#many still surviving are beyond the point which they can be brought back safely from without medical help

[booasaur]

What using the tiniest bit of US leverage can do.

[cultofdixon]

See One, Do One, Teach One

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • The fall of the prison brought these two closer together compared to their time within the prison. • ANGST/SFW • TW: Canon Violence / Injuries / Illness

Requested by: Anon

The Governor…that stupid son of a bitch

We should’ve been more careful

Keep an eye out for that bastard to show up at any time…

But the peace that came from the fall of Woodbury that abruptly ended right as the prison illness subsided…wouldn’t change that for the world

Even if Daryl right now, watching the prison burn from afar…wished he could relive those peaceful moments. Peaceful moments with—-

“what are we going to do…” Y/N’s voice cut through his thoughts as he didn’t move his gaze until he had to.

“Survive” was all he said as he carefully took her bicep into his hand pulling them into the woods when he noticed some were still fighting in the fields. He had his priorities and had to protect them.

There was no clear way to go. No more home. Missing family. Daryl was right, all they had to do was survive for the time being. Even if one has more experience within the woods than the other.

Y/N was found during the prison days, which meant whatever hell she escaped from. She went into a short-lived paradise. She of course did her part around the place but nothing beyond the walls. Mainly farming and taking care of the animals given in a past life, her hobby was gardening and her job was as a vet. So she was as helpful as Hershel when it came to anything medical. But not enough survival experience.

Granted. Almost everyone at the end of the world, gains survival skills. Not go in with it.

With the exception of a few.

This led Daryl not to speak to Y/N for the most part because his mind was keeping her and himself alive. But as the night crawls in, a herd started to as well when the two were on the road. Daryl didn’t utter any words all he did was point to where they were hiding and Y/N never argued with the man.

The occasional bump of the car by one of many walkers would startled Y/N but Daryl would nudge her to keep her focus on him as he only kept eye contact to make her forget what was happening around them. When the growling got lower that’s when Daryl broke it to look through the crack of the trunk to see if they’ve finally given them some distance.

“When I move. You do” Daryl whispers to Y/N, not hearing a response back. Hopefully, she gets it.

Daryl pushes the trunk open slowly watching the herd fade into the night as he stepped out extending a hand to help her. But the trip on the way out lead to a few walkers being triggered and the archer forcefully shoving Y/N into the forest before they could catch who it might be.

The second they were in the clear, Y/N felt the back of her shirt get forcefully grabbed and pulled back so that she locked eyes with Daryl.

“Be more careful next time”

“I—-“

“Nah. You gotta learn, but I ain’t letting yea get your shit rocked to learn” Daryl scoffs watching Y/N cower slightly, not saying anything in response in case he snapped. “Cmon”

The awkward silence ate Y/N alive but she didn’t speak another word. Of course, Daryl didn’t. He decided if he said his mind that it wouldn’t be nice in any format. But he still cared for her.

They’ve collected cans along the way before making up camp, and Daryl showed Y/N how to make the can trigger line to keep them safe when they camped out in the woods.

Y/N used her knife to cut the excess string, something they found in the trunk, and accidentally nicked her finger. She set the knife in her lap before instinctively sucking on the tip of her finger to stop the bleeding. Daryl finished tying his side noticing how limp the line was and took notice of what she was doing. He quietly approached her tying the line from her end before taking her hand and checking how bad it was.

“It’s just a cut” She frowns as he checks it for his own eyes before going to his bag to take out a small bandaid and give it to her. “Thank you…”

The archer nods to such as he next started to make a fire, but as he was doing such he made sure Y/N was watching. She was. Everything he did, she kept an eye on. He finishes making it and situated himself on one side while she stuck on the other.

Is she warm enough? Daryl thought as Y/N brought herself a bit closer to the fire and finally her body relaxed. Which made him do so as well.

Cold mornings are usually the best inside a home with a working fireplace or a heater. Hell even the cold mornings at the farm and the prison beats cold mornings outside in the middle of the woods with zero knowledge if your friends are alive or not.

But during the night, Daryl had made sure to keep Y/N covered with whatever they had and he even left to go back to the car they were held up in the truck during the herd passing. That when she woke up, she woke to a jacket that he had found in the car loosely draped over her while he naturally gave off a lot of heat to keep himself comfortable.

Y/N quietly rises from the ground, only to watch Daryl quickly stir and run toward something across the can line. The action kick started her anxiety until she heard the trigger of his crossbow fire and the life end of whatever he caught.

Making her breakfast a snake. That she picked at at first which only irked Daryl a bit in the sense of it’s not luxurious or something?

“How did you even hear it…?” That’s what she was thinking. Daryl didn’t know the right words to explain it in the moment but decided to try something that could explain such.

“Yea trust me?” What a weird start.

She nods watching Daryl take out his bandana from his back pocket after discarding the bones of his portion into the fire. He approaches her close enough to kneel in front of her and fold the bandana into a blindfold.

“Askin’ again. Do yea trust me?”

“Of course”

“Alright” Daryl carefully put the bandana over her eyes and before he even said anything to explain what he currently did. Y/N tried to focus on something since her vision was compromised. “Ain’t the best hearing but once yea get used to being in the woods a lot huntin’ shit. You can hear some things in the sound”

Nothing

Leaves rustling

Growling

Growling?

“Walker” Y/N calls out tugging the blindfold off as Daryl quickly swiped his crossbow from its leaned position against a tree and took out the walker approaching.

Y/N took note of how Daryl loaded the bolt into his crossbow and carefully taking aim so he doesn’t miss. He also made sure it didn’t get too close to break the can line. But they were moving again.

The two moved a lot, and Y/N has been learning a lot. Mainly from observation and Daryl making her learn a thing or two or…ten.

When they found the abandoned country club, Daryl started coughing. Nothing as bad as the prison illness but enough to assume one is getting sick with something. Y/N truly noticed it was getting worse when she finished setting up most of the camp for them to camp out in the abandoned building.

Daryl had crouched down to start the fire in a secured contained pit he made, when he grew too tired and decided to sit. He watches Y/N approach the pit and start the fire herself before looking up at her with hooded exhausted eyes.

“You should rest”

“Yeah.” He agreed but with the way nothing was happening, Y/N decided to return the favor. Taking care of him instead of the other way around.

The exhausted man watches her take apart the couch cushions laying them on the ground before leaving the room they were in to grab some blankets she saw upon entering the place. One covered the cushions as the other she prepared to drape over him. Daryl looked at her standing with the other blanket as if she’s waiting.

“Lay down”

“Seriously?”

“Doctor’s orders” Y/N shrugs. “Well. Vet’s orders. But same thing”

“As long as yea don’t shove a thermometer up my ass, I’ll do whatever you say” Daryl scoffs, slowly bringing himself to lay down on the cushions before Y/N draped the blanket over him.

“We should stick here until you feel better”

“Mm. Past a week. Just leave me here”

Y/N knelt down beside him tucking in one side, now being the one to ignore what he says. She looks at him with a neutral expression that Daryl could only read as such, but she was worried. She has always been worried for him.

But he never noticed.

The first thing on the agenda was getting water. For drinking and to help Daryl cool off by setting his bandana and placing it on his forehead. Since before she thought of the plan for the moment, she checked his temp and the man was sick with a fever.

So bedrest in a safe environment, safe-ish…was the best option for Daryl and not that he objected. His exhaustion knocked him out the second Y/N tucked him in.

“What you’re going to want to do first is collect water from the creek, with whatever yea got” Daryl states holding up one of the cans they didn’t use for the trigger line. He filled it with creek water as Y/N did the same with the can in her hand.

Y/N knelt down to the creek closest to the country club and filled the large canteen up with water from the slow moving creek.

“Next. We get the rack we use for cookin’ the squirrel meat to hold the can up.” Daryl sets the cans down on the rack once he got the fire going. “Now it’s gonna take a bit cuz we don’t know the exact temperature of the flame. But we’ll know when it’s boiling? That it’s doing it’s job”

“Doing its job?”

“To boil the bad shit in it. To make it drinkable”

“Is this…real or something you’re making up?”

“It’s real. Done it a lot when camping with Merle”

That must’ve been fun Y/N thought back as she had got the fire going and a few cans full of the canteen creek water, waiting for them to boil.

Once the water was boiled, Y/N set a few cans to the side to cool and used one to help heat up an MRE she found in an abandoned shed coming back.

“How do you know if walkers are in the building when the windows are grimey?”

Daryl turned to Y/N with another signature deadpan look of his before knocking on the window. She tensed when a walker started hitting the window.

“What if there’s no windows?”

“Knock on the door. Yea can tell that way how many because of the weighted response. While the window, you can just assume by silhouettes”

“Five dollar word right there”

“Fuck off” Daryl scoffs but Y/N admired the smirk that followed.

The archer relaxed for the third time? The third time Y/N changed the bandana to be a bit damp again. But she checked his temp with the back of her hand, sighing from relief when his fever has gone down. She returned the bandana in its place before using the last of the water to wash the fire out given she was going to check the snares she had placed outside with things she found inside the building.

“Did yea place them right?” Daryl asks weakly, given this is day four and Y/N was leaving at the same time to check such.

“Yeah. I learned from the best”

“Mm. Damn straight” He sighs shifty slightly before falling back asleep.

The first two days, Y/N mainly stayed by Daryl’s side and only left to get water or to take out any walker that managed to pick up their scent. Mainly Y/N’s since upon arriving to the country club, she had cut her leg from tripping over their own can line so her blood trickled along her for a bit.

But after patching it up, and leaving in short shifts…Y/N around day 3 explored the rest of the country club and found a few articles of clothing to replace her gross sweaty ones. She also found photos from the people before and it stung a bit.

She missed the old world

Only difference is

He wasn’t in it

And she would rather die than go back to the old world without him.

Her prized findings were a few pill bottles. The ibuprofen being the most used once finding such. Y/N didn’t hesitate in giving Daryl a dose when she found it and it helped with his fever. She kept the rest in her pack, which was a small backpack she found within the building that had this pin on it. The pin had a bunny on it and Y/N thought it was cute, didn’t want to dwell on it or she’d spiral thinking this was a child’s and the child died…which…yeah.

Coming on day 5, Daryl woke up feeling a lot better and noticed Y/N was knocked out cold propped up against the couch that obviously had missing cushions. He couldn’t help but notice a few things…

The arrows…she made them?

The bandages on her arms…what did she get into?

Their canteens were full…she actually learned somethin’ from me?

The final thing Daryl noticed was his vest folded on top of his own backpack that Y/N found, filled with his findings, and another canteen that was full. But his prized possession, he took into his hands and noticed that the wings were fixed…he wanted to thank her, thank her for all of it. But when she woke out of an anxious trigger that he’s never seen before, all that happened was the sound of something falling that lead to her reaching for his crossbow.

But she relaxed noticing Daryl was wide awake.

“Oh thank fuck”

“You…alright?”

“Yeah yeah, I am now” Y/N laughs nervously brushing her hair back out of her face. “Uhm. I saw some signs around…for this sanctuary…Terminus? Maybe we can find our friends there”

“Yeah, that sounds like a smart move…that mean we’re done here?”

“No! No. If you’re not ready we can stay a little while longer”

So they did, then packed up the next morning and made their way to the main road. Daryl was about to take out the walker that was approaching them when Y/N took the crowbar she found on a run during his resting period, and immediately took it down.

The archer didn’t say much and was taken back by what happened. It was just a walker kill…but she didn’t need his help. He watches her crouch down to the body and rummaged through the corpse’s pockets.

“The fuck yea doing?”

“Learned that I can find items off people”

“…Isn’t this wrong?”

“It’s wrong if I dug up a grave and took from a resting corpse. It’s wrong if I killed an innocent person and took from their body. There’s criteria…it’s just a walker that was once a human with an unknown personality and unknown past.” Y/N kept this sadden expression when looting this body even when she did find a few items. A pack of cigarettes with a lighter and another pocket knife. This felt like a video game, but it stung. Even with the reasoning.

The two returned on their way to the road and eventually on their way to this sanctuary. Daryl the entire time kept his eyes on Y/N and how quiet she had gotten since when they first ran into the woods, she would not shut up.

“We have to find our friends”

“What if someone got hurt”

“How could this have happened, I thought he was dead!”

“You think we’ll find someone?”

“I’m scared Daryl”

Part of Daryl was relieved she learned from their time apart from the others. But he missed it. Missed hearing her optimism…her rambling that she thought was in a hushed volume…how she spoke her mind during the nights she thought he would be sleeping.

Y/N has always been a strong person

But she was also missing so much…

“We’ll find them. In any situation, we’ll get our family back”

The words left him without a second thought as Y/N stopped walking looking at the endless road before them. She gripped the crowbar tightly as her mind raced like it did when the explosions happened.

“You promise?” Y/N turns back to the archer watching him nod.

Everything…fell apart

The Claimers came and went

Terminus came and went

Bob…died

Beth…died

Tyreese…died

The group was dying.

It was a lot in the span of a few days, or who truly knows how long each event happened because no one can tell the time nowadays. Only the seasons really. But the group, what remains, held their ground and even if Y/N has shown Daryl during these times that she is an even bigger asset…his anxiety ate at him when they were walking to nowhere in hopes something happened and she kept quiet.

The archer carefully took her hand into his, bringing her back as the exhaustion written on his face made her stress thinking he was getting sick all over again or his injuries were getting worse.

“Are you—-“

“Nah, are you okay?”

“Daryl, you’re not—“

“Hey, no. Not me right now” Daryl frowns gently lifting her chin to get her to look him directly in the eye instead of scanning his person for anything. “Are you alright?”

“No…can I just keep it at that?”

“As long as I return the favor” Daryl whispers gently tucking her hair behind her ear as she tilts her head confused. “Let me take care of yea”

“Okay…”

[widowbitessting]

i think trigger warning?

How would they react to scars from fights like maybe r got into fights when they were younger for whatever reason ill leave that up to the imagination

TRIGGER WARNING 18+ ONLY ABUSIVE PARENTS - DO NOT READ IF ANYTHING LIKE THIS TRIGGERS YOU. 

Please look after yourselves. 

Baby’s parent’s are not nice in this. They’re the antagonists of the series. They’ll make Count Olaf look like a saint. I personally hate them😂 

I’m serious, PLEASE do not interact with this if anything around parents being abusive and general disgusting people offends you. Nothing sexual happens. Just Dark themes. This is completely fictional. 

Background into Baby’s childhood.

TRIGGER WARNING 18+ ONLY ABUSIVE PARENTS!

Growing up in your home was...hard. Beyond hard; difficult in fact. To the point where you ran away countless of times but sadly you was always brought back to them.

To your mom and dad.

You have no idea why they hated to you so much. Their own flesh and blood. Their first born child. Yet they did. Loathed you in fact you’re surprised they didn’t kill you in your sleep.

They hated each other too. Only got married because their parents made them when your mom got pregnant with you, which you guess explains a lot. “You ruined my fucking life kid.” You’ve become so numb when your dad tells you those words. 

So, regarding the scars on your body - the ones you know about are all from you being clumsy AF. Tales past where you tripped over your own two feet and injured yourself. You can talk about those scars for days. 

It’s those few scars that you have that you can’t bring yourself to talk about. Especially not with the Trio! not yet. Your folks ruined your childhood, you refused to let them ruin your adulthood too. 

There’s a small one on the back of your leg that you received from your Father. During one of his many drunken blind rages, he and your mother argued and shouted way past your bed time, and as a result, little seven year old you had ended up meandering downstairs to find out why mommy and daddy were screaming at each other. Your Father had ended up launching a glass ash tray - one stating #1 Dad! - right at your mother. It had missed her and instead smashed on the wall, sending shards flying around the room. You ended up with a large shard sticking out of the back of you leg because you had chosen to run. By the time you had returned from the hospital, carrying a huge teddybear gifted to you by your mom, your dad was nowhere to be seen. The broken ashtray crunched under your shoes as you slowly limped your way back to your bedroom, hugging the bear tightly as you heard your mom sob downstairs. 

The other scar is your right earlobe. Fast forward your childhood to your 16th birthday, where you decided to get your ears pierced as a treat. Your mom was furious with you. The second you got home she was shouting at you. Demanding you take the earrings out and when you refused, your mom, the woman who birthed you, slammed you into the wall and screamed right in your face. When you still refused her hand latched onto your ear and pulled. You fought back; yelling back at her, telling her how much you hated her and wished she had died when she managed to rip out an earring from your earlobe. In retaliation, you had smacked your mother back before fleeing to your room and locking the door behind you; clutching your bleeding and throbbing ear in your palm.

Your granddad, and then later MJ, were the only reasons you survived your childhood. 

When you finally let the Trio! in and tell them, they’re understandably horror stricken. And vow to never let these people near/hurt you again. 

Phew! That was so tricky to write! I love you all, stay safe and strong. You’re all awesome. 

[sylleblosscm]

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ – v: au: can i dream for a few months more? / insomnia

An AU in which, after the invasion of Tenebrae, Lunafreya is brought back to Insomnia and grows up in the Amicitia household.

   (Many of the details of this verse are flexible for the sake of different threads; ie, the age Luna is when she is rescued, who she ends up with in the end, whether Ravus is taken too, and whether Regis also survives the raid on the citadel. However, what follows is the broad strokes of the story that will usually be referred back to by default. I’ve aged Luna down to 8 at the time of the invasion by default because I want classmate shenanigans, and who’s gonna stop me? And of course, this entire verse wouldn’t exist without @oldamicitia​ being a terrible influence on me, so. Thank you 🤍)

 During the Empire’s attack on Tenebrae meant to target the visiting Lucian royalty, King Regis manages to keep a hold of Lunafreya’s hand. With no other choice left to them, she is whisked away from the chaos to Insomnia, where she lives out the rest of her childhood.

 For some time, Luna’s future remains up in the air. There is no safe passage by which she might return, no way to send her home. While the matter of who should bear the responsibility for her upbringing remains unclear, Luna is sent to stay in the Amicitia household temporarily - the rationale being that Clarus’ time in Tenebrae has given him a rapport with the Princess, and surely there is no safer place for her to be within Insomnia’s walls, aside from the Citadel itself. 

 Beyond her flourishing friendship with Noctis and her instant adoration for Clarus’ then-three-year-old daughter Iris, Luna remains deeply affected and withdrawn, keeping mostly to herself at first. Slowly, over time, she begins to warm up to Clarus as they bond over their mutual love of tea and general sleeplessness. By the time the selection process has narrowed down for Luna’s long-term accommodations, she is as settled as one can possibly be. So upon hearing that there is indeed still such a process, she becomes incredibly distressed and asks to remain where she is. It is around this time that she begins referring to Clarus as Papa.

  At this point, the only Amicitia Luna has yet to bond with is Gladiolus, who she has given a wide berth. It is no comment on him (in fact, she is certain that she would like him very much given the chance); rather, it is an expression of her own guilt about leaving Ravus behind. Eventually, however, she begins making small efforts with him, too.

 During her years growing up in Insomnia, Luna becomes stronger, more outspoken and more confident than her canon counterpart. What she lacks in her Oracle training, she makes up for with various other skills. She is an exemplary student and active within the community, earning herself a somewhat darling reputation in the public eye. Those who know her well are familiar with her passion and tenacity, and her boundless determination to make life better for those around her. Her childhood from then on is mostly a happy one.

 Eventually Luna is given special leave to return to Tenebrae to begin her training proper. Once she is of age, she returns to her homeland wherein she throws herself into learning as quickly as possible, what she otherwise might have had years to study. 

 Soon enough, the peace treaty between Lucis and Nifleheim is brokered, and Luna’s hand is promised to her own highschool sweetheart. Suspicious of the suddenness of it all, rather than head directly to Altissia as ordered, Luna instead travels back to Insomnia, arriving the very eve of the signing ceremony.

 Before she can so much as greet her adoptive father all hell breaks loose, and he is killed in service to his King. A grief-stricken Luna dons the Ring of the Lucii and finds herself with a mysterious power no Oracle before her has seen. She rushes to her father’s body and in her desperate pleading for him to wake, inadvertently brings him back from the dead - at a cost. She falls into a coma and does not wake for some months, only learning once she does just how close she’d come to losing her life. At Clarus’ behest she promises to never again utilize such a dangerous power.  

 From there, she is free to pursue her duty, making at once for Altissia to reunite with Noctis and return the Ring to him. Once Noctis is pulled within the Crystal, Luna spends most of the Long Night shepherding refugees to Lestallum and preparing for the arrival of the Chosen King. 

 Noctis is forced to give his life to dispel the darkness, and Luna - who had known nothing of the cost demanded of him before this - breaks her ten-year promise by putting on the Ring and, in an act of direct defiance towards Bahamut himself who orders her to desist, attempts to resurrect her beloved. She is successful, but as punishment, her gift of healing is renounced and the future of the Oracle line is thrown into question.

[bibliocratic]

litany An exploration on endings. Or: all the ways it could have gone wrong and right.

jonmartin, spoilers for 200, content warnings in the tags

--

This is not what she thought victory would feel like.

Basira’s fingers tense and smart with overexerted aching when she stops to stretch them out. There is a geography of broken blood-vessels under the bruising that lies puddle-splotched over her hands which scrabble and claw talon-bent at the rubble. They are scored with scratches and tears where her exposed and dust-ruined skin has snagged on fractured brickwork.

She uncovers a foot first, as she pushes up and over the twisted mental of a window frame with an exhausted clatter. A trainer, the white doused with mud, the trailing laces caked stiff and russet. More heaving and hauling, her breath purging from her faster now – maybe, maybe, maybe, but she has lived too long now to believe in miracles. Overturning a fire-blasted section of what could have been once part of the imperious and grand stone stairwell, she reveals the leg the trainer is attached to, pulverised and off-angled by the weight of the collapse, the fabric of it drenched in soot. She peels back a cascade of plasterboard with a grunt, and there is a twisted pelvis, shattered ribs caved in under an acrid-smelling jumper. She’s not surprised at the dull punch of revelation, when she digs out hunched shoulders, coils of hair turned grey-white like swans’ down with the dust.

Martin is obviously dead. She hopes it was quick, fears it was not. His body lying stringless is curved around something, clutching it to him with his bruised and broken fingers. It takes many minutes of labouring, her spine seizing with complaint, sweat pooling at her brow and under her arms, but eventually she reveals Martin’s tender quarry, bundled up against his chest, blood-soaked from a wound long congealed. His own long and bloody fingers clenched and moored into the weft of Martin’s jumper.

She doesn’t need to check his pulse. She is cursed with enough sentiment to do so anyway. Crouching for a moment in the thick of the settling devastation, the fug of dust coating her nostrils, before she murmurs ‘I’m sorry’.

As she stands, she takes off her coat to lay it over them respectfully, the only shroud she can offer.

When her voice is composed, its cracks flattened out, she shouts the others over to tell them to stop searching.

--

The knife does not go in easily. There is force behind its thrust, a manic wave-shock of hysteric intent, and Jon’s lips part in a gasp as skin and sinew and flesh split. The noise wrenched from Martin is soiled with ruin, tremulous and saw-toothed, and he will never be able to forgive himself.

Jon’s eyes close. Peace of a sort granted to Magnus’ last and most beleaguered of Archivists.

And then they open. All of them, like the unfolding back of petals during blossoming, a meadow’s expanse of sight flowering on his face.

“No,” Martin whispers, the refusal almost lost over the tumult of the building around them. He pulls the knife out, and it drips onto the floor, making damp the material of his trousers. “No, nononononono.”

The wound presses together like lips, and then it is gone.

“I think it’s too late for that, Martin,” the Archivist says in that calm and reasoned voice of his.

--

It is a surreal, poorly-rendered mirror of before. A way the record of the world has slipped, juddered aground in a repeat. For all they have both changed, outgrown the casings of the people they were, for all they have endured both together and apart, it is a sick homecoming of sorts to stand again a second time round at the entrance to his hospital ward.

She’s brought supermarket flowers bunched in plastic, the last of a bad crop and too late to get the freshest, the stalks of baby’s breath drooping, the petals on the carnations mottled slightly and past their glory days. Jon lies submerged in sleep, the focal point in a placid storm of machines and wires. This coma chemically induced with no inkling of the supernatural, a last-ditch effort by the doctors to reduce the swelling on his brain. To give the body a chance to heal from the damage sustained during the collapse, his frame bludgeoned and punctured like a shrike-caught mouse, the smoke that has snarled like brambles in his lungs. The almost comically neat wound punched into his chest, nicking his heart.

She hopes his sleep is dreamless.

It takes him weeks to wake up.

“… Georgie?” he finally gasps out on an otherwise uneventful Thursday. His vocals are ribbed and scored with smoke damage. He’s sluggish as he blinks and turns and groans at the complaint of his body around him. “What – er?”

“Hey Jon,” she replies. “Good to have you back with us.”

She lets him acclimatise. Without his glasses, he squints and peers owlishly, like an inquisitive bird, absorbed by the novelty of his environment, the mundanity; the hospital-blue curtain that’s been pulled back around his bed, missing a few rungs and so hanging lopsided in places. The wilting flowers on the side table. The IV needles threaded into his arms.

“Did it work?” he asks finally.

“We think so.”

Georgie doesn’t add more. The conversation is one she knew they’d have, but it still feels like stepping out on frozen water. She is waiting for it to give beneath him, for the drop and drown in the unmoored cold.

His relief muddies in increments. His brow crinkling with a frown, glancing around again at the other beds. Their occupants dredged up and out and recovering from their private terrors, bringing the lessons of their landscape with them.

“Where - ?”

He looks up at her. The ice cracking.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Jon,” she says.

--

“We made it. L-look, see, we’re – I don’t know where we are exactly, b-but that doesn’t matter, does it, because we’re together, yeah? We’re together and that’s… that’s what we promised.”

The blood is drying on his trembling fingertips, the crevices of his palm, and it flakes off like decaying leaf-fall. The front of his clothes is clogged and sodden, the slick slow to harden. The weight in his arms is making his shoulders scream but he can’t let go.

“We – we did it,” he repeats hollowly. Desperately. “We did it, s-so you can come back now. You can come back. Together, you promised.”

The winds of this new world blow as cold as the old one did, and it is Martin’s only reply.

--

“It’s for the best, Martin,” the Archivist says.

“Shut up,” his furious watcher snarls. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t play st – Like him! Like he would! Using his voice.”

“It’s my voice. It’s me, Martin.”

Martin doesn’t respond to that. Their arguments are cyclical as roundabouts. He tells Martin he loves him. Martin tells him to fuck off.

The place where Jonah Magnus met his End, crumpled up on the dais of the Panopticon, has been cleared of blood. It distressed Martin to look upon, as evidence of his ascension rather than his capacity for brutality, so the servitors saw to its removal. The body he gifted to the mulch of the bone gardens, and the wailing growths flourished beautifully with the nutrients it bore.

The screams beyond the walls of the Panopticon cut off faster as he hastens them towards the End. He observes a world in its twilight. There is still torment, and it is unendurable and unfair but it will end under his reign, for good and for ever, and he will ensure that there is no more.

“You don’t have to stay,” the Archivist says. Considered. Gentle. “I know… seeing me like this is not what you wanted. I want us to be together while it ends, but I won’t force you.”

“And how is it any better out there?”

“It’s not,” he admits. “Here, I can keep you safe. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy.”

“Well, you fucked up there then,” Martin snaps.

His anger is righteous and flint-spark, makes barriers that almost waylay his grieving. He looks at him, and for a moment, his gaze shakes. He will see nothing less than he expects to see, a man, unkempt from travel, a bit grubby. Coarse hands he has held, lines he has attempted to smooth. In many ways, this makes it worse.

Martin turns away, and the Archivist lets him go.

He needs time and they have more than enough of it now.

--

He is inconsolable when they dig them out. A horrible, anguished keening like he’s being struck, a gasping that violently gags and stoppers in his chest. His face twisted, blotching, his eyes swollen, and the picture he makes is ugly, rent-open, decimated, bawling into the body he’s crushed up against him. Rag-doll limbed. Ashen.

They can’t make him let go. His cries transform and degrade into wails, garbled wordless, the horizon of language lost. They aren’t even sure if he knows they’re there. The sound pouring out of him is frenzied, delirious and anguished by surviving the unsurvivable alone. He fades hoarse through the ruin he has made of his throat and then he just weeps into Jon’s chest, and still he will not let go.

Melanie’s the one that stops him using the knife the first time. Wrestling it from his grip more out of surprise than shock at Georgie’s shout, and her anger is poisoned with her panic, throwing it to one side and hearing it clatter, snarling that I’m not going to fucking bury both of you, you hear me, don’t even think about it, fuck you, you think this is what he would have wanted, you think we want to lose you too?

Martin doesn’t reply.

They are not fast enough to stop him the second time he tries.

--

There are two men, strangers to these parts, who moved into the village from elsewhere like seeds caught on breeze. They plant their roots in uneasy soil. They talk to no one, versed in polite but guarded pleasantries, their greeting smiles to-the-point and weathered like coastal walls to withstand even the most inquisitive of questioners.

The one who is tall has the pared-down appearance of someone who has lost a lot of weight through some wasting that gnaws upon him. A gauntness that accentuates the furrows and gulleys and crags of his face, worsens the snow-stark white of his hair. The one who is short has been formed naturally sharp in features, although the brown of his eyes is mellow, prone to distance and otherwise unremarkable. The rumour mill, that tumbles in cycles of chatter that rolls from suspicious to musing, supposes some great and devastating fire to account for the injuries on his hands and the exposed skin of his face and neck, the pocked divots like scattered spark burns, ragged scars from shrapnel of some kind.

The one who is short limps on a sturdy walking stick, fashioned from an oak branch divorced from its tree in a storm. Any travel ventured upon is slow and demonstrably an effort. His free hand clasped in the hand of the one who is tall, who decks himself in layers even in the mildest of weathers, whose eyes are biting as hailstones, awashed grey and framed with bruising as though his dreams are rarely kind.

They re-painted the outer walls of their house last summer, when the temperature wallowed sticky and dense and glorious. The tree in their garden has fruited its first pears, few and stunted but a start that promises better crops come next year.

There is the hope that the strangers are happy.

If they are, it remains nobody’s business but their own.

[hamliet]

Unless a Grain of Wheat Falls and It Dies...

Or, why I am pretty optimistic about the fates of Jean, Connie, Gabi, and all titanized people this chapter, which is also an excuse for me to talk about SnK’s allusions to Russian literature. 

There are strikingly parallel ideas The Brothers Karamazov and Attack on Titan, as well as parallel plot points and imagery to the point where if it isn’t deliberate, it’s uncanny. (NB: before people yell at me about comparing a Japanese and Russian work, Isayama has used Russian names since the start of SnK--Shiganshina is a Russian name.) In particular, there are narrative allusions to a portion of the novel known as “The Grand Inquisitor,” which is a short story within a novel. The central thesis of “The Grand Inquisitor” is as follows: 

nothing has ever been more insupportable for a man and a human society than freedom. 

This parable is told within the story by Ivan Karamazov, a character whose intellectuality is his gift and his curse. He tells his brother Alyosha that the motivation for creating this parable is precisely the evils done to children (oh look, a major SnK theme) and specifically cites an example which was unfortunately taken from real life in Russia and which Isayama has an uncanny parallel:

I want to see with my own eyes the hind lie down with the lion and the victim rise up and embrace his murderer. I want to be there when every one suddenly understands what it has all been for. All the religions of the world are built on this longing, and I am a believer. But then there are the children, and what am I to do about them? That's a question I can't answer... If all must suffer to pay for the eternal harmony, what have children to do with it, tell me, please? ... if it is really true that they must share responsibility for all their fathers' crimes, such a truth is not of this world and is beyond my comprehension. Some jester will say, perhaps, that the child would have grown up and have sinned, but you see he didn't grow up, he was torn to pieces by the dogs, at eight years old...

... How are you going to atone for them? Is it possible? ... What do I care for a hell for oppressors? What good can hell do, since those children have already been tortured? ... I want to forgive. I want to embrace. I don't want more suffering. And if the sufferings of children go to swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then I protest that the truth is not worth such a price. ... too high a price is asked for harmony; it's beyond our means to pay so much to enter on it... It's not God that I don't accept, Alyosha, only I most respectfully return Him the ticket.”

The actual parable of “The Grand Inquisitor” is Ivan’s answer to Alyosha’s question about Ivan’s lines above. Ivan tells a story about how freedom is actually what dooms humanity: it is the curse. (Alyosha does not believe this.) Jesus comes back to earth and is promptly arrested, because his existence and return threaten the wellbeing of society. To be happy, one cannot be free, but one or two strong people in society should be free and bear the burden for everyone else (you can see the parallels to King Fritz/the Reisses). 

Nothing is more seductive for man than his freedom of conscience, but nothing is a greater cause of suffering... all his life he loved humanity, and suddenly his eyes were opened, and he saw that it is no great moral blessedness to attain perfection and freedom, if at the same time one gains the conviction that millions of God's creatures have been created as a mockery, that they will never be capable of using their freedom...

This is SnK’s thesis: to be free, there will be suffering. It is part of human nature, and yet to not have it is to be lost. But SnK, despite its explorations of human darkness and monstrosity, has a higher view of humanity than does Ivan. SnK’s view is more alongside Alyosha’s, who says what is honestly the truth about not just the Reisses, but Eren now:

"Who are these keepers of the mystery who have taken some curse upon themselves for the happiness of mankind? .... It's simple lust of power, of filthy earthly gain, of domination—something like a universal serfdom with them as masters—that's all they stand for.”

Mikasa is akin to the Christ figure in the story, akin to Alyosha: Christ is constantly asked to speak, asked to act, and he does not until the very last moment, when he kisses the Grand Inquisitor on the lips. After the story is over, Alyosha then does likewise to Ivan. 

Not to mention when Alyosha worries about Ivan’s mental state, he then answers with this:

“Listen, Alyosha,” Ivan began in a resolute voice, “if I am really able to care for the sticky little leaves I shall only love them, remembering you. It's enough for me that you are somewhere here, and I shan't lose my desire for life yet.”

A simple leaf can save a life. A leaf can save the world. A leaf, grown from a tree that started as a seed falling to the ground, dead, only to grow life from that death. Alyosha himself notes SnK’s central thesis of chapter 137 in the (very long) novel’s final pages:

...some good, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man carries many such memories with him into life, he is safe to the end of his days, and if one has only one good memory left in one's heart, even that may sometime be the means of saving us.

There’s a lot more to this, but this is the epigraph to The Brothers Karamazov, the central thesis of the entire novel:

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." -John 12:24

Suffering can grow great fruit in an individual life, and by giving something up, by even death, something beautiful can come. Through cruelty, you can find life. 

This is not just a long-running theme in SnK, but a pattern in its plot. Often those who surrender then receive exactly what they had surrendered (but admittedly, not always, like Erwin). 

Mikasa accepted Eren’s loss, and got him back.

Mikasa let Armin go, and got him back.

Falco gave up hope of survival, and got another chance: 

Hange was going to die alone, feeling guilty for having failed her comrades, but saw everyone again, and they told her well done: 

Historia gave up being free, but now we know she will be.

Levi gave up on his revenge, and then got it. Annie thought she would never see her dad again, but she did. For Mikasa, accepting that she has to kill the boy she loves coincides not just with her acceptance of her love, but with the acceptance and knowledge that he loves her:

It always comes with sacrifice, increasingly hard sacrifice, but usually the seeds that are dropped grow and bloom. 

This chapter, everyone surrendered their hearts. They let their dreams fall to the ground, and I honestly think the story will allow it to plant life. Yes, the world as a whole is saved and that is enough to make thematic sense, but it works even better if the very people who were titanized this chapter also bloom again. They chose to trust Mikasa, Levi, Falco, and Pieck to finish the task.

The characters giving up their lives only to get them back make sense, and give Mikasa’s sacrifice of Eren. For Mikasa, Eren was her world, and she gave it up when she had lost everyone else. She had nothing left, and she still did it. I would hope she’d be narratively rewarded beyond just the world being saved, because Mikasa has always been motivated by her personal relationships.

Moving on from Mikasa: Connie’s mom has been kept alive and the concept of turning mindless titans back to humans was already brought up specifically in relation to her:

Connie giving up on his mother a dozenish chapters ago only to get her back now--not through sacrificing a child, but through saving the entire world--would fit the themes and patterns of SnK.

Thirdly, Gabi should not die. She’s Eren with positive development, and cannot meet the same end. Even people who are skeptical of every titan being saved seem to agree that she’ll be fine. It’s possible she’s the only one saved, but imo, not likely. 

See, the only shifter characters who are going to have the option of self-sacrifice are Falco and maaaaaybe Armin. The others look like they’re about to die right here and now, never mind choosing someone to save: the mindless titans are ripping at their napes. Armin also looks to be in bad shape. 

Yet Armin cannot narratively commit suicide; two chapters ago he was still screaming at himself for being useless and thinking he would be better off dead. He’s already tried the heroic sacrifice, too, so why would it work this time around? It does not work for his arc. Falco dying for Gabi was the plan without any freedom from the titan curse; it’s more powerful if ending the curse changes things, rather than forcing him to make the same choice that Reiner has always been trying to make: a heroic suicide. It could happen; it’s just not as narratively strong.

As for whether the worldbuilding rules, we know that mindless titans are not truly dead nor entirely mindless; they just don’t have freedom. Ymir’s case of getting herself back after decades shows that they aren’t quite dead or absorbed. They still have consciousness that can be awoken; Ymir described it as being in a long “nightmare.” Dina still went looking for Grisha. Connie’s mom remembered and recognized Connie, telling him “welcome home.” There is plenty of evidence that there are parts of these people that are still in there even if they are forced to become monsters (oh hey, it’s an Eren parallel; he was conscious of it and had choices while mindless titans do not, but the parallel remains).

[the-enamorando-deity]

Oneshot where Sara Lance and Ava Sharpe take care of a badly wounded and unconcious Reader? Fluff and Angst please 🙏 ❄

i need this to happen like rn

sara lance x ava sharpe x reader

no warnings i don’t think???

Sunken Like Steel

This was entirely Nate’s fault. Or at least, that was what you were going to tell everyone, if and when you woke from whatever had taken away your consciousness. In reality, it had absolutely nothing to do with Nate whatsoever. If anything, he was the first one in the water, turning to steel to sink faster to reach you before you vanished to the depths.

He got you out with help from Mick, your waterlogged clothes doubling your weight. It wasn’t an accident you ended up in the water, though, nor was it an accident that you’d been wearing so many layers. The Legends, yourself included, had been facing a portal maker the last week or so, and every time he threw you across time and space, you ended up in the most freezing cold places, usually the tip of an iceberg or the desert at night.

This time you were prepared for him, but something had changed in his methodology. He’d set off a bomb in the centre of your group, portal-ing himself somewhere safe, leaving you all to feel the blast. What he hadn’t counted on was you diving for him from behind, getting caught in the middle of the blast, but still managing to fall into the tail end of the portal.

There lay the problem, as he appeared on the dock of a nameless river, with you falling from the sky not far behind him. He went to fire at you, but noticed you were unconscious as you plummeted towards the water. You hit it with a sickening splash, sinking slowly to the bottom as he watched on. Rather than wait any longer for your irritating team to show up, he ran, leaving you to drown.

Sara and Ava had split up the team to search as many locations as possible, Zari making Gideon check for any residual portal energy from the past few minutes. There were only three options, and they immediately moved.

Ray, John and Ava wound up at a bar in Taipei, while Zari and Charlie found themselves in a lion den halfway across the world. Mick, Nate and Sara had appeared at the dock just as you hit the water, and the man you had all been hunting was gone.

You didn’t wake up when you were pulled from the water, but Sara managed to get the water from your lungs using her lifeguard training from summer camp. You don’t know how they got you back to the ship, but Mick later let you know that Sara didn’t let go of your hand the whole time.

Ava refused to leave your side from the moment she sat down, not even wanting to move her eyes away from you. She and Sara both blamed themselves for everything, not even letting themselves sleep as they watched you lay there, unmoving. Gideon couldn’t determine if you would wake up at all, which only made them want to leave you less.

The others all came to check on you, but found only silence from Sara, and the most basic of reports from Ava. They were too worried to eat, until Nate insisted that it wasn’t what you would want. They needed sleep too, as it had been days, and they were also starting to stink up the room.

He agreed to watch you, but Sara wouldn’t let go of your hand. ‘I swear, Nate, that dude better be dead by the time we get to him, or he’s going to wish he was.’

‘I know, Sara. Come on, I’ll let you know if anything happens,’ he assured them.

Ava and Sara left together, exhausted beyond words. They felt guilty for leaving you there, knowing that although you loved the team, your connection with them wasn’t as strong and you might panic. They didn’t know how hard you’d hit your head, if you’d remember anything, but they couldn’t do much else.

Surviving on caffeine had only exhausted what was left, the sugar highs and lows taking a toll that you would never wish on anyone. Ava’s head leaned on Sara’s as they walked, holding each other up as always, something you hoped would never change. You had heard them arguing before all of this, their opposing views on taking down your current fugitive sparking a fire that wasn’t going to be easy to coax down.

And yet, it seemed that all it took for them to stop was for you to choose a third, unexplored option, ready to risk your life to prove a point. Tensions had been high recently, some close calls making everyone doubt themselves. Sara tried to argue in Ava’s favour, while Ava almost completely shut her out, insisting that all their approaches were wrong, and that they needed more time.

Sara’s impatience led to them having a blow up in front of the team, only to have you confront them later on and tell them how ridiculous they were being. They almost didn’t listen, until you proposed an experiment, but refused to tell Ava the parameters no matter how many times she requested.

‘Okay, so,’ you started, in the middle of the room before them, ‘Ava’s usual approach is assess the situation, listen to your team for information, observe the area for emergency exits and possible ambush locations, hydrate to prepare for participation, and attack for summation.’

You had tried so hard not to laugh at the eye rolls you got from the pair, but it had stopped them from being against each other for a moment.

‘Sara is usually run in headfirst, die, get brought back to life, do it again,’ you grinned, watching her stick up her middle finger. ‘But, she has since adapted since leading the team. Instead, she now uses herself as bait, leading out all attacking parties, so we can surround them, or get surrounded on purpose, because we work outwards and strong.’

She looked a little chuffed with that, nudging Ava with her elbow all proud, before growing suspicious. ‘Wait, what’s the point of this?’

‘There’s a third option,’ you smiled, holding up your arms. ‘Gideon, show them the Y/N Approach Simulation.’

Ava and Sara left the room in agreement that you should never be in charge of anything ever, and that maybe each other’s approaches weren’t so bad apart, but together, they could adapt and make every situation winnable.

If only they hadn’t doubted themselves this time, the situation something neither had thought about before, and were so unprepared for, they panicked. But then they knew, thanks to you, that there was always a third option, even if it was terrible and stupid.

You didn’t awake until after they’d returned, hair messy and still damp from their shower, Ava falling asleep on Sara’s lap as she laid there. Sara’s fingers ran through your hair as she sat beside you, your cheeks twitching as your eyes began to open.

‘Hi, sleepy head,’ she cooed, a tired smile on her face. ‘Babe, Y/N’s awake.’

Ava bolted upright, flustered as she turned to you. She threw her arms around your neck and kissed your forehead softly, then grabbed your chin as her expression turned serious.

‘Do that again, you better hope you wake up a million times faster, because this was super not cool,’ she ordered, before smiling and sitting on the bed beside you.

You both turned to look at Sara, who had gone rather silent since you had awoken, only to find her gently snoring away, asleep between you and Ava, hand still curled in your hair. Ava held your hand and looked between the pair of you, grateful her girls were still safe, and now under her watchful eye.

‘Ava?’

‘Mm?’

‘This was all Nate’s fault.’

‘Of course it was, sweetheart,’ Ava nodded sarcastically, giving you that look she gave Sara when she tried to lie. You needed to work on your bullshit, it seemed, but Ava was just glad the humour you had used to endear yourself to them was still very much intact.

taglist: @marvelfansince08love @mymarvelwomen @imnotasuperhero @natasha-danvers @veteranwerewolf95 @monihaswritersblock @natasharomanoffswife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

[morganaspendragonss]

I hope that you are doing well! I love the your writing! If you are open to a Tarlos fic request: TK to Carlos after the doctor has told him Carlos might not make it through the next 48hrs "I cannot imagine life without you, please don't let me live my greatest fear. I won't survive."

Carlos has been working a case and it happens that he becomes a target. He starts getting messages at work, at home and becomes paranoid but doesn't tell TK, but TK can see that Carlos is on edge. Carlos picks a fight with TK so that he goes to stay with Owen for a while. Carlos does this to protect him, let him at least stay away so that if anything happens, TK is safe. Then one night, Carlos is alone at home and someone breaks in, torture ensues and he is barely clinging to life. He calls 911, Grace answers and he can barely get the words out "it's Carlos, send help". 📍

holly's august extravaganza day 10: i can't imagine my life without you

thank you!

ao3 | 1.9k | descriptions of torture, major character injury, angst, hopeful ending, open ending

TK knows he’s annoying people. The atmosphere in the ambulance is thick with tension whenever they’re out on a call, and it’s not much better back at the firehouse. He tries to keep his distance, occupying himself in the gym or aggressively doing chores, but he can’t avoid everyone forever and his bad mood is starting to spill over.

Like when he and Nancy fell back into their old pattern of snipping at each other, or when he nearly bit Paul’s head off when he asked what was wrong. It was less the question itself—though TK certainly doesn’t want to get into why he’s so out of it—and more the way Paul phrased it. Nobody likes to be asked ‘trouble in paradise?’, particularly when the answer is yes.

He just doesn’t understand. It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

Carlos hadn’t explained why; when TK had tried to push, he’d turned it into a fight, until TK had no choice but to leave. He’s been staying with his dad for a week now and he desperately misses his boyfriend, torn between wanting to go over and check on him and wanting to give him space.

He’d settled on a text, a simple you okay?, which still felt woefully inadequate. Carlos had been on edge for weeks before the blow up and TK hadn’t been able to get a word out of him about why.

The text is still unanswered, though it’s been marked as Read.

TK huffs and hauls himself up into the ambulance to check stock. He knows Nancy has already done it and she’s going to be pissed if she catches him, but he needs to keep his mind occupied somehow, lest he start to spin out. But the peace he finds is short-lived, as not ten minutes after he starts, TK looks up from his clipboard to see Judd approaching, hands held out in a pacifying gesture.

It has the opposite effect, TK’s nerves becoming that bit more frayed at the spooked animal treatment he’s getting, but his pointed glare does nothing to deter Judd. Nor does turning his back and returning to work, as he finds out when Judd’s heavy footsteps stop behind the rig and don’t move away.

“TK,” Judd says, his voice suspiciously rough.

TK doesn’t bother turning around, hoping it will get the message across. “Fuck off, Judd,” he says, which would normally be a guarantee of riling him up enough to get him to either leave TK alone or engage in a more physical manner.

At this point, TK doesn’t really care which reaction he gets.

Unfortunately, he’s not in luck today. Which, honestly, tracks.

“I got a phone call,” Judd continues, undeterred, “from Grace. Now, I figure you’ll be getting a similar one soon enough, but we thought it might be better if you heard it from us first.”

TK sighs and hangs his head, reluctantly turning around. “What?” he snaps out. When Judd doesn’t react, not even with a raised eyebrow, a quiet dread begins to pool in his gut, a little voice in the back of his head telling him he already knows ‘what’.

He tries to push it down, but there are very few reasons why Grace would call Judd and ask to talk to him. TK takes the proffered phone in a shaking hand, his heart starting to pound as he lifts it to his ear.

“Grace?”

“Hey, TK.” Grace’s voice is gentle, as it always is, but there’s a soothing note to it now, and more of the pieces start to slot together in TK’s head. “Listen, honey, I’m at work and I just got a call come through. I’m… I’m so sorry, TK. It was Carlos.”

TK’s breath catches, tears pricking the back of his eyes. “What do you mean?” he demands, voice shaky. “What do you mean ‘you’re sorry’?”

“He was… I don’t know. He was barely able to talk, but it sounded real bad. EMS 122 were in the area at the time so I sent them out; they should have arrived at the hospital by now.”

And TK… TK doesn’t know what to say to that. He slumps back on the bench in the rig, breathing turning shallow as he imagines what could have happened to Carlos. The last time they’d seen each other—the last time they’d spoken—it had ended with them throwing insults across the kitchen island and with TK packing a bag and slamming the door behind him.

The thought that it might be the last memory they have together kills him inside.

He needs answers. Before he can face this new reality, he needs to know what happened, which means there’s only one thing he can do right now.

“Grace?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I want to hear it.”

*

Judd has followed him up to the mercifully empty bunkroom, refusing to leave after both his and Grace’s attempts to dissuade him had failed. TK ignores him for the most part, but he does give in to his request to put the phone on speaker. Much as he wants to deal with this on his own, it is a kind of comfort to have Judd’s steady presence next to him.

“Are you sure about this, TK?” Grace asks for the millionth time. TK appreciates her concern, but he needs this. He needs to hear it for himself.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright then.”

He hears a few clicks and then the recording starts, Grace’s voice coming over the speaker.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

No response.

“Hello?”

The silence continues, broken only by static, and then what TK recognises as heavy, gasping breaths.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

A few more seconds pass, and then, “Grace.”

TK has to suppress a sob at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice—though, if he didn’t know for sure it was Carlos, he wouldn’t have recognised it. His words come out ragged and hoarse, riding on breaths that seem to be getting slower and more laboured by the second. TK clutches the phone tighter in his hand, biting down hard on his lip.

“It’s… It’s Carlos. I… Send help. Please.”

“Carlos, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

But Grace goes unanswered, and TK suddenly notices that he can no longer hear the sound of Carlos breathing. His own breaths hitch, his lungs refusing to expand properly, and his vision blurs with tears as he curls in on himself, hands braced on the edge of the bed and gripping tightly onto the covers.

He doesn’t notice Judd taking the phone back, nor is he aware of him moving to sit next to him until he’s being pulled into a strong embrace, TK’s head cradled against Judd’s chest. Judd whispers things TK doesn’t hear as his hands gently rub his back, the touch grounding him as he loses himself to tears and the overwhelming pain in his heart.

Five minutes later, TK’s phone rings.

Fifteen minutes after that, they arrive at the hospital.

*

“Please,” TK whispers, clutching onto the hand in both of his. “Please don’t make me do this. I don’t… I don’t want to live a life without you in it. I can’t, you understand me? I can’t. If you leave, I won’t survive it, so you just hang on for me, alright? Forget what the doctor thinks, you keep fighting, and come back to me. Please, Carlos. Please.”

TK looks up, hoping to see Carlos’s beautiful brown eyes staring right back at him, but of course they’re not. He might never see them again, which is something TK is still trying to wrap his head around. That’s not the only thing either; Carlos has so many injuries that he’s struggling to remember them all—the only thing he does remember with horrific clarity is the doctor’s words when he’d asked to speak to TK privately.

“We’ve done what we can, but I’m afraid Officer Reyes’s wounds are grave and there is a significant possibility that he may not make it beyond the next 48 hours. If he does, then we will re-evaluate, but currently his chances of recovery are slim. I’m truly sorry.”

TK wipes away a stray tear and presses a kiss to Carlos’s bruised knuckles. His other hand is completely shattered, and TK can barely stand to look at his face; it’s been beaten to a pulp, there’s a patch over one eye, and whoever attacked him even went so far as to rip out some of his teeth.

It’s grim, and that’s to say nothing of the rest of his body. Torture is the only word to describe what happened to Carlos—brutal, savage, and without mercy, somebody tortured him in their home.

And he was alone.

*

“Son, you didn't know.”

“That’s no excuse. I left him.”

“Carlos pushed you away. He was trying to protect you.”

“And where was I when he needed protection?”

“TK—”

“Don’t, Dad.”

*

“TK, I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Please, Mitchell. I need to know. Carlos knew something was going to happen but he chose to drive me away instead of letting me in. I just… I just want answers.”

“...I’ll see what I can do.”

*

Carlos makes it through the 48 hours, but not without incident. Somewhere around hour 32, the machines had started going haywire, summoning an army of doctors who shoved TK out of the room, leaving him to stare in through the blinds as they worked to save Carlos’s life.

They’d done it, but it had taken TK hours to come down from the resulting panic attack.

*

“Oh my god.”

Mitchell is standing at his shoulder, watching him warily as he flips through the file she brought him from the station. She keeps looking around anxiously, as if her sergeant is going to appear and arrest her for misconduct at any moment, but TK only has eyes for the images and words in front of him.

“Did you know about this?” he asks, gesturing to the myriad of threatening messages they’d apparently found in Carlos’s desk.

She shakes her head. “We noticed he’d been acting weird, but we figured something was going on between you two. He never said a word to anyone that I know of.” She pauses and sighs shakily, placing a comforting hand on TK’s shoulder. “We, um. We found some at your house, too. In Carlos’s nightstand.”

TK stares, first at Mitchell, then at the file, then at Carlos, still just as silent and motionless as he’s been since the day all this happened. “Why?” he breathes, and he doesn’t know which one of them he’s addressing the question to.

*

The doctors are amazed when they get to a week and Carlos’s heart is still beating. He still has a ventilator breathing for him and there’s still been no sign of him waking up, but he’s not giving up.

TK wants to say that he never doubted him, but he can’t ignore his paramedic training. He’d heard how badly Carlos was injured; he’d seen the crime scene photos and all the blood coating their bedroom.

(He’d needed several minutes in the bathroom to recover from that sight)

Much as he didn’t want to admit it, all the signs pointed to Carlos not making it.

But he’s still here. Still fighting. And TK can’t help but let that little bit of hope into his heart.

[jaskiersvalley]

Ooo, I would love to see more of Jaskier traveling with Lambert and Adrian that sounds like it would be fun

This is probably a little different to what you had in mind (I think this ask was off the back of the fic where Geralt doesn’t compliment Jaskier and so Lambert threatens to take him away). However, this idea has been bugging me for a good week and you gave me the perfect excuse to write it <3

Another Lifetime

The pogroms were getting worse, anti-Witcher sentiments had never been higher. Somehow, the most dangerous thing on the Path was no longer the monsters and creatures, it was humans. Over the course of a few years, following Nilfgaard's victory, the number of Witchers dwindled, they started seeking each other out and Kaer Morhen, unexpectedly, became a safe haven once more.

Come spring, nobody seemed eager to leave. They were all on edge, waiting for someone else to make a move. Not even Eskel, usually so dedicated to his role in the world, made a move to get back on the Path. Vesemir wasn't urging them either which was perhaps an even more damning piece of evidence.

"We can't just keep hiding up here," Lambert raged. "The fuckers are only going to come again."

It was the sad truth, the world wasn't safe for Witchers, not even when they retreated from the world to try and carve out their own little corner to exist in. They were running out of options, it was no longer a question of enjoying life, it was a fight for survival and the right to live.

"There may be a solution," Yennefer offered. It wasn't an option she gave lightly or even wanted to try but it was looking like the only possible way out. "The world isn't equipped to deal with Witchers. So we take you out the equation. Leave it maybe 200 years before you come back."

Time travel wasn't a possibility, they all knew that and Lambert was about to scoff when Jaskier piped up.

"That kind of magic hasn't been done in a long time. What you propose, you'll need Fae help with it."

"Just as well your heritage is enough."

The plan was hatched, it if could be called a plan. A sleeping draught to keep the Witchers in stasis until the world was ready for them again, Witchers nothing but a myth of the past and they would be free to live as they pleased. Given his Fae blood, Jaskier wouldn't need to be put to sleep, he, Yennefer and a few other sorceresses would become the sleeping Witcher's guardians. They put word out, the last few stragglers arrived at Kaer Morhen. There weren't many of them left, the four Wolves, a handful of Vipers led by Letho, a few Cats and the last Griffin. Plus Ciri who was seen to be as good as a Witcher by most, and Cahir who left Nilfgaard, risking his life for love.

Potion brewed, one last night together in the halls of Kaer Morhen before it became silent again, the guardian of sleeping Witchers and friends. One by one they drank the potion, snuggled up with their loved ones and trusted the promise that they'd wake to a better world. That the sorceresses could shape the future in a way that there was a place in the world for them.

First to wake was Lambert. It took a little while to rouse, and when he did, he frowned. The room wasn't in Kaer Morhen, he wasn't in the embrace of his lovers. Stumbling out, he found himself in a little cottage in the middle of some woods. There was not a soul in the area for miles. It took him a few days of trekking until he got to the edge of civilisation and what a sight that was. Houses like he'd never seen before, lights without fires, carriages without horses. It was bewildering, terrifying. And he was all alone. People gave him a wide berth when he tried to ask where he was, nobody seemed to care but also didn't want to help. So maybe not so much had changed in the 200 years or however long it was.

Music caught his attention. It wasn't like any he'd heard before but the voice was familiar. It was Jaskier. How he ended up in a small box was beyond Lambert but at least the owner of the tavern took some pity on him and sent him on his way with some knowledge. Jaskier lived somewhere in Redania still and, if Lambert's suspicions were right, he would be in Lettenhove still.

Thankfully he was right. The mansion had changed a lot over the years but it was still just as gaudy as ever. What hadn't changed was the welcome he got, Jaskier throwing himself at Lambert in a hug.

"We lost track of you. Welcome home!"

It turned out, Kaer Morhen was going to be destroyed. The locals had had enough of being so close to Witchers and had planned to raid it. Thankfully Triss had caught wind of it before it could happen and the sorceresses had decided that the safest thing would be to disperse and hide their sleeping charges. Except, 200 years was a long time and, after so many moves and helpers taking on the role of guardians, they accidentally lost track of who was where.

On the plus side, they were all in positions of power. Not forefront public figures but the important ones in the background who actually made things happen. Yennefer had quite the hold on the local political landscape, Triss was the one who held sway over education, Tissaia had the criminal underworld in a tight grip while Sabrina made a move into law making. It was quite the tidy setup because Lambert found himself with all the right paperwork and even qualifications within a matter of days to start his new life. Except, he didn't want a new life, not without his family. So he pestered Jaskier to write songs that, if heard, would lead the others back home too. Something about roads taking someone home to the place they belonged. Anything to get the family back together.

Aiden was next, still yawning as he stumbled in, having only been on the other side of town, in a badly sealed off cellar. He'd quiet terrified the family who lived there, knocking down their wall and strolling out while looking like some re-enactment enthusiast or general all round odd person. His reunion with Lambert was somewhat bittersweet, the two of them were together but they were still missing half of their partners. Eskel and Cahir were nowhere in reach.

One by one, over the course of the next ten years, Witchers returned home. They were all given the same warm welcome and helped to settle into life. Geralt and Jaskier were inseparable, married as soon as they could organise a wedding. Letho and his merry gang dispersed into the wind as soon as they could, eager to live a life without constraint. Rumour had it, Letho became Tissaia's righthand man and excelled at the job.

With Eskel's return, Lambert's heart healed a little more. All the Witchers turned up. About a hundred years later Ciri arrived too. Only Cahir was missing. They searched for him to no avail. Their hopes and memories dwindled. In a way, Lambert was glad he was struggling to remember his partner's scent, it made waking up without it in their bed just a little easier.

Technology moved on, the Continent was becoming better connected. While Aiden took to it better than duck to water, Lambert found himself preferring to stick to more manual work. His little mechanics shop had become quite the trusted hub. Eskel helped out from time to time but he ended up running some kind of website for cryptid hunters - something about it being part of his research. Of the three of them, Eskel was the one who couldn't give up on Cahir. Ever after hundreds of years, he kept his flame of hope alive.

When Eskel went missing with just a note to say he'll be back, Lambert did panic. It took Aiden pointing out Eskel's website updates to think that maybe things were okay. The only thing Lambert had to hope was that Eskel hadn't dashed out on a fool's errand. The article on the computer was one that could mean anything.

The Slumbering God Stirs

It was a piece about some strange sect that worshipped a sleeping god who would bring either destruction or divine blessings upon waking. And it seemed that he was going to wake up soon, whatever that meant. Lambert didn't want to think about how people assessed when a god was about to wake. In his life, there were no gods, only men who were scared or without purpose, desperate to find meaning to their existence.

Four days later, the familiar sound of Eskel's truck pulling up in front of the house. Lambert and Aiden were falling over themselves, wanting to figure out just what their partner had gone and done. They didn't expect a smug look as Eskel sauntered closer to them.

"I brought you something." He jabbed his fingers towards the truck, where the passenger seat was out of view from where it had been pushed to lie down.

Curious, Lambert and Aiden walked closer, peering in through the window. While Lambert froze at the sight, Aiden squealed, pressing up against the window.

"You found him! You found him!"

The door of the truck was almost ripped off in excitement as Lambert yanked it open, leaning in over the sleeping figure.

"Ciri took a hundred years to wake, she's got Chaos in her. Cahir is just a plain old human. You remember how difficult it was to wake up for us after the potion. It will probably take him a few days."

A pair of sleepy eyes blinked up at Lambert, accompanied by a lazy smile. With shaking hands, he lifted Cahir out of the truck, tucking him close against his chest. Eyes burning, Lambert, looked between his partners.

"He's slept for near 500 years. A few more days won't hurt. But we can give him what we didn't have. He can wake up in the arms of his family, knowing that it's all going to be okay."

[handemiyyy]

Nothing is black and white. Not even the things we judge to be the simplest such as a “are you a night owl or an early bird?” question. For every answer, for every action, behind it lies a very complex reason for why you picked a determined answer. In life, it’s the same. Things are multicolored, multifaceted and depending of a handful of factors combined that will impulse someone to take a certain action or opt for a certain answer. It really has put me into a lot of thinking when I found out the plot regarding Sen Çal Kapımı’s season 2, and seeing so many people start to take sides of such complex and delicate situation made me wonder that maybe people were not seeing the full picture, maybe they were seeing a plain image instead of the 3D situation presented to them.

If you know the characters’ story, you understand both Eda and Serkan’s actions are totally characteristic of them and correct in their own way. I’ll assume if you’re reading this you have knowledge of that, so I shall skip to the present situation and plot: Eda and Serkan broke up and stayed 5 years apart, but this turn in their love story has a bittersweet exception. Their child, Kiraz. Which Serkan does not know of.

EDA

Eda was asked to leave. After standing by his side through his cancer and thinking she’d finally live the life she dreamed with the love of her life, he broke up with her. They fought a lot, he let it explicit he’d never have a family, he closed himself to the world, to Eda, he resetted back to the robot-mode workaholic burying himself in projects that he forgot life. The life he had with Eda. His behavior affected her as well, that closed off too, and although they were together, they kept distancing from each other every day a little more. Until they saw that there was no point in that relationship. Eda shows that after 5 years his words and cold behaviour towards her still hurts her deeply, even making the analogy that she’s “just a toy” for him (ep 2 in the conversation scene with Burak). From her perspective, he decided to throw their years and relationship in the trash because he was the heartless insensitive man he was when they first met. Imagine you invest so much of yourself to someone just for this person to turn to you and tell you he doesn’t want to hear from you, or have you near. You’d be hurt. Especially after all you’ve been put through to be by his side and live your love freely. It was beyond plausible for her to leave and not look back (okay, Aydan?) and whoever had close insight of their relationship and how it deteriorated would agree with that. There’s only so much a person can handle. It was time Eda put herself first, especially when she was carrying a baby that Serkan supposedly wouldn’t want. She feared rejection, not just for her but for their baby, an innocent unborn child, a consequence of their love that was not the same anymore. He had said in her face that he didn’t want children, so she acted out of protectiveness for herself and her child. She couldn’t bare him rejecting the child. Maybe he would have changed his mind when she told him that she was pregnant, but she couldn’t have known that. Serkan turned into someone that was unrecognizable, even for Eda. He wasn’t just the cold workaholic we’ve seen in the beginning of the dizi, he was a cold-traumatized workaholic. So she escorted herself out of that relationship and did not think twice to come back around and tell him about the pregnancy when she found out in Italy. It was basically the logic that if he didn’t want her, why would he want her baby?

SERKAN

Serkan had to endure so much. After all the little things that consumed their relationship, after the plane crash, memory loss, he found out he had cancer. There is no way a person would stay the same after going through such awful disease. Serkan’s fear spoke louder than anything else, because he’s always been the kind of person to stay miserable and let her go so she doesn’t deal with the burden of being with him. Serkan’s hypochondria spoke louder telling him he was cured but not safe from cancer, and he couldn’t bare going through or putting Eda through that again. Even worse, leave her widowed. Probably the reason he kept postponing their wedding. During treatment he was still vulnerable, having Eda’s support all the way, trying to stay sane with all the mood changes and occasional insensitive behaviour towards her and everybody else. It cannot be put in words by a person that fortunately never had to go through or witness a person with cancer, but all of his “inconsistency” is more than justified. He never did it on purpose, it was the collateral effects of his disease, psychologically and physically speaking. After beating cancer, things seemed to have a bright future until it hadn’t. Serkan’s self sabotage knocked him down again, making him reset back to his old ways, except this time he had much more baggage and traumas than before. He shut everybody out, even the only person that he let in, and drowned in work, obsessed with “becoming immortal” through his projects. He forgot life, he forgot the love of his life. Not because he wanted to, but because his unconscious wanted to protect himself, and her. What if cancer came back? He knew very much of diseases as a person so worried about his health, he knew there were chances that it would come back. He’s gone through it once and barely survived, he’s seen the state he’s put him and Eda’s relationship through, he felt like a burden more than ever before. He didn’t want to hold her back, he didn’t want to have her stuck with him, taking care of his ill self that wasn’t even sure would make through the cancer treatment. He always felt unworthy of her, imagine now. He didn’t want children, because he feared they’d become fatherless. He didn’t want to set a wedding date, because he feared he’d leave his wife a widow. Or not make her happy. And he knew they weren’t happy. Because once he digged back down on his workaholic hole, he didn’t come back up again. It was stronger than him, he kept pushing her away and burying himself deeper. And she closed off just like him, so they both closed off in their own lonely cocoon and started to slowly become strangers again. Until one day he asked her to leave, and she didn’t see a reason to stay.

—

He told her to leave, he told her to stay far away from him because he wanted to protect her, and most selfishly, himself from more potential pain, suffering and heartbreak. He thought it’d be the less hurtful way (just like the plot of the secret about Eda’s parents accident), except he just made it worse for her. It doesn’t mean he’s a monster, a heartless human or an ungrateful bastard as many people are portraying him to be. It makes him human, it makes him a human with fears and insecurities, too aware of his own mortality and how it would affect the people that were dearest to him. Because when you’re sick, not only you go through stuff, the people around you, the people that loves and cares for you also goes through it all with you, to the point it can affect them personally too. He never came around and explained his reasons, because when he closed off his feelings were shut off. He bottled it all up and never said a thing, leaving Eda thinking the absolute worst of him and that still reflects in her hesitance about him 5 years later with an apparent normal Serkan back in her life. Serkan, now fully recovered and back to being himself, finds Eda again and everything he’s been trying to keep hidden, all the suppressed feelings and unfinished business he’s had with her, came back banging. He can’t let her go, he said it himself at that night talk. He can’t because he still needs to say a lot to her, to apologize to her even though it was NOT his fault. NEVER his fault. Nor hers, for leaving.

Serkan beat cancer years ago, but he never went looking for her. We’ve seen enough of their story and Serkan’s fears to know that he’s always felt that he wasn’t enough for her and that he’s brought to her life only pain, so it’s totally understandable why he never reached to her when he was sane again. He wanted her to be happy and free and she would only be able to do that if she was far away from him. And of course, Eda being hurt wouldn’t want to come back, wouldn’t want to keep in touch with him, so she cut ties entirely. She was on her right to not come to him when she found out about the pregnancy, because she knew he still wasn’t him. He was barely fighting for himself, living for himself, caring for himself, how would he do that for a child? But then he comes back… now what? Eda wants to run away from him, afraid he’d hurt her the way he did before. But he’s not that post-cancer Serkan, he still has the scars and the trauma but you can clearly see that he’s back to being the old Robot Bolat. He’s still closed off, but the initial scare and fear of abandonment disappeared with the passing years of him being healthy again. He sees Eda and he wants to be around her again, because he never truly wanted to part ways with her. Eda hides a secret, a secret she’s not right nor wrong to hide, she just figured it was best. And even in the first moments of him being around, it’s understandable that she wanted to hide the fact she has a child to him, as it may be a huge shock and turn of events. She doesn’t trust him, more precisely his reaction, and she’s unsure of what to expect. She needs him to give her a proof that he’s not the same unstable Serkan she witnessed before she left. She needs him to open up, he needs to open up to her. That is just it, the reason none of them could ever move forward, apart of their ever growing and intense love for each other. They still have a lot that was not talked, that was not finished, they didn’t solve their issues, therefore they didn’t heal.

Tell me how can you blame a mother for choosing her child over any possible heartbreak? How can you blame a woman for walking away after being so emotionally drained and not being able to put up with an exhausting relationship for BOTH of them? How can you blame her for not wanting to live that life with him when he wasn’t putting any effort on their relationship or on his fiancée? How could she guess what he was feeling, what he wanted to say, what were the reasons for his behavior if he closed off and never spoke a word?

Tell me how can you blame a traumatized man with so many complexities for closing off and pushing everybody away in order to not hurt them? How can you blame an hypochondriac man for wanting his beloved to be free from any strings attached to him and his disease because he can’t bare the fact he could possibly die and leave her suffering? How can you blame a human being that has gone through such a traumatic disease and invasive treatment as cancer that affects the whole being, physically and mentally, and transforms them into someone vulnerable and afraid? How can you blame this man for acting the way he did when he’s only done that because of all the fears he’s been accumulating since his childhood, his psychological traumas. How can it be his fault?

Serkan would die for Eda if it didn’t mean she would suffer for his loss.

Eda would be unhappy for eternity if it meant she could stay by Serkan’s side.

They would do anything for each other, and at one way or another, they did. Until their relationship deteriorated and they couldn’t keep going on, because they were losing themselves in an endless looping of traumas and pain. They were together but together they couldn’t do the healing, they were so exhausted they couldn’t heal each other nor themselves, it became unhealthy for them. But beware, it WAS NOT any of them’s fault, it qas just how they were living their lives. Their post-traumatic lives.

Sometimes there’s no right or wrong, there are just different point of views of a certain situation that’s so hard to grasp and so difficult to understand unless you’re personally living it. But trying to put yourself in their shoes also would do.

So please, yeter with the Eda AND SERKAN slander. Both were in their own right.

[tyrantisterror]

THE A.T.O.M. CREATE A KAIJU CONTEST 3-D!!!

YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE SAFE!  YOU THOUGHT THAT THE TIME OF MONSTERS WAS AT AN END!  BUT YOU WERE WRONG, FOR NOW YOU MUST WITNESS…

THE A.T.O.M. CREATE A KAIJU CONTEST 3-D!!!

That’s right, it’s back!  Celebrating the publication of The Atomic Time of Monsters Volume 2: Tyrantis Roams the Earth! (which in turn completes The Ballad of Tyrantis arc for this series), I’m holding another monster design jam.  The third of such jams, in fact!

Like the first A.T.O.M. Create a Kaiju Contest, the aim of this contest is to create kaiju that would fit within the setting of my big kaiju story series, The Atomic Time of Monsters.  Think of it as me letting you into my sandbox to play with my toys for a bit, or like you’re being put in the director’s chair of a new ATOM-verse kaiju movie.  That means your entry does have to fit into ATOM’s world, which in turn means that yes, there are limitations to your creativity here.  But limitations can be good sometimes - they can make us explore options we wouldn’t consider when given completely free rein to do what we want!

(also you don’t have to make a three dimensional image or anything, the title’s just a pun on how the third movie in a monster movie franchise will often be a 3-D film)

Read below the cut to learn the rules and whatnot:

THE RULES:

1.  You are limited to one entry per person.  Work hard and make your entry count!

2.  Your kaiju must have some sort of description of its physical appearance and its personality - you can submit a drawing or a written description (or both!) for the physical appearance depending on what you’re most comfortable with.  Using the same template/format as my official ATOM Kaiju Files (https://horrorflora.com/monster-menageries/atom-kaiju-files/) isn’t required, but it was cool when people did it in the last contest, so feel free to do so this time too!

3. The kaiju you create must specifically be created for this contest  - no repurposing characters you made for other, wildly different stories.  This is not “trick TT into drawing/canonizing my main OC” time.

4. The kaiju must fit the setting and aesthetics of ATOM.  I’ll explain this in more detail down below.

5. The kaiju should add something meaningful to the world of ATOM. The more unique and interesting your kaiju is, the more likely you will win the contest.

6. Don’t make your kaiju too dependent on pre-existing ATOM characters - no “Tyrantis’s long lost evil brother who’s the strongest kaiju in the world.” These should be to Tyrantis’s story what War of the Gargantuas is to Godzilla’s movies – heroes (well, monsters) of another story in the same world.

THE REWARDS:

I will make pencil sketches of the top 5 entries in the contest.

I will then make fully rendered illustrations (lineart, colors, & shading) of the top three entries.

The winning entry will be made into a model ala the ones I’ve been making for ATOM’s core 50 monsters, which can then be shipped to the person who created it (should they be able to cover the shipping costs).  That’s right, your kaiju could be brought to life in THREE GLORIOUS TECHNICOLOR DIMENSIONS!  (Hey, we worked the gag title in to the prizes!)

THE DEADLINE: All entries must be submitted by July 3rd, 2021.  You can submit it here on tumblr, via the horror flora e-mail, or any other channel you know how to reach me through.  I’m in a lot of places.

THE GUIDELINES (TO HELP YOUR ENTRY FIT THE RULES AND WIN):

The smartest thing you could do if you want to win this contest is familiarize yourself with the world of ATOM by, y’know, reading all the material I’ve published on the subject.  In addition to the many kaiju files that are free to read on horrorflora.com, there are now TWO, count ‘em, TWO novels in this series for you to peruse, both of which establish many of the rules of the setting as well as its general themes and tone!  You can get them in either paperback or e-book formatting (I’d recommend the former over the latter since I lack the technology to make a really nice ebook, but if money is an object, the kindle version is only $1).  Here’s the links again if you missed them:

Vol. 1: Tyrantis Walks Among Us!

Vol. 2: Tyrantis Roams the Earth!

However, since I know reading a bunch of stuff is, y’know, not something everyone is inclined to do, I’ll jot some good bullet points for you in an attempt to outline how ATOM works in a brief, easily digested way:

ATOM is an homage to the monster fiction of the 1950’s and 60’s (i.e. the Atomic Age), and is set in those two decades, albeit an alternate universe version of them where, y’know, monsters and space aliens exist.  If you aren’t familiar with the monster fiction I’m referring to, there will be some reference material provided at the end of this post along with some recommendations for further research.

Kaiju/giant monsters in ATOM work under very specific rules.  There’s a full description of those rules at this link, but here’s the jist:

ATOM Kaiju are created created by the radiation of a mineral called Yamaneon, which naturally converts harmful radiation into its own unique energy.  In natural circumstances, it takes hundreds of years of exposure to Yamaneon radiation for a creature to become fully transform into a kaiju (luckily, Yamaneon radiation slows the aging process while speeding up the healing process).  However, an explosive burst of energy - such as the geothermal and kinetic energy released by an earthquake, or the blast of a nuclear weapon - can speed up the process, turning a normal animal into a kaiju within a matter of seconds.  

All ATOM kaiju can heal grievous wounds within minutes or even seconds, are supernaturally strong and durable, and can convert harmful radiation to harmless energy that they then feed off of.  Kaiju do not have an equivalent of old age, and can theoretically live forever (though their violent lifestyle means that few do).

ATOM Kaiju generally don’t need to eat unless they are severely injured, getting most of the energy they need from solar or geothermal radiation - but many still have instincts that drive them to seek out food from time to time.

Most ATOM kaiju stand roughly 100 feet tall (depending on their body shape), i.e. smaller than the original 1954 Godzilla.  There are exceptions to this rule - younger kaiju can be smaller, while exceedingly old kaiju can be significantly larger, but these are rare.

In general, ATOM kaiju are significantly more intelligent and emotionally complex than people expect animals to be, though most are incapable of speech or complex tool use.  There’s a reason ATOM Kaiju Files have a “personality” section.

Most ATOM Kaiju are tooth and claw fighters - ranged weapons are a rarity in this setting.

While the terrestrial monsters in ATOM look strange, they are intended to fit within the taxonomy of animals in reality - reptiles, mammals, fish, arthropods, molluscs, etc.

ATOM’s mesozoic era was dominated by a fictional clade of crocodile-relatives called retrosaurs, which are based on the outdated paleoart that one would find in the 1950’s/60’s fiction - i.e. when dinosaurs were viewed as trail dragging lizards instead of strange birds.  You can learn more about retrosaurs here (https://horrorflora.com/2016/11/15/atom-kaiju-file-bonus-a-guide-to-retrosaurs/).

Kaiju appear on every continent in ATOM, but certain areas tend to be dominated by different types.

North America is mainly besieged by retrosaur kaiju and giant arthropods.

East Asia is technically also mainly plagued by retrosaurs and big arthropods, though they tend to look more fantastical and mythic - and, often, oddly well suited to being portrayed by a person wearing a monster suit.

Russia is beset by prehistoric monsters that seem to come from the Cenozoic, particularly the Ice Age.

Western Europe is plagued by creatures that vaguely resemble creatures from myth, if they were also prehistoric.  Dragon-y lizards, fiery birds, etc.

Towards the mid-way point of ATOM’s timeline, earth is invaded by a coalition of aliens from different solar systems called the Beyonder Alliance, and as a result a bunch of alien monsters can be found on earth.

Mars and Venus both host (or hosted in Mars’s case) animal life.  The surviving Martians colonized Venus, and sent some of their kaiju guardians to earth to help us fend off the Beyonders (who are responsible for the destruction of Mars’s ecosystem).  Martian and Venusian kaiju have specific anatomical quirks, which you can see by looking at these kaiju files:

Venusians:

https://horrorflora.com/2017/01/03/atom-kaiju-file-29-karamtor/

Martians:

https://horrorflora.com/2017/01/17/atom-kaiju-file-39-kemlasulla/

https://horrorflora.com/2017/01/17/atom-kaiju-file-40-podritak/

https://horrorflora.com/2017/01/17/atom-kaiju-file-41-sombarvot/

https://horrorflora.com/2017/01/17/atom-kaiju-file-38-ullawdra/

Giant robots exist in ATOM, but are big, bulky, and incredibly expensive.  Fancy beam weapons also exist, but are similarly clunky - there are no sleek, elegant machines in ATOM.

Since the fiction ATOM takes inspiration from was made at a time when interplanetary travel was only just beginning to be possible, its scope is significantly smaller than modern sci-fi.  Alternate universes/dimensions were pretty uncommon because the idea of alien planets still held a lot of wonder to it.  So, as a general rule, don’t try to go farther than the one galaxy.

ATOM is a setting for stories that are focused on humanity learning to coexist with monsters, rather than humanity destroying them.  A certain level of sympathy is put into almost every creature of its canon, even the ones that are meant to be villains.

REFERENCE MATERIAL

Here is a playlist of 1950′s monster movie trailers.  

Here is some reference material from various monster comics of the 50′s and 60′s. 

Good movies to track down to understand ATOM’s inspiration and tone include Ghidorah the 3 Headed Monster, Son of Godzilla, Destroy All Monsters, Them!, The Black Scorpion, 20 Million Miles to Earth, Gamera, The Giant Claw, and The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra.

And here’s the intro cutscenes for all the different giant monsters in the PS2 videogame War of the Monsters.

[aimoosh-blog]

BERSERK: A MASTERSTROKE IN VIOLENCE

Berserk is a series that is both influential and overlooked. This might sound pretentious to fans of the gory medieval anime, but hear me out. Despite having a long-running manga which was originally released back in the ‘90's, after two anime series, a trilogy of movies and various video game adaptations, Berserk still remains somewhat niche and obscure.

The series is known for its gruesome imagery and I would strongly advise that if you've experienced abuse or are easily affected by violent and distressing material, that this series simply isn't for you. However, it's this cycle of violence that makes Berserk so compelling. 

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and the Soulsborne series doesn't shy away from this. Hidetaka Miyazaki has openly discussed how Berserk inspired games like Dark Souls and Bloodborne and you don't have to look far to find Berserk's influence spread throughout the Souls series.

But when you think of your favourite hefty sword-wielding himbo, I'm sure Guts isn't the first to spring to mind. Before we get into the debate of who wore it better, let's talk about Berserk's creator.

The most distinct and memorable aspect of Berserk is the apparent pleasure the series takes with relishing visceral imagery which is brought to life by Kentaro Miura. Berserk's first volume was released in 1990 when Miura was twenty-two years old. At this point in his life, Miura was already experienced within the industry after having written his first manga at the age of ten and eventually self-publishing in 1982.

With his experience and indisputable style, Miura's abhorrent rendition of the numerous satanic beasts and mythological creatures that populate the bloodthirsty world of Berserk, are both horrifying and captivating. The series manages to succeed in simultaneously being horrendously violent and strikingly beautiful. This parallel is prominent throughout the story and feeds the reader/viewer with a morbid curiosity.

The first and most obvious juxtaposition can be found in Guts' and Griffith's appearance. If you put Berserk in front of a newbie, they would most likely assume that the androgynous Griffith was the series’ main hero.

With his petite frame, feminine features, and charismatic charm, he certainly looks the part of a typical anime protagonist. Especially when set side by side with Guts who's hulking physique, stoic disposition, and hardened exterior is a stark contrast to the Hawk of Light. But scratch the surface and you'd find something entirely different.

Once you pull back the curtain and look beyond his angelic façade, you'd uncover Griffith's selfish, almost sociopathic personality which is accompanied with an unyielding ambition to stop at nothing until he achieves his dream. In contrast, Guts’ intimidating appearance and seemingly aloof attitude are a front concealing a lonely and tormented individual.

Shrouded by death, Guts was born from the corpse of his executed mother and eventually discovered by a group of mercenaries, who find the infant beneath a hanging tree covered in blood and entrails. The baby is presumed to be dead until he begins to cry, to which prostitute Shisu immediately rushes to comfort the child and is permitted to keep the newborn by leader Gambino. The baby is given the name Guts after the gory manner in which he was found. However, many members of the group are unsettled by Guts’ arrival and consider it a bad omen. 

Shisu had been deemed mad following her miscarriage and quickly became attached to Guts as a result. The pair seemed destined to meet but their happiness is tragically short-lived as three years later, Guts’ adoptive mother contracts the plague and dies while Guts watches over her. Unfortunately Shisu’s death only strengthens rumors about Guts’ reputation as a source of bad luck.

Guts promptly begins practicing swordsmanship and joins Gambino on the battlefield in an effort to gain approval. However, one night while Guts is sleeping in his tent, fellow sellsword Donovan, sneaks in and forces himself on the young boy. Guts later lures his abuser away and forces his sword down Donovan’s throat, killing him. No longer feeling safe, Guts begins to sleep clutching his sword.

Guts’ relationship with Gambino rapidly deteriorates following Shisu’s death. Gambino resents Guts for the subsequent loss of his leg and fixates on the misfortune that seems to have followed the boy. Gambino soon begins to verbally and physically abuse Guts, and consequently makes an attempt on Guts’ life. It’s in this moment that Gambino confesses that he had sold Guts to Donovan for the night. 

Horrified by this revelation, Guts is forced to kill his paternal figure in an act of self-defence and is hunted down by Gambino's men. After narrowly escaping with his life and defending himself against a pack of wolves, Guts eventually falls unconscious. The cycle begins again as he is discovered and enlisted by a separate mercenary group where he becomes a child soldier.

After surviving battlefield to battlefield, Guts eventually crosses paths with the Band of the Hawk. Impressed by his skills, leader Griffith, openly expresses that he is eager for Guts to join the Band of the Hawk. Guts agrees to this proposal but only if Griffith defeats him in a duel. Much to Guts’ disgust, he is defeated and begrudgingly joins the new group of mercenaries. But soon finds himself at home among his companions within the Band of the Hawk and is swiftly promoted to Captain of the Raiders.

It is clear that Guts is conflicted in the first arc of the story. After years of coping with isolation and abuse, he is torn between carving his own path or sticking with the Band of the Hawk. It's safe to say that whether you read the manga or watch the anime, the series doesn't sugar-coat the trauma Guts is forced to endure. But despite everything, Guts still carries on and it’s his mental fortitude that makes him such a sympathetic character.

But after forming strong friendships and concealing an unrequited love, it's Guts' decision to leave the Band of the Hawk and break free of Griffith's control that ultimately leads to The Band of the Hawk's downfall.

Amidst this complicated bromance you have Casca. A seasoned warrior who commands the respect of The Band of the Hawk and is Griffiths right hand – that is until Guts steals the spotlight. This setup may sound like a clichéd love triangle but Casca plays a crucial role in Berserk. Without her, Guts would've likely given up following the aftermath of the eclipse. She is the driving force in the story, feeding Guts' lust for revenge.

If you're considering checking out Berserk, I can highly recommend the manga as the best way to consume the series, as you are able to see Miura hone his craft over the years and create some truly remarkable panels. Another benefit is that with over 300 chapters, you'll have more than enough content to keep you occupied. But if that's not your style you have a few options to choose from.

The Golden Age Arc Film Trilogy concisely summaries the first narrative arc, if you want to get up to speed quickly. The larger budget in the subsequent movies allows for less 3D animation and more stunning hand-drawn sequences. However, if you have the time and patience for it, the 1997 adaptation spares no details and has an alluring nostalgic 90's aesthetic, if you can forgive it being a little rough around the edges.

Whichever version you decide to pick if you still can't get enough, I would advise saving the 2016 Berserk anime for last. Not only because it takes place after the first arc and follows the aftermath of the eclipse, but fans of the series have openly criticised this version's cheap animation style that fails to do justice to Miura’s concepts.

As previously mentioned, Berserk is unashamed in its cruelty and some might say the series renowned violence is needlessly excessive. Although this may seem off-putting, Berserk also has it's softer moments. It's in these more subdued scenes that you're drawn deeper into the fascinating narrative.

If asked how best to describe the series, I would say that it's the love child of Japanese horror artist, Junji Ito and fantasy author, George R. R. Martin. The medieval-fantasy setting allows for breath-taking architecture and scenery which often resembles Salvador Dali's surrealist paintings, but inhabited with monsters from Hieronymus Bosch's famous works such as The Harrowing of Hell. It's this contrast that makes Berserk so bewitching, in the thick of all the violence, gore, and carnage, you have a tragic story bursting with drama, rivalry, betrayal, lost love, and most importantly, revenge.

But if The Last of Us Part 2 taught us anything about seeking revenge, it is that it comes at a high price. However, the story remains largely unfinished with the current hiatus and recent chapter having been released as far back as 2019, it's uncertain when we'll see how this revenge story will play out. Nevertheless much like the A Song of Fire and Ice series, having no ending has its positives...

[cosmicjoke]

Alright, onto chapter 5 of “No Regrets” and then I’ll do the last three chapters tomorrow.

 The first thing I took note of was how after everyone gets to the castle ruins, Levi reminds Furlan and Isabel that they’re still outside the walls, and that anything could happen, so they should “stay sharp.”.  Once again we see Levi being concerned with the safety of his friends, remind them not to put their guards down.  This leads into the next scene, where Furlan remarks that he never thought they’d be able to stop a titan so easily, and reaffirms his faith in Levi’s strength by saying as long as Levi’s with them, they’ll survive somehow.  Levi responds to this with some self-doubt, which is really interesting and will tie into some other observations I’ve made about this chapter, later on.  He says if there’s more than one of those abnormal titans, he’s not so sure they’ll be alright.  Clearly, he’s concerned for the wellbeing of his friends while they’re on the outside like this.  He doesn’t feel totally confident.

He then asks Furlan if he’s sure Erwin’s brought the documents with him outside the Walls, which tells us that they’ve obviously had previous discussions about this, that it was a group decision between them, of the necessity of leaving the walls in order to get close enough to Erwin to get the papers.  Furlan says he made sure, talking about how he searched Erwin’s office top to bottom, observing that he found a bunch of unrelated documents, and in particular, a locked drawer which he found suspicious.  Now what I find interesting here is Furlan’s internal thoughts, because I think he realized Erwin’s intentions already, but he dismissed his suspicions based on them seeming unlikely to him.  But in his memory, he thinks, when he sees the locked drawer, that it’s almost like it was made to be searched, and upon opening it, he finds plenty of secret looking documents, but not the ones they need. He then wonders if Erwin is trying to tell him that they’re not there.  What’s so interesting about this is just how deep is shows Erwin’s manipulation of this situation actually goes, and how many steps ahead he actually is. We saw in chapter 3 how Erwin was standing at his office window, observing Furlan, which tells us that he was always aware that Furlan was going to try and find the documents, which in turn lead to Erwin arranging his office to nudge Furlan in the right direction, of thinking the documents aren’t anywhere at HQ.  Furlan picks up on this possibility, that Erwin is in fact manipulating them, wondering to himself if Erwin WANTS him to think he has the papers on him, giving him the “run around”, but he dismisses the thought out of hand a moment later.  What this tells me is just how in control Erwin is here, and it made me think that it’s possible Erwin influenced Furlan’s thinking in this direction, to assuming Erwin had the papers with him, as a means of keeping him, Levi and Isabel there in the military longer, delaying their escape, so that he could intentionally force them outside the walls on an expedition, so he could see what they were actually capable of.  At the end of chapter 4, after seeing Levi take down that abnormal titan, he observes to himself, “So your wings are the real thing, after all, Levi.”.  This is just speculation on my part, but given what a masterful manipulator Erwin really is, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was his plan the whole time, knowing Levi and his friends wouldn’t and couldn’t leave until they had the documents.

Alright, next observation. It’s kind of funny how, after laying out his plan to search Erwin’s bags with Isabel, and asking Levi to guard the passageway Erwin went down with Shadis, and to stop him if he started to come back before they were finished, Levi’s first assumption is that he should start a fight with Erwin, lol.

More interesting is when Furlan says to Levi “Don’t kill him, even by accident.  After all, if we lose an officer outside the walls, we’ll be in trouble, too.”.  Because it tells us that they weren’t ever planning on killing Erwin outside of the walls when they went out on expedition.  The goal was to try and find the documents, and hoping going beyond the walls would yield an opportunity to do so.  This is another, vital change from the visual novel.  In that, Levi is still obsessing over killing Erwin, over any consideration for the original plan, ranting even that he’s going to make Erwin get down on his knees and beg for his life before killing him, and that just struck me as wildly out of character for him.  They wisely took out that entire piece of dialog here, and instead we lead into a scene of Levi guarding the passageway, and remembering the whole reason for why he agreed to come to the surface in the first place. We go into a flashback of Lovof’s messenger making contact with Levi and the others, propositioning them with Lovof’s commission.  What’s really important in this scene is Levi’s initial reaction to the proposal. He’s immediately skeptical and disbelieving, and doesn’t want anything to do with it.  He tells the messenger so, and tells him “Go back up there and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything.”.  Levi shows great instincts here, sensing the danger present for him and his friends, and outright rejects any association.  It’s Furlan, then, who steps in and shows interest in the deal, calling the messenger back.  Levi’s clearly confused, but yields to Furlan’s look, and Furlan proceeds to tell the messenger that they’ll have to think about it, but that they’re interested. Levi’s clearly not happy about this, and once the messenger leaves, he begins to protest, but Furlan cuts him off and starts to lay out his plan to tail the messenger to find out who his employer is.  Isabel expresses disbelief that Furlan actually means to go through with this plan, and Furlan again brings up the dream of making it out of the Underground, talking about how rare a chance it is, to actually live in the Capital, obviously trying to entice both Levi and Isabel with the notion.  Levi points out that even if they get the documents, it’ll just lead to them being Lovof’s next targets, and Furlan responds with his plan to blackmail Lovof instead.  Levi’s still dubious on this idea, asking Furlan if he really thinks “those pigs will care about a threat from the Underground?”, and Furlan responds that it’s worth a shot.  He then implores Levi and Isabel again, saying “Come on, you two, don’t you want to make it up there?”, and we cut back to Levi in the present, contemplating Furlan’s words.  Again, we see Levi thinking long and hard on Furlan’s dreams here, over any thoughts he has of Erwin or revenge.  He’s prioritizing Furlan’s wishes over his own still, thoughts occupied by what his friend wants.

Now, this leads into a really interesting and meaningful encounter with Erwin.

Well, the first thing I notice in the exchange is when Erwin calls Levi’s friends his “subordinates”, and Levi responds with “They’re not my subordinates…”.  This tells us so much about how he views himself in relation to Furlan and Isabel.  He doesn’t see himself as their leader.  He doesn’t want to control them.  He just sees himself as their friend, and protector.

Now the conversation between Levi and Erwin gets really interesting when Erwin starts talking about having seen Levi take down the abnormal titan from earlier, and he observes that with a natural like Levi around, the others must feel safer.  Levi looks at Erwin with wide eyes, before responding to him that the reason he was able to figure out how to fight that titan before was because he watched how it moved as it ate another soldier.  I think Levi’s feelings of guilt here are pretty obvious.  He feels bad for having watched another soldier die, and using his observations while watching to figure out how to kill the titan.  It’s like he’s arguing with Erwin here, telling him the others shouldn’t feel safer with him around, that they shouldn’t rely on him.  Levi is showing doubt in himself here, again, just like earlier when he pushed back again Furlan’s claims that as long as he’s with them, they’ll be safe.  Interestingly, it’s Erwin who essentially tells Levi here that he shouldn’t feel guilty, that the SC is built on those types of sacrifices, and that as long as they’re fighting to take back the world for humanity, none of the soldiers there would feel regret for dedicating themselves to such a cause.   I think this is actually the start of the turning point in how Levi views Erwin.  He looks at him here with an almost astonished expression, like he’s seeing Erwin in a sudden, new light.  Like he’s starting to doubt his own, initial impressions of him, and wonder if maybe he wasn’t totally right.  But before he can think on it further, Isabel shows up and calls him away.

Levi then learns that Furlan and Isabel weren’t able to find the documents, essentially confirming that if they’re anywhere, they have to be on Erwin’s person, which leads to the inevitability of having to kill him if they want to get their hands on the papers. Levi’s find with this, because it’s what he wants to do anyway, even as Furlan shows continued apprehension.

And then we get the scene with Hange.

It’s pretty funny that Levi was about to gut Hange, for real, when he thought she had overheard their conversation.  It tells us how far he’s willing to go though to protect his friends.

Still, this whole scene is actually pretty moving, in its way.  Because Hange is really the first person to express genuine gratitude towards Levi and his friends, and treat them as genuine equals, to which we see Isabel in particular respond after seemingly being unimpressed.   Even Levi seems stunned, muttering out “thanks”, like he doesn’t know what else to say as Hange heaps praise on them.  It’s also funny how Furlan has to remind Levi to “be nice.”.  Poor Levi just doesn’t know how to socialize.

But the important part of this scene is when Hange points out how everyone there is wanting to know how Levi was able to take down a titan so easily, drawing their attention, and Levi’s in particular, to the other soldiers watching them.  Hange affirms what Erwin had said to Levi earlier, about how his presence there made the others feel safer, when she says “You’ve given them hope that humans don’t have to lose to the titans if we fight correctly.”. And we see here, I think, the first seeds being planted in Levi’s mind that he might be able to do more, that he might be able to actually help these people.  He’s been told as much twice in quick succession.  I think this is where Levi starts to get the idea for the first time that he might have found somewhere where he belongs.  We’ll get more into this next chapter, when I talk about his conversation with Isabel.  But for now, after Hange asks him again if he has any advice, he tells them he just has his own way of doing things, and he can’t teach it to anybody.  When she tries to insist, he blows her off and looks away.  

Furlan asks Levi, after Hange leaves, what the big deal is in just showing them some simple trick, and Levi says he doesn’t want to be responsible for the loves of anyone other than you two.  This is really important, because it again tells us a lot about Levi’s psychology here. He doesn’t want to teach these people how to fight because he doesn’t want to be responsible for them getting hurt or killed.  Just as he expressed discomfort earlier with what Erwin said, and his own sense of guilt over how he figured out how to fight the titan, Levi really seems to me like he’s afraid here of failing to protect others, and actually harbors deep doubts about his own ability to do so.  So even as we know people tend to flock around Levi and follow him in the belief he can protect them, Levi himself is afraid that he isn’t strong enough to help them the way they want him to.  It’s indicative of someone who’s experienced deep loss in their life, which we know Levi has at this point.  Someone who’s afraid of making attachments because he doesn’t want to have to experience the pain of that loss ever again.  And it shows a painful insecurity in Levi.  He wants to help people, but he doesn’t want to end up failing them, or doing something which could lead to them getting hurt or killed.  He doesn’t want to be responsible for their lives, because he’s afraid he can’t be.  

Furlan tells him not to be so dramatic, and Levi doesn’t say anything in return, but we see a resigned, saddened look on his face, like he knows Furlan wouldn’t understand if he tried to explain how he feels.

Then we get Isabel’s comment about not understanding trying to take back the world for humanity, but her starting to realize the Scouts genuinely believe in what they’re doing. We see Levi’s silence again in response, but this one is more contemplative.  He himself is starting to realize the same as Isabel.  That these people really believe in what they’re saying.  And again we go back to the first seeds of a sense of belonging starting to develop in Levi, even before his big moment with Erwin at the end.  He’s starting to sense that maybe he’s found a place where he belongs, where he can actually use his abilities in a way that could make an actual difference in the world. It’s subconscious at this point, but Levi is starting to get that sense I think.

Anyway, I’ll be making observations about the last three chapters tomorrow.  Thanks again for reading guys!

[defyances]

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀

( where yugen is so incredibly obsessed with this woman that she decides to rant about her )

on: her followers

to start us off, we’ll discuss the main event of irelia’s performance: her relationship with blossoming blade. they are very close with each other, and it can be interpreted as platonic or romantic. i only say this because they establish their relationship as teacher/student, a platonic/familial bond that can be as powerful as a romantic one. but i also digress, given the affectionate remarks they give each other such as:

irelia: i wish i could give you silks, but i must give you steel. blossoming blade: stay by my side. i cannot ask for more.

irelia: ionians into formation! blossoming blade: i’d follow you to the black heart of noxus itself.

&& there is so much more. blossoming blade is not confident in her ability to fight, much like irelia && her lack of confidence in her ability to lead, which might explain why irelia has some sort of connection to her. she sees her as a mirror of herself, and much like she needed at one point, blossoming blade needs someone to support her. so, she will give that plus much more. lastly, irelia’s reaction upon blossoming blade’s death; it is simply undeniable that they love each other.

i am a bit bothered by the lack of interactions between irelia && zinneia since it is implied that zinneia is her former mentor:

irelia: zinneia, you are a master at your craft. zinneia: and fate has sent you to give my craft purpose.

irelia: as a child, i watched you dance at the placidium every spring. zinneia: it was your bravery that brought me to the fight.

i was hoping to have more information on their relationship && the sort of impact zinneia had on irelia, but at the same time, it gives me the opportunity to fill in the gaps! given zinneia’s interactions with the rest of irelia’s followers, she is an elder ( we will not talk about how that isn’t reflected in her card art ) who leads the dance program at the placidium. while irelia’s o’ma taught her how to dance, zinneia perfected it with her lessons, and she became the mother/grandmother figure in her life once all her family members passed away. it assures me that irelia did have a support system ( even if a part of her might disagree. ) i will do a more thorough ( * headcanon based ) look at their relationship in another post.

when irelia said she is a warm && caring person, she really meant it. she cares a great deal for her followers as shown:

coastal defender: generations tended this land. i cannot leave. irelia: we must retreat for now, but i promise we’ll return.

ribbon dancer: stand behind me! they won’t hurt you. irelia: if they hurt you, i’d never forgive myself.

fighting for your freedom is important, yes but not so recklessly. if a battle isn’t turning out in their favor, irelia would rather retreat and keep her followers safe rather than dying in vain. her tone is mother-like, always worrying for them even though they are confident and determined to protect their home, and at their deaths, she is torn apart. she is both grateful ( ‘ your sacrifice mattered ’ ) && heartbroken ( ‘ so young . . . ’ ), which is why i emphasize her hesitance to believe in herself as a leader. she is responsible for their lives and for each that falls, she fails. she cannot fail them ( something she says herself upon the death of her card ); her people deserve to live to see the day of bittersweet victory.

on: noxus

as expected, irelia harbors a lot of hate towards them, and rightfully so. however, what i want to talk about is riot confirming my assumption on how deep this hate runs.

imperial demolitionist: for the empire. irelia: so young, already so wicked.

imperial demolitionist: remember the objectives. irelia: ‘murder the innocent’ and ‘destroy their homes’?

for those who don’t know, imperial demolitionist is a child. irelia is speaking to a child and not in a tone you would expect an adult would talk to a child ( especially one who was brainwashed to commit awful atrocities. ) this confirmed my headcanon of irelia’s white && black mentality: no matter who you are or how you came to be, if you are noxian, she will kill you. she will refuse to see you as anything but a tyrant, and she will continue to allow this hate to fester and dehumanize noxus as a whole. she won’t even refer to them by name! she has her reasons, given how much they have taken away from her, but it doesn’t make it right. as we all know, noxus has slaves, ranging from adult to children, and will send them to war whether they volunteered or not. they have to act in order to survive, but irelia can’t see that they’re trying to live; she sees them trying to kill her home, so in turn, she’ll kill them. && that is a flaw i will cover more on in another post.

even though the faith in herself wavers, the passion to protect ionia doesn’t with how confident she talks back to the noxians. she threatens them, promises to kill them, even when faced with their technology and their machinery. she has that much faith in her people and the land, and it’s admirable. no wonder why people follow her.

on: shurima

i never expected interactions between irelia and the shurimans ( especially with azir and nasus ), but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless! azir && irelia are two fierce leaders, fighting tooth and nail to secure the safety of their homes; however, the difference between their idea of leading is evident within their interactions.

azir: a leader must see victory beyond each loss. irelia: my heart weeps for every fallen ally.

azir: war is an instrument that can make or destroy its leaders. irelia: instruments create beauty; war ends it.

from my perspective, azir isn’t so affected by the loss of lives in the war like irelia is ( it could be because he’s become desensitized after leading for so long or he truly doesn’t care ), and i could be wrong as i am not so familiar with azir. but with irelia, it is obvious that she is very sensitive towards the death of her people. whether they were close to her or not, as far as she knows, they were innocent souls, and they were dragged into this war unprepared. so many lives lost, so many deaths unjustified — it is simply unfair to her people, who have done nothing wrong. && no matter how many times she’s seen a body belonging to the first lands, it never hurts any less. she’s been able to mask that pain over the years she’s grown, but she still grieves, and it can be seen/heard whenever someone very close to her dies.

another difference i like to point out between the two leaders is their viewpoints on war: azir sees war almost like survival of the fittest. in the second quote, war is a way to create leaders, the best of the best while irelia sees it as destroying the beauty of life. war is a massacre, no matter which side wins, && even though she also strives for victory, she will only remember it as the day that peace died.

nasus: sorrow weighs upon you, but death could bring you peace. irelia: not yet, curator. i am far from done.

this made me snort because it’s basically nasus telling irelia, “k’ing yourself would make you feel better,” but i’m sure it isn’t meant to sound that way. rather, he understands her grief && how badly it is affecting her, so he is “testing” her will to see how strong it really is. if she had the opportunity, would she die && end her suffering there, or would she continue to preserve despite the agony she holds in her heart? irelia answers almost incredulously; if she dies now, ends her suffering now, who will lead her people to victory? certainly not anyone she knows/trusts. so, she cannot die. she will not die, not until she knows that her home is safe. ( this plays a bit into my headcanon that irelia doesn’t really fear death since she anticipates the day of reuniting with her family && ending her torment. )

there isn’t much to say about her interactions with the soothsayer && the voice of the risen other than she’s grateful for their aid in these trying times.

on: miscellaneous champs

lastly, i’ll be touching upon her interactions with in-game characters — which, suffice to say, isn’t a whole lot. it’s a bit disappointing. i expected more interactions with shen, karma, riven, and zed; i expected interactions with yasuo, yone, and lulu ( who is apparently in ionia?? ) but unfortunately, we weren’t given that. but i won’t say i’m heavily disappointed either because we did get some interactions with ionian && noxian champs plus extra.

shen: the balance requires a watchful eye. irelia: ionia needs brave hearts and able hands, too.

much like akali, irelia does not believe in waiting around && letting the land fight on its own. she even questions shen’s philosophy because of the slaughter that happened, which makes me theorize her faith in the spirit; clearly, she still believes in it but not so deeply like shen and the elders.

karma: ionia speaks through me. irelia: then tell me when this bloody fight will end?

she even questions the spirit of ionia itself, in a tone that is tired and desperate to end this terror. she is a lot nicer to karma in lor than lol, which confirms my suspicion that while irelia was initially frustrated with karma’s ( lack of ) action, she has come to understand her reasoning through the years that they’ve worked together.

zed: pledge yourself to the shadows. irelia: noxian tyranny has already forged our bond.

riven: [ dies ] irelia: irredeemable.

isn’t it crazy how irelia would rather side with the “evil” shadow master rather than the former noxian? of course, zed isn’t all bad, and riven isn’t all good, but it just further proves how she doesn’t treat noxians as humans at all; however, i would also like to point out her interaction with riven is if she’s against her. irelia would perhaps give her a chance if her quote in-game with her proves anything: “you want redemption? join me, and kill your masters!”

&& i’m still flabbergasted by her interaction with zed. she might not entirely agree with him, but she’ll work with him without hesitance. after all, they do share the philosophy of killing all noxians.

irelia: join us, prince jarvan. dance by our side. jarvan: i’m afraid i was born with two left feet. it’s a lightshield thing…

jarvan: noxus will pay for what they did to your people. irelia: yes, demacian prince. we will see to that.

so not only does she have shurima’s support but also demacia’s! a bit shocking since demacia is antimage and irelia is technically a mage, but i am glad to see that she and jarvan are on good terms.

irelia: my family...h-have you seen them? kindred: drifting between innocence and consequence.

STOP!! astra and i literally discussed this: if irelia was given the chance to talk to kindred, she would most certainly ask for her family && question why she was spared. of course, kindred would answer ominously, which in this interaction, makes me curious. between innocence and consequence? what do they mean? is her family stuck in limbo? are they currently being judged based on irelia’s actions in life? or are they waiting for irelia to join them? perhaps we’ll never know.

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 37: A Trevelyan’s Word

Tristan and Dorian spend some much needed quiet time together. Some fluff, a tiiiiny bit of angst (blink and you’ll miss it), and some important conversations.

Read on AO3 | Read from the beginning

Libraries had always been one of Dorian’s favourite places to be, ever since he could remember himself.

After having lived in so many different Circles, and having worked and studied in many more, gravitating towards the nearest library wherever he happened to be was something like second nature to him. He remembered the layout of every one he’d visited in startling detail: the neat rows of bookcases of the Carastes Circle; the circular library tower of the Circle of Trevis, with its tinted glass windows that had been specifically designed to protect the priceless tomes from the scorching sun and the dust; the vast Library of Minrathous, where one could easily lose themselves in unless they had a chart, a compass, a detailed floor plan and perhaps said a prayer or two. Regardless of the size, layout or method of archiving, finding what he was looking for had always been a swift matter, each library’s secrets revealing themselves to him readily after one brief sweep of the many rooms and shelves.

Never once had he encountered a library as reticent as the one in Skyhold.

After several months there, he still could not figure out the organisational system that the books had once been stored in. He’d assumed it was because of all the different kinds of people that had once resided there, but even in the oldest and most dilapidated libraries he had visited there was some method to the madness. In Skyhold, however, there was just madness.

Books on Pyromancy, which he had personally moved to the top floor - where they belonged, alongside the treatises on Primal magic- would magically appear on the lower floor shelves, alongside the tomes on Entropy magic. The scrolls of ancient Tevinter glyphs and spells, which he had found after sorting through the multitude of Chantry books that seemed to be practically sprouting out of the soil in that place, and that he had painstakingly cleaned from dust and arranged in alphabetical order in the booth next to his own, had now disappeared into thin air. The apprentice archivists, when he’d asked them, had simply stared at him with the sparkling gazes of well-fed heifers. One of them had had the audacity to look him straight in the eye and unironically say:

“If it’s Spirit glyphs you’re interested in, why don’t you read Former Second Enchanter Muriel’s research? Those scrolls you're looking for are outdated, anyway.”

Outdated? Outdated! The very notion had had Dorian grinding his teeth. As if seeing Former Second Enchanter Muriel’s sour visage every day, and listening to her endless tirades about Tevinter and anything else that displeased her wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t touch that tiresome crone’s research with a ten foot pole— no, make it twenty feet. One could never be too safe.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance as he shoved the book on Alchemy he’d found lying forgotten by the side of the wrong bookcase back in its proper shelf. If he’d known the level of ignorance and buffoonery he would be met with in the South, he would have seriously reconsidered ever leaving Minrathous. Oh, certainly, his homeland was a nest of vipers, but at least Tevinters knew how to organise a dratted library.

Now, if only he could find who in the Maker’s dratted name had gone through his dratted scrolls—

A glance at the research table across the rotunda promptly answered his question.

“Helisma,” he grumbled through clenched teeth as he stomped towards her. Priceless scrolls and documents were gathered willy-nilly in her arms, as well as the arms of the two apprentices that trailed her. The Tranquil looked up at him calmly when he barred her way.

“May I ask what on earth you have been doing with all the scrolls? You are the one who snatched them away, and don’t you even try to deny it.”

“I moved them to the underground storage rooms.”

That she could deliver those lines without an ounce of emotion was entirely bewildering, despite the fact that she was, indeed, a Tranquil. He forced his lips into a tight, sarcastic smile. “Why would you do that, pray tell? What have the poor things done to offend you so? Surely whatever it was could have been resolved over some tea and crumpets, instead of banishment to the nearest dungeon.”

She simply blinked at him, her tone completely flat as she informed him, “The upper levels of the library are reserved for leather bound tomes and codexes. The underground storage rooms are where scrolls, manuscripts and loose documents should be kept.”

“Helisma, my dear,” Dorian uttered tightly, trying his best not to lose his composure and start yelling in the middle of the library where everybody and their aunts could hear, “we have been over this. There is no reason for the scrolls to be there. They are needed here, where they can be used. The storage rooms are as damp as it gets, certainly you must be able to see that keeping ancient and fragile scrolls there is not the wisest course of action?”

“The humidity in the storage rooms is less than forty percent. That is lower than the Circle of Amaranthine’s storage rooms by five point two degrees.”

“And you’re saying it as if it’s a good thing? If the humidity in the Minrathous library was half as high, the master archivist would be having an apoplexy!” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath. There clearly wasn’t any way of making sense of this, and he would sooner teach a mule to dance than talk Helisma out of her ways. “Very well. Have it your way. I’ll see what I’ll be able to salvage from this mess.” He sniffed and tossed his head back in defiance as he turned around and stomped back the way he’d come, leaving a blank-eyed Helisma behind.

The chill in the lower vaults was unmistakable, cutting through his many layers of clothing and piercing him right to the bone. Dorian resisted the urge to frown as he gathered his cloak around his shoulders. Any more of that, and he would getting wrinkles before his time, and he had enough as it was. Ever since coming to the South, he had noticed a few more around his eyes that he was sure had not been there a few months before. If this went on any longer, he would be looking like a shrivelled up prune by the time this entire Inquisition business was done.

The stray thought made him stop short, there, in the half dark and quiet of the vaults. Part of him wasn’t sure if he wished the Inquisition business to be done, he realised. Of course, he wanted Corypheus and his Venatori to be defeated, more than anyone. If this were done, the world would have a chance to recover, and with it his country’s reputation. Still… the thought of the future brought with it a certain amount of trepidation. Trevelyan would ultimately be the one to face all those dangers, and no one knew how he would be affected. His life was on the line, day after day, and Dorian more than anyone could see how it was stretching him thin. Even if everything went according to plan though, even if they both survived this ordeal, no one knew what the future held for the two of them. For the time being, they were bound by this common cause. Beyond this… only time could tell.

The worry and unease that he so often tried to brush away slithered to the surface. Dorian took a deep breath to quell it. There was no point thinking of the future, when everything about the present was so uncertain. Trevelyan was alive and well now, as much as he could be, and that was all that mattered.

Brushing the thoughts aside, Dorian turned right as soon as he’d reached the storage room he was looking for. It was the farthest down the corridor, with only a lone torch burning.

Torches. Amidst all this paper. The horror.

The sounds beyond the door of the storage room quickly revealed that there was someone else there, shifting through the many scrolls and documents in the cramped space. At least she had the sense to conjure a small ball of light, which was now hovering above her as she searched, its halo glossing her cropped black hair. She gave a small start when she heard him entering, her large blue eye widening.

“Lord Pavus,” Grand Enchanter Fiona breathed, pressing her palm to her chest. Or was it just Fiona, now? “You frightened me.”

“My apologies,” he said. He clasped his hands behind his back and glanced at the scrolls she had been shifting through. “I see I wasn’t the only one who has found the scrolls Helisma has banished down here useful.”

“Ah, yes. She does have some strong opinions about where everything should be stored. I’m not entirely certain I agree.”

She gave Dorian the barest hints of a smile. Their interactions had always been kept serious and professional, both of them taking care not to linger in each other’s presence too long, despite them practically sharing the same workspace. At first, it was because Dorian wasn’t quite sure what to make of her, and he had the suspicion that his presence made her just as uneasy. However, he had soon found out that she didn’t particularly invite any interaction beyond the typical. The former Grand Enchanter and Grey Warden had kept a low profile ever since joining the Inquisition, more so after they had taken permanent residence in Skyhold, and Dorian didn’t blame her for that. There had been enough talk about her, even without her stirring any sort of trouble or gossip.

Even so, the fact that the former leader of the mage rebellion, who had —unknowingly, allegedly— struck a deal with the Venatori and had been banished from Ferelden because of it, could go by largely unnoticed at all was an impressive feat. Still, she managed to do just that. Most days.

“Is there something in particular you’re looking for? Can I be of any help?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. You’re much better versed with those scrolls than I assume I am.” A compliment? That was promising. “I’m searching for Magister Domitius’ research on reanimated undead. I do remember seeing a copy a while ago, in loose papers, but it disappeared before I had time to properly bind it. Have you perhaps seen it?”

Dorian narrowed his eyes in thought as he looked around the stacks. It didn’t take long for him to spot a few sheets of paper hastily rolled and bound with a leather cord. “That seems to be it,” he said as he dragged it out carefully and handed it to her. Fiona inclined her head in gratitude, unwrapping the document with slow, careful motions.

“Thank you. That was most helpful.”

“Anytime.” Dorian took a step back, giving the mage some time and space to inspect the discovery. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly as she read, her lips pursing in thought. She was short in stature, and could easily be overlooked if she wished it to be so. Yet there was something about her, a commanding presence and a stubborn streak that was hard to define, and to hide.

“I studied this one many years ago," he mused, crossing his arms before his chest. "It’s a rather interesting treatise, although some of the glyphs for releasing the spells that bind the undead are quite crude.”

“Crude, but effective. That is just what is needed right now. I hear the undead have claimed many lives all over Thedas, and will likely claim many more.”

“So grim, so early in the day? Grand Enchanter, I expected more from you.”

The elf glanced up at him, her lips quirked in amusement. “Former Grand Enchanter, if you please. Or you can just call me Fiona, as everyone else does these days.” The smile faded away as she looked down at the scroll once more. “One does learn to be grim after seeing as many deaths as I have. It is a hard thing to shake off.”

The silence that followed between them was somewhat awkward, with her carefully studying the writing on the yellowed and musty pages. Still, if there was something Dorian was good at, that was filling the silence. “So how come you’re studying the undead? I wasn’t aware that necromancy was your field of study.”

“It is not. The Inquisitor reported a large number of demons and undead in Crestwood, and some of the Inquisition mages were assigned with coming up with strategies to defend the villages until the Inquisitor is able to close the rift. I have experience battling the creatures, so I volunteered to investigate the matter further and to train the new recruits.”

Dorian’s stomach tightened ever so slightly. There were so many issues that demanded Trevelyan’s attention, he often wondered how the man found time to eat or sleep. He certainly seemed to be doing much less of both these days. That he found time to spend with Dorian at all when they were in Skyhold was a marvel in and of itself. Even before leaving for Crestwood, before the ordeal they’d both been through with the demon, he'd seemed so gaunt and pale, wrung out. The Inquisition was stretching him thin. Dorian wondered if ever the time would come that it would break him.

He took a deep breath, trying to swallow past the knot in his throat. He wouldn’t let it come to this, not if he could help it. He would stand by him, help him as much as he could. That was what a partner did, after all, wasn’t it?

“It is very noble of you, to offer to help with the matter,” he told her, in an effort to distract himself from his thoughts.

“Not at all. It is the least I can do to aid the Inquisition’s efforts.” She let out a soft sigh as she rolled the scroll back up carefully. “The way things ended in Redcliffe, the Inquisitor could have demanded anything he wished. Instead, he offered us a full alliance, and our dignities back. That is not something I am about to forget.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose he could have ordered you to become the Inquisition court jesters, as I hear the Orlesians seem to be doing with their mages.”

Fiona stared at him for a brief moment, until she realised he was jesting. She let out a chuckle then, shaking her head lightly. “I am glad he did not.”

Dorian joined her in laughter, the awkwardness between them dissipating somewhat. Affection and a strange sort of pride blossomed within him when he remembered Trevelyan in the hall of Redcliffe castle, only the bearer of the mark back then, with no real authority to his name, standing tall and proud before the King of Ferelden himself and declaring the mages equal partners of the Inquisition. Everyone had thought him mad, Dorian included. Looking back, perhaps it was around then that Dorian had fallen in love with him in earnest. A fool he certainly was, but a brave, beautiful, extraordinary fool at that.

“He has been known to make some interesting choices,” Dorian said, not quite able to hide the tenderness in his voice. “Some of them correct.”

“I dare hope it’s more than some.” She glanced up at him, and the pale light of her spell danced in her eyes. “The world has taken much from all of us, I suspect most of all from him. Still, I have faith that if anyone can see us through it all, it’s him. Not many would have done what he did. To declare an alliance with the mages, to shun the Chantry, to forge a new path, a new way of doing things... that takes courage. Or madness.”

“He has a fair bit of both.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “He is… an odd character. His ideas are odder still. Quite unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” She tilted her head to the side ever so slightly, and Dorian thought he saw something in her eyes, something akin to sadness, even more akin to sympathy as she regarded him. “I suppose it’s the same for you, yes?”

Dorian straightened, preparing himself to deflect the comment, to deny it, but something stopped him. He let out a soft breath instead, gazing at her levelly. “Yes. I suppose it is.”

A brief silence stretched between them. Fiona smiled fleetingly before looking down at the scrolls in her hands once more. “Thank you for your help in finding these. It is much appreciated.”

Dorian stepped to the side to let her pass. She left, her footsteps barely making a sound.

He let out a sigh into the quiet of the small storage room. Fiona’s words about Trevelyan had been kind, almost fond, and certainly much nicer than what many others he’d heard, yet even she couldn’t hide the depth of her expectations, her hopes. Dorian didn’t envy Trevelyan the power of his position much. The world expected so much of him, sometimes it did feel like it was perched upon his shoulders.

The scrolls stared at him sullenly from their shelves. Dorian pushed his shirtsleeves up and summoned a bright ball of light above his head. There was plenty of work for him to do. If everyone was doing their part to help the Inquisition, Dorian would do twice— no, three times as much.

When he lifted his head from his desk and looked out the window of the small nook in the library he called his office, it was already dark.

Dorian frowned back down at his own notes, sprawled before him messily like a blanket of autumn leaves freshly fallen from the bough. He had been poring over them for the better part of the day, after finding the scrolls he had been looking for. He was sure the copies he had made from the Venatori ritual in the Emerald Grave were correct, but they made no sense. Surely whoever had come up with those glyphs knew what they were doing, to some extent, but Dorian just couldn’t make out what they were trying to do exactly. The ritual itself was eerily similar to the one he had remembered finding years ago in the Minrathous library, but there were some fundamental differences. The Venatori had tried to control the power of the spell by tweaking central parts of the glyphs, but those they’d used for the binding clashed with the glyph right across from them, which was a bastardised version of a well-known affliction hex to weaken the subject’s mental defences. No wonder the poor people the Venatori had used the ritual on were turned to drooling, unresponsive vegetables; their mind was turned to jelly long before the actual mind-control spell was cast.

And it would be quite fortunate if that was the only problem he’d encountered. Trying to figure out the logic behind it was giving him headaches. There was something here, something that eluded him, Dorian was sure of it. That certainty only made him more intent on finding exactly how the ritual worked, and for that he needed resources that were not available to him at present. Tilani’s answer to the letter he had sent her regarding the original scroll was yet to arrive. It probably hadn’t even reached her yet.

Dorian suppressed the urge to curse the South and their terrible postal system, and reached for one of the dusty tomes he had managed to find in a forgotten part of the library instead. There was a glyph amongst those he had managed to copy that reminded suspiciously of Disthenes’ version of a glyph of paralysis. Now this, this he could work with. He had studied the Tevinter’s work extensively while he’d been holed up in the Circle of Marothius, and his memory was still fresh. If he used Disthenes’ theorems and altered the glyphs enough to make them work, in combination with Enchanter Hallesis’ equations in order to fix those horrible spirit-manipulating spells he’d seen the Venatori using...

Dorian let out a soft sigh. He probably should leave the matter alone, he knew that. There was little chance of figuring out how the ritual worked, or rather, didn’t work, without the original scroll he had asked Tilani to find. Yet, he’d already been working on this too long to let it go like this. If he was able to make some modicum of progress on his own, or better yet, find a way to work out some of the kink and errors in the glyphs he’d copied from the ritual, then he might be able to find a way to reverse it as well. The Inquisition needed knowledge like this, if they happened to chance upon a Venatori ritual like that again. Knowing what weapons and spells the Venatori had in their arsenal was half the battle, wasn’t it?

He half jolted out of his seat when he felt warm lips brushing the shell of his ear, a hand skimming his waist. “Four hundred and twenty two.”

Dorian leaned back in his chair, smiling at the sound of Trevelyan’s voice. How that man could walk up to him without making a sound, he could never understand. “Four hundred and twenty two, what?”

“Minutes. I’ve been counting.” He leaned forward, catching Dorian’s lips in a gentle kiss. The library was empty at that hour— Dorian thanked the Maker for that. He sighed as he turned around in his chair, his hand finding its way to the back of Trevelyan’s neck to deepen their kiss. He tasted of spiced, honeyed wine, with a mild undertone of the sweet and tart dried apples he always kept on him.

“Have you, now?” he murmured teasingly.

“Yes. I told you I would, didn’t I?” Trevelyan’s smile widened. “My word is my bond.”

A flush crept up Dorian’s cheeks with the warmth in Trevelyan’s gaze. He was peering at him with so much tenderness, and with their proximity Dorian could smell the warmth of his body, the faint smell of his soap. He realised then, that although they’d only been apart since that morning, he had missed him. And the fact that Trevelyan had come straight to him after finishing with his duties, with the black ink from signing his reports still staining his fingers, made him feel warmer still. He suddenly couldn’t wait to be alone with him again, to touch and kiss him freely without worrying about who was to see, to avail himself of the body that hid beneath that snugly fitting dark blue coat.

With his heart beating with a strange sort of giddiness, Dorian turned around and gathered his papers, placed them in the drawer of his desk and locked it securely. “So,” he said, standing up, “shall we retire to your quarters? I’d rather not spend another minute here, thank you very much.”

Trevelyan took his hand, threading his fingers through his. “There’s something I want us to do first.”

Read the rest on AO3!

[shera-dnd]

New chapter arriving a little early today. This time featuring Weiss’s lesbian awakening at the hands of a certain Knight of the Fall Maiden

As usual you can read here or over on AO3, just follow your gay little heart (like Weiss is hopefully gonna do soon)

It had taken Weiss a couple of days to get used to not wearing her helmet, and a few more still for her to ditch the armor altogether. She hadn’t engaged in combat since those first couple of days, and even if she did, she was more than confident that she could best her opponents with sword alone.

Now, with the protection of Lady Ilia’s shawl she was given a level of freedom she did not expect. She was able to roam the festival grounds without a care in the world, no longer weighted either by iron or name. Tied down no longer by responsibilities to her father nor to House Schnee as a whole.

Of course Lady Ilia accompanied her wherever she went, though now Weiss saw her less as a shackle and more as a companion, with whom she spent time happily. She hoped that by putting aside her iron she had made herself more approachable to Lady Ilia. She had the fae to thank for all this after all.

“Must we really accompany those two once more?” Lady Ilia demanded as they followed a little ways behind Lady Yang and Lady Blake, who were both very openly and blatantly flirting.

“Lady Blake is our friend, Lady Ilia,” Weiss replied, “shouldn’t we be happy to accompany her in such a joyful evening stroll?”

“Oh, I’m plenty happy,” Lady Ilia countered, clear annoyance disproving her own statement, “though I do not understand why I must be exposed to these love birds every day.”

“Because Lady Blake requested that we accompany her,” Weiss informed, a playful grin forming on her face, “besides how else will you reach your daily quota of snark and mockery?”

“I’m sure you’d still give me plenty to work with, Lady Gigas,” Lady Ilia replied in kind, using the false name they had chosen for Weiss’s disguise.

“You know nothing delights me more than being of help to you, Lady Ilia,” Weiss added. The two of them looked at each other with an attempt at annoyed glares which very quickly dissolved into amused smirks.

“If you two are quite done,” Lady Blake called, “we’ve arrived.”

Around them sprawled the tents of the valean envoys and the Knights of the Fall Maiden, above them fluttered the flag of crossed axes over a crown, the symbol of their kingdom. They would finally meet Lady Blake’s companions.

“Come here, men,” the knight called in the valean tongue, “I wish to introduce you to my friends.”

With that many of those present gathered around the four of them to exchange greetings. Plenty of these knights had been bested by Weiss the week before, but none of them seemed to hold a grudge against her, and many had taken the opportunity to request rematches, which she gladly accepted.

It was after she had assumed she had met all of Lady Blake’s companions that she was greeted by the sight of a new arrival. An arrival that caught both her eye, and every scrap of breath from her lungs.

She was a tall woman with a flowing mane of red hair. Her body may not be as large, nor bulky, as Lady Yang’s, but the lean muscle it had looked as if it had been sculpted from marble, and the sweat - from what was clearly an intense training session - gave them a shine that made it near impossible for Weiss to look away.

She was starstruck.

“Lady Nikos,” Lady Blake called, “I hope I haven’t interrupted your sparring practice.”

“Hello again,” she greeted, with a lovely smile on her face, “are these the companions you have spoken so fondly of?”

With that she happily greeted the four of them and then continued to hold an animated conversation with her fellow knight. Weiss’s mind was having a difficult time grasping what was being said, most of it focusing on the lovely sound of Lady Nikos’s accent, and the insufferable smirk on Lady Ilia’s face.

Before she could question her companion on this another knight stumbled after Lady Nikos. A blonde man that Weiss first assumed to be her squire, but whose regalia was that of a full fledged knight.

Her next assumption was that the man had stolen his gear from an actual knight, though Lady Blake would have apprehended him if that was the case.

“Sir Arc, good to see you’ve survived your sparring session,” Lady Blake welcomed, the title as unfitting on him as his armor.

“Jaune’s been getting better and better,” Lady Nikos assured her, though why someone like her would waste her good will on such a buffon was beyond her.

“It’s only because of your teachings, Pyrrha,” he replied, offering the recognition back to the one who actually deserved it, “I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

“Nonsense, you’d still be a knight of great renown,” she assured him, quite wrongly in Weiss’s fair opinion.

To drive her point home she took his hand and gently pressed a kiss against his knuckles. Weiss decided then that she despised Jaune Arc with all her being.

With her mind now being assaulted on three fronts - two annoying and one lovely - Weiss did not contribute much to the conversation, which only aggravated Lady Ilia’s accursed smile.

It was only later, when the two of them had been separated from the group that Weiss finally had a chance to question her on that.

“What amuses you so, Lady Ilia?” Weiss asked, making no attempt to hide her annoyance.

“Nothing much,” she replied, her tone as unbearable as her smile, “only that you’re so clearly smitten by Lady Nikos.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Weiss scoffed.

She was not some foolish little princess swooning over any knight who so much as flexed a bicep in her vicinity. More importantly she did not seek the company of women in that way...at the very least she was pretty sure she didn’t.

“That you wish it was your hand, not Sir Arc’s, that she had kissed,” Lady Ilia replied with certainty.

“That is…not untrue,” Weiss admitted, “but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t it now?” She teased, “does the thought of a strong woman in knightly armor, carrying you off into the sunset not set your heart aflutter?"

“It very much does not,” Weiss informed her, unamused.

“Then perhaps you wish to be that knight in shining armor,” she tried again, “brave, powerful, holding a swooning maiden in your arms as she declares her undying love for you.”

That thought certainly brought some color to Weiss’s cheeks. Though it was obviously only because it played to her dream of becoming a knight, and not because of any previously undiscovered attraction to swooning maidens.

Certainly not.

“Oh Lady Schnee,” Lady Ilia continued, hands clutching her chest as she leaned back in a clear mockery of said maidens, “you’re so handsome and strong, please carry me off to your chambers so you may ravish me.”

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point,” Weiss rolled her eyes, deigning to ignore Lady Ilia’s nonsense in favor of preparing their camp once more.

That was certainly a lot for her to process all at once. Certainly she was surrounded by women who held interest in other women, but that did not speak of her preferences, right? Though if she was so certain she shouldn’t be having all these doubts right now.

Perhaps she enjoyed the company of men and women, much like Lady Yang’s mothers. Though she couldn’t quite remember a time in which a man’s company did to her what the mere sight of Lady Nikos did.

She needed something to get her mind off of this. Something that would both distract her and help her think more clearly. Thankfully she knew just what could save her in her hour of need.

“What are you doing?” Lady Ilia asked, as Weiss began searching through her belongings.

“Searching for my training swords,” she informed her, “the two of us are gonna spar.”

“I see,” Lady Ilia replied, seemingly not much entertained by this idea, “and why is that?”

“You’ve claimed to know how to defend yourself,” she explained. Having found the pair of wooden swords that she had stashed away - just in case Winter could spare some time with her - Weiss tossed one over to Lady Ilia and continued, “I wish to test that.”

Her reasoning wasn’t entirely untrue. She did want to measure her companion’s skill, just to be sure she would be safe were they ever separated, and that explanation dealt a far smaller blow to her pride than, ‘I’d rather swordfight you than sit around and question my sexuality all night.’

“Very well,” Lady Ilia agreed, getting up and giving her sword a few practice swings, “though do not be saddened when I put an end to your winning streak, Schnee.”

“My lady,” Weiss replied, in a tone she knew annoyed her companion deeply, “you know you could never sadden me.”

“You know that won’t stop me from trying, Schnee,” she replied, matching Weiss in her annoyance.

This would bring her such joy.

“On my mark then,” Weiss declared, taking a proper fighting stance, “begin!”

The word had barely left her lips before Lady Ilia’s sword was already swinging for Weiss’s head. She barely had the time to block that blow before another hit came her way, then another, and another still. Lady Ilia pressed the offensive with a terrifying fury, backed by skillful swordsmanship.

Sidestepping her next blow, Weiss finally managed to get her footing again and swing her first blow towards her opponent. Lady Ilia evaded it masterfully and pushed the attack once again, only to be stopped by a follow up blow of Weiss’ sword.

Oh, this was exhilarating. The intensity of her lady’s attacks, the rhythm of their push and pull, truly nothing could get her blood pumping quite like a good fight, and Lady Ilia was giving her exactly that.

“I wanna see you grinning like that once I turn you into worm food, Schnee,” she threatened.

Oh? Had Weiss been grinning this whole time? Perhaps she had been enjoying herself too much. Not that she had any cares right now. There was only space in her mind for the fires of combat, both with blades and words alike.

“Your skills with the blade are matched only by your eloquence, my lady,” Weiss declared, trying to keep a calm tone even as the fight continued.

“And yours is only matched by your fairness,” Lady Ilia countered, matching Weiss blow for blow.

“I’ll be taking that as a compliment,” she replied, taking some ground as well while she was at it.

“Not once I’m done beating your face bloody!”

Weiss laughed.

She couldn’t help herself really, not when she was enjoying herself so much. She hadn’t had such fun in ages, so of course she had been grinning and laughing like a complete fool. It did not help that her sparring partner was making herself a fool in much the same way.

Perhaps it had been such bouts of laughter that had caused Lady Ilia’s stance to slip for a moment. Making the best of the opportunity she had been given, Weiss lunged forth, hitting her partner’s sword with force, knocking her backwards with the blow. Though she did not wish for her companion to suffer any real wounds, and dutifully caught her in one arm before she could touch the ground.

Her breathing was labored, heavy with strain and adrenaline. Lady Ilia did not find herself in a much better position, clinging to Weiss’s arm to keep herself from falling back as the both of them simply held themselves like that. Their bodies pushed oh so closely as they allowed themselves to slowly recover.

“I must admit, Schnee,” Ilia was the first to break the silence, “you’re quite the fighter.”

Weiss did not care to stop the smirk that had returned to her face, “it wouldn’t do for my lady to have a poor knight at her service.”

Calling herself a knight was perhaps a bit much, but she felt she could allow herself such indulgences in this moment. As expected, Lady Ilia clearly disagreed, rolling her eyes at Weiss’s self satisfied comment.

What wasn’t expected was for her body to fracture into a kaleidoscope of butterflies, each of them flying away and dispersing into the air. Weiss froze in stunned shock, unable to move as her mind tried to grasp what had just unfolded.

She felt hard wood gently press against her back, before the real Lady Ilia allowed herself to retort, "and it wouldn't do to let you grow too cocky, Schnee."

The Ilia she had fought was an illusion.

Now that had returned the smile to her face.

Weiss righted herself and turned to face her sparring partner. Ilia’s excitement was written on her face as clear as day. She smiled not only at the fact that she had bested a Schnee, but at the simple joy of a good fight.

It struck her then that perhaps there was some truth to Lady Ilia’s assumptions. Perhaps she had certain preferences when it came to her partners. That was certainly a lot for Weiss’s poor mind to digest while still being pumped full of adrenaline. Maybe it would be for the best if she saved the self questioning for later, and just allowed herself to enjoy this moment of joy.

“Again?” Weiss asked, already knowing what her lady’s answer would be.

“Again!”