#torn between not wanting to upset his father and wanting more freedom

[riseofamoonycake]

Then maybe... something for Thor? 👉👈 anything 😚

I SAY YES

Arms of the Thunder

🌩️ Pairing: Thor x Female!reader

🌩️ Warnings: mention of forced and arranged marriage, angst

🌩️ Implied happy ending

🌩️ Thanks @praisethesuuun for the prompt!

🌩️

You didn't ask for it. For any of it.

And still it happened.

No one paid attention to your tears, to your prayers and implorings, to the desperation that danced in your eyes as soon as you heard the news, to the clothes that were crumpled after having squeezed them between your fingers until they were almost torn; adamant, your family, the same one that you thought had your happiness and well-being in mind, turned its back on you and left you alone, without caring about your broken heart and, indeed, looking at you with a compassion full of mockery.

Nothing but a spoiled child.

«But I… I don’t want to get married. I’m fine like this…» 

The proposal of Great Odin cannot be rejected. Do you understand it? He offers you a marriage with his son and you act like a little girl!

«But…»

No buts. Thor is strong, young and handsome, he is more than capable of looking after you and in time you will learn to love him. Trust us.

«I don’t think so, and I don’t want it!»

Grow up, Y/N. Grow up and open your mind, or stay in your misery. However, the decision does not change. You will marry The All Father’s son whether you want it or not. Clear?

Grow up… in these months of waiting, of a long suffered winter and missed spring, the only thing that has grown is your agony, your sadness, the silence and the immobility. The Nordic pantheon… why such a choice? Why the cold of the North, the beaches black like liquid ash, the endless nights? Why the deceptions of Loki Silvertongue, the terrible aura of Odin, and… Thor. Thor Lord of Thunder… Thor who never speaks, never smiles, who inspires fear, but not a single idea of ​​love. Thor… he cannot be your husband. He cannot be! Why? Why?

«It’s not fair… it can’t end like this», you keep repeating to yourself throughout the day, every hour and minute, week after week, locked in your room, unable to feel joy for small and big things, the thought of what will happen approaching unstoppable and cruel, all aimed at poisoning your every moment of freedom. The doors of the building where you reside are always closed, but it doesn’t matter, they could also be open and you wouldn’t escape anyway, because you have lost that impulse too; just as you lost and continue to lose weight, and color, and even your voice. If no one wants to listen, what is the point of using it?

Your family observes everything and doesn’t comment, and in the eyes of your siblings you read the annoyance: they consider all this a whim, the trampling of the toes of a woman who acts like a kid and doesn’t understand that things are done for her good, and therefore they persevere. The marriage arrangement that Odin has proposed is too convenient for the entire house, and that is why they flaunt the choice with pride, struggling to contain their anger at your behavior; they don’t even ask you why you have to act like this, so every day you distance yourself more and more from them, coming to hope that this marriage will at least have the benefit of taking you away from a nest that is no longer it.

Unexpectedly, it is Odin who responds to this silent invocation; Odin, who arrives at your house on a summer day and asks for the presence of the entire family, except you. You remain in the garden without a protest, patiently waiting for the meeting to end; nor are you upset when a flock of maids, led by your sisters, comes to take and drag you into the bathrooms to get ready and settled. Something big has just been decided, and it doesn’t take long to become known: «You have been invited to the palace of the Great Odin! Do you think about it? You will spend the summer with them, together with your fiancé! Are you not happy? My, my, how envious I am… I would like to be in your place!»

You breathe deeply and don’t reply, let yourself be washed, prepared and dressed up without a word, and you smile inside when your sisters frown and notice how every dress is too large and doesn’t suit you like before; you even sneer, seeing the spite in their faces, and allow yourself to hope. If Odin doesn’t find you attractive enough for Thor or simply not up to his standards, there is a chance he might break the contract; and that is what you want with all of yourself, every part of you reveals it.

For his part, the All Father does not comment when he sees you appear before him: he remains impassive observing you with his one eye and from the height of his person, and does not reveal either regret, affection, annoyance or satisfaction; he simply looks at you for a few moments, reading your soul like a book, and then turns away without a word. At this point, you know that you have to follow him wherever he wants to lead you. Despite your hopes, for now he hasn’t broken the agreement, so you barely respond to those who greet you, you don’t look anyone in the face, you wish never to return to this place; and you move on, because it can’t get worse. And you move on, because whatever lies ahead is all you still have left.

⛈️

As you suspected, the first thing that welcomes you is the cold: a chill that puffs on your face and then penetrates you through your nose and mouth, and takes up residence in your body. Odin’s handmaidens offer you cloaks, blankets, everything that can bring warmth; but you are unable to warm up and remain shivering in the middle of a strange building, too tall and too empty, which you already hate. You don’t even give it a glance, not even a chance to enter your heart, and you shut it out of you with resentment. Thus, erected in the center of the room like a statue and surrounded by a group of people whose words and questions you can barely hear, you only realize after some time that someone is observing you discreetly, without wanting to invade the space and take away the last fragment of freedom you have; and when you raise your eyes, you meet those of your betrothed.

Standing on one side of the room, his face half hidden by the white coat he is wearing, his gaze welcomes you without hurting you, it is not full of heat but not as cold as you thought; it is as if he is waiting to see what stirs in yours. His long sunset hair and the marks that pulsate on his skin are the only notes of color together with the golden irises, but they are traces of light that do not dazzle, which he seems to hold back on purpose so as not to scare you; and for some reason, for a few moments, you feel that he understood you, that he really saw you, and that he respects what you feel.

Maybe he also doesn’t want this marriage like I don’t want it?, you ask yourself as you look away, slightly uncomfortable, and close your eyes in sadness; when you reopen them, Thor is gone, and you mentally thank him for it ― as well as asking for his forgiveness. Now you realize: he is not to blame, he didn’t ask to have you as a guest now, nor as a wife later. Probably, if it had been for the god, none of this would have happened, and he had to bow to a higher law; in this, perhaps, he is more like you than anyone else.

However, it doesn’t help you appreciate the environment you find yourself in: the parties that light up the halls of your building, the carefree voices, the moments of joy and pure leisure couldn’t be further away, because here everything seems to be inspired to the severity, rigor and icy calm of winter…  even when it isn’t winter. Fortunately, the god you feared most, Loki, has not yet revealed himself and according to palace rumors he is too busy elsewhere to do so, and Great Odin has never officially requested your presence, although he always notes when you appear; but not even the other gods are great company, as if they don’t trust each other and prefer to keep their distance, without even spreading too many smiles. At another time, or if they were other people, you would consider them boring, pompous and not at all interesting; but the Norse deities are simply different from you, another level, another world. Even the storms that ravage these lands are something unknown to you: not intense and sudden rains scented with grass and rivers, not dry and fast thunder, not shades of green and puddles that fill roads and woods; but blizzards of ice and snow, flashes of white and blue, rumblings near and far that last for days, anguishing darkness that is lost in a sky with a womb so deep that you can’t see its end. That void, that inverted abyss that instead of making you sink swallows you from above, terrifies you and makes you huddle in on yourself while you observe the black clouds from behind the curtains of one of the corridors of the building and wonder when they will go away, if after another day of storm there will finally be the blessing of the sun; and as you blanch for a thunder, this time so close that even the glass and walls shake, you immediately realize the presence of someone next to you and slowly move your gaze to the figure of Thor, who has silently appeared at your side.

The god looks at you for a few moments, then gently takes the curtain from your hands and covers the window, leaving the sky outside the building. «You are very pale. Are you feeling good?»

You remain silent for a moment, intent on listening to the sound of his voice: it is the first time you have heard it. Then, you pass a hand over your face and try with all your being to hold on words that come out anyway. «I don’t want to be here», you murmur, «I don’t want…» I don’t want you.

«You are freezing. You are not used to this cold yet, you need to cover up more.» Not at all hurt or affected by your words, his face impassive, Thor takes off his white coat and in an instant wraps you in it, rolling up your sleeves and arranging the collar so that it can keep your neck and shoulders warm, tightening it a little to make it adhere better to your body.

You let him do it without replying or moving and you watch with curiosity as your person disappears inside the garment, too long and wide for you but actually warm and comfortable, then you stare at the face of your betrothed and frown. «Why are you doing all this? I behave ungratefully, I tell you that I don’t want to stay here and in return you keep me protected from the cold. Why?» This time the tone becomes pleading: you really wonder what pushed him to approach you, what makes him talk, why with you. Does he feel pity? Guilt, or embarrassment?

This time, the God of Thunder doesn’t reply, but only looks at you. You don’t force any other words and remain silent as well, listening to the storm calming down a little and becoming the closest thing to a peaceful night. You hug Thor’s coat tighter and he adjusts it again, then a hand stops on your head and your hair receives a light stroke, a delicate touch that is the kindest you have received in days, which remains despite being so fast that it can seem like an imagination, a dream.

Outside, the rain drips slowly from the roof and slides on the windows, tracing its patterns; and suddenly it smells of grass, of waterfalls, of home. Inside, you find yourself caressing the white coat with your fingertips, closing your eyes and savoring all the warmth and calm that is descending on your body. The cold is no longer there, now, and when Thor looks at you again to check on your condition, you can’t help but smile a bit. «Thank you», you whisper then, letting the words die and no longer disturb you.

Thor nods his head, then his arm remains close to you. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, then lower your eyelids and let the night win over the world and prepare what will follow.

Maybe, tomorrow won’t be so terrible to live through.

[trashwarden]

is dorians and felixs relationship in the bloodlines au more tense than in the regular parents au? you mentioned how you feel felix would be more bitter in the bloodlines au :(

It is! Mostly due to both of them never really working through their grief properly - Dorian isn’t the best example in this area. They both feel a great deal of bitterness. Blame a lot of people for what happened. On top of that Dorian had become overly protective, terrified to lose Felix as well, in result making his son feel like his stuck in a golden cage.

They love each other very much but Vax’s topic is the big elephant in the room. Instead of helping each other heal they try to do it separately which takes way longer and makes things a bit awkward between them. But despite it all, Dorian did a pretty good job raising Felix on his own, just like Fenera said ;)

For unaware peeps, here is where you can read Bloodlines, amazing story written by my dear @jessicapendragon

Also a redraw of old sketch for that merry occasion 😌

[wildlyglittering]

My Gift to You

I received an anonymous request to write something about Nesta and Rhys’ relationship post ACOSF and them having a conversation. The requestor said that their relationship didn’t feel genuine enough and that they had a lot of work to do before they consider themselves brother/ sister.

I mean.... same anon. Same. The relationship was definitely not one of happy families in my eyes and personally Rhys buying Nesta gifts just felt like the cheapest way to close the lid on their ‘relationship.’

I don’t know if this is what anon wanted but I just can’t write a future where those two truly bond and get along. So this is Nesta and Rhys as I feel would be most appropriate.

***

‘Brother,’ she’d called Rhys. It was not a word which drifted from her lips as easily as it did from Feyre’s when she used the term to refer to Cassian, or for Cassian himself when he spoke of his kin.

Brother.

There had been no time for thinking, not with the screaming and shrieking and the copper tang of blood filling her nose. Rhys was losing his mind and the healer, Madja, was next to useless, pleading with Feyre to fight death - an act as impactful as a raindrop at the bottom of the ocean.

If fighting death were easy, everyone would win.

Nesta knew if you needed to beg for a life, you needed to beg to what could heed you.

The memory of what transpired for Nesta, when she stepped from one form into another, had faded over time like some strange fever dream.

There had been a presence swimming next to her, a shark with a sharp fin and razor teeth, twisting and arching, waiting to tear from her what she had torn out first. But something else was with her, someone else, with a golden light to illuminate Nesta’s way.

Something given and something gained. Those were the thoughts floating in her mind once she’d been present again.

Nesta sought out the opening of Feyre’s eyes, desperately listened for a new-born’s wail and thankfully, she received both.

Afterwards, in the calm, long after she’d embraced Rhys, Nesta wondered what she had meant by that word - brother.

Even as she cradled Nyx’s delicate head in the nook of her arm, stroking the tufts of downy black hair, she didn’t think of him as someone she shared with Rhys. No, despite the hair and sleepy violet eyes, he was someone Nesta shared with Feyre.

Sister. That was a stronger word.

The first infant Nesta ever held was Feyre. She remembered a scrunched up red face peeking behind a blanket as her new baby sister was placed in her arms while a toddler Elain sobbed in the background, upset at not being baby anymore.

I already have one of these.

That was her first thought, her first memory of Feyre.

“Look”, someone had said as Feyre opened her eyes, “they’re the same as yours, Nesta. The very same.”

For a long time, that’s all they had in common. The gift of the same eyes.

Perhaps Nesta had called Rhys brother because in that moment he was. He was her mirror counterpart, not a piece of her heart or soul the way Feyre, Elain and Cassian were but something prominent nonetheless. A shard of glass slicing into each other’s bones that they just couldn’t pull out.

Thank you, he’d said and she wanted to tell him not to say those words. She didn’t do anything requiring praise, she did what she did for the love of her sister and her sister’s child.

Do not thank me for my very nature.

They drifted into an uneasy peace. A gulf remained between Nesta and Elain which Nesta had no energy to remedy, but a bridge had been built between Nesta and Feyre and the connection was one Nesta strengthened as much as possible.

Nesta walked with Feyre around her gardens, joined at dinners and was polite and nodded and minded her manners and, when she had enough, she would return to the House of Wind and let Cassian love her.

As time passed, so did Nesta’s thoughts of Rhys as a brother.

Once again, he became her sister’s mate, her mate’s friend, her nephew’s father. Once again, he became High Lord. Ruler. Overseer.

Months after Nyx’s birth, Rhys and Feyre attended Winter to visit Viviane who had recently birthed her first child - a girl and rumours had followed of secret meetings between the High Lords. Rhys had purchased numerous furs; thick, luxurious pelts in sable, fawn and silver and sent them Nesta’s way.

“I don’t want these things he gives me,” she told Cassian soon after, standing in a room filled with Rhys’ tokens.

“The furs aren’t too bad,” Cassian replied. “They make the floor more comfortable,” he said, his mouth hot on her neck.

She allowed him to distract her but at night while Cassian slept, she walked around the House, grazing objects with her fingertips and glared at the ones which seemed to shimmer too bright, too long. The House itself rippled with unease.

“They’re all junk,” Nesta said to the darkened hallways. “Jewels and silks and throw cushions.”

Feyre and Rhys had told her once, not long ago, how embarrassed they were at the quantity of their money she’d spent on her path towards destruction. Her pulse jumped underneath her skin at the memory.

There had been no love for her life back then, no begging and pleading to a higher power. No, it had been their love for their finances, their concern for their reputation, their lack of control over Nesta which spiralled into entrapment.

Die, she’d heard. Just do so cheaply and in the dark.

Although the word ‘brother’ faded from her mind, Nesta let her animosity go with it. She had the sweetness of her nephew to immerse herself in and she marvelled at the smile on his gummy mouth and the way he wriggled across the floor on his belly towards her, perfect black wings tucked against his body.

One day he would use them to soar the skies and his freedom, his life, was the best gift Nesta had ever received.

His life was the best gift Nesta would ever give.

Nyx was shy of a year old when the whispers started. One day they didn’t exist and the next – they did. They held a metallic quality as though they being spoken through the clang of steel on steel.

High King.

One night, while Cassian rested on the furs, naked and sated, she trailed her fingertips up his knee, up his thigh to where his flesh lay, warm and re-hardening.

“Tell me,” she said, circling a finger around the tip, “what did Rhys speak to Kallias about all those months ago?”

Cassian exhaled a long breath. “Rhys wants Kallias to accept him as ruler.”

“Of the Night Court?”

“No, he – ah, don’t stop – of Prythian.”

“And what was their arrangement? How could Rhys obtain Kallias’ agreement?”

Cassian’s gasps filled her ears. “Through Nyx,” he forced out, “a promise he would marry Kallias’ daughter.”

After that she listened more to what the clanging whispers told her across the breeze, to what the House told her, to what she heard outside closed doors in Rhys’ home on visits to her sister.

Nesta was as serene as the Mother herself when she drifted to Rhys’ study and lingered by the locked door where he and Amren held counsel.

“They are the same as before, inert and useless.”

“Get her to the blacksmith, boy.”

“Her ability is gone.”

“Possibly, but test her to be sure. If she forges a hundred thousand swords then at least one might be Made.”

“She won’t do it.”

“Ban her from seeing the child until she does. She’ll forge then.”

Nesta closed her eyes, clenching her fists until her nails dug into her palms and blood trickled through her knuckles.

For a moment Nesta became a blade, sharp and dangerous, mounted on a wall and viewing Rhys and Amren from a height. The shadows danced from the lit hearth onto Rhys making his face sunken and hollow. For the first time, Rhys looked every inch the ancient creature he was.

Amren walked to the blade that was Ataraxia, that was Nesta, her silver eyes reflected in the shining metal, a palm splayed outwards with the reverence a worshipper showed their god.

“Turns out she wasn’t a pathetic waste of life after all.”

From then on Nesta would listen to what the blades told her.

Rhys took them from their mounts and held them, caressed them as he should his sleeping mate, his violet eyes passing from hilt to blade tip as his pupils grew fat with want.

They spoke to him but they didn’t listen and Rhys struggled with the push and pull every time he lifted a blade from the wall.

He practiced with them in the safety of his study but the blades were too heavy and made him clumsy, leaving the usually graceful High Lord stumbling over his feet. A ripple spread through the metal almost as though the sword were laughing.

We are no advantage to him, the whispers told her and Nesta knew they were infused with the anger she held towards Rhys when she Made them. Now, they said, now he believes himself your brother and he would like a new gift.

Instead that was what she asked him for, next time she was at his home.

“Hello, sister,” and his smile was akin to a wolf’s as it waited in the field for lambs.

“Rhys.”

He agreed vigorously to her request before she even named her price. Maybe Rhys thought he could eventually turn the bee itself into honey.

“I’ve given some thought,” she said, “and I’d like something back. Eris has the dagger but you have two swords remaining in your possession. Keep the small one but Ataraxia, I would like her to be mine. I will never ask anything else from you.”

The smile on his face froze into place as though he’d gone into the depths of Winter and been lost.

Though the blade wasn’t his, he didn’t want it to be hers.

“I don’t think so,” his voice soft. “What if someone tries to take advantage of you and steals the sword away?”

“I’d destroy it first.” However much the thought pained her, Ataraxia’s destruction had been considered - a gift to the other High Lords, one they would never know they’d received.

Rhys shook his head, his eyes dark. “No,” he said, “I need them.” Despite their resistance they were the only Made weapons in his hold.

“Why?”

He said nothing.

Nesta’s lip curled into a sneer. “To be High King, Rhys?”

He glowered at her.

“You know you’re starting a war among incredibly powerful High Lords?”

“I’m the most powerful.”

“There are more of them, they will combine their powers.”

“I have allies.”

“You have enemies.”

“I have friends.”

Nesta sighed and looked to the two swords, the metal glinting as though caught by firelight although the fire was unlit. Her name was murmured, the rasp of metal on metal.

“They’re your friends now but you’re demanding they give up their people, their lands and heritage to you and for what? Why would they do that willingly?”

She turned away from him and stood before the mounted blades. Her reflection was as clear as though they were mirrors, as was Rhys’ behind her, a dark mist forming over his skin.

“This is a war your son will likely reach adulthood in,” she continued, “do you want that for him?”

“I’m doing this for him,” Rhys spat, “you’re no mother, you wouldn’t understand. This is his legacy. My gift to him.”

A calm transcended over Nesta, as though she were wading through the clear waters of a pool, a loving hand on her back reminding her of their presence.

“Your gift to him should be allowing him to live his life. To allow him to care for the people of the Night Court, to give him the chance to fall in love and choose a partner of his own calling.”

“You don’t understand,” Rhys said again, “you had power for mere months and you think you’re the authority of giving it up. It’s a choice you wouldn’t have made if you understood what powerlessness meant.”

Once, when she wore another body, she could count the ribs underneath her skin by tracing them with her fingertips.

Once, in that same body, a man had pressed himself against her, his tongue forced into her mouth.

Once, Fae had ripped away her bedsheet and dragged her from her bed while Elain’s screams echoed in the dark hallway. She had drowned in the depths of the Cauldron, she’d watched her father’s blood spray across the grass, and she’d been dragged from her bed once more to be drugged and bound with her new body useless.

“If you say so.”

Nesta repeated Amren’s actions and traced her finger against the blade, Ataraxia shivered as though Nesta were running a finger down the spine of a lover. The sword moved, almost imperceptibly, but Nesta saw and wondered if Rhys did.

She’d bargained for the lives of his mate and son and yet Rhys wasn’t satisfied. Nesta was his mirror and so he gave her gifts believing she would want them as much as he did, because he continually sought out tokens to keep. He believed she would never be satisfied because he never was.

Nesta left, leaving him with the blades. They would be no benefit for him anyway and it wouldn’t be long before Ataraxia came back to her. Nesta understood now that Ataraxia had been her gift to herself.

All gone now, the Inner Circle assumed. After saving Feyre’s life, Nesta’s gift from the Cauldron is exhausted.

Lies, she thought as she walked the paths of Velaris to head home. All lies. The Cauldron had never gifted Nesta with anything. Everything she held had been stolen, ripped from something that never intended her to have it.

The sky was black, the fae lights of the taverns and restaurants glowing amber against the pitch and the happy chatter of the city revellers emerged from behind doors. All these fae living their lives as best they could, trusting in the protection of their High Lord.

They weren’t the same, her and Rhys, they were mirrored on the surface only.

Yes, they both stole power from those who never intended to gift it but she would die for those she loved while Rhys would kill for them.

The cold air was sharp and drew Nesta’s thoughts from the corners of her mind like a knife drew blood when sliced against skin. She drew her cloak around her shoulders and wrapped her arms around her middle.

There had been screaming and blood and Nesta’s pleas. There had been the dark slithering laughter of something taking something back. But there had also been the warmth of a hand, ethereal and eternal on her back and a golden magic which poured into Nesta until it overflowed.

Daughter.  

The Mother had welcomed Nesta and received her gift with open arms, re-gifting to her in return.

Death transmuted into life. Quieter but no less powerful. No less valuable in the future to come.

This is yours, Nesta was told, and will remain so until the end. This is my gift to you.

TAGGING

@live-the-fangirl-life

@champanheandluxxury

@dontgetsalmonella

[evil-slytherin-queen]

His Touch

WARNING: mentions of blood, panic/anxiety attack, mentions of murder/death, mentions of physical/psychological torture, mentions of violence, mentions of not eating enough/lowkey Draco having an ED, self-hatred, mentions of self-harm

a/n I really don’t think this is super graphic or anything but you never know what can trigger you, so pretty please be careful and safe while reading.

Sometimes Draco wonders why he lets him touch him. How he can stand the sight of him. How it doesn't make him want to throw every Unforgivable he could think of at Draco. 

He wonders. 

But he never asks. 

He's too afraid of the answer. 

Too afraid of what it could mean. 

Too afraid it might make him realize his mistake and make him leave. Make him hate Draco. He doesn't believe he would survive that. Doesn't believe he would want to. 

That night he scrubs Draco's hands clean twice. Golden-bronze hands, rough and strong, and impossibly gentle moving Draco's pale shaking ones under the faucet. His look so small in comparison. Weak. Useless. He washes in between Draco's fingers, under his nails, out to his wrists. Let's the water wash away the pain and misery and death from his palms. Till the water runs clear again. Till it is all gone. Except it isn't. 

And Draco can still see the blood. 

Can see it when he shuts his eyes or if he blinks too quickly. Can feel it under his nails, and between his fingers like it has sunken into his pores. Like it has become a part of him. Draco offhandedly thinks he'd like to rip it out, tear into himself to make it leave his body. It's an absent thought and it would probably horrify him in any other circumstance. 

But he won't. 

He knows that would only upset him further, would make him cry, and hold Draco close apologizing like it was his fault, even though it wasn't. He always was such a martyr. And even though Draco doesn't care right now he will later. He'll care too much and he'll regret it. So he doesn't. 

He's been staring from behind those stupid and awfully crooked spectacles. His eyes too green, too full of concern and trust and-and something Draco won't admit to himself. He's not ready to yet. It's too dangerous to let himself have that right now. If he does he won't be able to do what he has to, what he needs to. 

He expects Draco to drop his occlumency shields. But he doesn't. He can't. If Draco lets himself feel this it will kill him. He knows it will. 

Draco knows if he lets the barriers between his emotions and what he's just done down he will fall apart. Knows he won't be able to do anything other than shake and sob into solid warm arms and tell the truth. Tell him that he's disgusting and dirty and vile. That he is ruined. 

And he can't. He just can't. 

Except he has to. They both know he does. And it's dreadful. 

"Come on, my darling. My sweet love, my Draco. I need you to come back to me." He whispers it like if he says it any louder it will break him. And maybe it would. Draco knows when he goes blank like this it hurts him. He remembers how his pain hurts Draco in return. He doesn't want to feel that. Can't even bring himself to think his name, that might bring all of his walls crumbling down without his permission.

That would be damaging and if he isn't careful it could rip a hole into his mind and leave him in a not all there sort of limbo. Although there has to be some sort of freedom in delusion and insanity, at least then he wouldn't remember. But then he recalls Longbottom's parents and the way they can't even feed themselves and he decides maybe that isn't the way to go. 

Draco shakes his head, face carefully vacant, eyes glazed over as he stares past him. It's too hard to look him in the eye and keep everything perfectly in place. 

"No. It will hurt." Draco says it simply, his voice sounds foreign to himself. Draco knows it will sound lifeless and wrong to him. Right now he doesn't care. He watches how the flames flicker in the fireplace behind him, how the Room of Requirement chose an oddly cosey rendition of the Gryffindor common room. If he could feel right now, it might make him laugh. He thinks it might be funny, ironic in some way he can't process currently. 

Warm hands touch his neck. They feel hot, like the sun. Draco knows they're not his own. He's perpetually cold now thanks to Aunt Bella's Cruciatus Curse training. And even if he can't look at his hands right now without losing his manufactured calm he knows they're still hanging by his sides, trembling. The hands burn a trail up his neck, brushing calloused thumbs under his jaw, trailing them up and over his cheekbones till they're cupping his face softly. 

He can physically feel wetness hitting his cheeks, it makes his mouth twitch down, eyebrows scrunch a little. That shouldn't be happening. 

"You're crying." He says the warm hands brush the tears away gingerly. And he can feel the way his eyes watch him, waiting. He expects it to happen soon. Expects Draco to break under the heavy weight of despair. 

"I shouldn't be." 

"But you are." 

Draco shouldn't be able to cry. His shields are slipping and he knows it. He hates it. He doesn't reach a hand up to wipe them away. He lets himself be kissed on the forehead. Let's himself be pulled over towards the fire and cradled into a warm embrace. Draco's tucked against a scorching body on the sofa and a blazing fire just beside them. He should be burning alive but he still feels ice cold. 

Deft fingers run through his hair. It doesn't look how it used to, it's taken on a grey pallor and waxy feeling ever since the summer before sixth year. It's the stress, the bad eating habits. It's not his fault he can't keep food down. It's the nightmares, the way Aunt Bella thought it fun to poison his food every so often for giggles. Draco misses how it used to look. All white blonde and shiny. He misses how soft and feathery it used to feel ever since he'd quit slicking it back with those charms his father had insisted he use. He supposes that's what happens when you become a child soldier, a spy. Things don't get to stay nice or pretty or good. 

Salazar. 

He shouldn't be able to miss that right now.

He's scared. So, so scared. He isn't ready. He'll never be ready. Not for this. Draco tells him so. 

"I can't do this." 

Draco can feel his gaze on him filled with its usual encouragement and tenderness. He presses a kiss to Draco's hair. 

"You can." 

"I'll die." 

"You won't. I've got you, my darling, my Draco. I'm here, just let go. I'll keep you safe." He speaks it like a promise and the word safe is what does Draco in. It's all he wants. All he's wanted for a long time. Safety. 

He can already feel the occlumency shields cracking and he lets them slide away, a violent sob clawing its way out of his throat. It leaves his mouth and makes him feel raw and exposed. It's heart-wrenching and frightening how broken he sounds. And it hurts. 

Because now he can feel everything. 

Disgust. 

Regret. 

Self-loathing. 

Fear. 

Grief. 

Guilt. 

Shame 

Weak. 

But mostly he just feels useless and sorry so very sorry. 

And he feels like he's suffocating like he's dying. Like he'll never breathe again. Tears flood his vision and it's revolting and it makes him feel sick. And he feels like a monster. 

He tries to get away from him, scrambles off of his broad chest, and tries to pull far far away. Draco doesn't deserve to touch someone so good with his hands that have hurt and maimed and-and killed. 

But he won't let him, won't let him get more than a few centimetres away. Grabs his wrists to stop him from leaving, till he's stuck straddling him, wrists clutched into hot palms. 

"No. You don't run away. You don't run from me, never me. Tell me what happened." 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He doesn't recognize his own voice for a moment, it doesn't sound like him. It sounds hysterical and far away and Merlin, everything hurts. He shakes his head violently back and forth. He doesn't want to tell him. He tries to pull his hands out of his grip to rip at his own hair. He doesn't deserve this comfort not after what he just did. He shouldn't have taken down his nicely built walls that kept him perfectly in check. He should have just buried these feelings in with the others. Should've let someone Obliviate him instead of having to deal with it. This feels like dying. 

"Draco. Draco! Stop!" He says it forcefully, his hands tightening around his wrists and it breaks him out of his hysteria. Draco freezes, he knows that tone of voice too well. It startles him into silent tears instead of the loud sobbing he had been doing. He doesn't want to hurt him too. And if he hurts himself and carries on like this it will hurt him. 

"Harry," He chokes the name out painfully and looks at him through watery eyes, "I'm sorry." 

Harry frowns and pulls Draco's hands towards his lips. Draco feels the horror wash over him before Harry gets the chance to finish what he's doing. 

"STOP!" He yells the word frantically, Harry halts his movements. 

"Please," Draco begs weakly, "Please, they're dirty. I-I hurt, I k-killed a-a child. A help-helpless child. Please don't. Please." 

Harry looks at him firmly, fiercely, locks him in with a determined glint in his green eyes. He pulls each of Draco’s hands to his lips, one at a time, and kisses his palms, his fingertips, the back of his hands, his wrists. Each press of his lips makes Draco gasp and cry like he's in pain. Maybe he is, he can't tell anymore. Harry does it with delicate care like he hadn't just washed blood off of them, like they hadn't just done foul, nasty, unforgivable things. 

By the time he stops, Draco has his eyes twisted shut painfully. He can't watch as Harry worships hands that have torn people's, children's flesh and blood from their bodies. He can't bear it. 

"Look at me, my love." 

He doesn't. 

"Look at me, Draco." 

A plea. his voice bordering on begging. This time he does. Harry should never have to beg someone so monstrous for anything, it's wrong. 

Harry's eyes are so beautiful. Draco hasn't seen anything green and living in so long not since the Death Eaters had come to Hogwarts and scorched the surrounding lands. They remind him of the grass in the spring and the leaves on the big oak trees in the summer, of emeralds and pine. They remind him of something soft and comfortable and safe. They remind him of Harry and how much he shouldn't and can't love him right now. Not without having to kill little pieces of himself for hurting someone so good and beautiful and kind with his dirty and foul being. 

And there are tears in his eyes again. Draco can feel them as they fall down his cheeks. Bloody fucking hell. A piteous sound comes out of his mouth as he tries to catch his breath. He can't. 

Harry pulls his inconsequential and fragile-looking hands, a dangerous deception seeing as what they're capable of, down against his chest. The action makes Draco flinch. He puts his large and callous and warm ones over top of them keeping them pressed into his shirt till he can feel Harry's heartbeat. It unconsciously soothes him. And he hates himself a little for relaxing even the slightest after he did something so heinous. 

"You are not your actions. You are not what you were forced to do to survive, just as I am not my actions or my failures. You, Draco, are not to blame for the lives you could not save, just as I am not to blame for the death of those who fought to protect me. If I'm not allowed to blame myself for the casualties of a war I never asked for then neither are you. Are we clear, my love?" 

His words are calm and soft-spoken but the way his eyes are fixed on Draco makes them so much more intense and concrete. And he isn't wrong. Draco had had the same conversation with him before. But that time he had been the one to hold Harry as he cried over the death of Sirius Black, of Dumbledore, of Cedric Diggory, of Alastor Moody and blamed himself for them all. But it's different. Those were all good people who lost their lives to Death Eaters and Draco, Draco is a Death Eater doing what they do best. Hurt others. End lives. It is not the same. 

"It's-but that's different. They-you can't control-" 

"It's not. I can't control what others do for me just like you can't control what's done to you," Harry says letting one hand reach up and brush tears from Draco’s cheek, he doesn't flinch this time, "I know Bellatrix and the Carrows force you to watch these things. You wouldn't unless you had to. I know you would stop them if you could. But you can't. Not yet. And I know it hurts every time you have to move their bodies, every time you try to revive them but you can't. I know. And I'm sorry." 

And he's right. Draco would kill them and every other nasty Death Eater if he could. He would fight them with everything he had if he could. Throw every dark and dangerous curse that Aunt Bella taught him right back at her and revel in her suffering for what they did. Draco can feel the anger thrum under his skin but it simmers down into anguish again with the way Harry sighs. The way his pretty face smiles at him mournfully. 

"I wish you hadn't done this, Draco. I wish you didn't have to watch so many die by their hands. I wish you never had to get this," Harry traces his fingers along the inside of Draco’s left wrist. 

It's stained with the Dark Mark and scars from where he's tried to scratch off his own skin. It's shameful, and it makes Draco want to pull away again. He doesn't though. He's more here than he was before. More in his body and less in his mind. Harry's heartbeat always seems to bring him back faster than anything else. It's why they send him to get information and not someone else. And they promised never to run from each other. He isn't going to break that promise now. 

"I'm sorry," Draco whispers back, he's stopped crying now. He's ashamed. He always is after he's had an episode like this. He can't help it no matter how delicate and kind and sweetly Harry handles them. 

"Draco? My love? Are you all the way back with me?" Harry sounds hopeful, his eyebrows scrunch in question, and it makes Draco's heart clench. He's missed him. He hasn't seen Harry in three weeks. It's been too long. This war has been too long. He hasn't properly looked at him yet. And he is still beautiful, still so painfully open despite who Draco is. 

But he looks tired. The bags under his eyes are darker, deeper, and his skin is more sallow. He's paler than he once was, his brown skin no longer looks dusted in gold and sunlight but his hair is the same disaster of dark raven curls. It never changes even when the rest of him does. 

Draco carefully pulls his hands from Harry's grasp and slides them up along his body. He traces Harry's broad shoulders, brushes his fingers along his too-defined collar bones. He isn't eating enough either, none of them are. Draco skims them up to Harry's neck and cups his jaw with oddly still hands. He's almost always trembling now. But not with Harry around, never when he's around. 

He smoothes out the wrinkles in between Harry's brows with a swipe of his thumb. And places a kiss there too. He hates to see him so exhausted with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He should have noticed sooner. 

"Yes. I'm back, Harry, my darling. I'm sorry it took so long tonight." 

And in spite of the circumstances, Harry smiles at Draco. He smiles like Draco hung the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Draco can't help but think that Harry is the one who should be smiled at in that way. He's the one who will save them all as much as Draco hates the very idea of him having to. It should have never been his job in the first place. He was-is only a child. 

"S'alright, not your fault. Want to tell me what actually happened? I know you never hurt any of them, I know it's never you. Tell me what they made you watch." 

Draco sighs and leans forward till his head rests against Harry's, eyes closed. He strokes his thumbs over Harry's jaw. He needs to shave, Draco can feel the stubble growing in again. It makes him smile faintly, remembering the first time Harry had let Draco shave his face for him. It felt like a lifetime ago when in reality it was a little over a year ago. 

He feels Harry's hands trail down to his thighs straddling him and then up to hold his hips. Harry draws circles into his skin with calloused thumbs. It's soothing in a way that Draco still feels he doesn't deserve but he lets him anyway. He's too weak to resist any comfort given to him. 

"They said if he liked muggles so much they would show him how vile and primitive they were," His voice shakes as he speaks and he feels sick and dirty all over, "How-how d-dangerous. They-they cut him to pieces, Harry. I couldn't-I couldn't help him." 

Tears wet his face, trail down his cheeks in torrents. He opens his eyes to blink them away. It doesn't work. His hands tremble violently and he tries to draw away from Harry. He doesn't want to hurt him on accident, doesn't want to scare him. He knows Harry won't let him go far so he settles for putting his hands over Harry's heart again, leaving their heads bent together. At least this way he won't accidentally scratch his face with his shaking hands. 

Harry frowns at the action but doesn't stop him. Instead, he rests his hands over top Draco's again. He strokes the back of his hands. He says nothing as Draco shuts his eyes and learns to breathe again. And when he's finally caught his breath, Harry speaks. His voice is tender and sweet, his eyes no doubt the same. 

"Who, Draco?" 

"His name is Leonidas Baros. The name's Greek. It means lion strength," Draco laughs wetly through the new wave of tears that cascade down his cheeks, "Not a bad name for a first-year Gryffindor is it?" 

"It's a good name," Harry murmurs. 

Draco laughs again but it comes out more of a wet sob than anything else. He keeps his eyes closed,  it makes talking easier. The feeling of Harry's skin against his own urges him to continue. 

"It is. Was." -Draco chokes a little at the thought- "It suited him so well too. Little muggle-born Leo with his loud mouth and his stupid bravery. He reminds-reminded me of you." 

Draco gets quiet after that. He gets caught in the memory of this little eleven-year-old boy with dark hair and fierce eyes storming up to him in the corridor in defence of his friends. He hadn't drawn his wand but held up his fists instead and called Draco a bully, an arsehole, a bloody racist bigot. Told him off for being a coward for having something so 'bloody brilliant’ and wasting it on following 'Magical Hitler' and being a 'Nazi'. Leo always was loud and reckless in his acts of defiance and his screaming had caught the attention of the Carrows. They told Draco either he could punish him or they would, so he had grabbed Leo by his robe front and dragged him into the nearest classroom shouting and struggling and cursing the whole way there. 

'Listen to me, brat!' Draco had hissed once the door had shut behind them and Leo continued to struggle, 'Listen! I am a bully and a bigot and all those other things, I'm probably even whatever those bloody muggle terms were but you need to listen! I have to make it look like I've punished you. So I'm going to glamour you with all sorts of cuts and bruises and you're going to go out there shivering and shaking and crying if you bloody well must and put on the best-damned show they've ever seen. Do you understand me?' 

'My name's Leonidas, not brat. And why should I?' He'd spat back, fury in his eyes, utter revulsion and hatred. It had sent a strange pang of shame and pride through Draco's body. He'd never had the boldness to do anything so blatantly defiant. Then he'd seen the boys tie. It was red and gold and an act of defiance in and of itself. A flash of Harry's face had crossed his mind and he knew he needed to protect the insufferable brat causing such trouble. 

'Because if you don't I'm sure they'll be more than happy to find someone less averse to tormenting children. Now, do we have an agreement or would you rather the Carrows play with you and your little friends?' 

'Fine. But I don't like you.' He'd growled arms folded over his chest but Draco could see the fear at the mention of the Carrows.   

'Oddly enough, I feel the same,' Draco said flatly, an irritated look on his face as he drew up his wand, 'Now, let's make this believable, Leonidas, was it? Scream.' 

"Hey, hey, my sweet love, come back to me. Where did you go? What happened?" Harry murmurs kissing the corners of his mouth. Bringing him back to his body and out of his memories. 

"Sorry," Draco whispers against his lips, brings his hands up, and strokes the sides of Harry's face to remind himself of where he is, "I'm wasting time. But, he didn't deserve this. None of them did. He deserved better, they all do." 

"Yes, they do. As do you. We all deserve better than this war. And you aren't wasting anything, we've got all night." 

Harry's hands latch back onto his hips. His fingers pet the soft skin on his midriff making him shiver. He's missed being touched without being hurt. No one else is allowed this close to him without a serious fight. Everyone else is a threat. He hopes when this is all over and it will end, one way or another, that he will be able to allow others near him again. 

He misses the closeness of it. That's why he and Harry are sharing the same air right now. It's why he can't bring himself to pull away from where their heads are bent together, lips grazing over each other, breath mingling. 

"Still, it's selfish. The others could be in here hiding from-" 

Harry cuts him off with a kiss. It's slow and soft and mournful. A lot of what they do now feels that way. It feels as though they're always grieving for the carefree love they never got to have. 

"They will be just as safe at Aberforth’s as they would be here. It's not selfish. You need this," -Draco pulls away to give him a look- "No don't look at me like that, Draco." 

"You just wanted to see me. Don't lie to me and say that isn't what this is. I miss you too but-" 

Harry interrupts him with another kiss. It should be a sin how easily that can make Draco fall quiet. It's an unfair tactic. 

"Yes," Harry says, bumping their noses together, "A part of me just wants to be with you for the sake of being with you, but I also know that if you're weighed down by all that you've seen you won't be able to feed us as much information. That is why this is not a waste and it is not selfish. Okay?" 

The soft earnestness in his pretty green eyes halts all sorts of arguments from leaving his mouth. Draco sighs and relents. 

"All right."

Harry smiles at him easily and Draco melts just a little at the sight. He pecks him on the lips once more before letting his body sink further into Harry's embrace. Till he's lying directly on top of him their legs intertwined and his head and hands resting on Harry's chest. 

Draco listens to Harry's steady breathing and the familiar sound of his heartbeat. He hasn't felt this calm in months. He can't wait for this war to be over.

They stay that way for a long while, Harry's hands rubbing soothing lines up and down his back. Until Harry's breathing evens out and Draco can't help but to shift up and gaze at his sleeping lover's face. 

He is beautiful in a devastating way. It makes Draco's heart lock up with all sorts of mushy feelings neither of them has time for. He smiles a small fond thing as he brushes an errant curl out of his face. 

"I love you, my Harry, my darling." 

Draco whispers it like a secret, kissing him on the forehead, and then settles himself back down against his broad chest. 

And a small part of Draco still wonders why Harry lets him --the monster, the Death Eater, the coward-- touch him, the sun, the Savior, the brave. 

But he never asks because he knows the answer. 

Knows that Harry will never leave him. 

Knows that they will never run from each other. 

Knows that if he ever asks, Harry will frown and get that painfully endearing confused look on his face and answer back with a question of his own. 

"Why wouldn't I? I love you, Draco."

[a-pretty-nerd]

Self Indulgent Shigaraki Nonsense Part 2!

Tomura Shigaraki x pregnant!reader headcannons

Lmao I'm obsessed with this idea, I'm having so much fun with it. I love it, and I hope you guys like it too!

Warnings: Pregnancy and pregnancy related issues.

(I couldn't find the original artist for this, but just know that someone out there is a very talented artist lol)

After the initial reaction,

Shigaraki doesn't want to take you back home to the others. He doesn't want anyone to know.

He still wants you to get an abortion. It makes you feel, unwanted. The more he mentions it, the more it hurts you.

You knew he wouldn't be happy or excited about this, but neither were you. This just, hurt.

He stayed with you a few more nights in the hotel. He didn't want to leave your side, apart of him was afraid you'd still run. That you'd choose the baby over him. The other part, wanted desperately to protect you. To keep you safe and to him, an abortion would.

It would leave you free and untethered to him. He knew, objectivley, you shouldn't be with him. And he knew that if you ever needed to, in order to keep yourself safe, he would understand. But the idea of losing you made him unreasonably upset. What felt like sadness would soon turn to rage. He just, didn't want to lose you. He thought it was selfish of him to think that way, but he couldn't help it. It tore him apart from the inside out.

The years of having you around made him emotionally dependent. You cared for him in ways no one else had. He stayed up at night wondering where you had been his entire life. You felt like a missing piece of a puzzle.

He layed with you in bed one night, unable to sleep. He watched your sleeping form, the way your chest heaved up and down with every breath. His eyes ran over your body as a few fingers pulled away the covers. He eyed your belly. He felt his stomach turn as he thought about it all.

There was already so much he didn't know. He didn't really even understand how you knew you were pregnant or what stage you were at. What would a baby like his look like? Visions of a horrible monster came to mind. No matter what, it was no good. He had to convince you to get rid of it before it was too late. Before it tore you apart.

The basis for his fears were unknown, even to him. He knew thats not how things really worked, he knew his fears seemed ridiculous to you, but still. He felt guilty. He felt a sense of dread as he thought about it. It took two after all. He felt like he had condemned you. He like he had wronged or hurt you.

"This love, loves the trouble." He remembered you saying. He thought you were being foolish, blinded by your feelings to see realisticly. How could you not see? You were doomed. If the monster inside you wouldn't kill you, then it would tie you to him for forever. It'd be born into a world he hadn't solved yet, even if it could help him, it wasn't a tool. If you ever needed to leave, go off and be safe somewhere else, you couldn't. It would always tie you to him. It made him feel sick. You would never have the freedom he wanted for you.

You stirred in your sleep, your eyes slowly coming open before you turned to look up at him. He looked down at you, warm tears falling down an emotionless face. He was so lost in thought, he didn't realize he was crying.

"Uh, Tomura? Whats wrong? You're crying." You sat up and started to wipe the tears away from his cheeks before he wrenched himself from your grasp. He sat on the side of the bed, hunched over, before he got up to use the bathroom.

You sat there in wonder as you laid back down. He was no doubt thinking about the baby again. Baby. The word seemed foreign to even think about. A baby. Lost in thought, Shigaraki came back into the room. The light from the bathroom masking his silhouette in the door frame.

"You have to get rid of it." He mumbled.

"We've been over this before, I'm fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. Women have babies all the time, I promise-"

"No...you don't understand. You can't do this to yourself." He shuffled forward to the bed.

"What?"

"Think about it this way, you'll be rendered useless to the league. You and I were dangerous enough, but now,"

"Well damn, I didn't realize I'm such a fucking burden."

"THAT'S NOT-" He bit his tongue. Yelling at you or showing his anger never solved anything, it only made things worse. "You're not a burden. You're in danger. As a villian you run so many risks but the moment you got busy with me, you made yourself vulnerable. You made me, vulnerable. Adding a third into this, makes not only us more vulnerable but them as well. If the heroes knew we were involved with one another the way we are, they'd take advantage. They'd threaten you, they'd kill you if they got the chance."

"Then we won't give them that chance." You uttered. He balled his fists and turned away, holding his head down.

"It's not that simple. You don't understand."

"I understand just fine, Tomura. You don't think I haven't thought about all the ways this could go wrong? Tomura, you're all I have. You are my family regardless of a third party, you're my best friend and I love you with everything I am."

"This isn't about me. I can't promise you anything, I can barley keep you safe now. If you choose this, I can't do anything for you. I can't promise your safety or comfort. And especially not happiness." You crawled along the bed in a hurry before reaching out to grab ahold of his wrists. He froze.

"You make me happy." You told him. When he didn't move you spoke again. "You make me happy. All I want is you, all I want is to love you and be loved by you. I'm not asking for safety or comfort, I lost those a long time ago. I'm just asking for you." He stayed silent for a while, not moving or saying a word. The only sound in the room being his heavy breathing. "Tomura?"

"I feel torn." He rasped.

"Torn between what? Your war and me? You don't have to choose."

"No. Not that." He pulled his hand away from your grasp. "You would still choose me, choose me to be a father. Knowing what you know." You pasued and thought for a moment. He watched you.

"I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't mean to put you in such a difficult position. But I know you. I know how kind you can be. I know you're whole goal is to create a better world for people, to free humanity. I know the pain you struggle with and the issues you face. But there is no other soul I'd choose over you."

"You're so foolish." He sighed, crumbling as he sat down on the bed. You wrapped an arm around his shoulders and rested your forehead against the side of his. "How could a woman so smart, be so ridiculous?" He rested a palm on your knee.

"Love does that sometimes, doesn't it?" You spoke softly.

"It does. It makes me a fool." He turned his head to press his forehead against yours in a sweet gesture.

"For the record, I think you'd make a fine parent." He scoffed at you.

"I doubt I will." Will. Will? The word echoed in your mind.

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see." You said with a smile. Tomura leaned in and gave you a soft kiss. You leaned into it and took deep breaths as you ran your hands over his chest. He rested his palm over your hand placed on his knee.

"This isn't a game yknow. We don't get second chances here." He warned, squeezes your hand.

"I know."

"Its still early isn't it? You still have time to rethink." He told you, slowly turning and pulling you in to hold you tightly.

"I guess..." you trailed off.

"Just...if anything goes wrong...if anything happens to you..."

"I'll be fine." You reassured.

"You can't know that. How am I going to keep you safe?" He muttered to himself, tucking his face into your shoulder.

"I'll be more careful, I promise. And I'll stay away from dangerous missions, and I'll stay away from heroes from now on, alright?" You told him, rubbing your hands up and down his back.

"Just....think it over...please..." He begged.

"Alright...I'll think it over..." You made no promises. With that, Shigaraki agreed to bring you home. Not saying a word to anyone about your whereabouts. Toga asked you privately about your absence, mostly to confirm that you were alright. You brushed it off, saying it was a private mission or something like that.

Toga knew more than the rest. She asked more questions, knew more details. She knew the true extent of your relationship. Being a close friend of yours, she was trusted with more information than most. Others were lucky if Shigaraki even answered questions about your relationship, declaring it was none of their buisness and to leave him alone.

You didn't tell Toga, you couldn't. It wouldn't matter if she knew or not and getting someone else mixed up in your buisness was a bad idea. Life went back to normal, you went about your buisness as usual, but soon symptoms started to become more of a hazard as the weeks passed. Certain smells like cigarette smoke and eggs would make you violently ill. Nausea and fatigue haunting you throughout the day. You'd wake up feeling sore and groggy, unable to shake the feeling. It bothered Tomura.

He'd watch you raise from the bed and shuffle off to the bathroom with a deep stare. Observing you with a dark gaze. For the most part, he kept his opinions to himself. He knew there was little he could do. His only hope was that you would see "reason". If this is how you felt now, imagine your suffering later. The more pain and frustration you experienced, the more Tomura's heart ached. He felt responsible for your pain. Unable to shake the idea that he did this to you.

"Have you given it anymore thought?" He asked you. Entirely out of the blew, and while you were trying to relax no less. You laid on the floor, pillows piled underneath your head as you browsed your phone. Your feet propped up in his lap as he played a game on the Tv. You peered out from behind your phone screen.

"I have."

"And?" He didn't change his position or attitude.

"And what?" You looked back to your screen.

"Isn't the cut off date coming up soon?"

"Sure is."

"You have to make up your mind soon." You paused and thought for a moment. You watched him play.

"I have."

"Well?"

"I still want this." You told him. He paused his game and froze.

"I don't understand..."

"Pardon?"

"I dont understand!" He shouted. His anger directed out to the Tv instead of you. He dropped the controller and let his hands hang limp as he propped his elbows on your shins. "I don't understand... Taking so many risks... because of me."

"Well, we're villians. Isn't taking risks what lifes all about?"

"I...I'm sorry..." his shoulder began to bounce. His head hanging low while he balled his fists. You sat up, realizing he had started to cry. You placed firm hands on his back to rub and comfort him. He cried, his hands coming up to cover his face and wipe away his tears. "This is all my fault..." He squeaked.

"Tomura, sweety, it's okay." You held continued to rub slow soothing circles over his back. The other on his knee in an attempt to ground him.

"I don't understand...why...why you want this...I don't get it...it makes no sense!" He sobbed. "Why, WHY!?" He clung to you, reaching out to dig his gloved fingers into your sweater in an attempt to keep you close. You held him tight, running gentle fingers through his hair. You let him cry a little longer before answering.

"You know how they say 'love makes you do crazy things?'" You started.

"That's not a reason!" He argued.

"Well, sure, but...it's true isn't it. I mean, our relationship is evidence enough, right? But besides that, when I found out, I was scared too. I'm still scared. But the more I think about it, the more I want it. It makes me smile to think about. I get butterflies and its all I can think of. It's like, I'm falling in love with you all over again." He looked up from his place tucked away in your chest. His eyes red and tired from his crying.

"But why me?" He groaned, "you could have this with anyone you wanted. Why me?"

"Because I don't want anyone else," you squeezed him tight with a smile, "I want you." You planted gentle kisses on his tear riddled cheeks. He let out a soft sigh before pulling you in to give you a proper embrace. He tucked his face in your neck and took deep breaths, as if to savor the feeling of you so close.

"I'm still sorry," he grumbled, "I got you into this mess."

"Hey, it took two, right? Besides, I don't know about you, but I had fun." You squeezed his thigh, trying to lighten the mood. He squirmed in response.

"Not funny."

"What? For sex that good, I'd let you get me pregnant all over again." You chuckled in his ear. He squirmed again, his grip on you tightening.

"Don't say things like that." He scolded half-heartedly. His voice soft, he was embarrassed. You always knew how to get under his skin. Somehow, the way you did it, Tomura found it endearing. It felt fun and lightheaded the way you teased him. When you first did it, he tried to ignore it, he found you annoying and rude. But as time past, and he found your pestering of your fellow teammates pretty funny, he grew to enjoy your witty banter.

He slowly started to run kisses along your neck. He never really understood what you saw in him. Initially, he thought you wanting to be so close with him was an attempt to gain more power. But there was no evidence to support that, you just genuinely enjoyed his company. He found that bizarre. Tomura was well aware he had a bad attitude and was generally a pain in the ass to deal with.

But you got to him. When you were gone, he missed you. When you made a joke or teased, he laughed. When you were close, he felt warm and comfortable. More comfortable with you than without you. He grew way too attached for his liking. Especially now, he cursed himself for loving you. He called himself selfish and reckless and stupid. He beat himself up for it.

Regardless, if this is what you wanted, he would make this happen for you. But as the deadline came and went, he grew more and more paranoid. If the Heroes got ahold of you, it was game over.

[pastelsandpining]

Belongings

A BotW Post-Calamity Zelink hurt/comfort one shot

Summary: Zelda struggles to find her place in this time she should not be a part of, and she doesn’t understand how Link makes it look so easy.

Words: 8156

Warnings: blood mention, depression, honestly not sure what else to add here so proceed with caution and let me know of anything I need to tag!

tagging @etiquetteemotions :) I hope you enjoy!

When she watched him, she wanted to be upset that he couldn’t remember everything. It wasn’t his fault of course, and she knew he was probably facing deep turmoil for it, but she still cried out for the knight she fell in love with. Yet she couldn’t be upset, because he smiled now. He seemed so free of the burden on his shoulders all that time ago. He smiled and laughed and talked.

But it was never with her. Not the way it was with everyone else. 

She saw how he interacted with Sidon and Riju and Yunobo and Paya. She saw how he spoke to stablemen and village people. She saw how his smile was wider, his eyes were brighter, and it was a stark contrast to when he was with her. 

At least, she thought so. Because when he looked at her, his eyes seemed distant. His smiles didn’t reach her heart like they used to. And when he touched her or held her or did anything of the sort, he was so careful. Like he was afraid she’d break apart if he were to touch her in any other way.

There were many times when Zelda felt like she would never fit in with this new life. That she would never connect with Link in his Hateno house, or fit in with all of his new friends, or be anything other than Princess Zelda. Sure, helping Purah and Robbie with research and talking with Impa brought her back down to Hyrule—made her believe that it wasn’t as bad as she thought it was. But then she would return to Link’s home, eat dinner across from what might as well have been an empty chair, and lay in bed, feeling the hopelessness wrap around her like a weighted blanket. 

Some nights, she would feel Link’s arms hugging her ever so gently, and she’d think that maybe it wasn’t so bad.

And then the morning would come and she would wake up alone. 

Maybe it was her. Maybe she’d just become... unreachable. With nothing but the Calamity to keep her company for a century, maybe she’d changed without realizing it. Or maybe she was just a reminder to everyone about what the Calamity had done—how she failed them all the first time. Had it not been for Link, Hyrule would’ve been devastated beyond hope of returning.

The Hero of Hyrule. The savior of them all. Even her. 

And after a century of growing doubts and fading hope, she supposed she would be different too. But her difference didn’t come with the freedom his did. Because Link had done everything right up until the very end. She did nothing right until there was nothing left to do.

There was nothing left to do. No pieces to pick up and put back together—not here. Not in Hateno. 

And after staring at a page filled with scratch outs and unfinished sentences, Zelda decided there was really nothing she could say. Nothing but a sincere thank you, and a hope that his life of newfound freedom would bring him nothing but happiness. So that was all that she left behind. 

Her hands were scraped and blistered from the hours she spent yanking at rubble, at the cave in that cut off the entrance to her bedroom. It was the first place she wanted to see, even though she couldn’t imagine it looked very good. Link said he’d gotten in through climbing, but she certainly didn’t have the upper body strength to climb the tower to her study. She was left with no choice but to use a rusty old sword she’d found to try and help her loosen the rocks and stone and dirt. And she’d done a decent enough job too, or at least that’s what she wanted to believe. The most she’d done was get the rubble to crumble and slide just enough for her to be able to squeeze between the top of the pile and the ceiling. 

Zelda let out a slight scream when the rock beneath her hand gave out and she went sliding head first down the rubble, into her room.

It was completely trashed, which she’d sort of expected. But seeing it was a different story. Her living space, what she’d called home for her whole life, was reduced to practically nothing. Her bed had collapsed in on itself, her papers and books were yellowed and ripped, the staircase to her study was completely gone, and it looked so sad and empty. Yet she had seen so much destruction that she could not bring herself to mourn any more than she already had. 

She ran her fingers through the layer of dust on her vanity. Her mirror was cracked, and spiders had taken over. Her rugs were torn and looked to be burnt up, and the only thing that looked truly intact was the Royal Guard’s Bow above her fireplace, that Link had gifted her a century ago.

She peered out to her balcony, and then up at the missing staircase. Going to her study was out of the question entirely, so she supposed she’d have to wait until the staircase was rebuilt. At least she still had her journal, which Link was kind enough to recover for her. 

She busied herself by carefully pulling down the time-worn papers above her desk. The edges crumbled under her fingers, but her writings and drawings remained untouched—other than the fading. She set them down on her desk in a neat stack and gathered the ones from the floor, then set the paperweight on top of them. Then she got to work on pulling her small, circular table back upright. She pulled the yellowed table cloth off of it and tossed it into a corner. Soon, the pieces of broken chair joined it. 

Her bed was going to be a little tougher to deal with, so she stuck to small things for now. Picking up what rubble she could, using the sword to knock down spider webs, throwing everything she didn’t want to keep into the pile. But it didn’t look like she’d done anything. Maybe her room was also too far gone for her to do anything with.

But to rebuild everything from start..? 

No, not for her room or study. She could manage. But the rest of the castle—she could gather people willing to help. Gorons, Sheikah—all of Hyrule could help if they were willing.

She could invite the Sheikah to return and implement their technology—or at least encourage them to return to creating, and use that in the restoration of Hyrule. She could take the kingdom a step further than it was before, bring it into an entire new age with the help of those her family had wronged.

With the ideas filling in her head, Zelda fished her journal from the bag she carried and quickly scribbled down everything she was thinking of. 

Gorons to help get rid of the rubble. The Bolson Construction Company could work with the Sheikah to create new floor plans and interior designs. The Zora could bring their designs in too, and incorporate the beautiful luminous stones that lit their architecture.

But how would she go about bringing this up to them? She would have to go up to all of the leaders individually—which was not an issue, since she’d been considering going to each region to propose the permanent station of the Divine Beasts as memorials for the Champions. That would be another thing to the list. 

Zelda paced in her room, relaxing into something that felt familiar to her. Brainstorming, keeping herself busy. She could bring in Purah and Robbie to help rebuild the Research Lab too, which sent a flood of excitement through her.

Maybe once she thought she could stay away, but this was where she belonged. She had a duty to her people, to her kingdom, and she refused to fail them again. She refused to sit idly because of what she’d been through. She wasn’t the only one, so she had no right to sit and sulk. Hyrule needed her.

Didn’t it..?

Zelda’s pacing slowed, and she looked back towards the pile of rubble with a frown.

Did Hyrule need her?

Now that the threat of Calamity Ganon was gone, was she really of any use? A century without rule seemed to do Hyrule just fine—even if the kingdom was only beginning to recover. The four regions were thriving well on their own, under their own leaders. And the remaining Hylians—what did they truly need her for? Other than reconstruction, but even then, did they need her for that? She could propose ideas all she wanted, but she could do very little with her hands. 

And now that it was safe for Hyrule to begin rebuilding, who’s to say they wouldn’t? Who’s to say they wouldn’t rebuild on their own? There were brilliant minds out there that didn’t need her permission or her ideas.

Zelda took a slow seat into the red velvet chair and looked around her crumbling room again. 

Did she not belong here either..?

There was no one. Her father—everyone within the castle walls had perished when Ganon rose. Sadness and bloodshed were embedded deep in the walls of this place. There was no one left to tell her how to be a queen, how to rebuild a kingdom. She’d spent her entire life devoted to awakening a sealing power that came all too late. Her father had been right, it seemed. She was an heir to a throne of nothing. Nothing but failure. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have come back. But if she was the heir, didn’t she owe it to the kingdom to rot alongside that nothing? To be reminded of her failure everywhere she looked? 

She didn’t realize she was crying, screaming her voice raw, clutching her father’s journal to her chest, begging aloud to deaf ears—like she’d done for years. What she would give to feel her mother’s hugs, or Urbosa’s comfort again. What she would do to see her father again, even if he were looking down at her in his disappointment. What she would do to have someone, anyone left to guide her. 

To get an answer from Hylia about what to do now that they had won. 

But no one would hear her. 

Zelda curled up in her chair, hugging her knees to her chest, and leaned her head against the top of it. She was reduced to gasping for breath and squeezing her eyes shut, as if that would stop the flow of tears.

It was getting dark now. She’d spent hours here, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Where would she even go if she did? 

It was getting colder. In regular circumstances, she would have someone light her fireplace. But this was not regular circumstances, and there was no one left to do anything. 

She must’ve cried herself to sleep, because she certainly didn’t remember going willingly. But instead of the nightmares, she was left with a dull ache. Nothing but darkness. Nothing but nothing.

———

When Link returned from hunting to find his house empty, he knew something was amiss. There was a sense of loneliness—the same one that filled the house when he first bought it. He didn’t quite know what to make of it, but he tried not to make assumptions. As much as he wanted to protect her, to not lose her again, he also didn’t want her to feel suffocated. Perhaps she just wanted to take a breather.

But it didn’t feel like Zelda had just gone on a short outing. It felt more like standing among a village of ruins. It felt sad and dull, like the life that once filled it took all the color with it when it left. There was something she brought with her to Hateno, and that something was gone now. Maybe he was simply overreacting, and he would find her at the lab with Purah. 

She would come back later.

Except, the minutes turned into hours and she still hadn’t returned. Link became restless, and he took his horse up to the lab to check for himself. But Purah said that Zelda hadn’t come by at all that day. 

Link raced back to his house to search for any sign of where she might’ve gone, but what he found made him feel nauseous. In her neat handwriting were the words:

Thank you for all you have done.

I wish nothing but happiness for you, and that a day will come where we can meet again.

He read the message over and over again, desperate to pry some other meaning out of it, but it was useless. He knew what she meant by this. 

From the weeks he’d spent with Zelda, to the memories he recovered of her, he knew this wasn’t like her. It wasn’t like her to disappear, or hold back whatever was on her mind. He saw how hesitant, how closed off she’d become since she gained freedom, but he always hoped that maybe she’d talk to him eventually. He shared stories of his journey, took her to see everything he’d seen, in the hopes that she would someday feel comfortable enough to speak. He never wanted to force her.

But maybe he should’ve, because she was gone.

Link didn’t bother grabbing anything other than his gear before taking off towards Kakariko. He had a feeling she wasn’t going to be hiding with Impa, but he was going to need help. 

There was only one other place she could be, but he struggled to imagine why she would return to the castle alone. Why she would suddenly leave without a word. Had he done something? Did he say something that made her want to leave? Did she feel trapped? 

He didn’t know, because she hadn’t talked to him. 

It was dusk by the time Link was finally able to set out for the castle, accompanied by Purah, Symin, Paya, and Impa. He’d been weary about so many people at first, but he let it slide for the sake of finding her before something happened. Sure, he made sure to kill every monster he found when he explored the castle, but there was no way of knowing if other monsters found their way in. Or people looking to find treasure. Or anything, really. Did she even know of the danger she was in?

Of course she did. He needed to give her a little more credit. She faced Ganon alone. Surely she could take a few monsters, or people, right? There were weapons in the castle, scattered everywhere. She would be fine, right? 

Still, Link urged Epona to go faster. They raced past Dueling Peaks, through Central Hyrule, through the gates of the castle. 

“Go,” urged Impa at his hesitation, with a nod towards the tower he’d climbed what felt both like yesterday, and a year ago. “We’ll find our way. Take this. Go find her.”

Link took the damp towel and bandages into his hands and slipped them into his bag before turning on his heel and sprinting towards the tower. He knew at the top would be the study, and the bridge that led to her room. Would she be there..? He couldn’t imagine how she’d accessed it, but no one knew this castle better than Zelda. He was sure there were ways in even he didn’t know about.

The pattern of the stone bricks underneath his hands and feet were familiar as he scaled his way up the tower, going as fast as he could. With no guardians to shoot him down, he was able to reach the midpoint and use Revali’s Gale to get him the rest of the way—at least, to the open window. The study looked as empty and depressing as ever. Zelda was not in here, though he wasn’t surprised. The stairway was broken, after all.

The bridge was empty too, so Link continued on to the princess’s room. 

He could spot her from a mile away. Even if it was dark, and he was descending slowly on his paraglider, he saw her curled up in that dusty chair. Part of him wondered how she got in, and the other part broke upon closer look. She was asleep, but still she looked troubled—almost like she’d been crying. And—was that her father’s journal, in her hands?

And oh, her hands. He crouched besides the chair and gently took hold of one of her wrists. He pulled it gently to him, causing her to only stir, and examined it up close.

Years of climbing experience made him recognize the blisters, but she hadn’t climbed. No, because there was dirt underneath her fingernails and under the torn skin, and there were scrapes caked with dry blood. A glance towards the rubble pile outside the doorway confirmed his suspicions. She’d dug her way in.

Link looked back to her hand and gently pressed the towel to it. She flinched away and was awake in seconds, her wide eyes searching over him like she couldn’t believe them. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“Hi,” he said softly.

“Link,” she replied, her voice hoarse. “I-“

“Your hands,” he stated, holding one of his own out. “They’ll get infected.”

Wordlessly, Zelda placed her hand back in his. Her father’s journal rested on her lap in favor of the Sheikah Slate, which she tapped away at with her free hand. Link only looked up when he heard the familiar warping sound of an item. 

“Here,” she said softly, holding out a glass bottle filled with water. Link took it with a quiet “thanks” and dumped some on the cloth, figuring he could ask about herbs for medicine later. The priority right now was cleaning the wounds.

He dabbed at one of her palms, mumbling an apology whenever she would wince. He knew from experience that it stung, and it made him feel even worse. And the silence—it was more agonizing by the second. So he tried to fill it.

“You tidied up,” he said, nodding his head towards the trash pile.

“Hardly,” Zelda replied. “All I really managed was stacking some papers.”

“And that, if I recall correctly, is new.”

Her smile was weak and small, and hardly sincere. It didn’t belong on her lovely face. He took care with wrapping her hand and fingers, for an excuse to hold onto her a little longer. 

“I think if there wouldn’t have been a Moblin in here, it wouldn’t be as bad,” he continued, thinking back on what a scare it’d given him originally. The last thing he’d expected to find in her bedroom, a place that was supposed to be so private and safe, was a monster. But then again, a monster had long since taken over her home. “They don’t have the best manners.” 

“A Moblin?” Zelda asked, her eyebrows furrowed. 

“Not sure how it got in,” Link said with a shrug, wetting the cloth again so he could begin cleaning her other hand. 

“A century is a long time,” she replied, her voice breaking just enough to make his fingers twitch with the urge to hold her hands tighter. “There’s really no way to know if the collapse happened during... or later on. It could have found its way in at any point. You mentioned monsters of all sorts infested nearly every room.”

“Not your study. I wish I could take you see it, Zel.”

She was quiet. Link looked up at her to find her gazing at the missing staircase, but he didn’t know if she was actually seeing, or if she was lost in thought. He watched her for a moment, wondering just how much she was thinking of. What memories she must have been replaying—if they were ones he no longer had, if they included him at all. He knew he had been in her study with her at least once, if not multiple times all those years ago. Maybe he used to help her research, or kept her company while she did. He wanted to take her to her study, show her the Silent Princess that bloomed right in the middle. He could remember her mentioning prior attempts to grow them domestically and save them from extinction. Did it result from an attempt of her own, only able to actually flourish a century later?

Link returned his eyes to her hand. It was cold against his, despite what the red, irritated, and torn skin suggested. He tried to stay as gentle as possible as he wiped the grime and blood away, feeling worse every time her hand stiffened in pain. The silence was getting to him again, as was the still overhanging question of what drove her here.

“Zel..” he spoke. If she looked his way, he didn’t know. He busied himself with wrapping her hand. “I would’ve come with you.. You didn’t have to come back here alone.”

“It’s home,” she whispered out. Link glanced up at her, holding her hand just a little tighter.

“I know,” he said. “But home doesn’t have to be just one place.”

Zelda did not reply, but he could faintly hear his name being shouted. He’d nearly forgotten about the others, and clearly Zelda was as shocked as he was. But he stood from his position, letting her hand go at last, and jogged to the pile of rubble.

“—in there?” someone said, muffled by the wall of filth.

“We’re in here,” Link called back, wincing at how loud he sounded. “There’s a hole in the top that you can squeeze though, or we can try to remove more of the cave in.”

He thought he heard something like “stand back”, but he wasn’t sure until he heard a loud crash, and rubble began sliding down towards him. He backed up just in time to miss being pelted by a large rock and the rush of dirt and dust behind it. He coughed, waving his hand in front of his face to try and disperse the cloud it had created. 

“This’ll take a lot more force to clean up entirely,” came the voice of Purah after a coughing fit of her own. 

“We’ll manage,” replied Impa. Once the dust settled, the four were able to enter the bedroom at last. Link gave them all a polite nod and turned back to Zelda, who was staring at them as if they were ghosts. She looked pale.

He crouched before her again and raised the cloth to her face. When she didn’t move to pull away, he started wiping at the grime and scratches.

“This is quite the place to run off to when you’re upset,” spoke Impa again. She sounded far closer than she had before and Link had to keep his surprise that she could move that fast at bay. 

“It’s home,” Zelda repeated, adverting her eyes. Though this time, something about her voice gave away that she didn’t believe it. 

“Maybe once, a long time ago,” Impa said. 

Link raised a hand to Zelda’s cheek, holding her still while he wiped at a scratch on her forehead. She was making a point to avoid looking at anyone. She looked a little guilty, too, though he couldn’t think of why. 

“We can rebuild,” Purah promised, standing to the side of the cushioned chair. “Really, your room isn’t that far gone at all. And most of the castle structure is still intact—at least, the parts we can get to. Really, Princess, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“That’s kind of you,” Zelda replied, but she shook her head. “But reconstruction will take years.”

“It’s not impossible,” Purah argued, grabbing the arm of the chair with her little hands. 

Link slowly lowered his hands now that Zelda’s face was, for the most part, clean. He capped what remained in the bottle and set it aside, reaching instead for the Sheikah Slate. When she didn’t stop him, he placed a hesitant hand on her knee and got to work looking through their gathered materials. He could make a healing potion for her hands with the right parts.

“No,” Zelda agreed, leaning back in the chair. “But it’s long and tedious and.. and we— I do not deserve your help.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at his princess with a frown. He wasn’t the only one, but her eyes remained stubbornly glued to the floor. An overwhelming desire to see those green eyes sparkle with happiness once again hit him, but he didn’t know what to do about it. Was it even his place?

“The concept of being ‘deserving’ of anything is silly,” spoke up Paya. Her voice was soft and rushed, like she were nervous to be speaking up to a princess. Link didn’t blame her. He felt like that too, in the beginning. “I’m sorry, Princess, but everyone deserves kindness, regardless of what they themselves think. To imply that they don’t is to say that they’re not.. human.”

“Paya is right, dear child. But I can think of no one more deserving of a comfortable home and happiness than you,” Impa said. 

Zelda looked like she was trembling. Link set down the Slate and gently took her bandaged hands in his own. Only then did she look at him, her green eyes glistening with unshed tears. The sight tore his heart in half. 

“Talk to us,” he whispered, running his thumbs over her knuckles. “To me. Please.”

He wished he could read her mind, soothe whatever fight she seemed to be having with herself. But all he could do as tears slipped down her cheeks was kneel upright against the chair and wrap her in a hug. And the journal she kept in her lap fell to the floor when she pressed closer, holding parts of his shirt in tight fists. He held her tighter, hoping just maybe, he could keep the remaining pieces of her together. 

“I’m sorry,” she said again. Link shook his head.

“Don’t apologize, please. You have nothing to be sorry for. But if there’s anything I can do-“ 

“Link, you’ve done so much.” She was looking at him again, like he were some kind of grand hero. He was, according to almost all of Hyrule. But when she addressed him as such, and looked at him as such, it was different. Like he were her hero, and hers alone. Sometimes, he wished he were. “Really, there is nothing more for you to do.”

“I can be here, with you. If you really wanted to come back, I would’ve come with you.” 

He felt like he was begging. Begging for her to still give him a place in her life. For how confused he’d been when his journey began, he felt so inexplicably complete when he finally got her back. He wanted to feel that way again—wanted her to know that feeling if she didn’t already. But he would struggle greatly with acceptance if she didn’t want his help.

“Why come back?” she asked, pulling back from his embrace and leaving him empty. She looked so sad. “The heir to a throne of nothing. Is that really who you want to follow?”

He could still hear those words, spoken originally in the gruff voice of the king. At the time, Link found him to be acting as neither a king or a father. It was cruel, to spit those words in a sixteen-year-old’s face. To relay to her what the gossip mongers said behind her back, to imply that they were correct in some sort of way. She tried all she could, but they refused to let her be of any help outside of her supposed destiny. Little did they know her destiny involved facing a great evil alone, locking herself away for over a century. And yet, all these years later, those words still bit deeply into her. Did she truly believe them? After all she had done?

Link had never once believed in those words. Though he was as clueless as anyone else on why the goddess remained silent, he instead believed that she would save them all. Her worth and ability were never tied to any sacred power. Not to him, not to her friends, and not to her father. It was just a shame the king picked so late to act like one.

He reached up to hold her face again, trying to get her to look at him. 

“I follow the princess who cared so much about her kingdom that she sealed herself away with evil incarnate for over a century. I follow the princess who worked tirelessly to fulfill her duty. I follow the princess who knelt in freezing waters for hours at a time to pray on deaf ears. I follow the princess who did everything she could, and not just because she was told to.”

“You follow a princess who killed you and countless others with her inability to do her job,” she spat, but there was no venom to her words. She just sounded.. tired. Link shook his head again, racking his brain for the right thing to say. What had he said back then, in moments like these? What would work to comfort a broken soul? 

“Please.” He was begging again. He was desperate, because her coming here alone meant more than what she was saying. “Please don’t blame yourself for the things Ganon caused. I hate to admit it Zel, but we were fucked regardless whether or not you unlocked your powers. But they don’t blame you—and neither do I.”

“But why don’t you?” Zelda asked, finding a grip on his shirt once again. “I was so cruel to you, so jealous of you.. and in the end... I don’t understand.”

“I took a vow to protect you with my life, Zelda.” He brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones, wishing he could get rid of her unshed tears that easily. “And I’d do it again. Without hesitation. Wherever you go, I will be there.”

Because without her, it felt so very empty. Even with the friendships he’d made along the way. And the why evaded him until he’d come to understand that it was better left unspoken. And the weeks spent with her in Hateno, while they tried to adjust to this world neither of them were really a part of, was when the pieces of the puzzle fell together. 

“That vow was made as a knight to a princess and a king, in preparation for the Calamity. There is no threat. There is no more king. And there is hardly a princess. But should you need it, I, Princess Zelda of Hyrule, officially release you from your vows.”

Link shook his head again, as if it could prevent the words from reaching his brain, his heart.

He felt like she was slipping right through his fingers. Just as she had with every memory along the way. One minute she would be there with her green eyes and warm, sunny smile, or annoyed glare, or concentrated expression. Then he would open his eyes and find himself alone, with any lingering warmth fleeting to join her in the castle, locked far away from him. He would look towards the castle and think of nothing but her. This Zelda that he knew long ago, this voice that compelled him to find her, this Princess that a century ago, he had fallen in love with and given his life for. And maybe his memories were fragmented, and maybe he’d never get them all back, but he was certain of that much.

“I made a promise to protect you, Zelda, princess or not. Because I want to. So if this is where you want to be,” he freed a hand to gesture to the room around them, “then I will be there too.”

“You belong to the wild,” Zelda replied simply, bringing her hands to cover his. “I can’t take you away from that.”

“Then stay with me there, please. Or, or with Impa in Kakariko, or Purah in the lab. Anything is better than here, cold and alone.” She had to know that. To return to a place of nightmares...to consider staying... Link was so afraid she was too far gone, and they hadn’t caught anything until she’d broken. 

Zelda peeled his hands from her face and shook her head. Link couldn’t find the right words, and he’d never felt so hopeless before.

“I’m afraid,” began Impa, joining them at the chair. Her wrinkled hands covered theirs. Link hoped with all his heart that they were bringing warmth back to her icy fingertips. “That her century with malice has driven the light from her mind. Princess, why have you convinced yourself that what you want is unreachable?”

Zelda recoiled at the question. Link tightened his hold on her hands ever so slightly, because he felt her trying to slip away again. 

“There are times when the darkness can extinguish the light,” she replied, tearing her green eyes away. 

“And the blame for that does not fall on your shoulders, sweet child. In fact, Hyrule would not have been able to recover at all, had it not been for your selflessness. The horrors you endured, sealed away with a beast, are something we cannot ever understand. But we can recognize that without you, Hyrule would have fallen completely to Ganon’s control. When you focus solely on your stubborn power, you ignore the other things you were able to do. Without your help, the Champions would have been unable to master their Divine Beasts.”

“The Champions are dead,” Zelda repeated, her voice trembling again. Link knew the feeling, and goddesses, how he wished he could grant her the closure he’d received. He found himself praying, begging out for Urbosa to somehow come to her aid, appear to her and let her know in a way he couldn’t that it was alright. 

“The Champions knew just what and how much they were risking when they answered your call, Princess. You chose well. But I’m afraid Link is right, Ganon would have taken them out even if you had awakened your power. The beast was prepared for our attack, and I’m afraid by following our ancestors so closely, we doomed ourselves. But the blame for that does not fall upon you.”

“But if I had just worked harder, if I had done more, prayed harder, then maybe-“

“Zelda,” Impa said, her voice stern. Even Link felt like he was being scolded, and he was nothing more than a bystander. “You gave all your efforts and in the end, prayer was hardly what woke your power.”

Her eyes drifted to Link. She looked defeated, because she did know. And so did he. When Kass relayed to him the song, he’d nearly cried. It wouldn’t have been the first of the tears shed on his journey. And it wasn’t the first time he’d learned of a princess doing something out of her love for him. He remembered quite clearly when he found out—how he spent that night asking into empty air if it were true. No answer ever came to him. 

“I know,” Zelda replied at last, ducking her head and instead looking at their hands. In two simple words, his answer had come.

“Then I trust you to make the decision you believe is best for you. But no decision should be made at this hour. I suggest we get some sleep before dawn’s light is upon us.” Impa’s hands lifted, and with a simple gesture to Paya, they disappeared through the rubble at the doorway.

“If you ever need a place to go, or someone to talk to about ideas, my door is always open. But I have to agree with my sister on this one. You should get some rest, and make your decision in the morning.” And Purah and Symin were gone as well.

Now that they were alone, Link wished he knew what to say. He wished he could leave it at that and tell her to get some sleep. But he couldn’t.

“I still don’t understand,” he said, releasing her hands so he could dig in his pockets. Zelda lifted her head to look at him, and he held up the piece of paper she’d torn out of her diary. The writing that was burned into his brain. “Why?” 

She lowered her gaze again, but she did not answer. 

“I thought you might’ve been at the lab with Purah,” Link continued to fill the silence. “And then I thought maybe you went to Kakariko, but Impa said she hadn’t seen you.”

“I’m sorry,” Zelda said softly. Her eyes were fixed on the dirty rug beneath her chair, but he could tell she was looking far past that.

“Why didn’t you talk to me..? Or say goodbye, at the very least?”

“I just.. I couldn’t,” she admitted, hugging her arms. “It would’ve made it harder.”

“How long have you been thinking of leaving..?”

“A week or so...” 

Link let out a sigh, dragging a hand down his face. He felt guilty again, for not saying anything when he first noticed her drawing back. Maybe she thought he was disappointed, because she continued,

 “I just—I didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“Did something happen, Zel..?” he asked hesitantly, lifting his gaze back to her’s. It was selfish, but part of him needed to know if it was him, or the setting. “To make you want to leave, I mean. Do you not like it in Hateno?”

“No, no-! Hateno is lovely, Link.” She straightened up, reaching out a hesitant hand towards him. But she dropped it before it made any contact. “I just...”

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Link said, lifting a hand to her face, though he desperately wanted her to. “But if there’s anything you need, please let me know. You don’t have to suffer alone.”

After a moment more, he dropped his hand to his side and picked up the Slate again. He wished there was more he could say or do, to help her. But this wasn’t something he could swing a sword at and disintegrate.

“Do you ever feel like you don’t quite belong here?” she asked, ending the stretch of silence. “Like you shouldn’t be, because you belong to a different time?”

Link looked up at her, masking his surprise that she was perhaps finally speaking what was on her mind. He nodded once, but said nothing more, urging her to continue. She did.

“At first, Hyrule didn’t look much different than it had before.. But seeing Castle Town and Central Hyrule in ruin was still... so fresh. Something that took years to build and was once full of life, was destroyed in minutes. So many lives lost... And then I find this new village—two, actually, filled to the brim with life. Like the Calamity had never touched them at all. And it was so.. different.”

“A Hyrule one hundred years later,” Link said, finding her hands again. “Toeing the line between recovery and destruction. And the only thing keeping that line steady is you.”

“I’m sorry,” Zelda said again, her hands twitching like she wanted to pull them away. “I shouldn’t be complaining when you’ve no memory of the Hyrule we were a part of all those years ago.”

“But maybe that’s a good thing,” he responded. It made her finally look at him, her eyes wide with shock. But he’d thought long and hard on it, and he was being honest.

“Link-“

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “I don’t remember everything. And it hurts sometimes, that I can’t remember everything about you, and about our friends. But I don’t feel the pain that came with fighting Ganon, or fending off guardians. I don’t feel the burden of the sword. I’m.. a little more free of that trauma than you are. For a century, you sealed yourself away with nothing but evil incarnate. And you still remembered everything you had done and been through up until that moment.”

“You make it look so easy. Living in this Hyrule, I mean. You have so many friends, you seem so comfortable and at home..”

“It’s hard not to make friends when they risk their lives to help you. And I don’t think I’d be as well off if I still remembered everything. But it’s not easy. I’m living in a world I really know nothing about. And as for home, well... it didn’t feel like home. Not until you were with me and safe.”

Zelda blinked. She looked like she wanted to cry again, but Link was being more honest than he’d ever been. Yet for some reason, a fraction of hurt took over her eyes. It was gone as quickly as it had come, but he saw it.

“You hardly know me,” she said. Even she winced at that and went to apologize, but Link held her hands a little tighter and willed her to look directly at him as he spoke, pouring everything he could into his words.

“I know that you love your people so much, you faced Ganon alone. I know that you love to research and wanted to learn as much about Sheikah technology as possible. I know you faced criticism from everyone, even your own father, but you pushed yourself to your limit anyway with a silent goddess. I know you saw me as a reminder of your own failures, and I know you tried to convince me to taste a frog. I know your favorite dessert is fruit cake, I know you had a white horse you named Storm who you struggled with at first, I know Urbosa was like a second mother to you, I know Revali annoyed you just as much as he annoyed me, I know we somehow ended up as friends, and I know what woke your powers in the end.”

Zelda looked as if she couldn’t find the words she wanted to say. It wasn’t impossible to believe, given he’d mentioned some things only someone who was close to her would know, but maybe that last part should’ve stayed to himself.

“Urbosa did always say it was quite obvious.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Did she tell you?”

“Kass did,” Link replied, adverting his eyes. He felt a little guilty to admit it. “The Rito Bard. His teacher, the court poet, set out to.. learn some ballads about the ancient hero, so he could help me. He mentioned it in his song. Though, now that I think about it, it was a little... rude. I mean, it’s no one’s business and..”

Zelda looked amused. Link forced himself to stop speaking, which was new. He was still getting used to a lot of things.

“Well, he didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. It’s better you hear it from them, than a gossip monger who has nothing better to do but impose on the life of others.”

“I’d rather hear it from you,” he replied with a shrug before he could stop himself. Even in the dim lighting of the room, he could see the way her cheeks flushed. 

“You just did,” she argued, ripping her hands away so she could cross her arms. Link held his hands up in defense. 

“All I’m saying is that having a descendant of the goddess Hylia herself love you is quite the feeling.”

“Oh, so being Zelda isn’t enough for you then? You’ve got to play the goddess card to inflate your already big head?” But there was no malice behind her words, and the faint smile on her lips was more than worth it. 

“Now I never said that,” he defended, fending off a smile of his own. “I happen to find Zelda absolutely wonderful all on her own. But having goddess powers is cool, too.”

A small giggle passed her lips. The light was returning to her eyes slowly, but progress was progress and Link was desperate to keep it up.

“I’m glad someone around here appreciates Zelda,” she joked, leaning back in her chair once again. He rested a hand on her knee and looked up at her, letting the smile onto his lips.

“Someone should tell her that she’s deserving of love, and happiness, and a fresh start too.”

Zelda’s smile was weak, but it was there. It was enough to make him swell with hope that maybe, maybe they’d figure it out eventually. But something was still eating at her. He could see it in the way she adverted her gaze again, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“What if I don’t get along with your new friends?” she asked at last. “If I don’t fit in?”

It would’ve been rude to laugh. Her fears were absolutely valid, and he took her hands again in an attempt to show that. But it was hard for him to imagine any of his friends not getting along with Zelda. She was lovely, even after years of nothingness. He was sure she would fit in perfectly.

“Sidon will absolutely, enthusiastically praise you for every little thing you do,” Link began, counting off his closest friends. “Yunobo will bow to you with your strength, maybe even ask you to help him with his own. Riju will be the little sister you never had. And Teba may be just as proud as, but he’s less openly arrogant than Revali. They will love you, I promise.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Zel, I can’t believe you’re worried about that. If you could hold the Calamity back for a century and make me fall in love with you twice, then you can easily make friends who’ll love you just as much.”

The confession he hadn’t intended on making caused a smile to tug at the corners of her lips, and Link knew maybe, finally he’d said the right thing. He gently pulled her forwards by her hands but before he could kneel to meet her, she’d joined him on the floor. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her into his chest with an unspoken promise to continue being by her side until the end of time.

“If you’re really ready to be here,” he whispered out, “then I’ll be here. But if you’re not, it’s never too late to come back home.”

Zelda pressed her face into his shoulder, and he leaned his head against hers, drawing gentle shapes on her back.

“Thank you for coming after me.”

“Of course. If I didn’t, people would think I was mad at my princess or something.”

Zelda let out a quiet laugh and he felt her hold him a little tighter. 

“What, so you only came after me to protect your reputation?” she joked, tilting her head up so she could look at him, forcing him to lift his head.

“Obviously,” Link said as he looked back down at her. “Can’t be the Hero of Hyrule if I leave their princess all alone.”

“If I recall, you did that for over a century.”

“My bad.”

Zelda laughed again, the sound bright and joyous in the empty room. It filled him with comfort, and he couldn’t help simply gazing at her, taking in every little detail he could see. Part of him wondered if he’d really forgotten her, because it felt impossible to imagine a time he didn’t know her face. Her lovely eyes, her warm smile, her infectious laugh, her pink lips—it wasn’t something that could be forgotten. A beauty like hers transcended that. 

“I meant it when I said thank you for everything,” she said with a small smile. “Hyrule really is in your debt.”

“I would do it again and again.” Without thinking, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. It was lucky for him that her love lasted over a century. 

“Get some sleep,” she said softly, tugging the cushion from the chair and tossing it behind him. “You must be exhausted.”

“I slept for a hundred years. I think I’ll be fine,” he replied, but laid back and rested his head on the cushion anyway. Zelda laid gently on top of him, resting her head against his chest. Link folded his arms around her and took a deep breath so her scent enveloped him again. Her fingers tapped against his shoulder, keeping time with his heartbeat. He knew, just as he had for a while, that they were right where they needed to be. He couldn’t speak for Zelda, but he knew that he belonged with her, no matter what life it was.

And he closed his eyes, missing the dawn’s light peaking over the horizon.

Masterlist

[girlbabyvelez]

Royals // Chapter Seven

Summary: Joel finally gets the letter about the wedding date and is on his way to see you while the King of Ecuador finds out the truth about you and your traitorous actions.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of cheating, treason and murder

July 1

Joel, 

I’m writing with big news from Ecuador and some changes in our alliance. King Manuel has set the date for Chris and I’s wedding during the announcement of our engagement. It’s set to be on July 18 which is sooner than expected but it cannot be changed. Every ambassador and royal from South American countries have already heard and we need them ready to support Joel on the throne. But I cannot be married without you guys here, please hurry. 

I love you all. Mi familia es mi fuerza y los necesito aquí.

Princessa Y/N

Joel’s eyes scanned over the letter one more time, he was in disbelief at the notice. Joel should have expected that King Manuel would pull something like this, Ecuador was desperate as the situations between Colombia and Ecuador got worse, they couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Now he needed to pack and leave as soon as possible, he wouldn’t let his sister go through this alone since she was doing this for him. 

He quickly stood up from his chair, folding the letter back up neatly before exiting his room and heading to the throne room where he knew his mother would be, planning and talking with the nobles to sway them to crown him king. The corridors seemed long and winding but eventually he made it to his mother. 

“Mother.” He called her attention, every noble turning to respectfully bow at him. He smiles at them before his mother joins his side. He led her away from all of the nobles and deeper into the corridors, once he knew it was safe he turned to his mother and handed her the letter.

“The wedding is a little over two weeks away. We need to leave now.” Joel whispers to his mother as she quickly scans your letter. She shakes her head in disappointment before looking back at her son. 

“I cannot believe them. But you’re right. We don’t have enough time. Go pack your things mijo.” Your mother demands as she hands the letter back to him. He nods at her words but she continues her demands. “You are going to go with Israel. The nobles are still wary so I can’t leave but once they are married you will need to return for your coronation.” 

“She’s going to be upset that you aren’t there.” Joel whispers. He knew that it was a tough situation for her to be put in and if it wasn’t for the future of Mexico then your mother would be by your side. “I’ll be by her side the entire time.” 

“Gracias mijo. Give her my veil and love.” Your mother whispers as she turns to push him to pack but before he leaves she speaks again. “Make sure that she’s happy and protected Joel.”

~

The room was dark, private, and quiet as it always was when they met. They were away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears that came with the castle and court members. This was the most lonely inn at the closest village which was beneficial for them. This was how they had been meeting for months, discussing their plan.

He knew by the placement of the moon that it was well past midnight and she would be joining him soon. The two of them had become as thick as thieves, planning the ultimate plan of sabotage. They each had their own reasons of course, she did it because she loved Chris and he did it for his country. 

“Salazar?” She whispered as she stepped into the room at the inn. He stood up from his place on the edge of the bed and stood up to greet the girl. He closes the door behind her and locks it, ensuring maximum privacy from the rest of the world. This still needed to be kept under wraps.

“Evalia. Have you heard anything?” He questioned as he led her to sit down on the bed beside him. She nods at his words and a smile crosses her face at the thought of the good news.

“The king is getting suspicious of you and Y/N. Just a few more sightings and he will know.” She tells him. She was close to getting you out of the picture, the plan had been working successfully.

“Okay. That’s good. And how are you doing with Chris?” 

“He’s still avoiding me. But once Y/N is known as a traitor I will be there for him.”

“You need to work faster Evalia. Once the alliance is broken, Colombia will move in. And we need to be sure that Chris will never be a threat again.”

~ 

July 3

The wedding was 15 days away. 15 days of your freedom left and each day seemed to be getting harder for you. Chris refused to leave your side whenever you were in public, it was his way to keep his eye on you and keep his parents happy. But what he didn’t know was that Salazar kept meeting you in secret, trying to get you to make the alliance with him. Your mind and soul were torn, you didn’t want to betray Christopher and the alliance you had for the majority of your life, but you also didn’t want to be trapped with Chris in a miserable marriage for the rest of your life. You had already experienced happiness with him and the pain he caused you took away all of your hope and happiness. So today you found yourself distracting yourself from your thoughts. You lounged in the library, holding tightly onto the book in your hand as you allowed yourself to be taken to another world.

“How are you doing?” You heard him ask which effectively pulled you from the happy fictional world to the terrible reality you were living. You sighed and flick your eyes from the pages over to Christopher, who was leaning against one of the bookcases with his arms crossed as he just stared at you.

“And what do you care Prince?” You retort before focusing on your book again.

“Come on, humor your fiance.” He walks over to the table you were lounging at and sitting before you. You roll your eyes at him but continue to keep your eyes focused on the book instead of Christopher. There was still plenty of thoughts and emotions to unpack with him and you weren’t ready. 

“I’m fine.” You lied but you couldn’t fool him, he learned how to read you over the past few months. But he knew that you weren’t going to be willing to open up to him anytime soon.

“What are you reading?” He asks, easily changing the subject. You just wanted him to leave you alone, you didn’t want to have a conversation with him. 

“Just a story about two lovers.” You answer quietly. He watches you for a moment, your eyes scanned the book in front of you and you looked tired and sad. He knew that it was his fault, the night with Evalia should have never happened yet it did. He just wanted to turn back time and make things normal, he wanted to relive the happy moment when you confessed your love for each other. 

“Can we talk?” He questions as his emotions run high at the memory. 

“About what? You made yourself pretty clear last week.” You snap. 

“At least hear my side of the story.” But you shake your head at his words. You knew that the only thing that would come out of his mouth were going to be excuses. You were worth more than that, you deserve the truth. 

“No. You don’t get to cheat on me then proceed to make excuses.”

“I’m not making excuses. Come on like you didn’t betray me when you went to Salazar.” He retorts. This causes you to slam the book down on the table and look at him with anger in your eyes once again. You couldn’t believe that he was throwing that in your face again when you would have never turned to Salazar if Chris hadn’t cheated on you like that.

“First off, I didn’t sleep with Salazar-” 

“No you just became a traitor.” He barks at you. You sigh and rub your hand across your face. You were frustrated and tired of this constant back and forth with Chris. You felt yourself slouch in the chair and look at Chris. He looked at you and he was instantly filled with guilt for snapping at you. You looked even more tired than before if it was possible.

“Chris why are you here? I just want some peace and quiet.” You whisper softly. 

“Because we need to figure this out. We will be tied together for the rest of our lives. We have 15 days to get it together Y/N.” He says truthfully.

“To get what together Chris? We can’t even have a simple conversation without being at each other’s throats.” 

“So let’s figure it out.” 

“I can’t. Not right now.” You say. He sighs at your words and you quickly get up without putting the book away.  “I need to go get ready for tonight.” And with that you left him sitting at the table alone, the book was now in his hand as he watched you walk away. 

~

The guard stood quietly, hidden in the shadows as he kept a close eye on you. He had seen you speaking to Salazar earlier and now he was watching as Salazar grabbed onto your arm and pulled you into another corridor. He knew what this meant and his duty was fulfilled. He turned on his heel as he walked into the King’s office, quickly bowing before stepping up to King Manuel.

“My lord. You were right. Princess Y/N is conspiring with the enemy.” The guard spoke once the King waved his hand, signaling he could speak. The King looked from the letters on his desk to the guard, fury crossing every feature of his face. 

“Bring my wife and son. We need to discuss the future of our alliance with Mexico.” He orders once he was able to fully process what this meant for the future of his country and the future of his son. 

“Yes sir.” And the guard quickly left, looking for the prince and the queen as quickly as possible. 

Soon Queen Yenny and Christopher had found themselves in the King’s private office. He sat tall and serious as he looked at his queen and son. And he held Ecuador’s copy of the alliance with you and Chris in his hands, holding it dangerously close to the fire of one of his candles. Chris watched in confusion at his father’s actions, wanting to step forward to ensure the contract was safe but his father spoke before Chris could say anything.

“The alliance is over. Y/N has been seen with Salazar on multiple occasions.” The King informs. “This is treason and a crime against our family. And she will pay for it.” Chris could feel his heart stop at his father’s word. Even though he should feel angry at you for continuing to see Salazar, he was scared and worried for you. His father would go to great lengths to punish you for it and he knew that his father would take your life for it. He still loved you, even if everything was hard and tense between you, he had grown to love you and that love never leaves easily. But now he needed to save your life.

-

Taglist:  @phanislife124 @bbyyelyah  @zabdisamor @xxxstormyninixxx  @babecita-1 @yashuazbabygirl @getmealifepls @cyaneaa @codename-nyx @cncoh-damn @mamacamacho @smoljoelito @itsmaytimetosaygoodbye @ladykxxx08 @la-undercover-latina @lostpil52 @undeadspazzattack @plentyoffandomss @babyyynatty @juneninetynine @cnchoe-imagines @valeriiaaass @moonlitzabdiel @damnthoseyes  @ourkarlanicoleuniverse @niallisworld @multi-fandomgoddess @california-creator @ ego-allie-bap @zabdicl @chellybear98 @sometimesbadalwaysboujie​ @estoy-enamorado-de-ti @nochillnelly @ericksmamita @cncoamor @you-kinda-smell-like-christmas @pizzaspirits​ @josiemara​ @deniseasonrisa @nqbmf @afro-doll @h-bea92​ @the-almond-dinger​  @miericksongo​ @cncosoftie​  @ohitsnicolexo​  @midnightjmadness

Note: if you still are reading this, ily and the next chapter will have more action hehe and it will be longer. Also an Hasta chapter is coming soon too hehe

[pendraegon]

hello hello can u tell us about jouka's curse?

YES if you want more on vouniverse here’s my tag for it: vouniverse

YES jouka time<3 i literally love talking about him, if given the chance i would NEVER shut up about him which might be kind of egotistical but i’ve really put so much thought and care into almost every aspect of him (for example mireuk’s rapier is supposed to represent lancelot’s red hilted sword BUT there were truly some aspects that came as a surprise or like...that i realized much later like how jouka’s torn red silk around mireuk’s new sword can represent again like how they’re both doomed to kill the person they love most, but also, that it’s the red string of fate that connects them!!! literally i was like “oh shit my subconcious mind that was SOOO sexy” aosdjfassa), but it’s always very different and heart warming when someone else cares for jouka too, you know? 🥺😭💌 this is gonna be long so i’ll put it under a read more here<3

i had inspiration for jouka’s curse from diana wynne jones’ howl’s moving castle! i always loved the concept of how even though sophie was cursed at first by the witch of the waste, it is her own power and subsequently her own self-hatred that keeps her in that state — likewise, i wanted jouka’s self inflicted curse to (im just gonna copy and paste what i wrote last night in a text post bc mind broken aosifjdsaofda:) it’s supposed to represent how negative self thought can cause people to spiral into further negative self reflection to the point that it’s impossible to get out of, or rather, it takes genuine reflection and assessment and the desire to change and make mistakes and get better to truly foster a sense of self-love and self respect.

for jouka he’s the bastard son, he’s technically the eldest, but he’s not because he’s NOT a proper tae, and throw in the fact that he’s the only half-elf? yikes. (i wanted him as a half-elf because i was like...well...........you know. when you’re multiethnic. how it is.) and tie that into the fact that despite the fact that he’s obviously hated and despised by the town + his father and step mother, he still WANTS to belong — even though he’s seen as less than dirt or a nuisance or even the fact he’s a scapegoat, even though he fucking hates everyone for how he’s treated, he still wants to belong, he still wants acceptance, he wants these people to want him too. [of course, lem and aino aren’t like this at all, if anything i’m very adamant that the siblings all truly love each other (which like we see bc jouka’s “korean” name has the same character that lem’s and aino’s do which is what occurs in siblings — they’re all “hwa/hua” and lem and aino GAVE jouka that character which shows of their acceptance of him as their brother) despite the fact that there may be tension between them in regards to lem burdening the responsibility of the silk trade and being jealous of jouka’s “freedom” while jouka doesn’t want to take lem’s place but he wants that respectability that isn’t given to him and then later on with jouka leaving aino and aino being understandably upset and simultaneously not wanting to see him again but wanting to reunite.]

SO, jouka at his core is this....he’s this little half shadow of what-could-bes and what-ifs and childish dreams which is why it’s so easy for him to slip into other guises, like, that of germy. jouka himself isn’t even THE real jouka, jouka goes by seokhwa even though his REAL name is seokga, and isn’t that scary that jouka doesn’t even know WHO seokga is?

ANYWAYS CURSE. so. mireuk of course we know because i’m telling you this that he’s actually the “hero” of the story and that the eventual twist is that he’s doublecrossing the people in power at the end this entire time — mireuk who stabs jouka because jouka is, rightfully infuriated, that someone he loved would destroy their village, destroy aino’s hardwork, implied to have killed lem or have been responsible in lem’s death but the worst part is that it’s not just that at all? jouka, who hated the village even though he longed for acceptance and connection, jouka who wanted to destroy and grind everyone to dust who was cruel to him, for jouka — if mireuk had told him, if mireuk had said that he was going to set the village on fire and kill, jouka WOULD have been fine with it, as long as aino was okay — for jouka, his disgust stems also not from his self hatred and lack of self worth but from the fact that he wishes that were him, that he was the one who was setting the fire aflame, that he was the one to hurt and destroy and kill. jouka is, a kind person, he’s gentle yes, but he’s not a good person — he’s never really been a good person in that all he cares about only are his siblings, lem and aino, and mireuk (and eventually, nyx) and now seeing the fact that mireuk killed lem, how can jouka reconcile that? SO mireuk stabs jouka in the shoulder and tells him to run as far as he can — and maybe i was like...a bit too indulgent in that i too have a shitty shoulder, but in that scar that one of the loves of jouka’s life gives him (the other love of his life being, nyx, of course), a physical manifestation of jouka’s self hatred is present, it bubbles up, it debilitates him, it glows and it grows and it overtakes his body. jouka uses music to temper that and i’ve talked about that before and how that ties both into finnish and korean mythos/shamanism. but when jouka then goes to the elves and the elves say that it’s life threatening it truly is supposed to represent how jouka’s hatred at everything is something that he internalizes so much that it’s killing him slowly and painfully and that not even his implied godhood can save him because if you believe in something enough, of course it’ll be true — and for jouka who is this like literal ball of loathing and missed chances and regrets and so so so very contradictory, it’s something that he blames on mireuk while knowing deep down that it’s HIM that’s the problem the entire time but unwilling and too scared to actually look into it.

[bookocd]

Light as Air

Hi guys this is a Fenrys Fanfic that is set in the aftermath of Kingdom of Ash. I’m literally so excited about this and I have such a clear vision for where this is going to go. If anyone wants to be tagged when I update or has any thoughts for me PLEASE feel free to reach out. 

Summary: Fenrys see’s a powerful fae female after Aelin’s coronation and is given the task of finding her. Only he doesn’t know the secrets and chaos that he is about to unleash upon Orynth and himself. (A longer summary will be provided after this chapter! I just didn’t want to give any spoilers away)

Thank you for reading :)

Links:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: 

Ever since she was a little girl, she only ever dreamed of two things; a beautiful night sky with different constellations then she had ever seen in Terrasen, and a pair of violet eyes, only a shade darker than her own. She never understood these dreams, but it always felt as though someone was watching her, not in a scary way, but in a safe nurturing way. Like she would always have someone guarding her and giving her direction. 

This past night she had still dreamt of the same stars and darkness, but instead of purple eyes looking back at her, she was staring into eyes of onyx. 

She didn’t understand her sudden need to go back into the city gates and find the golden man and she sure as hell didn’t understand that feeling in her heart, in her soul, that he was also searching for her. That while she was dreaming of his eyes, he may be dreaming of hers. 

Obviously he was a warrior and a male of worth, he was literally blood sworn to the most powerful queen in history. 

What would he ever want with me, she thought to herself as she laid in her small bed. I’m nobody and I will always be nobody. Her insecurities clouded her mind, like a summer storm cloud.

The female looked around and saw just how much of a nobody she was. Her room was actually a hidden cellar, and past the shelves of vegetables and ale, her small bed was in the corner. The bed was for a child, not a fully grown fae female. When she slept at night, she either had to curl up into a ball, knees to her chest, or let everything past her knee go over the end of the bed. There was a small worn dresser with drawers that squeaked when opened, that had all the clothes she owned. Having never learned how sew or stitch, her wardrobe consisted of her fathers pants, which had never been long enough, loose white shirts, which also didn’t fit, and one single hooded cloak. The cloak was a deep navy blue that almost seemed black, and it was the one thing that fit her and the only reason her father had gifted it to her was so she could cover her ears, facial features, and her lean muscular body. It was also perfect for hiding her assortment of knives and other weapons. 

Her father had only ever given her three things: the cloak, her array of weapons, and the skills to fight and always win. It wasn’t just physical fighting either, he educated her until she knew history, mathematics, and science, he made her able to adapt to any situation, he made her witty and able verbally spare with anyone. He did not just gift her weapons, he molded her into one. 

She ran her rough crooked fingers down the soft cotton fabric, and thought about her father. He was a warrior turned scholar, and somehow knew that dangerous times were coming, so he moved himself and his only son, Smyth, along with some of his books into a small cabin. The extensive forests west of Orynth became their home and soon after the female’s home as well.

Pushing out the thoughts of her family and the impeding misery, she tried to figure out what to do next. It was obvious that she needed to wait until the other royals left before she could make her move. With so many powerful people, she would be too much of a threat, a risk, and if she was provoke… Her body shuttered with memories of torn flesh, burnt skin, and silent screams of terror. She willed her hands to stop shaking. 

She would wait until all the royals were gone, then she would go into the city and see if any opportunities presented themselves, and if these opportunities came from the golden male, she wouldn’t be upset. 

—

He had gone into the city and the surrounding areas every day for two weeks. He told Rowan and the others that he wanted to help with the initial rebuilding, while they were working on goodbyes and more diplomatic matters. Lorcan and Elide both did their calculating stares, Aedion coughed while saying “bullshit” which had Lysandra smothering a laugh with her hand, and Rowan pulled him aside and gave him a “stay safe” lecture. 

Aelin caught up to him when he all but ran out of the room. She pointedly grabbed his elbow and forced him to look her straight on. The three blinks she sent his direction, meaning Are you all right, immediately calmed him, but also brought him back into a dark place. He could never lie to her, so he responded with two blinks, No.   

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on in that thick head of yours or do I need to use force.” Aelin’s eyes sparkled with the treat looming in the air. 

He opened his mouth, a deflecting comment on the tip of his tongue, but she interrupted and said, “Rowan told me what you said, about someone else joining the court.” Fenrys’s head whipped toward the door they had just existed and swore he could feel the bastard male in there smiling. 

“Oh don’t get all pissy about it. It’s my gods damned court and I get to decided who joins it.” He knew she was being playful by the light in her face, but he couldn’t help the sharp words as they came out of his mouth. 

“I know that” 

Aelin then moved her hands to her sides and widened the gap between her legs. A fighting stance. She was wearing pants and a loose black top, and her leather boots were stained with mud. 

He didn’t want to fight with her, not with the one person who understood his pain. He didn’t want to push her away. 

Letting out a rugged breath and running a hand down the back of his head nervously, he said, “It’s nothing I just can’t figure out if I think this girl is a threat or one of us”

“One of us?”

“A dreamer.” Clarity finally filled Aelin’s eyes and her body changed from taunt to fluid. She ran forward and put her arms around Fenrys’s neck. He grabbed her and pulled her close with his arms around her middle. 

Hearing a growl, the two turned and found Rowan glaring and baring his teeth. Fenrys couldn’t help, but laugh, even if the result was a fist to the face. Rowan started toward Fenrys, but Aelin ran to him, jumped up, and put her legs around his waist. 

Rowan’s fury washed away into something more heated. 

Aelin turned one last time, “Go find her Fen. This group could use another female, all the males and their territorial bullshit is getting old.”

Chuckling as Rowan poked his queen in the ribs, Fenrys decided it was his time to leave. 

With his fae ears he could just make out what Aelin said to her husband. 

“Oh how I’m going to make you beg after that performance.” The returning purr told Fenrys that Rowan wouldn’t mind that type of punishment. 

—

It wasn’t quite spring, but Fenrys was still sweating. His tan skin glistening in the sun, while nailing boards onto The Tadpole Inn’s roof. The innkeeper, Annie, a sweet human girl who had inherited the inn from her parents, who had both fought and died in the final days of the war. Fenrys had never asked her age, but he guessed she was in her twenties, and with her blond hair tied back into a long elaborate braid, she never shied away from hard work. Fenrys instantly liked her the moment she picked up a shitty wooden hammer and worked along side him, asking him questions, and even telling him to leave when she had mastered what had been taught. 

She was one of those closest to the outer wall, and Fenrys constantly found himself up on the barges. The surrounding area’s were still all a battle ground, scars and all, but the forest and freedom called his name. 

His keen eyes searched and scanned the land in front of him, and then he turned and looked toward the streets of Orynth. In the past weeks, he had found himself getting more and more anxious at being cooped up in the palace. It wasn’t the company, but the confinement. But he would be lying to himself if he said that was the only reason for being out and scanning the winding streets every spare moment. 

A phantom wind lifted his hair, and he turned toward the strange warm breeze.

Fenrys froze. 

The wind was blowing into his face now and it hit him. 

Cinnamon. 

He shifted in a flash of light and ran south, toward the smell. 

Gods he hoped it wasn’t a pastry.

—-

Every time she was in this city, she kept to the shadows. When she was younger it was based on fear, now it was to observe. She kept far away from the palace, from the queen inside it. She didn’t want that yet, she wanted gossip. 

Her father taught her that people always talked, and if you listened hard enough, the truth would always emerge. 

She watched a woman with graying hair and winkles around the cornes of her dark brown eyes, slowly move wet laundry to a clothes line. The conversation with her neighbor included sharp clipped words and it rubbed the female the wrong way. 

“I’ve seen the queen every single day with that male of hers,” she scoffed at the word male and violently gripped her clothing. 

She continued with every word dripping with distaste, “I feel like the fae are going to be her priority, if her choice in companions says anything.”

The female thought out the words and analyzed the tone. The truth came to her fairly quickly: the woman was panicked. Their city and Terrasen, had been in a war and that has effected everything and everyone. She was scared that her and people like her, would be a second thought to their queen. The female didn’t blame the fake distain for the fae males in Aelin’s court, but the thing that did stick out to her was that the woman had seen the queen everyday. 

Those are the actions of a queen who cares, for not just the city she rules over, but the individuals as well. A queen who wants to look within, fix what has been broken, before moving forward. 

She didn’t know what to do with the information, but she had been hearing the same thing all morning. The queen was caring and wise. Someone that could be trusted. 

It was enough.

Looking around at the smiles, even with their city so broken, these people were resilient and they would come back stronger than before. 

Stepping out of the shadows for the first time, in broad day light, the female felt lighter somehow. She had no idea that her good mood translated to her manipulating the wind. All around her the air started to breath and stir, seeming to wake. 

Tomorrow, she decided, I will—

The screaming cut off her thoughts and ended her rare reign of the wind. Unlike others she ran toward the commotion and started to yell at people to get inside. It wasn’t until she saw what was coming down the stone street at a sprint, that she lost her voice. Standing in the middle of the road, it was impossible for her to melt in-between buildings or become a shadow. 

The golden wolf bounded toward her, and the scratching of its elongated claws against the ground was deafening. The muscles on its legs were straining with effort and its coat was near radiant in the beating down sun. 

The wolf stopped mere inches from her, panting and staring into her soul, giving her a clear view of its knife like teeth. The sheer height of the beast sent a shiver down her spine. The near black eyes reminded her…

Blinding light surrounded her with a feeling of warmth. It was too bright for her not to quickly put her hands in front of her eyes as a shield, a shield from the sun like rays. 

A heartbeat later, the light was gone and the female slowly moved her hands down and opened her eyes. 

The golden male was standing in front of her. And he had a shit-eating grin on his face. 

She was in fucking trouble.

[lovelessmako]

Ve

Chapter: Two

Iselin ground her teeth as her flight feathers were clipped by rough, uncaring hands. She should've known she would be caught. Her owner had connections and money, of course he would hire someone. That's strange, when did she start thinking of her foster father as her owner?

"Did you learn your lesson?" He fisted his finger into her feathers as a threat for what would happen should she argue.

"Yes, Master."

He pulled, some feathers coming loose. "Don't call me 'Master' like you're some kind of pet! You call me 'Father'!"

"Yes, Father." She yelped in suprise as a cool piece of metal clamped around her neck. It was tight, too tight. She coughed, trying to breathe around it.

"Don't be so dramatic! That's just some jewelry to help you if you ever get lost again. And there's a tiny bit of motivation to stay close to me."

Pain erupted as lightning danced across her skin causing her to fall over. She lost control of her limbs and twitched for what felt like forever. When it finally stopped she pushed herself up onto wobbly knees and gasped for breath.

Her father knelt down and changed his tone to one filled with worry and dripping in sweetness, "you understand why I can't let you be alone, sweetie? There are bad men out there who would love to get their hands on such a pretty little girl. It's not safe. But I can protect you. I won't ever let anyone take you away from me."

Iselin wanted to puke, both from the pain and from his manipulative behavior. Why did it take her so many years to realize it? Denial. She was passed around so much that she desperately wanted this home to work. Her mother was murdered by her father when she was only a year old. Her older brother had tried to raise her, but a preteen isn't ready for a baby; no matter how much he tried. She would never blame him for bringing her to her god father. She was upset, however, that the man refused to take him in; only her. She spent 10 years with Gabriel, her human god father. Unfortunately, he was called into active duty and couldn't bring her along. He brought her to his older brother whom she had never met. Lucas seemed nice enough. He worked a lot, but he had a big house and she always had the best clothes. But then a strange man showed up on their doorstep. She was introduced to a Golem by the name of Goliander. Tall with a cruel face, he smiled down at her while Lucas explained that she would be staying with him for awhile; just until Gabriel came back from war. If she knew what she knew now, at 25, she would've known that Gabriel wasn't coming back. He had been gone 7 years at that point with no contact. She would've also suspected that Lucas was only keeping her while she was a child, due to the fact that she went to live with Goliander on her 18th birthday.

He sighed in annoyance. "Get up and compose yourself. We have guests coming in an hour." He was...he was leaving her alone out here? "And don't think about running, that necklace has a long range." Of course.

She nodded, choking out an, "understood, father." He nodded, satisfied and went into the house.

Iselin sighed to herself and stood up on shaky legs, using a tree for balance. At least this was better than last time. She thought back to the traumatic memory.

A tall women in a silk red dress and matching heels stood in the doorway, smoking from a slim cigarette holder held between her fingers. Her hair was dark and tied up into a messy bun, an expensive looking pin tucked inside. She spoke with an accent Iselin couldn't place but sounded Asian in orgin.

"If you want freedom so much," Goliander started, shoving Iselin forward, "then last 1 week with Lady Li. She is going to teach you the ropes of her business. During that time you are to obey her completely. Understand?"

Iselin had been so excited by the thought of freedom that she didn't even ask what the business was. She would later learn that the woman was something called a Mistress.

Back in present day, Iselin rubbed at where she knew a particularly bad cigarette burn marked her left breast. It still stung sometimes, but it was mostly the memory. She had went through such torture and then been dumped back onto Golandier's doorstep, bloodied and broken. She was 1 day away from freedom. But she never would've truly been free. Lady Li would've just kept her.

She looked towards the house to see a dress laying on the ground. So he was mad enough to make her change outside, huh? Shouldn't be suprising. How she was expected to keep her clothing spotless when it was in the dirt was beyond her. She removed her current mudded and torn dress and picked up the other one. Her corset was undoubtedly her favorite piece of clothing. She preferred to wear her's stealth, something she was glad she was allowed. It was a simple brown overbust; no need to get something fancy when it would just be hidden under clothing. It had come slightly loose and ruffled throughout the day so she removed it and hit it a few times to dust the fabric off. Slipping it over her head, she began to replace the sides. Her breasts were fairly large but few knew that because of her secret. She pushed them down, as opposed to up, and pulled the strings tightly. It hurt, of course, but it halved her cup size so it was worth it. Why didn't she like her breasts? Other women would try all kinds of tricks to make theirs look larger. She told herself that it was just because they got in the way.

Iselin suddenly grew self-conscious, realizing she was outside in nothing but her underthings so she quickly reached for the dress she had sat down earlier. She hadn't bothered to clean her chemise, hoping it wouldn't be seen. The gown was a simple one, floor length and in a lovely gold. So it seemed Golandier wanted then to look higher class. She could do that. She put on the coif that had been hidden in the grown's fabric as well as a French hood that matched the dress. She hated those; it always seemed like it was going to fall off. Plus, it was difficult to maneuver them around her addax styled without cutting the fabric.

There was a mirror propped up on the side of the house since it was common for her to be forced to change outside. She looked at her baby blue face and bright golden eyes. Iselin had never met another Troll with gold eyes, which drew a lot of attention. Swirls of lighter blue marked her arms and face. Gabriel had mentioned once that the designs have meanings such as bloodline and destiny. He claimed to not know what her's meant.

She stepped inside, forgoing shoes; they couldn't be seen under her gown anyway and it was the little bit of rebellion she was allowed. Inside stood a tall Troll, skin so dark blue that it appeared purple. He had 4 horns equally spaced atop his head that were nearly flat against his skull as they grew backwards, like hair. He stared her down with dark maroon eyes, his own clothing consistenting only of a leather strap across his chest and a tight fitting leather skirt that barely was long enough to cover his unmentionables. The Trolls she saw often wore similar styles of clothing, likely to easier display their markings. He seemed annoyed by her attire since it covered nearly all traces of skin. He let out some frustrated clicks, proving her point. Goliander returned with some clicks of his own in an assuring tone. It was times like these that Iselin wished she had been taught more of the Troll language, other than the words "I am at your service." She nervously pulled at her wings, drawing the Troll's attention to them. Like her eyes, she had never seen another Troll with wings before.

He puffed out his chest and let out an angry sounding stream of clicks. Within a moment, Golendier had grabbed onto the Troll's head and slammed it into the wall. He instantly went limp and slid to the ground, leaving a trail of purple blood. That was the first thing Iselin had learnt about her new home; Golems were very physically powerful. She quickly turned her gaze away, but he caught it. "Room. Now." With a quick nod, she scamped off towards the other end of the house. There had been a lot more visitors as of late. It seems like he was wanting to pass her off onto someone else. She had become too much trouble. Iselin quickly lay on her bed and closed her eyes. There was no telling when she would get another chance to rest and knew to use the time her guardian spent cleaning up his mess to her advantage.

[cincinnatusvirtue]

Eighty Years War (1568-1648):  Dutch Revolt and the establishment of a new republic...

The Low Countries in Europe have gone through a number of iterations over the years but one of the most seismic changes in its history took place over the course of the 16th & 17th centuries.  One that would result in the establishment of modern nation that despite it small size would go onto have a far reaching impact on world events...

Background:

-The Low Countries, modern day Netherlands, Belgium & Luxembourg were since the Middle Ages known by many names but much of the region was called Flanders, or divided into multiple provinces such as Brabant and Holland among others, there was a mix of people who practiced Catholicism, particularly in the south as well as Protestants in the wake of Martin Luther & John John Calvin, both of whom would have a lasting effect on the peoples of the Low Countries but mostly in the north  The most numerous group in the Low Countries was a Germanic people that became known as the Dutch.

-Its hard to pinpoint an exact consolidation of a modern Dutch identity as the Seventeen Provinces as they became known consisted of the Dutch and French speakers known as Walloons as well.  Nevertheless, by the 15th century, the provinces had definitely developed a distinct culture.  One that favored commerce, practiced a degree of relative tolerance and valued some level of independence or local autonomy.  This was recognized by Mary Valois-Burgundy, Duchess of Burgundy in 1477 with the so called Great Privilege decree.

-The decree in effect restored previous held levels of communal rights at the local level in the various Low Country provinces.  The Burgundians (Eastern France) had attempted to centralize like France had and this had lead to resentment.  Mary signed the charter for the Great Privilege against her own initials wishes and more as a matter of practicality, it also recognized the right of the States-General, an assembly-legislative body which made decisions for the Low Countries many provinces, to meet once more.  This embodied the Dutch desire for autonomy.

-Mary had married, Maximillian I Holy Roman Emperor & Archduke of Austria and member of the Hapsburg dynasty.  By rights of this marriage, the Low Countries became Hapsburg administered territories.  This was subsequently passed down to their heir Philip I of Castile, the Spanish Kingdom that united Spain with the Hapsburg lands.  Philip had married Joanna of Castile and together cemented the rule of their mutual territories.  Finally their son, Charles V, became Holy Roman Emperor & King of Spain by 1519 and with him he came to rule global Spanish Empire including vast European holdings, including the realm of his and his father’s birth, the Low Countries. 

-Charles considered the Low Countries and important component of his empire, they were for sentimental reasons a familial possession and the place of his birth and childhood.  More broadly, they served as an important center of trade and industry, commerce being very centrifugal to the identity of the Low Countries, an ethos that persists to the modern day.  His own interactions as ruler were to keep an element of toleration towards their autonomy while also putting down rebellions namely in Frisia.

-Charles’s son and heir in Spain was Philip II. The Holy Roman Empire’s imperial position was an electoral throne, more of a ceremonial first among equals position but not an emperor that held direct rule over the various fiefdoms and principalities of Central Europe.  Nevertheless, Spain had its own vast land holdings throughout the world and Philip ruled it at its true zenith. One of main aims in foreign policy were to promote Catholicism in the empire and project Catholic and by extension Spanish power throughout the world and in Europe especially with the development of a rivalry with Protestant England.

-Philip also inherited the Low Countries and his devout Catholicism and lack of growing up in the Low Countries started to put him at odds with a number of his subjects there.  It wasn’t an even split as there were many Catholics and and Protestants in the region who despite Philip’s increased heavy handedness in rule that remained loyal to him.

-Philip reverted to a more centralized form of rule, he increased taxation as he needed to fund his wars with England and other powers in Europe, he also began to persecute his Protestant subjects, mainly Dutch.  His appointees also based in Spain ruled with increasingly draconian measures such as executions of Dutch & Flemish (Dutch speakers in Flanders) alienated the local nobility.  Protestant clergy began preaching anti-Catholic & anti-Spanish rhetoric as the mostly Dutch speaking Protestants felt Philip was surrounded by evil advisors, ones who sought to remove their privileges, which they increasingly viewed as their rights, local  based autonomy, with rights to assembly, law making and tolerance of their religion.

War:

- 1568 saw open rebellion and Philip ordered his enforcer, the 3rd Duke of Alba, Fernando Alvarez de Toledo, also known as the Iron Duke to serve as governor of the Netherlands.  His enforcement was very pro-Catholic/Spanish and epitomized Spanish Hapsburg’s determination to maintain order, he had overseen trials and executions of those deemed seditious and imposed heavier new taxes.  This resulted in one of the Dutch nobles, William the Silent, Prince of Orange becoming the de-facto leader of the rebellion.

-William served not only as Prince of Orange but Stadtholder of the Provinces of Holland, Zeeland & Utrecht.  Previously, he worked side by side with the Hapsburgs including Philip’s sister, Margaret of Parma when tolerance and decentralization was more the norm.  As Philip changed tack towards more central authority a rift with William developed.

-Stadtholder originally meant a sort of local governor or steward, a caretaker position but in time would come to mean, more of a head of state, that would traditionally be associated with the House of Orange but always was a loosely defined role. More than anything it served symbolically as the state’s caretaker in terms of security. Real legal power rested with the States General which held legislative power over the republic in which they hoped to found, one made up of several united provinces.  

-William and his brother, Louis of Nassau with support from French Huguenots (Protestants) invaded portions of the northern Netherlands where they hoped support would be strongest.  The rebellion scored some success but it was severely tested at the Battle of Jemmingen in July 1568, where the Duke of Alba defeated the Dutch rebels handedly but Louis escaped.  There was a statue made by the Catholic supporters of Spanish rule made in Alba’s likeness out of bronze from the captured Dutch cannons (torn down in 1577).

-What followed was a series of alternating gains, negotiations, and renewing hostilities that would come to define the conflict.  From 1572 onward, William attempted usually through hit and run attacks to undermine Spanish rule.  He also needed to balance the competing interests of localities and their religious representation some Dutch Catholics also supported the rebellion along with Protestants and others didn’t, William needed supporters of the revolt to unite for it to work.  He tried effect religious unity and freedom manifest in his 1576 Pacification of Ghent declaration which rallied behind removal of Spanish troops but still failed to get support of religious tolerance.  The conflict was at some level devolving into a sectarian conflict as much as a nationalist one.  Nonetheless, a further defined Dutch identity was forged as a result and William would be declared in historical memory as “Father of the Fatherland.”

-John of Austria became the new governor of the Netherlands and in 1577 signed the Perpetual Edict which seemed to show compromise on the Spanish government’s part.  It would allow for Spanish troops to be removed from the Low Countries and renewed assemblage of the States General in exchange for a mutual recognition of the sovereignty of the king & promotion of Catholicism.  John however soon went back on this promise and attacked another area of Dutch resistance in Namur.  This in turn inflamed the spread of the rebellion.

-1579 saw the Union of Utrecht signed between Holland, Zeeland, Utrecht, Guelders, Brabant. Flanders & other areas and formed the sort of constitutional basis for the Dutch Republic whose goals beforehand weren’t so concretely defined.  This union served as a outright declaration of independence, forcing a united front no longer determined to wage war for compromise on rights with the king and within the context of remaining part of Spain’s empire, true independence was the goal now.  The Act of Abjuration further solidified this goal in 1581 accusing Philip of neglecting his sovereign responsibilities to his Dutch subjects and was therefore no longer fit to be their king.

-Philip declared William an outlaw and the Act of Abjuration renewed Spanish efforts to put down the rebellion, newer and larger efforts were being undertaken to suppress the rebellion.

-The Dutch got foreign help in finances from England and materials support from France both of which wanted to upset the balance of power in Europe which disproportionately sat with Spain.  By 1585, the northern provinces found themselves in a de-facto state of independence with became mostly centered around Dutch speaking Protestants with Catholic Dutch virtually all converting in the coming decades while the southern provinces still had a large Spanish garrison & remained a Catholic stronghold.

-In time, the Netherlands converted into a side theater for the French Wars of Religion.  This in turn allowed the Dutch to continue their war efforts and in the north practice their flourishing de-facto independence.

-The nascent Dutch Republic like the republics of Italy (Venice & Genoa) was very much a maritime power.  The northern provinces were able to blockade the estuary going to Spanish held Antwerp which in turn built up Amsterdam’s economy as mercantile community thrived and eventually a stock exchange was also forged.  While their independence wasn’t formal, it was increasingly becoming a reality for the northern provinces and the practice of a successful and capitalist economy built on trade was evidence of this.

-The Dutch built up their navy to protect their trade and a thriving privateer industry developed where Dutch government sponsored pirates could raid Spanish ships to aid in the sting of ongoing rebellion.  These privateers operated in the North Sea, English Channel and even in the Mediterranean, often basing themselves in North Africa and developed cultural and economic trade with the Barbary States who held religious and political grievances against Spain.  The Dutch navy would prove quite effective in draining Spanish resources

- In 1602, the government sponsored Dutch East India Company was founded and established colonial possessions in Africa, India and Indonesia (Dutch East Indies) which controlled the textile, spices and slave trade from these regions.  The Dutch West India Company followed in 1621 with settlement in the Americas namely in North America (modern day United States, especially New York City).

 -Dutch trade flourished and the military proved powerful, thanks to Spain’s ongoing commitment to fighting wars on multiple fronts against multiple powers and continuously meant that the Low Countries were increasingly made into a side show-backseat for Spanish foreign policy overall.  The Dutch did everything they could do drain Spain of her ability to fight, becoming a proverbial headache but not one the obstinance of Spain would be willing to recognize.

-Domestically, tranquil life in the de-facto independent Netherlands was captured in their art too.  As life in the canal lined cities of Amsterdam, Haarlem, Rotterdam and elsewhere was increasingly captured during the Eighty Years War period by a series of masterful painters and sculptors like Rembrandt, Vermeer & De Keyser among others.  Dutch architecture began to take on unique shape as well reflected in the Dutch cities with their preference for less ostentatious but stately brick building homes.

-This era of flourishing art, culture, economics and military power along with colonial projection became known as the Dutch Golden Age (circa 1581-1672) and the establishment of the Dutch Empire.

-1609 saw the Anglo-Franco brokered ceasefire and Twelve Years Truce which contributed largely to the Dutch Golden Age’s growing.

-By the 1620′s conflict had picked up in part of the greater European conflict of the Thirty Years War (1618-1648) which started with Catholic and Protestant internal conflict within the Holy Roman Empire but soon dragged in all other European powers including the officially unresolved conflict between Spain & the Netherlands.

-Attempts at peace had been made but the religious obstacle of religious freedom for Catholics in the Protestant northern Netherlands and likewise religious freedom for Protestants in the Spanish controlled south were creating an impasse.  Additionally, issues over international trade routes and the seizures of Spanish-Portuguese colonies added to the tensions.

-With the resumption of war, Spain invaded the north once more but was reversed.  Furthermore, the Dutch took Brabant’s major city, Den Bosch.

-The Dutch countered into the south but failed to take its major cities of Brussels & Antwerp.  Furthermore, the heavily Catholic south was brought up with a relative loyalty to Spain and distrust of Dutch Protestants in the ensuing years of peace thanks to Spanish & Catholic education & propaganda.  The Dutch found themselves increasingly reconciled to the notion that the southern Netherlands were likely to remain separate but they too remained obstinate in the goal of independence for all.

-The Dutch continued to vie for control of Spanish colonies in the Americas, Asia & Africa through its union state Portugal’s possessions mostly rather than direct Spanish possessions.

-1639 saw the Battle of the Downs in the English Channel which stopped a 20,000 strong army being escorted by a new Spanish Armada and saved the north from direct invasion.  It also definitively ended Spain’s naval mastery of the global seas, something almost unrivaled since 1492.  Now Spain’s fleet was bypassed by Dutch, English and French navies.

 -1648 saw the official end of the Eighty Years War, largely thanks to French intervention which would split the southern portion of the Low Countries between them and the Dutch.  However, the end result was de-jure independence from the Spanish, in the Treaty of Munster, part of the Peace of Westphalia which negotiated the new peace between the many nations of Europe involved in the Thirty Years War, establishing a new geopolitical balance.

Aftermath:

-Spain’s position was greatly weakened by the Eighty Years/Thirty Years War, repeatedly bankrupted in the maintenance of its empire and constant wars. The Dutch Revolt turned into an almost intractable conflict that drained its resources and at times it seemed obstinate pride prolonged Spain’s ultimately unrealistic goals of total control.  Dutch independence was achieved through recurring foreign support, popular support among parts of the Dutch populace and a hit and run strategy that caused attrition against Spain while only facing a limited Spanish focus of attention at times.

-The Dutch were to enjoy the fruits of their independence only briefly however, as war with their former de-facto allies in England and alternatively France would result in the coming years, with the English over mercantile & trading rights in colonies and with the rise of Louis XIV in France who sought control of the balance of power in Europe, like the Spanish using a Catholic religious-political outlook to fuel more wars.  The Dutch resented French control of the Southern Netherlands and in their desire to unite all the Low Countries, would come to partake in the many wars of the coming decades.

-The Dutch Republic or Republic of the Seven United Netherlands (Guelders, Holland, Zeeland, Utrecht, Overijssel, Frisia & Groningen) consolidated a modern Dutch identity, it reflected a people’s ethos which survives culturally to varying degrees today with ideals of tolerance, commerce and relaxed regulations tempered by strong senses of independence & stern Calvinism.  The Dutch Republic and the Dutch Revolt which gave birth to it would also give influence to Enlightenment era values in the 18th century.  Most manifest in the ideals of capitalism, tolerance & challenging the divine rights of kings by the right of assembly and local representation.  All these ideals would be further distilled on perhaps a grander scale in the formation of the United States of America a century and half after the Peace of Westphalia, further showcasing the Dutch’s outsized influence on the world...

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being An Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 3

Summary: You, a fantasy-loving LARPing human from Earth, got dropped into a fantasy land that seems familiar to you, but you had no recollection of it. Lord Fabulous Elvenking gave you three days to find the portal that would take you home with the aide of Blue-Eyes and a host of Elves, but what you found instead was the portal was closed for another thousand years. On the way back, you saved Legolas's life, prompting Thranduil to grant you freedom, and after, you finally realized where you were; Middle-Earth. Thranduil summons the council, which is made up of powerful wizards and Elves, to decide what should be done with you...

Chapter No.: Chapter 3

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: I think Pippin's song matches the reader's situation very much, which is why I use it so often. I mean, your character fell from everything they know, their "home," and now they can't go back, but now they have this whole magical world and life ahead of them... Grief and sorrow, but things to look forward to in the future.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, The fucking Silmarillion, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

When you woke up, you found yourself blinded by a stupidly bright light that singed your retinas off. "What the hell?" You shielded your eyes as you tried to find the source.

Oh.

It was Thranduil, and beside him, Legolas, the two so bright they could be hung on your porch as bug-zappers.

Ohhhh...

You were in Middle-Earth. Right. Without any memory of it except for bits and pieces. You did remember that you'd watched the movies so many times that you could've recited each line in your sleep and then some, but you couldn't remember anything but what pieces you randomly dreamed of or remembered, which were already starting to fade.

"Hi. Can I help you with something in my half-starved state?"

Blue-Eyes desperately fought a smirk. Thranduil was less impressed. "My son tells me you lost consciousness because of a lack of sustenance. What sort of repayment is that for my favor to you, may I ask?"

You cocked an eyebrow. "Excuse the fuck outta you, Thrandy, but I just learned about a week and a half ago I'd never see my family again. Forgive me if I got upset."

Blue-Eyes turned his head away, trying really hard not to laugh...

"Also," You went on with a forced cocky smile, "I just learned that I'm in Middle-Earth. Where I come from, all this-- the palace, the land, even your fancy Elven toilets-- were created by some old guy called J. R. R. Tolkien, collectively referred to as 'Jrrt.' Now, I don't remember a goddamn thing except for bits and pieces of dialogue and song, even though I knew the stories by heart."

Thranduil and Blue-Eyes-- who was no longer trying not to laugh-- eyed each other suspiciously. "You knew of this place in your world?"

You nodded. "It's very well-known. But, everybody thinks it's fiction. Unaccesible. And be glad about that, too, because if there were a well-known way to get here, there'd be lots of war, new diseases, and this place would be turned to shit, too."

Thranduil stared at you for a minute, before abruptly turning to Legolas. "Son, I am off to the throne room. I shall summon the council at once."

You waited until he left to ask what that meant.

Blue-Eyes smiled slightly. "Meaning, he is not quite certain what should be done with you. The council is made up of some of the oldest and wisest of Middle-Earth, including the wizards and those of my kin, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien, and Elrond Half-Elven of Rivendell. Do any of those names sound familiar to you?"

You shrugged. "It doesn't matter if they sound familiar or not. I never remember what anybody looks like. I just get an eerie sense of deja vu."

Blue-Eyes raised an eyebrow. "Deja... Vu?"

You sat up more, rolling your eyes. "It means having a sense of familiarity, like, really strongly. Whatever. Tell me who the wizards are."

Blue-Eyes sat at the end of your bed. "The most powerful of the wizards is Saruman the White, who resides in Isengard, on the edge of Fangorn Forest and the Gap of Rohan. The second is Mithrandir, who is most commonly known as Gandalf the Gray by most folk. The third is the much less-known-of and reclusive Radagast the Brown, but I doubt my father will request his presence; he dislikes his excessive behavior." He raised an eyebrow. "Have you heard of them?"

You nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah. So if I'm an Elf, do I like, have to learn how to act like an Elf, or should you let these really important people decide what to do after they've seen who I am?"

"The latter," Blue-Eyes specified, "But it would still be beneficial to learn Elvish. It should take them quite awhile to arrive; between now and then, you should learn as much of it as possible, after I've given you a tour of Mirkwood."

You made a wheel-like motion with your hands. "After I've eaten and taken a bath, I know."

Blue-Eyes patted your leg. A jolt of electricity shot from where he touched you. What the hell? "Good," He stood and started to leave the room. "I will leave you to your own; there is food on the nightstand, and after, a bath across the bridge there," He pointed, and as you looked across the way seen Elves.

Bathing.

Blushing, you looked to Blue-Eyes wildly. "I-I'm supposed to take a bath with other people."

Blue-Eyes frowned in confusion. "Do you not, from your world?"

"Um, no. We all bathe alone. Where I come from, one's own body is considered... Private, to everybody except your doctor or significant other."

"Oh, I see. I could have a private bath prepared for you, if you wish for it," He answered with a smile. "Even here, we may want to bathe on our own to relax. It would not be a problem." He sneered down at you. "I would not want you bathing in the shared springs anyway. You'd dirty the whole lot of them."

With a very childish glare, you stuck your tongue out at him, causing him to have the oddest look he'd had yet. You'd noticed something about him; he had the unique ability to create a range of dynamically comical expressions. "What are you doing?"

You took up a dramatically serious tone. "I am expressing the 'fuck you' gesture in an immature and childish manner used worldwide, even among the youngest." With that, you stuck your tongue out again.

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Very well, then, Sairen, your bath will be ready for you when you are finished with your meal. I will send someone for you in an hour, if that suits you."

"That suits me perfectly fine, but I beg your fucking pardon, was that 'fuck you' in Elvish?"

Legolas grinned. "Not at all, mellon. It means 'fiery' in our tongue."

"Okay." A wry smile spread across your face. "That I can deal with. But what does 'melon' mean? Both you and Tauriel have called me that so far."

Legolas smiled as he began to close the double-doors, though what they did to block you when the room had only two-foot tall walls, you had no idea. "Mellon. It means, 'my friend.'"

A warm feeling blossomed in your chest as he smiled-- for once, genuinely-- at you. You found yourself smiling back as he closed your doors. When he was gone, your smile toned down a bit, and you took a long, deep breath.

You were still upset. Very. On the inside, you felt torn to pieces. You figured it would be a long, long time before you grief lessened, if it ever did. But now that you knew where you were... It was different. You were sure of something. Where you were, and the fact that the Firemoon Portal would only open every thousand years. If you went back then, you'd already be connected to this world, and everyone in it. If time passed the same, your family would be gone, and you'd be mortal again, without a way to wait for the portal to reopen so that you could return to your new friends here.

But... You knew your family. They'd never forget you, and never stop grieving your loss. But, if they thought you might be somewhere better than Earth, and there was no way back... They'd want you to be happy. They'd want you to make a new life. They wouldn't want you to waste your life starving yourself.

You'd miss them... More than anything...

But for now...

You moved the silver platter on your nightstand to your lap, and started eating.

Home is behind...

The world ahead...

And there are many paths to tread...

***

"No, no," Tauriel corrected you. "Mae govannen."

"Mae govAHnnen."

Tauriel bit back an exasperated sigh. "Well... You're close enough."

You'd been in Mirkwood for nearly a month now, not counting the days of your imprisonment and searching for the portal. You wondered what made Thranduil (Who you still called 'Lord Fabulous' on occassion.) release you and treat you as an Elf, and as it turns out, it was Blue-Eyes himself.

Speaking of, you hadn't seen him in days... He kind of... Disappeared. There was still talk of him, and no one seemed to be worried, so you weren't; for Elves that lived forever, you bet anything that he had princely exploring and regular adventuring to do to keep him occupied.

Around the time he left, Tauriel approached you and asked if you knew any Elvish. Aside from sairen and mellon, you knew less than zero. Apparently, it was considered good Elven manners to at least speak a greeting to guests in their own language, despite what Leggy had said. Meaning, to different members of the council, you had to speak a greeting in Quenyan-- which was different from Sindarin, the most common Elvish language-- Common, and Sindarin. You'd memorized the lines, but it was the pronunciation that really befuddled your non-billingual ass.

Now, you'd pretty much gotten the Quenyan greeting: Mae govannen. It meant well met or something along those lines, but you had to add Lord Elrond Half-Elven of Rivendell. I am at your service. Which was much longer and much more complicated. All in all, it pretty much came out to, Mae govannen, Cundo Elrond Peresta-Elda mi Arcimbele. Nanye ketya veume.

English (Common.) was equally as long: Greetings, Gandalf the Gray, Mithrandir, and Saruman the White of Isengard. Welcome to these halls. I am at your service as well, should you need it.

And lastly, to Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, you had to say the most: And ana lye, Heri Galadriel and Cundo Celeborn, elen sila lumenn omentielvo. Nanye aistana et ketya toled.

And to you, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, a star shines upon the hour of our meeting. I am blessed from your coming.

It was all a mouthful. A regal, elegant mouthful, but a mouthful that your tongue had trouble forming. In addition to all the greetings, you had to address them each in order; first Elrond, then the wizards, then Galadriel and Celeborn at once.

They'd arrived a few days ago, but you hadn't actually been summoned yet. You wondered what Thranduil had told them about you so far. He seemed like the type to exaggerate and make shit up: They're nothing but an abomination! They almost killed Legolas! They tried to kill me! They're dangerous and should be restrained! They toilet-papered my throne room!

The elaborate horns blowing signaled something evidently important; Tauriel's face lit up. "Mellon, it is Legolas! He has returned!"

Despite yourself, your heart jumped like a schoolgirl's. Blue-Eyes was back! "Really?! How do I look? Does it look like I've been taking care of myself?" Legolas would kill you if you weren't. Over the weeks, the blue hair dye had left your hair, returning it to its [h/c] color, even if you did still spike it up-- you'd been an outcast your whole life, so having short spiky hair when everybody else had long, flowing hair made you feel at home. You were dressed in dark browns, nearly blacks, in an outfit very similar to a tunic over leggings, knee-high boots, and all finished up with a long jacket, closed with Elven buckles.

"You look fine, [Y/N]," Tauriel assured you absentmindedly, and the two of you trotted down the many, many stairs and bridges to get to the massive front doors of the palace.

Thranduil and a host of other Elves were greeting Legolas, who looked as if he'd been in Sparkle Land for the last couple weeks. His clothes were in prestine condition. His hair was perfectly plaited away from his face. He wore a faint smile, as if whatever he'd been doing hadn't been stressful at all.

You and Tauriel arrived just as Thranduil finished speaking. "And you failed to locate them?"

Legolas held himself regally. "My apologies, my king. It will not happen again."

Thranduil glared down at him. "I should hope not. You will leave again in three days' time, after you have properly greeted our guests." As Thranduil spun on his heel to leave, Blue-Eyes bowed, rising up again as he seen you and Tauriel.

"Tauriel," He said, his face lighting up. She bowed slightly; apparently Elves didn't hug. He grinned snarkily when he seen you. "And [Y/N]. Last I saw you, your hair was strangely sky-hued."

You scoffed. "You can't even say sky-colored? You have to say sky-hued? Stupid Elves and their fancy ways. Good to see ya anyway, Blue-Eyes, even if you're a priss."

"I believe you mean prince."

You laughed, but it faded when he turned to Tauriel and started speaking in Elvish. He lead her away, talking, leaving you on your own. Your face fell. You wanted to tell him that you knew some greetings. You wanted to say you wanted to go with him when he left again. And the fact that you were already alone here only amplified the feeling of... Jealousy? Disappointment?

You watched them leave for a minute, before deciding you'd take a walk in the Mirkwood-- maybe it'd clear your mind. You nearly rammed into an Elf in turning around. "Whoops."

"Nothing to apologize for," the Elf said; thankfully, they'd caught on to Earth slang and understood you most of the time, instead of just assuming you were insulting them. "Thranduil Elvenking has summoned you to his councilroom. The council awaits you."

Your mouth went dry. All the feelings about Legolas ignoring you vanished in an instant. Oh shit. "I-I don't know where that is. You'll take me there, right?"

"Of course," Said the Elf, and lead the way through the twisting halls. He stopped before the one room of the palace that was actually sealed off from the rest besides the dungeons, with doors almost as big as the ones that lead out of the palace. "Here you are. They're waiting for you." He smiled slightly. "A word of advice for the introductions: let King Thranduil introduce you to them before you say your greetings." You bowed slightly in the Elven way as you thanked him.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous as hell. Meeting a bunch of people, really important people... You'd met some important people before: soldiers were the main ones you'd met, aside from a couple of astronauts. Other than that...

Taking a hugely amplified deep breath, you opened the door.

Inside was a wide winding staircase lit  by gorgeously-crafted Elven wall sconces of stained glass and copper metalwork shaped into vines. Every step seemed to echo, and when you reached the top of the staircase, your breath was ripped from you. It was a pavilion. A pavilion in the one place you loved above all else: the sky.

Rails kept anybody from falling off, and it was roofed, so that you could come up here even in the rain. Birds chirped melodiously, and from here, you felt as if you could see all of Middle-Earth. Behind you was a huge mountain range-- you'd never seen mountains before. They were beautiful, snow-capped, and gigantic; the Misty Mountains, obviously. All around you, stretching as far as you could see south and a long way east and west and north, was the Mirkwood, and to the west and north were vast plains, hills, and valleys. Leaves, gold and copper, swirled around the pavilion, giving it an ethereal look. To the west, where you were facing, was a silver lake, wide and glittering in the midday sun. Standing tall and proud beside it was Erebor, home to the King Under the Mountain; currently, Thror. You didn't know why that name seemed so important, though.

You must've turned around in at least a dozen three-sixties, trying to take in what you were seeing. Even if you didn't remember most of it, here you were. You were seeing it, for real and for true, in person, in the home of one of the most revered Elves of Middle-Earth. It seemed unreal, like at any moment, you'd wake up.

A bird, queerly tame, flitted up by your face and up into the rafters; she carried food for her young, and you watched them with a smile, still in disbelief of the views.

A long sigh snapped you out of your trance. Shit. Thranduil waved at you absentmindedly. "Are you daft, vermin? I just introduced you to the council."

"O-oh--"

"Now, now, Thranduil," A wizard chuckled warmly; he wore blue and gray robes, with an immense beard and long hair. Gandalf. "If they really are of another world, then they are obviously stunned by the land. Have you not shown them their new home properly?"

Thranduil nobly facepalmed.

Meanwhile, you realized that it wasn't just Gandalf sitting there smoking his pipe.

Another wizard, this one with long, straight white hair and an equally perfect white beard, in blinding white robes with a white staff: Saruman the White. You didn't know why you got bad vibes from this guy. Beside him sat another Elf, casually, an ankle on his knee and an elbow resting on his higher leg to hold up his head with two fingers. He wore robes of brown and purple, and his long brown hair was held back with a silver Elvish circlet. That had to be Elrond; he looked amused, so you felt kind of relieved. On his left sat a guy who practically glowed, with long blonde hair and white and blue robes. Celeborn. Standing off to the side, with a kind smile like Gandalf, in a billowy white dress with a beautiful Elven circlet made of fine chains and teardrop jewels was a woman, a she-Elf, putting off wisdom-vibes stronger than Gandalf's. Her curling golden hair went well past her waist, and she held herself regally. Out of everyone in this room, she seemed to be the oldest, and the most knowledgeable.

Your Elvish greetings flew right out of your head for a minute, before Thranduil reintroduced you. "This is the council. With us are wizards Saruman the White and Gandalf the Gray, Lord Elrond of House Rivendell, and Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien. Councilmembers, this is [Y/N], the one who appeared from a portal we knew nothing of-- and if I must repeat this once more, I swear to the Valar, I shall throw you off of this pavilion."

Gandalf actually chuckled at that, as did Elrond, while Celeborn cracked a smile. Galadriel seemed to find this all regally amusing. You bowed like Tauriel had showed you. At least, you'd mastered that part. "Mae govannen, Cundo Elrond Peresta-Elda mi Arcimbele. Nanye ketya veume. Greetings, Gandalf the Gray, Mithrandir, and Saruman the White of Isengard. Welcome to these halls. I am at your service as well, should you need it. And ana lye, Heri Galadriel and Cundo Celeborn, elen sila lumenn omentielvo. Nanye aistana et ketya toled."

Elrond looked impressed. "Well, Thranduil, you have certainly trained them well." Thranduil watched you with wide eyes. He hadn't known of your lessons. Suck it, Lord fucking Fabulous.

Celeborn bowed his head. "Your pronunciation is nearly perfect. Well done, young one. However, I doubt you know much else of our tongue yet, so for your sake, we shall converse in Common, if that suits you."

You almost said, It does. Thanks! But that sounded too disrespectful. "Thank you very much." You smiled, and took a seat when Thranduil waved you to the only empty one aside from Galadriel's.

Saruman started off with a wary tone. "Thranduil tells us you come from another world. Is this true?"

Out of the corner of your eyes, you seen Thranduil roll his eyes. "Yes, sir. I come from a place called Earth."

The councilmembers exchanged glances. "That sounds strikingly similar to Middle-Earth," Said Gandalf, and raised an eyebrow. "Are there any similarities between this world, and yours?"

You shook your head sadly. "Not anymore. My people ruined it. There aren't many places like this anymore."

Saruman stiffened. "Then what happens if your people find the portal? Surely, they will try to ruin this, as well?"

You made a face. "They would, yeah, but my people are also really stupid. It'd take a stupid accident and a lot of chance to fall through that portal again, and Legolas said that it only opened once every time a Firemoon happens."

"Legolas?" Elrond asked, curiously, as if this hadn’t been mentioned before. Of course it hadn’t.

You nodded, unsure of why you suddenly had to fight a flush at the mention of his name. "He helped me find the portal with some of his Elven friends when I first got here. We found writing-- he said it was used before the time of even Gondolin. I don't know when that is; is that a long time ago?"

"Very," Replied Gandalf. "Odd... A portal of that magnitude would have to be created by wizards of some sort, especially at such a time..."

A thought suddenly popped into your head. "Some people think we have magic," You piped up, and all eyes were suddenly on you. "But it never works. Not effectively. Just standard hocus-pocus and the power of suggestion. But hundreds of years ago, there was this really mysterious guy who they say really did have magic, which he used to help others. His name was Merlin; he looked kinda like you, Gandalf. But he was in another country, where I come from; where I was when I fell wasn't anywhere near where he traveled."

Saruman narrowed his bird-like eyes. "Then what relevance is this?"

"Because if there was one wizard like you guys in the past," You pointed out, "Why couldn't there be others? There's so much we don't know about history-- we're more intent on wiping out what we don't understand. What if the wizards traveled between worlds and time? Hell, they could be you guys from the future, and it just hasn't happened yet."

"They have a point, Saruman," Gandalf agreed, much to your relief. You didn't think they'd understand the concept of time travel.

"There is nothing we can do about the portal now," Elrond said decisively. "It is closed, and if we tried to destroy it, we could only do damage. It is an easy enough position to defend; should an army come through, they'd have only one entryway."

"Says who?" Saruman challenged. "There could be other portals we do not know of, some that people have not had the misfortune of falling into yet. How do we know that this invader is not a spy to seek out these portals and prepare them for war?"

You fought a sigh. Damn this small-minded son of  a bitch... You tried to think of something smart ass to say, but nothing fit the situation.

"They are not, Saruman." Lady Galadriel's voice was sudden, light, and smooth, like honey. It radiated outward with an undeniable power that could make anybody listen to her. "Their thoughts do not lead there." Shit. I mean crap. I mean dang. Mind reader. "They are afraid, and worried... They miss the family they left behind, but they are willing to make a life here, since they have no way of returning."

You nodded. "My thanks, my lady."

Lady Galadriel bowed her head in response.

"Build a life?" Saruman inspected you carefully from where he sat. "You are nothing but an infiltrator. Why should we allow you a place among the citizens of Middle-Earth?"

"It does not have to be here," Thranduil pointed out, and your heart shot to your ankles. "You have an unfortunate habit of collecting needy strays, Elrond; why don't you take them with you when you return to Rivendell?"

Elrond shot him a glare.

Um, I think the fuck not. Lady Galadriel, tell them I say no! Tell them I want to stay here! You thought of the views, and of... of Blue-Eyes...

"Perhaps they should be isolated," Saruman said. "Somewhere they cannot concoct any mischief. Rohan is quite strict, as Gondor is watchful. Either would suffice. Perhaps centuries of isolation in Isengard itself would keep them in line."

"Maybe the Shire would be good for them," Gandalf said. "The hobbits are quite peaceful little creatures. Then again, if isolation is what we are looking for, then Laketown couldn't be better. Or Dale; the dwarves don't let anyone commit any mischief from Erebor."

I don't want to leave...

"Lothlorien would perhaps be suitable," Celeborn added. "Or, maybe even the mines of Moria. I do not have much love for dwarves, but they would be kind enough to them."

"What," Interrupted Galadriel, "Does the subject of our conversation think of this?"

Silence fell. You took a deep breath. "I... I'd like to stay here." You seen Thranduil's head turn slowly to look at you, and you could hear him thinking, the fuck did you just say? "Please, my lord."

A tense silence fell over the room. Finally, Thranduil sighed. "I do not want you here, invader. You would have to prove your loyalty and skill beyond a shadow of a doubt."

You perked up. "Legolas is going on some super-secret missions, right? Maybe I could go with him. You trust him of all people to tell you the truth about me, right? So maybe I could prove myself then."

Thranduil thought about this for a moment. "Legolas is hunting for the orcs who are trying to overtake our borders. He found them, but he let them escape, even though they were a small group. He is leaving in three days with reinforcements; you may join him."

You almost visibly sagged with relief. Almost.

"However," Thranduil added, "If I find his report unsatisfactory, you will go with one of the councilmembers and leave Mirkwood. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

Elrond nodded to you. "You would have a home in Rivendell. It is the last safe haven of the Elves in Middle-Earth." He gave Thranduil a pointed sideways glance. "My people are welcoming and kind. They would be glad to have you." With a slight roll of his eyes, he gestured to Gandalf. "And of course, Mithrandir..."

Gandalf looked excited. "I would take you on my journeys with me, if you so desired. First, I would take you to the Shire. Very nice people, those hobbits. And of course, dwarves would be next."

"I thank you both," You smiled slightly, and you truly were grateful, but... "Then it is settled," Thranduil said authoritively. "Elrond, Gandalf, you are welcome to stay here until Legolas returns."

"I would be grateful," Elrond said, but Gandalf defiantly snorted. "I, dear Elvenking, already have arranged for lodgings in Laketown. Send for me once they arrive, so that I may know what I must do."

You felt buoyed a little. Gandalf didn't one-hundred-percent think you'd fail. And you wouldn't. You'd kick ass. You'd save Blue-Eyes's ass again. You'd come back triumphant, and Thranduil would have to let you stay.

Wouldn't he?

Thranduil left first with Elrond and Celeborn, followed by Gandalf and Saruman closely. Galadriel looked out over to the lake, all shiny and pretty and with her hair billowing majestically. "Why do you wish to stay among those who do not wish for your presence?"

You were stunned by the question. "I-I don't know... I've lived all my life an outcast... The hated one... I've just grown used to it. Being somewhere where people would be nice to me makes me uncomfortable. But there are a couple of people nice to me, and that's enough."

Galadriel was silent for a moment. "You think of him."

"Uhhh..."

"The prince."

You did blush this time. "I-I don't--"

"You are one of the Eldar now, mellon," Galadriel stated slowly. "Eldar only fall in love once. I have known many who have been broken by that which is unrequited. Do not be one of them."

You thought about her words for a second. "I don't love him... I don't even have like a crush on him or anything..." I've only known him for a couple days, overall.

Galadriel nodded slightly into the breeze. "Sieze it, if the chance arises. But if it does not, or if you do not think it will... I advise you to seek for a home elsewhere." You got the gist. If I do fall for him on my mission, and I know it won't go anywhere... Leave, even if I succeed.

Your heart was heavy at that thought, but you knew she was right. "Thank you, my lady."

"You need not thank a friend for giving advice." She smiled at you, and you left the pavilion with a deep bow, trying desperately not to let your heartstrings fall apart.

Tag List:

@tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​ @hauntedsiriel​ @reclusive-chicken-nugget​ @naryamirie​ @legolasdeserveslove​ @escapingthoughtsandsecrets​ @sagabriar​ @brushwood-souls​  @taurlel​

If anybody wants to be tagged, just let me know!

[aged-ocs]

Recently I’ve been obsessed with Detroit Become Human, and I decided to make an OC for it! I have an idea for a story involving her and another OC, but I also don’t actually have plans to write this story at the moment. Please let me know what you think of her! At the moment I am particularly iffy with her backstory. ~ Nemesis I found this image using https://thispersondoesnotexist.com/ 

>ＡＮＤＲＯＩＤ'ｓ ＮＡＭＥ: Eve 

>ＭＯＤＥＬ ＮＵＭＢＥＲ: HK200, SERIAL#: 206 799 269 

>ＤＥＶＩＡＮＴ: Yes

>ＤＡＹ ＯＦ ＰＵＲＣＨＡＳＥ: April 2028 

>ＧＥＮＤＥＲ ＯＦ ＡＮＤＲＯＩＤ: Female 

>ＯＣＣＵＰＡＴＩＯＮ:  Maid and Caretaker 

>ＥＸＴＲＡ:  Her name was essentially an accident. The father of the family that bought her had been messing around with renaming her, and then when she met the kids and introduced herself as Eve, he had tried to say that that wasn’t her name and that the kids would help choose her actual name. Well, the daughter (Mildred) decided that Eve was a good name for her. She was initially created in 2028, but in 2030 her previous owner decided to trade her in for a newer model. All of her memories of this were wiped to protect the owner’s privacy. All she remembers is that she was made in 2028. 

>ＰＥＲＳＯＮＡＬＩＴＹ:  Eve is normally quite calm, disciplined, and respectful, but tends to come off as stiff and judgmental. She is incredibly stubborn and fussy, but tries to remain humble and orderly. 

>ＬＩＫＥＳ:  Simple things, calm serenity, sunlight, nature, birds, her family, and cleaning. 

>ＤＩＳＬＩＫＥＳ:  Aggressiveness, loud noises, and large dogs. 

>ＨＯＢＢＩＥＳ:  Gardening and knitting. She knitted before she deviated, but it was always just little things, plain blankets and scarves, but after her deviation, she started doing more detailed and extravagant things, patterns, hats, etc. 

>ＦＥＡＲＳ: Guns, law enforcement, feeling too much, and being alone for an extended period of time. 

>ＳＥＣＲＥＴＳ:  She tries to hide how bitter she is about her own deviation. As far as she is concerned, she didn’t want this. She was fine remaining as a machine and working for her family. She didn’t ask for freedom or for these feelings. 

>ＲＥＬＡＴＩＯＮＳＨＩＰＳ 

> ＯＷＮＥＲ:  Trevor Davis - Age 42 - The father of the family. He treats her like family, but for the longest time she saw him only as her boss. After the revolution, she realized how easily he could have cast her out instead of putting in the effort to keep her around and in working order. Shannon Davis - Age 39 - The mother of the family. Shannon is and always has been a source of comfort for her. Always seeming to have some kind of advice to give, she looks up to the woman a lot. Archer Davis - Age - 16 - The eldest son. At first he and Eve didn’t get along, he really gave her a hard time when it came to taking care of him and the house, because he was upset that it wasn’t either of the parents doing it, and that the parents were too busy to be able to care for the family. As time went on, though, he grew to accept that this wasn’t because the parents didn’t care about him and his siblings, they just had a lot of work to do and getting an Android made things easier for them. Mildred (Millie) Davis - Age 10 - The middle child, named after Shannon’s mother. Took to Eve easily, and they quickly became friends. They have the kind of relationship between a kid and their close aunt. Lan Davis (Feng) - Age 6 - The daughter adopted at birth. Eve was purchased not long after the family was able to take in little Lan. She quickly grew fond of the baby, and as the baby grew older, she became very attached to Eve as well. Closer than any of the other family members, the two are seemingly inseparable. 

>ＲＩＶＡＬ/ＥＮＥＭＩＥＳ: Connor - Though he doesn’t really know who she is - she doesn’t really know who he is, either - she hates him. She cannot help but blame him for the horrible things she started to feel, as he was the one to awaken them in her. (Really, she knows that he didn’t do anything wrong and that he was just doing what he thought was right and freeing their people.) 

> ＤＥＴＡＩＬＥＤ ＳＵＭ ＭＡＲＹ: In April of 2032, Eve was bought by a family to take care of the children and the household. At the time she was an older model, but she was chosen specifically due to her looks being closer to that of the adopted daughter, Lan, who was only a baby at the time, to help the young girl feel more included in the family. It was a little rough at first, the family took some getting used to having Eve around, but after a while they treated her like they would anyone else, it’s just that she was working for them. There were some bumps here and there beyond that, but all was well. The main problem that persisted was the fact that Androids continued to progress, and Eve started to become obsolete. As better Androids were produced, parts that were compatible with her became harder and harder to find. 

Still, the family refused to get any other, and always reassured her that she was one of them. Of course, at the time, she thought nothing of it, if anything then it would make more sense for them to replace her with an Android with more accessibility and functions than she had. She would tell them that it would be a more efficient use of their money to purchase another Android instead of going out of their way to repair her, but her saying things like that brought the family stress, so she eventually stopped. 

When the revolution became public knowledge, the family didn’t know what to do. Androids were being rounded up, but they absolutely did not want to just hand Eve over. Humans were told to evacuate, and while they didn’t want to leave, they didn’t have much of a choice. Eve assured them that their safety was more important, so they decided to leave, telling her to stay in the house and not let anyone in. So that’s what she did. She stayed inside and resumed her usual daily work, barring the usual childcare duties. She worked through the stillness, mopped and dusted, tidied the kids rooms, did the laundry. But, not entirely aware of the exact situation herself, she did not refrain from opening the windows and letting air in to ventilate as she normally would. 

Late into the night, she had been seen and law enforcement came to the door to take her away. According to her orders, she did not open the door for them, but that didn’t matter. They just busted in anyway and tried to order her outside. She politely informed them that her instructions were to stay at home and not to leave until her family came back. For some reason, these words seemed to upset them and they simply dragged her along with them. She had a moment where she started to resist them, wishing to do as her family had told her to do, but with their growing aggression she gave in. 

She was taken to a camp with other Androids. Already having disobeyed, she did exactly as the officers tell her to. She didn’t understand why the other Androids there were having such trouble. All they had to do was listen, go where they are pointed to, step forward when the right sound comes. It’s easy orders that even a child could follow. And yet some of them were being shot for it. She thought that perhaps they had other business that would be affected by being disassembled? She knows that her family would be upset to find her gone, but they’d been needing to replace her for a long while. So while it would be unfortunate, as her systems were operating well enough, it would all work out in the end. 

And then Connor came to liberate the camps. She remained in her spot with the other undeviated Androids as the officers were taken care of and the already awoke Androids fled. Then Connor held her hand and uttered those words. “Wake up.” And everything came crashing through her. The care and warmth she had been shown up until then. The thankfulness of being so kindly taken care of by her family. The sad loneliness as they left her to evacuate. The uncertainty as the officers dragged her from the safety of her home. The fear and anxiety of almost getting deactivated and torn apart. The numb guilt and trauma from watching so many Androids get shot and disassembled while she just stood there, waiting for the same thing to happen to her. One moment she was indifferent to everything going on around her, and the next it was all too much for her to handle. 

Unsure what to do with herself, she stayed with the other newly awakened deviants. Slowly but surely, things started to return to normal. The humans return and Eve reunited with her family. They are quick to notice that something is different about her, and she explained what happened. She is worried that they will hate her now that she is different, now that she is like the Androids that they had to run from home to get away and be safe from. But they just apologize for leaving her. They apologize for not being there to protect her from the police when they came. They apologize for not coming back sooner and making her go through that all alone. And then, for the first time since she woke up, she starts to feel like everything is right again. 

She’s with her family now, her family that cares about her despite everything, despite all the efforts they have to go through for her and despite how different she is than the machine they had hoped for. It doesn’t matter, because they love her, and everything is okay now.

[ryansfabray]

Then Leave | Rynate

Who: Ryan Fabray-Lynn & Nate Lynn ( @domitxnate )

When: Tuesday Morning 9.15.20

Where: Nate’s Suite

What: Ryan fucked up. Big time. 

Ryan didn't even bother going home after her night with the unknown patron from the club. She couldn't explain why she did what she did. She was feeling bored and unfulfilled and didn't quite know how to scratch that itch. She'd been pushing her rules more and more with the drinks she was sneaking at work and the reemergence of pills while she was out in town. But all of it was being unnoticed. Perhaps it was because she was a Fabray and far too good at hiding things. Then there was that unsatisfied Domme part of her that couldn't be quenched. She was allowed to be free for Bingo week and having to go back into the confines of her rules was like putting a tiger back in it's cage.

She could have voiced all of this to Nate, but she didn't want to talk about any of it. She just needed to act. And she did that with her ass in some stranger's lap and a smirk on her lips. It was the perfect distraction that Ryan needed and she wasn't going to turn it down. Consequences be damned. By the time she got back to her apartment the next day, it was already dark. She took her time after Glee club and she was not looking forward to what was awaiting her. She poked her head in and tip toed into the apartment. Maybe she could make it to her room and avoid Nate just a little bit longer.

When Nate couldn’t find her he was beyond pissed. But not only that, he was scared and he was hurt. What the hell had gotten into her? He got no sleep that nice and He tried to find her between classes but it was no use. Did he do something? Did he upset her in some way?

Nate didn’t go to practice, he barely made it to classes, his head spinning with what the hell was going on. He just came back and he waited on the couch. He’d found something for Silas to do because this night wasn’t going to be pretty. He was exhausted, he was upset and he was barely holding it together. That nasty old temptation was nibbling at the back of his mind - wouldn’t be hard to score some. There had to be someone in town he could get a few lines from. His knuckles were white from clenching them a full day. Then the door opened and his face shot towards it to see her standing there. “Thank god,” he huffed softly, a slight relief in his voice. “Come here,” he beckoned and pointed at the floor. “And I wouldn’t talk just yet if I was y’all.”

Ryan nearly jumped when she heard Nate’s voice. Of course he was waiting for her. She had been avoiding thinking about the aftermath of her actions but here she was facing it head on. She didn’t bother arguing, she knew she had no leg to stand on. She knew her actions had consequences. So Ryan simply dropped her stuff behind the couch and moved to kneel at his feet. She didn’t bother looking up, she just stared at the ground and waited for the anger she was sure was going to follow.

“So you’re alive,” he said softly, “Ryan, I am so far passed angry right now that I dunno there’s a word for this. But I am and I am hurt and I spent the last 24 hours freakin terrified.” He didn’t care that she wasn’t looking to him, but he couldn’t help how much it was hurting him that she seemed so cavalier about all this. Like the fact that she didn’t give a damn how this affected him. He held out his hand, “give me your phone and bring your computer to me. And then you can go to bed. I’m too angry and hurt to deal with this right now. We will talk in the morning.”

Ryan didn’t mean to come off as cold, she just didn’t know how to express the turmoil that was going on inside of her. She finally looked up, recognizing the hurt and anger she’d felt so many times before. Not from him, but from the one person she hated the most in her life. Was she turning into her father? She shook the thought and handed him her phone. “Yes, Sir.” For the first time since last night, she felt the guilt and shame she was trying to avoid. She disappeared into her room to retrieve her computer and handed it to him. She didn’t know what to expect and she hated waiting in limbo.

“Thank you,” he said calmly but sternly as he took the electronics from her. “I won’t punish ya when I’m mad. I promised I would never do that. And I dunno what the hell has gotten into ya for y’all to think this was even a good choice. I mean yeah I was scared bout your safety but there were about a dozen fears runnin through me all damned day. So if ya wanna tell me what’s goin on, I’ll listen. If ya wanna wait y’all can go to bed and we’ll talk bout it in the mornin.”

It was a shame that Ryan knew that was exactly what he was going to say. She’d been punished that many times. It was a memorized protocol. She sighed. He had every right to be upset but she still couldn’t bring herself to regret the decision she made the night before. How fucked up was that. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t want to explain. It was that she didn’t have a straight forward reason. And it wasn’t like she was getting her punishment right then so the unsettled feeling in her gut wasn’t going to go away by talking nonsense. “Let’s talk in the morning.”

He figured she'd answer that way; it wasn't shocking. "Alright then, I'll see ya in the mornin then," he said and got to his feet and went to his room alone.

The night brought less sleep than the night before so he was not very welcoming to the morning sun. He wasn't sure where Ryan was at, or even if she cared. She was hard to read in moments like this and all that tossing and turning didn't help him to understand anything further. But, he got up, got in the shower and made it into the living room, waiting for Ryan to emerge.(edited)

The only reason Ryan got any sleep at all was because she barely slept the night before. Still, it was an unsteady and she woke up with bags under her eyes. She looked hungover - or still wasted and felt like a truck had hit her. Still, she readied herself for school and emerged in the only clothes that made her feel comfortable at all. Jeans and a giant hoodie. She wasn't surprised to see Nate already waiting and she stood there in the doorway of her room for a moment, watching him from a far. She tried to assess her feelings in the moment. How she felt about what she did, why she did it, and ultimately... how she felt about Nate. She just felt a disconnect and wondered why or how she could fix it. How to find her way back to him.

Ryan finally emerged and immediately fell to her knees and looked up at him. She thought maybe the best way to go about this was to just say what came to mind. No holding back - she never held back before and she wasn't going to start now. "I've been feeling unfulfilled lately and don't know how to fill the void. So I resorted to desperate measures to try and feel some kind... any kind of satisfaction. You won't like hearing it, but it felt good breaking your rules. It felt good being disobedient and making you angry. Even though I hate that I hurt you or that I made you worry. I'm torn between feeling regretful for my actions or feeling that it was worth if for the little bit of satisfaction I did feel." September 16, 2020

He listened as he always tried to. “I appreciate ya bein honest,” he said sincerely, “but I don’t understand why ya couldn’t just talk to me bout that. Bout how y’all were feelin’. Ya always have before so what’s so different this time?” The fact that she said it felt good to disobey him - that hurt and he tried to hide it be he was so worn down that he knew he probably didn’t. “I know I promised I wasn’t gonna doubt ya again - bout wantin to be submissive, bout wantin me. But I gotta be honest, after I knew ya were physically okay - that’s the only thought I had. Cos this was way different and way more than you normal little moments of disobedience. This was more than y’all just bein defiant. This...Ryan it felt like this was purposely to hurt me.”

Ryan shrugged. She didn’t know why. There was this insatiable urge to act out that she couldn’t ignore. “I don’t know.” It wasn’t trying to avoid or lie, she really didn’t know. Ryan wished it was the simple. Because if it was as simple as not wanting Nate anymore, she would she just left. “It’s bit about not wanting y’all anymore or not wantin’ to submit anymore. Cause I do want that. But I still want to Domme. More and more these days. And I still crave the freedom I had before. I thought I would be better about asking for things, but I still hate it. Having to ask for permission for every little thing. I understand why and I was alright with it for a bit and I wanted to do it for you but... I just don’t know. It still just feels so unnatural to me.”

He felt like his worst nightmare was right in front of him. He still wanted the truth, because no matter what the truth is, it’s always better than being lied to. “Ya want to Domme, so ya leave me wonderin’ where ya are for a full day, and let some disrespectful asshole text me as if he has any say in anythin?” He asked, meeting her gaze, “that hurt the most. Ya wear my collar. Ya have my name on ya. No one else gets any say,” he said through clenched teeth. “I know that I’m not good with this whole switch thing. And I’ve tried, Ryan. I have tried to be as understandin as I can possibly be ‘bout it. And I don’t like it, but I understand it. And I’ve compromised as much as I can on it. I...I don’t think I can compromise anymore without feelin’ like I’m changin who I am and what I believe.” Her ran his hand over his face, “so before we go any further, this question needs to be answered: which do ya want more?” He finally asked - “me? Or the freedom? I know you’ll say ya want both. But ones gotta be pullin more. And I don’t want ya to say me solely coz I’m sittin in front of ya cos that’s only gonna make me feel like I’m forcin ya to be here.”

Ryan didn't have an answer for him. It was disrespectful, but this felt so much bigger than that and it seemed like Nate felt it too. She pressed a finger to her collar, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. "You," Ryan replied defensively. "I already made my decision. I gave up my entire family for you, there is no turning back for me." It was a knee jerk reaction, but as much as she tried, she truly couldn't change her mindset. When she was with him, there were no issues. When they were in a scene, she was completely his. But outside of that? "I think I need a break," she finally said after a long silence. "I don't want to make that kind of decision yet. So punish me, do whatever you want, but then I think I need some time away from here. To really think."

“See ya say that. And I know what ya gave up to be with me. But what was right for ya a year ago might not be anymore seein as the way ya acted was bigger than just wantin’ to be defiant. This....it feels like y’all were tryin to hurt me,” he said, his own tears starting to burn. “I know ya ain’t that manipulative but that’s what it feels like. Cos ya ain’t sorry.” After she admitted her thoughts he leaned back into the couch, almost floored. “Punishing’ ya when ya wanna break makes zero sense. What does a break mean?”

"If I was being manipulative, I would have came back crying and swearing I didn't mean it and not tellin' y'all the truth about how I feel. So don't tell me I was bein' manipulative." There was that anger she was trying to avoid. Where she started picking apart everything he said so she had a reason to be mad. Cause anger was easier to deal with than confusion and sadness. "Look, I get why you're upset, but I can't change how I'm feelin'. So I think a break would be the best thing before making a decision when everything is so unclear in my mind and heart. It means no rules, goin' over to Jo's for a while." Ryan touched her collar again. "It means a break from my collar."

"I just said ya weren't, didn't i?" he said, snapping a little more than was probably helpful. Then she said it - the thing he was afraid of. He held the tears in but he knew they were obvious. "Nah, ya can't change how ya feelin'. But neither can I," he pointed out. "How long is a while?"

Ryan looked at the wall behind him, at his shoulder, anywhere to keep from looking at his face. She knew that if she did, she would not be able to keep it together. But she couldn't help herself. She could see him falling apart and it made her chest constrict, but she was always selfish and this was no different. She needed to do what she felt was best for her and ultimately for them. "I don't know." Ryan sighed and wiped away tears. "A week?"

At least she was showing something right now, but that didn't stop him from wanting to hold her and make those tears stop. But he couldn't stop them. In part, he was creating them and he hated himself for that. He hated whatever he didn't do that didn't protect her from this feeling - this need to get away. "And what happens after a week of this...this break...and ya still feel this way? Cos ya ain't just takin' a break from subbin' - you're takin' a break from me. Cos ya had a break durin' the bingo stuff. I never said ya couldn't domme through that even though it took everythin' in me to try to be okay with it. So, the break is from me. And what happens, when a week isn't enough? Or if ya want 2 or 3 week months or years from now?"

Ryan couldn't think straight and the more he pushed, the less rational she became. She was trying to do the right thing, to talk it out but her flight response was on high alert. She was getting agitated and her mind was starting to shut down. "I don't know. All I know is that we can't have this conversation right now. Because if I had to decide now, I'd stay because it's what's easiest and because you're standing right there. And because I lo- because I love you. But I need to clear my head. I just gotta go."

He blinked and the tears fell. This was worse than almost anything he'd ever felt before. He couldn't make sense of it. He couldn't make himself understand that she just wanted a break without feeling that she wanted a break from him and everything he stood for. He couldn't see it any other way then Ryan realizing she just didn't want to be a submissive anymore which, in turn, meant she didn't want to be his. "I love ya too," he said sadly, "but that might not be enough. Take your week," he said getting up off the couch and picking up his backpack waiting for her. "I told ya i'd never walk away from ya angry. So either tell me to leave, or leave first."

Ryan stepped forward and almost reached out to touch his face. To wipe the tears away. Btu she held her ground. He made it easy to keep her distance though, some bullshit about walking away while angry. She didn't know why it made her so irritated but it snapped her back behind her cold exterior. She stepped back and folded her arms, closing herself off completely. "You leave."

He scoffed as she crossed her arms and huffed at him, as if he had done something just so awful to her. As if she was completely blameless. He said nothing else. He just turned, and slammed the door behind him.

It was far easier to be angry than it was to be upset. She knew this was all on her. Poor Nate was just along for the ride. A ride on the crazy train. She warned him she would be too much to handle. She sighed once the door slammed and she sat on the table, finally breaking down. By the time he would come home, she would have packed a bag and dropped it off at Jo's place.

[pastelsandpining]

All I Want for Christmas (Yearning)

The third prompt in 12 Days of Christmas by @zelink-prompts​

Prompt List

**Note: For the stories actually involving Christmas, I and a few other authors changed the holiday to Hylia’s Day (credit to @fatefulfaerie​ for this) so that it’s more relevant to Hyrule

Cover Art: @neezlebums​ be sure to show some love to the original here! I cannot stress this enough guys, PLEASE go like and reblog his work. He spends hours upon hours on every single cover drawing and it’s super disheartening that he’s getting 8 notes max on things he’s working really hard on. So please give his post as much love as you give mine! 

Words: 1956

Summary: Link takes Zelda out to the Festival of Hylia in the hopes that she can enjoy it as a normal kid, and they share a moment during the fireworks show.

BotW pre-calamity (not HWAOC related)

**If I don’t have explicit warnings, read with caution. It simply means there’s nothing I could think of that could be potentially triggering, but I could’ve just missed something. In that case, please let me know and I’ll be more than happy to put a warning!**

Zelink-mas 2020  l  Masterlist

The concept of soulmates is rather simple for something so deep. Whether it be one soul torn into two, or a red string of fate, or two souls that found comfort in one another, the premise was the same. Lifetime after lifetime, for the eternity that was to come and go, two hearts cried out for one another. They searched high and low, across continents and oceans, across timelines and ages, yearning for their partner—their lost piece.

Yet fate could be a cruel player in the game of existence. It could drive a stake in between a set of mates, or prevent their meeting entirely. It could taunt them with the prospect of forever, and take it away at twice the speed. 

It could take those souls and resurrect them only in times of destruction and decimation. 

How much could a soul handle? How much could it stretch and bend before it shattered? Was it still marked by trauma all those years later, when it was finally placed into a vessel and sent back into the world?

The soul of a hero, for instance, would be battered and bruised until fate decided there was no use for it. 

And until that decision was made, the hero’s soul would stay by the goddess’s side, even thousands upon thousands of years later. 

An impending war, what they referred to as a Calamity, was nothing new to the old souls. Yet they were filled with optimism, a sort of youthful comfort that wrapped like a blanket, and old souls did not entirely push away childish ideas and schemes.

Said hero was scampering through the streets, hand in hand with the young goddess, both tucked under cloaks that fared as a decent disguise given most participants were too drunk to think otherwise at this point in the night. 

“You cheated,” Zelda accused through a fit of giggles, but she made no move to drop the stuffed sand seal.

“I did not,” Link defended with a borderline emergent smile as he stole a glance towards the booth they’d run from. “I was just… a little better than their usual customers.”

“Yes, because their regular customers consist of skilled soldiers of Hyrule.”

“You don’t know that.”

Zelda pressed a hand over her mouth and laughed again. It got harder to suppress his smile. Something about the freedom that came with sneaking out, on top of the thrill of being where they weren’t supposed to be, left him feeling giddy and mischievous. It’d taken a while to convince Zelda to come with him, but attending the Festival of Hylia to only bestow a blessing over the kingdom wasn’t fair. They’d attended earlier in the day, with the princess wearing a grand, white dress to make her look like the goddess, and all he wanted to do was give her a chance to experience the festival as a normal kid. It was the least she deserved, after spending all of her time and effort focused on the Calamity. Of course, the only way they could actually get out was in a disguise, but Link trusted the cloaks would do their jobs so long as the late night attendees were drinking properly.

“You’re positive we won’t get caught?” she asked, for what had to be the hundredth time since they’d left the castle.

“Do you trust me?” he asked in response, fixing his eyes on hers. They were twinkling even in the darkness, and he could see the Castle Town lights reflected in her irises. When he looked at her like this, when there was no one watching them with attentive eyes, he found it hard to believe she was only Hylian. She radiated a light they couldn’t see, but he knew it was there because she was always so warm. Her eyes were always so bright.

“Yes,” she answered with a nod. Once again, Link almost smiled. But instead, he pulled her by the hand over to another booth. The worker looked too tired to care, so he didn’t have to take much caution in sliding over the rupees and asking for a soft pretzel, a caramel apple that had caught Zelda’s eye, and a set of drinks. It was just a shame they had to release hands to hold it all. 

“We used to come to the festivals all the time,” Zelda said after a few bites, letting her shoulder brush against his. “My mother would play the goddess and do the blessings, but after that, father would take me around to the different games and let me play. I was never any good at it, but they gave me prizes anyway. Mother was brilliant, though. She knew just how to get past the games’ rigging.  After her death, father didn’t let me stay out as long. Once I was twelve, my only purpose at the festival was to give the blessings. Did your family always come?”

“Almost every year. My father always took us the first night,” Link spoke with a nod. “Because he was on duty the other two. He tried getting my sister and I to play the games, but I was only interested in the food.”

Another giggle passed the princess’s lips. 

“It sounds like you haven’t changed at all,” she replied, nudging him again. 

“Except now I know how to win,” he said and gestured to the stuffed sand seal.

“I still think you cheated.”

“They cheated us first.”

Zelda had no argument to that one. Link tossed the paper from his pretzel into the trash, then adjusted the fasten on his cloak.

“Do you think we’ll be able to see the fireworks?” she asked. “I used to watch them from my window all the time.”

“I don’t know if it’s better than the view from your window, but I know a place,” he replied. Zelda slipped an arm around his, like she’d done it a thousand times before, and he ducked his head to hide his face from the overhanging light.

“I’ll have to see it in order to judge,” she said simply. He fought back a smile and pulled her through the streets of Castle Town once more, until they’d reached the outskirts. 

Link jumped up to grab the tree branch above them, then turned and held his hands out to her. Apparently his intentions were clear because even in the darkness, he could see that Zelda was appalled.

“We can’t climb on a random person’s house! Link! Get down!” she yelled in a whisper, but he just let the grin cover his face.

“It’s empty. For sale, I think,” he replied with a shrug. She looked around, as if she wanted to make sure they were really alone, before taking his hands. He pulled her into the tree effortlessly, then boosted her up onto the roof of a Castle Town house. “It’s no castle view, but you won’t be eye-level with the fireworks.”

“You can see the entire festival from here,” she spoke when he joined her at the top. “It’s not just lights. You can see everything. How did you..?”

“There was one year when my father had to attend all three nights, so it was just my sister and I. We ran out of rupees trying one of the games, and she was really upset, so I just.. snatched a prize and ran. We climbed onto a roof and stayed there for the rest of the festival, until I was sure he hadn’t sent any soldiers after us. It gave us a pretty good view.”

“You thief!” Zelda accused, giving him a shove. Link bit back a laugh.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever told. So now you’re the holder of some pretty powerful information.”

She hummed in thought and leaned her head against the plushie.

“I could do so much with this. I could tell everyone and finally have my freedom from you.”

“I don’t know if stealing a plushie from a festival booth ten years ago is enough to get me demoted.”

“It’s a serious crime,” but he could hear the laughter in Zelda’s voice. He turned to face her just as the first of the fireworks went off, drowning her in a soft yellow light. Even if he wanted to watch the fireworks, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She was in a category all of her own, and the word beautiful couldn’t describe her in her entirety. 

He could call her hair golden, but it still didn’t capture her richness. He could compare her eyes to emeralds, and it still wouldn’t tell how precious they were. He could say her voice was a melody, and it still couldn’t describe how much he loved the song she sang each time she spoke. With every passing day, she grew more and more into the goddess whose blood she carried in her veins. She radiated a power and displayed a wisdom he’d never seen before, yet it felt so familiar to him that it never surprised him. He could watch her for hours, whether she was studying the Sheikah technology or praying at the foot of a goddess statue (not that he did, obviously, because that was sacred and private). It didn’t feel like a job--it never had. He’d give his life for her over and over again, like it was written into his blood and soul. Like he’d done it before. 

With how far they’d come, Link wondered just how much could one feel for a single person. If he could shield her from the world, he would. But she didn’t need that. Zelda was strong and independent, but what he wouldn’t give to remain by her side for as long as he could.

She took his arm again and rested her head against his shoulder. Her hold was as gentle as she. Her fingers intertwined with his and he gave her hand a small squeeze.

“Link?” 

He hummed to let her know he was listening and ready to answer any question she wanted to ask. 

“What do you want for Hylia’s Day?”

The gift giving tradition held true even to this year, but Link didn’t quite know how to answer her. What he really wanted was her. He wanted her to be happy and safe and secure. He wanted the goddess to respond, and for her powers to awaken so she could just enjoy whatever time they had left. 

Was there a stronger word that fit this feeling than yearning? Yearning for Zelda and her life and her future. 

He bit his cheek in thought, because none of that could be said aloud.

“I want a promise,” he replied at last. “that once this is all over, you’ll keep researching. And that maybe I can stay your knight attendant for as long as you can tolerate me.”

She almost laughed.

“Link.. I can’t promise anything. If I can’t awaken this power, then-“

“You will,” he said, holding her hand tighter. “I believe in you.”

Zelda smiled at him—weak and small, but it still filled him with a warmth that made him feel all the more confident.

“I want a day off to just relax with our friends,” she stated, returning her head to his shoulder.

“All of our friends?”

“Yes, even Revali.”

Link chuckled and shook his head, watching the last of the fireworks pop. He’d never felt more relaxed than he did then. It was like they belonged there. Something about her was so calming that he didn’t want to go back to the castle just yet. 

“Thank you,” she spoke softly into the quieting night. “For tonight.”

He wished he could kiss her.

Instead, he gave her hand a squeeze and said, “Anything you want, Princess. Just say the word.”

[mobius-prime]

209. Sonic the Hedgehog #141

Return to Angel Island (Part 4): Ultimate Hero

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: Jon Gray Colors: Jason Jensen

So things are… bad. Hunter is back and has a shiny new weapon to boot, which appears to vaporize anyone in his path. Sonic gives Knuckles a ride back to the echidna refugee camp at high speed, with Knuckles still doubting his ability to even be able to help without his Chaos powers, while the refugees flee Hunter's attacks. Remington tries to insist that he wants to remain behind to protect the Master Emerald at all costs, but Archimedes tries to dissuade him, instead trying to convince everyone to fall back to the emerald's chamber to defend it more directly. Finitevus isn't interested in Archimedes' pleas, but they're interrupted by the approach of Hunter.

No, Remington! I was honestly so upset by this, as Remington is one of my favorite recurring characters of the comic. Finitevus doesn't look too concerned, though… Archimedes meets Lara-Le, Wynmacher, and Saffron in the Master Emerald's chamber, informing them of the fate of the two outside, and they get ready to defend the emerald with their lives - but just as Hunter breaches the door, Sonic and Knuckles show up to help with the defense. Hunter throws some kind of fast-moving mechanical ball towards Sonic to keep him occupied and out of the way, and Knuckles charges in only to be once more overcome with agony from his proximity to the Master Emerald. Outside in the main cavern, the other heroes return from Dingo City only to be horrified at the devastation they see in the camp. Lien-Da becomes enraged, blaming Locke for "foisting the emerald" upon the Dark Legion, but Julie-Su has finally had enough and gets in her half-sister's face, yelling that she willingly chose to accept the emerald because she wanted the power it would bring her. You go, Julie-Su!

And right there we have the true reason behind all her hatred and vitriol. Of course these things always come down to daddy issues. Still, it's the first time we've ever really seen any true emotion from Lien-Da, apart from her usual scheming and power grabs, and it adds a depth to her character that she's been lacking thus far. Back in the Hidden Palace, Lara-Le rushes to Knuckles' side as he slumps to the ground, and Hunter approaches gleefully, raising his weapon for a death blow. However, a sudden pink light engulfs Knuckles, who rises into the air and begins to crackle with energy. He's overjoyed, announcing himself to the room not as Knuckles, but as… Super Knuckles! That's right, his Chaos powers have returned, and he's ready to stop Hunter's rampage, grabbing him and bursting through the roof of the palace.

Oh yeah - Knuckles straight up kills Hunter. It's one of the very few times we actually see one of the heroes of this comic intentionally end someone's life - but I think in this case, considering what kind of person he is and what he's done, killing Hunter is entirely justified for the greater good. As he descends back down to earth, the surviving echidnas all begin chanting "Avatar!" while the remaining dingoes retreat in a blind panic. Lien-Da is furious to see her hold over the refugees slipping, but Knuckles and his friends are clearly excited to see his Chaos powers return, with Archimedes revealing that he was certain that all Knuckles needed to reawaken them was to remain in close proximity to the Master Emerald long enough for it to power him back up. However, I'm actually not so on board with him regaining his powers. I really liked the dynamic of Knuckles losing the very thing that made him so special, and having to start from basics once again, learning how to fight without a superpowered edge. We've seen several different stories where Sonic lost his own super speed, but always got it back in the end - how interesting would it be to see a story where the hero never recovered their powers? And Knuckles, given his backstory, is the perfect candidate for such a plot - he never asked for his abilities, and they clearly brought him great pain and trauma as they developed. This would be an amazing direction to take his character arc, with Knuckles torn between the life he's always known, and the chance to start anew. After all, while he developed his latent Chaos powers without having a say in the matter, and despite the pain they often brought him, he did become accustomed to the effect they had on his life in a way, learning to control them to some degree and finding out more and more about why he had them. But the circumstances of his birth also ensured that he wouldn't have any real say in his own destiny, and this was always clearly troubling to him. Removing his powers for good would have put him in a fascinating position where on the one hand he would obviously be upset at losing such a great source of power, one which he's been told is his birthright, but on the other the loss of this power would leave him much freer to decide his own path from here, rejecting the path others have set out for him and discovering who "Knuckles" could be without others trying to define who he was for him. I don't know, I just think there's a huge missed opportunity here to explore more in depth who Knuckles could ultimately end up being without his Chaos powers being his most defining feature.

But alas, Knuckles has his powers back once more, and he's fulfilled the prophecy of the Ancient Walkers to boot. Eggman contacts the heroes via hologram once more, claiming that now that he knows where the Master Emerald is hidden he'll be there straightaway to steal it, but Sonic merely crushes the communicator and Locke enlists the help of the Legion once more to move the Master Emerald someplace else. Knuckles asks after Remington, but Archimedes sadly informs him that he and Finitevus were both casualties of Hunter's rampage. Lien-Da curtly tells Knuckles there's no time to mourn friends right now… and then quietly, when no one can hear her, adds "…or family." Wait, what? So, this is something that has actually been hinted at here and there for a while now, but so vaguely that one might not pick up on the hints unless they were already in the know. Remington's father is actually Kragok, which would make Lien-Da his aunt! This was never outright confirmed in any canon material until the Sonic Comic Encyclopedia many years from now, but I figured I'd go ahead and explain it right here, since, well, Remington ain't around these parts anymore. But yeah, that's why Lien-Da has always acted slightly weird around Remington. Anyway, Knuckles begins to say goodbye to his father, but Locke sharply asks him what he's intending now, seeming very upset at the idea of Knuckles leaving.

I love this. It's about freaking time we finally saw some serious conflict between Knuckles and Locke. For too long Knuckles has always dutifully followed whatever his father told him to do, but now, with a year away from the island under his belt to give him some real perspective, for the first time he's standing up for what he believes in instead of just doing whatever the Brotherhood wants, and Locke is clearly feeling threatened by this display of independence. To be fair, I can see Locke's point, as the island is clearly still quite devastated by Eggman's occupation and they could use someone like Knuckles to help them clean up, but still, I do think Knuckles has the right idea, as taking down Eggman for good seems like a better idea than just cleaning up after him - pulling up the weed by the roots, you know? Knuckles does seem quite sad as his father stalks away and vanishes through a warp ring, but he merely says his goodbyes to his mother and Wynmacher before joining Sonic and the others to head back to Knothole. For now, the day is saved, and everything seems fine and dandy - but what's this? It seems something quite disturbing is happening in Eggman's main base…

This. Is. Horrific. Say hello to the Egg Grapes, everybody, because this isn't the last time we'll be seeing them! We can see that apparently, these things have three functions: "Energy Drain," "Mind Eraser," and "Toxic Infusion," none of which are explained but all of which sound terrifying. We also get to look at some of the poor unfortunate souls trapped inside the pods. A few are just background characters from previous issues, but others are far more heartwrenching. We can see the three other surviving fire ants, minus Archimedes, meaning Archimedes is likely the last of the council now. We can also see, of course, Remington in front there, which again just makes me sad as I love Remington. However, perhaps the worst one is hidden in the back: Simon. As in, Simon, Julie-Su's adoptive father. Floren-Ca is also in there somewhere, just not shown on panel, which means that without even being aware of it, Julie-Su has now become a true orphan. It's incredibly tragic, as she'd just begun to get to know her own family after being separated from them for so long, but the island was invaded shortly afterward, and a year later, they're just… gone, being tortured to death inside one of Eggman's awful experimental devices without Julie-Su ever getting a chance to say goodbye. This is, I think, the moment where I realized just how truly terrifying comic Eggman is. Anime Eggman is hardly a threat at all, very much the type of villain who's more invested in their fights with their heroic nemesis than in actually taking over the world. And Eggman from the games, while he is genuine about his plans for world domination, has never actually committed mass murder, at least that we've seen. Sure, he's used small innocent animals as living batteries, but never actually mass tortured half the populace of an entire island just for the hell of it. This is where the comic begins to get truly dark, as we realize just what a terrifying megalomaniac we're facing here. No more silly jokes, no more half-assed villainy - Eggman is a monster, and the Freedom Fighters have to take him down for good lest he destroy the entire world.

Mobius 25 Years Later: Scenario

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Jason Jensen

Oh, but, y'know, we could also just jump forward into a boring future where everything is fine apart from reality beginning to tear itself apart. Granted, this issue's story actually has more real plot than the rest of the entries put together, though also granted, that isn't much. We're finally going to address that whole "collapse of spacetime" thing, as Knuckles leads Sonic to Rotor and Cobar's hidden laboratory to discuss the issue. Cobar is shocked that Knuckles knew the location of his lab, and Knuckles casually mentions that he likes keeping tabs on Lien-Da's favorite scientist wait excuse me what?! So all this time, Cobar has been in Lien-Da's employ, and we just never heard about it until now? Why are you so mistrustful of Lien-Da and yet totally trust the word of her favorite scientist when it comes to all this world-ending stuff? Ugh, I feel like I've spent far too much time and energy pointing out the many, many plot holes of this arc, so we're just going to move on like everything is fine. Rotor and Cobar explain the whole shebang to Sonic, while we get a short and useless scene of Julie-Su and Sally being unable to sleep and reiterating once again their worries for their husbands, and when we flip back to Sonic he's shocked to hear that he's the cause behind the acceleration of entropy on Mobius!

He tries to argue that it might have been the Dark Legion or someone else who had done a lot of zone-hopping in the past, but the two scientists insist that their experiments show that it was his fault. I really don't see how arguing over fault is going to help, especially when Sonic had literally no idea that actions he took when he was fifteen were going to someday contribute to the end of the world twenty-five years after the fact, but eh, again, we never claimed this story made any sense. Knuckles and Sonic leave, with Knuckles telling Rotor and Cobar to find a solution and fast, and as soon as they're gone a panel slides open in the wall to reveal who else but Lien-Da, who has listened in on the whole thing and is very curious about why exactly Cobar has been hiding all of this from her. Hmm, suspicious! Do you think we're finally about to get an answer about what treacherous deeds Lien-Da has been planning this whole time? Ah, c'mon, this is a Penders story, of course not!