#to cut a long and tense story short we haven’t actually had an address or a stable place to live for most of the month

[moved-to-void-kissed]

Sorry I haven’t really been very.. active, I suppose, recently. Things are very uncertain here right now, to the point I sort of feel like I’ve lost this entire month, and.. yeah, I’m very much feeling the effects of it more now. I promise I still care about a lot of things even if I am very much having trouble expressing enthusiasm in ways that don’t make me sound like an NPC.

[bieddiediaz]

humari adhuri kahani

our incomplete story.

this one brought to you by @alberthan, @diazchristopher, and yours truly. future fic, buck/eddie, unrequited love (sort of), angst.

It’s quiet. Buck would almost say too quiet, but the silence is nice sometimes.

(Especially when he’s here. Especially when he’s with Eddie.)

They’re working in tandem, Eddie rinsing off dishes and handing them to Buck, who dries them and puts them on the rack. It’s a routine they’ve followed a thousand times before – years and years of late nights, family gatherings, spending almost more time with each other than significant others. Something about the silence is tranquil, calming, and peaceful. It makes Buck want to lay himself bare in front of the one person who knows him inside and out.

Maybe that’s why it spills out of him tonight. After years of not addressing it, letting it sit between them, knowing but not speaking of it. Maybe the silence is what makes Buck honest. Things unsaid spilling over him like the water in the plate he’s rinsing.

He’s unnecessarily focused on drying the plate in his hands when he says, “You know what’s funny?”

Eddie looks at him curiously.

(Buck’s still staring at his plate.)

“I used to be in love with you.”

Eddie’s hands freeze where they’re rinsing off a bowl. He turns back to the sink. A moment passes; Buck sees a bitter smile creep up the edges of his face from the corner of his eye. There’s a pause before Eddie says, “I know.” Another pause. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Buck’s surprised Eddie wants to have this conversation, but, well. He was the one who opened this can of worms. He’s got no one to blame but himself. He shrugs once. “I suspected it. A part of me definitely did. But then… you were with Ana, and I found Taylor.” He pauses, thinking about her for a moment. She was supposed to be working late, but she’s probably home by now. Most likely settled in bed with her laptop, she has a presentation in two days. “I knew you didn’t love me back, so I thought it was best to move on. So we could both be happy.” Another pause. “We’re happy, aren’t we?” 

(He hopes he doesn’t sound as plaintive as he feels.)

Eddie’s finally looking at Buck. Buck can’t stand to look at the pain and longing on his face. He has to avert his eyes as he hears Eddie say, “Yeah, Buck. We’re happy.” 

(Buck almost wishes Eddie hadn’t said that.)

Silence settles over them once more. They get through most of the dishes before Eddie breaks it again. “After... the shooting in LA, after I broke up with Ana - actually, the reason I broke up with Ana - there was a period… where I was in love with you too.” He sighs. “But you had moved on, hadn’t you.” 

(It wasn’t a question. Buck tries to come up with an answer anyway.)

(He wonders, briefly, why the only thing surprising about this conversation is that they’re actually having it.)

He knows Eddie can hear the regret in his voice when he settles on, “Yeah.”

Eddie turns off the tap and dries his hands as Buck puts the last bowl on the rack. He takes the towel from Eddie and wipes his own hands as they finally turn to face each other properly. It’s Eddie who speaks again. “You know, Hen and Chim, they told me once.”

Buck frowns. “Told you what?”

Eddie sounds almost wistful. “ I- I wasn’t very…subtle about my feelings for you. They sat me down one day and told me that you loved me too and I should just tell you. Be honest with you.”

Buck stiffens and realises he’s been holding his breath. He lets it out in a rush. “What did you say?”

“I told them that I knew you. Better than anyone. You loved me. You used to.I knew that you did. And that you don't anymore.”

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s smile is tight. He bumps his shoulder to his in a soft touch. “Hey, but we’re happy now.”

“Yeah. Happy.” 

As if synchronised, they both move as one, pushing off the counter and walking to the living room; straightening up the remnants of the night and settling on the couch. Eddie picks up the remote and puts something on the TV.

(If asked, neither of them could tell you what it is.)

As he stares unseeingly at the TV, Buck can hear the echoes of Christopher’s laughter in the halls. He can feel the imprints of the years of memories, of coming home to Eddie, of Eddie coming home to him.

(The silence feels weighted now.) 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed before he speaks again. “Eddie, I -”

Eddie cuts him off. “Don’t say it.”

Of course, Eddie knows him better than he knows himself. Eddie knows what he’s thinking, what he’s wondering.

Still, he wouldn’t be Buck if he knew where to quit. “Do you think about it? What could’ve been different?”

Eddie doesn’t respond for a long moment. They’re still not looking at each other. The moment stretches on, the air feels heavier.

“Maybe.”

Buck glances at him and turns his head back to the screen. He can feel his thoughts take a bitter turn. “I guess we were young and stupid anyway.”

Eddie's voice cuts the air like a knife. “My love for you wasn’t.”

Eyes wide, Buck turns to Eddie, just to find Eddie’s already looking at him, a terrible fire burning in his eyes. Buck tenses, but Eddie seems to deflate just as quickly. He sounds resigned as he says, “Maybe we just weren’t meant to be.”

Buck can’t breathe. “Or maybe we were, but we missed our shot.”

Eddie’s smile is sad now. “Maybe.”

They turn back to the TV together. Buck still doesn’t know what’s playing. “In another life, perhaps.”

(What was worse: their vow of silence stretching the space between them, or the words that filled those spaces?)

“We could’ve been really happy.” It’s so quiet Buck almost doesn’t hear it.

“Or we would’ve crashed and burned.”

Eddie lets out a short laugh. “I’d like to believe not. I have more faith in us than that.”

“Yeah.”

Buck’s quiet for another moment. “I keep wondering. I know I shouldn’t. What if. If we hadn’t missed our chance, we could’ve had it all. We could’ve had everything.”

Eddie’s silent.

Buck can feel his thoughts going in a million directions. He doesn’t know what to think. It’s nothing new, this conversation, but there’s something about voicing these not-secrets they’ve always kept buried that has him breathless.

(And yet, he still feels calm. He always does, when he’s with Eddie.)

That’s probably why he needs to voice this too. “But, Eddie… you know I love you, right? You’re my best friend.”

Eddie smiles softly. “Back at you.”

“And… whatever else could’ve happened, I wouldn’t trade your friendship for anything. No matter what.”

“I love you, too.” 

(He does. Buck can feel it in his voice. It’s one thing Buck never doubted. Not once.)

(What was more painful: Eddie’s love for Buck, or the words he wished he’d said?)

Eddie’s not done. “And… I have everything I need. Getting to have you in my life, in whatever form, that to me is—everything I’ll ever want.”

Eddie’s fully looking at Buck now. “I’m sorry you had to hurt, though.”

Buck’s startled into laughter. “That’s not your fault.”

“I know. I’m still sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

(They're both older, a little wiser, a little softer, more settled around the edges and in their own skin. They should know better. they should know to move on. They have moved on. But…they can't help but want to fall into the familiarity of each other, that comfortable feeling of being home that they only ever got from each other.

They might have moved on from each other physically and in every way that seems to matter, but their hearts haven't caught the memo yet. They probably never will. Because their love for each other is an intrinsic part of themselves now, no matter their circumstances in reality. no matter how foolish or hopeless it may be.

They weren't what each other wanted now; but it was like an itch under the skin waiting to be scratched. The overwhelming feeling of a longing they once both knew.

And yet.

They just can't do anything about it. And they won't.

They have partners. Lives.

Timing is truly a bitch.)

They sit there until the TV screen fades to black, whatever they were not-watching rolls credits.

The silence feels lighter now. Buck doesn’t feel bad about breaking it. “We were so different back then. Two people trying to survive themselves, build a home. Maybe this is what we’re meant to be like.”

“Wondering about the what ifs?”

Buck nods.

“Incomplete.”

[kitkatopinions]

I'm tired of fantasy world writers being like 'oh, this is my allegory for racism in my fantasy world where actual racism doesn't exist, also I'm going to not do any research on how to properly include said allegory, badly portray it, make my main characters affected by this white or white passing, and then use racist stereotypes later.' Long post full of RWBY criticism ahead.

RWBY is terrible with the Faunus racism they chose to make part of their story. They made the White Fang an evil terrorist group, they made Blake lecture fellow Faunus about how they're the ones actually hurting themselves by using violence against each other, they framed comfortable and peaceful protest as the only good way despite establishing that peaceful protest didn't work, and they made their child slave coded character who literally got branded turn into nothing more than an abusive stalker and then had him killed without ever addressing the aforementioned child slavery. Also, the only Faunus among our main cast now that Sun is gone is one of the most privileged of the Faunus. Blake can pass as a human if she wants to, she grew up fairly rich, she has two loving parents, and she comes from an inherently powerful position as the daughter of the Chief. Having Blake be privileged would be absolutely fine, if she acknowledged her privilege, wasn’t the mouthpiece on Faunus rights, if she wasn’t the only Faunus in our main cast, and if she didn’t repeatedly lecture other Faunus.

On top of that, two of our main cast have been racist (within the narrative of the show) towards our main Faunus character, one of them learns from it (even though that as well was badly handled) and became the only member of Team RWBY to ever call out human's being racist after season three. Oh wait, except the other member of our main cast that was racist that never had it addressed because it was treated like a joke now has yelled at a racist once, in an incredibly tense situation, so I guess her racism is gone. It’s good that it’s gone, since CRWBY is pushing her and Blake as a couple, but it’s frustrating that her racism never even got a ‘that wasn’t funny’ and we never see Yang learn any better, because it feels like CRWBY brushed it off and acted like it was fun and quirky instead of treating it like the casual racism it was. They do a similar thing with Robyn in season seven which came out in 2019, when she calls Marrow ‘Wags.’ Also none of our main cast are ever seen protesting for Faunus rights (sans a two second flashback of child Blake at a rally and a non canon RWBY chibi cartoon.) I don't think Ruby - our main protagonist - has ever even mentioned Faunus rights. In a world where Adam was branded with the SDC logo under fifteen years ago at the most, racism and fighting racism should be a big part of the story, and instead, it's brushed to the side and used for the occasional 'we don't like racism btw' moment now that Blake got rid of a Faunus run terrorist group. To me, this implies that the number one threat to the Faunus… Was the Faunus, and although some humans are still anti-Faunus, no one has to devote their time or energy into fighting for equality. In season 7, Blake doesn’t even attend the rally of the political figure running against Jacques Schnee - who as far as I’m aware, is the only business owner or person in power who has ever displayed anti-Faunus racism in the show. By the way, please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong. It’s been a hot minute since I watched through the show.

Instead of attending a rally that seems very important for the Faunus, Blake goes dancing with her crush. It’s like she stopped caring about politics and rights after the White Fang got removed. That feels so bad. Also, I'll note that most of the actual POC Faunus that can't pass as white in this show are on the bad side (Sienna, Fennec, Corsac, Lionheart, Ilia, Marrow.) And either they die, or they must learn to give up their destructive ways and become better people. I’m not saying this was intentional, I’m saying it’s a pattern, it’s alarming, and the writers should’ve known better.

I believe Miles Luna and Kerry Shawcross have admitted that they mishandled Faunus racism, but first off, it still doesn’t excuse them because they were grown people putting out a product that premiered in 2013 and they should’ve known to do research and do better. But second off, I still feel like they haven't done the research they need to and continue to mishandle the racism by ignoring it when they want to and bringing it up only to let us as an audience know Weiss and Yang aren't racist anymore. They can’t just cut the Faunus from their storyline now, but they can’t just ignore it, and need to actually make it a better allegory. Honestly though, one of the big reasons I'm convinced that they still haven't done any real research on how to properly portray POC or racism is because of how terribly they're handling the Ace Ops.

They're writing a fantasy show, they aren't tied to real world portrayals of law enforcement, but they went the route of commentating on real world police, corrupt police, and use of excessive force. That's fine. But things are already pretty dicey just starting off because of how they've mishandled and continue to mishandle Faunus racism. Outside of Jacques Schnee and his company and business partners, I don't remember seeing Faunus racism in Atlas (not Mantle, Atlas.) If I'm wrong about that, again, please correct me, I may have missed it. But without seeing actual discrimination against Faunus within the police force, right off the bat, that's a mishandling of commentating on police brutality. But also, other than Clover who is now dead, the Ace Ops are all people of color. CRWBY made their bad cops all not white. Even Ironwood - who is white passing - is voiced by a person of color who has said he believes that James is Chinese American. I'll point out that being a Hunter is pretty much just being a cop with more freedom and seemingly less rules. Qrow (a Beacon Huntsman) goes around destroying public property and comments on how some hunters work outside of the law, and yet it's only the Ace Ops who are held to real world ACAB rules and everyone else gets to be a good cop/law enforcement officer. Ruby gets to proudly proclaim herself a Huntress, Weiss gets to arrest people, Jaune gets told that he deserves his Huntsman license, we've been getting told for seven seasons that Hunters help people and do what's right, and we're given long time Hunters and mentor figures like Oobleck, Glynda, Qrow, and now Robyn is being framed that way, and they back that up. Even training Atlas soldiers like Neon and Flynt are fine and fun. But only the Ace Ops are bad, corrupt law enforcement officers. So that way, we can have the entirely white passing Team RWBY beat up the entirely POC, not white passing Ace Ops. Even though Team RWBY is a byproduct of the same kind of program and even though we’ve seen the police discriminate against Faunus in Vale. If CRWBY wants their allegories to be taken seriously, they need to recognize that RWBY and co are also certified police. Also, it’s really not funny to see people use ACAB as a reason why the Ace Ops are of course bad, but then turn around and simp for Winter, and be like ‘We want Winter to be redeemed, but Harriet? What a bitch!’ Like… I’m side-eyeing that pretty hard.

Speaking of Winter, now she’s in charge of the Ace Ops. But unlike Marrow, Winter doesn’t just look sad sometimes and blindly only follow direct orders without protest. She’s actually feeling all kinds of things, and she’s actually being framed as strong, intelligent, and reasonable. I’m sure no one forgot this, but I’ll note it anyway; Winter is white. Having Winter be the only Ace Op to actually listen to JRY and do things without James explicitly telling her to (although I don’t consider what she did a betrayal or going behind his back) is dicey. They could’ve given this moment to Harriet and nothing would change. ‘This lady typically follows orders, is short tempered, and pushes down her emotions, but she can still recognize a fairly good idea when she sees one and can actually think for herself, so although this isn’t a betrayal, she compromises and lets Team JRY go after their friend.’ Yeah, idk guys, I feel like there was literally no reason to slot Winter in with the Ace Ops to be the lone voice of reason when Harriet could’ve become the new leader and played the exact same role. Instead, Winter gets to have a power move where she puts Harriet in her place. Winter is given actual depth and gets to put down the black woman who the writers have made display nothing but anger for the whole season. The fans rally behind Winter because she was given depth and hate Harriet because she has none, but that’s the fault of the writers. Btw, ‘this black woman won’t show any emotion besides anger’ is a racist stereotype. It would probably have taken like five minutes on google for Luna and Shawcross to have realized that it was a bad idea to write a black woman in any sort of position of power to be constantly angry + hiding her emotions. Elm is in the same boat as Harriet, and I was going to say it’s less severe, but then I remembered that she literally attacked Ren for talking about their emotions.

Look, my point is that RWBY as a show has never handled allegories like racism and corrupt police well, and either they should stop trying and stick to ‘make believe land is just different than the real world’ or start putting in the work and fix this. By the way, I’m not trying to make anyone feel bad for watching or even enjoying RWBY, but I hope people can watch it while recognizing that some of the things CRWBY has chosen to put into their show are destructive and that the creators need to be called out. I’ll continue to hope that most RWBY fans do recognize that RWBY is deeply flawed, but I’ve just been stewing recently about someone who told me that I shouldn’t have expected the show to address Faunus racism in the Atlas arcs because that ended when Adam died.

I want to make it totally clear that I agree with and support ACAB in the real world and I'm not against it being used in fantasy works, I just think CRWBY is doing a poor job of portraying it and many fans are misusing it and it feels disrespectful. This is an actual real world movement with actual real world consequences. It feels very bad to see people use it to argue that the writers who have never handled allegories of racism well can make an all POC group be a destructive, violent, easily controlled, easily beat group of corrupt cops that need a white woman and fellow cop to be the voice of reason.

[hoodwinkd1]

Your Eyes Whispered Ch 15

Ch 14 here.

Chapter 15: light hearted jokes

A pillow smacked his face, shocking Eris out of what had been an extremely pleasant dream. He almost snarled at the attack, turning onto his side, before remembering that the object of said dream was lying beside him.

“Sorry,” Rhia whispered, her eyes wide. “Did I wake you up?”

Her fingers played with the edge of the pillow still sitting between them. To Eris’ delight, she appeared to be in the process of removing the barrier, explaining the early morning attack.

“Not many people are brave enough to assault the High Lord first thing in the morning.” Testing the waters, he placed his hand next to hers, palm splayed open. The tumultuous ocean between them turned into a gentle stream as she took it.

Rhia let out a soft sigh. “Go on then, if you must. Lock me in the dungeons, imprison me for life.”

Was it his imagination, or had she shifted closer? Either way, Rhia looked entirely too tempting in the mornings. Her hair had fallen out of its updo and into complete disarray, but framed her face in a way that reminded him of cozy sweaters and falling leaves, of the brief moments he had ever truly relaxed in his life, of safety and of comfort.

He twisted their joined hands so he could press a kiss to her knuckles. “You shouldn’t dangle an idea like that in front of me. I may just keep you here forever, though certainly not in the dungeons.”

She hummed in response, releasing his hand to run hers through his hair. Her fingers continued to explore, drawing the most delicious shapes over his cheekbones, his nose, his jaw, and his neck. Eris would have traded all his fire power in exchange for the fiery lines her touch brought forth.

He also would have traded his powers in an instant for nothing at all. The unpleasant memory of the night before shadowed his thoughts, reviving the roaring self-hatred and guilt at causing her pain.

“Is this why you wanted to remove the pillows? I hadn’t guessed you’d be so affectionate this early.” Eris kept his tone light. She could take his question at face value or use it as an opening to talk about what had transpired.

Rhia grimaced. “Am I that easy to read?” She pushed his shoulder lightly, and he let himself fall onto his back. Eris almost lit the curtains on fire when she moved forward so they were chest to chest, one arm slipping on the other side of his waist. He curled his hand, the arm pinned underneath her, around her back, reveling in the simple touches. “The pillows were in my way.”

“We can’t have that,” Eris concurred. He grabbed the remaining pillow, resting against both of their knees and threw it over the side of the bed. He might have aimed too low and brushed her cheek. All’s fair in love and pillow fights, of course.

“Asshole!” Rhia launched herself on him in earnest this time, straddling his waist with her insanely gorgeous legs. She let a wisp of magic loose, pulling the pillow from the floor to her hands. Eris sat up, hands flailing to grab her wrists, but she got a good smack in before he could. He caught one of her hands and--

“This is too cute!”

Eris let out a snarl that could have woken half the palace at the intruder's voice.

---

Rhia desperately needed to catch up on inter-Court politics. She was relatively confident that  foreign diplomatic officials weren’t allowed to show up in High Lord’s bed chambers without invitation or announcement. And yet, Carina Archeron leaned against the door frame.

“Take your time! Just letting you know I’m waiting in the sitting room when you’re ready for a chat.” The dark-haired female sauntered out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Eris dropped her hand and pinched his forehead in frustration. “I would say she’s not usually like this, except...she is.”

Rhia sighed and removed herself from his body. She had hoped that in the morning light, maybe some activities would be marginally easier than the night before. “We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“I have some very choice words for her,” Eris grumbled. “No more showing up wherever, whenever like she owns the building.”

“Oh? Does she show up in your bedroom often?” Rhia raised an eyebrow.

Eris’ reaction was better than she’d hoped. The High Lord, halfway through putting on a new shirt, whipped his head around, almost ripping the fabric apart. “We haven’t, she’s not, I can promise you that there’s nothing to worry about--”

“I’m teasing, love.” She reached up and helped navigate the sleeves down his arms. “Do you have a spare dressing robe? And not one that was meant for your previous consorts?”

He bit the tip of her ear as he moved past her towards the massive closet. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Carina perked up when they finally joined her in the main room. “That was much quicker than I expected. Look, I even put up a sound barrier.”

Rhia could feel the magic buzzing, right as Carina popped it. At least she had more faith in their sex life than Rhia did.

“I’ll be brief.” She sat back on one of the golden chairs, watching as the couple settled themselves on the couch. “I am sorry for interrupting; I forgot you would stay the night. Anyway, long story short, my parents have invited Eris to come stay the week before the Winter Solstice.”

“How wonderful,” he replied drily. “My ideal vacation.”

“They’ve also extended the invitation to you.” Carina winked at Rhia. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell them about your hero worship tendencies.”

She glanced over at Eris, who’d gone surprisingly stiff at the statement. “Isn’t that normal? Letting a fellow High Lord bring guests?”

“Of course it is,” Carina continued. She shifted in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Half of Prythian has heard the news of your mating.”

Eris let out a low growl. “I’m sure Rhysand has the purest of motives here.”

“Ignore him. Rhia, they stressed that you’re invited to come, even if you must come alone.”

Eris growled louder this time. “Not a fucking chance.”

Rhia whipped her head to face him, mouth gaping at the blatant demand in his tone. He never, not once, had said anything territorial or commanded her in anyway. “And who are you to stop me?”

“I would never stop you.” Eris clenched his jaw. “I just want you to see this charade for what it is.”

“Is it? A charade?” She directed the question at the Heir of the Night Court, who looked increasingly uncomfortable with every tense remark.

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought it was anything less than genuine,” she insisted. “Eris, you know I’ve never taken their grudge seriously.”

He leaned forward in his chair. Rhia tracked the movement of his arms as they slid down his thigh, hands joining together and elbows resting on his knees. “Tell me, then, with complete certainty, that the Inner Circle has no plans to investigate our relationship. That they have no desire to inspect my mate for themselves. That they have no beliefs that she might be in any danger.”

“What?” Rhia almost choked on nothing. “They can’t think — they have no reason to believe that you would harm me.”

Eris looked down into his palms, searching for something in the creases that brought her so much comfort. “You know our history. Of course they have reason to believe I would treat you maliciously.”

Carina glanced between the two of them. “Yeah, so third wheeling a fight isn’t really my idea of a grand time. I might just go—“

Eris cut her off. “Answer my question or return home with our most insincere apologies.”

“I don’t know! I didn’t ask and I honestly didn’t consider it.” Carina uncrossed her legs and stared him down, intensifying her gaze. “I swear on all the stars in the sky, I only came here with good intentions.” Her eyes jumped to Rhia and her smile turned apologetic. “And if they did pry, it’s only because they happen to be the nosiest assholes in this world.”

Rhia wanted to sweep this entire conversation under the rug and never address it again. She knew that Eris, like he would with any topic, would let her do exactly that if she asked him to.

But something in her heated. Some fire in her core, some deep-seated instinct urged her to defend, to protect, to snarl at any threat with every drop of her power.

“That isn’t fair. They have no right to judge what’s ours, without proof or complaint.” Her words were quiet, but the look from Eris screamed so loudly that she blushed. “If they have any sort of motive, then I have to decline.”

Carina dipped her head. “I can send that message to my parents. If you did say yes, I would set down clear and strict boundaries for your comfort.”

“Thank you. It’s not a yes or a no at this moment.” Eris’ response was much calmer than before, drawing a soft sigh of relief from her lungs.

Rhia offered a weak smile to the other female. She genuinely wanted to bond with Carina, sought friendship with one of the few Fae Eris trusted, and this conversation had deterred her from that goal. One last question lingered, though.

“I know the history between our Courts is tense, and rightfully so,” she began. “But truly, what purpose does it serve to antagonize Eris like this? After successfully allying with him for so long?”

Carina shrugged. “They always have to be the hero. My parents and family have centered themselves in one narrative for too long, unable to really break the molds they were forced into.”

“My father grew more powerful than anyone expected, than anyone knew how to handle, all while facing scorn from both halves of his bloodline. He had to comprise his own beliefs when dealing with the Illyrians and the Hewn City, yet never could find a way to actually fix the problems. My mother was thrust into almost unlimited power and given a hyper-dedicated soulmate at 19 years old, with no worldly perspective or aged experience.” Carina bit her lip, as if holding back a grin before adding: “oh, and of course they both died for Prythian, so that really set the entitlement in.”

She waved a hand casually, wiping away the fact that she had just analyzed the two most magical beings in this world with utter candor. “Whatever, enough about them. Think on it, and send me a note when you decide. Either way, I’ll still visit and demand the latest Autumn gossip.”

She winnowed before Eris or Rhia could move, a person much too used to always getting the last word.

“How are you feeling?” Rhia leaned back into the couch cushions and placed her hand on his shoulder.

Eris draped his hand over hers and squeezed. “I don’t think I ever feel normal after conversing with Carina,” he admitted. “But I’m no longer angry. I apologize that you had to see that.”

Rhia snorted. “You’re much too calm normally. I can appreciate some rage now and again.”

“Never at you.” He leaned over to kiss her knuckles. “Not ever at you. If you’d like me to rage at someone on your behalf, however, that’s completely acceptable.”

“A wonderful sentiment.” The hand on his shoulder slid behind his neck, while its twin danced across his abdomen. “I would like to see the Night Court someday.”

Eris hummed. “I’ll make sure you see all the Courts and the continents beyond, if you wish.”

“Even Illyria?” she teased.

“Nope.”

“Why the hell not?” Rhia pouted. Rhia hadn’t felt any actual desire to go to the bitterly cold mountains, but his denial struck her as a bit odd.

Eris glanced up at the ceiling. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Well now I simply must know,” Rhia giggled. “Or I’ll assume something much worse than what it is.”

She watched him scrunch up his nose in the most adorably frustrated way. “The General and I....we don’t mix.”

“Eris,” she sighed. “You can’t let this grudge eat away at you like—“

“It’s not the grudge.” A blush crept up his neck. “It’s not me that, well, I don’t want you meeting  Cassian.”

Rhia swatted him. “Is he so horrible? Or are you worried I’ll take one look at his hulking body and fall madly in love?”

A beat of silence. Another. Too much time passed, and Eris still didn’t respond to her taunt.

“No.”

He groaned and pulled her closer to him, hiding his face in her curls. “It’s not what you’re thinking! It’s beyond silly, I know, but he did manage to take not one, but two betrothals from me.” His voice went soft. “It’s silly to even think this.”

Rhia bit her tongue, trying to think of anything comforting or sweet to say. She couldn’t do it. A giggle slipped out, and Eris shot his head up.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me.” His eyes flashed in warning, pushing her over the edge.

Rhia gasped for air as the laughter fully overtook her. She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to be serious but...” Another laugh interrupted her sentence. “That is so incredibly ridiculous and superstitious!”

Eris glared at her. “My ego is utterly shredded right now, thank you very much.”

“I love you.” She finally calmed down enough to  press a light kiss to the edge of his mouth. “I love you and we’re mates and I promise I won’t leave you for the General of the Night Court.” She kissed the other side of his mouth, punctuating her words.

He wouldn’t risk her pulling away, gripping her waist to keep her against him. She teased him with a few more pecks, adjusting her position to hover directly on his lap.

“Kiss me, you cruel, despicable creature.” His breath fanned her neck and she smiled against his forehead.

A heartbeat later and they were tangled up in each other, lips and tongues and limbs coming together as one. Rhia gasped when he bit her bottom lip and Eris purred when her nails dug into his shoulders.

"Promise me we won't be interrupted this time," she breathed, as he moved down her jaw and back to that one spot on her neck.

Eris smiled against her skin. "I've tripled the wards."

She licked her lips, drawing his attention back up to her face. Slowly, torturing them both, her fingers grazed the neckline of the dressing robe, gliding it down her shoulders, letting it fall off her arms. He looked at her with all the intensity and desperation of a drunkard on his last bottle of wine.

She leaned forward, kissing her way from his chin to his ear. "Should we try again?"

-----

thank you for reading! 

tag list: @moonbeamfenrys @qamariana

[calumance]

Wake up, Sunshine - Part 1

Warnings: cursing, anxiety attacks, car accident, mostly fluff though.

Summary: Addy just moved back home after breaking up with her long time boyfriend, and she runs into her high school best friend, who thinks it would be a great idea to set her two friends up, but Addy has a secret that she wants to keep hidden as long as she possibly can.

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: So, I wrote this three part series for #disabled!sos day which came from the brilliant mind of @skinnylukes​. The idea behind this is to encourage more disability-inclusive writing in the 5SOS community. I was honored when Carly asked me to write something for her event and I hope this brings happiness to at least someone who may be struggling right now. I would also like to take a moment to explain the title. It comes from the song All Time Low just released, and it’s all about knowing there is someone out there who loves you just the way you are, which is something that is stressed in this story. I hope you all enjoy, and I love you all so much. 😊

           The bell of the coffee shop rang as I walked through the door, a small part of me regretting coming here, but it had been so long. Off to the left I found the familiar face of my high school best friend, the one who invited me here. She lifted her head and made eye contact with me. Her eyes lit up and she started waving frantically with a large smile on her face. She pulled herself out of the seat and ran towards me, arms stretched out. When she finally reached me, she wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me in for the tightest hug I’ve received in a long time. As she rocked me back and forth, expressing how happy she is that I came I thought back to how I got here.

           It was rough break up, I had moved away from home for him, and he went and destroyed everything we had. The pain in my chest wasn’t to go away staying where I was, so I went home. The only place I had to go to was back to my parents, and of course they would force me to go to the grocery store with them. The sun was bright as I stood outside the store, getting a breath of fresh air. Car rides make my anxiety sky rocket ever since that day. My phone had vibrated in my pocket, causing me to pull it out, but as I was looking at the screen, I heard my name being called by a voice that was not my mom’s.

           My eyebrows pulled together in confusion as I looked around for the voice calling my name. Suddenly, Crystal, my best friend from high school was making her way toward me. She was as beautiful as I remember, she had grown into her looks a lot better than I had. We were always together when we were in high school, but after I graduated and moved away, we lost all communication. It was a huge surprise that she would say anything to me since it’s been about eight years since we last saw each other.

           “It’s been forever!” She exclaimed, a man with blonde hair covered by a baseball cap turned backwards following her. “How are you? I heard about what happened.” I held up my hand to stop her from talking about it. The thought about what happened still sends me reeling, makes my heart race, makes me break down and cry. After thinking about how to answer her question, I just shrugged. In the past few years, nothing has been great. How was I supposed to tell someone I was good? “Listen, we should grab a coffee soon, catch up, I miss you.” My heart skipped a beat, I missed her too, we had fun back in the day. “Want to give me your phone number and we can meet soon?” With a nod of acceptance, she handed me her phone and I plugged it in. After the interaction, I found a seat on a bench outside, not wanting to even step foot in the store.

           About two days later she had sent me the official invite to meet her for coffee. She wanted to meet at a little-known shop about thirty minutes away from where my parents live. The thought of having to drive that far made my muscles tense, but still I accepted the invite due to the overwhelming need to reconnect with my old best friend and return to a “normal” life.

             After I grabbed my coffee from the barista, I sat in the chair across from Crystal, a huge smile stretched across her lips. As I took my first sip of coffee, Crystal cleared her throat, “I didn’t know you had moved back.” She sounded hurt that I hadn’t told her. I didn’t tell anyone, just my parents. The reason I came back was too embarrassing. There was no reason I should start running around telling the world I was back.

           My eyebrows raised, and I pulled my lips into my mouth the get every drop of the sweet nectar of the coffee. “I didn’t tell anyone, just my parents since I had nowhere else to go.” A shrug fell off my shoulders as I looked at her. Her face showed concern, the same look my parents give me every time I do or say anything. It was an annoying look.

           She leaned forward and laced her hands around the cup in front of her, “What happened with you and Alex? I thought you two were going to get married, or at least that was what it seemed like when you two moved away from here.” I could tell she was reluctant to ask the question, but there was a look in her eye that told me the question was eating away at her.

           A devilish smiled stretched across my face, “We were going to get married. We were engaged for a year and a half, I had planned almost the entire wedding. That’s when I found out he had been fucking some drop-dead gorgeous redhead from his work for a year.” My shoulders pulled up to my ears as I took another drink of my coffee, wishing it had more of an impact on my thoughts. Maybe I should start putting whiskey in my coffee.

           Crystal’s jaw dropped, hanging open like I had just dropped a bomb. She sat back and breathed out. “Wow,” was all she managed to get out. Silence fell over us for a very awkward minute. My bones ached as I knew she wanted to ask me about the accident, but I wasn’t going to give in. Nothing in this world would make me want to talk about it, unless it was to a doctor. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” She questioned, surprising me a little.

           My throat worked as I swallowed the large gulp of coffee. My eyes darting to my cup, then back to Crystal. “I don’t believe I am doing anything, why?” I sounded skeptical, but I had every right to be. We haven’t seen each other in a long time, and now she’s inviting me for coffee, and probably to something else.

           A smirk appeared on her lips, “My boyfriend, that’s who was with me at the store the other day, and I are having a little get together at our house. I think you should come. There will be drinks, and music, and an overall good time.” How’d I guess? She hasn’t changed much since high school, she was always the one dragging me to things I didn’t want to go to. Even though I never wanted to go to the things she would take me to, I would go because she asked me.

           I guess I haven’t changed either, because I agreed to go to her get together. When she had texted me the details she told me to ‘dress cute.’ I wasn’t even sure what cute was anymore. A normal outfit for me was boot cut leggings and a hoodie. Somehow, I managed to pull out a floor length floral dress I had in the back of my closet. Before I put it on, I sat on my bed, hands clenching the edge of the bed. My heart racing, my eyes flicker to my right leg, or lack thereof. My eyes squeeze shut, trying not to think about the doctor telling me the leg had to go.

             “Your lower leg is completely shattered, there is no way to repair the bones. We’re going to have to amputate.” He pointed to the sheet hanging in front of the white light. The picture caused my stomach to twist. Not a single fragment of bone in my leg was connected anymore. The fragments that were in there were nowhere near each other. It was as if I was looking at bone soup inside my leg. The tears welled in my eyes, I wasn’t sure if it was from the new or from the pain. All I knew was that I wanted all of this to be over, I wanted everything to go back to normal, and that just want never going to happen. A sob escaped my throat, no one there to comfort me beside the doctor who just told me that he was going to have to cut my leg off.

             All I wanted to do was scream, but if I screamed, my parents would come running. I wanted my leg back, I wanted to not be living with my parents. Why did all of this have to happen to me. The palms of my hands pressed against my eyes and I held back the scream sitting in my throat. Nothing was going to get better if I just sat here in my misery. So, I reached over and grabbed my robotic looking prosthetic and secured it. Even though the dress called for some cute shoes, I pulled on a pair of converse. Converse easily hid the fake foot on my right side, flats could never do that. With a large sigh, and a heavy weight taking its place in my stomach, I headed towards the address Crystal sent me.

           After I got out of the Uber and it drives away, I paced, calming my heart rate from the anxiety attack I get every time I sit in a car. Anger takes over most the time, because I know car rides are a necessity, my heart never fails to run rampant. “Come on heart, chill out.” I mumbled to myself, shaking my hands in front of me to stop the nerves. It took a while, but I was finally able to compose myself and walk towards the front door. Reluctantly, I pressed the button for the doorbell and I took a step back, waiting.

           When the door finally opened, I was a bit disappointed to not be greeted by Crystal, instead it was the blonde-haired man she referred to as her boyfriend. A smiled stretched across his face, “You must be Crystal’s friend. She said your name was Addy?” He had an accent, but with such a short sentence, I couldn’t quite place my finger on it. I nodded, still a bit shaky from the car ride over.  “Come in, come in.” He waved his hand towards himself, and I hesitantly walked through the door.

           He shut the door behind me and I looked around. It was a beautiful house, a house that I would actually considering killing to live in. “My name’s Michael, I’m Crystal’s boyfriend. She’s told me a lot about you.” Hopefully not everything. He held out his hand waiting for a handshake. A heavy breath caused my chest to rise as I placed my hand in his, him giving it a hefty shake. “Everyone is out back, follow me.” He started walking, and I followed behind him, covering the slight limp.

Since the accident, I’ve gotten walking nearly down. Most of the time I walk normally unless I’m tired, or something causes me to not think about how I’m walking. Running, on the other hand, is different. The only way I get my mind off things is running, and even though I do it every morning at five, I still can’t get the motion right. The doctor told me that eventually I would move like it was my normal attached leg, but it would take some time. Thinking about that while running frustrates me, when is that time going to come? All I want to do is feel normal again, but because I can’t get the motion of running down, I feel like that may never happen.

Crystal let out a squeal as Michael and I passed through the threshold into their backyard. My feet stopped, freezing me in my spot. While still holding onto her drink, she threw her arms around me, kissing my cheek. No, she wasn’t drunk, that’s literally just the kind of person she is. I couldn’t help but smile, which felt weird, smiling hadn’t been my thing in a long time. “Do you want a drink? We have all kinds of stuff. Oh! I need to introduce you to everyone.” She grabbed my hand and pulled hard, causing my to almost fall flat on my face.

“Crystal!” I exclaimed, a little louder than I should’ve. Everyone looked at me, I swallowed. Her eyes were wide as she got closer to me, “Crystal, I can’t,” I licked my lips trying to find my words. My eyes closed, ignoring the ones on me, “You can’t just pull me like that.” When I opened my eyes, her hand was over her mouth, realizing what damage she could’ve caused.

           She slowly removed her hand, keeping it a few inches from her face, “Oh my god, Addy, I’m so sorry. Did I,” My head shoot back and forth stopping her from finishing her question. No, she didn’t hurt me, no she didn’t break anything, but she could have. “I’m so sorry.” My chest felt heavy as I thought about how bad of an idea is was to actually come here. She must’ve read my thoughts because she wrapped her arms around me and pleaded for me not to leave.

           My chest fell as I let out a sigh, “It’s fine, I’ll stay. You said you wanted to introduce me to everyone.” She pulled away from me and nodded, a perfect smile stretched across her face. As her hand found mine again, she waited for me to take the first steps and then she directed me where to go.

           We stopped in front of a tall dark-haired man with a square, manly face, but a sweet smile. “This is Ashton, Ashton this is my friend Addy, we were best friends back in high school and we recently reconnected.” Ashton waved at me, and I waved back. He was standing next to a sandy blonde-haired man with a scruffy beard and a smile that could make any girls knees weak. “That’s Luke, and the girl in the pool behind him is his girlfriend, Sierra.” Luke lifted and hand and held it out, asking for a hand shake.

           We shook hands, and he held onto it for a second, “Is your name actually Addy, or is that short for something?” Luke asked, the same accent as Michael’s falling from his lips.

           “Adeline, my full name is Adeline, but not a single person in the world calls me that, not even my parents. Pretty sure they regret giving me that name.” Luke laughed and nodded in acknowledgement. Behind Luke, I hear the water of the pool swash around and I see a tanned, bleach blonde-haired man climbing out of the water, using the side as leverage. He turned my way and I think I stopped breathing.

           His tanned skin twinkled in the sunlight, creating a glow around him. His tattooed chest flexed as he grabbed the towel not far from him. The muscles in his biceps flexed as he placed the towel over his face and neck, patting his skin dry. He dropped the towel and started walking towards us, water still dripping from his black swim shorts. He smiled a smile that could brighten a dark room. My heart was beating fast, and suddenly my mouth was incredibly dry.

           “Calum! This is my friend Addy, the one I was telling you about.” The one she was telling him about? I finally peeled my eyes off the man coming towards us and stared daggers at Crystal. She caught sight of my look and shrugged.

           He stopped a few steps away from us, letting the water drip, excusing himself as the water dripped toward my dress. “I’m sorry, I guess I should’ve dried off a bit more before coming over. Maybe I’ll go change before we meet properly.” Every word I knew got caught in my throat as he walked past me, flashing me another bright smile. I felt like collapsing, but suddenly Crystals grip on me, and her quiet giggle caused me to come out of my thoughts.

           “Crystal, can we have a quick chat. Somewhere private?” She nodded, still trying not to laugh at how ridiculous I’m acting. She pulled me inside the house, and into a bedroom I assumed was hers and Michael’s. She motioned for me to sit on the bed, and I did so, “Who was that?”

           She sat next to me hard enough to cause the bed to bounce. “That was Calum. He and Michael met a long time ago. He’s one of my favorite friends of Michael’s, he’s super sweet.” Crystal took a long drink of mixed drink she had in her glass, “And I also told him a lot about you. He’s really excited to meet you.” Excited to meet me? Oh, hell, what did she tell him? Did she tell him about my accident? Did she tell him about my ex? Does he want to meet me because I’m a nice charity case? Crystal’s eyebrows pulled together in anger and confusion. My eyes widened as I realized I asked these out loud. “I only told him the things that were necessary. He doesn’t know about your accident, he doesn’t know about Alex, he just knows that you’re one of my best friends, who just happens to be drop-dead gorgeous.”

           A sarcastic chuckle escaped my chest, “Crystal, you were, and always will be, a thousand times prettier than me. Also, I’m a freak. I only have one and a half legs.” That seemed to upset Crystal, the look on her face told me she wanted me to shut up. So, I did.

           She set her drink down on the table and then turned towards me. “You are not a freak because you lost your leg in a car accident, and you are definitely prettier than me. He seemed genuinely interested in you when I was talking to him yesterday. I think he wants to get to know you more. You should give him a chance, yeah?” Although I was terrified, I was willing to give him a chance.

           When we made it back outside, Calum was already back. He was wearing a pair of black joggers, a black sweat shirt, and a beanie that covered his blonde hair. Crystal brought me up to him and he smiled, and my heart pounded. “Sorry, Calum, we just went to the bathroom. Girls travel in pairs, you know.” She’s always been good at covering my anxiety. Maybe that’s why we were always such good friends.

           He pulled his lips down and waved his hand, “It’s not a problem. Anyway, I hope I didn’t get your dress wet. It looks very nice.”

           Even though he complimented me, I suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious. “It’s not a problem,” I cleared my throat trying to hide my complete and utter nervous breakdown. “It’s not that special of a dress, I think I got it at Target.”

           He chuckled, a smirk crawling across his lips, “That’s a good looking dress for something you found at Target.”

           My eyes wandered down to my dress. Why was he talking so much about my dress? Was he just as nervous as I was? “Thank you.” I choked the words out. Why was this so awkward. I caught sight of Crystal behind Calum. She was making motions to urge me to go for it, to talk to him. My cheeks flushed red, hoping that no one else saw the motions. I wasn’t sure this was the right thing to be doing this quietly after a horrible break up. I tucked a lock of my hair behind my ears and looked at the ground.

           He shifted awkwardly in front of me, putting his hands in his pockets. “Do you want something to drink?” He finally asked me, breaking the awkward silence. After I nodded, he smiled and motioned for me to follow him. He passed by me and I looked at Crystal who was holding up two thumbs. Even though Crystal had a good feeling about this, I didn’t.

           Calum grabbed the liquor and started pouring. “Mind if I make you my specialty?” I shook my head back and forth, it’s been a long time since I drank. The accident was caused by a drunk driver, and even though I don’t drive, the idea still scared me. He poured a few hard liquors into the class and then added a splash of pineapple juice on the top. He flicked a straw into the drink and I bit my bottom lip. Considering how much alcohol he had poured into that glass, it wasn’t going to be long before I felt it. “Tell me about yourself, Addy.”

           I took the drink from him and I felt a knot in my throat. What did he want to know? “What do you want to know?” My eyebrows pulled together, I needed to stop asking my internal thoughts out loud.

           “Anything. Where are you from? What are your hobbies? What do you do for a living? Favorite animal? You know, all of the ‘hey we just met’ kind of questions.” He cracked open and black cherry white claw and took a drink.

           The ice in my drink clinked as I stirred it with the straw. “My full name is Adeline Davis, I go by Addy. I’m pretty sure my parents stopped calling me Adeline when I was really little. I’m from the same place Crystal is from. We went to high school together, we were best friends, until I had to go a ruin it and move to a different state with this guy I was madly in love with. That didn’t end up well, so now I’m back in town. I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I live with my parents. I have a degree in graphic design, but since I’ve been back I haven’t been able to find a job in the field quite yet. I haven’t been back long enough to really look. Um, yeah. That’s about it.” I took a sip of my drink and made a face. It was incredibly strong.

           He laughed at my face, my stomach involuntarily did a flip. “Sorry, sometimes I’m a little heavy handed. I’m sorry to hear that your last relationship didn’t work out. That’s cool that you’ve known Crystal for so long. I’ve only known her as long as Michael and she have been together. Four years now?”

           I raised my eyebrow, taking another drink, getting a little more used to the amount of alcohol. “She’s been with him half as long as I’ve been gone.” And as long as it’s been since I was in the accident. “We kind of lost contact while I was gone. It was kind of a toxic relationship. I lost contact with a lot of people that I deeply cared about.” The mood between Calum and I got a bit somber, so I stood up straight and smiled, “But I’m here now, and I’m reconnecting with my friends and my life, so it’s not all that bad.” Minus the fact that my life will literally never be the same again.

           Calum smiled with me, a nod. “I’m glad you’re here, too.” He raised his eyebrows and walked past me, back into Michael’s backyard. I couldn’t move, what did that mean? After a couple of seconds, I turned on my left foot and went back out into the backyard. Calum had taken a seat next to Michael and Crystal. Crystal motioned to sit in the chair next to her. Why did everything have to involve sitting? I took a deep breath and walked over to the seat and sat down, immediately crossing my left leg over my right one to hopefully hide the metal bend in my right leg.

           We spent the whole night talking, the best part of the whole thing was that my accident hadn’t been brought up once. Now it was time to go home, and I pulled my phone out to call an Uber. As I waited, I talked to Crystal, but when my phone buzzed, telling me the Uber was there, Calum caught me. “Uh, sorry,” He laughed nervously. “I didn’t get a chance to get your phone number. I’d like to hang out with you again.”

           Honestly, I was confused. Why did he want to hang out with me? This was probably the most awkward evening I’ve had in a long time. He smiled and held his phone out, the number pad opened. If I hadn’t needed to catch my ride, I would’ve protested, but instead, I grabbed his and typed in my number. After I handed it back to him, I waved and made my way out the front door towards the Uber. My palms became sweaty as I grabbed the handle and I had to take a deep breath before sitting in the car. Maybe hanging out with him more would make the interaction less awkward?

Part 2 | Part 3

[terramythos]

TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 33 of 26

Title: The Edge of Worlds (2016) (The Books of the Raksura #4)

Author: Martha Wells

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Adventure, LGBT Protagonist, Third-Person

Rating: 9/10

Date Began: 11/28/2020

Date Finished: 12/09/2020

Two turns after The Siren Depths, Moon has settled into life in the Indigo Cloud colony with young children of his own. But when all the adult Raksura experience a disturbing, shared nightmare that foretells the destruction of their home at the hands of the Fell, things are about to change. Soon an expedition of strange groundlings visit The Reaches, claiming they need the Raksura to help investigate a mysterious abandoned city far to the west. Believing the two events are linked, Moon and the others embark on a journey to avert disaster. However, they soon find more than they bargained for when a Fell attack traps them in the deadly, labyrinthine city ruins.  

If eyes fall on this, and no one is here to greet you, then we have failed. Yet you exist, so our failure is not complete. 

Full review, some spoilers, and content warning(s) under the cut.

Content warnings for the book:  Graphic violence and action. Some mind control stuff (par for the course at this point). 

This is a difficult book to review because it is, for all intents and purposes, part one of a longer two-part story. While the three previous books were all self-contained, The Edge of Worlds isn't, even ending on a cliffhanger. I feel like this duology might have been written as a single book but got split for publishing reasons. As of this writing I have not read the next book, The Harbors of the Sun. So take what I say with a grain of salt, because my commentary assumes the next book will address certain things.

The Edge of Worlds’ core plot builds on threads from the previous book-- mysterious ancestors, bizarre dead cities, the Fell/Raksura crossbreeds, and so on. This book doesn't include any new details about the ancestors, which are just called "the forerunners", but I expect the next book to touch on this more, as it’s been a consistent Thing in the series. There's also another mysterious, ancient ruin critical to the plot. However, it’s pretty different than the underwater city in The Siren Depths, so doesn't seem repetitive. Oddly, it reminds me of House Of Leaves with its vast size, impenetrable darkness, and sentient (?) traps.

The book also explores Fell/Raksura crossbreeds in yet another way. Previous books depicted them as terrifying weapons (The Cloud Roads) or just weird looking Raksura (The Siren Depths). The Edge of Worlds splits the difference, introducing a Fell flight that seems much more sympathetic and reasonable than any encountered thus far-- led by a crossbreed queen. My criticism of the Fell way back in The Cloud Roads is they're basically an Always Chaotic Evil horde of predators, but this new idea adds a lot of nuance. Though I am assuming the next book goes into this more, as they’re just introduced here. It's important to remember the Fell and Raksura are descended from the same ancestor, and even though Raksura are the heroes of the story, there are a lot of similarities between the two species. Overall this is one of the most intriguing threads in the series, and I'm glad we keep coming back to it in new ways.

Another thing this book does differently is perspective. Moon is the POV character in the other main entries. While that's still true, there are several interludes from the perspectives of others. For practical purposes this is to show what's going on outside of the main party, particularly so Malachite showing up at the end doesn't feel like an asspull. Also, certain events really do need to be explained when Moon isn't present. I can respect that.

From a reading standpoint I really like these alternate points of view. They're all minor characters-- Lithe, Ember, Merit, River, and Niran-- which is an interesting choice. Ember's interlude is actually my favorite part of the book. It's fun to see a more "traditional" consort approach an awkward situation, and I like his initial struggle to accept and treat Shade (one of the crossbreeds and a personal fave of mine from the last book) as a regular consort. Ember comes off as very submissive in the rest of the series so it's fun to see him take charge. Also this part features a scene in which two intimidating Raksuran queens, Pearl and Malachite, have the most tense tea service of all time. It's just hilarious. 

This book actually has a trans analogue with the Janderan, the primary groundling species, who apparently choose their gender when they reach adulthood. Specifically there’s a focus on a young man named Kalam, who just took that step. This doesn't feel like the standard fantasy/scifi copout because humans literally do not exist in the series. Wells handles trans/nonbinary/agender characters (human and otherwise) extremely well in The Murderbot Diaries so I feel it’s in good faith. LGBT rep in the Raksura series has been great so far, honestly. Moon/Jade/Chime is like... canon, man.

Another general observation I haven't previously noted... I love how many interesting and varied flying ships there are in this world. They're all boat-like (nothing like airplanes) but there has been a different kind in each book. Considering that most of the main cast can fly it's interesting that flying ships are consistently integral to the plot. It would be so easy to cop out and design one ship that every society uses, but Wells really makes them all unique despite serving similar functions to the story. The ship in this one is organic, powered by living, cultivated moss. I dunno! I just think it’s neat. 

I do have one criticism for The Edge of Worlds, keeping in mind it's part one of a longer story. The pacing. This book is pretty slow; it takes a while to get going and then there are lots of lengthy travel sequences. As long as there’s interesting flavor to it, I generally don't mind this approach. It allows for breathing room and character interaction. But even I started feeling bored at points and had to power through. It feels like a lot of the travel could have been cut from the book without losing much. For example, the journey to the colony tree in The Serpent Sea took up maybe a few chapters. I appreciate travel in this series from a worldbuilding perspective, but in this case I think some time gaps would have been fine. The action doesn't pick up until the party arrives at the ruin, in the latter half of the book.

Also, this isn't really a criticism, but there are several references to the Raksura novellas and short stories. I haven't read them (yet) so they’re totally lost on me. I can't blame Wells for including references, both as a wink/nudge to people who have read them and because ignoring relevant ideas makes no sense. But as someone lacking context it comes off as awkward to have a character think “WOW, this is just like that one time Jade had to do this one thing!” and I’m just like “...it is???” 

Despite this I like just about everything else in the story, especially the second half. It really does feel like a proper finale, bringing back notable characters from throughout the series (not anyone from The Serpent Sea yet... I do have my suspicions here, though). River seems to be getting a mini redemption? The labyrinthine, dark city is creepy, and the artifact they find inside it is super unsettling. All the climactic action is intriguing, particularly regarding the new Fell crossbreeds. The novel ends abruptly, but that’s understandable since the next book leads right off from it. I'm really excited to see how the Raksura story concludes.

[spacezeta]

Devlog - About combat, or: let’s threaten the player

So here’s the devlog about combat that I was going to write the other week but then the camera one turned out way too long!

And if you thought the camera one was long, boy do I have a surprise for you...

So here’s a fairly long (and a little bit rant-y) write-up of my thought process about to combat or not to combat, and how to raise the stakes in a horror game in order to give more substance to the ‘horror’ part.

*Emphasis on thought process because as the game is still in development, I’m still figuring out the proper mechanics of it all

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When we first started making this game, one of the first things that we ended up establishing was that there would be no combat. And looking back I’m not sure why - it just kind of... was. I guess it was to make things easier, but on hindsight we really should have thought that more thoroughly.

So that was the first version of the game that we developed (we had a sort of demo alpha thing done as a student project), but right away there were some glaring issues that needed to be addressed (hence the whole ‘reestructuring of the game’ that I’ve mentioned a few times before). One of the biggest issues weren’t exactly about combat, but rather how to create a tense atmosphere for the player. So follow me down the rabbit hole until I get to the bit about combat!

So. We’re making a horror game, right? And when you’re making a horror game you don’t want the player to feel all safe and happy and calm, you want them to feel tense, to be on edge, and, most importantly, you want to scare the living shit out of them. So how do we go about achieving that?

(No, not jumpscares, you cut that shit out right now)

What I think you should to (emphasis on I and think, as in, personal opinion, and you should, as in, me making this game) is basically make the player feel threatened. You make the player feel scared to enter a room because they don’t know what might be lurking inside. Have a constant threat of something looming over the player’s head everywhere they go. And while that might be an easy concept to grasp, the big issue lies in what exactly that threat is.

(No, not jumpscares! I said stop that!)

So here’s the thing about jumpscares:

They’re not a bad thing... when used in conjunction with other things. Used by itself, it’s just a very cheap way to get a reaction from the player. Sure, a monster popping out of nowhere to scream in your face is going to startle you - but that’s just it. It’s startling the player, not scaring them. If your brother hid in the dark to pop out and scream at you when you come in the room, you’re gonna be startled. And then you’re gonna be angry because that’s just not what normal person should be doing, Peter.

But anyway. A jumpscare is also only really effective the first few handful of times, because after that it loses its power and the player will probably just be going ‘Oh, boo to you too, Mr. Monster’. You need to save up on the jumpscares to only use them when a perfect opportunity arises (like when the tension is at its highest, or when the player is least expecting it and quickly build tension). There are a lot of situations where a jumpscare can come in handy, but it should never be used by itself. If you’re gonna Boo! at the player, Boo! at the player and then do something else along with it.

(Also I have a jumpscare pet peeve when jumpscares make absolutely no sense in-universe. Like, I can understand a monster screaming - monsters are, you could say, prone to shrieking and loud noises, so it makes sense. But when a horror game or movie have a thing pop out with a loud sound, a thing that by all means and laws of physics should make no sound whatsoever, it just grinds my gears so friggin much. Worse yet when the characters react to it! Boo, camera cut! Boo, title card says TUESDAY! Boo, there’s some paint on the wall! Boy what a loud wall!)

But I digress.

So, about the threatening the player bit...

How do we threaten the player to make them feel unsafe? That was the trickiest part to figure out during initial development.

One option is going for the being chased by enemies route. Think something like Outlast or Amnesia, where there’s no combat and you have to run away and hide from monsters to survive. Aaand we kind of just ruled that out. Partly because the map isn’t all that big which might have just ended up with the enemy and player running around in circles, and partly because if you don’t do it properly you might end up with something less threatening, and more troublesome. Like, say, you’re in the middle of completing a puzzle and suddenly an enemy pops out and you have to drop everything to run all the way back to shake them off to finally be able to go back and do what you were trying to do in the first place - that kind of troublesome.

A second option is having combat. Or enemies that appear and that you can deal with in one way or the other. Aaand we also ruled that out and I just don’t know what the friggity frack we were thinking. I was very dumb, essentially. I think I was influenced by this current trend in horror games to have no combat whatsoever, in order to maybe leave the player feeling helpless in the face of danger. And honestly, I should have just taken a long hard look at the horror classics that are influencing this game and realized: the!! friggin!! combat!! it’s there!!! dammit!!

So, no chasing and no combat. What the hell do we do?

Basically I did this thing of trying to make an idea work that clearly does not work but I tried and tried anyway instead of letting it go and it’s basically a really bad thing that I do, and now that I’m finally aware of doing it I’m trying really hard to stop.

Note to self: if an idea isn’t working, let it go! Try something else!

Long story short what we tried to do was this thing where being around an enemy drained your health/sanity/whatever and you needed to escape the room to be safe by pressing a series of quick time events to open the door and leave. It didn’t work.

So there’s combat now! The end!

Well, okay, not really.

So, combat at last.

When I say combat, I don’t mean the action-game-one-man-army kind of combat. I mean the combat that’s of the I-have-a-rusty-pipe-and-will-smack-the-shit-out-of-any-ugly-thing-that-comes-my-way-oh-god-what-the-hell-is-that-maybe-I-should-just-run kind. Think of the first Silent Hill games, the first Resident Evils and even Fatal Frame, where the combat essentially boils down to being a ghost paparazzo.

So, now that we’ve decided on combat, the looming threat that I mentioned before becomes fairly well defined: it’s the possibility of an enemy encounter. You can even play with that expectation, like having one or two fake out scares (just do not overdo - I’m looking at you, scenes of a random cat jumpscaring you out of nowhere), or by pulling the rug out from underneath the player by having an enemy pop out in a seemingly safe area and give them trust issues.

But for the player to dread meeting an enemy means the combat can’t be easy - but it also can’t be frustrating otherwise it just fails as a game mechanic. The player can’t breeze through enemy encounters, each one needs to feel like an actual threat that the player has to deal with (either by killing them or tactically retreating a.k.a. running away please don’t hurt me).

Kind of a side rant: Honestly, if someone asked me what the downfall of the Resident Evil games as a horror series was, I’d probably say it started with the combat. Not all of it, but I’d say a good deal of the blame was there. *Please note I haven’t played either RE7 (as someone who tends to get motion sickness, first person games are things that I avoid) or the RE2 remake (this one I will get as soon as it goes on sale because games are expensive and I got no money).

I mean, I still love RE4 with all my heart and those Regenerators will live on inside my nightmares, but I thought earlier games felt much more tense because the combat in 4 was a lot more action-y than horror-y, though it hadn’t entirely tilted over to the action side... Then 5 came and ruined it all and then 6 came and was like ‘what’s a horror game’ (and I say this as someone who had fun with 6!) and the rest is history.

But it did get me thinking about one thing: the combat mechanics. I found myself frustrated when trying to go back to older Resident Evil games and struggled to deal with the bare bones combat and the clunky tank controls (granted, the latter more than the former), so I started wondering how much of the tension in older games had to do with actual horror, and how much of it was due to the insecurity you get when dealing with awkward controls in a moment of crisis.

Playing around with combat mechanics

So, having figured out that I wanted combat, the question became ‘how to combat’. Or something along those lines. I didn’t want to make things too easy, but I also didn’t want to make the player frustrated.

Here’s the part where I repeat what I said right at the top of this post: as the game is still in development, I’m still figuring out the proper mechanics of it all.  So basically I’m just gonna register here what my experiments have been so far, and, like I said in the camera devlog, there are no tank-like controls because those are just a pain to deal with.

So at first I made it so you could only attack after aiming... But then that felt clunky as hell considering this is melee. So I scrapped that idea and made it so you could walk and attack at the same time.

I did keep the aiming part though, but made it optional: you can still walk and attack, but attacking while aiming will deal higher damage.

And in the spirit of keeping the player from just mashing the attack button I’m trying out a little something: Chaining attacks to deal higher damage but also making it so that, should the player press the attack button again too fast, the animation will restart, basically cancelling the previous attack. This would be a nightmare in a fast paced action game but since it’s not, I’m hoping it’ll force the player to be a bit more careful when confronting an enemy without it becoming a frustrating mechanic so, again, it needs more playtesting!

Also enemies can also chain attack you for higher damage!

And that’s basically it! I’m sorry if after all this buildup it ended up being disappointing oops

But considering Observo is going to be a somewhat short game I don’t have the time to develop a complex battle system that’s just not gonna be used a lot in a game with puzzles as the main focus. So that’s it! Thank you so much to anyone who’s still reading this at this point, haha

[jaxsteamblog]

Thank you!

So, that last post kinda got popular huh? I’m still not in a good place to write “Blood & Seawater” but I’m feeling inspired, and I’d like to thank my veteran followers for sticking with me. To my new followers:

I am so, so sorry for the shit posting schedule.

Anyway, here’s (non-Steam canon) fluff:

The Favor

Zuko knew it was going to be awkward. Everyone had been caught off guard when Katara had made their relationship public. And while his ministers had been especially noisy, the Poles had been eerily quiet. Neither Arnook nor Hakoda had said anything, at all.

When the Earth Queen went into labor and Katara packed to go attend, he had an idea. While she kissed him goodbye and boarded the airship, he had already sent the note.

Sokka met him in Republic City, but they said nothing as he boarded. IT wasn’t until they were back in the air that Sokka approached him in the cockpit. 

“He doesn’t hate you.” Sokka reassured Zuko for the hundredth time. “It’s just, not what he expected.”

“I need more than for him to not hate me.” Zuko replied. “I need him to like me.”

“Why?”

“Because Katara loves him.”

When they landed in the small, blossoming city in the South Pole, Zuko was shivering. It wasn’t from the cold - he had long since learned how to maintain his internal temperature through bending - but from unadulterated terror. He knew how to deal with a father who hated, he could not handle a father who disapproved. 

Sokka disembarked first, embracing Hakoda and Malina before standing with them. Zuko walked down the ramp, focusing on his posture and most definitely looking stiff. As he approached the family, he held out the large box he carried, his arms locked.

“Chief Hakoda, I bring you a gift.” Zuko said, too loudly, too awkwardly. He had donned traditional South Pole furs and jackets, and had begun to sweat. Hakoda eyed both Fire Lord and box warily, but took the gift. 

“Thank you Fire Lord, I-” Hakoda broke off his sentence as he lifted the lid of the box. Inside was a large metal lamp with a clear glass chimney. He glanced up at Zuko before speaking. “A lamp?”

“For family.” Zuko said softly. 

“Fire Lord, it is lovely.” Malina said gently and Sokka smiled. 

“Please, call me Zuko.”

Dinner was tense; while Malina and Sokka attempted to make light conversation, Hakoda ate in silence and didn’t look at Zuko. As the evening wore on, Zuko began to feel more and more lightheaded.

“Ah, Zuko, you’ve hardly touched your soup!” Malina sounded dismayed and Zuko felt himself blush.

“He’s probably not used to sea prunes.” Sokka remarked, taking a loud slurp from his spoon.

“Actually, Katara makes it a few times a month. It’s similar in taste to a berry my mother liked, so I enjoy it a lot.” Zuko said as he stirred the spoon through the lumps of sea prunes. 

“So Katara cooks for you.” Hakoda said. Zuko strained to hear an inflection, anything to make the disparaging comment a question. 

“She cooks for both of us. We take turns on nights we don’t want to, eat at, the palace.” Zuko’s voice faltered as Hakoda slowly turned his head to stare at him. Trying not to look away or retract from the table, Zuko cleared his throat and went on. “She likes how I make tonkatsu.” 

“Why are you here Fire Lord?” Hakoda questioned.

“Sir, with your permission, I am here to learn how to carve a favor.” Zuko said. Malina gasped while Hakoda’s brows shot up.

“For Katara?” Hakoda asked.

“There could be no one else.” Zuko answered quietly.

“We’ll see.”

To prove worthy of a marriage, a man of the tribes must show that he can provide for his wife and family. Food, fire, and family were the three pillars of tribe life. For the first, Zuko was taken on a hunt. With Sokka, and his own basic knowledge of hunting weaponry, he was able to bring back a sealion with minimal bleeding. 

For fire, he had no issues.

When it came to family, he was stuck. Family in the tribes is where you gained shelter. Family would feed you if you were too sick to hunt. Family would share their fire if you were too weak to gather fuel. Family kept you alive in the Poles.

Zuko had no family.

Zuko knelt in front of Hakoda, his head bowed.

“You offer my daughter nothing from a shared hearth. There is no lamp to warm her hands, to cook her food, or shelter her from the darkness.” Hakoda remarked sternly.

“She has everything I am.” Zuko replied, his head still lowered.

“Here is his hearth, husband.” The sound of something heavy hitting the floor made Zuko look up. Malina stood with her fists on her hips, a pile of paper slumping at her feet.

“Malina.” Hakoda started and Malina hissed air out from her teeth.

“Every letter his uncle has written to laud every skill and talent this young man has. His people are not our people, but he has a hearth.” She retorted and Zuko’s eyes misted with tears. 

“Fine. But there is one more test.” Hakoda said and grunted as he stood up. “Get Sokka.”

Ice Dodging was a rite of passage for tribals, regardless of bending ability. Sokka, having already completed the rite, stood in as the parental figure for Zuko.

Two young girls stood giggling next to the boat they were to use. They were much younger than Zuko and he could not stop the wave of embarrassment.

It was a fairly easy course, as it was early enough in the season before the icebergs “migrated.” What made it difficult was that Hakoda had placed Zuko on the mainsail, under the instruction of one of the girls. 

At one point, the girl called out a turn, and Zuko was able to spot right away why that was a bad idea. But the other girl had already started moving the jib, propelling the boat faster to make the turn. Closing his eyes and pushing out a breath, Zuko wrenched on the ropes.

And turned the boat the other way.

“What?!” The girl yelled, then stopped. “Ahh.” She saw her error and continued to call out directions, which Zuko easily followed. Still, when they got back to shore, Zuko was slow to walk over, instead fussing over the lines of rope.

Sokka clapped him on the shoulder, took the rope out of his hands, and threw it onto the deck.

“You did well buddy.” Sokka whispered before giving his shoulder one last slap and walking off.

“Zuko, you have shown your willingness to listen to the command of others, but to have the strength to act on your own knowledge to maintain the safety of your crew.” Hakoda said, addressing both him and the congregated people. “You have come here to win the support of our tribe, but you have shown that you will not stay silent and be led into failure. For this, you have earned the Mark of the Brave.”

Hakoda approached him and Zuko stayed quiet as the man applied the cuttlefish paint to his forehead. 

He had the same mark as Katara.

“You are now an honorary member of this tribe. What will you do?” Hakoda asked, his eyes looking intently into Zuko’s.

“I come to petition the right to court your daughter, and to carve her a favor of my intention.” Zuko answered, his voice strong and clear. Gasps broke out among the group of onlookers, followed by furious whispers.

Hakoda only smiled.

In the North Pole, a man presented his betrothed with a carved necklace. Usually the medallion of the necklace held a particular symbol that represented the bridegroom’s family or one of his own accomplishments. More often than not, however, they were simple Water Tribe motifs.

In the South Pole, there was a scarcity in both time and resources so men did not carve necklaces. Instead, they carved little figures, or favors, that they would send to their intended. Sokka had done as much for Yue, though she had not known of it’s significance. Just as Hakoda had never known the real meaning of the necklace Kanna had given him for Kya.

Zuko had never wanted to replace Katara’s necklace. No matter how he tried to frame it, he could never forget the time he had held it hostage. It had hurt her and now the memory hurt him. He would always have her wear it, no matter what color robes she wore.

To carve a favor was usually a quick thing. Men would whittle whalebone while talking or even while eating. It was not a trivial action, but did allow for them to carve multiple favors in a short amount of time. There was more prestige to the gifts if they were a matched set, especially if they told a story.

Hakoda, for instance, had presented Kya with a set telling the story of Sedna, the Lady of the Sea.

Zuko had less time and even less skill than the other men. As Sokka told him of the mangled favor he had given Yue, Zuko only heard the barely muted laughter of the other men. 

He had never held a blade of anything other than cutting or fighting. Whittling was something else entirely.

The night before they were set to leave, Zuko showed Hakoda what he had done. To his credit, the older man didn’t laugh.

“Zuko.” Malina started, her voice gentle. “Haven’t you seen my necklace?” Zuko looked at her throat and as Malina’s fingers drifted away, he saw the medallion. Wavy lines jerked awkwardly at the top and there was a sick looking frog underneath.

“It’s, beautiful?” Zuko attempted and Hakoda laughed.

“It was supposed to be the Northern Lights over a leaping salmon.” Hakoda said and as Zuko stared at the medallion, he too started to laugh.

“Now you see where I got it from.” Sokka added.

“Hey, carving is a lot worse than whittling.” Hakoda shot back.

“Katara will love it dear.” Malina said and patted the cave of Zuko’s hands as he hid the favor between them.

He certainly hoped so.

Zuko returned to the palace a day before Katara did. That meant a day of him panicking over his plan. He stayed up all night sorting through the gifts Hakoda had sent along; some symbolic while others were traditional gifts given before a marriage. With the items surrounding him as if he had exploded into shrapnel, Zuko leaned against the wall of his bedroom, turning the favor over in his hands. 

It was awful. It looked nothing like he had intended and there were still sharp edges in places. Zuko remembered how Hakoda had hovered, repeating instructions on how to use the various small tools. He smiled now as he had laughed then, listening to how Hakoda faltered every time he remembered it was his daughter Zuko was whittling for. 

He smiled wryly now as he had frowned then when Sokka brought over a group of young men to gawk at Zuko’s attempts. 

He drifted and remembered eating sea prunes while Hakoda told stories of Sokka and Katara as little children.

“Zuko?” Zuko roused and sat up, blinking wearily in the watery pre-dawn light.

“Yuhs?” He slurred, unable to get his eyes to focus.

“Are we going to a wedding?” Katara asked. Panic returned with a vengeance and Zuko shot to his feet.

“NO.” He said, a little too loudly and a little too quickly.

“Because these look like wedding gifts.” Katara continued.

“I.” Zuko felt the mental list of his plan melt away. He deflated, knowing he had been defeated by his own awful sleeping habits.

“Katara, I went to see your father.” He admitted. Katara looked surprised for a moment, then concerned. 

“And?” She prompted. Zuko took in a deep breath and released it slowly.

“Katara.” He started, but found that his brain had locked up. 

“Yes?” Katara urged.

“Katara, please accept my favor.” Zuko said in a rush and thrust out his fist. As Katara held out her hands, he dropped the token and she picked it up gingerly in her fingers.

“An umbrella?” She inquired and Zuko groaned.

“It’s you. The day you stopped the rain.” He muttered. When Katara didn’t respond and only examined the token, Zuko stepped around to her side and traced the arc with his finger.

“That’s the rain.” He whispered. Katara smiled and then glanced at him briefly.

“I gathered.” She whispered back.

“I love you.” He whispered and she kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I love you as well only,” She frowned and looked at him fully. “Do you know what this means?”

“It means I want to marry you.”

“You do?”

“Zuko.”

“Do you accept my favor?”

“Oh Zuko.” Katara wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, properly. When she leaned back enough to look up at him, her smile was so sweet. However, as she began to speak, Zuko noticed a familiar glint in her eyes. “Don’t you know that a marriage only becomes official after the birth of a child?” 

Zuko felt the blood drain from his face.

“You don’t suppose...” He said, looking off behind Katara at nothing.

“That my father thinks I’m pregnant and you rushed to the South Pole to make sure you could marry me before the baby comes?” She finished. Zuko felt his stomach sour as he nodded slowly.

“Sounds like you have a promise to keep Fire Lord.” Katara said and then chuckled as Zuko blanched.

[was-gryff-whitehills-apologist]

So, I did end up splitting the rest of the prologue in two — now it is going to consist of three parts (this time I can say it for sure, haha) (the first part is here, btw). There’s less scenes in this one, but I’m hoping it’ll still be decent. My thanks go to everyone who commented/liked/reblogged/took interest in this fic - you guys are my main source of inspiration!!

I also forgot to do this last time, I think, but credit to @badgershite​ for some of his characters I used in this (and took some creative liberties with) - Astor Greyson, maester Wyllard & Roslin Snow.

"Well, we sure as shit ain't freezing to death this way, are we? I've heard, that is the biggest danger this far North, so if we carry on like this — I say, there's nothing to worry about." This was not the first — and likely, not the last — wise line, cracked by the very same recruit, who tried to speak to Gryff during the training. Man's high spirits didn't seem to lower no matter — not after doing rather poorly at the fighting yard ("never aimed to be assigned a ranger and become food to the shadowcats, do you feel me?"), not while having to chop firewood for what felt like ages already ("better than cleaning the swinery, am I right?") & certainly — not at the fact, that Gryff barely listened to him & only seemed to grow more annoyed with each new clever phrase.  The future watcher's name was Alen & it felt like he was everywhere at once — jumping at whatever task elders would give them, making acquaintance with other men & getting a word in every conversation, that would start amidst the crows. Few minded that — the day was dragging lazily, even more so after the sword practice has ended, and it could use at least some entertainment.  "Where do you come from?" Gryff flinched, halting with axe in his hand hanging over the chopping block, realizing it was him being addressed. Behind his shoulder, he could feel Alen giving him that same light smile he had when asking the question to everyone else in the courtyard before.  "North." He responded curtly, bringing the axe down & cracking a log in two.  "Means you didn't have to travel far from home, right? Good for you." His comrade smirked, picking up the firewood Gryff had cut. "And you're no stranger to this bloody cold either. I'm from the Reach myself, grew up near Sunhouse. Must be hard to believe for you — but I only saw snow for the first time on my way here. Imagine how it'd be for you, if you haven't known it since childhood — just wake up one morning, your sleeping bag frozen to the ground & you both covered in all white! I thought I would..." Gryff wasn't really paying attention. The other did look like a southerner, he guessed — his skin was slightly more tanned than that of most men here, & he would shiver & hug himself, trying to keep warm, fairly often, even though he remained smiling the whole time. That did not make him anymore interesting in the Whitehill's eyes. His never-ending chatter grated on his nerves & concentrating on what the man was saying was too hard either way.  "Are you planning to finish your work or prattle like a bunch of maidens 'till night falls?" A deep voice sounded from the stairs that led to the dining hall. A man was approaching them — sturdy, wide-shouldered fella, whose tone & smirk seemed friendly enough nonetheless. "Not to be a pain in your asses, lads, but it's this wood, that'll go to the fireplaces in your cells. Might want to hurry — or you'll be warming up each ones' beds yourself tonight if you don't wanna freeze!" Low guffaw could be heard, while the man sat on one of the barrels & looked over the recruits. Gryff recalled seeing this one along with Astor earlier — Corlys was his name, if he remembered correctly, and probably a builder too, from his looks & the way he followed Astor around.  "We could use some help." Ayden, one of the newcomers from the sword practice beforehand, spoke to the watcher, his tone serious. "You don't look busy — and you'll need a fireplace tonight too, like any of us." "All in good time." Corlys took no offense from being addressed so boldly by a man of lower rank. "When I first arrived, me an' my like slaved away without any help like you do now — showing what we were capable of on our own. Every'ne goes through that. First days are the toughest — you'll get used to it. Won't be long till you yourself are ordering newcomers around." "What are you here for? If you don't mind me asking." The builder asked the very same recruit, casually. "Seem tough — got in a brawl that got outta' hand? Bashed the wrong head in?" "I'm no killer." Ayden appeared to be unnerved by the implication. "And I wasn't sent here. I am a volunteer." More distinct laughs could be heard, and many curious eyes turned to the lad — Gryff's not included. That did not make the recruit waver, however, keeping his expression deadly serious.  "Not many volunteers we get these days." Corlys leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyeing the younger man with curiosity. "Was it really that bad wherever you're from? Can't imagine what'd make a man do such thing." "It was not— not bad, not worse than it was for anyone else anyway." Ayden shrugged. "I just knew that was the right thing to do. The best way of serving the Realm I am capable of." Now even Gryff stole a quick skeptic glance at him. The expression in the man's eyes suggested his words were no joke. Several others whispered amid themselves, uttering short laughs. Nobody seemed particularly impressed by what has just been said, but rather confused instead.  "Figures..." Corlys huffed out air, that turned white from the cold as it left him. "So, who else got any stories to share?" Now he turned to the rest of them, trying to stir conversation further. "Something more interesting than stealing a sack of cabbage or stabbing your fellow man over the maiden fair he bedded before you could? Anyone?”    

Gryff had no idea what kind of "interesting stories" he was expecting from these men. Not that he cared, but thanks to Alen's never-ending talking, he had, against his will, heard the other speak to most of the recruits already & found out the crimes, that got most of them sent to the Watch. Dennet has indeed stabbed some man, Eman, a short & bearded northerner, was a rapist, some lanky & ugly lad, who hailed from the Riverlands, has been caught stealing one time too many & his lord got fed up with that, but had mercy & banished him here instead of taking a hand... All clothed in the same black recruits' armor, shuffling back & forth through the courtyard, carrying out their assignments, starting small talk here & there in gruff voices, they were nothing but a faceless mass to him, barely different from one another. Even speaking to any of them seemed like a waste of time.  "What about you, pretty mug?" Corlys ran an eye over Alen, who was happy to stop by his side & join the conversation rather than continue with the work. "It was, probably, just a sack of stolen cabbage — or, maybe, from the looks of you, someone's stolen maidenhood?" It was true, that the recruit was handsome, with thick & wavy chestnut hair & soft, bright eyes. Along with the constant disarming smile, all that gave him an extremely non-threatening look. Nothing in his appearance would let the guy be mistaken for an experienced fighter. "I'm tougher than I seem, actually." The reachman made a mockingly offended face. "And it costed the last man who underestimated me. Unfortunately, he was no mere man — he was my lord's son. I only escaped with my head because I didn't kill the guy — but have roughened him up a fair bit." "What'd a wimp like you do to roughen' a man up?" Eman laughed hoarsely, dumping the chopped firewood he's carried on top of other logs. "Bit off 'is cock when you 'ere pleasin' him on ye knees?"  "Let's just say, he can't walk very well anymore." Alen crossed arms on his chest, eyes narrowing at the raper. "Nothing you, or anyone here, would want for yourselves." "I'm pissin' my pants in terror." Bearded northerner huffed, heading back to the chopping block, hands busy rubbing knots out of his lower back. "And what does the lordling has to say for 'imself?" Phrase came as a surprise, making Gryff tense up — but not turn around. He felt the other's eyes prickle his back like a knife's tip. "What makes a noble join the company of our likes?" Another inhale of cold air tightened inside his chest, his body heat not enough to warm it. Putting all of his force in it, Gryff brought the axe down for the hundredth time, chopping a log in two.  "That's not the business of any of you." Ayden cast him a glare, frowning. Corlys, turning more serious in a matter of seconds, got back up from where he sat.  "Alright, that's enough talking. Take the lordling's example and get back to work. You'll be warmer that way, and—" "And why ain't it any of our business?" Eman stood with hands on his hips, with a grin, that made a show of his cracked teeth. "Think you're too good for us, simpler folk? Well, you wouldn't 'ave been sent here if that was so — so don't be so fuckin' prissy, your lordship. Everyone's tellin' their story, so what's so special about yers'?" "Look, just drop it, alright?.." Alen picked up his own axe from the frozen ground, avoiding the eyes of either men. "I'm tired of listening to the same shit all over again, aren't you? The sooner we finish, the sooner we're all getting fed..." "I just don't want the lordling to get any wrong ideas." The raper shrugged, tucking at the end of his beard. "He thinks just because he got a darn last name, he's suddenly special?.. People deserve to know whom they'll serve with. What if he's a deserter? A backstabber? A coward? How are you going to trust him to watch yer back, if he won't even—" "That is rich" Gryff's voice sounded foreign even to himself, cold, sardonic & lacking any passion. "From a pisstain, who chose this, so he wouldn't get his prick cut off. Aren't you the trustworthy one?" "Aye." Now the man's own voice was akin to cracking of thick ice — harsh & cold. "It was my cock, that got me sent here, boy — least that means I have one. Can't say the same 'bout you so far, fourthborn. Which one of yer lord-brothers didn't you have the balls to fight, so you let them take you by the scruff & throw this far north?" His fingers tightened around the axe's handle & finally, he turned to face the opponent. Other men seemed to be low-key taking steps back from the two, forming sort of an empty circle around them. Eman's gaze only briefly scurried over Gryff's weapon, the sight causing him little to no distress.  "Hit a nerve there, 'ave I?" He cocked his head, grin widening. "Don't be shy, just say it out loud. Tell us how you got kicked out, because you couldn't keep a hold of a lousy garrison against a bunch of leftovers from biggar men's war."

Another one who knows, knows more than he is supposed to, the sickening thought pulsated in his mind, but Gryff refused to show it in any way. He could not allow anybody to know how their words truly affected him — pretending like it was nothing would be for the best. "And here I wondered who you reminded me of. You watch out there" Gryff was rocking the axe in his hand slightly, as if adjusting the weapon & readying to aim it. His shoulders hunched forward slightly & muscles tensed, prepared. "Many of the leftovers didn't live to tell that story." "Many, an' still not enough to earn you a way back in the house." The fucker was mocking him, & showed no fear, not the slightest twitch. "Drop the act, your lordship — every'une here will know who you are soon. No point in hiding—" Gryff was slowly drawing the hand with axe in it behind his back, readying for a swing, when it suddenly slipped out of his fingers — got pulled from them. Turning back, he found himself face-to-face with Astor Greyson, who displayed no signs of disturbance, weighing the axe in his hand casually.  "Decent job you lot did here, I have to admit." He looked satisfied, while handing the axe to Alen, who has conveniently stepped in from behind. "That's enough firewood for a bloody fortnight — I suggest we all take a break from this. Corlys, find the lads something else to do. And you" Gryff was just about to get back to Eman's case, this time armed with nothing more than his fists, when Astor's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Come with me, if you don't mind. There are some things, I believe, only you can help me with." Gryff did mind, actually, and a lot — minded being dragged away from the starting conflict like a mutt, by his scruff, minded being in the company of this fucker, who had, undoubtedly, caused the rumors about him to start spreading. He also knew he would have to swallow all that. The rapist was smirking at him, clearly considering himself the winner, and Gryff swallowed that too, unwillingly dragging after Astor, who was leading him away from the rest of men, towards the entrance to the keep. 

It took some mental effort to find his way to the maester’s chambers. Gryff had never been a frequent visitor of the place anyway – not with Ebbert spending time there as often as he used to before fucking off to the Citadel. He also recalled little about the Highpoint’s current healer, but that hardly mattered now – it’s not like their acquaintance was promising to be a long one. He opened the door – and froze, words he was about to utter getting stuck in his throat like a bone, while Gryff’s mind struggled to process what he was seeing. Apparently, no actions were actually needed on his part – an excited gasp, the no-longer-familiar “uncle Gryff!..” exclamation, the quick patter of feet & seconds later he was hit with the full force of the jump-hug of his niece, who now clung tightly to his neck, chuckling joyously. “Now, ww-what the hell?..” A voice from somewhere behind Roslin’s back inquired, lazily, yet indignantly. “I thought I’ve told ye, I needed it to be quiet if you wan’ me to be done with the cursed scratch anytime soon…” Paying little mind to the words – or the pain that awoke in his own bruised body at the impact of the hug – Gryff momentarily snaked his arms around the girl’s frame, lifting her up & clutching close to his chest. The sheer emotion was overwhelming, causing his hands, one pressed securely to her back, and another – stroking the fluffy golden hair, to tremble. His fogged brain hadn’t even registered what was going on yet, but the feeling of foreign warmth already settled inside – so real, so tangible, that it was slowly replacing the sheer hollowness, that was there seconds ago. “I knew I was right and you’d return, eventually!..” Roslin’s voice at one point turned high-pitched from excitement. Her embrace felt so tight, that if Gryff was to let go of her, she’d probably remain hanging from his neck, legs dangling in the air. “Why was it so long though? No one would even tell me where you were, so I had no idea- but is this because of what happened with the bad men sneaking in tonight? I thought you were fighting them, but they are gone, and you’re here, and that’s good, because I don’t want them to get you.”  She chattered on, her thought trail flowing from one subject to another overwhelmingly quickly. “It’s safe now that father has fended them off, so I think we should all be staying here, so he can protect us if they try doing it for the second time. I’m glad you didn’t run in with them on your way home- you could’ve, but it’s still good that you’ve arrived…” Finally, she stumbled, having run out of all air. “S-slow down there, little star.” It’s been so painfully long since he had a chance to say that nickname. Carefully, Gryff pulled back from the hug, still holding Ros in his arms securely, to examine her face. The initial excitement was wearing off, as the sight of a long, red cut on her face caused his blood to run cold.  "What happened?..” He couldn’t prevent the horror he felt from leaking into his voice. Almost against his will, one of his hands moved to touch her cheek below the horrendous scar, as if checking whether she was still in one piece & otherwise unharmed. “Who did this to you?” “I’m trying to tell you – it was the bad man.” The girl winced & Gryff sensed her whole body become tense briefly. “Wait – did they, did they actually get you too?” She must’ve only noticed his missing eye now. “Are you hurt?” She reached to touch the fabric of his eyepatch, but then pulled her hand back, like she was afraid of causing him more pain. “Did you run in with the bad men? Was it them who hurt you? How bad is it?” “Nothing.” There was unusual firmness in Gryff’s tone & he pulled Roslin back in his embrace, hiding the sight of his missing eye & the scars, that ran from under the eyepatch like thin cracks in stone, from the girl’s line of view. “I swear to you, it’s nothing, little star. I’m fine – I just need to know, that you are too.”  His arms were already getting tired from holding her – curse the bone-deep ache & weakness, that sat in him ever since the fall – so Gryff stepped forward, carefully lowering his niece back to sit on the low table where the maester was tending to her when he came in. “That is good to know.” A smile returned on her face within a moment. “I’m fine too – it just still hurts a little, but father said I was very brave and could bear it a little longer, so I did, and it’s good now.” Roslin’s expression became more concerned. “I- I’m glad your eye doesn’t hurt, but – I hope you can also still see? I don’t mean anything, it just looks… Well, it is…” She struggled to find the right words & Gryff couldn't blame her. It looked fucking revolting, the skin around the wound unnaturally green, blue, even yellow, inflamed scratch marks threatening to leak with either blood or some gross liquid he didn’t even have a name for. “I mean it – it’s nothing.” He didn’t even have to force a smile – it just crept on his lips naturally, from merely looking at Ros. Gryff took a seat by the girl’s side, circling an arm around her shoulders. “I can still see you well enough to tell how much you’ve grown, can’t I? It’s all good.” “If you say so.” With a content sigh, she moved closer to him. As she took one more look at his face, her smile widened further. “It’s like we match now! See – and on the same sides.” She pointed out. “I mean, it isn’t pretty, but it isn’t too bad either. It’s… I don’t know… It’s sort of special? Us having something in common like that.” Roslin shrugged, absentmindedly swinging her legs in the air. Gryff had his own opinion on the matter, one he would not voice, so as not to upset his niece. His gaze kept traveling back to her scar, the sight causing uneasiness to swell in his stomach. The hasty story about some “bad men” just wouldn’t form into anything coherent in his head. He needed some explanation of how that could’ve happened – how the fuck did they allow Ros to get hurt at all. His bewildered gaze traveled across the room until it stopped on the maester, who’s been watching them with a displeased scowl, annoyed at being ignored by the duo. “S-so, you must be Gryff, eh?” Finally, the man spoke up. “His l-lordship’s brother. Didn’t expect you to ever come barging in to me like that.” The words were heavily laced with sarcasm. “From the way he speaks of you, I thought you’d be sent to crypt up'n arrival, not here…” Roslin didn’t seem to get the implication, while Gryff shot the healer the dirtiest look he could manage. He’d gladly get up & demonstrate just how much damage he could still do for someone ready to be buried, but violence was clearly off limits in the presence of his niece.  “Cut the crap, maester.” He spoke through his teeth gritted. “And tell me what the actual hell happened here, will you? How could she get hurt like that?" “We all ‘ave nearly gotten hurt while you were sitting your ass off at Ironrath, pretendin' to be important.” Wyllard didn’t seem to care about the fact he was talking to a noble – probably due to being aware of Gryff’s place in the house’s hierarchy. “The F-forrester an’ his Glenmore buddies were here… And some other lord with ‘em – some, eh… Grey-something… Fuck if I know. What I know, is that the fucker meant to slit as much throats as he could – an’ would’ve, if Torrhen didn’t know bet-tter, and haven’t set ‘em a trap…” Gryff blinked once, then the second time, his mind barely even registering any of what was said past the last name “Forrester”. “Do you…” His throat felt like it has turned dry as parchment. “Do you mean it was Rodrik- Rodrik Forrester who did this?” “I don’t know for sure.” Roslin intervened, frowning a little with the effort to recall. “I think, papa fought him – but it was someone else who cut my face. I don’t really know…” If anything, she appeared confused rather than scared. “Someone just grabbed me and held me from behind… Then I got cut- I don’t remember how, exactly… The man who did it was gone, but I didn’t see where. And there was somebody on the floor – he must’ve been hurt too…” It wasn’t just shivers that ran down Gryff’s back now – it felt like waves of heat & cold took turns rushing under his skin. Before he knew it, the arm around Roslin tightened, protectively. She looked like she was searching her memory for another moment, but then shook her head a little – almost as if shaking off the thoughts – and looked back at Gryff with another smile. “Papa was there to protect me though.” She concluded. “What happened to him?” Gryff barely even recognized his own voice – dreadfully calm & steely, enough that it seemed to make Wyllard shrink from unease. “Where is he now?” “The Forrester? On the way to his bloody keep, for all I know…” Maester scoffed, but sensibly moved in the opposite direction from Gryff a bit & pretended to go through the equipment he left on a smaller table. “Hell knowss-s – after I’ve finished patchin’ his arm, he and their men, that were left…” “Patching his arm?” None of this even seemed real to Gryff – it felt more like a strange dream you’d get from sleeping in a hot room. A stupid story somebody made up out of boredom. “On the way to his keep? What the fucking hell are you saying?” Roslin seemed to be shifting a little in her seat, disturbed by her uncle’s change in demeanor, but even that couldn’t bring the man back to his senses. “Are you telling me, that Rodrik Forrester came here at night to start a slaughter, got Roslin hurt and is still bloody alive?.. Where do you think his lordship Torrhen was looking then?” “Fuck- what d’you expect me to say, huh?” Wyllard fought back in a small voice, his eyes shifting across the room, trying to look anywhere, but at the man silently seething with rage in front of him. “I’m-mm just, just tellin’ you what I saw, alright?! As for Torrhen – how ‘bout you go an’ ask him yourself? It was his bloody idea to make peace with them and let them go! That - and give up some of his guards, no less…” “Peace?..” “Why do we have to talk about this now, uncle?” Ros tucked at Gryff’s arm, trying to get his attention. ”The bad men are gone – you don’t have to worry about them anymore. Why don’t you tell me where you’ve been this whole time instead? I’ve been dying to find out for so long!” For half a second Gryff tried to collect his thoughts & think of something to respond with, before the maester, albeit without knowing, came to his aid. “And I’ve been dying to find out why you came ‘ere in the ff-first place.” Wyllard grunted. “Can’t be the eye – don’t tell me you never got it sorted out over the whole time you’ve been away…” It only hit Gryff now, that he was supposed to be having his injuries looked at right now. Determining whether he was good to leave — that last part has completely slipped from his mind when he saw Ros, who was now leaning on his side, smiling joyously. The thought of having to voice the truth of the matter to her clenched his insides in a cold, painful grip.  "I... Fell off a horse on my way here." The part where he was first stabbed in the back by a little Forrester shit out of the blue, and then kicked about by a bunch of Ashwood bastards, was left out — it hardly suited his niece's ears. "Hit my head, and, eh... Everything else, really." He was stalling, wishing to prolong the calm moment. Gryff truly had no idea of what he'd say to Roslin when it was the time — he still had trouble processing reality on his own, leave alone putting it to words.  Realizing he could not escape more work, Wyllard rolled his eyes, grimacing like all of his teeth had suddenly started hurting. Gryff noted how pale & sickly the maester was looking — not exactly ill, but definitely not normal either. If he had to guess, he'd say the other was suffering from hangover, but that didn't make much sense — Torrhen would hardly let one if his men go drunken if he's been preparing for an ambush.  "Fuckin' fine." He huffed, shuffling through his equipment. "Take your shit off then — armor, eyepatch... I'm gonna ss-see what's to be done." Gryff hesitantly obliged — first unfastening the pauldrons, then slowly & carefully dragging off the leathery armor, his scarf & shirt, remaining naked up from the waistline — an action, that made him bite the inside of his mouth to keep from moaning, all the injuries starting to ache worse at once.  The sight under there was not... pretty, to put it mildly, enough to make Roslin gasp softly in shock. Gryff himself had not quite anticipated the extent to which the damage went. Stunned, he observed his side that's been skinned raw, most likely when hitting the ground after the cliff fall, & the almost black bruises where he received the kicks from the four fuckface siblings of his cursed former bride. Scratches & dried blood adorned almost his entire frame, and the stab wound under the left shoulder blade, while not too deep, throbbed fiercely.  "So... You did run in with the bad men..." Ros stated quietly while her uncle, wincing, took off the eyepatch too, just to reveal a messy wound that used to be an eye — scratched raw, wetly glittering from blood & puss, that have been soaking from it for gods know how long now, while the injury remained untreated.  "I... Did, little star, yes." He had to admit, turning his face away from Roslin, so that the missing eye wouldn't attract her attention.  "Don't worry about that." He added quickly — & just a tad sternly. "Better tell me how things have been around here while I was away." He gave her an encouraging smile. "I've heard rumors about your parents finally getting around to giving you a little brother, right? How do you like him?" It was of great importance to the fouthborn that Roslin wouldn't become neglected in favor of her more legitimate sibling. With his brother's uncontrollable ego, Gryff wouldn't put that past him, as for his woman — he knew nothing of her, not even if she cared for her husband's bastard child at all. She was not Roslin's parent by blood — but he could still see it hurting the girl if a trueborn boy would be openly cherished more. The mere thought made his blood boil.  "Of course I like Karl!" The mention of her sibling seemed to cheer Roslin up, excitement flickering in her eyes. "Have you seen him, uncle Gryff?” Question was met with a mere shrug — he did, out of the corner of his eye, notice a bundle wrapped up in clothing in the arms of lady Whitehill, but that was it. "You really should! Father might not like that... But, I think, when he is busy enough not to notice, we could sneak you to take a look? Mother is going to agree, I'm sure — she doesn't know you, but I'll tell her you mean no harm — and she'll see it herself when she meets you!" "Mother?.." He sounded slightly surprised — mostly from not expecting that. While Roslin spoke, Wyllard had pushed a bowl of water & a washcloth towards him to clean the blood off while he prepared his equipment, which Gryff did, not without wincing. "So, I take it, you and your father's wife get along nicely?" He tried his best to make that sound natural — it was just the fact, that he was not used to Ros calling anyone "mother". The word as whole held nothing but a negative, hate-filled undertone for Gryff — but he'd be glad to know it wasn't so for Roslin.  "Me and lady Greta? We do, yes..." Mention of the woman seemed to fluster Ros further, her features filling with an even more overjoyed expression, but something seemed to hold that joy back in a way. "Oh, uncle, I can't wait till you get to know her! She's so— I, I don't even know! She is the best mother I could ever hope to have. I knew father would bring me one, eventually, but I never expected it to be someone like her." Something akin to uncertainty reflected in the girl's blue eyes, and her gaze traveled to the floor.  "I... wasn't sure she'd want me to be her daughter, to be honest." She confessed quietly, making Gryff's heart skip a beat. Smile was back on her lips in a heartbeat, though. "But she did. And I wouldn't want to have any other mother." Before Gryff could respond, he felt Wyllard's hand on his torso, palpating the ribcage unceremoniously, making him gasp in pain. Maester observed the damage, his gaze glassy & mind clearly not in the action.  "Ssseven hells..." Healer shook head, as if trying to get his brain into working. "Doesn't look like you got any broken ribs to me... Does it hurt to breathe in? Deeply, try it." Unwillingly, Gryff took a deep breath, that seemed to make the pressure & pain sharper in the spot maester's hand was on. As soon as he felt like he couldn't handle it anymore, he hastily sighed, letting out the air, that prompted another short stab in that spot, but then the ache eased to dull again.  "Eh— one might be cracked..." Wyllard shrugged & stepped back from him. "Will 'rap it up just in case. F-ffor now" He picked some bowl from his table & shoved it in Gryff's hand. "Just spread this on your wounds. That should do." Gryff squinted down, distrustfully — he's been given some gooey salve, that distinctly smelled of herbs. Something told him, the maester was to take a little bit more of a participation in the process — but he honestly had no wish for the drunkard to touch him more than needed. Dipping fingers into the ointment, he started carefully working it into his skin where it hurt the most, wincing from the cold & pain awakening in the scratches.

"What did he mean... one is cracked?" Ros tilted her head to the side in confusion. "What is cracked?"

"His rib, girl." The maester barked, annoyed, meanwhile proceeding to cut a long & wide piece from a cloth, that he, presumably, meant to use as a bandage. "What else you think it'd be — his skull? I'd n-not be surprised... And what are you doing hanging 'round here anyway? You're fine, so quit gettin’ under my feet — go search for your father, or something..."

"Leave­ her be, you..." Gryff almost dropped the bowl, sharply turning to face the healer, his eye hurling lightnings. "You drunken fool." He had to tone down what he actually wanted to say in Roslin's presence, making up for it with venom in his voice.  "She can be wherever she pleases — nobody asked for your bloody opinion." Part of him was simply enraged that this cretin would dismiss his niece as nothing more than a bother. Another, however, shrank from chilly fear when Wyllard mentioned Torrhen. There was a high possibility Roslin would indeed run off to find her father if reminded to — and then he could possibly not get another chance to speak with her before leaving. Then she'd be led to believe he chose to go away again without an explanation or a goodbye — Torrhen would undoubtedly instill the idea in her mind. The mere thought made the entirety of Gryff's skin crawl with anxiety.

"I told you pa says I can be where I want, didn't I?" Ros looked at Wyllard victoriously, but there was hardly any gloating in her tone, so he simply scoffed, admitting defeat. The girl turned back to Gryff, smiling, glad that her uncle had backed her up on the subject. 

"And I'm not getting under your feet, right? I just missed you, that is all!" He couldn't resist — rising his left hand, the one that wasn't covered in salve, to shuffle through her golden hair, causing the girl to chuckle. "I'm just really glad you're home. I know you and father don't like being around each other, but you can just be in different places, right? The castle's big enough for you two. I hope you can stay for a while now..."

Gryff could feel his throat tightening dangerously. He dreaded the revelation, and wished for nothing more than to defer it just a little more — but he could not bring himself to be dishonest with her at the same time. Roslin was noticing the change in his expression, he could tell, so he had to speak up, while he still could.

"Little star..." His hand lowered to rest on her shoulder, Gryff cleared his throat, having to clench his teeth to remain calm. "I... I'm sorry, but— I can't, well... stay..." His bewildered & guilty gaze shifted lower, feeling unable to face her. "I'm going to leave again... And soon, actually. I will be gone for even longer this time..."

"What?" Girl's big, blue eyes grew wide from shock at first, but then her whole expression changed to a hurt one. "Why? Uncle Gryff, that's just not fair..." There was a soft whining intonation in her voice, that made Gryff's heart drop. "Even father says he can stay now, and he is the lord! Why do you have to go away again? And where? What is so important that you'd leave us because of it..."

"I would not!" Gryff's swift response sounded almost desperate, while the hand on Roslin's shoulder started to tremble. "Ros, you have to believe me — I-I don't want this, but I have no choice. Your father is sending me to the Night's Watch." At the mention of his sentence, Wyllard perked up a bit, squinting with curiosity. "I have no choice, he—" Gryff fell silent, hit with the realization, that he had trapped himself. He couldn't speak ill of Torrhen in her presence — not unless he wanted his niece to hate him — but he could not take the blame for this either, couldn't let her think he was leaving willingly.

"The Night's what?" Ros wrinkled her nose, frowning. "Is that far from Highpoint? Why do you even have to be there? When will you return?" She kept asking questions Gryff simply could not bring himself to answer. The last one, however, seemed to have attracted the maester's attention.

"Rr-return? From the bloody Watch?" He smirked lacklusterly, wiping the blade in his hand on the ragged pieces of cut cloth. "This 'as to be a joke, right?.. Or don't you know that—" The man was cut off, when his sleepy red eyes met Gryff's. Something in the way the fourthborn looked at him caused Wyllard to shut up instantly, and cower, bending over his working table & keeping his head low.

"You can't even tell me? Roslin's tone grew more worried. "What even is that place? Is it safe for you to be there?"

"N-now, actually..." The pair was interrupted by Wyllard’s approaching, with bandages at the ready. "If what's they been sayin' 'bout you and the Ashwood lot's true — hell, it's prob'ly safer for you there than 'ere. 'Least they won't come bargin' in, demanding yer h-hhead — and if they do, heh, I wish 'em luck. The Watch gives no fucks about lords' games. They got bigger things to worry for.”

Gryff stared back at the man, baffled — more so by the coherency of his words, than their content, as well as the fact, that the maester has unknowingly helped him out. Ros blinked, overwhelmed by the flow of new information she clearly had trouble sorting out.

"Ashwoods? Are they part of the bad men too?" She turned to Gryff with a concerned frown. "Why else would they want to come and get you?"

"Yes... Yes, Roslin, they are." He had little choice of what to say, and Gryff's response was genuine enough. "They are the ones I ran in with on my way here."

"So it were them who injured you so badly?" Roslin gasped. "We—we can't let them get you again!"

"Your lord-father took care of that though." Wyllard dropped casually. "As I was sayin' — that ain't gonna be a concern when he's at Castle Black..."

"So he is protecting you from the bad men by sending you there..." As the girl concluded, her face gradually lit up again. "Uncle, I'm going to miss you, but... I can't ask you to stay if it's not safe, right? And if papa thinks it isn't, then it must be bad..."

"And I'll miss you, little star..." He needed all of his remaining strength not to let too much of his true emotion show. "Thank you... For understanding."

"Of course." Much to Gryff's relief, Roslin was now relaxed & smiling brightly again. "And when you're back, we can still..."

"Actually.­" Maester's hissing low voice interrupted them yet again, and Gryff instantly tensed — afraid, that the other was about to drop the harsh reality on Roslin. "Nobody's gonna be gettin' back, or forth, or wherever if I don't bandage him the f-fuck up now, so how about you let me get to it?" He was clearly getting tired & looked like he'd rather be going to sleep than dealing with a second patient that night.

Motioning for Gryff to get his arms out of the way, he got to wrapping his torso up tightly, prompting a low groan from him. The maester wasn't showing his fresh scars any mercy & the bandage was tight enough to make it harder to breath & his cracked rib start to hurt worse. Roslin flinched at the sound, concern finding her face, but only for a moment as she figured out what to do immediately — carefully taking Gryff's hand in her own, smaller one & smiling at him encouragingly. The action was enough to take his mind off whatever was being done to him — despite the pain, a smile cracked his own face.

Finishing his job, Wyllard finally cast a look at the festering wound in the place of an eye, scowling with disgust. Taking eyepatch off just made it worse & the mere touch of air against sore, raw, wet injury made Gryff squirm uncomfortably. The maester got back to his table, hand hovering over the load of tools.

"I take it, no one's looked at it for fuck-knows-how-long­, ey?..." Finally making up his mind, he picked up what looked like a rather sharp knife with thin handle & a double-edged blade. Gryff gulped nervously at the sight of dried brown blood that stained it, while the healer proceeded to scrub it off with some cloth.

"The hell are you about to do with... this?"

"What d'you think?" Squinting, Wyllard lifted his empty stare to him. "Even the girl here could tell it'ss rotting. You're runnin' a fever, if you couldn't tell — it's s-still low, but if nothing's done, it'll get worse. And if the abscess ruptures, and all that is in there starts ss-spilling outta control... You don't want it happenin', trust me."

"But, you can do something about it, right?" Roslin hardly understood the meaning of these words, beyond the fact, that her uncle wasn't doing good, and that was enough to rise her worry. "I won't get under your feet anymore, promise — if you can fix it..." 

The offer sounded so innocently genuine, that it promoted half a smirk even from Wyllard.

"Course I do." He grunted hoarsely, uncorking a small vessel, that instantly filled the room with a sharp, alcohol-like smell — prompting a satisfied sigh from the maester. With visible regret, he spilled the liquid on the blade, making it glitter slightly. "Goin' to cut it open myself." The man grinned, like it was more of a dark joke, than anything, and upon noticing how Gryff looked at him, added: "Unlesss you'd rather just leave it be. Suits me ffine, honestly. W-who knows" He shrugged, concluding under his breath, so that Ros wouldn't hear. "Perhaps that's the way Torrhen would actually prefer it to be..." Gryff watched the blade silently, unable to make up his mind at once. The mere thought of it cutting into the overly sensitive flesh of the wound & letting out whatever’s been gathering there was frankly terrifying – just as much as the perspective of doing nothing about it, until it would fucking leak inside his skull or some shit. He did feel feverish, had been feeling that way for a long time, but had already grown used to it, only reflecting on his state now that it's been pointed out to him. Whenever he was not distracted enough to stop caring, the wound itched, and burned, and made him feel restless and nauseated. Something needed to be done about it, he tried to convince himself, but the sight of the maester’s knife made it impossible to push out a word. 

Hell, maybe saying no to Cley, when he had offered to look at the wound wasn’t actually a very good idea... Noticing the tense silence from her uncle, Roslin tightened the grip of her hand around his.

"It can't be too bad, right?" She stated in her most confident tone, looking up at him. "I was scared to have mine looked at too, but it was okay in the end – only throbbed for a little, but then felt better. You want me to stay here while he looks at your eye? I don’t think ma and pa will be looking for me – they must be busy, after all that’s happened…” Gryff’s only eye met hers, and the decision pretty much made itself. “I guess, if you were brave enough, then I should try to be too, right?” With a nervous laugh, he clenched her hand in his own – just a bit, careful not to hurt Ros. “Only because you say so, little star.” With that said, he swiftly nodded to Wyllard, before fear had a chance to get hold of him once more. “Fuckin’ finally.” The man huffed as he approached him, lifting the blade so that it was right in front of Gryff’s eyes. “I’ll try to be quick, so you try to keep silent” maester’s eyes stopped on Roslin briefly. “and not break her damn fingers. Not gonna lie” he smirked grimly. “That’s-s about to hurt like all seven hells, and more than that…” Before any response could be received, Wyllard brought the blade forward & sliced, cutting through the inflamed, festering flesh.

He followed Astor through dark & cold unfamiliar corridors & several stairways, that felt like a maze to Gryff. The other had cast him a look or two, but must've considered his expression too hostile to try & start a conversation. The Whitehill felt little to no inclination towards speaking – it would, after all, most likely be some shit about how he was supposed to try harder to get along with the others, like he was fucking ten. When the watcher finally spoke up, they were in an empty hallway, with no other black brothers to be seen.

“So, Gryff – I take it you had a chance to look around a bit?..”

“So, ser.” He parroted the other’s casual tone. “I take it, you pester every man who arrives here, till they’re ready to jump from the top of the Wall just to be rid of you?”

“Well, not exactly every one of them.” That wasn’t enough to put Astor Greyson out of countenance, even if a shade of surprise reflected in his expression. “Only those, who, I think, need it most, truly.” That made Gryff roll his eye, unsurprised – Torrhen would never have missed a chance to stick it to him one last time, writing the best damn recommendation letter possible, one that painted him as something in between a psychopath, too dangerous to trust with a training sword, and a drooling moron, unable to tie his own shoelaces. It only made fucking sense, that this man would set out to supervise him – new lord Whitehill knew exactly what to say to ensure Gryff would not be trusted.

“While we're at it” deciding, that it was probably best to keep moving, Astor went on, continuing his speech without having to look Gryff in the eye. “Any luck with picking a place to stay? For the time being, at least. Not like it’s luxurious, but we have so few men, that newcomers can be choosy with the sleeping place. If you’re still uncertain, I could always help out. Have been here long enough to know what might suit your taste.”

“Fuck if I know.” Gryff jerked a shoulder, muttering under his breath. He didn’t even know which of the buildings were meant for the watchers to sleep in, much less where he’d like to be. He had no wish to be anywhere at Castle Black for another minute, and neither – to take any help from this man, but just saying nothing would make him look stupid. “Somewhere where it’s quiet, I guess. Far from the fuckers like the one you so kindly took me away from.” He couldn’t help but add the last sarcasticsentence.

“Hardin’s Tower should be good if you’re the loner type.” Astor stated. “Too lonely for my taste, barely anyone lives there – a couple brothers, and, I think, a wildling or two, out of those few, who fancied staying here – in case such company bothers you.” Gryff couldn’t care less, and actually found that fitting, in a way. Whatever wildling chose to settle down at Castle Black would likely become a pariah among black brothers from day one – a fate, that, the Whitehill presumed, he would soon share. 

“You’ll hardly even run into each other much. What do you say?” One more question Gryff didn’t grace with a response, just shrugging in an irritated manner. Hardin’s Tower it was, then – not that he had even been expecting to be given a choice. If the Greyson had only called on him to discuss accommodation, then he expected to be able to leave now – and possibly seek Eman out, to explain, in the most expressive of phrases (and punches) the error of man's ways to him.

“I’ll let myself be honest.” They have approached a door, that Astor opened, revealing a small, but comfortable enough looking cell to Gryff’s view, & motioning for him to follow inside. “I understand, you must not be in the… best of moods, but I don’t recall giving you a reason to be so hostile to me in particular. If I did something to offend – you should say so, so we can work it out. Shooting glares and rolling eyes won’t get us anywhere.” He didn’t smirk anymore, but didn’t look angry either – just serious, waiting patiently for Gryff explain himself.

“What gives you the thought, that I want to work anything out with you?” Anger was starting to choke him. “Who the fuck do you even think you are, my wet nurse? Or have you read a bloody letter, by a fuckface you know nothing of, and now think you know everything about me? Well, guess what – that’s nothing to pride yourself on, if every last man in this fucking keep had already taken a peak too. So how about you let others handle the mess, and leave me be, if I’m being such a bother?..”

That was the most words he had uttered at once, probably ever since departing from Highpoint, and now he was out of breath, glaring at the man in front of him with disgust. Astor, however, frowned & seemed genuinely taken aback, for the first time since meeting Gryff.

“I’m sorry, but…” He shook his head a little, frown furthering. “I genuinely don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“For fuck’s sake…” Gryff threw his head back, jaw clenching tightly. “Quit pretending to be clueless, will you? Or why’d you think I even bothered with that asshole, there, in the courtyard? He knows awfully a lot about my life, that I’ve told no one here. Oh yes, he, and the master-at-arms, and probably every last stableboy as well at this point. Where do you think they would get all that, if not from you – and from the bloody letter?”

The Greyson did not respond, instead looking at Gryff for a few seconds, and then going up to his desk, where he hastily began to search for something in the drawer.

“Now it at least makes sense why you’d get angry at me…” He spoke more to himself, than to Gryff, who watched on uncomprehendingly. What he got out was the familiar envelop. “I’m… at a loss, really. This is actually what- part of what I called you here for, but I guess, other matters can wait. I understand why you’d think it was me spreading rumors, or showing the letter around, but you see – that’s not what happened. I simply had no chance to.” 

He handed the envelop to Gryff, who stared at it, baffled – the blue seal with the familiar Whitehill sigil was untouched. “I haven’t read it, and, apparently, nobody else did. Don’t know if you’ll believe me, but nobody heard the things I know about you from me either. I have no interest in doing that, and ser Raffard isn’t exactly someone I’d share those things with either way.”

“But…” Gryff blinked, pieces refusing to come together in his mind. “If not from you or the letter, then how would they…”

“No idea. Maybe the men you arrived with told someone when you didn’t hear. Perhaps somebody else wrote the Watch, unlikely as that is… Anyway – I’d like to consider the problem between the two of us resolved. I don’t blame you for getting defensive – I just hope you believe me now.”

Gryff’s eye moved from the watcher to the letter, and then back to the watcher. He wasn’t sure of what to say – still not over the previous fit of anger, but not exactly feeling comfortable with taking it out on Astor anymore.

“Why didn’t you read it?..” Were the first words he found. “And… why give it to me instead?”

“Not going to lie.” Astor motioned towards a seat, inviting Gryff to take it – another gesture, that was ignored. “Under other circumstances, I would probably have at least taken a look – not to go and tell others about it, of course. However, after your arrival I’ve had time to put together what I’ve heard of you and of your house, and well… I decided, it wouldn’t be the best way to go about things. Let’s say, I’d rather get to know you myself, than let your- other man’s opinion of you muddy the waters.”

“Are you not, at least, curious what I was sent here for?”

“A failure to keep a stronghold of your enemies following a war.” Astor stated plainly. “The man, who brought you here told me that much – and for me, that’s enough. Unless, of course, you yourself have something to add, Gryff – in which case, I’m all ears.”

None of this made sense to him, not a even a bit-

“So, you’d trust my word, but not my lord-brother’s?” Gryff scoffed, skeptically. “A wise choice... would be for someone, who knows us both, which you don’t.”

“With all due respect for your lord-brother” the Gresyon went back to smirking. “I don’t particularly care about him, or his words. He’s at Highpoint, and that’s where he’ll remain, from what I can predict – while you are here, and to be my brother one day. What you have to say is, from now on, far more important to me, than any words of any man south of the Wall.

You can lie to me, if you please, but the only one you’ll be wronging by doing so is yourself.” Astor went on with a sigh, taking the offered seat himself. “Things are different here, Gryff, and if you think you have a better idea of what life at the Wall is than other newcomers, just because you’re a northerner – you’re mistaken. That’s a mistake I made as well when I just arrived. Things, that people used to condemn you for in your past life, won’t matter the same way in the Watch – unless you give them the power to. You’re to start a new life, give your name a new meaning – and lies aren’t the best way to go about that. I’m sure, you understand that yourself.”

He was left at a loss of words. Surely, this has been merely a lecture, an attempt to teach him some “wisdom of life”, yet at the same time – it didn’t come out as unnecessary & stupid, as most of life lectures, that Gryff had chanced to hear before. Words about Torrhen stuck out particularly, but he refused to think into them further. As soon as he’d start to ponder them, he would fall into a dangerous trap – and perhaps even grow to think of this watcher as someone to be trusted, someone who actually understood things & maybe even gave a shit.

That was a mistake Gryff could not afford.

“What…” He swallowed heavily. “What with the letter? The fuck am I to do with it now?..”

“Whatever you think is best. Read it, burn it, keep it or toss it out – it is only fair that you get to decide.” Astor concluded. “I won’t pretend to know more than I do, but I think you deserve that, Gryff. This is about you, about your new life. I just think you deserve a chance to keep it untainted by the past. Everybody here does.”

There were many questions Gryff would’ve asked, had he enough energy to do so. How had Astor guessed what the contents of the letter would most likely be, how had he learned things about the Whitehill family, why was he sorting out his problems, even though no one probably ordered him to, what possessed him to even bother… But he kept silent instead, his eye lowering. Now that he wasn’t angry, at least not at Astor, speaking became a chore once again, and he felt exhausted, suddenly. Hours of work had not affected him, but a simple human interaction drained another source of strength – one, that had been almost worn out for inside of him. 

“Can I go now?” Gryff only spoke up because staying silent any longer would’ve been awkward. He just wished to be left alone, and the Greyson seemed to understand, as he simply nodded.

“Aye. Go, of course. Don’t bother returning to the courtyard – it is late already, everybody must be at the dining hall. You go too – have something to eat, you could use that. And find me if you’ll need anything else." Last words were specifically empathized. "And I mean this – literally anything.”

Opening the door to the hallway, the cursed letter still in his hand, Gryff practically felt Astor’s gaze with his back – and dreaded the possibility of him saying something, asking another question, or making a comment, yet none of that came. The door closed, cutting him off, but as Gryff walked all the way back, same corridors & staircases floating before his eye, that gaze remained with him the entire time.