let in the beast, the traitor. He was always met with anger and resentment, every hit he’s ever forced to take full of rage and wrath but never pity or remorse.  “I only wanted to help, but it seems the Winchesters will never forgive me for what I have done.”

“Yeah.” Y/N said, running a hand on the back of her neck. “They tend to be like that.” Y/N lifted her hands and ran them over Gadreel’s bound ones, tracing the tiny scars on his hands. “I’m sorry, Gadreel. I am so sorry.”  

Gadreel furled his eyebrows as he stared down the young huntress. “Why would you be sorry? I have done nothing to wrong you – er?”  

“Y/N. Y/N Winchester.” She replied. “I’m Sam and Dean’s cousin.”  

Gadreel looked down again, guilt flooding his vessel. “So, I have done something to wrong you. I apologize.”  

Y/N looked up at Gadreel and stood up. She huffed and crossed her arms. “You just wanted to help. The only thing you did wrong was allowing Metatron to control you like that and that wasn’t even your fault.”  

Gadreel looked up at Y/N and tilted his head. “But it was. I let Metatron control me and use me as a puppet, like your cousins thought I had used Sam.” Gadreel looked down at his bound hands and sighed, his voice edging the verge of tears. “I fear I will never be able to redeem myself.”  

Y/N looked down, throwing the rag in the bucket and smiled. “Then don’t.”

Gadreel looked at her with confusion. “What?”  

“Don’t redeem yourself. Start over, make a new life for yourself.” Y/N leaned down and rested her hands on top of Gadreel’s bound ones. “Let me help you. I can get you out of here and you can go off and start a whole new life for yourself.”  

Unable to comprehend what Y/N had just said, Gadreel stared at her with eyes wide and he felt something tighten in his vessel’s chest. Before he could even get a word out, a loud knock echoed through the room. Y/N wiped around quickly and then wiped back to Gadreel.  

“I have to go.” She said and jumped over the holy fire but she stopped before the door and turned. “I’m going to help you Gadreel. Don’t worry.” And with that, Y/N turned and walked out the door, leaving Gadreel alone in the dark.  

And for once in his long existence, Gadreel felt a weight lift off his shoulders finally knowing that someone – even though they just met – actually cared.  

[404fmdminjung]

creative claims — jamjam

summary: the song provides no catharsis. instead — it’s just finished. warnings: none wc: 1826 (not including lyrics)

she sits in silence, and the world outside becomes a twisted and bellowing dark hole, no. a massacre of comments aimed and set to shatter and puncture wounds into any form of self-preservation that remains. a public figure meant to garner the public distates (and she starts to believe it’s her niche of marketing —  riling up clamor for the repeat of lies she’s been spoonfed. now, she’s choking on the aftermath.

they say that if you tell yourself you stop caring, you will. yet, she’s been this broken record player, a constant iteriation of ‘i don’t cares’ and ‘fuck yous’. reality hits: the saying was a blatant lie, and she’d been a hapless fool for trying to pretend in the decadent lies laced in honey — sweet to taste, the break of everything coming at all at once. tonight, she wields together what she learns to accept that perhaps, maybe.. she’d known all along and it was merely the journey lingering that kept her clinging on for so long.

first comes the opening of her first defense mechanism —  a near mockery of a laugh. laughter that breaches humor for each time she’s fallen through the cracks of his pretty smile, carved out. each whisper underneath tattered sheets, and the question of what rests across the horizon of their future. each lie, she swallowed whole — no repercussions nor standards that lead her inside the depth of doubt. instead, she believed each whole whole heartedly, now — she just feels like a fool.

all’s fair in love and war — no strings attached, no rules outlined and set in stone. no rules, yet she ends up breaking all the in-betweens.

a spectrum of black and white, hot and cold. no lukewarm waters to tread in, and boom goes seo minjung on the deep end. yet, all she wants to say is a fuck you once more. only this time, it comes from a source plucked heart heavy, and soul layered. they’re filled with hate, and she won’t fufill the mold they’ve set forth for her. and in the end — he didn’t win, not when she’s still playing.

because what truth resolves any remnants of the wound left over, she doesn’t care. limitations set on the cusp of freedom, the free-falling touches of love with no restraints. because as soon as it starts, it ends — before she falls into the devastation of the aftermath, all she wants is the complete melt of his last touch.

I need some sugar I need something fake What is the truth? I don't care We both know, there's a limit, it'll be over soon Before I cool down, completely melt me (Babe)

she feels like a madman, crazed by the fervor of the night. laughter that doesn’t stem from anywhere but her own misery — written in stone by the pen she holds. she writes each word for word down on the page, wondering if it was even worth each cover underneath the photographers in shy glances on the stage, or the covertness of it all when his life’s now all on display for the world to eat up — it spills back over, repetition rubbing salt into her wounds.

Cover it up, spill it on top, once again

but tables turned, she flips the coin inside her hand — all’s fair in love and war. and in her case, she’s still moving the pawns in her hands, each meticulous movement crafting the next move for the rest. because when her eyes close, and the chuckle breathes out the second hand slap to each of his gestures, there’s only one thing she wants him to know: it takes two to play a game. two to roll around in a ring of fire, only for one to get burnt.

it’s mere mannerisms embedded into her skin. each twist of her lips that curl into a smile in a haphazardly agrees to each turn of how life takes her. running full-force without another thought, and if she’d been given to stop — then perhaps, the droplets of realism would seep in, drowning her whole to rethink the entirety of it all. a heartless huff, and she’s glad he never given her the chance — only set her up for the end of it all.

Between people capable of knowing these things Isn't it just manners to pretend to fall for such lies? I don't care, I'll become a fool, let's try everything Don’t give me an opportunity to think it through

because each time when the nib of her pen digs deep into the paper, and she reminiscences of her red-stained lips smeared on his skin — she thinks of the i love yous, so sticky and sweet. a taste of that thrilling and addicting, never set to rot. what she wanted to hear, he gave her. what she wanted to feel, he set up. set yourself up for failure, and it comes full circle when she’s left alone in her room gliding each line and circle on the paper in front of her.

Tell me that you love me Say the pretty things smeared on your lips Sticky sticky, I’ll keep it pickled So it won't rot, for a long time

in hindsight, it’s just another form of catharsis.

however, in the moment — it’s just drunk off the hours of heartbreak and misery finding some sort of resolve inside bitterness and resentment. she crafts a story, where she’s the lead female for the first time — no care in the world, back to the baseline of what it means to be seo minjung once more. on top, no underhanded games, just the joker in her back pocket lingering around for the next play.

-

when she sees his face on tv, it’s a wednesday.

happy hump day.

no notion of time, but she still manages to keep track of each mark on her calendar and the ticks of minutes blaring at her phone. no call to gold star today, nor any recollection of a stage fuse has to present. time off, and it becomes a harder concept to grapple with as the time goes on. so, she naps for the remainder of the day — lounging around in nothing more than the barebones of her body barely clinging onto the over-sized t-shirt and the undies that fill her frame whole.

when she finally manages to wake up, it’s already night and the nocturnal lifestyle manages to stick it to her good — her hair pulled up into a messy bun, strands already coming down to frame her face. her footsteps shuffling over towards the studio (a free day, her brother’s taking care of her dog tonight).

it’s a recipe for what brings forth the lyrics written weeks prior — the feeling of feeling on top, when now, all she feels is the effect of being down in the ground.

no time for anything, she darts straight to her home studio, her mind still blank. the silence reaps in, and it bellows louder where the echoes boast into a cacophony of sounds her mind can’t handle. as for the fix? she presses her hands on the piano — a start of a heavy base as her eyes reel over the rest of the lyrics finished nights prior.

there’s no thought process nor perfect blueprint of how a song should craft. and maybe, if she were smarter. wiser. there’d been a staged production when her hands stumble to break the silence with something, anything.

so, she reverts back to a futuristic sound.

fixes herself up with the sounds of the steady drumline, and the mimicry of the metronome in the filters of the keys, humming to herself the tune of what she writes down. because if she can’t believe it now, then she’d be damn sure to make a show pretending like she is. her fingers press down into the keys, a melodious cancor of what she doesn’t hear as coherent in the moment — instead, she relies on the effects of the pedal, dragging down each tone to a sound. no coherency in the mic absent, it’s just the voice memos on her phone recording each and every ounce of her head shaking back and forth singing into clear air — if it can be salvaged, the grains will be left to the guide.

-

when she reserves a gold star studio room, seo minjung is in an one-tracked mind to nothing in her mind sans the thoughts of the song at bay, and the details she has written in her notes.

scribbled inside the rugged leather bound journal are half-assed arrows, and subtle cues — deciphering it all, is left up to her. yet, there’s still a grin and a bow when she walks into the studio for the staff to monitor each and every bit of the sound she’s been crafting in her mind for the past few days.

whether this becomes a song to fruition to make to the final cut of the album, she doesn’t care. for what it’s worth here and now, it’s full-on pretending that every ounce of her despair was exempt from the facade she placed walking through the halls. chipper smiles stretching too vast, it becomes eerie. a bit uncanny when it all fades the second she takes into the recording booth.

“i have a clear idea for the song.” she declares, headphones still resting on her shoulders. “i want the first introduction to the song to have an almost accapella effect — no backtrack. no base — i just want my voice.”

a thumbs up, and she settles the headphones around her ears. her eyes closing shut — the lyrics already etched into her memory. the first iteration comes angry, shouting with a full-on chest voice. the playback renders it useless when she shakes her head back and forth. “no, could i do another take?”

the second becoming too much of a head voice — too high and light for the game she wants to draw inside the song.

the third makes a hit when she rings together the airiness pulled at each dip of her words, and the rise of the next. her ears pick up on the playback, her eyes still closed to accept each detail she tries to comprehend — for now, it’s the take she accepts at face value, motioning her fingers onto the next line.

where she steps into the studio at eight in the morning, she doesn’t pack up her belongings and leave till the sun’s already beckoning in the horizon. when her eyes flit onto the clock, it’s four am — her voice raging near hoarse when she bows, eyes creasing as she apologizes for the overworked hours with little pay.

but the track is finished at the end of the day, her heart free — at least for now, sneakers scuffing the newly polished floors of gold star on the way out.

and it’s just that her heart no longer feels the malice held tightly, nor does it feel any liberation from the music flinging in the background. instead, it just feels like work finished and buried six feet under — no reckon of saving any trace in the end. rather, it lies inside her harddrive and whether it sees the speakers of gold star’s saving grace, she no longer cares.

it’s done, her heart is done. the days of feeling on top, done. because in the end, all it musters is the empty feeling being booted back to square one.

[isidar-mithrim]

Letters from Hogwarts – Gus

For more than a thousand years, every summer, in the United Kingdom, the lives of a lucky cluster of eleven years old are radically changed.

These are the stories of four of them.

The first was that of a boy who lived for too long in the belief that he wasn’t a wizard, the second is that of a boy who lived for too long under the illusion of being one.

{Second installment of the “Letter from Hogwarts” series, but it stands alone}

{For this fic I have to thank immensely Hilda, Mah and @sazzy-hp-dw for their help and betaing! <3}</p>

{‘Letters from Hogwarts’ on tumblr: Neville, Remus and Hermione; on Ao3: Neville, Gus, Remus and Hermione}

__________________________________

Of missives, felines, and promises

He was chewing a delicious hazelnut biscuit when a decrepit owl glided uncertainly into their kitchen, landing with a thud right in front of him and making the milk wobble inside his mug.

Gus felt a surge of blissful joy and amazing relief, and with a thundering heart he hastily freed the thick envelope from the owl’s leg.

The owl took advantage of his distraction and pecked at his abandoned biscuit. In different circumstances Gus would have felt resentful, but this time the yearning to read the letter was too strong for him to be annoyed.

He opened it with trembling hands, cracking the wax seal without even looking at it, and with religious respect he took out the parchment covered in orange ink.

Chudley Cannons

Summer Camp for young beginners.

Your broom keeps unsaddling you, but you dream of becoming the Captain of your House Quidditch team?

You’ve never spotted a Snitch, but you want to break the record for the fastest catch?

You failed any attempt to get the Quaffle through the two hoops, forgetting that there was a third?

You are an excellent Beater, but your teammates keep losing teeth?

Then you’ve picked the right course for you! Fly with us and become a Champion!

Shooting Stars are supplied.

Detailed information about costs, schedules and locations of the course overleaf.

Gus put down the sheet of parchment and didn’t even bother to turn it over, a bitter taste in his mouth replacing the thrill of joy he had felt mere moments ago.

After the umpteenth humiliation suffered on the Quidditch pitch, his mother had suggested that he enroll for that stupid course promoted on the radio. I’m sure your broom will start listening to you, after a bit of practise, she had said.

He had dwelled on it for a while, but then she added a promise too sweet to be ignored. You’ll shine, at Hogwarts.

He had been full of optimism and good intentions when he sent the letter, and yet he couldn’t find the will to be happy with the news, his mind wandering towards fresh memories that stung more than he was willing to admit.

“Look! My Hogwarts letter!” Kresten had shouted ecstatically a week ago, running towards them and waving it with pride. They had spent the whole afternoon dreaming of their future Houses and wondering about wand woods and cores, betting on how many they would have to try before finding the right one.

The morning after, it had been Gus’ cousin Alan and their friend Jacob to celebrate, and then it had been Horatio’s turn.

“What about your letter?” Kresten had asked the following day, and Gus still wondered if he had only imagined the malice in his voice.

“Mum says it’ll arrive soon,” he had lied, his tone challenging in the hope of concealing the insidious anguish that had been creeping inside him more and more every day that went by without a letter.

“When will it arrive?” he had asked at dinner the day before.

“Soon, sweetheart.” His mother had given him a strained smile, before lowering her gaze to her plate.

Too caught up in the past, Gus was startled when his mum stormed into the kitchen.

“I’m warning you, you won’t go out until you’ve tidied up…”

She trailed off, her wide eyes fixed on the letter in front of him.

“Merlin… it arrived…” she murmured, as her bewilderment slowly morphed into amazement. “It arrived!”

She rushed towards Gus to squeeze him into a crushing hug.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so proud of you! You’ll see, they’ll be able to teach you the most incredible magic, at Hogwarts!”

Gus tensed at her excited words, but she didn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with kissing his head and saying stupid, unwelcome things.

When she finally let him go, he glared at her, hoping this time she wouldn’t miss his gloomy frustration.

“It’s not my Hogwarts letter,” he hissed against the lump in his throat.

His mum froze, her eyebrows pursed in a confused frown. “What do you mean, it’s not?”

“It means it’s not!” yelled Gus with mounting rage. “It’s only,” he said, clenching the letter in his fist, “that sodding,” – he crumpled the hated parchment with his fingers – “Quidditch course,” – he crushed it between is hands – “you wanted me to join!” he shouted, throwing the paper ball in her face with forceful contempt, before running into his bedroom and slamming the door with all his might.

He was sulking on his bed when his mother knocked gently.

“Go away!” yelled Gus, but she ignored his protest.

He turned onto his side to face the wall, kicking it in frustration, and heard her light steps getting closer. He curled up in defense, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered.

He felt the mattress sagging when his mother sat down beside him, her side brushing his back, her fingers softly caressing his hair. He jerked his head away, but his mum didn’t relent, running her fingers through his strands with tender, placating movements.

His anger faded, replaced by a deep, aching sadness that pressed down on his chest and clenched his throat. Silent, spiteful tears ran down his cheeks, and eventually he was sobbing in his mother’s arms, his snot damping her shirt.

“It’ll come, you’ll see,” she murmured, and in the comfort of her hug it was easy to delude himself that it was true.

*

“Alan will buy his books and all the rest this Saturday,” Gus mentioned casually during lunch. “We could go too.”

His mum hesitated. “Why don’t we go this Friday, instead?”

“But I want to go with Alan!” he complained, annoyed.

“Saturdays are always so busy, though…”

“We can’t go alone. I don’t have the list.”

His mum smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, I can ask Aunt Agnes to give me a copy.”

He huffed. “Okay, then…”

*

Gus left Flourish and Blotts with his brand-new pewter cauldron full of interesting books.

“Now there’s only the wand left!” he said excited, walking towards Ollivanders with a spring in his step.

His mum gave him an exaggerated grin. “Of course, sweetheart.”

When he reached the wand shop, he rested his hand against the window and peered inside.

“Look how many there are, Mum!” he said, enthralled by the sight of dozens of shelves packed with small boxes. “C’mon, let’s go inside!”

He was about to open the door, when his mum held him back.

She was still smiling, but now her expression seemed strained… Fake.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the letter, before buying a wand?” she asked with a too high-pitched voice.

Gus swallowed. “Why?” he asked harshly.

His mother let out an awkward laugh. “Well, you see, nobody ever buys a wand before receiving the letter… I’m not even sure that it’s allowed, so we really sh–”

“But I’m eleven!” Gus cut her off. “I want to start casting spells!”

“You know children can’t do magic outside of Hogwarts, sweetheart…”

“But all my friends have! Horatio fell from his broom and bounced without breaking a single bone; Jacob once spilled pumpkin juice on Alan but he didn’t get wet; Kresten made the mud stains on his new trousers disappear, because he was scared his mother would ground him, and –”

His mother sighed, her forced smile fading. “Those… those weren’t real spells, Gus…”

“Of course they were!”

She shook her head. “They were just… just bursts of accidental magic,” she explained in a low voice. “You see, it’s normal for children to accidentally do wandless magic, from time to time… Every child does.”

“But that’s not true!” objected Gus, clenching his hands. “It never happened to me!”

“No,” said his mother, her eyes glassy, and Gus felt his stomach plummeting. “No, it never happened to you, because you… you are not a wizard, Gus…”

He looked at her in shock, shaking his head in betrayed disbelief, his mouth opening and closing without uttering any sound.

“I… of course I am… I… I have to be…”

His mother swallowed, her features crumpled in sorrow, and Gus hated her for this despicable show of weakness.

“I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart, I know I should have told you sooner, but –”

“YOU’RE WRONG!” shouted Gus, a sour taste in his mouth, his inside twisted in a knot. He couldn’t bear it, he couldn’t bear her, with her sickening lies and her deceiving smiles, and when she grabbed him from the shoulders, Gus wriggled free.

He ran away with angry tears running down his face, feeling like his whole world had just been ripped apart.

*

He was crying in a forgotten alley, his back pressed against cold bricks and his forehead resting upon his knees, when he felt something wet grazing his fingers.

He shot his head towards it and saw a black kitten brushing his tiny snout against his bare skin.

“Go away,” he mumbled, but didn’t move his hand.

The kitten probably sensed his lack of conviction, because it didn’t pull back, preferring to lick his fingers. It tickled a bit, but in a pleasant way, and Gus tentatively turned his hand over to caress its neck.

“Where do you come from, kitty?”

Its soft meow was covered by the rumors of hasty steps, and a moment later a girl with dirty blond hair darted into the alley.

She stopped abruptly when she saw him, her breaths deep and frequent, a hand pressed against her right side. When she lowered her gaze, her eyes went wide. “Tibbles!” she exclaimed, running towards Gus and lifting the docile kitten in her arms. “I was at the Magical Menagerie, and,” - she took a deep breath - “a nasty cat fled from the owner’s hands and scared him off,” she explained with a hint of resentment, taking another deep breath.

Gus nodded in understanding, feeling a bit sorry for her and for her kitten, but also for himself. He would have liked to stay alone with Tibbles for a bit longer.

“I searched for him in every alley,” said the girl. “Thank Merlin you found him.”

“It wasn’t me who found him. He was the one who found me.”

The girl threw him a suspicious glance. “That’s weird. He doesn’t like strangers.”

“Well, he likes me,” said Gus defensively.

She quirked an eyebrow, studying his face. “So it seems,” she conceded eventually, scratching Tibbles’ ears. “Anyway, I’m glad he isn’t lost. Mr Paws would have gone barmy if I had come back without him.”

Gus felt a sting of annoyance. “Is Mr Paws your father?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. If his own dad were still alive, Gus certainly wouldn’t call him by his surname.

The girl scoffed mockingly, and he didn’t know if he felt more irritated or humiliated.

He crossed his arms in a challenging pose. “What’s so funny?”

“He’s not my father, silly boy,” she clarified with a slightly patronising tone. “He’s Tibbles’ father. I have to bring him back to him, by the way, but you can come with me to the Magical Menagerie, if you like. You seem a bit lost.”

“I’m not lost!” he spluttered indignantly.

The girl shrugged. “Suit yourself, then,” she said, heading towards the entrance to the alley with Tibbles secured firmly in her arms.

Gus watched her walking away, but a moment later he jumped onto his feet, wiping his face with the back of his hands.

“Wait,” he called, rushing towards her. “I’m coming too.”

She shrugged again. “Fine,” she said, looking at him with an odd expression. “Do you want to carry Tibbles?”

Gus hadn’t expected the offer, and he nodded eagerly, stretching his hands to grab him. The kitten snuggled cosily in his arms, and this was all Gus needed to endure the endless, dull chatting of the girl, who had taken it upon herself to tell him everything about her crossbred cats and Kneazles.

The Magical Menagerie was smelly, noisy and packed with cages on every wall. There were animals of every kind and colour, from cats, toads, and rats to weird furballs and double-ended newts.

“Arabella!” exclaimed the witch behind the counter, pulling off a pair of heavy black spectacles with which she was examining an adult cat with black fur. “Did you find him?” she asked urgently, while the cat raised his head and meowed.

The girl pointing her thumb at Gus. “He did.”

The witch pressed a hand to her chest at the sight of Tibbles. “Thank Merlin,” she said with relief. “I’m sorry about what happened, dear. I won’t charge you for Mr Paws’ examination, and feel free to grab a packet of cat treats on your way out.”

“I will,” said Arabella without any trace of embarrassment, before taking Mr Paws from the counter. She then turned towards Gus, looking right into his eyes. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Gus,” he said a bit defiantly.

“You’re the boy they’re looking for, then!” said the older witch, her eyes wide. “Your mother was here a moment ago, she was worried sick!”

Gus felt a rush of vicious satisfaction at these words. “Serves her right,” he muttered.

“Come now, lad!” scolded the witch. “I’ll go find her. You stay here.” She pointed a menacing finger at him before looking back at the girl. “Arabella, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait a bit more. I’ll show you the new kittens when this matter is solved.”

“It’s okay,” said the girl, nonplussed.

As soon as the witch was out of the shop, Gus dashed to the door, but only to find out she had locked it. He swore and kicked it, frustrated.

Arabella looked at him with curiosity. “Why are you avoiding your mum?”

“That’s none of your business,” he said, scowling. “Why do you know that witch so well?”

“Weren’t you listening?” she asked, annoyed. “I told you, I picked all my cats here. I want the seventh one.”

“What do you do with all these cats, if you’re only allowed to bring one to Hogwarts?”

For the first time, Arabella was lost for words. She lowered her eyes, swaying slightly on her feet. “I…”

“Do you really have six cats?”

“Of course I do!” she said indignantly, raising her head again to glare at him.

“Then how –”

“I’ve never been to Hogwarts, okay?” she cut him off aggressively. “Are you happy, now?”

He stared at her, taken aback. She was taller than him and obviously a few years older. “Why not?” he asked in a low voice, his heart thundering in his ears.

“Because I’m a Squib, that’s why.”

Gus had no idea what she was talking about. “A what?”

“Someone without magical power born into a wizarding family,” she said with impatience. “Are you taking the mickey or have you actually never heard of it?”

Gus stayed silent. Squib. So that was what people like him were called…

“I’m a Squib too,” he admitted, finally saying out loud what he had secretly known since forever. He felt relieved, in a way.

“Oh.” She didn’t look particularly bothered. “Well, that’d explain why Tibbles liked you, then. Cats love Squibs.”

“They do?”

“Yes, Albus Dumbledore told me so, in person. See, my parents know him.”

Gus was quite impressed to hear that, but he wasn’t particularly keen to tell her.

She rolled her eyes. “You know, Dumbledore?” She had spoken as if she was talking to a two-year-old. “Hogwarts’ Deputy Headmaster, the greatest –”

“I know who he is!” said Gus with resentment. Blimey, he had five Chocolate Frog Cards of him! Of course he knew who he was. Everybody did.

The girl’s miffed answer was lost, because at that moment the owner got back, his mother in tow.

“Gus!” exclaimed the latter, rushing to hug him. “I was so worried, I couldn’t find you anywhere!”

He didn’t answer, making sure to put on a reproachful scowl. When his mum looked at him with dismay, Gus felt cruelly pleased.

The owner stepped in, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you help Arabella pick her new kitten, lad?”

She had spoken with a conciliatory tone, and even if Gus hated to admit it, he was intrigued by the offer. He glanced at the girl and she shrugged, so he looked back at the witch and nodded. “Okay.”

“C’mon, then,” she said briskly, leading them behind the counter. One by one, they took all the cats and Kneazles out of their cage, no matter their fur colour or their age, and Gus and Arabella held them all in turn.

“What about that one?” asked Gus with surprise when the witch skipped one of the cages.

“She’s the one that scared Tibbles,” said Arabella with bitterness.

“Can I see her?”

The witch looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Are you sure? I can’t guarantee you that –”

He nodded with decision.

“Very well, then.” She opened the cage with cautious movements, and the kitten showed her sharp teeth, jerking a paw forward with her claws out.

“Nasty kitty!” yelped the witch, withdrawing her hand.

Gus got closer, intrigued. Ignoring his mother’s frightened “No!”, he bent forward and took the dust-coloured kitten, who snuggled meekly in his arms, purring happily.

Gus turned and met the baffled gaze of the three women in the shop. “Can I keep her, Mum?” he asked. Only silence followed. “Mum?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” she said, coming back to earth. “Of course you can keep her.”

*

His mum knocked on the door and peered into his room without waiting for an answer.

“It’s Alan,” she said with a smile. “Why don’t you go and say hi?”

Gus kept caressing his kitten’s fur. “Tell him I’m not here,” he said, lowering his gaze and hoping she would take it as a hint to let him be.

“It’d do you good to go out with your friends, once in a while…”

“I don’t want to see them.”

“Gus… They care about you… I’m sure they’d understand, if you talk to them…”

“Nobody cares about Squibs,” he said stubbornly. “Except cats,” he added on a second thought.

“Please, Gus…”

“I said, tell them I’m not here.”

“Okay,” murmured his mum, defeated.

He thought she might have been crying, but he didn’t bother to check.

*

Gus refused to meet his friends for the rest of the summer. He would rather stay alone all the time than tell them why he wasn’t going to Hogwarts, or why he would never own a wand.

He made a habit of watching them play, perched on his windowsill, his cat always at his side. He couldn’t say when he had begun to resent them so much, so agile on their broomsticks, so happy and carefree, so good at reminding him how different he was.

“One day, we’ll go to Hogwarts too,” he promised to his cat on one of those awful afternoons. “And I swear that not a single student will dare make fools of Mrs Norris and Argus Filch.”

[we-are-only-halfway-home93]

Come and Lay the Roses 15- Never Fallen From This High- [Ivar x OC]

Summary: Aaline and Ivar are cornered by the brothers. Can they not see how they look at each other?

Characters: Ivar x OC, Bjorn x Torvi, Ubbe x Margrethe, Hvitserk x Thora, Sigurd x OC, Lagertha, Ragnar

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, violence, sex, torture, language, mentions of rape/sexual assault

Ch. 14

Word Count: 1887

Author’s Note: So clearly I suck. I planned to update three times last week and only updated once. It’s obvious to me now that my update schedule will be sporadic so please bear with me. I’m going to update as often as I can but it clearly won’t be as often as I used to. 

“You look at him and see the stars. He looks at you and sees the sun. Both think the other is looking at the ground.”

Aaline had been working in her office for three hours where there was a knock on her door. The words “come in “ had barely left her mouth when the door opened. Hvitserk was standing there with an easy smile, adjusting his jacket sleeves. 

“Good morning, Aaline. How are you this fine day?” He continued to smile at her, almost maniacally. Aaline pushed slowly back from her desk and gave him a stilted smile. She stood and came around to the front of her desk.

“I’m doing well, Hvitserk. Can I ask what you’re doing here?” She asked. She leaned against the front of her desk and crossed her arms over her chest, studying him. 

Hvitserk struck her as a man who viewed the world with a glass-half-full mentality. He was a difficult person to dislike. He always had a smile on his face and Aaline often heard him and Thora laughing well into the night. He seemed to enjoy life and yet still knew when it was time to get to work. 

She had spent the most time with him as opposed to the other brothers. Björn had his own children to raise and look after and only spent working hours at the estate. He was mostly holed up in Ragnar’s study or with Lagertha at the office. Aaline usually only saw him during family dinners. 

Ubbe spent most of his time at the office and with Margrethe. Aaline often wondered why Ubbe had married Margrethe. She was incredibly high maintenance and spent a great deal of time drinking and lazing around the house. She brought nothing to the table and Ubbe spent most of his time pleasing her and making sure she felt comfortable. 

Aaline consciously kept her distance from Sigurd. She loved Sibylle. The woman was sweet and had a kind heart but all Aaline knew of Sigurd was malice. He made it a point to humiliate Ivar at every opportunity. He had nothing but rage and hatred in his heart for his brother and Aaline didn’t pretend to assume that that rage stopped with Ivar. Anything associated with Ivar, Sigurd found a reason to hate it. 

Hvitserk stepped further into Aaline’s office and settled his hands on the back of the plush chair in front of her desk. He continued to grin at her. 

“I wanted to see if you were busy. It’s nearly lunchtime. We could get brunch. There’s this French bistro a block down the street.” He jerked his head towards the door and his smile melted into an easy grin. 

Aaline contemplated for a few seconds but ultimately felt that she couldn’t refuse him. Part of her new role as Ivar’s wife was making nice with his family and Hvitserk was his favorite brother. If she wanted to maintain her positive relationship with Ivar, she should at least try to make friends with his brothers. She already did consider Hvitserk a sort of friend.

In all honesty, Hvitserk was more like an acquaintance or a work friend but her life, and the life of those around her would probably be easier if she was at least friends with the people that she interacted with regularly. Besides, she didn’t think Hvitserk would be a bad friend to have in her corner.

Hvitserk was quiet as they made their way down the street. Aaline wasn’t stupid. She knew that Hvitserk had invited her to brunch because there was something he wanted to discuss with her. She may have interacted with him the most but she didn’t know him. She didn’t know what he wanted to discuss and she didn’t know why. She was blind to his intentions. 

“I heard what you said.” He blurted. She looked over at him. He was the picture of ease with his hands tucked inside his pockets and his face turned up towards the sun, relaxed. She opened her mouth to speak but he turned to her and continued. 

“At breakfast the other day with the other women. You were talking about Ivar.” Aaline looked away and nodded absently. She was familiar with the conversation he was referring to. Torvi had expressed concern for Aaline’s wellbeing and Margrethe had thought it was a good idea to express her opinion of Ivar in front of Aaline. 

Aaline was familiar with their history but Margrethe’s perspective was skewed. She liked to look at things based on how they affected her and not the big picture. Aaline was aware of Ivar’s reputation and knew that it was well deserved but few people were aware of Aaline’s reputation and how hard-earned it was. Aaline knew things about Ivar that Margrethe did not and she did not take kindly to the other woman besmirching her husband’s name because he’d hurt her feelings.

“No one’s ever defended him before.” Aaline was jolted from her thoughts by Hvitserk’s statement. She gave him a dubious look and he laughed. 

“Outside of the family, I mean.” He shook his head and sighed. 

“I was always his fiercest defender. Growing up, Ivar and I were the closest. Ubbe was too old, by the time Ivar could talk he was too busy showing off and chasing little girls around the playground. Sigurd largely ignored him. Mother coddled Ivar and neglected Sigurd and he was already resentful. That left me.

“I never wanted Ivar to feel lesser than any of us. He already knew he wasn’t like the rest of us and I didn’t want him to feel even more ostracized than he already was. I made it a point to be his defender, an advocate of sorts.” She could feel Hvitserk’s eyes on her but she kept her eyes straight ahead. They’d been walking for a while and Aaline had a feeling that he was leading her in circles, avoiding the restaurant in favor of continuing their discussion.

“Do you pity my brother, Aaline?” She jerked her head up to stare at him. His audacity threw her off-kilter and she didn’t know what to say. She blinked in bewilderment up at him, turning away without saying anything. She heard him chuckle and her hackles rose. She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin high. 

“Forgive me for my forwardness. I still find myself wanting to protect Ivar and,” He heaved a sigh that sounded pained. “Aaline, you are an unknown and I need to make sure that Ivar will be protected.” He glanced down at her and sighed again.

“If that means I have to protect him from you, I will.” His voice was soft as it carried between the small space separating them. She held her head high and refused to answer him. He clicked his tongue and turned a corner, stopping in front of a small yet classy French bistro. He wrapped his hand around the handle and looked down at her. 

As she stepped forward to enter the restaurant, he spoke again. 

“I see the way you look at him, Aaline. I am not blind.”

She peered up at him and his face was free of any emotion but he looked honest, open.

Heat burst upon her cheeks and she looked away, nodding once. Hvitserk smirked and gestured her forward.

“After you, madam.” 

.

“What I don’t understand is why she left him alone, you know? Sure she got her revenge but why not keep it up? Make him afraid of his own shadow? Shit, I would’ve stalked the fuck outta him until he was afraid to leave his own house.”

Ivar rolled his eyes hissed when Ubbe failed to spot him in time. Ubbe chuckled as he reset the barbell and switched places with Ivar. Ivar stepped around to stand at Ubbe’s head and helped him lift the weight off the bench. Ubbe grunted as he lifted the weight.

“He was afraid of his own shadow. The man was clearly in fear for his life. He had a constant bodyguard and he only ever left the house for the office and back again. She had him thoroughly scared.” Ivar watched Ubbe’s arms shift as he pressed the weight up off his chest and back down.

“Yeah but, like, I’d have someone follow him everywhere. Watch him walk to the office and back. I wouldn’t be satisfied until he was dead.” Ubbe said.

Ivar sneered and pressed down on the weight, delighting in the strain present on Ubbe’s face. He leaned down until his forehead was nearly touching Ubbe’s. The older man gasped beneath Ivar’s added weight and pressed back against him but Ivar had the superior upper body strength and easily kept Ubbe down. 

“The man may as well be. He can’t look over his shoulder with fear. My wife has damaged him enough psychologically that anything I do physically will never compare. The man is as good as dead.” Ivar kept his weight down just long enough for Ubbe to understand before he stepped back. 

Ubbe pushed the barbell up into its cradle and he sat up, heaving and sweating, his face red with exertion. He shook his head, wiping his hands on his towel, and glared over his shoulder at his brother.

“I’m not blind, brother.” Ubbe pronounced. Ivar quirked an eyebrow, his breath coming hard and his eyes flint. Ubbe shook his head and sighed, heaving himself up off the bench. 

“I see the way she looks at you.” Ubbe stood tall and met his brothers accusing glare. Ivar kept his mouth shut but his lip curled up in a snarl. Ubbe cracked a smile and shook his head, amused. This only made Ivar angrier and he hissed, taking a step towards his brother. Ubbe raised in hands in placation and bowed his head. 

“I meant no offense.” Ubbe looked back up at Ivar and nodded once. Ivar relaxed only a little and kept his eyes on Ubbe. 

“I only meant that she watches you as much as you watch her.” Ubbe drew his eyebrows together and looked Ivar up and down. He was standing defensively as if he expected Ubbe to attack him. Ubbe shook his head and clicked his tongue.

“Jesus, Ivar, do you really not see it? She wants you. It’s the clearest thing in her eyes whenever she’s looking at you.” Ubbe watched as Ivar’s face went from aggressive to contemplative. It seemed Ivar hadn’t taken the time to really look at his wife. Either that or he was blind.

“Ivar, Aaline is a beautiful woman.” Ubbe held his hands up in submission when Ivar growled and took a threatening step forward. Ivar kept his hands fisted at his sides but let his brother continue.

“She’s beautiful and men notice. What are you going to do when someone propositions her?” Ubbe quirked a brow in triumph when Ivar’s eyes narrowed and he snarled low in his throat. 

“She’s a good woman, Ivar. She won’t go behind your back but,” Ubbe took a step forward and bowed his head low, keeping his head close to Ivar’s.

“Someone will try to take her from you if you’re not careful. Do something about the looks that she sends you.”

Tags: @bcarolinablr @jay-bel @feyrearcheron44 @inforapound @youbloodymadgenius @littledeadrottinghood @funmadnessandbadassvikings

[lilith-lovett]

Found Families - Home is Where the Hart is - Chapter Four

Here is the fourth chapter, this one made me cry while writing. My heart truly goes out to Logan when I write stuff like this but angst is my life and I will never stop writing it but I love Logan really. I’m sorry this might be the last chapter for a little while though I still have a few pre-written as I am currently writing chapter seven but because of exams I will be extremely busy with studying so I apologise in advance for that.

Side Note: Both Madame Claire and Miss Maggie are both extremely old oc’s of mine of a book I scrapped a really long time ago.

Masterlist

Summary: The aftermath of Logan’s night with Madame Claire and Logan and Patton’s first official session.

Word Count: 3862

Warnings: Child abuse, physical description of injuries, nightmare mentioned, knife mentioned, bruises, mentions of skipped meals, self-deprecation, bullying. If there are any more I have missed please let me know.

Logan’s sleep was yet again disturbed by another nightmare. The only notifiable difference being Madame Claire’s looming presence throughout, merely a shadow in a dark corner awaiting the prime moment in which to reveal herself stealing him away to carry out untold horrors on him but once he returned to reality his nightmare didn’t end, still a prisoner within this Orphanage at the cruel mercy of it’s owner. He woke hours before the other boys as per usual but he lay awake as his precious book had been confiscated as a part of his punishment and currently sealed away in Madame Claire’s office, unable to find solace in it’s words and pages. His previous overbearing pain had dulled minimally, fading to a persistent ache across his entire body, though it gathered predominantly in his legs where the majority of the bruises were located on the backs of his thighs and calves making it virtually impossible to sleep without agitating his newly formed bruises. Their wake up call came as a rare blessing allowing him to at long last stretch out his aching body before dressing as quickly as humanly possible, catching a glimpse at his vivid bruises a combinations of deep purples and blue comparable to paint splatters on a canvas however they were not a beautiful display of artistic skill but the result of own ‘misbehaviour’ and Madame Claire’s hatred towards him.

Logan had never arrived to breakfast so early but the desolate dining hall, save for a singular matron observing him granted him no playful chatter, to drown out the voice of Madame Claire in his head echoing the same malice laced words again and again. Until they were engrained into his mind and body. You are never going to be adopted. He knew. Mr Hart was only speaking to you out of pity. He…knew. Nobody will ever love you. Nobody will ever love you. Nobody will ever…

“I know,” Logan whispered aloud. Wishing he could scream it and let it be known. Those words cut like the knifes his father collected and one by one plunged into his gut, hurting worse than the beatings ever could. Bruises and scars would fade along with the pain if treated correctly but words cut deep embedding themselves into his very foundation refusing to allow him to forget.

Logan stomach growled ravenously another result of his punishment. Though Logan’s portion sizes were arguably smaller than average, he made it a habit to eat something at every meal time whether that simply being a piece of fruit or half of whatever was provided that day but upon skipping dinner his body swiftly burned all of the minimal food he ate and begged for more substance contributing to a rather uncomfortable night. Porridge was on the menu once again but unfortunately the sweetness of the jam was unsurprisingly absent from his serving, despite his distaste for the tasteless slop he ate only to quench his raging hunger but once nearing the end he compelled himself to stop unwilling to break his own rules for something as trivial as a skipped meal.

Logan prepared to make his way to Maggie’s office, hoping for some pleasant distraction and perhaps a replacement novel for his confiscated one but the disadvantage of this would be that Maggie would surely take notice of his less than chipper mood and immediately inquire about it. It was in her nature to detect and attempt to fix any problems her students may be experiencing but Logan’s problem weren’t something that could be fixed so easily. Maggie disagreed with much of Madame Claire’s disciplinary actions but only saw a small fragment of what goes on out in the open but completely unaware of what occurred behind closed door. She wasn’t to blame. Until a matron Mrs Davis, who had formerly been overlooking the dining hall appeared in front of him blocking his path to Miss Maggie’s. He had no qualms with Mrs Davis other than her noisiness and habit of gossiping but today she was his worst enemy.

“Logan did you forget? Mr Hart is coming to see you today,” Mrs Davis chirped. Her high-pitched voice scraping painfully against his ear drums “Now, let’s go get you cleaned up for him,”. Mrs Davis turned on her heel and clopped down the corridor towards the communal bathroom, Logan following begrudgingly behind her. He had forgotten all about Patton’s promise to visit him again and his chest immediately tightened, growing progressively anxious by the second as he struggled to keep pace with her striding steps. Would Patton notice Logan’s inner war? Would he inquire about it? Or would he ultimately realise Logan wasn’t worth the effort?

Logan looked awful, even once he washed his face thoroughly, his skin looked paler than usual appearing ghost-like and hallow, a dark shadow played beneath his eyes displaying his lack of sleep but Mrs Davis didn’t seem to take any notice. Dragging the brush through his hair, the harsh bristles aggravating his scalp and straightening his clothing did little to alleviate his unease and considered fleeing to avoid the crippling awkwardness sure to arise but Mrs Davis had already took a hold of shoulder preventing him from disappearing to his room. He shrugged out if her grasp and followed obediently behind her as she lead him through the corridors towards the smaller play room where his session with Patton would be occurring. Breakfast had officially ended and as he was lead to the meeting room he sensed the resentful and envious glares of the other children surrounding him, blatantly belittling him at full volume allowing Logan to hear every spiteful word they spoke regarding him. Once they had passed the hostile glares of his fellow orphans, Logan felt much more at ease without their bitter gazes burning into his skull but as they arrived at the unoccupied meeting room - a condensed version of the much larger and frequently used common room - his hands had turned clammy as a lump formed in his throat and his stomach churned, immediately regretting how quickly he consumed his breakfast fearful of bringing it all back up.

Logan gravitated towards the reading nook but made no move to select a book, instead settling himself into the armchair plucking at loose threads disinclined to the thought of another bout of excessive, unnecessary rambling brought on by the topic of his book. Mrs Davis returned to her business once ensured that Logan wasn’t planning to disappear, she turned her back abandoning him to the deafening silence while he waited on Patton’s arrival. Resisting the urge to peek out of the window which would grant him optimal opportunity to prepare himself the moment he saw Patton approaching. Which was the sole reason for him watching out of the window for Patton. He moved towards the window nudging aside the curtains for a better visual hoping it would allow him some peace of mind but it had the opposite effect. His heart rate rapidly accelerated whenever anyone crossed the front gate and he couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t a matter of importance so why was it affecting him so? Logan would pose his question to Miss Maggie, who regularly aided him in figuring out possible explanations for his questions typically regarding the human psyche a less than favourable topic for Logan but one he was determined to master.

Logan continued watching out of the window until he saw a figure entering the Orphanage’s play ground - used predominately in the Summer months - from this distance taking into account Logan’s poor vision and incorrect prescription on his glasses, it was difficult to identify the figure but through deductive reasoning and the intensely bright yellow rain jacket the figure was wearing he could only assume that it was Patton, which only gave him a short while to prepare himself. He instantly hurried towards the reading nook however still making no move to select a book and collapsed onto the armchair, he hissed out in pain as the back of his legs and therefore his bruises made contact with the chair intensifying the throbbing pain spreading through his legs, crawling up his back and settling on his already tense shoulders but the sudden pain reminded him of Madame Claire’s warning.

Patton is only talking to you out of pity.

He doesn’t care about you.

Nobody cares about you.

The words swarmed his head but yet no emotion displayed on his face. Logan still had a chance to deter Patton from visiting him again. He could prevent him from making the worst decision of his life. He could still save Patton from himself. Despite the sharp pain in his chest and uncomfortable feeling in his belly he had already decided. Nobody deserved Logan; robotic, emotionless, unlovable Logan as a son. Especially not someone as good-natured, considerate and selfless as Patton. So he would spare himself the heartbreak now and everything would return to the way it was and he would be alone.

It was for the best, he thought.        

Patton felt giddy with excitement as he walked, a visible spring to his step the gift bag swinging at his side as he approached the front entrance of Madame Claire’s Home for Children, perhaps today he would meet the woman. Entering the foyer. he approached the front desk behind which a close-knit group of women he assumed were matrons gossiping to each other. A couple nursing hot drinks providing the foyer a pleasant odour of herbal tea but not before long his presence was noted and one of the woman advanced towards him. The woman appeared only a few years older than himself, mid length dirty blonde locks scraped back into a low bun and her lips painted red accentuating the blinding whiteness of her teeth, dressed modestly in an off-white blouse, a long deep navy blue cardigan secured with a single button at the waist and a near floor length black skirt, a welcoming yet overly wide smile stretched across her face.

“Hi there, my name is Mrs Davis and I am a matron here at Madame Claire’s Home for children. And you must be Mr Hart,” Mrs Davis exclaimed extending her hand out towards Patton which he took politely, waving also at the woman still gathered behind her.

“Yes, that’s me,” Patton replied bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, the anticipation was killing him.

“Good, I believe you are here to see Logan,” She said. Patton nodded a smile creeping onto his face. “Follow me please, he is waiting in one of our meeting rooms,” She came out from behind the desk and gestured for him to follow her down the corridor. He kept a steady pace only a step or two behind Mrs Davis allowing her to lead him as he had a hopeless sense of direction and would surely get lost. “Logan is wonderful boy, so incredibly intelligent but he is a bit different from the others,”.

“Different, how so?” Patton inquired.

“Well, he is much quieter than the others, a lot less social he rarely speaks to anyone,” She explained releasing a sigh. “I’m just glad someone is finally showing interest in him,”. The overly wide red lipped smile returning to her face.

Patton regarded the matron for a moment not failing to notice the subtle change in her expression and the dip in her tone while discussing Logan, something which to Patton implied it were these particular character traits which were frightening potential guardians away and others had purely given up trying. Surely irritating the matrons and from Mrs Davis’s response he deduced that she would be happier with Logan gone and with one less ‘difficult’ child to deal with. Patton bit his tongue, preventing him from disclosing these thoughts not wishing to upset or anger anyone and his focus would be to adopt Logan as soon as possible, taking him away from this place. So he simply nodded and smiled.

“He does have a bit of a temper though and…oh dear I do hope he hasn’t be rude to you,” She said startling Patton “He has a habit of that,”.

“Oh no not at all,” Patton said. Most probably would consider Logan’s behaviour and attitude yesterday rude but to Patton he was merely protecting himself. Patton was a stranger after all and from what he was hearing regarding Logan’s experiences in the past with potential adopters all of his actions were perfectly understandable. It would take time for Logan to fully open up but Patton was fully willing and prepared to take that time.

“Ah, that is a relief,” She sighed.

They spent the remainder of the journey in silence Mrs Davis presumably having exhausted her list of conversation starters and Patton wasn’t thrilled by the idea of conversing with the matron any further, instead mulling over potential thought-provoking questions to ask Logan which would send him off rambling and return the sparkle to his eyes. He smiled down at the gift bag hanging by his side. A child-like glee and warm sensation spreading throughout his entire body like a thousand newly born butterflies taking flight within his belly, like he was thirteen years old again and experiencing his first crush and that feeling made the seemingly never-ending corridor flash by in minutes.

Upon entering Patton noticed Logan sat motionless, almost rigidly in the armchair located in the far corner of the moderately sized room which appeared completely pristine and untouched; no toys strewn across the floor, books perfectly organised on the shelves, no visible stains from messy fingers but he spared no more than a thought towards the room and gradually gravitated to Logan. Nothing but a listless expression was visible on his face, his eyes glazed over as if he couldn’t see Patton at all. He looked like a doll. Skin pale - almost too pale - and unblemished, not a single hair on his dark head was out of place and his clothing in immaculate condition except for the tape secured around his glasses. It unnerved Patton how perfect he was and it wasn’t until Logan noticed his eyes firmly placed on him that his gaze darted away.

“Now I will come collect you in an hour, have fun you two and Logan make sure you behave for Mr Hart,” Mrs Davis said before returning presumably to the front desk to continue her gossip closing the door behind her leaving Patton with an unresponsive Logan.

Logan looked lost without his book in his hands, they twitched restlessly in his lap as if he were desperate to feel the smooth cover beneath his finger tips, tracing the words, wishing to disappear into the pages into a whole new world - Aladdin reference - but yet he remained in the chair making no move to select a book despite the shelves full of them surrounding him. The pitiful sight tugged at Patton’s fragile heart and desired only to wrap Logan in his arms and never let go but that would most definitely frighten him more. So, Patton made a promise to himself he would make Logan smile at least once before this session was up.

“Hiya kiddo, did you miss me?” Patton beamed at Logan lowering himself into the bright luminous green beanbag located beside Logan’s chair. He responded with an indifferent shrug. It wasn’t as yes but it wasn’t a no either so Patton took it as a success.

“Did you enjoy the rest of your birthday yesterday?” He asked to keep the conversation alive. Logan obviously wasn’t having a great day and Patton was determined to cheer him up.

“I guess,” Logan replied his voice low and gravelly as if he hadn’t spoken in a while. Score. His first verbal answer, a vague one but yet an answer nonetheless. They were communicating.

The majority of the session played out like his. Patton would fire open-ended questions towards him and every time Logan would counter it with a one word answer. When Patton ceased his fire of questions to simply observe how Logan interacted with his surrounding but he never moved from the chair. He merely remained in his chair glancing wistfully at nothing in particular. What happened to the boy who could barely tear his attention away from the page for a mere moment to entertain a stranger?

“You don’t have a book this morning?” Patton asked hoping it would provoke a response.

“No,” Logan replied.

“Why is that?” He questioned.

“I’m simply not in the mood to read,” Logan replied shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Is there something else you want to do,” Patton asked gesturing to the room filled with items to potentially stimulate Logan’s interest.

“No,” He said.

Patton’s shoulders dropped marginally in defeat. Well, there goes his perfect plan. He peered around the room pleading for something to appear which would interest Logan before his hand brushed against the gift bag, still sat by his side, he had completely forgotten about it too occupied with Logan’s unsettling behaviour to notice.

“Oh hey kiddo, I brought something for you,” Patton exclaimed revealing the gift bag previously hidden beneath the armchair. Logan took the bag with shaking fingers appearing as if in shock at the prospect of receiving a gift, his expression twisted into a combination of bafflement and awe a look which made Patton wonder how often Logan had received gifts or if he had ever received one at all.

“W-what is this for?” Logan asked stuttering slightly as he did, as if he were internally battling with himself struggling to maintain his mask of cool composure, a ghost of a smile creeping through the minuscule cracks in his stone cold persona.

“Well, it was your birthday yesterday so think of it as a belated birthday gift,” Patton said rocking back and forth of his heels in anxious anticipation watching as Logan fidgeted apprehensively with the gift bag as if fearful to open it without permission.

“Thank you Patton, I appreciate the sentiment,” Logan replied his eyes still firmly fixated on the bag in front of him. Patton’s heart swelled with joy, he had never met a more well-spoken and polite child with maturity levels far beyond his years. He was simply incredible and at hearing him say his name set off millions of butterflies within his stomach.

“Go ahead kiddo, open it,” Patton prompted realising Logan had been awaiting permission. Logan gingerly removed the tape sealing the gift bag before reaching a hand in unveiling the present. A pair of large black noise-cancelling headphones.

“So kiddo, what do you think?” Patton asked practically bouncing on his feet in excitement. The headphones had formerly been Virgil’s, his first ever pair of noise-cancelling headphones, he used particularly to help him sleep or whenever things got a lot to loud and believed Logan would greatly benefit from them also suggestive of his incident the previous day.

“I..I can’t accept this,” Logan said holding the headphones at a distance towards Patton as if expecting him to snatch them back.

“Why not,” He asked a hint of confusion lacing his tone but still made no move to remove the gift from Logan’s trembling fingers.

“I do not…deserve such a gift,” Logan replied averting his gaze to the floor forcefully shoving the gift into Patton’s chest. His words tore at Patton’s heart, who had broken this boy so badly that he did not believe he was worthy of kindness. Merely thinking about it made Patton want to have a little talk to whoever made Logan feel this way, civilly of course.

“And why is that?” Patton prompted hoping to draw the Logan out further so that he would once again witness the real him but he immediately retreated returning to silence presumably having had realised what he had said. “It’s okay I want you to have them, they were collecting dust anyway. They used to be Virgil’s he used them to help him get to sleep at night but he has a new pair now, Roman much prefers to blast his show-tunes for the entire neighbourhood to hear and Dee is far to young to be destroying his hearing just yet,”. Patton cautiously placed the headphones around Logan’s neck not wishing to alarm him, moving slowly like he did around Virgil allowing him to move away if he choose to but he didn’t. He permitted Patton into his personal bubble and Patton swore he saw some of the tension dissipate from his taut shoulders at the added weight around his neck yet his efforts were not enough for the real Logan to make a reappearance.

“Hey kiddo, would you like me to come to see you again tomorrow?” Patton asked failing to mask the hopefulness in his voice and he looked to Logan awaiting in anxious anticipation for his response. He simply nodded and Patton leapt to his feet in joy. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow Logan, I promise,”.

As if on cue Mrs Davis arrived signifying the untimely end of their session and Logan left calmly, without a single word his emotionless expression returning to his face. Putting on his armour and mask in preparation to face his fellow orphans whose glares and scorn burned into his skull and their malice fuelled whispers not escaping even Patton’s ears as if their hurtful words were meant to be heard. Their jealously and resentment towards him obvious. Patton couldn’t comprehend how children could be so cruel especially ones who have shared such similar misfortunes and yet they still chose to torment those who were different.

“Bye Logan!” Patton called out waving, much to the bafflement of the gathered crowd of orphans, towards Logan who paused at the sound of his name turning and returning the wave before disappearing down the corridor.

Progress.

Tag List:

@i-do-not-dislike-fudge @poems-art-darkness-n-more @alex-cain @amber1594

@darkrainbow333 @unofficialweatherguru

If you would like to be added or have any questions about the au please do not hesitate to ask.

I am also currently taking requests for shorts fics within the au.

[raiko-exe]

Equinox [Part 2/End]

Summary: Shadows cannot exist without light, and if not for her he would have been consumed. [Vignette Collection] Characters: Kayn/Irelia Rating: T Tags: Friendship, Romance Tumblr: 1 2 FFN: 1 2 3 AO3: 1 2 3 

viii.

"This is unnecessary," Kayn mutters. He's dressed akin to how he was in Pallas, only this time he attempts to hide his visage under a hat. "I could have easily slipped through and slaughtered them all by now."

"We're trying to attract as little attention as possible," Irelia remarks beside him in her normal garb, but with her hair tied up. "Do try to be patient."

But despite the collected voice she presents with, there's aggression in her stride that hints she wants a fight.

He sighs and rolls his shoulders under the uncomfortable layers as they continue to walk through the orchard behind the manor. It appears to be maintained, but might not remain that way with the new Brotherhood having taken control of her old home as their command center.

Just like the Noxians, she thinks to herself with quiet fury. Only this time, she knows it's personal. They wouldn't have selected this location otherwise.

They stop when the outer walls come into view.

"I need you to circle the grounds and count the guards," she reminds Kayn as she remains hidden among the trees. "Return with the head count and we'll divide between east and west."

"I remember," he says, passing through the wall with ease. Quiet moments pass until his return, feet landing on the ground with a soft thud.

"Twelve on each side. Most are moving through the grounds, but three are posted in the watchtowers," Kayn reports after his short observations. "The courtyard will be harder. but there should be enough cover to manage."

"Take the west, then." she instructs him. "There should be a few things I can take advantage of in the east."

They approach the wall together now and Irelia gives him a sidelong glace. The twitch in his fingers suggests he's overeager, and she knows that might cost them.

"Kayn?" she stops him suddenly.

"What?" He raises a brow, wondering if she harbors any hesitation.

"Be careful," she tells him, though its not that part that concerns her. "And quiet."

ix.

By the time Irelia reaches the courtyard, the grounds are still and there are no guards left in sight.

"About time you showed up," Kayn mentions, revealing himself from one of the pillars. "I had so much time I even cleared your share."

"I was trying to be thorough," she responds, but she cannot argue against his effectiveness. She scans the courtyard for any sings of movement and deems they are safe to push past the front gates. The entryway stands before them, and she takes a moment to compose herself before pushing past its old woodwork.

A small army of rebels greets them as if their arrival had been predicted, and Irelia's eye twitches.

"You clearly missed one," she remarks flatly.

"I would never be so sloppy," Kayn insists, looking almost offended.

"Did you hide the bodies?"

Kayn says nothing and she resists the urge to roll her eyes.

Ignoring the small misstep, Irelia looks to the hoard in front of them. The manor was adequately sized to house troops, and most of them look to be gathered here with more coming from the upper levels.

"Please, stand aside," Irelia urges them as a last offer of mercy. "I only wish to speak to your leader."

"We will not allow you to pass," A voice from the front answers her. The man looks resentful, even if she does not recognize his face, "Should you have chosen to fight with us instead, things might have been different."

Angry voices rise along with him, and it does not take her long to realize that negotiation is futile.

Kayn has appeared bored at the exchange until he feels her hand on his back and sees her eyes harden.

"Carve a path," she says simply and watches the grin form on his lips.

He lunges and forward to sweep a wide arc before them. Unable to react, a handful of soldiers fall to the ground with their innards spilling from their torsos. The rebels flood the hall in an attempt to surround them but Kayn continues his assault, cutting them down far too easily with Irelia pinning those out of his blade's reach.

A few minutes brings their fight to the bottom of the stairway. The boardroom is on the upper level, and Irelia's gut instinct tells her that's where she needs to be.

"I leave the rest to you," she tells Kayn before bounding up the steps. She thinks she hears something from him but cannot be sure through the sounds of agonizing screams and metal on metal.

x.

"Shinn!" Irelia calls as she flings the boardroom doors open with fury. Her former second in command sits at the head of the meeting table – the place meant for her father – with two guards at his sides

"Irelia," the man addresses her, unmoving from his chair. "I figured you would come."

"Why are you doing this? Taking by force is no better than what the invaders sought to do." Her eyes narrow and her blades ready themselves, "And to take my home, you have some nerve."

"I am doing what this country needs," he corrects her, unfazed. "And what you were too weak to do."

"Ionia should not be ruled under an iron fist!" she exclaims. "Destroying the diversity of the land – This is not what we worked to achieve for so many years."

"And that's exactly the problem, Irelia." Shinn says, folding his arms in agitation. "You regard the Brotherhood as something that is still yours when you relinquished it, too weak to take advantage of an opportunity. Which that brings us here."

"Some of the leaders do not acknowledge me as they did you, Hero of the Placidium," he continues, rising to pace across the head of the boardroom. "I knew in order to draw you out I had to get under your skin."

The smile he wears mocks her futility, "And when I kill you, all of Ionia will be forced to recognize me as not only the leader of the Brotherhood, but the one who will unite them all."

"You believe your warriors can defeat me?" she questions, seeing only an empty threat. While leading the resistance fighters no one had been able to oppose her, and from the fighting outside that had not changed.

"They won't have to," he says with calm malice. It has Irelia on alert, but not even she is fast enough to stop him from pressing the buttons on the device that had been hidden in his pocket.

A burst of heat, smoke, and splinters hits her all at once, and though her blades are able to protect her from some of the damage, they cannot save her from the fall when the floor collapses under her feet. Her fall is broken by something hard that splits down the middle on contact, and when Irelia opens her eyes the entirety of her body hurts and is pinned down by the wreckage of the floor.

Through the haze she can make out the distinct sound of Shinn's laughter and sees his unharmed silhouette leering at her demise.

"You coward!" Irelia cries, only to feel a stabbing pain coming from her chest. The flames flickering around her grow larger by the second, and though she tries she cannot find the strength to free herself.

"Rest with your ancestors now, Xan Irelia," he tells her before disappearing towards the servant's corridors to escape.

xi.

The explosions catch Kayn by surprise as the second floor and the staircase buckle, dooming those who had been underneath. The note of panic in the air changes completely as the men now brush past him to withdraw. But he can only think of what has happened to Irelia as flames begin to spit from the direction she had gone.

The mission was supposed to be for fun on his part, but Kayn is now indignant. He slays the few that remain around him and advances towards the destruction.

"What are you're doing?" Rhaast protests in his mind. "The woman is probably dead."

"I won't believe it until I see it," Kayn says determined; he knows Irelia will not die so easily and tries peeling the crumbled panels aside.

"I will not allow such foolishness!" the Darkin demands. The weapon glows with rage, harnessing the power to become wholly sentient and leave his wielders grasp.

"I have been waiting for the moment where you might be so distracted." Rhaast speaks in a sinister tone before attempting to strike. "And with the souls reaped on this night, I have enough power to take your body as my own."

Kayn is barely able to evade the attack, finding a stray glaive to deflect the subsequent blows. But with no man behind the rival blade, he is unable to predict the opponent's movements.

"Stop this, Rhaast!" Kayn insists, but only has the glaive knocked out of his hands, staggering until his back hits a wall.

"Looks like this is the end for you, human," Rhaast declares, readying a decisive blow. Kayn has known all along that this day would come, but never imagined being the one to fall against the Darkin entity.

A familiar feeling comes over him in the face of death – The same feeling he experienced on the banks of the river as a child.

He sees his master alongside Syndra and his fellow brothers of the order.

He sees Irelia, cheeks full of tang yuan and an annoying smile on her face.

He needs to live.

The scythe swings forward to pierce him, but Kayn catches it with one hand on the grip and the other around the curve of the blade. His arms shake as he anchors his feet to hold the pointed edge away from him.

"No, Rhaast," he declares through gritted teeth. Darkness enshrouds them like a thick mist as Kayn channels his own energy into the weapon. "You will heed to me!"

The cloud dissipates with a burst of energy and Kayn finds the scythe silent in his hands, examining the blade with caution. The demonic eye at its center no longer pulses with life, and the Darkin skin on his arm is no more.

Rhaast has been expelled. It's something he's wanted for a long time, but he cannot dote on the thought now; he still needs to find Irelia.

Kayn turns back to the collapsed stairwell and ghosts through the rubble. His senses have become sharper, it seems, as he can hear voices from afar. He hastily proceeds towards them, but he only finds three men after emerging from the walls, and one fits the description of Irelia's target like a glove.

"Oh good, you survived," Shinn says, mistaking Kayn for one of his own spldiers. "I've finished her off, now we can–"

His sentence remains unfinished as Kayn severs all three in a single swoop.

xii.

After calling her name until his voice runs hoarse, Kayn spots a sash of magenta under destroyed slabs of ceiling. The flames have not touched her yet and he rushes to her, desperation coursing through his veins helping to heave away the debris. When he can finally see her, he is relieved to find that she's still breathing.

"Kayn," she manages shakily. She is barely able to see him as he gathers her in his arms. "Are you hurt?"

"Me?" He can hardly believe the words she speaks to him, "You should be worrying more about yourself."

He examines her quickly – She's certainly wounded, but it's hard to tell where as they are both been plenty stained with red.

"Shinn, he–"

"I killed him," he informs her briskly. "Now stop talking, you'll only strain yourself."

She gives a weak nod and rests her head on his shoulder, exhausted but content with the fact for now. Kayn hurriedly makes for the back exit he'd passed earlier. When they reach the outside, it's as if half the city has surrounded the manor after seeing the smoke.

"A medic," Kayn demands, scanning the citizens for such an individual. "She needs one. Now."

But instead of aid, the people avert their gazes.

"She is one of your own!" he exclaims in disbelief as Irelia continues to sag against him.

"We never asked to be liberated!" an older man yells from somewhere near the gates. "That girl has been nothing but trouble every time the city has fallen."

Irate voices resonate with him, but Kayn cannot stand for the farce. It's no wonder Irelia wanted to leave this part of her past behind her. He senses her urge to speak before he lashes out himself.

"So you are all too stupid to think for yourselves and would rather be overrun?" he glowers, but the angry cries only grow stronger until a woman pushes her way through the masses.

"I will take her," she says, ushering Kayn away from the crowd and ignoring the burdens wished upon her. "Come with me."

The woman tells him she has always supported the daughter of Xan and her ideals, even if the majority thought otherwise. She also proclaims herself a studied healer though Kayn has little objection at this point, following her into a nearby neighborhood where the houses are packed together.

The doorway of her home is narrow, and as soon as he lays Irelia down he is surrounded by children who buzz about him like flies.

"I'm sorry the house is so small," she apologizes and urges them away. "It would be best if you stayed elsewhere. I can send word when she has healed."

"Very well," Kayn says, unable to argue even if he wanted to make sure of Irelia's recovery himself. They relay the directions to the nearest inn, and he is leaving through the screen door when her voice reaches his ears.

"Don't go."

The words are so quietly he can't be sure if she'd said anything at all, but for her sake he knows he cannot stay, and the door slides shut.

xiii.

Kayn hates staying in one place for too long, and after three days of waiting for Irelia's recovery, he was reaching his limit. The people in this part of Navori were too accommodating, and it was making him antsy.

So when the healer's daughter appears and tells him that Irelia has awoken and is recovering well, he considers his options only for a moment before deciding he should leave altogether. He packs his belongings and pays the inkeeper, heading straight for the city gates. But his footsteps feel sluggish and heavy like he's forgetting something, only he knows full well what he's forgotten.

It's better this way, he keeps telling himself to quiet the small urge there is to see her. Even with those against her, the people need her now more than ever and Kayn does not belong here like she does.

The restless feeling remains after passing the city's borders. The main road ascends upwards into a small grove, and Kayn stops for a moment to view the city over his shoulder.

"Leaving so soon?" a voice from nearby calls to him, and the semblance of it is enough to have him on alert. But before he can pinpoint the source, Irelia has already appeared from behind one of the trees.

"Are you even well enough to be up?" Is the first thing he says to her, seeing the cuts and bruising on her cheeks. The robes she wears allow for more comfortable movement, and the lining is a similar color to the clumps of leaves alongside the road.

"I have been," she informs him with a keen look in her eye hinting she'd predicted his means of departure. "I was in a meeting with the elders before sending Miya to you."

Kayn remembers the adversity they had been met with. "They were responsive?"

"They are working towards a provisional government after the fall of the Brotherhood," she confirms.

He is surprised at the developments, but is more surprised that she's actually here.

"You've learned to control it," she says suddenly after noticing the lack of Darkin limb and the unfamiliar appearance of the scythe.

He nods, "It happened during the fighting." The ashy remnants of the manor can be seen from here, and now it bears importance to them both.

"Does he still speak to you?"

"No," he responds. He realizes it's the closest thing he's ever felt to grief, "It's very...quiet now."

She cannot fully understand but the look in her eyes softens anyhow, and only now does Kayn realize how blue they are. They're not like the sky, but like the ocean, where one could become lost.

"I always believed in you," Irelia says with reverence, and that alone puts him more at ease.

She steps closer and takes his changed hand into her own to study. The pads of her fingers gingerly graze over his palm, then move to the thinner skin over the veins just above. The sensitivity to her touch is unlike the dulled sensation of the Darkin; it deems human.

She wraps her fingers around his wrist and examines his face. He does not flinch, but there is something in her gaze that he can't quite place and he finds himself anxious for completely different reasons.

It dawns on him suddenly that it looks like she's about to kiss him.

And after a moment, she is kissing him after rising onto her toes and it feels nice.

Despite her injuries, Irelia's lips are soft and sweet and Kayn is eager to respond. He clasps the hand that guides him, only to find her pulling away as quickly as she'd started.

"What was that for?" he asks her, slightly winded. His hold has not released, but it is not demanding.

"A thank you for saving my life," she responds in practicality, but the way he arches his brow expresses his doubts.

She takes a breath.

"And because I've grown fond of you, Shieda Kayn," she says with honesty now, and admitting the thought is freeing.

A smile forms on her features, and it's not only because of the sheepish look he has adopted.

"I want to help the cities that were under the Brotherhood's control," she tells him, for her job is far from finished. "Will you join me?"

There is a brief period of contemplation.

"Alright," he concedes, even if he had no real qualms to begin with. "Up until the monastery."

Her smile grows as she attempts to lead him, but Kayn's grip is firm.

This time, he's the one who pulls her in.

[rufousnmacska]

Excuses

manorian drabble 2

previous

These are totally unrelated. I’ve just been thinking up different scenarios and writing them out.

This scene was heavily influenced by head canons and discussions with @itach-i and @propshophannah (thank you trash-mates!)

I'm not sure what it says about me that I'm including a "warning" that this has no smut and is entirely safe for work... but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

After several hours in the air on the back of a wyvern, Dorian was more than happy to land. His first time flying - a feat he was still trying to comprehend - had been a wild ride. His mild fear of heights had turned into full blown acrophobia. With a fear of falling now accompanying it.

But. The upside was his position on the wyvern. Hours spent sitting right behind Manon. That pretty much overrode the fears. At least enough to keep him from hyperventilating.

As Abraxos dropped down towards the forest canopy, Dorian kept his eyes straight ahead. Focusing on the back of Manon's head. Resisting the persistent urge to lean down and nuzzle her silken braid.

Glancing back to him, Manon said, "We’re almost there princeling."

"I'm fine," he said. "Flying has been wonder-"

Abraxos let himself free fall for a few seconds, forcing Dorian to squeeze Manon's waist. He hunched over, pushing his forehead against her shoulder and closing his eyes against whatever grisly death awaited them. Gods, he hoped he didn’t vomit on her.

But as quickly as he had dropped, Abraxos leveled out and landed gracefully in a large clearing. The other wyverns came down around them, maintaining the positions of their flying formation.

With his arms still wrapped tightly around her, Dorian felt Manon laughing. He lifted his head to see Abraxos watching him. The cheeky, little bastard almost looked like he was laughing too.

"Nice," Dorian groaned. "Like rider, like wyvern?" he asked.

Manon loosened his hold on her and shifted around in the saddle. She wore the traces of a smile, but she had the decency to look a little concerned. "Why didn't you tell me you don't like heights?"

Dorian sighed. For a second he thought he might lose the battle he was fighting with his stomach. But, after a few deep breaths, he felt a little better. Good enough to crawl off this damned wyvern, get his feet on solid earth... and promptly double over hoping not to get sick.

Manon hopped down next to him, landing as lightly as a feather. The imagery almost made him laugh. A deadly Ironteeth witch being compared to a feather. She cocked her head, silently demanding an answer to her question. He stood slowly and smiled.

"Why would I want to ruin your esteemed opinion of me before we even start this adventure?"

She laughed. Not completely at him. And not with malice. It was such a genuine laugh, pure and lovely, that it made him want to do anything to hear it again.

Judging from the looks the other witches were giving them, Dorian guessed that Manon did not laugh like this very often.

And just as he had that thought, she seemed to feel the stares. With a rather nasty glare, she eyed each member of her coven until they turned away and busied themselves with setting up camp.

But both he and Manon heard the chuckles and whispers. Some clearly not trying to be quiet about it. Manon's face flashed from embarrassed anger to exasperation.

Attempting a distraction, Dorian asked, "What can I help with? The saddle?"

Manon was watching him with narrowed eyes. "Maybe Ghislaine should take a look at you." She reached up as if to touch his face, but then pulled back awkwardly at the last second. "You uh... That's quite a black eye you have there," she said.

Dorian touched it and winced. He'd forgotten about it. About all of the aches and pains from the battle. His phobia had taken all of his attention. Well, that and the witch he’d been holding on to.

"I thought I would have healed on my own by now," he said. "But I guess I used  too much magic in the battle."

"Did they board your ship?"

"Not til the end," he said. "But since I was shielding and attacking with magic, I didn't get too caught up in the hand to hand fighting."

Manon furrowed her brow. "Then how did you get that?" she asked. This time, when she reached for him, she didn't shy away. Gently, she tipped his head back to examine the bruise. It was her turn to wince. "Your magic must be working to some degree. There's not as much swelling as there probably should be."

Even after her fingers left his chin, Dorian could feel the heat of her touch. Without thinking, he brushed his fingers over where hers had just been.

"Dorian?" she asked. "How did that happen?"

He'd been staring at her. And despite her words and amused look, he couldn't stop. The snap of her fingers in his face did the trick though.

"Nothing exciting,” he shrugged. “Aedion punched me when he found out you and Aelin had gone into the witch mirror.” With a laugh, he added, “As if I could force either of you to do something you didn’t want to.”

The smile on her face vanished.

"What?" he asked, quickly growing concerned though he wasn't quite sure why. "Manon?" He put a hand on her shoulder, but she only shook her head and looked away.

"What's wrong?" he pressed.

When her eyes returned to his they were hard and cold with anger. "He had no right to do that to you."

Dorian scoffed. “He’s a hothead. If they didn’t look so much alike people would know he and Aelin were related by their tempers alone.”

Manon nodded, then eased a bit before saying, "I'm... sorry about what happened to her."

"Aelin?"

She huffed a laugh. "I really did not like her at first. Being beaten after volunteering information... It didn’t exactly endear her to me. But, I can understand-"

Dorian stopped listening. He stopped seeing. Maybe even stopped breathing. The only thing he was aware of was the fury flooding up inside him.

That, and the word "beaten". It rattled through his head over and over.

She'd been beaten. While chained up on the ship. Beaten, after telling them what they'd asked for. Beaten when he'd been elsewhere. And he'd been unable to stop it. Just like before...

"Dorian!"

He heard his name being repeated but it was muffled. Something gripped his arms, shaking him, slowly forcing his vision and hearing to return.

"Dorian." He felt her hands on either side of his face now. And she kept saying his name. It was becoming clearer.

Then all he could see were her eyes. Gold, intense and endless. So bright and lovely and worried...

"Dorian." This time his name was a whisper.

"When?" He tried to keep his voice calm, but her expression told him it had not worked. He took her hands from his face and rubbed his thumb along her wrist. Feeling her strong pulse helped to soothe him. Just as her eyes had. But what little magic he had left still threatened to burst from him in anger.

With a rough whisper, Dorian asked, "How badly did they hurt you?"

Manon was watching his thumb as it traced the veins of her wrist. "It's nothing for you to be concerned with." She looked back up at him. "I was their prisoner." Her face hardened before his eyes. "I've done worse when the roles were reversed."

She probably had, he thought. But he didn't care. If he'd had any idea Aelin had done that... He felt overwhelmed with emotion. The rage was still there. But now it was joined by resentment and disgust for his friends’ behavior. Contempt for his own naivety. And shame. Shame for not protecting her. Gods, when had it happened? Where had he been?

"As you said, she has a temper. She just... let it get the better of her and... she hardly even touched me. It doesn't concern you," she repeated, getting agitated. "You're not my..." She trailed off.

Dorian stared at her. She was right about one thing. He wasn't anything to her. And he probably was overreacting. Focusing only on how it effected him.

But he couldn't understand how she could just... take it. Make excuses for Aelin. Hell, Manon was practically blaming herself for it.

But... hadn’t he just made the same excuses for Aedion?

Abraxos suddenly caught his eye. The wyvern was staring at him with his dark, eerily intelligent eyes. It was a little unsettling. Captivating. Dorian suddenly realized something.

Abraxos had somehow brought his dying rider to him. Straight to him. There was no one else on that ship she remotely knew. Dorian didn’t know how or why Abraxos had done it. He only knew that it had to mean something.

Turning his attention back to Manon, he caught a brief glimpse of sadness on her face. It was there and gone so fast he knew it was a thing she usually kept hidden. Rarely witnessed. Just like her laugh.

He took hold of her chin and tilted her head so she had to look at him.

"It is my concern Manon. Because I am something to you. I'm your friend." She tugged her head free of him. But he still held her hand. "If I'd known they'd planned to do that to you, I would have stopped them. I would have let you go." After a long pause, he said, "I would have taken you away."

Her eyes narrowed at his words. Confused, she simply asked, "Why?"

"Because what they did was wrong," Dorian replied. "But also..." He shifted so he held her hand firmly in his, their fingers entwined. "You are something to me. You are important to me."

The words seemed to hit her hard. So unexpected that she must not have heard them often. At least, not from anyone outside of her beloved Thirteen.

Dorian’s chest ached at the thought. Without thinking he leaned towards her and whispered, “You are very important to me. And I won’t ever let you forget that.”

Manon blinked up at him. He didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, so he squeezed her hand and started to turn away. But she held on to him. For a few seconds at least. A thank you in the gesture, in her eyes, that she was not able to speak.

When she let him go, he smiled and said, “I’ve never dealt with a wyvern saddle before. So, you’ll have to show me how all these straps come apart.”

After a moment of watching him, she returned his smile and joined him by Abraxos. “Well then. Pay attention princeling. I’ll only go over this once.”

Dorian laughed. Partly at her poor attempt to intimidate him - the softness of her smile gave her away. But mostly because he knew there was no way he’d be paying attention to anything but her.

[xivu-arath]

so back when I was running rkorya’s storyline, I ended up turning jaesa to the dark side because it was the right in character choice, and then regretting it so much that I dropped the game for like a year. my edgy daughter has grown on me a lot since then but I always resented how drastic the change was and how flat her characterization seemed so I took some months figuring out a way to establish more of a continuity with her light side personality and uh. this fic happened! 

idk if the result is entirely a success but I’ve been working on this for two months So There

“You’re never like this with the others. They don’t have you frowning at them every time they kill.”

“The others,” her master says, almost unbearably calm in the face of that accusation, “are not my apprentices. They also aren’t running away from themselves.”

(crossposted to ao3)

“I’ve returned, master,” Jaesa declares, sweeping into Rkorya’s quarters. It’s one of those rare days when there isn’t some immediate crisis for the Wrath to handle, and the crew had already dispersed to carouse and shop, though she knows by now that they won’t stray far. She’s still giddy from her own use of this reprieve – the other apprentices staying in the sanctum are weak and boastful, puffing themselves up to cover their glaring flaws, and it’s a heady delight to lay them bare, turn each word into a knife to twist in the wound.

A shame she can’t go further, but her master has been exceedingly clear about what she can and can’t do, with the war in full swing. Indulging in slaughter is to be reserved for the enemy, and it’s not as if she really cares about who she’s killing, as long as she gets to go through with it. Fortunately, the Emperor’s Wrath is never short of people to stand in her way, and the chance to carve through them is something Jaesa can always count on.

A chance that will hopefully come soon. Her master’s impatience is all but tangible – the air around her hums with it.

“So I see.” Her arms are crossed and Jaesa reflexively straightens, feeling her gaze sweep over her in fleeting assessment. “You enjoyed yourself?” Her voice is even, but Jaesa can see her tension coiling inward, becoming the honed focus that she so admires – and, in those moments when it’s trained upon her, fears, just a little.

It’s not fear of Rkorya herself. She knows her master will never betray her, discard her when she proves unfit or tiresome – that is one of her new life’s certainties. She’s never quite said as much, but Jaesa knows, sees it every time even just one of the crew is threatened and she flares with protective rage, malice to rival the heat of stars.

Jedi fear attachment, think it makes them weaker and swayed by the trivial whims of those around them, and at first, Jaesa thought the Sith were much the same – revelling in the feeling of the moment, but cutting away each bond when it became too permanent, too vulnerable. But Rkorya takes that sentiment and turns each connection into her strength, guards those near her fiercely. So no, she would rather have tossed herself off of the sanctum than seriously punish or injure her apprentice.

On some days, she finds it sweet, a devotion that she strains to match in service and loyalty. But on others, it’s jarring to be cared for, protected, even as she can see her disapproval whenever she comes back from a night out, streaked in sweat and blood. When they train, the difference between them gapes open like a void that can’t be filled, that aches with uncertainty, and she doesn’t know what she can do to make it better. She’s opened herself to the dark side, embraced her anger, and yet it’s never enough.

That it troubles Rkorya as much as it does her is a bitter balm – she doesn’t want to be the problem apprentice, forever the weak link. Some part of it might be her master’s fault, even if she is Sith to her bones, but... how much of it is her own?

“You know I always do,” she says, trying to shrug away the doubts. “No news from the fleet yet?”

“If there was, I would have called you back.” The focus remains, unrelenting. “Since you’ve returned already, I thought we might spar.” Jaesa relaxes, breathing out. Sparring is something they can both enjoy – it’s straightforward, ruthless, fun. When she had been a padawan, sparring had always been a stiff, stilted thing, all forms that had to be matched perfectly and boundaries strictly adhered to. She was never supposed to go beyond her limits, be tested past what her master thought best.

How things have changed.

“As if I’d pass up a chance for more entertainment.” She tilts her head, stretches her arms out indulgently. There’s nothing like a bit of violence to put them both at ease.

They’ve done this often enough that it almost has the feeling of a ritual, by now. Rkorya deactivates her shield generator – once, Jaesa had been amused at this show of paranoia, before she’d learned just how necessary it was – and shrugs out of her outer robes as Jaesa takes her place in the centre of the room. It’s always odd to realize her master is shorter than she is – her spikes make them barely even – when her presence in the Force is towering, and seeing her unarmoured feels like a gift of trust, a layer of protection peeled away.

This too is a good distraction from thoughts she’d rather not have. The tunic Rkorya wears beneath the rest of her gear leaves her arms bare, and Jaesa watches her muscles shift as she stretches, the way old and newer scars ripple and pull taut. There’s a faded tracery of burns going down her left shoulder, still pale against her red skin – lightning from a Sith, surely, but too old to be Baras’. Maybe she’ll ask about it, some day.

It’s a pleasant diversion, nothing more. There’s no point in voicing her interest when she knows it won’t be reciprocated, and for all Rkorya’s passions, she seems completely dismissive of the physical ones.

Still, she is ferocious, deadly, powerful, and as a Sith apprentice, shouldn’t she admire that power?

“Ready?” Rkorya asks, catching her gaze.

“I always am.”

Then there’s no more space for any further admiring – Rkorya crosses the distance between them in a single smooth movement, the sense of her in the Force crashing down like some abrupt, relentless disaster, and not just a single warrior. Even knowing her opening move, expecting it, Jaesa can’t quite shrug off the leaden weight of limbs that want to freeze up, instincts that say stop and run and this is death. She’s no longer a blind, obedient child, though, and instinct had never saved her. It’s grim fury that brings her saber up in time to block, though it’s a bad start, forcing her back a step as Rkorya lands and lashes out again.

She won’t win this bout – she rarely ever does – but it’s exhilarating to be so close to death, again and again and again. Power waits at her fingertips and Jaesa is giddily aware of each breath she takes, each heartbeat, the comfortable strain as she deflects and dodges and flows into every barest gap of an opening.

The Sith Code is right – this is the freest she has ever felt.

At least she has the advantage of reach, but it’s a small advantage when her master doesn’t have the grace to let her use it. The moment she stretches a little too far, Rkorya is there, trying to swat her blocks aside and get within her guard. A twist of her saber, and she wrenches Jaesa’s from her grip, hurling it across the room.

“Let’s speak about your appetites,” she says calmly, for all that they’re both breathing hard now, and Jaesa halts, hesitating in calling her weapon back.

“This... doesn’t seem like the best time, master.” She’s never known her to ruin a fight with talking before.

“On the contrary. You’re clearheaded now, which makes it the best time for this.” Jaesa lets her breath hiss out and pulls her saber back, sweeping it out reflexively for an attack that doesn’t come. Rkorya keeps her distance, watching her with measured intensity, and she knows she won’t let up on this, even with the offer of more violence as a distraction.

“Fine,” she says. “I’m listening.”

A flicker of sharp amusement. “You think I disapprove of you.”

“With respect, master, I know you do. I can feel it. Or did you forget why I’m your apprentice in the first place?” It comes out more heated than she’d planned on, but if they’re going to talk, she might as well be honest. “If this is going to be another lecture on how I should learn control –” Her voice rises, frays – control and composure belong to the Jedi, and it stings each time Rkorya tosses them back at her, as if she’s trying to chain her again.

“You’ve stagnated. You can only gain so much strength from indulging in death alone.” That brings her up short and she pauses, eyes narrowing. “Do you still hunger for it, even now?”

She can’t, won’t, lie to her. “You don’t understand what it’s like. Seeing everything about someone, everything that they are, like I’m holding it all in my hands, and then just... snuffing it out myself – there’s nothing like it. It’s so overwhelming... if you could just feel it, you wouldn’t blame me.” She plunges ahead before she can think enough to regret it. “You’re never like this with the others. They don’t have you frowning at them every time they kill.”

“The others,” her master says, almost unbearably calm in the face of that accusation, “are not my apprentices. They also aren’t running away from themselves.” She’s not sure what stings more, the words or the resolute conviction behind them, and it’s easier to be hurt than to dwell on why.

“I’m not running from anything.”

Rkorya’s dropped her guard as much as she ever does, and Jaesa surges forward to press her advantage in an echo of her master’s favourite move, whipping her polesaber out and down and knowing that this time she’s fast enough, close enough –

This close to her, she feels the momentary flush of Rkorya’s pain before she even sees her blow land, and then her master bats her away, power snaring her in mid-air with frightening ease and throwing her to the side and down before she can try to break loose. The impact cracks her head on the floor and knocks the breath from her lungs, so for a moment she’s too stunned to even consider drawing upon her anger again.

It could have been much worse. By now, Jaesa knows all the ways of choking breath out of the body, how to crush the spine or snap the neck or leave countless fractures when holding someone with the Force, and for all that this is a harsh, definite ending, it is still her master being merciful.

By the time her vision stops swimming, Rkorya has knelt down beside her. She watches her warily, trying to pick apart her feelings and find an answer there. There’s the superficial irritation she expected after the attack, a twinge of the earlier pain, and... regret, caution, hesitance.

Not emotions she’s used to sensing from her. At least there’s the focus beneath all of it, unrelenting and precise as a laser, or it would have been entirely disorienting.

“I’m sorry,” Rkorya says, which doesn’t exactly help. “When I took you on as my apprentice, I wasn’t ready for it, or for you. I wasn’t... good at this. I’m still not.”

Humility doesn’t suit her, but she doesn’t have the breath to say as much. Besides, interrupting seems a risky move.

“In many ways, this is my mistake. I did not understand what you were doing, or why it didn’t feel right. I let you lie to yourself for far too long.” That gets a surprised, strangled sound out of her. “Violence and bloodshed does not make you Sith. If I have only taught you how to be cruel, then I can’t say much about the example I set.”

“N-no, that’s not – you haven’t been cruel to me. Now, or ever. Not even –” Jaesa bites her tongue and tries to focus on breathing and not saying everything that comes into her head, but it’s too late.

“Not even when it would make it simpler?” Rkorya says, catching the trailing end of her thought. “It would be easier if I was like the Sith you were warned about as a padawan. Or even if I was more like Baras, and cared only about your place in my plans.” She pauses – yet another hesitation, but her gaze is as steady as ever. “But I did hurt you, Jaesa. I forced your master into a situation where he was doomed to fail you when you needed him.”

She hadn’t risked guessing what she had been trying to lead into, but she would have never expected Rkorya to bring up this. It had been over a year since all that. What does it matter now?

“He was weak,” she rasps. “And petty, and jealous, and a fool.”

“He betrayed you,” Rkorya continues, as if she hasn’t spoken. So calm. Sith shouldn’t be able to sound so composed, even if her master’s anger is just within her reach, like heat at her fingertips. “You trusted him to keep you safe, and because of me, he broke that trust.”

“So what? Then you beat him, because you were better. That’s just how things are.” Saying it shouldn’t hurt when it’s the simple truth. She hasn’t thought about Nomen Karr in a long time, and she doesn’t see the point in reminiscing about him now. Struggling to sit upright, she winces – the bout will likely leave her badly bruised later. “Is... is there a point to this, or are you just getting nostalgic?”

“I killed your parents,” she says, and the razor’s edge of balance Jaesa has clung to for so long wavers. She forgets her bruises in an instant and bows her head, watching her hands clench and loosen as if they belong to someone else.

“Because Baras told you to. You had to listen – you were his apprentice. You obeyed him, just – just as I obey you. Besides, I hadn’t seen them for years. We just spoke on the holo, sometimes –” Even that brings up memories she’s done her best to forget and ignore. “It doesn’t matter. They’re dead, and you killed them. I know that you would have done it quickly. They didn’t... they didn’t suffer. So,” she says, not daring to look up, “are we done now?”

Again, she feels that jarring reluctance from Rkorya’s mind – from the Sith who got up after nearly being crushed to death, who has never once flinched away from duty or battle – before she kneels down. “They may not have suffered much, but you have. I did not give you a chance to grieve. For that, I apologize.”

Jaesa stumbles over what might be a fitting excuse, some way to deflect away from prying into people who are dead and gone. “So – so what? You’re Sith. We both are.” She searches for the anger she’s wrapped herself in so easily since that day, but for once it evades her. “So you can stop trying to care.” To her horror, her voice trembles, and she can feel her eyes start to sting. She hasn’t cried since her first days as a padawan – what is she, a child?

“To be Sith is to care, Jaesa,” Rkorya tells her, voice rough. “To care so much that you kill for it. There is only passion, but passion is not just anger and hate. It is this, too.”

“But it hurts. It makes me weaker. I don’t care about who I once was – she might as well be dead.” She can’t even convince herself right now, and she curls her hands tight until her nails dig into her palms.

Rkorya shifts, and then lays a hand on her shoulder, the contact startling her enough into looking up.  “This grief is yours,” she says. “As is this pain. It will strengthen you, if you let it.” Her gaze bores into her, golden eyes alight. “But first you must allow yourself to feel it. All of it.”

It’s easy for her to say. Rkorya seems like she’s never once been uncertain, never suffered any pain she couldn’t recover from or push through, never fled from the person she once was. And why should she? She was born and raised to be Sith, had been taught duty and violence since she could hold a weapon. Jaesa is sure that if she looks back for too long, she’ll just – collapse. Shatter.

“What if I can’t?” she asks. “What if I do, and I... change my mind, and turn back?” The Jedi Code feels so stifling now, but at the same time, she could push all of this away again – the memories and the pain and every conflicted feeling.

“Then that is your choice,” Rkorya says, without even a second’s hesitation. “Made wholeheartedly. But remember – even as a padawan, you saw something that led you to trust me, despite everything.” The grip on her shoulder tightens for a moment in reassurance. “I doubt that would change so easily. But if it does, know this: I will not leave you, Jaesa. Not unless you wish me to.”

That shakes her almost more than everything else, and she chokes back a sound that is almost definitely a sob. There is something sad and absurd about this; the Sith who hunted her down and destroyed her old life being the one person who has been the most faithful to her, who wants to let her choose. Maybe she shouldn’t be grateful, but she is.

“Thank you,” she says, and means it. It takes a long moment to get her voice back under control, and she scrubs at her eyes, though Rkorya doesn’t comment on her tears. “I think I... need some time to think.”

“Of course. Take as much time as you need.” She rises to her feet and offers her hand, and after a second Jaesa takes it, letting her help her up. Rkorya is standoffish about physical contact, and twice in such a short time feels a little like a gift, one she’s not sure she deserves.

“I... we’ll talk later,” she says, and waits for her master’s nod before she can turn to go. Behind her, she can feel a swell of emotion, and it takes a moment for her to identify it as quiet but unmistakable pride.

Like the sun, it heats her back and warms her steps as she leaves.

[fevie168]

Saturday (March 16): Love and pray for your enemies

Gospel Reading:  Matthew 5:43-48

43 "You have heard that it was said, `You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. 46 For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? 47 And if you salute only your brethren, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 You, therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

Old Testament Reading: Deuteronomy 26:16-19

16 "This day the LORD your God commands you to do these statutes and ordinances; you shall therefore be careful to do them with all your  heart and with all your soul. 17 You have declared this day concerning the LORD that he is your God, and that you will walk in his ways, and keep his statutes and his  commandments and his ordinances, and will obey his voice; 18 and the LORD has declared this day concerning you that you are a people for his own possession, as he has promised you, and that you are to  keep all his commandments, 19 that he will set you high above all nations that he has made, in praise and in fame and in honor, and that you shall be a people holy to the LORD your God, as he has spoken."

Meditation: Do you know the love that conquers every fear, sin, and selfish desire? God renews his love for us each and every day. His love has the power to free us from every form of evil - selfishness, greed, anger, hatred, jealously and envy. In Jesus' teaching on the law he does something quite remarkable and unheard of. He transforms the old law of justice and mercy with grace (favor) and loving-kindness.

Grace and loving-kindness God is good to the unjust as well as the just. His love embraces saint and sinner alike. God seeks our highest good and teaches us to seek the greatest good of others, even those who hate or cause ill-will. Our love for others, including those who are ungrateful or selfish towards us, must be marked by the same kindness and mercy which God has shown to us. It is easier to show kindness and mercy when we can expect to benefit from doing so. How much harder when we can expect nothing in return. Our prayer for those who do us ill both breaks the power of revenge and releases the power of love to do good in the face of evil.

How can we possibly love as God loves and overcome evil with good? With God all things are possible. He gives power and grace to those who believe and accept the gift of the Holy Spirit. His love conquers all, even our hurts, fears, prejudices and griefs. Only the cross of Jesus Christ can free us from the tyranny of malice, hatred, revenge, and resentment and gives us the courage to return evil with good. Such love and grace has power to heal and to save from destruction. Do you know the power of Christ's redeeming love and mercy?

Perfect - made whole Was Jesus exaggerating when he said we must be perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect (Matthew 5:48)? Jesus' command seems to parallel two passages from the Old Testament Scriptures. The first is where God instructed Abraham to "be perfect" or "blameless" before God (Genesis 17:1). The original meaning of "perfect" in Hebrew and the Aramaic dialect is "completeness" or "wholeness" - "not lacking in what is essential."

The second passage that seems to parallel Jesus' expression, "be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect" is the command that God gave to Moses and the people of Israel to "be holy, for I am holy" (Leviticus 11:44,45; 19:2). God made each of us in his image and likeness (Genesis 1:26,27). That is why he calls us to grow inmaturity and wholeness so we can truly be like him - a people who love as he loves and who choose to do what is good and to reject what is evil and contrary to his will (Ephesians 4:13-16).

God knows our sinfulness and weaknesses better than we do - and he assures us of his love, mercy, and help. That is why he freely gives us his power, strength, and gifts so that we may not lack anything we need to do his will and to live as his sons and daughters (2 Peter 1:3). Do you want to grow in your love for God and for your neighbor? Ask the Holy Spirit to purify and transform you in the image of the Father that you may walk in the joy and freedom of the Gospel.

"Lord Jesus, your love brings freedom and pardon. Fill me with your Holy Spirit and set my heart ablaze with your love that nothing may make me lose my temper, ruffle my peace, take away my joy, nor make me bitter towards anyone."

Psalm 119:1-8

1 Blessed are those whose way is blameless, who walk in the law of the LORD! 2 Blessed are those who keep his testimonies, who seek him with their whole heart, 3 who also do no wrong, but walk in his ways! 4 You have commanded your precepts to be kept diligently. 5 O that my ways may be steadfast in keeping your statutes! 6 Then I shall not be put to shame, having my eyes fixed on all your commandments. 7 I will praise you with an upright heart, when I learn your righteous ordinances. 8 I will observe your statutes; O forsake me not utterly!

A Daily Quote for Lent: The gift to love all people - even enemies, by Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, 354-430 A.D.

"Beg God for the gift to love one another. Love all people, even your enemies, not because they are your brothers and sisters but that they may become such. Love them in order that you may be at all times on fire with love, whether toward those who have become your brothers and sisters or toward your enemies, so that by being beloved they may become your brothers and sisters." (excerpt from Sermon on 1 John 10,7)

Friday (March 15):  Do not be angry, be reconciled

Gospel Reading:  Matthew 5:20-26

20 For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 21 "You have heard that it was said to the men of old, `You shall not kill; and whoever kills shall be liable to judgment.' 22 But I say to you that every one who is angry with his brother shall be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother shall be liable to the council, and whoever says, `You fool!' shall be liable to the hell of  fire. 23 So if you are offering your gift at the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, 24 leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift. 25 Make friends quickly with your accuser, while you are going with him to court, lest your accuser hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you be put in prison; 26 truly, I say to you, you will never get out till you have paid the last penny.

Old Testament Reading: Ezekiel 18:21-28

21 "But if a wicked man turns away from all his sins which he has committed and keeps all my statutes and does what is lawful and right, he shall surely live; he shall not die. 22 None of the transgressions which he has committed shall be remembered against him; for the righteousness which he has done he shall live.23 Have I any pleasure in the death of the wicked, says the Lord GOD, and not rather that he should turn from his way and live? 24 But when a righteous man turns away from his righteousness and commits iniquity and does the same abominable things that the wicked man does, shall he live? None of the righteous deeds which he has done shall be remembered; for the treachery of which he is guilty and the sin he has committed, he shall die. 25 "Yet you say, `The way of the Lord is not just.' Hear now, O house of Israel: Is my way not just? Is it not your ways that are not just? 26 When a righteous man turns away from his righteousness and commits iniquity, he shall die for it; for the iniquity which he has committed he shall die. 27 Again, when a wicked man turns away from the wickedness he has committed and does what is lawful and right, he shall save his life. 28 Because he considered and turned away from all the transgressions which he had committed, he shall surely live, he shall not die.

Meditation: Do you allow sin or anger to master your life? The first person to hate his brother was Cain. God warned Cain: 'Why are you angry? ..Sin in couching at the door; it's desire is for you, but you must master it (Genesis 4:6-7). Sin doesn't just happen; it first grows as a seed in one's heart. Unless it is mastered, by God's grace, it grows like a weed and chokes the life out of us.

Do not allow the seed of anger and evil to grow in your heart Jesus addressed the issue of keeping the commandments with his disciples. The scribes and Pharisees equated righteousness with satisfying the demands of the law. Jesus showed them how short they had come. Jesus points to the heart as the seat of desire, choice, and intention. Unless forbidden and evil desires are uprooted and cut-out, the heart will be poisoned and the body become a slave to sin and passion.

Jesus illustrates his point with the example of the commandment to not kill. Murder first starts in the heart as the seed of forbidden anger that grows within until it springs into words and actions against one's brother or neighbor. This is a selfish anger that broods and is long-lived, that nurses a grudge and keeps wrath warm, and that refuses to die. Anger in the heart as well as anger in speech or action are equally forbidden. The Lord Jesus commands by grace - take away the anger in your heart and there will be no murder.

Only God's purifying love and mercy can free us from bitterness and anger What is the antidote for overcoming anger and rage? Mercy, forbearance, and kindness spring from a heart full of love and forgiveness. God has forgiven us and he calls us to extend mercy and forgiveness towards those who cause us grief or harm. In the cross of Jesus we see the supreme example of love and the power for overcoming evil. Only God's love and grace can set our hearts and minds free from the tyranny of wounded pride and spiteful revenge. Do you harbor any anger towards another person? And are you quick to be reconciled when a rupture has been caused in your relationships? Ask God to set you free and to fill your heart and mind with his love and truth.

Eusebius, a 3rd century church father, offered the following prayer as instruction for his fellow Christians:

"May I be no man's enemy, and may I be the friend of that which is eternal and abides. May I never quarrel with those nearest me: and if I do, may I be reconciled quickly. May I love, seek, and attain only that which is good. May I wish for all men's happiness and envy none. May I never rejoice in the ill-fortune of one who has wronged me. When I have done or said what is wrong, may I never wait for the rebuke of others, but always rebuke myself until I make amends. May I win no victory that harms either me or my opponent. May I reconcile friends who are angry with one another. May I never fail a friend who is in danger. When visiting those in grief may I be able by gentle and healing words to soften their pain. May I respect myself. May I always keep tame that which rages within me. May I accustom myself to be gentle, and never be angry with people because of circumstances. May I never discuss who is wicked and what wicked things he has done, but know good men and follow in their footsteps."

Do you seek to live peaceably and charitably with all?

"Lord Jesus, my heart is cold. Make it warm, compassionate, and forgiving towards all, even those who do me harm. May I only think and say what is pleasing to you and be of kind service to all I meet."

Psalm 130:1-8

1 Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD! 2 Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications! 3 If you, O LORD, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand? 4 But there is forgiveness with you, that you may be feared. 5 I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; 6 my soul waits for the LORD more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning. 7 O Israel, hope in the LORD! For with the LORD there is steadfast love, and with him is plenteous redemption. 8 And he will redeem Israel from all his iniquities.

A Daily Quote for Lent: Are you ashamed to ask pardon? by Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, 354-430 A.D.

"How many there are who know that they have sinned against their brothers or sisters and yet are unwilling to say: 'Forgive me.' They were not ashamed to sin, but they are ashamed to ask pardon. They were not ashamed of their evil act, but they blush where humility is concerned." (excerpt from Sermon 211,4)