#writing a possible future some few centuries ahead

[sezja]

I am so deeply fascinated by the lost/forgotten histories of the First and how so much has been changed or lost forever in only a hundred years but also, also, what depresses me most about FFXIV existing in a time bubble forever is that it means we're never going to get to see what they make of the future. The restoration of the Empty means they have a whole world to explore and reclaim. They've got so much to discover! So much land to lay trolley tracks on! This is a doomed world that has had its future restored to them, and I'm a little sad that we won't see it.

[reasonsforhope]

No-paywall version.

"You can never really see the future, only imagine it, then try to make sense of the new world when it arrives.

Just a few years ago, climate projections for this century looked quite apocalyptic, with most scientists warning that continuing “business as usual” would bring the world four or even five degrees Celsius of warming — a change disruptive enough to call forth not only predictions of food crises and heat stress, state conflict and economic strife, but, from some corners, warnings of civilizational collapse and even a sort of human endgame. (Perhaps you’ve had nightmares about each of these and seen premonitions of them in your newsfeed.)

Now, with the world already 1.2 degrees hotter, scientists believe that warming this century will most likely fall between two or three degrees. (A United Nations report released this week ahead of the COP27 climate conference in Sharm el Sheikh, Egypt, confirmed that range.) A little lower is possible, with much more concerted action; a little higher, too, with slower action and bad climate luck. Those numbers may sound abstract, but what they suggest is this: Thanks to astonishing declines in the price of renewables, a truly global political mobilization, a clearer picture of the energy future and serious policy focus from world leaders,

we have cut expected warming almost in half in just five years.

...Conventional wisdom has dictated that meeting the most ambitious goals of the Paris agreement by limiting warming to 1.5 degrees could allow for some continuing normal, but failing to take rapid action on emissions, and allowing warming above three or even four degrees, spelled doom.

Neither of those futures looks all that likely now, with the most terrifying predictions made improbable by decarbonization and the most hopeful ones practically foreclosed by tragic delay. The window of possible climate futures is narrowing, and as a result, we are getting a clearer sense of what’s to come: a new world, full of disruption but also billions of people, well past climate normal and yet mercifully short of true climate apocalypse.

Over the last several months, I’ve had dozens of conversations — with climate scientists and economists and policymakers, advocates and activists and novelists and philosophers — about that new world and the ways we might conceptualize it. Perhaps the most capacious and galvanizing account is one I heard from Kate Marvel of NASA, a lead chapter author on the fifth National Climate Assessment: “The world will be what we make it.” Personally, I find myself returning to three sets of guideposts, which help map the landscape of possibility.

First, worst-case temperature scenarios that recently seemed plausible now look much less so, which is inarguably good news and, in a time of climate panic and despair, a truly underappreciated sign of genuine and world-shaping progress...

[I cut number two for being focused on negatives. This is a reasons for hope blog.]

Third, humanity retains an enormous amount of control — over just how hot it will get and how much we will do to protect one another through those assaults and disruptions. Acknowledging that truly apocalyptic warming now looks considerably less likely than it did just a few years ago pulls the future out of the realm of myth and returns it to the plane of history: contested, combative, combining suffering and flourishing — though not in equal measure for every group...

“We live in a terrible world, and we live in a wonderful world,” Marvel says. “It’s a terrible world that’s more than a degree Celsius warmer. But also a wonderful world in which we have so many ways to generate electricity that are cheaper and more cost-effective and easier to deploy than I would’ve ever imagined. People are writing credible papers in scientific journals making the case that switching rapidly to renewable energy isn’t a net cost; it will be a net financial benefit,” she says with a head-shake of near-disbelief. “If you had told me five years ago that that would be the case, I would’ve thought, wow, that’s a miracle.”"

-via The New York Times Magazine, October 26, 2022

[imthepunchlord]

Is the main rewrite that has Marinette as the Cat holder still in progress?

Yes it is!

I am actually aiming for each chapter to have 20 pages at minimum, kinda making each one a sort of "episode" while reading. And first chapter just reached page 13, so it's getting close.

It's still not going to be posted yet though. It is probably going to be a while. I do not have all of s1 planned out as much as I like, I do need to continue rewatching s1 of ML, and consider what episodes in later seasons are really worth watching and including as some I think can just be cut/skipped. And I am still noting down future plot bunnies to try and plan ahead and to make sure there are details I can build up to.

And reworking lore and history where I think it'll make more sense. Like, Miraculous having Guardians not allowed to use Miraculous are just so odd to me.

You bring in a lot of kids to train to handle Miraculous, but not use them.

And despite these kids getting training and discipline, you don't entrust them with a Miraculous to handle situations, you trust strangers who haven't gotten the training or the knowledge about Miraculous, and just take a leap of faith that they won't abuse the Miraculous.

So it's getting changed up that the Order (who does NOT take children from families that's a big NO) train their guardians to be the heroes and protector of the world, making Miraculous guardians exclusive to use them as that's what they're trained, taught, and disciplined about.

With these being powerful jewelry pieces, which 6 can have wish granting abilities that can change reality itself, to me, it makes more sense if the Order became more about controlling them as much as possible, keep them in trusted and trained hands, knowing that who they train to be guardians will be much safer choice vs strangers they don't know and take chances on. That's reckless and potentially dangerous.

And another change is that the Order wasn't made around the time the Miraculous were, they came centuries later. Those first few centuries Miraculous traveled the world, and it was largely the kwamis who chose the heroes, picking based on potential not whether this was a good person or not, and kwamis were limited on what to do when misused, so a lot of damage can be done, which prompted the Order to be made by Miraculous holders who didn't think kwamis really knew how to pick the best holders, they decided to train people to be the ideal holders and heroes and put a lid on the chaos that is kwamis picking holders, and just literally bringing order to how Miraculous are being handled.

Anyway, excited ramble aside, yes it is being worked on. It's going to be a while, as personally, I want at least most of s1 planned and written out before posting it. And ideally, I'll have better ideas for the later seasons while I write and plan so it'll go smoothly.

[lilacxquartz]

Ever since Don’t Make Me Feel Alive ended, I feel like this void has developed in my heart. I saw your ask detailing that Kenjaku might be good for being a caretaker and I made the connection that this is why I also liked this story so much. A slow realization of feelings of a morally wrong character who tries to keep the reader or love interest safe. Would it be a reach for me to request more content like this? I know Kenjaku is morally wrong but I really enjoy reading about the soft parts.

hi anon! i get you 100%, there is something very special about kenjaku (and villains in general) being written/portrayed in a nurturing role. i feel like it makes them somehow even more terrifying but it also gives them more depth than just being an evil character.

& no, it wouldn’t be a reach imo to request something more like this! i’ve been thinking about it (because i think about kenjaku a lot haha) and, i have a few scenarios in mind.

you know me, you know the drill, extensive yapping up ahead—

the first fic that i’m on and off considering writing, is like, the reader has the flu, so their cold, usually emotionally distant partner suddenly becomes so sickly sweet and nurturing. this throws us all off for a beat but kenjaku would be very good at it. probably has the best soup recipe stored up in that millennia old brain ever known to man. the dark fic writer in me tells me that the reader would try to make themselves feel sick to get more affection so it becomes a toxic relationship fic.

the second one is purely platonic, but let’s consider you work for or with them routinely and are friends, but you’re getting old. they’re in their third vessel of the century and therefore they’re still young and kicking but you don’t have such an option. i’d like to think that behind that villainous front, that they would either be neutral or caring for the people they don’t mind/tolerate, but they would do it in a completely tsundere or annoyed way.

like tutting when you can’t keep up with them. showing up with a walking stick one day and making you use it because your wobbly walking posture bothers them. replacing your mattress and pillows while you’re out on an errand because you don’t need back problems on top of what you already have. making you drink some sort of rancid concoction that they claim is good for your brittle bones. dumping a 5kg crate of tangerines at your doorstep as soon as winter begins.

finally, maybe, this one’s a bit dark. i’m considering this one for the upcoming yandere nightmares entry, but, taking very good care of a reader that they might consider as a vessel in the future. like it’s going to be their body too, so they show up in your life at some point and make it a whole show to keep you as physically and mentally healthy as possible.

but there’s a problem. they actually find that they like you as a person, so it hurts to do so, so they start to, like, reverse caretake. they try to give themselves excuses to not take you over because your body is becoming worn from all of those snacks they keep giving you or those late nights they forced you to stay up, or from damaging your knees or back after making you carry all of those boxes. but at the same time, they like you, so it’s a back and forth losing battle.

maybe one for a chapter of chasing humanity where the reader catches a cold and they have to reluctantly take care of her too, i feel like that could be a good relationship development chapter.

but yeah!! it is very encouraging also to see more people be into nurturing kenjaku by the way. if this is a desired theme, then i’m happy to write more about kenjaku in these types of situations however many times possible. <3

[littlewormgrant]

Bobiverse: Taking Another Approach

Bob Clone - Leela (OC) 928 words

A/N: This is completely self indulgent fic and not my usual gibberish but I'm a fan of the Bobiverse series and wanted to tackle a plot that I felt didn't quite land for me in the books. Also I just wanted to geek out over space and one of my favorite systems. I'm writing the kind of things I'd want to read.

Summary: I came online, aptly named myself Leela, then stuck around and completed the tasks I was created for. I wasn’t the first Bob to identify as female and I certainly wouldn’t be the last. The moment I was given the green light to go, I was getting the hell out of there. (A canon compliant one-shot fic continuing from where the Dragon plotline was left off in Book 5: Not Till We Are Lost. Spoilers ahead if you've not read it.)

---

The worst part of immortality was how it didn’t also strip me of my humanity. I’d have thought by now the replicative drift would’ve beaten it out of me.

I could have been doing anything I wanted in this little corner of the universe, and I’m still trying to scratch an itch that has been plaguing me since Bob’s time on Earth. Sometimes, being a Von Neumann probe was about as much fun as trying to bathe and pill a cat. Spike was never a fan of water and had been even less tolerant of it whenever meds were involved.

I came online, aptly named myself Leela, then stuck around and completed the tasks I was created for. I wasn’t the first Bob to identify as female and I certainly wouldn’t be the last. The moment I was given the green light to go, I was getting the hell out of there.

Surveying the Dragons was interesting and all, but it had been almost a year since Bridget and Howard’s escapades, and we still couldn’t even get close enough with our Drannies without a buzz of angry noises and spears being chucked at us. I guess some grudges do hold. Could you blame them?

The predictions that they’d have centuries on Lemuria were vastly underestimating just how devastating the volcanoes were going to be each cycle. We’d be left with a minuscule fraction of the population we started with after this beatdown. Some of us didn’t want to wait around to see what untold horrors the next would bring. Not to mention the damage it’ll do to their genetic diversity.

Honestly, I probably could’ve stuck around a few more decades and tried working on it with them, but it felt like beating a dead horse at this point. The planet still sucked. We weren’t wanted. It was like being back on Earth with Faith all over again.

Jabberwocky was quickly becoming difficult to observe through the layer of thick atmosphere the volcanoes in Atlantis were producing. By all accounts, the Dragon’s shouldn’t have survived this long but they were hanging on, so I guess we had some moral responsibility to help.

Stupid humanity.

I’d have been more reluctant to go if I was completely abandoning them to their fate, but Marlow was in-system already working with the others on an evacuation plan for those still stranded on Atlantis. A colony ship was already underway in off-chance he was able to save anyone. I felt more useful setting out to survey another possible accommodation for those who were willing to leave.

TRAPPIST-1 is a mere 9 percent the mass of our sun back in Sol, the entire system can fit comfortably within the space of Mercury’s orbit. All huddled around the remnants of a campfire. With planets being so close together they would interfere with each other gravitationally, causing large tidal changes on all sides - which was both a good and bad thing when looking for a potential spot for squishy humans that aren’t all that great at swimming. But maybe not such a problem for Dragons if we could set them up with artificial platforms that imitate floaters. Then there was the case of ensuring they had a diet they could sustain themselves on. I’d tell myself that was a problem for some other future Bob, but knowing my luck I’d be the sucker to do it.

I understand why this system wasn’t selected for other colonial projects. The Aquarius constellation had roughly 12-17 stars that hosted known exoplanets. There’s potentially 300 million other habitable planets to pick from in our galaxy alone, and if the focus was more on G-class stars like our own in the Sol system, then that’s still at least a good 21 million potential habitats to pick from before TRAPPIST would even make the cut.

That’s not accounting for all the planets claimed by those species that had packed up and jumped ship already. Or any more like the Others that were picking them clean. I wasn’t being overly picky in where I surveyed first, it was as good a place to start as any. Maybe a small part of me wanted to geek out over a system with potentially more than one habitable planet. They were few and far between.

Red dwarf stars would certainly outlive all others. They made up more than half of all stars and were likely the last to be around to see the end of time, but that also came with cons of its own. The habitable zone for such stars being so much closer to their host meant they were one tiny fart of plasma away from all kinds of damage to technology and the magnetic spheres.

Once I made it there I’d have to assess if this was a big enough risk to pursue or not. It didn’t help these stars were all pumped up on beans compared to yellow dwarfs. So really, it was a good thing Dragons haven’t gotten to the technological stages of their advancement. One less thing for them to complain about I suppose.

Plus, you know, our galaxy was about to be hit with the mother of all black holes in the distant future. Not an immediate threat but it was absolutely a danger to everything we’ve been building towards. This only had to be a temporary solution for now, right? I could pack up and go on my way again and not be roped into any more Dragon bullshit. Probably, hopefully...

Please don’t let me get roped back in.

[eviesaurusrex]

“ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʀᴇꜱᴛ.” | ꜱ. ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ

Doctor Stephen Strange x Surgeon!Reader

summary: What about seducing your workaholic boyfriend Stephen to a snack, a cuddle and massage session and neck kisses, cause he NEEDS a break and some love?

word count: 3.3k

warnings: workaholic behavior, stress, exhaustion, fluff, curse words, mentions of smut at the very end

author’s note: This is another request I’m really looking forward to write! Have fun :3

Sighing deeply, YN pushed open the door to leave the scrub-in room of OR 3 while pulling the cotton cap off her head. A long yawn escaped her opened mouth which she hid behind the unlocked tablet, and strolled over to the nurse's desk right opposite the OR schedule and heavily leaned against the wood. The tablet found its spot in front of her so she could quickly finish up the surgical report to be added to her patient's file, so she could finally have her breakfast break at a decent time for the first time in months. She loved her job, really, she did, but sometimes she hated it with her entire being. Not the part where she could help people with her vast knowledge and skills, but the part where her pager constantly woke her up in the middle of the goddamn night, even though she wasn't even on-call. But being the head of a department brought its consequences which rarely were gradually positive.

"Doctor LN!"

Groaning, the called surgeon propped her elbows on top of the nurse's desk and started to massage her temples with the tips of both pointer and middle finger.

"Stop shouting as if a helicopter is right next to you in the middle of departure," she scolded one of the interns - ducklings, as most of the attendings called them - but took the brought coffee nonetheless. "Sorry, Doctor LN." He seemed crushed, and YN sighed a second time within the last few minutes. "Whatever. What's on it today?" Even though she stepped into this hospital five hours ago, she hadn't started with her usual duties in the slightest. The next long day ahead of her was something she loved but envied at the same time, and this feeling of utter conflict in her mind wasn't very pleasant. "The ER paged you for a council, Doctor Macy-..." YN took a sip of her coffee before snapping her fingers and pointing one in his direction as a thought occurred. "PEDs, right?" The intern nodded. "Yup! She wants a second opinion on her CF patient and specifically requested you." It didn't surprise her because, during her med studies, YN had published a paper about cystic fibrosis - as one of the youngest in her field of studies. Her future research had recently gotten the approval of the FDA, and as soon as the funds were here, she could finally start to find a (long-lasting) cure.

While her intern for today rambled over more points on their agenda - she already had forgotten his name, but that was the case with every newer face in her life - her gaze shifted back to the OR schedule, which had just got updated for the next upcoming surgeries. And something on it didn't quite fit with her.

"Are you fucking kidding me."

It wasn't a particular question, just a shoutout, an expression of her thoughts and feelings at this exact moment.

Her eyes moved over the whiteboard again, looking for the one name in question, and the displeased expression on YN's face deepened even more, if that was still possible. She put the barely half-drunken coffee cup next to her tablet, the report still not written. "Go ahead and tell them I will be in the pit in a couple of minutes for that council," was all she said before the cardiothoracic surgeon grabbed the bunched-up cap from the desk and crossed the hallway with a purpose and mission in mind.

"Is everything alright, or do we have to prepare ourselves for the biggest earthquake this century has seen so far?" Doctor James Chamberlain asked the confused intern while Doctor Nicodemus West cackled behind his tablet. "Someone is in trouble," he almost sang, and James laughed snortingly, sitting with half of his bottom on the nurse desk's edge. "He can count himself a lucky man if he leaves this OR standing straight." Now, both doctors cackled in utter amusement, but the intern was more confused than ever before because he definitely never expected that his favorite attending dated someone as cruel as Strange.

;

The soft tunes of Feelin' Happy by Lee Oskar echoed through OR 1, in which Stephen had just wrapped up an eight-hour surgery with the energy of a man who could've slept the entire night but was actually awake for longer than he thought.

"Edges are looking perfect - what a surprise - and the tumor is officially gone. The counter is rising up to... what? Thirteen successful tumor removals after four different councils by four different doctors?" Jack - the nurse present at most of his surgeries - scoffed softly. "It's tumor fourteen now, sir." Stephen let his head fall back and raised both hands, still holding his instruments. "Feelin' good!" He exclaimed before another voice entered the conversation: "I don't believe so, Doctor Strange."

The neurosurgeon moved his gaze from the ceiling to the arriving woman who had just put on the face mask, but her eyes told him everything he needed to know. He knew he had done something to offend or displease her - and his entire surgical team knew it as well. Jack turned down the music's volume and cleared his throat awkwardly, disrupting the dense silence suddenly covering the OR. The only sounds were the beeping heart monitor and the oxygenator.

"Doctor LN."

Everyone greeted her with the utmost respect - some even with a hint of fear - even though she was younger than most of the attendings and heads of departments throughout the hospital. But she had earned every title, nomination, and prize she had gained or won so far because everyone knew what a hardworking and intelligent woman she was.

"How can I help you at this fine early morning, Doctor LN?" Stephen's almost mocking question was first answered by a scoff. "It's almost noon if you haven't noticed, but of course, you didn't because you've been in here since last night when I left." The displeasure was now very vivid to hear for every single soul inside the room. Stephen looked up from the pulsing brain in front of him and the lamp attached to his head blinded her for a second there. "Well, an emergency came in," he defended himself though the shock pulsed through his entire body. He hadn’t noticed how the time had moved past him and his intention to leave not later than two hours after her, so he could get at least one round of cuddles before she would be dead to the world in his arms.

You fucked up good, idiot.

Yeah, he noticed that now.

YN wasn't impressed in the slightest. "An emergency aneurysm clipping doesn't take five hours. I'm not stupid, Stephen, so don't treat me as if I am. This tumor removal you just did there got scheduled last night - on a whim, might I add." She probably sounded crazy, but she worried for him more than it was probably good for her sanity because the Strange was a lost cause in this aspect of life. The doctor shrugged under the light blue operation gown.

"I saved his life."

"You risked it too in that egoistic move after you decided it would be wise to try your hands on it after a twelve hours shift without any sleep or a proper lunch or dinner. You are way out of line, Stephen, and I am obviously the only one who dares to mention it and kick your ass out of this freaking OR." She spiraled into this feeling, she knew it, but YN couldn't help it. Not when it came to Stephen's health and wellbeing. It was her duty as a girlfriend to care about these things, especially if he didn't do it himself—one of them had to. "So, move your ass out now, or I will drag it out myself. Your choice." She cocked both eyebrows in mock anticipation, preparing herself for the latter because she knew him, but Stephen slowly put down the delicate surgical instruments back on the surgical tray and stepped back from the patient. "You can close up, Hawthorne, but don't let your stitches get sloppy," he told his favorite resident of the week and stepped out of the OR, passing his glaring girlfriend with a mockingly cocked eyebrow as if to say, "See? I am a responsible adult."

Back in the scrub-in room, YN waited until Stephen had discarded the gloves and OR gown and finally turned to her while he ripped off his face mask. His face wasn't furies as she had anticipated. Instead, his signature cocky smirk graced his lips before he pulled her into him, pressing their bodies against one another. Her confusion was soon changed with a playfully annoyed roll of her eyes. "You can boss me around in those dark blue scrubs as long and often you want, Doctor LN," he smirked and laughed softly as her flat palm hit the back of his head. "You're an idiot, you know that, don’t you?" Stephen cocked a brow, never going to admit that he, indeed, was sometimes an idiot when it came to the woman in his arms. "And it's not as if you're not seeing me in those like every day of the week for the past six years," she reminded him, and now he shrugged. "I can't change the effect you have on me, but not only in them, of course." Rolling her eyes again, YN tucked at the shirt of his scrubs and looked up to him with a pleading glim in her eyes.

"You work too much," she whispered.

"I do god's work, darling," he whispered back and pecked the tip of her nose with the softest of kisses.

YN hit the back of his head again. "You can't do god's work when you're not rested and on the top of your game. I only ask for a healthy snack, some carbs, something to drink, and a nap. Nothing more, nothing less. I can reschedule your next three surgeries and put them up for the next few days, but today will be a day full of rest and stupid rounds, okay? Please?" Now she loaded her gun and looked up at him with those big pleading eyes he could never resist. "Pretty please? I will be there too. I can provide cuddles if you like." She played dirty now, they both knew it, but Stephen couldn't resist the tempting offer.

He already had been hooked after the promise of her company in one of the on-call rooms.

He bent down to give her a gentle kiss, cupping her face with both hands. "What do I have to do for your famous neck massage?" His request was whispered in a husky tone, and YN started to smile before kissing him again. "You don't have to do anything to get what you want, but I'm not opposed to more kisses," she grinned, and the surgeon pulled her into his side to leave the surgical floor to find one of the less frequented on-call rooms in their hospital.

—

Outside, still leaning opposite the surgical schedule, waited West and Chamberlain, and the other neurosurgeon groaned at the sight of the still happy couple leaving the floor together. Chamberlain chuckled and closed his fingers around the given ten-dollar note. "Thank you for your service," he grinned victoriously, and Nic rolled his eyes. He should have known that these two were each other's endgame and nothing could ruin their peace, not even themself.

;

Taking one of the tablets with them so YN could finally get that surgical report done as soon as Stephen would be dead to the world, they entered their preferred on-call room. It sat between the PEDs wing and the supply closets, so rarely anybody ventured in here, and the room was all theirs.

The couple took the single bed under the windows, and while she closed the blinds to keep the sun out, the neurosurgeon plopped down onto the new mattress the hospital had bought recently—and groaned. YN chuckled at that sound and situated herself behind his back after kicking off her sneakers, kneeling on the soft mattress, and pressing her legs against his hips.

She may be a bit clingy sometimes, but gladly, Stephen never objected to it. Instead, he reveled in it.

Propping her chin atop his right shoulder in order to see what the man in front of her was doing, YN hummed, interested. “And there I was thinking you’d let work be work for at least an hour. Silly me,” she whispered, breath fanning over the sensitive skin under his ear, and the doctor groaned again, raspier now. “You are an evil one,” he returned, and with a chuckle, she kissed the spot right under his ear. “I know.” But then, she grabbed her pager and paged one of her interns to get some food and some liquid at the cafeteria, so Stephen could finally rest.

“Food is on its way,” YN informed him and intended to start the promised neck massage, but another look over his shoulder showed her something she really didn’t like. The newest brain scans literally screamed for her attention.

“Stephen, no.”

Her hands shot out over his shoulder and tried to grab the tablet out of his, but the doctor held it further away and turned it so that she could see the beautiful scans of an even more beautiful nail in it. “Look at it!” His demand fell on deaf ears. “Give it to me, now.” YN almost got it. “Stephen, no! I mean it!” With one last effort, she leaned over his shoulder and grabbed the device, but the workaholic chuckled. “Stephen, yes,” he returned and acquired it again out of her tight grasp.

Only hell knew how he had done it.

With an exasperated sigh, YN took matters into her own hands and put her fingers back on his neck and upper back muscles, and started to massage. She applied the perfect amount of pressure—it wasn’t their first time she had to practically drag him away from work—and let her thumbs work through the taut splenius capitis muscle, directly followed by the levator scapulae muscle and the trapezius muscle.

With the beginning of the first overworked muscle, Stephen let his eyes fall shut, the tablet long forgotten in his hand, and a deep, rumbling moan escaped his parted lips. A satisfied sigh followed right after as the doctor felt the soft lips of his girlfriend on his skin, peppering loving kisses all over his neck where her hands didn’t work their magic.

“You must be a sorceress,” he groaned at a particular taut spot which soon was smooth as butter, and the tension slowly dispersed out of his tense body. He knew now that he worked too much and started to make plans to work less and spend more time with this godsend of a woman, but they both knew that those thoughts would be short-lived. He loved what he did too much for it—and that was okay because she was there to remind him from time to time to take it easy. “Don’t flatter me too much, love,” she whispered shortly before pressing another set of kisses onto his neck, her thumbs still working effortlessly through the muscles.

His next moan followed a hesitant knock at the door. “Uhm… Doctor LN…?” The voice of her intern asked, and YN had to chuckle but continued her work. “You can come in!” She had to raise her voice because Stephen moaned particularly loud this time but seemingly didn’t notice the arrival of his food. The door opened as hesitantly as his voice had sounded, and a head looked around the door to check if the situation was at least PG13. “Sorry, Doctor Strange, for interrupting,” he mumbled, but the neurosurgeon didn’t even acknowledge his presence. “Here is the pastrami sandwich, the chips, a package of carrots, and the water. The ER has paged me again for the consult, but I told them that you’re preoccupied, so they admitted the CF patient, and you can see her on the PEDs floor as soon as you’re… done.” His eyes shot to the sighing neurosurgeon before clearing his throat awkwardly and putting the food next to the two doctors on the mattress. “I… will handle anything else, Doctor LN, until you’re done here.” And with that, her intern turned on the spot and almost ran to leave this room behind.

Chuckling, YN kissed the spot underneath his ear another time, and Stephen sighed somewhere deep in his chest. “How do I deserve you?” His voice came out as a breathless groan, and the woman would have to lie if she said it didn’t do anything to her—quite the opposite was the case. But now, the man in front of her needed her more than she had to cave to her needs and desires. “That’s my question to ask, love,” the surgeon laughed softly before reaching down to get the sandwich. She reached over his shoulder and let it fall on his lap. “Eat,” was all YN said, and Stephen groaned another time. “Did I ever tell you how irresistible you are when you boss people around and shout orders? It’s bloody enticing. Could watch you all day…” He bit in his sandwich as told and YN continued in massaging his neck and working her hands down to his shoulders and upper arms.

“You always know a way to a woman’s heart.” Stephen hummed while chewing. “Well, I managed to find a way into yours. It’s all I ever wanted, darling, ever since meeting you for the first time.”

You really are a lucky woman, the voice in her head whispered, and she only could agree. Yes, sometimes Stephen was a pain in the ass, but nothing came without flaws, and she loved every single of them. It’s what a good relationship was made out of, she supposed.

“I recall a different reaction to the first sight of my face, but that’s a topic for another day,” she grinned but squealed at his sudden movements to grab and drag her onto his lap, the sandwich now forgotten on the small table next to the bed. “This was my not so thoroughly thought-through attempt at masking my real thoughts about the stunning woman entering the lecture hall and choosing the spot next to me because it was the spot with the best acoustic. But inside my head? My former self constantly screamed for your attention,” the Strange revealed in a hushed whisper, their faces only mere inches apart. His nose brushed against hers before Stephen dove for a hungry kiss; her magical hands had let desire boil up in his body, and he never could keep his hands off her.

Giggling, YN tangled her fingers in his dark hair and softly moaned as Stephen maneuvered her body so she could sit on his lap with spread legs, feeling the ever-growing bulge in his scrubs rubbing against the apex of her thighs. “Is the door locked?” His voice was strained by lust, and the doctor moaned against her soft lips as YN let her hips circle against his. “I don’t care,” she breathlessly whispered and laughed as the man underneath her became impatient—as he always did—and turned them. Now she was lying on the mattress with Stephen on top of her—his hair already deliciously tussled and pupils blown by the appetite for the woman pressed against his body. “Are we risky today?” Stephen teased her as his hands ran under her scrubs and pushed the shirt slowly up to reveal naked, soft skin inch by inch, his lips following his skilled fingers. YN moaned at the tickling but burning feeling of lips against skin but buried her fingers in his hair again to pull him upwards and back to her hungry lips. “Stop talking,” she demanded, almost muffled by his attacking mouth. “Impatient as always.”

Stephen grinned into the kiss. This was most definitely his preferred way to start the day.

;

This one took so long (I don’t know why), but now I’m happy with how this turned out. Hope you liked it too! As usual: Comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated! Thanks for reading <3

Taglist: @harpywritesfic @strangeions @meeksmusic83 @apple-and-berry @ben-er-ino @multifandomrandomgirl @lucimorningst4r @samisubi @hunterofshadows04 @y-napotat @lejuveinlegroove @ohchoices @jyessaminereads

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

I LOVE your meta on how essek was the perfect asset and want to ask the follow-up question in your tags: how do you think it went down? The agreement between Essek and the Assembly? And I think the fandom was convinced Essek would be disposed of after the peace talks — how do you see his future if there was no intervention by the Mighty Nein in 97?

ruvi-muffin asked:

What are your specific thoughts abt how ludinus recruited essek??👀👀 oh Person who knows a surprising amount of spy stuff 🙏🙏🙏👀👀👀

Anonymous asked:

PLEASE share your specific thoughts about how Essek was recruited, I'm so intrigued!

Anonymous asked:

Hello yes i am very interested in these very specific thoughts about how Essek got recruited? All these things about how actual intelligence works/uses their assets/how that ties to Essek and the M9 is really interesting :D

Thank you all so much for asking me the specific question I wanted someone to ask. I had to write and rewrite this post a half-dozen times because I kept going off on tangents about other Cold War spy stories so trust me there’s plenty more where this came from.

For reference, my original post on what made Essek an ideal recruitment target and why the M9 were the ideal counter to it.

First off, this is all based on real-world intelligence ops and is only as relevant to the campaign as Matt Mercer cares to make it. Having said that *slams notebook on table* BUCKLE UP, KIDDOS.

There are two ways Essek may have been recruited: he approached the Assembly or the Assembly approached him. I think the Assembly approached him. Not to be too hard on the guy, but Essek said it himself: he’s kind of a coward. I can’t see him mustering up the nerve to take that first step. Plus his espionage seems to have focused specifically on the beacons rather than dunamancy as a whole; that sounds like the Assembly to me. The beacons specifically offer the prospect of immortality and the Cerberus mages are arrogant enough to assume they can figure out dunamancy themselves if they have a beacon in hand. There’s no way the Assembly haven’t been trying to beg, borrow, or steal those beacons for centuries. Essek may not have even been their first try - just the first that worked. 

Chronologically, Essek would have popped up on either the Assembly or the Augen Trust’s radar quite early as I assume they keep tabs on all powerful Dynasty mages. As they followed his career, the Assembly would have ID’d Essek as a perfect target for recruitment as a spy, and then further for ego-based recruitment. Recruitment for espionage is a slow process - even slower in a fantasy world where some races reasonably expect to live 500+ years. Many intelligence agencies will do a sort of light meet-and-greet just to start a file on various people who might years later be of interest. The Assembly would have cultivated Essek as an intelligence asset with the same degree of time and care - and using some of the same methods - that Trent used to turn the Blumenthal trio into assassins. 

If they followed a modern playbook, they would have made contact with Essek anywhere from 2 to 10 years before the theft - nothing underhanded. A Cerberus mage approaches him at a negotiation or conference and strikes up a conversation. Then it’s increasing “chance” encounters to get Essek familiar with the handler, play the “we’re both mages, really we’re on the same side” angle to earn enough sympathy & trust to start talking regularly. Once the channel’s open, the handler and asset meet and/or talk routinely while the handler assesses the target’s motives, weaknesses, and the possibility that they’re a double agent. 

Espionage proper then starts with small favors, acts Essek can rationalize as victimless or even helpful to the Dynasty. In this stage the handler is getting the asset comfortable with engaging in espionage. They reward the asset for what feels like minimal moral trespass. For Essek that would have been praising his research, encouraging avenues of investigation they knew the Dynasty had shut down. Having meetings with Ludinus plays right into the ego trip - the Head of the Assembly himself is taking the time to meet with him! The Assembly gets how important this work is! That keeps Essek isolated from Dynasty members who might convince him to take a step back and builds loyalty to the Assembly over the Dynasty.

Once an asset settles in, espionage becomes easier. Routines get established. Moral hurdles have been overcome. Now the asks get bigger and the rewards get sparser. The handler will suggest larger acts just to get the asset thinking about them, since the more they consider “just hypothetically” how to pull it off, the more likely it is they’ll do it. This is where the idea of stealing the beacons would get introduced (though of course it’s been the goal all along.) I’ll bet the Assembly hinted at all the study that could be done if they could just get to the beacons in person, constantly bemoaning the lack of access. By now Essek sees the Assembly as colleagues in arcane pursuits, kindred minds, unlike the boring, stuffy old mages of the Dynasty. Of course he could outwit the Dynasty’s security and get the beacons to the Assembly - he’s a prodigy, a genius, everyone says so. And it’s not like he was stealing all of them. The consecuted would be fine. Everyone would be fine.

None of this is intended to absolve Essek of personal responsibility. But it provides a context for his actions, and for why he might regret them so much even though he apparently did them willingly. Asset handlers are very, very good at drawing someone willing to commit minor transgressions into far greater crimes. Look at how Trent shaped Caleb, Astrid, and Eadwulf. He didn’t order them to execute their own parents on day one. He spent years coaxing, tempting, and coercing them into darker and darker crimes, letting them rationalize their own actions at each step, preying on the same vulnerabilities as Essek: isolation (separating the three from other students, telling them their work was secret), ambition (the promise of great arcane power, of shaping the Empire’s destiny), and ego (”we were going to keep the empire safe,” telling them they were gifted, they were chosen).

So how do IRL spies rationalize their actions? Those who spy for reasons of conscience or ideology have done the rationalizing ahead of time, but everyone else has to get there somehow. Some who spy for revenge tell themselves it’s what their superiors deserve, while others tell themselves everyone’s doing it. Some just need a lie to get started (most commonly about who they’re spying for), while others have to keep up the charade all along. Let’s look at a few cases similar to Essek’s that demonstrate just how slippery the slope can be.

Aldrich Ames, a long-term CIA officer slash double agent for the KGB, got suckered in by thinking he could control the situation and wasn’t really hurting anyone. Ames had chronic financial trouble related to excessive drinking & his wife’s lavish lifestyle and in 1985 came up with a plan: he would essentially con the KGB by selling them a minor amount of classified info that he deemed “virtually worthless.” In April he set up the exchange and the KGB paid him $50,000, enough to satisfy his immediate debts. But after actually doing it Ames said he felt he’d now crossed a line he couldn’t step back from, and continued to sell information to the Soviets. By the time he was caught he had, by his own admission, compromised “virtually all Soviet agents of the CIA.”

While some assets just need a lie to get started, others require a delicate dance of self-delusion. Col. George Trofimoff was an Army officer who ran the center where would-be Soviet defectors were assessed & questioned. Trofimoff, a Russian émigré at a young age, was chronically in debt. In 1969 he renewed his acquaintance with his stepbrother back in Russia, now a bishop in the Russian Orthodox Church, and began to pass secrets in return for money - but he and his stepbrother never framed the transactions as such. Trofimoff described their meetings as, “very informal. ... First, it was just a conversation between the two of us. He would ask my opinion on this and that--then, he would maybe ask me, 'Well, what does your unit think about it?' Or, 'What does the American government think about it?’” His compensation was similarly informal: “I said I needed money. ... And he says, 'I tell you what, I'll loan it to you.' So he gave me, I think, 5,000 marks and then, it wasn't enough, because I needed more. ... Then he says, 'Well, you know, I'll tell you what. You don't owe me any money. And if you need some more, I can give you some more. Don't worry about it. You're going to have to have a few things, this and that.' And this is how it started.” Trofimoff could pretend to himself that he wasn’t really spying - just having a chat with his stepbrother - and wasn’t really getting paid for it - just borrowing a little money.

This got longer than I intended it to be and there’s still plenty to talk about, so I’ll save the rest for a second post. Next time: what happens long-term to espionage assets? And what happens if an asset regrets their actions and/or attempts to cut off contact with their handlers?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[firewoodfigs]

another quick life update before I hop off to bed: 

work has been shit. literally that’s it. every morning I wake up and toil away endlessly at my desk for something I have zero interest in and know with absolute certitude I don’t wanna do in the future, have lunch at my desk, have dinner away from my desk with tremendous guilt and anxiety, knowing that I could get called out any time for being “slow”, continue till my eyes ache and my head hurts and my stomach churns. the clock strikes three. it’s time to sleep. i rest anxiously, knowing that i’ll have to drag myself out of the bed the next morning, and lapse into this frankly repulsive routine and waste precious time slaving away at something i abhor. these days my mind is constantly shrouded in a fog, and i find it a remarkable challenge to string anything that doesn’t sound stultifyingly legal or corporate. words no longer come to me. i hunt them feverishly, but really i’m the prey - to money, to this system that demands i must keep working to feed my family and myself. i'm bloody exhausted, man. i’m not even sure if what i’m saying makes sense, but if there’s one silver lining from all this, it’s that i’ve had the opportunity to really recalibrate what i want for myself, and this isn’t it, but this sure as hell is supplies the means of breaking out of it. whatever it is. a person, a thing, a distinction without difference, under the cruel scrutiny of capitalism. there’s also a plausible chance i’m gonna be jobless next year, and i’ve been spiralling down an endless rabbit hole of anxiety just thinking about it. jobless? in this economy? in this stifling city voted as the most expensive to live in? i’ve spent so many sleepless nights, restless, tossing and turning, feverishly counting my pennies and calculating bills and rent and debts. the bright side is that i think i’ve gotten really good at budgeting and saving over the past few months, and i think - hope - my contingency fund will be enough to tide me through whatever lies ahead. anyways, i’ve (somewhat) reached a state of zen about this whole ordeal, and if i lose my job then so be it!!! it’ll just be me, my words and my guitar (and my very supportive partner) against the world, and i’ll probably take some time off to busk around the streets of london or nyc or something. (the former is only possible because my extremely kind friend (who i suspect is also extremely wealthy) offered me to stay at his empty house in the outskirts of england so that i can write and stroll around the verdant countryside in peace. did i mention he bought a 17th century desk???)

anyhow. adulthood is awful. i miss the days of playing truant and even bickering with teachers and mean, catty girls who didn’t know better. but i’ll do my best to take this in stride, and grow through life, and make a conscientious effort to be kind -- to others, to myself. x 

[realm-sweet-realm]

If your crew could time travel once where would they go and why?

Henry: maybe a couple decades back so he can relive his own past. He has some stuff he’s nostalgic for.

Joey: Either the 17th century for the art or Ancient Greece for the philosophy. He’d be quite upset that he can only travel once- there are so many possibilities!

Sammy: Sammy strikes me as the type to have a romanticized idea of the recent past, so maybe a period a few decades before he was born. The late 1800s wouldn’t be all they’re cracked up to be.

Jack: He’d want to see a few decades into the future- maybe the sixties or seventies. I think he’d be pretty happy with how the world turns out, and might use the trip to write some slightly avant-garde music alongside Sammy.

Susie: medieval times. She probably has romanticized ideas about castles and royalty and the like. She wouldn’t be disappointed, either! It might not be exactly how she expects, but there would still be a lot of cool stuff to see.

Allison: the Victorian era. The art and fashion alone is reason enough for that. She sure wouldn’t want to live there, but it’s a nice place to visit!

Tom: The old West. It was a simpler time.

Wally: he wants to see some dinosaurs. Miraculously, he’d survive. (Or maybe it’s not so miraculous- he seems to know how not to shake the hornet’s nest when it comes to the studio).

Norman: as interested in the mechanisms of time travel as the actual travelling. Seeing the industrial revolution era would be pretty cool, though- so much was changing so quickly during that time period.

Grant: seeing the Roman Empire might be interesting, specifically the parts of it in which many cultures were merging.

Shawn: nevermind the past, he wants to see what the future looks like. He’d jump ahead a thousand years and then tell everyone what he saw. And maybe write a “fiction” book about it to confuse people in a thousand years.

Lacie: not interested. Take her back to a time before this place was inhabited so she can fuck off in nature for a day.

Bertrum: would go backwards in time a century to impress everyone with his intimate knowledge of modern technology.

[mearcatsreturns]

Okay, so you KNOW I'm now inevitably forced to ask for the actual fic prompt of Ivan trying to give his boss romantic advice, casual-like. (No need to confine yourself to 100 words. I mean what.)

I thought I could just write a thousand words of jokes, but then all these fools came and had the audacity to put feelings up in here. *Ivan voice* Disgusting.

Initially I was going to have this all as one chapter, but it was getting crazy long and I wanted to publish it tonight, so you get chapter 1 of 2, with the rest to follow in the next day or two.

Without further ado, Ivan, Interrupted:

Looking back, he should have seen the signs. The Sun Summoner is trouble and has been from day one.

He called that one, at least.

It’s not his fault. How is he supposed to recognize the stupidity of heterosexuals? He and Fedyor fell in love as young teens and haven’t parted in anger since. They look out for each other and try to spoil each other in all the small ways the other enjoys.

The General and Alina Starkov are a different story.

&&&

Ivan is there when the oprichniki drag Alina into General Kirigan’s tent in Kribirsk. She looks all for the world like the otkazat’sya he’s fought near the border of Shu Han. He can’t hold it against her, though; he knows better than anyone that appearances can deceive.

What he can hold against her is her denial. Even after twice showing that she can indeed summon sunlight, the little fool somehow believes she’s not Grisha. General Kirigan, a human amplifier and probably the most powerful Grisha on the planet, touches her and confirms it, and she still clings to her past. Ivan can’t understand why someone would want to deny something so intrinsic.

More worryingly, he sees his commander’s face as he tries to figure out the Starkov girl. It’s not a look he’s ever seen on Kirigan’s face, and it fills him with dread. The bemusement at her reply to his questioning about what she is turns to something...joyous and darkly yearning, in the General’s understated way.

People consider Ivan stoic and difficult to read, but he learned from the best, and his boss is the best.

Ivan is very discomfited to see Kirigan showing signs of experiencing emotions.

&&&

His unease only grows when Kirigan commands him and Fedyor to escort the Sun Summoner to Os Alta.

“Ivan, I need you and Fedyor to accompany Miss Starkov to the Little Palace. Make haste, and use all your formidable talents to keep harm from coming to her.”

“But the mission to West Ravka—”

“Will have to wait. Everyone in a twenty-mile radius saw her light show, and that may well include some of Ravka’s enemies. She—this—is more important than anybody knows. Keep her safe, and I’ll keep you and Fedyor off the front lines for six months.”

Ivan clears his throat.

“Yes?” Kirigan asks with a lift of his brow.

“Will you be staying, or do you need me to send word ahead that you’ll be arriving as well, sir?”

The General’s face smooths into its usual mask of power and calm. “No, I imagine I may well arrive before you all, as you’ll be taking my carriage.”

“As you say, General.”

Kirigan dismisses him, and he stomps off to find Fedyor so they can leave posthaste.

Ivan’s exasperation only grows when the Starkov tries, of all things, to stay and find some tracker friend of hers, tries to deny who she is. She even questions the General’s judgment, something not even Ivan dares to do.

(Privately, he agrees that this whole endeavor is a mistake. Alina Starkov is trouble, and he has an uncomfortable feeling that all their lives are about to change in ways no one can predict).

He hauls her into the carriage, plopping her on the seat across from the one he shares with Fedyor. Perhaps one of them ought to sit next to her to make sure she doesn’t get into any further foolishness, but Ivan’s crabby enough he wants to sit next to his husband.

Once they get out of Kribirsk and on the Vy, she settles down a bit, but she radiates nervous energy and it puts him on edge.

Fedyor, bless him, does his best to put the Sun Summoner at ease. But she’s resentful and afraid, and it irritates Ivan. He knows he should try to be understanding, but with all the fear and resentment he’s put up with from the otkazat’sya—his own family, even—he struggles to find the patience to explain why she should trust in the General and the Grisha. Nonetheless, he tries to soothe her the only way he knows how: by reminding her of the power she now holds.

Ivan’s thoughts drift to what might await them all in Os Alta, but his ruminations are interrupted by the shouts of the oprichniki warning them of a blockage in the road.

The dread he was feeling dissipates in the face of the familiar. He’s ready to fight against an ambush by Ravka’s enemies. He’s not ready to confront the existential questions Alina Starkov brings.

And fighting side-by-side with Fedyor never grows old. His blood sings, his heart pounds with the fierce excitement of a fight with his beloved at his side.

The fucking Fjerdans. Ivan hates the drüskelle for their hatred of the Grisha, and that fire burns hotter when Fedyor is hit in the leg. Fear twists in his belly as he examines Fedyor’s wound, though he claims it’s fine. Ivan, the most feared heartrender in Ravka, can’t concentrate enough to tell how many their enemies number, so he delegates it to Katya. He remembers the Summoner in the carriage, and issues a command for one of the other Grisha to protect her, but the screams fade into the background of his mind as he does his best to heal Fedyor.

Then he senses the shadows that accompany Kirigan—the reason the people mutter in fear, call him the Darkling—and the Fjerdans melt back into the wood. Shame mixes with his fear for Fedyor, and Ivan swears to himself when, after a few moments he hears the General speak to one of the Etherealki who’ve made it back to the carriage.

“Tend to the wounded. Then tell Ivan to make sure everyone gets back to Little Palace as quickly as possible and report to me. I’ll be waiting.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shit. He had one job, and she’s now riding off in the General’s arms.

Alina Starkov is definitely trouble.

&&&

They finally arrive back at the Little Palace late that night. Once everyone, the Grisha and the horses, are all seen to, Ivan makes his way to General Kirigan’s rooms. The oprichniki guarding the door nod at him and make way for him to knock. The General calls out in that even tone of his for Ivan to enter. He does so, anxiety and defiance mixing in his chest.

Nonetheless, Ivan is deferential. “Sir.”

Those dark eyes sweep over him from head to toe, and where there’s normally amusement or quiet affability, he’s unreadable as he is when meeting with the tsar and tsaritsa. “I see you’ve made it back. Are you well?”

“Yes, sir.” Ivan begins to sweat under the woollen collar of his kefta.

“And Fedyor?”

“Much better. He’s recovering.”

“Good,” the General says, pausing for a long, uncomfortable moment before continuing, “now, perhaps you could explain why you disregarded my clear, express orders to guard Alina.”

Alina, he notes. Not “Miss Starkov” or “the Sun Summoner.”

Ivan’s jaw tenses. “My apologies, moi soverennyi. Fedyor was shot while we were attempting to protect the carriage. I thought we’d be better able to protect her with both our powers.”

The Darkling—for that’s who he is at this moment—turns to face the windows. It’s black as pitch outside, but it wouldn’t surprise Ivan if Kirigan could see through the shadows of the night. “I don’t want excuses, Ivan. Had I not been nearby, Alina would have been lost, and Ravka would have lost its greatest hope in centuries.”

Ivan waits, knowing there’s little he can say.

Kirigan turns back. “See that it doesn’t happen again, or I will see to it that you and Fedyor are put on different assignments for the foreseeable future.”

Anger rises in his throat, but Ivan stomps it down. It will do him no favors to argue. The only thing he can do is go to bed, hold Fedyor close, and hope things settle soon. “Yes, General.”

&&&

The next day, a contingent of the Grisha accompany General Kirigan and Alina to the Big Palace. Ivan is used to walking by the General’s side, but Alina is there instead. With Fedyor still recovering in their rooms under the care of the healers, Ivan is alone, distant from the group. He feels a pang of melancholy so fierce it threatens to overwhelm him.

The Sun Summoner looks much better today than she had when he last saw her, and it seems Kirigan thinks so too. After he greets the King and Queen, he can hardly take his eyes off the girl, that same awed, wondering look in his eyes again.

Through the shadows his boss conjures, Ivan sees the way he looks at her, the way he leans over to whisper in his ear, the gesture nearly a caress. The Summoner lights up the darkness, and Ivan can’t take his eyes off the two of them. Alina Starkov smiles at Kirigan, and instead of the polite, unknowable smile he’d normally return to a courtier or even one of his rare mistresses, Kirigan looks back at her like she’s his every dream come true.

After the display is over, the King tries to bumble his way through negotiating over Alina’s training. And in front of the entire court and a good number of the Grisha,the General claims Alina. She will stay in the Little Palace with him, Kirigan states, his tone brooking no argument, not even from the sovereign ruler of Ravka.

Kirigan takes Alina’s hand and leads her away from the throne, and the two pause to speak in quiet tones. Ivan can’t hear them, but Alina’s eyes glow with admiration and the General is looking back at her with...warmth.

It’s not right, Ivan thinks, even as the General departs and the Grisha welcome Alina. This situation is getting more and more troublesome.

&&&

When Ivan arrives back in their room, he’s relieved to see Fedyor awake, though he’s lying in bed with a book. Fedyor sets the book on the bedside table and smiles at him, and Ivan feels some of the tension in his shoulders melt away.

“Why so grumpy, my love?”

“Not grumpy, Fedya. Worried.” He takes off his boots, middle of the day be damned, and climbs into the bed next to his husband.

Fedyor opens his arms, and Ivan goes to him, snuggling in and leaning his head against his shoulder. “About what, Vanya?”

He shrugs as best as he can while in his favorite person’s embrace. “The Sun Summoner is dangerous.”

“So are all of us Grisha, and even the otkazat’sya with training.”

“Not like that. I mean...I-I think General Kirigan has feelings.”

Fedyor had been running his hand through Ivan’s hair, but he pauses. “In general? Or for Alina?”

“For Alina. Fedyor, it was very strange. He looked warm and like he wanted to kiss her, in front of all those people. And then he held her hand.” The Darkling has had lovers, and Ivan is very aware of this, but he’s never seen him act this way around any of them.

With a huff that might be a laugh, Fedyor says, “He deserves a chance at love, too, especially after he’s been so good to us. He tried to help us when we were younger and more foolish.”

That’s true; Kirigan has been nothing but supportive of them when not everyone else has. He even tried to advise Ivan when he was sorting out his feelings for Fedya more than a decade ago. It hadn’t been good advice, but an attempt had been made, at least.

“He seems...lonely,” Fedyor continues.

Ivan nods. “There is no one like him, no one at his level, so who could stand beside him?”

“Maybe Alina.”

Fedyor seems to like the girl, but Ivan isn’t convinced. Is she strong enough to stand next to their leader who has done so much for not just the Grisha, but for Ivan and his beloved?

&&&

The next day, Ivan joins the rest of the Grisha for dinner. Kirigan is off doing something statecrafty and Ivan has the place of honor at his boss’ right hand, so he is ostensibly in charge of the gathering in the General’s absence.

Except he knows Alina was given the choice to sit in Kirigan’s seat in his absence, or to sit at his side were he here. Instead, the girl chose to sit with the other Etherealki. She’s there laughing with Marie and Nadia, indulging in this opulent meal provided for the Sun Summoner, because apparently their usual hearty peasant fare wasn’t good enough.

Resentment curdles in his stomach as he reads out the casualty list, staring down Alina the entire time. She looks stricken, but her concern seems to be more for the otkazat’sya than her fellow Grisha.

Something in him snaps. “Why are you here eating figs? Hmm? You should be training every waking moment to tear down the Fold.”

But when he sees her face, hurt and downcast, he feels a pang of regret for how he handled this.

Kirigan will not be pleased.

&&&

It turns out that Fedyor isn’t pleased either. He had accompanied the General to the dinner he’d gone to, as Fedyor is far more diplomatic than most of the senior Grisha. It’s because of that diplomacy and open friendliness that it takes him less than three hours to hear about Ivan’s outburst.

Ivan is sitting in his chair in front of the fire, doing his best to wind down after the day. Fedyor enters the room, closing the door behind him.

“How was dinner and politics?”

Fedyor scowls at him, and his heart sinks. “Don’t try to be cute and solicitous. I heard about what you did to that poor girl. Badly done, Vanya, badly done.”

“Can we go back to the part about me being cute, please?” Ivan rubs his hands over his face. He and Fedyor rarely disagree, so when they do…

“No. Alina Starkov just found out days ago she’s Grisha, and she’s been pulled away from the only life she’s known, from her friends and comrades. She’s fended off the volcra, almost been murdered by the drüskelle, and has had to get used to a new training regimen for skills she barely knew she had, to say nothing of the high stakes of her every move now.”

“She’s an orphan of Keramzin. How is this not better than anything she’s ever known?”

Fedyor stops pacing for a moment. “Ivan, that’s why we should be kind. She’s never known the love of a family beyond that of the First Army. And you know what they whisper about the Grisha. We were children when we got here, and our families sent us here out of love. It was easier for us to adjust. She’s grown up her whole life hearing the lies most of the otkazat’sya believe about us. She needs time and understanding.”

“But we don’t have that much time. Zlatan is agitating in West Ravka, Fjerda is worse than ever, and Shu Han is causing as many problems as ever. Why can’t she see that unless she is at her best and soon, Ravka is in danger? The Grisha are in danger?” Ivan is furious, but more than that, he’s exhausted.

At that, Fedyor softens. “Ah, my love. You carry a heavy burden. But she’ll have to bear an even heavier one soon,” he says, coming over and placing a warm hand on Ivan’s shoulder.

Ivan reaches up, placing his hand over Fedyor’s. “I just want her to be ready.”

“She will be.”

With a sigh, Ivan pulls Fedyor into his lap, nuzzling his neck. He’s ready to make up.

“Ivan?”

“Hmm?”

“You do realize that people also have to eat in order to be able to train, don’t you?”

&&&

He knows he should, but Ivan can’t bring himself to apologize to Alina. He does try, however, to be more understanding of the enormity of what she faces, the pressure on her to succeed. He tries to be kinder, less abrupt. But he can’t change who he is.

Fortunately, General Kirigan seems more amused than anything else at Ivan’s dinner outburst. It’s a week or so later, and Kirigan is ready to dismiss Ivan for his next couple of days off. “I would tell you to enjoy your time with Fedyor, but maybe you’ll be training instead, since that’s apparently what we all must be doing every waking moment.”

Ivan shoots him a panicked look, but calms down when he catches the amusement in the General’s eyes.

“Indeed. We will train ceaselessly and closely, moi soverennyi.” Somehow, he manages to keep a straight face.

Kirigan just snorts, and Ivan is extremely disgruntled when he mutters under his breath about needing some of that kind of training of his own.

[rikalovesrice]

My Thoughts on Trollhunters : Rise of the Titans

WARNING : ALL THE SPOILERS IN THIS REVIEW

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Mmmmm. Okay. So I just finished the movie. I’m fatigued as always so this’ll be a bit of a mess lol. Gotta spew the thoughts while they’re still fresh, y’all know how it is.

Right out the gate, I definitely want to talk about the things I loved.

The animation was, of course, phenomenal and gorgeous!

Voice acting was incredible as always

MUSIC SLAPPED

Douxie. I just loved seeing Douxie again and honestly kept my eyes trained on him for most the of movie lol

OK DOUXIE AND NARI SWITCHING?? BODIES??? Definitely didn’t see that coming and I legit started screaming lol

Nari in Douxie’s body is the most precious, chaotic, and wholesome thing like holy cow that was so adorable LOOKIT DOUXIE CROUCHING AND CRAWLING AROUND ON ALL FOURS WITH THOSE NOODLE LIMBS OF HIS I CAN’T --

We called Nari’s mind control and Douxie trying to reason with her!

In the very few scenes they were together, Douxie’s love and affection for Nari really came through. You could really feel how much he cared about her. ALSO THAT TENDER HUG AND NARI’S LITTLE HAPPY SQUEAK MY HEART NO--

Loved Barbara. Always love Barbara.

Walter and Barbara getting engaged

Nomura back in action

Claire being the powerful sorceress she’s become

Loved seeing Aja, Krel, and Varvatos all together again.

NARI VS SKRAEL WAS ALL SORTS OF EPIC AND CRUSHING EMOTIONS.

The way Douxie yelled Nari’s name and ran to her after she died and the remnants of her magic falling all around him, like she was saying goodbye, just *UGLY CRYING*

It was so cool to see Charlie out of his den and flying about like the mighty dragon he is

Loved the Guardians of Arcadia pulling Excaliber out together.

All the gang all going after Bellroc together

YES JIM MY BOOOOOOY

BLINKY DIDN’T DIE

Aarrgh I love you so much

Stuart, what a bro!

We saw a hint of mercy in Bellroc towards the end.

Toby’s death... That was a huge curveball. Jim might as well have cut my heart out with Excaliber as he sobbed over his best friend.

Uh.....um....and.....Er...what else........ .___.

..........Alright so.......It’s about to get a bit brutal from here on out as I talk about the things I didn’t like at all. And the really sad thing is, at least to me, the cons far outweigh the pros in this movie. Because I’m actually having difficulty picking out things I enjoyed, they were so few and far between...which really sucks.

So here we go.

Gosh, where to begin... I guess I’ll go ahead and say this : I’m really disappointed. 

Like as I’m here typing this, I’m just thinking, “...That was it? That was the movie?? The big finale???”

So much of this movie just felt....unnecessary. I hate to say almost like filler. The entire intro re-caping the series really wasn’t needed. And then Toby went and restated it all again when he was being interrogated. The pacing, oh my gosh...Guys, the pacing in this movie was not good. The action started and it never seemed to stop. There wasn’t a single moment of rest, of levity, of our characters just being themselves, getting to know each other, being friends outside of the battle. No Reckless Club Segment. No fun, just... I mean Claire and Aja didn’t speak to each other at all. Douxie and Toby hardly interacted. Steve was turned into a gross male pregnancy joke. Jim and Krel barely spoke. Douxie and Aja had nothing to say to each other. Even Aja and Krel didn’t have any moments together. The list goes on. The whole movie was just go, go, go. And it’s so frustrating because there was time for it but it was poorly executed.

Like was the whole break-in to the Chinese Trollmarket really necessary?? Guys, I really found myself not caring. I didn’t care to see this random side quest involving an insignificant new troll character and a Trollmarket that had little to no bearing on the plot. Did I love seeing Charlie, Archie, Blinky, and Claire? Of course! But these scenes were so pointless. So needless. They could’ve written other ways for all our heroes to go after the chronosphere (Maybe we could’ve had Zoe for crying out loud). But instead this vital artifact was the hands of a character we don’t know and don’t care about in a place that turned out to have basically nothing to do with anything.

Deaths. The deaths in this movie. Because of the pacing in this movie, there wasn’t nearly enough time for the emotional impacts to sink in. Nomura? Gone and the only ones mourning her are Aaarrgh and Douxie, who barely knew her. Walter’s death was handled better since we got to see Jim and Barbara actually having a moment to mourn him. The weight of Nari’s death was singlehandedly carried by Douxie, but even that was over before it started. The immense gravity of Toby’s death, which really got to me, was also short-lived to make way for an ending that...I don’t know. 

ALSO DOUXIE JUST??? BEING OKAY WITH HIS FAMILIAR, THE ONE WHO RAISED HIM AND WENT THROUGH SO MUCH WITH HIM FOR CENTURIES, LEAVING HIM FOREVER TO BE TRAPPED IN THAT DUMB TROLLMARKET WITH CHARLIE LIKE???

“I hope he’s happy.”

WHAT. THE. EVERLASTING. FRICK. 

Douxie’s reaction objectively doesn’t make a shred of sense. Geez, it’s almost like Douxie was expecting Archie to up and leave him someday to be with Charlegmane. Just...what???

What also frustrates me so much is how this movie undid so much characterization and development that happened in Wizards. Or more like all that development didn’t even matter.

What was the point of Steve’s arc in Wizards if he was just going to be reduced to...this?

I was so excited to see Douxie really being a Master Wizard. To see him lead the Guardians of Arcadia alongside Jim. To see him in action as Successor to Merlin and Protector of this Realm.

But no.

Douxie, who had such an incredible arc in Wizards and a character who’s come to mean so much to me in my life, was nerfed and sidelined.

And then time restarts and I can’t help but wonder why any of this mattered at all. What the heck was the freaking point of the suffering, the loss, the pain, the growth, enduring and overcoming so much, the friendships and family spanning across three shows... All gone. Starting all over. Undoing everything, except what Jim went through. As much as I love Jim, I didn’t think he’d be the only character I’d be getting closure for at the grand finale of this entire franchise. But that’s what happened and I really hate it.

Just...all in all, this movie wasn’t satisfying. Not to me. It had its good moments. But not nearly enough. The comedy was misplaced and fell flat. The climax was sorely anticlimactic and didn’t hold a candle to Eternal Knight. The writing, the direction, characterization...For some reason it was all lost and confused and none of it felt right and so much didn’t make sense.

I’m not at all upset with the writers, though, because they still pulled through and did what they could. When the movie did something right, it was beautiful. The things I loved about it I truly adored. No, I’m not upset in the least bit with any of the creative team.

I’m upset with Netflix. I’m upset that Wizards was robbed of the seasons it should’ve had. I’m upset with big cooperations stifling creators. I’m upset that this’ll be it. This is the ending we got and nothing can be done about it.

Aaron did say there’s every possibility for the franchise to continue in some capacity, and I’m hoping for that someday. Because so much, too much, has been left unanswered. So much left to be explored that couldn’t. But until then....I guess this is it. This is what we get.

Now, I want to remind everyone that this is my own personal experience with the movie. These are all my opinions. If you enjoyed every second the movie, that’s wonderful! And who knows how my thoughts will change upon another viewing. But in the meantime, Rise of the Titans really missed the mark for me. I wanted found family badassery and fluff. But nope. Just fighting and heaviness and no payoff. It’s such a letdown...a real shame. 

But yeah...Thanks to any and everyone who read to the end of this haha

I still love Tales of Arcadia. It’s a series that has blessed and inspired me so much as an artist, writer, and as a person in general. I do want to keep making ToA content for a while. Cause this movie isn’t the end. Not my ending, at least.

I’ll continue to hope for more Tales of Arcadia in the future (a Douxie spin-off series please Lord pleaaase). We shall see. Until then, fics and fanart fixing this mess galore haha

Until next time everyone! God bless!

[venusdeus]

Court of Kings - Chapter 1

Summary: Sent to a neighboring kingdom to secure an alliance, forced to give up your dreams and ambitions, disregarded as a means to an end. You however have no desire to fulfil their wishes. And neither does Oikawa.

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x female reader

Genre: Fluff, comedy, angst, royalty au, arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers au (more like enemies to allies to friends to lovers), eventual smut?

Word count: 2700+

Warnings: All the characters are adults unless specified. This chapter is sfw. Minors do not interact.

Notes: Part 1 of a long series I’m planning to write. This is my first fic in this blog so I would greatly appreciate comments, follows and feedback!

Read Prologue first <...> Chapter 2

August 5th

The first messengers arrived when you were having afternoon tea with your literature instructor in the gardens of your summer residence, as your brother was practicing his sword skills not too far. A maid sent by your mother brought you the news of their negotiation a few hours later, accompanied by some of the strawberry macarons you loved so much.  

If it were up to you, you would refuse such a ridiculous offer even before it was brought to your attention. Now that they had a male heir to the throne however, there was no use of a girl that had no claim to become the future ruler, other than being sent to create diplomatic relations now that you were over twenty summers.

“Where do you think they are from?” your brother asked as he tried to dust off his clothes, quite tired from following the orders of his practice partner all day long.

“I wouldn’t know, I didn’t see any flags with them.” you continued as he looked disappointed “But they were wearing blue, so at least we know it's not from the south.”

He nodded; his eyes wide with worry “I am glad they are not sending you there.”

“No one is sending me anywhere yet Hiro.” you answered quite annoyed, turning your head sharply to glare at the boy.

It was not his fault per see but him being recognized as the heir has left you in an awkward situation for the past twelve years. You loved your brother dearly, unlike the distant relationship you had with your parents. It was not because you had the ambition to rule the kingdom either. Of course, it was unfair as you were the firstborn, and if not for what was between your legs, you would also have been the one to inherit the crown.

Even if that was so, you simply did not find it in yourself to become a leader. You, however, did wish to be able to shape your own future. One that did not involve fulfilling the selfish wishes of others.

“It would be awfully lonely without you.” he sighed, instantly making you feel guilty for sounding a little bit too harsh.

Hiro looked incredibly small for his age, standing there with his shoulders slouched, fingers flicking, a skinny and sickly kid since the day he was born. He took after your father with his dark hair and almost pitch-black eyes, but with your mother's facial features, a contrast to your own looks that bore no resemblance to any of them, another reason for your alienation from the rest of the family.

“And it would be awfully quiet without you.” you teased “Maybe then I would be able to read in peace.”

Several footsteps coming behind you silenced you both before Hiro could retort, cutting the joyful air and replacing it with a heavy feeling.

Your mother was a beautiful woman that much was true, but in a different way to that of her kids. The Queen had extremely sharp features and her painted lips always supported a displeased frown. She acted as her title suggested, prim and proper, she fit her role perfectly.

Renowned for her charm when she was younger, she did not lose much to the ages if not for the wrinkles next to her keen eyes and the white threads on her hair. Likewise, she was as smart as she was alluring. Coming from a family that lost their wealth a long time ago even though they still supported titles, no one would even dream of her being second to the sole ruler of their beloved country. She was a success-driven woman, which made her a threat in the eyes of many in the court, thus she was not given the right to make a decision when it came to the education of the heirs she produced. Although affectionate towards her kids first, she had no say on the time she had with them, causing their family ties to weaken, and mostly spent her time with foreign ambassadors. A responsibility entrusted upon her by her husband.

“I see you received my message.” she declared not looking at you directly “We will talk more about this after our guests leave. For now, I want both of you to go to your rooms and stay there until dinner.”

You could sense the irritation in her voice. It was not for her kids, however, as you could see the dark circles under her eyes, a sign of her losing sleep for the past few days.

“Won’t we meet our guests?” Hiro questioned before you could.

“It is not needed as they are only messengers.” the Queen answered shortly before continuing her walk towards the main hall, her maids trailing behind. “I will see you two in an hour.”

Leaving your brother behind, you decided to head down towards the observatory. You knew that you would get an earful from your maids later for not changing your garments for the dinner, but your head was filled with too many questions and negative possibilities to care about dresses. It was not as if you did not know that this day would come. It even took longer than expected if all things considered. Most in your position would be engaged before they even stopped using diapers. It was a more political alliance than anything else, decided by the respective kingdoms and the advisors.

You even saw the letters that were exchanged since last year with multiple seals supporting different coat of arms. The council of your father must have declined the offers before this. Not for your sake, at least you didn’t think it was, but for not suiting their taste. It was a big deal for the princess of a country, whether being the heir or not, to marry someone as it reassured the ties you would create.

The only positive thing that happened so far was the fact that you would not be sent to the south. The Southern Kingdom was placed across the sea and was an important trade partner to your own.

It was a wealthy country for sure, but also too grim and the people too wild. Other than the traded goods it wasn’t a traveller-friendly country. They kept to themselves and even though the only thing that separated the two port kingdoms was a narrow sea, they had a vastly different culture. These differences resulted in legends and the rumors about the country becoming more and more outrageous over time.

They called their men barbaric, only interested in hunt and the art of war. Their women proclaimed witches, quite beautiful unlike the stereotype, but worshippers of a different God. All just foolish rumors said your history instructor. He was a wise man that travelled a lot when he was younger and according to him these tales were nonsense. Their folk did not originate there but immigrated over a few centuries ago. He taught you that the people of the Southern Kingdom were that of culture and arts. They just did not like intruders. His words didn’t ease your or Hiro’s heart however as you were fed these tales since you were younger.

If you could find a way to escape from this responsibility you would. Yet, since the first time you sensed what was going on you were looking for an answer, just to be disappointed every time.

The dinner was cold and tasteless even though it was made from the best ingredients one could manage to find. “The lady that makes them must hate her occupation with a passion” claimed your brother when you were dismissed “I can’t understand how mother likes it.”

Once again, the King did not join you at the table. It was always the same excuse, politics, responsibilities. But you knew better. You knew why your parents did not share a bed anymore and you could see the looks women of the court gave to your father. It was not because the King was a good-looking man, quite the opposite in fact, but power attracted people.

You were fully grown now and even when you were younger, you knew what these actions indicated. You even had the most unfortunate memory of seeing one of them, who was not much older than you, leaving your father's chamber looking quite flushed. You would have not cared if only the woman did not give you a curtsy while supporting a smirk.

Lady Winna was her real name, daughter of a lord that was close to the King, nicknamed Lady Whore by you. And most of the time, she was the reason your father would skip the meals altogether only to receive a feast in his room later that night. Which was why you knew that you should never hope for a love match. If lucky you could maybe be friends with your future partner.

“She does not hate her job, she hates her life” you replied “Not that it would matter, she will leave soon. I heard she was pregnant with a lord’s child. A married one on top of that.”

Hiro gasped “What if someone were to hear you talking about these rumors” he exclaimed hitting your arm quite forcefully “you could be punished.”

“Don’t act as if you never say such stuff you little bridge troll. I know how you talk behind your instructors.” you mused rubbing the pain off. “And who will punish a princess I ask you? If not for mother or father?”

“Do I need to know what I should punish you for?”

Both you and Hiro jumped at the unexpected voice of the Queen, a gasp leaving your mouths. She was holding a box in her hand and her face was supporting a rare, serene expression.

“Nothing of importance.” replied Hiro quickly “We were just afraid of falling behind our studies.”

The Queen did not seem convinced as her eyes narrowed, but she had a small genuine smile on. “I see. Why don’t you go on ahead and start your nightly studies then? I need to talk to your sister privately in the meantime.”

Hiro let out a snort that he tried to cover with a cough. You are in trouble he mouthed before bowing to your mother and disappearing through the corridor.

“I would like you to know I was just repeating what the ladies in the court were saying. Not that I believe the rumors of course, it is quite indecent.” you tried to explain quickly but the Queen cut you with a shake of her head.

“That is not why I wanted to talk to you dear. It is however quite incident for a lady to talk that way you are right.” she sighed “Why don’t we talk in my study?”

You knew what was coming now, after all you could not remember the last time you had a conversation with your mother alone, the relaxed expression on her face, however, gave you hope. Maybe, you thought, they decided it was not time yet. Or maybe they did not like the offers that came through.

“Close the door, will you?” she asked walking towards the desk that stood before the bookshelves that covered the walls.

“Where are your attendants?” you questioned as you followed her inside “Is there something wrong?”

“I thought you would be more comfortable if it were just the two of us that’s all. I need to show you something.” She answered motioning towards the box she was holding. “It came this morning. For you of course. Go on, open it.”

The box itself was made from heavy oak, painted black with a family crest carved on top of it. The symbol looked familiar enough, but you could not concentrate enough to remember where you knew it from over the heavy beating of your heart. Opening it cautiously you took a sharp breath between your teeth, observing the contents.

Inside stood a tiara that was made from white gems shaped in intricate designs that you have not encountered before and in the middle stood an icy blue diamond so big that you could have sworn it must have cost the yearly earnings of a whole country.

“Not a ring.” You stated matter of factly “A very bold choice for a gift.”

“Indeed. But you cannot expect less from Seijoh.” Your mother replied with a cautious voice, almost as if she was calculating your reaction.

“Seijoh…” the box cluttered on the table as you let go of it abruptly “You are sending me up north? We waged war against them for years! Even before my grandfather! And now you are sending me there?”

You knew the country itself was wealthy enough and that it had a strong military presence. They had many allies within the countries that bordered yours as well.  But they also claimed right on your countries throne by sighting territorial dispute as well as a marriage between the two countries that produced no heir.

Now they were sending you there as a scapegoat. To secure his claim to the throne. And maybe even to theirs. An eye for an eye.

It took another week for your father to send a response and invite the Crown Prince and the King of Seijoh for a short visit before the decision was finalized and another two for them to arrive on the outskirts of your kingdom with their entourage behind.

As you sat in your suite biting your nails and waiting for their arrival, your maids were going in and out with different dresses in their hands looking for your approval. You on the other hand did not have the mental energy to entertain their ideas. It was bad enough that you had to attend a ball given in their honor that very evening, but you also had to be in the throne room soon enough to welcome them into the castle. Not to mention this would be the first time that you were to meet your possible future husband.

You heard of him before of course. How could you not when his reputation preceded him? A very cunning and ambitious young man, yet it was his looks that brought the most gossip. You heard his name whispered among the staff when they did not know you were listening and heard the ladies giggle when they mentioned the time that they spent in their court, with him.

It was enough to leave a sour taste in your mouth. Was it too much to ask that your future partner was a man of intelligence and few words? At least you would know that you could get along with him then. But a sharp and striking Casanova? They had to be jesting. That was the only possible explanation for this mockery.

As if your fathers’ ridiculous behaviors wasn’t enough now you had to entertain another man like him. It was pretty common for monarchs to take on other lovers, but you would not be embarrassed by a man you did not know in your own house, husband or not.

When you finally entered the throne room you could hear the commotion outside caused by non-other than the infamous man that was plaguing your thoughts for the past week. Your mother motioned you to hurry and take your place with a sudden turn of her chin just before the doors opened.

The rumors did not do him justice you thought as he strutted towards you and your family, your breath caught in your throat.

Oikawa Tooru was without a doubt the most beautiful man you ever laid eyes on.

He was beautiful alright.

And with his charming eyes staring straight at your own and his delicate hands placed on his sword, he looked ready to murder.

It might look like a filler episode, but I needed to give background and I love to build anticipation. Sorry not sorry? Reblogs are appreciated! And also this was not edited I posted it right after writing it so if you see any mistake let me know.

Disclaimer:  No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without permission. I do not own the character of Oikawa Tooru. This is a work of fiction.

TAG LIST: Let me know if you want me to tag you.

@triskoof​ @sassyglassesbunny​ @m-a-r-i-a-s-b-l-o-g

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 58

Masterlist

----

The war is over.

Future history books will mark the day the Black Land surrendered as the official end of the war, although in reality, it was only a day after that that the last Loyalist country signed its surrender.

If not for what happened to the Black Land, historians will eventually write, it might have lasted for weeks, maybe months, longer. But as it was, no country wanted to share the Black Land’s fate, and so they surrendered rather than risk their land being turned to ashes. Throughout the centuries to come, historians will never manage to agree on whether that justified Miryam’s actions or not, although in these initial days, the wide-spread opinion throughout the Alliance is that the end of the war is worth any price. And in the human-and-Seraphim camp in the Black Land, everyone certainly agrees on that.

Stranded in a hostile country, there is little room for celebration, but still, a relieved, almost exuberant atmosphere hangs over the entire camp. The shared sense of victory does wonders to bridge some of the gaps between humans and Seraphim, so while they still keep separate camps, the two groups now mingle far more often, both during the marches and sitting around campfires afterwards.

Of course, some tensions remain, but Drakon is still amazed by how well things work out. This, he thinks, is what the future might be like with a bit of work. Humans and Fae, living side by side in peace and mutual respect. It will take years yet to get there – decades, maybe centuries – but they stand a chance.

In spite of all the horror behind them and the long road that is still in front of them, Drakon feels lighter than he has in years. Miryam seems happier as well. Occasionally, her face darkens when they pass barren fields or scorched villages, but she also smiles more than she has in years.

On the fifth day of their march east, towards the sea and the safety that lies beyond, Nephelle lands next to Drakon where he is walking near the front of the column.

“They’re making plans for bonfires now,” she says by way of greeting and grins. “I would personally say we had enough of fire for a while, but they seem to think that a good victory party requires at least one giant bonfire.”

“As long as they don’t get the idea to burn down the forests for celebration, I’m all for it,” Drakon says, grinning back at her.

Two days ago, his soldiers got the idea that they absolutely need to hold a celebration once they get back to Erithia. Celebrate the end of the war, victory and peace and the future that’s ahead of them. Planning has been underfoot ever since.

Some of the ideas they come up with are a bit extreme – for example, he had to categorically refuse the idea of shooting fireworks over the border to Rask – but he is happy that they are having fun, and even more happy that many of them are making a conscious effort to include the humans into their planning. From what he’s seen so far, most of the humans are as hesitant of the idea of a celebration as they are of anything that has to do with Fae (which is more than understandable, given what Miryam told him about what parties in the Black Land tended to mean for the human slaves), but some seem excited about the idea and are even tentatively joining the planning.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Nephelle says. “It’s been a while since we last had a celebration.”

Drakon nods. “I think everyone needed some happiness.”

“True,” Nephelle says. She ruffles her wings, shily glances down at her feet. “Talking about happiness: There was something I’ve been meaning to tell you about.” She looks around, checking that no one is close enough to listen. Slowly, a grin breaks out on her face. “Sinna and I are thinking of getting married.”

Drakon stares at her for a moment. Then, he throws his arms around her and spontaneously wraps her into a hug, grinning broadly. “That’s amazing, Nephelle! Congratulations.”

She grins and steps from one foot to the other. “We haven’t really decided on anything yet,” she says. “But, well. We talked. And I thought I’d tell you first because… well, because I wanted to thank you.”

“What for?” Drakon asks. He can’t remember doing anything that would warrant thanks.

“You suggested I become a cartographer,” Nephelle says, as if that is obvious. When Drakon still doesn’t reply, she sighs. “It was good for me. Personally.” She shrugs. “Because, well, I thought that this – “ She shifts her left wing. “ – somehow made me less worthy. That because I couldn’t fly as well as the others and would never be a soldier, I wasn’t as good as the other Seraphim and the thing between Sinna and me… well, that it would never work out in the end because of that.”

Not knowing what to say, Drakon simply nods. He remembers all too well how insecure Nephelle was about these things before the war. He also noticed that this seemed to change over the years of the war, but it never seemed fitting to ask what had prompted that change.

“Working as a cartographer helped,” Nephelle says. “It showed me that… well, that how well my wings work doesn’t dictate my worth as a person. It made me more secure, about my relationship with Sinna, yes, but more importantly in myself.”

Drakon smiles at her. “I’m so happy for you,” he says. The words aren’t really enough to convey what he is feeling, but Nephelle seems to understand anyways.

They have a small celebration in their tent that night, just Nephelle, Sinna, Miryam and him. Stuck in enemy territory, they don’t have access to any good food and can’t risk drinking alcohol, but well, they can make up for that once they are back in Erithia.

After just over a week on the march, they are finally approaching the ocean. Erithia only has a small fleet, not nearly enough to carry all humans at once, but they won’t need to go far. They will only need to sail through the passage between the Black Land and Seyhin and a bit further inland until they reach Erithia, and having the ships sail back and forth to get everyone across won’t take more than a few hours.

The closer they get to their destination, the better the mood gets. Everyone is excited to get out of the Black Land. The Seraphim are happy to return home to their families, while the humans are looking forward to finally leaving this place they hated and being able to build a home for themselves elsewhere or meet other humans.

Drakon is at the front of the group again, Miryam walking next to him this time. She is smiling and her steps are lighter, like she can’t wait to get out of here either. They have been discussing the developments in the camp for and hour, and Miryam is just beginning to tell him about Niria, one of the people the humans chose as their representants.

“She’s brilliant at logistics,” she says as they are climbing up another dune. “Her owner worked in a trading charter, and she picked up on a lot on how these things will work. She’s great, really. And she’s wonderful with the other humans as well. When they get their own country, I think – “

She breaks off mid-sentence, staring ahead. Drakon, who had been looking at her and not ahead, turns to follow her line of sight.

Below them, the ocean stretches out, waves lapping on a wide beach. Here, the ships should be waiting for them.

Only there are no ships. At least no functioning ones. Instead, the entire beach is littered with burned-out shipwrecks. Charred masts poke into the air like broken fingers. Surrounding the ships, Drakon can make out corpses lying in the sand.

Distantly, Drakon notices that more people are coming up next to them and stopping dead on top of the dune as well. He is still trying to make sense of what he is seeing. This isn’t possible – these ships… The Black Land didn’t have any soldiers in the region, couldn’t have winnowed them in, either. They knew where the Black Land’s soldiers were stationed, they checked that before he sent out orders to send these ships. They were careful. So how could this happen?

Cauldron, the people… The soldiers who were with these ships, they…

Behind him, people begin to mutter, news of what happened spreading through the column like a wave. Then, Sinna’s voice rises out over the general noise, ordering the soldiers into defensive positions. That snaps Drakon back into reality as well. Of course. If there were soldiers here who burned these ships, they might well still be here and setting a trap for them.

Miryam is still staring at the burned ships, like they are the only thing that exists for her.

Scouts are sent out. Sinna and a few other Seraphim go to check the beach for traps. Twenty minutes later, they come back with the result that the beach is trap-free. Having established that it is safe, they let the humans go down to the beach. Sinna orders a few of the soldiers to collect the dead soldiers, a few of the humans volunteering to help.

Miryam finally seems to snap out of her shock and joins Drakon in making rounds with the humans, trying to reassure them. She still seems unusually distracted, though. When she talks to the humans, she sounds nowhere near as confident as usual and between conversations, she keeps stopping to stare at the burned ships.

When they have a moment alone, Drakon puts a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find another way across the sea,” he says, keeping his voice low. “It might take a day or so, but we’ll be able to arrange for other ships.”

That will not bring the soldiers who were burned along with these ships back to life, though. Drakon still doesn’t understand how this could happen.

Miryam nods distractedly and looks over at the ships again. She’s frowning slightly, almost like she is looking at an equation that doesn’t quite make sense to her. Before Drakon can probe any further, though, Sinna steps up to them.

“We need to talk,” she says. “Now. In private.”

Her tone leaves no room for discussion. Miryam and Drakon exchange a look and follow her without question. She leads them a few feet away from the group, then waves a hand, putting up a ward around them.

“The scouts are back,” she says. Pauses. “We’ve got an army incoming, half an hour away. It’s the entirety of the Black Land’s remaining forces, led by Ravenia.”

For a moment that seems to drag on for eternity, all Drakon can do is stare at her. He heard Sinna, but he can’t quite wrap his mind around what she is saying. This is completely and utterly impossible. The Black Land’s army dissolved, and with its leadership imprisoned in Telique, it shouldn’t have been able to reassemble. But of course, Ravenia was meant to be imprisoned in Telique as well, awaiting her execution. How did she get free?

“This isn’t possible,” he whispers. Next to him, Miryam seems to have frozen entirely.

“I don’t know how it happened either and right now, it hardly matters,” Sinna says. “No matter how this happened, they are only half an hour away, they have more than twice our numbers and we are stuck here with no way across the ocean.”

“What can we do?” Miryam asks, abruptly turning to Sinna.

Sinna shrugs. For the first time, she seems completely at a loss. “The numbers stand against us,” she says. “I might be able to turn this around under different circumstances, but not with thousands of civilians to protect.

Miryam starts trembling. “We need to do something,�� she snaps. Her voice quivers. It’s the first time Drakon has seen her lose control like this in a meeting, and it scares him almost as much . “We… I…” She shakes her head, pointing vaguely. “We can’t fight this many soldiers. Ravenia’s army is more than thrice the size of ours! They will break through, and everyone will die.”

“And what do you want us to do?” Sinna asks, voice hard. She keeps control of her expression, but Drakon can tell that she’s panicking as well from the set of her mouth, the look in her eyes. “Those ships were vital! There are miles of ocean between us and safety and without ships, we have no way to get across.”

Drakon digs his fingers into his tunic, staring over at the offending ocean. It is calm today, what use is it when it’s too far for the humans to swim through? Him and the other Seraphim could easily fly, of course, but the humans lack the necessary wings.

“Can your soldiers fly them across instead?” Miryam asks.

No, flying won’t work. There are too many humans and too few Seraphim for that. No, they need some way that will allow the humans to get across on their own. But how?

“Won’t work,” Sinna says, echoing Drakon’s thoughts. “Carrying people while flying is difficult, and for this to work, each soldier would need to make dozens of flights.”

Drakon stares at the ocean, wishing he could make it disappear by thought alone. If only they had water powers. Then, they could just make the ocean part for them, creating a passage for them to walk through.

“What if we part the ocean?” He asks, making both Sinna and Miryam turn to stare at him.

“Yes, sure,” Sinna mutters drily. “Let me just ask the water to disappear real quick.”

“I meant with our powers” Drakon says. “We’ve got wind powers. It won’t be ideal, but if we’ve got enough people working together, we could drive the water apart, create a passage for the humans to flee through.”

“And drown when the water comes down,” Sinna cuts in, shaking her head. “Besides, we would have to hold back Ravenia’s army while the humans run and keep the water at bay long enough for everyone to get through. This is impossible.”

“It’s our best chance,” Miryam says. “Unless you’ve got any other ideas for getting across the ocean, because I certainly don’t.”

Sinna evidently doesn’t have any ideas either, and with only half an hour until Ravenia’s army gets here and likely kills anyone in sight. “I guess there are worse ways to die,” she says drily and jumps into motion to get things organized.

----

Somehow, Miryam manages to calm herself enough to explain the situation to the other humans. They take the news calmly – most of them probably more calmly than Miryam herself. Some start crying quietly, but they don’t dissolve into a panic.

Miryam stumbles a bit over her words when she tries to explain the plan, something that never happens to her. It all seems so surreal. The Seraphim will use their magic to part the water for us. Once they do, you need to get through as quickly as possible. Please form an orderly column now, once the passage is open, you won’t have much time.

Crazy as the request is, they accept it and follow Miryam’s directions calmly. She is proud, so very proud of how well they are doing. They don’t deserve this new horror. By all rights, they should be safe, happily on their way towards freedom.

This shouldn’t be happening.

Once she is sure that everything is working out, she hands control over to Niria and the other human leaders. She actually wanted to talk to Sinna or Drakon again, do something useful, but she just ends up staring at the burned ships again. The ships that shouldn’t have been burned. It doesn’t make sense.

One of the Seraphim commanders rushes by, and Miryam waves him over to her. He stops only hesitantly, clearly unhappy about the introduction, and bows to her.

“We had intel on where the Black Land soldiers were stationed up until two days ago, right?” She asks. “And they were all stationed in Lako or west from there?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And to get here, they would have had to be travelling at full speed, right? Meaning it wouldn’t have been possible for them to send any soldiers ahead.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Not as far as I know.”

Miryam nods. “Thank you,” she says, and the soldier rushes on.

She goes back to staring at the ships. They kept it secret. Told hardly anyone about how they were planning to get out of the Black Land. Ravenia shouldn’t have found out about it.

Ravenia shouldn’t have been able to escape from Telique.

And even if both of these things somehow happened, Ravenia could never have gotten her soldiers here in time to burn the ships before their arrival if, travelling at full speed from Lako, her soldiers will only arrive in thirty minutes. Besides, even if they had managed, they would have stayed behind to lay a trap for them instead of winnowing back to join the rest of the army. It simply doesn’t make sense.

And that means…

It means it couldn’t have been Ravenia who burned these ships. But burned they were, and by someone with fire powers. Those are rare, though. Only the Black Land and Rask have them with the Loyalists, and Rask surrendered already. They would have had no reason to go along with Ravenia’s revenge plans and risk the good conditions they managed to secure for themselves.

Besides, Rask wouldn’t have had a way of getting Ravenia out of Telique.

Someone from the Alliance, then. It must have been, it’s the only explanation that makes sense. Only a member of the Alliance would have known about where the ships would be and would also have had a way to help Ravenia escape.

Someone from the Alliance would have been able to get troops here, burn the ships and vanish before they arrived, trapping them here for Ravenia to finish her off. And only someone from the Alliance would have had a reason for vanishing instead of staying to lay a trap.

This isn’t an unfortunate coincidence, or sheer bad luck. It’s an assassination attempt.

Miryam feels strangely detached from the entire situation. It’s like she is watching it from the outside, carefully analysing the patterns and coming to the only logical conclusion. Like this doesn’t concern her at all.

Fire powers, that means either Sangravah or the Autumn Court. Zeku wouldn’t… He broke off their alliance, yes, but he wouldn’t try to kill her, would he? No, that wouldn’t make any sense. And Autumn wouldn’t act alone. But of course, if there is anyone behind this, it must be Shey. Him and those who work with him.

It makes a horrifying amount of sense. Shey has been hoping to get rid of her for a while, maybe tried it once already when he sent her to Kehne. But he can’t get his own hands dirty, so instead, he set this trap. Maybe got Beron, who always hated her, to help. Maybe even had more of the Fae countries on his side, who knows. Once she is dead, he will likely be the next one to lead the Continent. And if it is Ravenia who kills her, no one will ever question it or think to blame him.

He dragged hundreds of thousands of people into it. Drakon and his soldiers, who she asked to help her in this, thousands of them. And the nearly five hundred thousand humans she freed.

None of them have anything to do with this. And yet, they might all die, just because one arrogant, self-centred asshole wants to kill her over a threat that is all in his head.

All these people. So many people.

“Miryam.”

She flinches so hard she nearly jumps into the air.

“Sorry.” Drakon steps up next to her. “I just… Well, I saw you standing there, and I thought since everything is settled, we should maybe use the chance to talk. Since, you know…”

Since it might be their last chance. Since they might both drown in the ocean, or be killed by the approaching army.

In fact, it’s more likely that Drakon will die. He will be on the battlefield, she won’t be. She hardly even has any magic left, and without it, she won’t be any use at all on the battlefield. All she can do is run, how could she? This is happening because of her. Any death that happens will be, in a way, on her. She cannot run while other people die for her.

And anyways, what point is there to running, when Shey and the others will just try to kill her again until they succeed, possibly dragging even more innocents into it? What chance does she even have?

“I should stay,” she says. She turns towards the ocean, imagining the passage that will soon form in there. “You can use all the help you can get down there. I should stay and help instead of running away.”

“Your power still isn’t back,” Drakon says. “And you’re a trained healer, not a soldier. You can help, but not on a battlefield.”

He is reasonable – she knows he is. She never even wanted to learn to use a sword, and now, she suddenly wants to fight in battle? If anything, she will probably be more of a danger to the people around her than to the enemy, untrained as she is.

But she cannot run. She cannot. How can she leave Drakon, leave his soldiers to fight and die down there while she runs?

Drakon is frowning at her. “Alright, Miryam,” he says gently. “What is this really about? Because you and I both know that all you will accomplish by fighting in that battle is to get yourself killed.”

Miryam slowly shakes her head. “I just –“ Her voice breaks, leaving her unable to finish the sentence. Suddenly, tears are running down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Hey,” Drakon whispers, wrapping his arms around her. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. “Hey, Miryam. It’s alright. We’re going to get through this.”

This just makes her cry harder. How she wishes this was true.

“No,” she whispers. She presses her face into his shoulder and clings on to him like they will be able to disappear if she only holds on tight enough. “No, you don’t understand. This wasn’t Ravenia. It was all Shey and…” She breaks off again. She isn’t making any sense, but maybe Drakon still understands because he tenses.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“The Alliance did this,” Miryam whispers. “Shey and I don’t know how many others. They burned the ships, they let Ravenia out, they… All because of me. All these people will die because of me and I can’t…” She shakes her head. “I can’t run while you all stay here and die.”

Drakon is silent for a while. He doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t question her judgement, merely stands there, absentmindedly rubbing her back.

“But you getting yourself killed won’t change anything, will it?” He finally asks.

Miryam shakes her head. “But I will die either way, don’t you see?” She asks. “I don’t even stand a chance, Shey will just – “

Drakon lets go of her and steps back so he can look her in the eye. Gently takes her by the shoulders. “We’ll find a way to deal with that,” he says. “We will. But we can’t do that if you die today. Please. Please don’t do this, don’t just throw your life away like this and let them win without putting up a fight.”

Miryam swallows. Wipes her tears away. It is so easy, so very easy to believe Drakon when she says she stands a chance. After all, she wants to believe him so badly.

“Alright,” she says, voice thick, and reaches for his hands. “Then I will be at the end of the column.”

Drakon nods. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” Miryam whispers, trying not to think about the fact that this might be goodbye. She doesn’t dare to say anything else, doesn’t want to provoke fate by giving goodbyes. Maybe if she pretends that this is just a normal battle, everything will be fine. Maybe if she only acts like she isn’t worried at all, Drakon will get out of this alive. So she merely squeezes his hands and whispers, “I’ll see you on the other side.”

----

Five minutes later, Drakon has his soldiers assembled on the shore, mere feet away from the ocean. On his signal, they all raise their hands and send a current of wind shooting towards the ocean.

The water doesn’t part easily. The ocean is an ancient, wild thing, and unused to being forced to yield parts of his territory to the air. It fights them every step of the way, tons of water straining against being pushed to the side by the air.

Drakon is shaking with the effort of it, almost thinks he can feel the physical weight of the ocean pressing down on him. Foot by foot, they fight their way forward, until the water is forced to give up, until a path is beginning to form through the ocean.

The passage extends only halfway through the ocean when Miryam signals to the first of the humans to get into it. They hesitate, staring at the walls of water looming up before them, but only briefly. Then, they start moving.

In the end, they barely finish in time. The passage is just finished, the last of the humans (Miryam among them) having stepped into it, when the vanguard of Ravenia’s army appears in the distance. Magic quivering in his grip, Drakon draws his sword and shouts an order to his soldiers to take up position in front of the passage’s entrance.

Looking at the army that is racing towards them, he knows they will never be able to hold it. If they manage to last a few minutes before being forced into a retreat battle, it will be a minor miracle. But for the sake of the humans fleeing behind them, they will have to try.

----

Miryam walks at the end of the long line of humans that is fleeing through the narrow channel Drakon’s soldiers created. Run, that was the order the humans were given, but truth is that they cannot run. Well, many of them can, but there are the old, the injured and the children and no matter how hard they may try, they cannot keep pace. They cannot run, and so those who could don’t, either. Instead, they adjust their pace to that of the slower ones, helping them along instead of rushing ahead.

Miryam herself carries a little girl, four or five years old, on her shoulders. The mother is walking next to her, heavily pregnant. Walking this far at all must be exhausting for her, but she doesn’t complain. Neither does the little girl, for all that she must be terrified. She doesn’t make a noise at all, merely clings on to Miryam’s shoulders and stares, wide-eyed, at the ocean surrounding them.

In the Black Land, even children this small know to stay silent, to be compliant, no matter how scared they may be.

Miryam knows little about children and less about how to put them at ease. With an adult, she would know what to say to calm them, but here, she is at a loss. After a few minutes, the girl begins to play around with her hair. Mortified, the mother chides her, but Miryam waves her off, and so the girl begins to weave tiny braids into her hair.

They move too slowly by far. From what Miryam can see from the back of the line, not a single human has reached the shore yet. She doesn’t know how long the Seraphim will be able to keep the ocean up, and once it comes down, everyone still on the ocean floor will die. Miryam resists the urge to look over her shoulder to see what is happening in the battle that must surely be raging by now. She can’t hear the noise of battle over the roaring wind that is rushing through the passage, but she could already see the Black Land’s army when she stepped into the passage. They must be here by now. She so badly wants to see what is happening there, how the battle is going, but she needs to seem calm. If she shows her fear, the entire group might dissolve into a panic.

Oh, how she hates that she is running. This is only happening because of her – thrice over. They are here because of her, it is her Ravenia is after and the Alliance Fae only initiated this to get to her. Yet she is running while Drakon and his soldiers are risking their lives.

They keep walking. It must have been half an hour by now, yet the opposite shore is still so very far away. Miryam dares a look over her shoulder, but she can’t make out any specifics of what is happening in the battle.

She should have insisted on staying. Even if she would have been of little use in battle, anything would be better than running away, not knowing what is happening or who might be dying. She is the one the Alliance is trying to kill, the one Ravenia will be after.

She promised Drakon, though. She could have insisted on staying and he wouldn’t have been able to stop her, but she didn’t and now, she cannot break her promise.

She bounces the little girl who is sitting on her shoulders around a bit and makes a point to praise and thank her for the beautiful braids. The mother offers her a tired smile, and Miryam smiles back and hands her her waterskin.

After another few minutes, a young man comes up to her and offers to carry the girl for a while. Miryam accepts gratefully – her shoulders are beginning to ache – and lets the girl climb from her back to his.

The girl’s weight has just left her shoulders when a movement in the strings attracts her attention. Something is happening there, something other than the Seraphim magic that is thick in the entire passage. Miryam recognizes the pattern; someone is winnowing into the passage. She turns around to the soldiers that are following their group as a last line of defence and opens her mouth to warn them, but before she so much as gets a word out, a group of soldiers winnows to the end of their group.

Black Land soldiers. Hundreds of them, far, far more than the few Seraphim soldiers that were left to protect them.

For a moment, the world seems to stand still as Seraphim and humans alike stare at the enemies that just winnowed into their midst. Then, the Black Land soldiers attack.

Within moments, the back of the group descends into complete chaos. There are too few Seraphim soldiers here to hold off the enemies and they quickly break through. The formerly orderly retreat falls apart the moment the first soldiers appear. The humans aren’t armed – their only chance is to run, which they do. Crammed as they are in the narrow passage, though, there is no way for them to escape their Fae pursuers, much as the people in the back may be trying to push forward.

Miryam is completely helpless. She doesn’t have a weapon save for a small dagger, and even if she had one, she wouldn’t be able to use it. And her power, drained as it is, will be of little use, either. Her abilities are made for ranged attacks, not for the thick of battle and she doesn’t have enough reserves left to chase off this many soldiers.

Suddenly, there are three Seraphim next to her. One of them pushes her back from the approaching enemies, the other following behind, weapons drawn. As soon as they are a few feet away, the one who tried to push her reaches for her like he wants to pick her up and fly her out.

“What are you doing?” She snaps, pushing his arms away. “There are people dying! I can take care of myself, go help them!”

They exchange a look, then do as she says, disappearing back into the battle. Miryam loses sight of them within moments. Around her, the other humans are still pushing to get away from the fighting, and Miryam gets dragged along, unable to fight the pull of the crowd.

Screams. The clang of weapons. Somewhere next to her, a Fae soldier breaks through the group, his sword coming down on a human man. Miryam tries to move over to help, but there’s no getting through the crowd, and it’s too late anyways. A moment later, they are out of sight.

Miryam is still looking over her shoulder when she suddenly gets pushed against something in front of her. One of the jagged rocks poking out of the ocean floor is rising up in front of her, and Miryam has to quickly grab for it to keep from being pushed to the ground. She clings on to it to avoid the crowd sweeping her along further.

Now, finally, she can breathe again. Distantly, she realizes her arms are trembling. Looks like her lack of battle training is showing. She is completely out of her depth in this situation, has never been in the thick of battle like this.

Grabbing onto the rock above her, Miryam pulls herself up a few inches until she can look out over the battle. From up here, it looks even worse. The entire battlefield has dissolved into chaos, no clear lines to be seen. If not for the Seraphim’s white wings shining in the light, Miryam wouldn’t have been able to make out who is on which side at all.

Closest to Miryam, things look the worst (or maybe that’s just because she is closer to the carnage here). While further ahead, the Seraphim are still trying to hold off the majority of the Black Land soldiers, here, the ones who made it through are killing their way through the fleeing humans. Miryam looks around, eyes jumping from one horror to the other, until her eyes settle on one figure.

There, surrounded by a group of Black Land soldiers in gold-adorned armour, is Ravenia.

Miryam freezes against her rock, staring at the Queen of the Black Land. Ravenia is wearing an ornate armour, a spear at her side. It’s the first time Miryam has ever seen her in armed.

She didn’t expect Ravenia here, thought she would send her soldiers ahead while staying safe on the shore as she usually does. But the Queen must have decided to come herself, witness her revenge first-hand. Maybe she even came here, to the back of the human group, in hopes of finding Miryam. That sort of petty revenge would be just like her.

If Miryam was smart, she would run. Ravenia hasn’t seen her yet, and surrounded by the other humans, she might get away unnoticed. With her power so drained, she can never hope to best Ravenia and her soldiers in battle, and there are too few Seraphim here to hold them back. She should run now, while she still can.

But around her, her people are being killed, and Miryam cannot go while they are in danger. She can’t leave them to face the enemy alone, or allow any more of them to die so close to freedom.

She looks around, scanning the battlefield for anything she could use for a spell. She doesn’t have enough power left to be able to make any meaningful contribution out of her own reserves, she’ll have to use what is there. Stuck in the middle of the ocean as she is, “what is there” boils down to lots of water and wind magic, both locked in battle, the ocean continuously trying to reclaim the passage, the wind pushing it back.

Messing around with that fragile dynamic while standing in the middle of said passage seems like a bad idea. Unfortunately, Miryam doesn’t have any good ideas at her disposal right now.

With a whispered order, she reaches out towards the magic and tugs a few of the tiny strings moving through the air in her direction. They move unwillingly, not designed to do anything but what the magic-users commanding them want.

The effect is immediate. A wave of water breaks out of the left wall of water and goes crashing down into the bulk of Ravenia’s soldiers. It doesn’t hit, shields going up to intercept it before it reaches the Black Land soldiers. Water hits fire and evaporates on impact, turning into steam. Tons of water crash into the shields, and within a moment, the air is thick with steam, making it impossible to see more than a few feet in the distance.

Miryam lets the wind magic snap back into place, forcing the remaining water back behind the walls of magic but taking care to keep enough control that the wind doesn’t blow the mist away immediately. On the ocean floor, mist is now hanging so thickly it is difficult to see more than shapes. Miryam can make out auras, the movements of magic and the strings on top of that, but for everyone else, fighting has just become a whole lot more difficult.

This, at least, should give the other humans some cover to get away. But the Fae will still be able to give chase and with their better sight and hearing, they will have it easier in the mist.

Miryam hesitates, torn. The mist is not enough to protect her people – as long as she doesn’t find a way to chase the soldiers off, nothing will be able to do that. Yet she is quickly running out of both options and magic, and any moment she lingers increases the risk of getting caught. She needs to think of something, and quickly.

No matter how hard she tries, she cannot come up with a functional way to attack and defeat this many soldiers, not with the state her power is in. But maybe making them believe she can kill them would already be enough to chase them off. After what she did to her country, they are probably already scared of her – she just needs to play that to her advantage.

Still clinging on to the rock, fingers turning stiff with cold, she begins whispering, making up the spell as she goes along. It doesn’t need to be efficient, after all, just flashy.

Around her, the mist seems to solidify in some places. Slowly, shapes form. They are blurry, impossible to make out clearly, but they vaguely resemble great beasts. On Miryam’s command, they go shooting towards the Black Land Fae, seemingly at full run, maws opening as if to swallow them whole.

This causes quite some panic. Miryam can see some of the Fae turning and running, seemingly without thought of their magic. Others regain enough of their senses to set up wards. With a muttered order, Miryam sends those wards shattering.

The strain of it makes her double over, she nearly falls off her rock. Alright. She won’t be able to do that again any time soon, this much is sure. Even the mist spell is already beginning to slip her grasp, some of the mist beasts collapsing in on themselves.

Most of the Black Land Fae don’t seem to notice, though. They are already panicking, maybe thinking of water turning to blood and fire raining from the sky and wondering how they could ever be stupid enough to mess with someone capable of a curse like this. Some winnow out right away. Others merely turn and run, stumbling around in the mist, shying away from the remaining mist beasts. Only a few remain, but they seem unsure as well – or maybe they are simply blinded by the mist, confused further by the shades moving through it. Some humans and Seraphim are there as well, but they seem to be using the cover to get out of here and make for the shore.

Miryam slides off the rock and leans her back against it, panting. A thin trickly of blood is running down her nose and she slowly wipes it away, watching the auras of the Black Land soldiers disappear in the distance.

She can leave now, she thinks. She has done all she can, given her people all the advantages she could. But the world is spinning around her and without the stone at her back, she doesn’t think she would even be able to keep upright.. She closes her eyes, trying to focus on her breathing. Come on, she tells herself, you’ve been through worse. Just get to the shore first, then you get to relax all you want.

Slowly, the pain shooting through her begins to recede. Miryam takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. She straightens and pushes herself off the stone, turning around – and comes face to face with Ravenia.

The Queen of the Black Land is standing only a few feet away. There is blood matted across her brow and she has a wild look in her eyes. In her right hand, she still holds her spear, although its tip is now dark with blood.

For the longest moment, they simply stare at each other. The ocean around them seems to disappear, the shouts and the noise of the wind fade into the background. It’s like they are alone on the battlefield. Just the two of them, and the weight of all the history between them.

Miryam stares at Ravenia, seeing years of suffering and pain, thousands of dead, a childhood destroyed and a life shattered. She sees everything wrong with this world, everything she was fighting against, everything she defeated. (She likes to think that when Ravenia looks at her, what she sees is the change she was unable to stop. The end of her era, the beginning of a world she will never have a place in.)

Maybe it was always going to end like this. The two of them, facing each other on the final battlefield of the war. No other players around anymore, just the two of them in one final confrontation. But what Ravenia doesn’t see, doesn’t want to believe, is that Miryam has already won. Her people made it out, she won the war. Ravenia is already destroyed, and all she can hope to gain from this is petty revenge – and even that won’t be her own but Shey’s, reducing her, at the very end, to a mere instrument in someone else’s game.

Miryam has already won. And Ravenia can only lose, no matter what she does.

They both jump into motion simultaneously. Miryam twists her fingers, making a dark blue string appear. Without her noticing, it wraps itself around Ravenia’s ankles, binding her in place.

Ravenia throws her spear.

Miryam can see it flying towards her, too fast for her to dodge, but in the first moment, she still thinks it missed. There is no pain, only the sensation of being pushed backwards a bit. She stumbles and slowly looks down. The spear’s shaft is poking out of her chest.

Slowly, Miryam looks back up at Ravenia. The Queen is watching her, eyes turning triumphant as her gaze settles on the spear poking out of Miryam’s chest. Then, the wind blows a wave of mist between them, obscuring Ravenia from view.

Only then does the pain hit. Miryam gasps, stumbling another step. She reaches out and her hand finds solid rock. She leans against it, still gasping for air. The pain is different from any she has ever felt before. Duller, somehow, but linked to the terrible, wrong sensation that there is something in her body that shouldn’t be there and it’s killing her.

Another gust of wind blows the mist away, and there is Ravenia, still standing in the same spot as before. Miryam’s palms are quickly turning sweaty and her breath grows shallow. Pain races through her chest, but she refuses to collapse before Ravenia.

“So you’re playing assassin for the Alliance now,” she says, meeting Ravenia’s eyes. Her voice is tight, but at least somewhat calm. “I would have thought this was below you.”

“Big words,” Ravenia replies. “But all I can see is that you’ve lost. You’re as good as dead, and you have lost.”

Miryam shakes her head. Against all reason, a laugh escapes her, immediately followed by a stab of pain, hotter than any before, making her gasp.

“You understand nothing,” she whispers. “All this, just for a bit of pointless revenge?”

It’s pathetic, really. She never knew Ravenia was this pathetic. Just an arrogant, cruel woman, clinging on to power with both hands. Needing to turn to revenge when all else fails because she is unable to face the reality that she lost.

“All this,” Ravenia hisses, “to make you pay. To see you lose.”

Miryam leans harder against the stone. She is beginning to tremble, and her legs threaten to give out from under her, but she still smiles at Ravenia. “But I haven’t lost,” she says. “Don’t you understand? My people are free, your country in ashes, and slavery is over. I still win.”

She can see the fury flash over Ravenia’s face, making her dark eyes flash.

“I’ve killed you,” she snaps.

“Try to winnow out, then,” Miryam replies. “You’ll find that I’ve killed you as surely as you’ve killed me.”

She can see the string she bound Ravenia with strain as she tries to winnow. Tries and fails, the ward string dragging her back before she even fully vanishes. Leaning against her stone, Miryam watches Ravenia’s expression change. Smug satisfaction gives way to confusion, then to panic, eyes widening and calm shattering as clearly clearly realizes what it means for her to be trapped her along with everyone else.

Soon enough, the water will come down again. And when it does, Ravenia will drown along with everyone else

“I win,” Miryam repeats.

Ravenia doesn’t even seem to hear her. In a desperate attempt to rage against the truth Miryam revealed, she tries to winnow again. When it fails, she spins around, an animal in a cage looking for a way out. Her eyes are wide with panic as she seems to realize that there is none.

Miryam smiles bitterly, trying to cling on to the feeling of triumph the sight summons no matter how shallow it may be. Ravenia looks back at her once more before turning to run after her soldiers, and Miryam hopes that is the sight she will think of before she drowns – Miryam standing there, smiling at her defeat.

As soon as she is gone, though, the feeling of triumph fades. Miryam allows herself to slide to the ground, leaning her back against the stone. Her face twists in pain and she lets out a sob. Trembling fingers find the hilt of her spear, but Miryam doesn’t quite dare touch it. Gasping for breath, she stares down at the spear poking out of her chest.

She suffered her fair share of injuries already and is well-accustomed to pain. But this… this feels different. It’s like her body is somehow aware that this injury is fatal, that the bit of wood poking out of her chest is about to kill her, and sending her into a panic accordingly.

Against her will, her mind begins to race through ways to still save herself, even though she knows that it’s hopeless. If it was someone else with the same injury, she might be able to save them – emphasis on the might, though – but not on herself. She cannot move enough to patch up the bleeding, and by now, her fingers are cold and shaking, which is not a good sign. And if she were to pull out the spear, she would pass out within seconds. Besides, even if she was able to stop the bleeding, what good would it do? Instead of bleeding out, she would simply drown.

Miryam wraps her fingers around the spear’s handle. Maybe she should pull it out. She will die anyways. Why bleed out slowly over minutes, or drown when the ocean comes crashing down around her? It would be faster that way.

Her fingers tighten around the handle, but for all she tries, she cannot bring herself to pull it out. So much for being prepared to die. Her grip loosens and she sobs.

She closes her eyes, trying to ignore her racing heart. (Really, you’d think that it would have the sense to beat more slowly. Doesn’t her body realize that this is just making her bleed out more quickly?)

Desperately, she tries to calm herself. There’s no need for her to panic – what happened cannot be changed now, and anyways, does she really get to complain? She got everything she wanted. (Well, except for a chance to live, but if her biggest goal had been to grow old, she really shouldn’t have started this war.) Her people are free and safe, every last one of them. The war is won, slavery abolished, Ravenia defeated and soon dead.

There will be peace. And the sad truth is that her death was the requirement for peace to be possible from the beginning. Shey and the other Fae would never accept any other outcome. As long as she lives, they will keep trying to kill her, and maybe drag other people into it as well. Really, her dying in this battle is the ideal outcome.

She always knew she was ready to die for this. Then why can’t she just take it calmly now?

Maybe she would be able to accept it if it wasn’t so unnecessary, so unfair. For all that she tries to tell herself that she is dying so that the other humans could get away, that isn’t entirely true. They wouldn’t even be here if not for the Alliance Fae and their stupid, irrational paranoia.

It’s unfair and it’s cruel and Miryam doesn’t want to die. Not here, not like this. Not all alone in the middle of the ocean, bleeding out slowly with no one she cares about there to hold her hand as she dies. Leaving Drakon behind to probably wonder for the rest of his life if she went against his back and did this on purpose.

She doesn’t want to die at all, if she is being honest. That’s why she can’t bring herself to pull out the spear. She so very badly wants to live, to see everything she fought for become reality. But she won’t get to, just like Jurian didn’t get to, and it isn’t fucking fair.

----

Nephelle always hated watching battles. When she was younger, after she had first gotten together with Sinna, it was unbearable. Watching her partner go out to battle while she was left behind, useless, unable to participate always felt terrible. Looking back, this, more than anything else, was what initially made her want to join the army. She didn’t want to be left behind, wanted to be by Sinna’s side and prove to her that she could keep up.

It took the war for her to get over that feeling and realize that just because Sinna is a soldier, it doesn’t mean she has to be one as well to be worth something or equal to her. During the last battles, it was easier to stay behind, but this time, knowing how bad their odds are, it’s a nightmare again.

Nephelle ended up in the middle of the human column, together with a few of the other cartographers. A few feet into the passage, she found an elderly man with a stiff left leg and has been helping him along since. With him leaning on her shoulder, she kept walking, all the while trying desperately to keep her eyes trained on the faraway shore instead of looking back towards the battle and imagining the people she loves dying while she is running.

Nephelle is three-fourths through when a commotion happens at the end of the group. People begin to push, forcing those at the front to move faster as well. Nephelle tries to turn around, to see what is happening, but she gets pushed along in the general chaos. She only barely manages to keep a hold of the man she was helping and now has to support a good proportion of his weight. She doesn’t think anyone who is close to her knows what is going on, only that apparently something happened and they need to get away.

It’s a miracle, of perhaps proof of how much the humans care for each other, that things do not spiral into a full-fledged panic. Even in their fear, the humans still watch out for each other. No one gets trampled underfoot or left behind.

After several minutes of running, pushing, tripping, Nephelle gets swept onto the beach. Most people keep moving further inland, like they need to get away as far as possible from the ocean to be safe, but Nephelle now pushes her way towards the edge of the group. She deposits the man she was helping in the sand by the side of the ocean, pausing to ask if he is alright (his is) or needs any further help (no, thank you, he can get by on his own now). Then, she circles back towards the water. By the side of the passage, she stops, standing up on her toes to look out over the people who are still pouring out of the passage.

It takes a while for her to spot a familiar face, a Seraphim soldier who works as a captain under Sinna. He must have been at the back of the group, tasked to protect them should things go wrong, if he is already back at the shore.

“Likian!” She shouts as loudly as she can. (Which is very loud. Sinna once showed her how to make her voice loud enough to be heard over the battlefield.) “Likian, over here!”

Likian looks around, spots Nephelle and pushes his way through the crowd over to her, people making way far more easily for him than they did for her. He has a cut at his brow, and a second one along the side of his wing.

“What’s going on back there?” Nephelle asks. Have you seen Sinna?

Likian shakes his head. “It’s a mess,” he pants. “Complete chaos. Ravenia’s soldiers are everywhere. She had some of them winnow in, and they attacked the back of the column. We only barely made it out.”

Nephelle’s stomach twists. Miryam was at the end of the column. She looks around, trying to find her, but in the chaos, it is nearly impossible to make out individual people. Still, shouldn’t Miryam be easy to spot? If she was here, surely she would be trying to get some sort of order into that chaos, calm people down, anything like that.

“What about Miryam?” She asks. “Have you seen her?”

Likian shakes his head. “Some of the humans were asking after her as well,” he says. “I haven’t seen her, though. But everything was so chaotic, I wouldn’t put too much stock in that.”

“But she should be here already, shouldn’t she?” Nephelle presses.

There are fewer people streaming out of the passage now, and still, no sign of Miryam. Of course, she might still be at the very back, trying to help the slowest of the humans. Still, Nephelle should be able to spot her from here, and she can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

“You need to go back,” Nephelle says, turning to Likian.  “Take some other soldiers with you, too, to help you search.”

Likian backs away a step, like she has suddenly grown fangs. “I’m not going back in there,” he says. “The ocean will be coming down any moment. Do I look like I want to drown?”

“Someone needs to go looking for her!” Nephelle snaps, voice growing loud. A few of the nearby humans turn to stare at her.

“Why? She either made it out alive along with the rest, or she’s dead. Either way, me getting myself killed won’t help her.”

Nephelle takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. “I think,” she says softly, voice biting, “that you are a coward.”

Usually, calling men cowards gets them to do whatever you want them to. But Likian must be truly terrified of going back into the ocean, because he barely reacts at all.

“And I think that being General Sinna’s partner does not make you a general yourself, so you don’t get to give me orders,” he says, not quite sharp yet but certainly not pleasant either. “We came here,” he continues, each word pointed, “because Princess Miryam asked us to. I fought in Rahine, and I fought on that damned ocean floor so that the mortals would be able to escape, and I never once complained. I did it gladly. But I’ve got a family at home, and I will not throw my life away here for the off-chance to safe one person, even if she is our Princess.”

Nephelle resents the fact that she can’t even hate him for it, with this reasoning. In his situation, she might even choose the same way. But Miryam isn’t just her Princess, she’s her friend, and Nephelle will never simply leave a friend behind to die. She looks around, but Drakon and Sinna, who would listen to her, are likely still at battle and she can’t make out any other familiar faces. She could go looking for other soldiers, see if she finds one who is willing to take the risk, but that would take too long.

“Fine,” she says, turning away from Likian and stretching her wings, the left one aching with the movement. “Then I’ll go.”

Before she so much as makes it one step, Likian is next to her, grabbing her by the arm. “Come on, Nephelle, don’t be stupid,” he says. “For all you know, she might be here already, perfectly fine. In this chaos, who would notice? No use throwing your life away like this.”

Nephelle shakes his arm off. “If you don’t want to go, fine. But don’t you dare try to stop me.”

She flares her wings, ignoring the pain shooting through the muscles in the left one, and takes off. Below her, there are still humans hurrying for the shore. Some of them shoot Nephelle looks as they pass, likely wondering why she is flying in the opposite direction, but none of them call out to her. And for all that she looks, Nephelle can’t make out Miryam anywhere among them.

She stays close to the ocean floor, low enough that she won’t miss anyone who might be injured down there. Down here, she needs to circle around jagged rocks poking out of the ocean floor, but she doesn’t dare to fly higher for fear of passing Miryam without noticing. By now, there are no humans running below her anymore, only the bare ocean floor. On either side of her, the ocean is raging, walls of water reaching far into the sky and straining against the barriers that are pushing them back.

It is cold down here, far colder than on the shore, and the wind that’s keeping the water at bay makes flying more difficult. Within minutes, the muscles in Nephelle’s wings begin to cramp up, pain shooting through her wings and down her back. Around her, there is only the endless ocean.

Maybe this was a mistake. For all she knows, Miryam may be at the shore already, safe with the others. And Sinna will be at the shore soon, too. Nephelle wanted to be there to welcome her. What if Sinna is back before her and notices she is missing? She will be worried sick. Nephelle doesn’t want her to worry – she knows all too well what it is like to know a loved one in danger – and she certainly doesn’t want to die out here and leave Sinna behind.

She looks back at the shore over her shoulder. It is so far away now. She’s the only living creature around by now, but below on the floor, she can make out the first corpses and in the distance, she can see the battle raging. Now, she’s already gotten this far. Turning around without checking for Miryam would be stupidity.

She dives lower still, scanning the motionless bodies on the ground. Humans. Seraphim. Black Land Fae. Nephelle takes care not to look at any of the faces for too long. Just check if she spots Miryam and move on. She doesn’t want to know if she knows any of the dead lying there, all she cares about is if there’s anyone down there that can still be saved.

All she finds are corpses, though. She glances back to the safety of the shore, so far away now. She is getting closer and closer to the battle and if she goes any further, she will risk getting caught in the outskirts of the fighting. She really should turn around. Likian was right. Miryam isn’t here, or if she is, chances are she is dead. All Nephelle will accomplish is getting herself killed.

Wings dragging with the weight of failure, Nephelle turns to the right, flying a wide circle around one of the bigger rocks poking out of the ground. She just makes to fly higher when she notices the figure leaning against it.

“Miryam!” Nephelle lets herself drop to the ground, feet away from her.

Miryam opens her eyes just as her feet touch the wet sand. “Nephelle?” She asks. Her voice sounds rough.

Nephelle’s eyes wander from her face to her chest, where her clothes are soaked red with blood. A jagged bit of wood is poking out of her chest, the broken end of some spear or arrow.

Nephelle’s stomach turns and she has to bite back a gasp. She spent long enough with the army to know a potentially deadly injury when she sees one. Instinctively, she takes a step forward, raising her hands to do something, but she is no healer. She does not have the necessary skills to heal an injury like this, and if she tries, chances are she will only make things worse.

Miryam pushes herself upright, hissing in pain. “Why are you here?” She asks. “I thought…” She gasps slightly, briefly closing her eyes. “I thought you escaped with the others.

“I…” Nephelle clears her throat, forcefully tearing her eyes away from the spear poking out of Miryam’s chest. “I was looking for you.”

She takes a deep breath, shaking off her shock. All she needs to do is get Miryam back to the shore. They have healers there. They can get the very best healers, and she will be fine.

“You should go,” Miryam says.

“Yeah, we should both go.” Nephelle looks around, searching for anyone to help and finding nothing but corpses. Alone, she can’t carry Miryam. “Come on,” she says, offering her hands. “Get up. We need to get you to the shore.”

Miryam shakes her head. Her entire body is trembling slightly and her face seems bloodless. “I can’t.”

“Well, you need to,” Nephelle says, glancing over towards the battlefield. What if enemy soldiers find them here like this? “They’ll let the ocean come down soon enough, and I don’t want to be here when it happens.”

She offers Miryam a hand again, but she just shakes her head. “You should leave me. Go save yourself while you still can.” She stares down at her blood-stained chest. “Just… tell Drakon that I didn’t mean for this to happen. And my people… he needs to keep them save, he…” She shakes her head, clearly struggling to focus. “He promised me… tell him to remember what he promised.”

“You tell him yourself.”

“Nephelle, this is a fatal injury,” Miryam says. She likely meant to sound firm, but her voice is trembling as hard as she is. “There’s nothing you can do.”

Like hell. “I flew all that way here to find you,” Nephelle says. “If you think I’m going to turn around and leave you to die now, you ought to think again. So we can die here together or we can try to get to the shore.”

This time when Nephelle holds out a hand to help Miryam up, she takes it although Nephelle still basically has to drag her to her feet and then wrap an arm around her waist to keep her upright. Miryam’s face is tight and she looks so pale that Nephelle fears she might pass out any moment. Her tunic seems to turn an even deeper shade of red.

“We’ll take it slow,” Nephelle says, trying to fight her rising panic. She looks over at the shore. It’s only a few miles, but with Miryam, it might as well be fifty. “It isn’t that far,” she lies and starts walking, carrying Miryam along more than anything else.

----

The battle is pure chaos. There are no clear lines, no formations or strategies, nothing. It is everything Drakon hates about battles, only increased tenfold. He doesn’t know how long it has been going on, only that they have been pushed back far already, that the ground is littered with the dead and dying and that he is beginning to shake with the effort to keep his power controlled.

Around him, his soldiers don’t seem to fare much better. Many of them are panting, sweat running down their temples, as they desperately try to keep both the water and the enemies at bay. Flapping his wings a few times, Drakon propels himself a few feet into the air, trying to get an overview of the battlefield.

The fighting is so chaotic that he cannot make out much, but from up here, he sees that they have been pushed back until close to the middle of the passage already and are currently being swarmed completely. Not much longer and the Black Land soldiers will break through entirely, and they cannot allow that.

When he looks to the other side, he sees that most of the humans have already made it to the shore. A few are still in the passage, but they will make it to the shore within the next few moments.

They cannot wait any longer. They need to retreat now or risk losing everything.

Drakon whistles once, sharply, the signal quickly picked up by his captains and commanders. One by one, the Seraphim begin to disengage from the battle and shoot into the air.

At the far end of the passage, the ocean starts crashing down.

----

They’ve only made it twenty feet and Miryam looks like she might collapse any moment when they hear a roaring sound behind them. Nephelle turns around, pulling Miryam along with her, just in time to see the ocean at the far end of the passage come down. The noise is deafening, spray glinting white in the sunlight.

For a moment, Nephelle is frozen in fear. Mesmerized, she watches tons of water come crashing down to the ocean floor with all the force of a tornado.

Then, the fear settles in like a punch to the gut. The ocean is crashing down, they are miles from shore and in minutes at most, the place where they are currently standing will be hundreds of feet under water.

She can fly out. Miryam can’t, though. She can’t even walk.

“Go,” Miryam says, voice barely more than a whisper. “Please.”

Nephelle shakes her head. The only way out is flying. Another Seraphim might stand a chance of carrying Miryam – Sinna occasionally carries her into the air – but Nephelle certainly can’t. And yet, flying is their only chance.

Looking up, she can see Seraphim rising into the air from the battlefield. For a brief moment, Nephelle hopes that one of them might spot them down here and come to help, but they fly high above the ocean and seem to have eyes for nothing but the distant shore. Sinna is with them, that much is sure. When she gets to the shore, she will notice Nephelle isn’t there and she will be worried sick. Just like Drakon will worry about Miryam.

She should at least give it a try. Nephelle tries to readjust her grip on Miryam, making her gasp in pain.

“I’ll try to fly us out,” she says. “It’s the only way we’ll be fast enough.”

“Nephelle, please,” Miryam whispers, but doesn’t say anything else. Nephelle very purposefully does not contemplate how badly she must be doing if she isn’t arguing harder.

She needs to get them out of here. And the only way to do that is to fly them both out. She flares her wings, flapping them twice, thrice, and then takes to the air.

She only barely manages to not fall right back to the ground. Pain shoots through her left wing, muscles cramping as it nearly gives in under her, and she wobbles under Miryam’s weight. Desperately, she flaps her wings, but no matter how hard she tries, she can’t get them more than two feet into the air. Getting them high enough that they are out of the water’s path like this is about as likely as Miryam suddenly growing wings and flying on her own.

“You’re heavier than you look,” Nephelle gasps, mostly to distract herself from the pain.

Miryam doesn’t reply and Nephelle’s heart clenches. Her hands are already slick with blood.

“Alright,” she gasps, flapping her wings in spite of the pain shooting through her body. “It’s only two miles.” Two miles over the ocean floor, with jagged rocks barring her way and tons of water only waiting to come crashing down on them. “I can fly us two miles.”

After that, Nephelle doesn’t say anything else, all her strength going into keeping them in the air. Her breath is soon coming in ragged gasps, her wings are burning, but somehow, she keeps herself and Miryam flying. It’s all she can focus on, one wingbeat after the other. Don’t crash into the jagged rocks standing everywhere. Sometimes, they stand close enough together that the tips of Nephelle’s wings brush the stone.

Behind her, the water is still roaring as it reclaims its territory. Nephelle doesn’t dare to look back to see how close to them the approaching death is already. Miryam is limp in her arms.

All she can do is keep flying towards the distant shore, praying that she will be fast enough.

----

Come on, Miryam begs herself. Just a little longer. You just need to hold on for a little bit.

When Nephelle took off, she tried to cling onto her as well as she could, to make herself as light as possible. Now, all she can do anymore is fight against unconsciousness – and she is in the process of losing even that fight.

She is so cold. If she had any strength left, she would probably be shaking, but as it is, she can’t even lift her head to see how far away the shore is. The edge of her vision is swimming, darkness closing in. She can’t feel her fingers anymore.

The small part of her brain that is still able to function rationally tells her that she is fighting a losing battle, that she is already dying and nothing she does will keep death at bay.

Still, though, she fights it. The shore must be so close now, so very close. She could make it, she could…

Her thoughts are beginning to fracture, desperately, she tries to focus.

She just needs to hold on until they get to shore. Then, they… Her people are there. Drakon… He promised… She doesn’t remember what it was he promised, only that it was important. She can make it, she… Not like this, she doesn’t want…

She is so cold. But it barely hurts anymore. Without the pain, it is easier. She’ll will just close her eyes, only for a moment, and then…

----

Drakon’s knees give out from under him as he lands on the shore and he lets himself drop to the ground. He is trembling, his stomach twisting and turning as his power desperately tries to give out. He refuses to let it, though. He doesn’t know if there are people still out in the ocean, people who will die if they just let the ocean crash down too quickly.

For the first time, he probably comes close to understanding what Miryam feels like after using her power. It is not pleasant at all.

Around him, other Seraphim soldiers drop to the ground as well. To his left, one of them throws up. Another presses her fingers against her temples.

Drakon manages to keep the struggle with his power going for another minute or so before being forced to give up. For a few moments, he merely sits on the ground, gasping for air, trying to control his racing heart.

They made it. They actually made it. He stares up at the sky, not quite able to believe that they got out of this alive.

“Drakon!” Sinna calls.

Drakon tries to sit up, nearly falling over again as the world starts to spin around him. Slowly, he looks up at Sinna who is standing in front of him, swaying slightly. Her nose is bleeding and there is panic in her eyes.

“Nephelle is gone,” she says.

“What?” Drakon’s head clears a little, worry taking over, and he slowly pushes himself up to his feet. Nephelle can’t be gone. She was in the middle of the human column, and most of the humans made it to shore by now. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Gone! One of my soldiers told me. And Miryam is apparently unaccounted for as well. They say Nephelle was looking for her.”

“What?” Drakon manages to fight his way to his feet, dread settling in his stomach.

Miryam can’t be unaccounted for. She had guards with her, and she was safe with the other humans. They all made it out alive as far as he knows. Miryam should have been with them. She has to be with them. Chances are she’s just somewhere in this chaos and he simply hasn’t seen her yet. And Nephelle wouldn’t have flown back into the passage on her own. Would she?

“But there isn’t anyone in that passage anymore?” He asks. “Right?”

Sinna doesn’t answer. She is already striding back towards the coastline, humans and Seraphim alike parting to make space for her. Drakon hurries after her, still a little unsteady on his feet.

The passage they made through the ocean is already more than halfway collapsed, more water coming down by the second. The roaring can be heard even from here, drops of water are hanging in the air like crystals, light painting rainbows into the air. A few Seraphim are still flying in the air above the ocean, but at the first glance, the passage itself seems deserted.

Next to him, Sinna breathes in sharply, taking half a step forward as if she’s about to jump into the passage. A moment later, Drakon spots the lone Seraphim flying through the collapsing passage as well. She is flying low, so low her feet can be no more than a foot above the ground, and although Drakon is too far away for him to make out any details, she is clearly carrying another person in her arms.

Nephelle. And Miryam.

Drakon’s heart misses a beat, terror surging through him and chasing away any lingering dizziness. He flares his wings, ready to take off, but Sinna grabs him by the arm before he can actually do so.

“Don’t,” she says, her voice tight with barely-concealed emotion. “Your magic is completely drained – you won’t be able to fly.”

“But we need to do something!”

Nephelle is still a bit ahead of the water that’s rushing back into the passage, but it is catching up quickly. She doesn’t seem to be able to fly any higher, barely seems to be keeping to the air, and she keeps having to circle around the rocks that poke out of the ocean floor. And Miryam… He prays she is unharmed, that Nephelle is only carrying her because she can’t fly and not for some other reason.

He looks around, trying to spot a soldier who is still able to fly. But all Seraphim he sees seem to be in a worse state than he is.

Sinna didn’t even bother to look around. She just keeps her eyes fixed on Nephelle, like she is scared she will disappear the moment she looks away.

“She’ll make it,” she whispers, fingers clenching at her side. “I know she will.”

----

Nephelle can barely keep herself in the air anymore. The pain in her wings is growing by the second. Whenever she thinks it won’t get any worse, it does, and by now, the muscles in her shoulders and back are beginning to cramp up.

In her arms, Miryam is entirely limp. In the beginning, she was still trying to help, to hold on to Nephelle on her own, but now, she hasn’t moved in a while. Nephelle wants to try talking to her, to somehow make sure that she’s still alive, but she can’t spare the breath. She can only pray that Miryam is only unconscious, not…

Just a little longer, she thinks, unsure if she is begging Miryam or herself. You just need to hold on for a little longer, then it will all be fine.

Slowly, painfully, she lifts her had to look up at the shore. It still seems so far away, but it is closer than the last time she looked. And she can make out figures standing by the beach.

She wonders if Sinna is standing there, watching her. The thought makes her tired wings flap faster again. She will get back to Sinna. She will. And then, they are going to get married. In spring, maybe. A spring wedding would be wonderful.

She is sure Sinna is there, watching. Drakon as well, probably. She will get back, and get Miryam back as well. Then, everything will be fine. The war is over and they will go home and never have to fight another battle again.

So Nephelle keeps flying, even as her wings ache and she wants nothing more than to let herself fall to the ground. She doesn’t have the strength left to look back at the ocean that is still chasing her, or forward to the awaiting beach, but she can hear the roaring water getting closer.

She keeps flying. One wingbeat after the other. Until eventually, the wet sand under her gets replaced by the soft, white sand of the beach. Wings giving out under her, she only barely manages to land on her feet and gently deposit Miryam in the sand before collapsing next to her.

Black dots are dancing before her eyes, and for a few moments, all she can do is gasp for air. Her wings cramp up hard and she sobs.

“Nephelle!” Sinna crashes down to her knees next to her, reaching out to cup her face with her hands. “Cauldron, Nephelle. Are you alright?”

Nephelle nods, still gasping, trying and failing to get to her feet. “Miryam…” She manages. Is she alive? She wants to ask. Next to her, she can hear Drakon calling for a healer.

Sinna still understands. Within a heartbeat, she is on her feet and stands next to Drakon who is kneeling next to Miryam. Nephelle doubles over in pain just as Sinna reaches for Miryam, maybe trying to take the pulse or do some first aid. She looks up again just in time to see Sinna slowly shaking her head.

----

A/N (a long one this time): This is the one chapter out of the entire story that was most closely dictated by canon, and I cannot say it made things pleasant. As some of you may know, I am keeping this fic canon compliant mostly as a challenge to myself (as I do not like canon and it is also full of plotholes). This chapter... made it difficult.

For one, having Miryam get killed at this stage, and by Ravenia no less, was not a choice I would have made for multiple reasons. I tried very hard to make it make sense thematically, ease the (what I found to be) absolutely terrible feeling of her getting killed by her former owner of all people and generally make it fit in with Miryam WINNING in the grand scheme of things. I hope I succeeded.

That aside, I had to make a few exceptions on my rule to stick to what canon dictates (if with a few twists) because some of the details canon offered made no sense, and others were part of a narrative that (to me) felt somewhat ableist in its implications and that I refused to include in my writing. (I’m referring to both Nephelle’s disability basically disappearing and her somehow being able to fly completely perfectly and without any issues (adrenaline will make lots of things possible, but that is too much) as well as that entire business with her (in canon unnamed) lover asking her to marry her directly after, which felt like it was some sort of “reward” for her being able to do something her disability normally made impossible.) In general, there is a lot wrong with that entire sequence in canon, and I tried to ease/change what I could.I hope you liked how I chose to handle it.

Finally, once again, a huge thanks to @croissantcitysucks. Without his help, I don’t think I would have been able to get through writing this chapter, and a few of the ideas to fix things (or meta stuff) were their ideas. (Seriously, thank you so much, Lyn. You are absolutely amazing <3)

Tags: @femtopulsed @aileywrites

[enha-woodzies]

➸ CHAPTER 8 | " AFIRE LOVE "

starring: enhypen ft. i-land daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, romance, angst, slowburn, 18th century setting

word count: 3.8k

warning: very mild swearing; brief arguments

taglist: @serendipitysung (betareader) @angeljungwon @en-sun @affectionaterainoflove @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix @gyeraniee @fluffi @stxrryemxlys @jungwon-luv-bot @lost-lepord-beanie @hyunsunge

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a/n: this has been the longest chapter in the series so far and i'm loving it. grateful for taylor swift's songs that helped me through this chapter also,, please listen to exile as it ideally expresses the ruination between jungwon and y/n (and also an addition to the burning feels,, ㅋㅋ)

~

Daniel paid a visit to the Royal Garden to fetch his brother, Jungwon, a few Catalpa flowers that were freshly scattered on the royal lawn. In hopes that his brother could still mend the book’s soul by giving a home to the fallen blossoms, Daniel obliged to help when he saw Jungwon’s crestfallen state the moment he got home from Kielder Forest the other day.

The tall, plump gent hums a tune, oblivious enough to the presence of the pair that were roaming around the garden prior to his arrival. He peeks through the side as he noted the familiar voice, gently tiptoeing through the crisp, dried leaves and twigs sprawled along the ground. He soon realizes it was the marquess and the young miss, sharing careful whispers that made him eager enough to eavesdrop.

He could hear everything but dare not open his eyes. Daniel knew he must keep still while he waited for the perfect opportunity to run back to their manor, bearing the newfound knowledge he grasped.

If it was Sunoo, he wouldn't have second thoughts. Though Daniel's ordeal prevented him the first time, he soon remembered how menacing Sunghoon was and grew concerned for the young miss’ innocence, all the while hiding among the shrubs for a determined snoop.

“So long as Jungwon keeps his emotions repressed, this ruse shall continue on.”

Daniel’s eyes widened in horror upon hearing the young miss’ affirmation to Sunghoon’s statement.

Without wasting any more of his time, he cautiously bore the silence until he reached the Park’s manor to apprise Niki of such mischief.

“Niki! Niki! Niki”

“What?!”

“Y/n’s made a deal with the devil himself.”

START OF YANG JUNGWON's POV

I sat and observed you reading with your head bowed. The world was quiet and peaceful that night, and your small hand was wrapped around my finger. Your touch brought forth an omnipresent coolness, sending electric tingles throughout my body. My longing for you fitted perfectly in the palm of your freezing hand. We quietly sat there, your head on my shoulder, in a perpetual moment of tender affection; beautiful and serene. The silence was wonderful, and it was utterly a whole different level of ecstasy.

We were ten, and you were starting to doze off.

I was awake and I watched you breathing with your eyes closed and parted lips. You held my Austen book closer to your chest where it can feel your thumping heartbeat. Your newly untied braids were all over your face. Wavy locks everywhere. I gently stroke them away from your cheeks that were of rosy hue due to the chilly night’s air. And because you were dreaming, your little eyelids fluttered. I noticed that. So I tucked you inside our self-made fort, and positioned us in front of your favorite night light— the moon. I sat and observed you, taking note of everything you did and did not do.

Do you recall how we were sitting by the lake that morning? It was the first time I draped my arm around your shoulders. The golden sun reflected on your tinted cheeks just perfectly, gradually seeing them come to a blush. I don’t know if it was a color of a burn from the summer heat, or just simply out of shyness from the flirtatious gesture and dialogues we had shared over time.

That was something I'll never forget. And because it's all I've ever known, I prepared myself for the anticipated goodbye. You caught me off guard, "I'll never depart from you," you said.

We were ten, and I was foolish enough to take those brief moments for granted.

Three years flew by right before our very eyes and the parting of ways came upon us. You begged me not to leave because If I do, you’d curse me for the rest of our lives. But what am I to do? It was university, it was my future… our future, if not dubiously relevant. I may have only been thirteen at the time, but I was certain of you.

But I didn’t listen. I never did.

I left.

And it was then that I realized, my future wasn’t there. It was sitting among the grassy lawn, reading poesies and verses to each other under the incandescent glow of the sunny daze. It was sharing silly whispers and passing secret notes of flatteries, tucking Catalpa flowers behind your ears, or making a beautiful crown out of it for the beautiful princess that’s been hopelessly sitting right under my nose this whole time.

I said, “I won’t ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay.” But you did ask me. And I was never ready, so I watched you go. Selfish as I was then, I knew you’d come back to me.

So there I was, sitting in my new room in the dormitory in a big city. I remember I couldn’t sleep the first night. All I did was toss and turn; sheets were shuffling on and on for hours. Like a typical little boy who was taken away from his family. Homesickness as they call it. But I guess mine was sickness for an undeclared love left hanging like our sheer fort on the hopeless branch of the Catalpa tree.

It was colder than I thought it would be. I kept recalling myself leaving. You gave me a yearning look, your gaze bore into my eyes, I swore I heard my heart break into little shards. But the deafening echoes couldn’t be compared to the shattering of yours, and all I ever gave you was goodbye.

I bet you were still up sitting on your chair by the window overlooking the majestic moon, wondering about me. So I tried the hardest to tuck myself in and face the window where your favorite night light was. I kept whispering empty wishes. I wished that I could run back to you.

Many days I thought of writing you letters. It took everything in me not to, as a string was tugging me back, telling me that the little notes I tucked in between the pages of the Austen book that I lent you could suffice for my five-year-long absence. The said string being the educational pressures that were gradually sucking the memories I had left of us.

I hope you know that every time that I didn’t, I almost did.

You embodied many, different ways of every emotion that crept through me. Though I knew it was going to hurt me, I went ahead and did it anyway.

Five years flew by so fast. Or maybe just for me. I finally graduated from university together with your brothers and mine. So much has happened while I was there that I almost didn’t notice the changes in me. There were several fooleries that the boys and I went through just to have a taste of the uncivilized life we weren't raised to have. There was this time I even helped your brother, Niki, with a gruesome fight against some kid who was foretold to be the next duke of our country. Those may be silly times to ponder now, but the damage it did to us and mostly to Niki was inexpressible.

I was eighteen, and the last memories I had of us were from we were ten. Maybe I tried to forget that day badly. That day where I stood and watched you hide behind the trees from afar, keeping those tears to yourself without me anywhere near you to wipe them all away like I always do.

I vowed to not hold myself back and not be held by the agonizing memories of a thousand yesterdays. I never realized how much it still pains you even upon my return.

Both our families held a welcoming back dinner at your place. There we were, after five long years of separation and silence, traipsing down the halls that we once ran through, forcing laughter and faking smiles just so we won’t ruin the genuine delights in our dear mothers’ eyes.

I was only eighteen, I didn’t know much but I knew I missed you. I’d tell you but I don’t know how. I do, however, know where it all went wrong. I just couldn't find the courage in me to approach and ask you for an apology.

Where was I? Where was the boy who’d throw a mantle over your braided locks, pretending to be the wizard to your witch?

Do you still remember? The notes I shamelessly tucked between the Austen book I lent you just to get my silly feelings across? Do you still have these little memories of us collected inside your imaginary heart-shaped locket?

I left many notes there, and though you possibly forgot most of them, they still hung around me, and I could vividly recall them like it was yesterday. From the flirtatious dialogues and striking remarks to the underlined phrases I wholly dedicated to you, the following parchments started to become like an entire page of paper with my inconsistent handwriting.

I vented out my daily adventures and mundane activities into those stained parchments that I stole from my late father’s study. Until suddenly, all the letters were about you. It collected all my immature yet genuine emotions. It was always about you, seldom me, and hardly ever us.

For the many years that I’ve hurt you, left you hanging, and witnessed our promises get constantly broken, I could only hope for better days waiting ahead for us. If not to me, at least to you. You deserve more than I could even offer. You always have, and I'm afraid I may not be a potential candidate to meet you halfway.

A year has passed and we’re now about to be offered for marriage. Not to each other though. There we were, standing in a crowded room under the bedazzling chandeliers and along with the tunes from the people eliciting them.

I felt my hands trembling in fear that eventful night. We exchanged brief and stolen glances and I was desperate to know, was the yearning killing you too?

I saw you nervously pulling your dress in an attempt to look busy, while I was doing my best to avoid you. I’ve never heard silence quite this loud.

Jay gave me the chance to redeem myself. You had no idea how much I desired to secure you in a long and firm embrace the moment you walked closer to me in that library. But you said those words. Yes! Those words were made up of aching memories that lingered around my soul for a while, but I dared not to give any of my attention to.

My deepest apologies for leaving you behind, again.

I dropped your hand while dancing and left you standing there in an awfully eerie room in such a woeful state. I let you slip beyond my reach, and I fear I can't give you any reasons in the aftermath. I was nowhere to be found then, and I hate the crowds, you know that. But I wanted to return to you after I'd composed myself in the powder room, though it utterly shattered me the moment I ran back to the hall.

I saw you dance with him. With the boy who was now a man. The man who was chosen by Niki’s old flame. The old flame that caused the gruesome fight between the two boys several years back. And the man who’s now trying to take you away from my reach; the unreachable string I couldn’t ever pull passionately close to me.

I heard my heart smash to smithereens. I was hopelessly wishing in the back of my mind that you wished it was me. You wished it was me you’re holding firmly in those little, flimsy fingers, lovingly waltzing you to your wildest dreams.

While I just stood there, under the dimly lit corner of the court, dreadfully gazing upon the sight that gave the entire ton heart-shaped eyes and promising prophecies.

My dearest, Y/n. For dearest you will always be. I want you to know that I’d wilfully live and die for moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time.

Because I held my pride like I should've held you.

END OF YANG JUNGWON's POV

The hot topic immediately spread among the Yang and Park siblings the following morning, excluding Y/n’s awareness of such matters. The boys were determined enough to keep their knowledge unsuspected to the mischievous pair. Although Jay and Niki were aggravated by the news, they saw it best to confront their sister in a more fortunate time.

On the contrary, Jungwon is enraged enough to retreat from their manor to give the young miss an impulsive lecture. He sets off with his horse, speedily galloping to the heart of the Kielder Forest.

“Y/n! I know you're here! You and I need to talk!” Jungwon aimlessly calls out as he takes quick steps to where her fort was situated, “Y/n!”

“What?!” The lass crawls out of her sheer fortress, looking utterly pissed with the boy’s sudden commotion.

“Have you lost your wits?!”

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Jung.”

“You made a ruse with Sung- god, Y/n! What were you thinking?!” Jungwon runs his fingers through his ebony locks with definite frustration plastered all over his face, making Y/n flinch from his sudden whine.

“How did you-”

“How I discovered such a ridiculous act isn't of concern right now. Goodness, Y/n, I expected more from you!”

“Well, you should've expected less then!” She fiercely retorts.

“For god’s sake! You don't even know that man!”

“More like I know you? I couldn't even recognize you anymore!”

“That man has set his record with your brother-”

“Do not put Niki into this so as to protect your dying ego.”

“Then what’s all this? What's in it for him, huh? What did you offer Sunghoon that got your mind twisted?”

“A piece of my fucking mind because you were too dumb to even care! And don't you dare speak of him like you're mighty enough to reproach the man whose only desire was to help me!”

“Tell that to your brothers who feel shamefully betrayed right now by your reckless behavior!”

Jungwon heaves a sigh the moment Y/n goes quiet. The atmosphere suddenly went numbingly silent for a while. What with all the nonstop outbursts they both threw at each other, they forgot to stop and catch their breaths in the maddening heat of the moment.

Y/n breaks the deafening silence with light sniffles and soft sobs, tilting her head away from Jungwon’s sight. He witnesses her tears again for the first time in a very long while. It pains him to see her like this, but what shatters his soul, even more, is that he's the reason why her tears keep falling… and he couldn't take a step closer to wipe them away knowing they hadn’t resolved their previous fight.

So he stands there, mere inches away from her, hands so close yet so far, fists clenched tightly to stifle the urge to touch her, until Y/n feels a sudden rush of electricity through her entire body; Jungwon pulled her into a comforting embrace, making her snurfle into the warmth of his chest.

“Forgive me, I… I’m just very disappointed. For the longest time I’ve known you, not once did it ever occur to me that you would go this far to get my attention. I’m just worried for you.” With a hand holding onto her waist tightly, and the other, resting on her nape, Jungwon softly whispers against her ear while stroking her hair gently until her breathing calms down.

Y/n couldn't help but gradually crawl her arms around his slim waist, crumpling a handful of his jabot shirt from the back in desperation to suppress further sobs from embarrassing her. All of her raging thoughts suddenly came to a halt the moment their bodies connected with each other.

It was as if she's meant to be in this moment with him, to bathe in his comfort, to be in this dreamy embrace. It would be a lie for Jungwon to say he didn't want this. He was, after all, anticipating for such a moment to hug her like now. It's quite unfortunate that it had to be under such circumstances.

“Why does my involvement with Sunghoon bother you so much? Is it only because of Niki?” Y/n looks up to Jungwon, making the two merely inches apart from brushing their noses. Jungwon knew that he'd get lost in her compelling eyes, so he stared down at her parted, pinched lips-- though he wished he didn't at that moment, but he was too late. He finds himself running his tongue across his lips, all the while parting it as he tries to think of any far-fetched reasons to answer her question.

He lifts his thumb and grazes it over her flushed cheeks. Her tear-filled eyes still glisten as Jungwon leans closer, making Y/n shut them in an instant. Although she’s quite in a chagrin in their current position, Jungwon finds her unshakable figure as a sign that she's relaxed in his presence, making him feel less deterred from keeping her in his arms a little longer.

The chap plants soft kisses on her closed eyes that made Y/n inhale sharply. The fleeting, feather-like touches on her eyelids were more than enough for the lass to bathe herself in such momentary bliss. The moment she flutters her eyes open, her gaze meets his as he rests his forehead on hers.

“I hate seeing you cry. These beautiful eyes aren't meant for such miseries.” He whispers to which his breaths fan against her exhales.

“You always make me cry.” Jungwon softly chuckles at her slightly pouting lips, simultaneously thinking how lovely would it feel to have his lips locked on hers.

“Jay would genuinely torture me if he sees us right now.” Jungwon scrunches his nose as he playfully bumps it with hers.

“What would he do if he found us out? Let me go then.” She teases. Her hands find their way from his waist, to his nape, while playing with the little mullet he outgrew since the summer.

“I could never.”

Y/n sighs. His words had two meanings and fortunately, she's smart enough to know what he really meant. To answer her previous question, he wanted to tell her how much he loves her-- but his tongue is tied, and he can only let out gentle breaths and husky whispers. He couldn't find any words that would perfectly encompass his brimming emotions to her.

So he fails himself again with a shrug of his thoughts.

“Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?” He asks.

“What do you mean?”

“All these silly banters and stolen, longing stares. Could you be happy here with me?”

“The past few weeks have been nothing but emotional for me, Jung. You shut me out, then you take me back. You anger me lots yet in one swift move, you knock the wind out of my lungs. I’d be lying if I told you I’m not on top of the world sharing this moment with you right now. Because I am. I am happy. I don't think I would be if not with you.”

Then let’s run away right now. Let’s leave everything behind and run away together. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. That was what he wanted to say. But he gulps down all other thoughts and lets out the opposite.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home.” He says.

The trip home was merely nothing but laughter and barbs as Jungwon shares embarrassing stories of her brothers while they were in university; trying their very best to ignore the desperate elephant in the room.

With hands constantly brushing against each other as they take their every step, Jungwon was downright close to seizing her hand completely and interlocking it with his.

“To be fair, this has been the only thing that's made the past agonizing weeks bearable.” He concludes the uplifting momentum as they walk closer to her humble abode.

“I'm ready to try again if you are?” Y/n mutters under her breath, but Jungwon clearly caught every single word. He slowly pulls away from the almost closed gap between them, looking at the ground like he always does when he's conflicted.

“What is it, Jung? Have I said something wrong?”

Jungwon shrugs his head in disapproval, though he wishes she hadn't said those words.

“I… I’m sorry. It's just…”

Jungwon thought there should've been a time and place, but this wasn't it. He doesn't want to take advantage of her vulnerability right now especially when Jay's trusted him enough to not fuck things up. With Sunghoon in the way and Niki's emotions in turmoil, he couldn't bear inserting himself in the middle of chaos, insinuating confusions any further when he could've been a better friend to Y/n rather than putting her feelings in silence.

Y/n was expecting this. Every time she and Jungwon would share a rather momentous moment, he’d chicken out and ghost her for however long he desired until he felt the need to pop back into her life again and tug at her heartstrings.

She stares at Jungwon's figure almost disappearing into the wild night. He ran away with deafening thoughts, while she stood there with a crushed heart… again.

With sadness, she realizes they need some time apart.

It's been a long, dragging week for the ton. Tranquil for some, as not many revelations from the Daily Tattle have been uncovered as of late.

The Park siblings have yet to talk about the matter of Y/n being a quisling to Sunghoon's endeavors. As of the moment, the young marquess continues on with his dilly-dallying courtship with the young miss, obliviously promenading her with genuine intentions this time around.

Jungwon and Y/n had only been apart for a week and already, he had a new lover hanging off his arm.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, Jungwon was having troubles with his thoughts and feelings as he saw her, yet again, traipsing around the park with an arm comfortably hanging onto Sunghoon.

With Y/n, he'd had some wonderfully stable times. But seeing how her smiles go from cheek to cheek and echoing laughter with the marquess’ presence makes her genuinely happy, Jungwon thought it’d be best if he stops himself from holding her back and enjoy her liberty without the past binding her like a prisoner of what could’ve been.

Sunghoon looks at her the same way he does. It churns his insides just thinking about it.

Yet he fears this might have to be his time to back away.

That week-long separation seemed to last forever for Jungwon as he finally concludes that he is no longer deserving of her hand anymore. Now that it's apparent that it’s about to be promised to another.

*send me an ask or a message if you wish to be added on this series' taglist!

ㅡ © ENHA-WOODZIES, 2021

[reddeadreference]

New Hanover - Abandoned Mail Cart

-Click here to return to the index for Locations By State-

Southwest of Fort Wallace you can find a mail cart with a box that contains some letters.

(Map and Letters below the cut)

Letter to Miriam Wegner From Annabelle

This first letter is related to the post about the Emerald Ranch Saloon.

(Reminder Lilly Millet was a debtor from Money Lending and Other Sins and Cooper was the man she was with.)

My Dearest Miriam,

I decided that I would write to you again because, even though our worlds seem so far apart these days. I think of you often . New York is crowded and dirty but so alive! It feels like anything is possible, even for a country girl like me, and my biggest news is that I have been cast in a Henrik Ibsen play. It is a small role but now I can finally call myself a Broadway actress.

Sometimes I do miss home, though; the peace and the clean air, being able to take a ride at first light. I received a letter from Lilly Millet a while back and it appears that she is experiencing some financial difficulties. She was always very sensible with money so I am worried that weasel Cooper has his claws in her again. She also mentioned that she has not seen you leave the house in months.

I cannot even begin to imagine how painful it must have been for you to lose Joshua in such a horrible way, and I would never assume to instruct you how to grieve, but I worry about you existing in such isolation. This must be the sixth letter I have sent to you with no response. Please let me know that you are alright, even if it is just the shortest of notes to tell me to mind my own business. You can tell me anything.

Your loving cousin,

Annabelle P.S. Uncle Eugene, with the greatest of respect, if you are withholding my mail from Miriam or, dare I say, constraining her in any other way. I beg you to reconsider your actions. I know how much you love her but please do not confuse love with possession. She is a beautiful, intelligent woman with so much life ahead of her.

Letter to the Saint Denis Times Tribune

To The Editor Saint Denis Times Tribune Saint Denis Lemoyne

Dear Sir, It has come to my attention that the habit of writing letters to newspapers has completely consumed my life. All I do all day is think about what I am going to say that is witty, pithy and will impress people I do not know. I never used to care about being pithy. Now, it is consuming my life. My once successful career as a fertilizer salesman is now but a distant memory. My life is now dominated by what others think of me.

My vanity, pride and self - absorption have become everything to me. Yet, I never used to be this way. On the eve of a new century, I pray that mankind will emerge fresh into a better world, one less consumed by the poses, pretensions and images that have obsessed him in the nineteenth century. I have many hopes for our species, but few for myself. Please destroy any future letters I send you without opening them. I am turning over a new leaf.

Life as a seller of chemical fertilizer is far more for filling than the shadow life as a man who exists merely through the eyes of others. Yours faithfully, Dorian Weatherby, Esq PS - I note that in your last issue you miss-spelt my name.

Letter to Judge Finley

Judge Finley,

Dear sir, your honor, you will pardon me for addressing you, however I am very ill. So much so that I am not in a condition to attend my trial. If it would please your honor I would like you to send me to the poor farm or to send me my release. I am an unfortunate victim of morphine habit. Judge, your honor, you have discharged me on more than one occasion and by doing so have exhibited great kindness.

If you do so again I promise I will go away and be a good girl in the future.

Yours obediently,

Gertrude Eastwell

Letter to William Errington 

Mr. William Errington, S Rue De La Diligent, Saint Denis, Lemoyne

Dear William, How aggrieved I find myself to write your address on this letter. Not so long ago I would have transcribed your residence at the finest college in the finest University in all of England; now – well, what is this preposterous place? I am ashamed even to write its silly little name. Your gushing correspondence has not moved me so much as an inch. You write of great skies, beautiful lands, hard-working fellow citizens and your own firm resolve.

Had not England skies? Is the land of your birth not also beautiful? If you were lacking in hard work I could have remedied your predicament quite easily, and done so without sundering our family in this appalling way. Your mother still believes you are touring Italy. If you do not reply to this letter with assurances that you intend to come back. I shall tell her your return ship was lost at sea with all hands. That, son is my own firm resolve. Do not test it. Your loving father

Letter to Henrietta Douglas 

From New York City To: Henrietta Douglas Tumbleweed Ms. Douglas, It is with great sadness I write to inform you of the death of your husband. You may have read in the newspapers about the tragic fire that occurred at the Whitehorn Hotel here. As residents gathered to watch the St Ignatius’s Day Parade, a few people began to cry out as smoke emerged from windows  on the second floor of the hotel.

Within 30 minutes the entire building was engulfed in flames and those on the upper floors were trapped. Your husband’s body was recovered the next day amidst the rubble. We are working with the local coroner to prepare his body for shipment to you. Please write back  at this address on the envelope. With sincere sorrow, Jacob Sears

[sunflowers-heart]

October 31st – Ghost Stories

13 Days of Spooky Writing Event

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Word count: 2,379

Warnings: None

Author’s note: Modern!AU. My last story for the event is also the longest, I hope you enjoy it! Participating was a lot of fun, thank you so much for running it, Jessica, I look forward doing more events in the future! <3

You were never particularly fond of the centuries-old manor you used to live in with your fiancé. No amount of splendid decorations nor modern architectural solutions could stop the overwhelming feeling of being constantly watched, of every single of your steps being followed, of the shadows disappearing in the corner of your eyes whenever you were trying to catch them.

It was odd, considering the fact that Thranduil seemed to not notice any of those things, no ill energy, no suspicious rustles in the middle of the night coming from the floor below your bedroom, nothing strange. He was never the man you would consider as insensitive, on the contrary, under the cold mask of calculation there was a compassionate soul, the one you fell in love in many years ago. It did not took a lot of time for him to ask you to live in his house together—the great, luxurious mansion appearing to you like some kind of untouchable dream. And yet, there you were, sleeping in the soft embrace of the man you loved, in the place people could only dream of.

With the invisible eyes watching your every step.

“Is something bothering you, my love?” Thranduil asked one day, stroking your hair in a caring manner as your cheek rested upon his chest, the book still open in his hand. “You seem tense.”

At first you said nothing. It was the beginning of a wonderful, sunny day, the leaves of a maple tree behind your bedroom’s window shining brightly in gold and orange, the smell of tea and coffee prepared by the cook downstairs reaching your senses and causing your stomach to grumble in need. It was supposed to be your Saturday, the day where none of you were supposed to work and simply enjoy your time together.

If only not for the dreadful feeling that something was terribly wrong.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered and played with a long strand of his platinum hair, twirling it over your finger. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

“I understand.” You felt his chest throb when he spoke and then the Adam’s apple to move when he swallowed. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Bad feeling rather.”

“About?”

You frowned. Clarification of your worries was way harder than it seemed and immediately you thought that maybe getting into this subject was not the wisest idea. Supporting your weight on one elbow, you rose up and looked him in the eyes. There was a genuine concern, a will to help, and you wondered how people around you could be so blind to still consider him as ruthless.

“It’s just a stress,” you explained vaguely and kissed the corner of his lips. “No need to worry about, let’s go get breakfast, shall we?”

Whether he did not want to push you or respected your opinion, Thranduil did not ask any more questions. Still, he managed to successfully occupy your mind with kisses and delicious breakfast.

Walking up the stairs, you greeted the maid and headed forward to the dressing room to grab a coat before joining Thranduil on a stroll through the gardens. Although the weather seemed appealing from behind the windows, you quickly found out that it was rather cold once you stepped outside. Blowing wind tossed the fallen leaves all over the estate, giving the gardener a plenty of additional job.

Thankfully, spending the peaceful, completely normal morning with your fiancé was enough to make you lighten up a little, forgetting about the unpleasant incident. Perhaps you truly were overreacting; it was not the first time when your empathy gave you a wrong impression of what was going on around you and if you could only focus on something else, you could quickly realize that there was nothing to be afraid of. You were safe and there was a bright future ahead of you, full of wonderful surprises, marvellous adventures and never-ending love.

Smiling to yourself, you turned right on the first floor and went through the corridor, taking a mental note to take a pair of gloves and a scarf for Thranduil also, before you stopped abruptly and held your breath.

Cold sweat rolled down your spine as your mind was desperately trying to understand what you have just witnessed—to no avail. Frozen in place, you could only stare blankly at the portrait hanging on the wall, the one which has been there since the times of Thranduil’s grandparents. It was all the same as you remembered it; golden frame, heavy movements of brush against the canvas, mostly brown and copper colours used, green armchair appearing as soft and comfortable, roses blooming from the corners, however, now there was one detail missing.

The armchair was now empty.

“I swear to you, I’ve seen it,” you confessed, your trembling hand hidden in Thranduil’s, warmed up by his natural heat, as you led him to the first floor. “She was not there, the lady from the portrait disappeared as if she just casually stood up and went out of her painting. I know it sounds crazy but it’s true.”

Thranduil remained quiet, following you with the long steps until you finally reached the said portrait. Unexpectedly, you felt a wave of relief washing down on you as you realized that the lady was still not present, since you were afraid that once you will go and get your fiancé here, she might come back and therefore make you appear as a lunatic. You were not convinced if he would believe you in the story only.

His answer, however, was as stoic as he always was.

“I see…”

For a long moment, you were staring at the painting. With him by your side, there was new courage in your heart and eventually, you took a step forward, looking at the canvas from a different angle, hoping to maybe see her hiding behind the painted armchair. Naturally, she was not there and the painting was as flat as you could expect.

You peeked over the shoulder when you heard Thranduil walking away and quickly followed him.

“What are we going to do about it?” you asked hesitantly.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” You blinked in confusion. “There’s a living portrait in the house and we’re supposed to just ignore it?”

“What else should we do?” He raised an eyebrow and this question shushed you successfully.

Indeed, what should you do? Look for her? Where, on the on the other paintings, like in Harry Potter? Put the portrait down, so she would not have a place to come back to? Burn it? Every idea seemed to be more ridiculous than the previous one so you only shook your head in resignation.

You would gladly take a walk in the garden now, but first, you had to add few drops of bourbon to your coffee.

The lady came back on her painting next morning. She was sitting on her armchair in the same position, with the same, soft smile on her lips and you started to wonder whether yesterday happened at all. Thranduil confirmed your inquires to be true and although you still felt like in a dream, the life was going on. This time, however, everytime you passed the painting by, you were eyeing the portrait carefully, looking for any signs of movement, any proof that you were not crazy.

You and your fiancé equally.

She did not move for the next week but it was getting harder and harder to be glad about it, since various objects from the home started to disappear and appear in the same places some time later. First, your favourite mug, then Thranduil’s tie, a shoe, a key to the basement, porcelain figurine, 5th volume of the book series, a vinyl record and a single candle from the candelabra. None of the staff knew what happened and surprisingly, they were as shocked to discover the things reappearing as you were previously.

“Did that happen before?” you asked Thranduil one evening, while sitting by his side in the enormous living room by the fireplace. “Before I moved in, I mean.”

You did not have to explain the details to him, so he would know what were you talking about in an instant.

“Sometimes,” he sighed, still looking at the screen but now paying no attention to the film’s plot.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Why should I?” Corners of his lips turned up in a weak smile. “To scare you off with the ghost stories about my house being haunted?”

Fair point.

“Have you ever tried to… talk to it?”

He sent you a curious gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean trying to communicate. I’m no expert but things like that usually happen when they want something. When they’re lost or scared or lonely. Maybe that’s the way of getting our attention so we can do something about it, while we’re still here.”

Thranduil did not answer for a long time, staring blankly at the screen, completely lost in his own thoughts. When you started to wonder whether he will talk about it with you anymore tonight, he finally spoke again, his voice slow and quiet, barely a tone above a whisper.

“My wife died many years ago. This place changed so much since she left, no current staff remember her and with every passing year, I’m remembering her less and less myself.” Rising a glass, Thranduil took a big sip of the wine but you decided to not interrupt him. It was the first time he has ever started to speak about her so elaborately.

You were aware that he was a widower, he has informed you about that at the beginning of your relationship, just in case you had anything against it. Still, he never spoke about her again as if he was avoiding this topic as much as possible, and you knew better than to start it. She was the love of his life and although at first it unsettled you, seeing the painful, tired expression on his face when he finally brought the subject proved you that there was nothing to be afraid of. His love for her was eternal but it did not lessen the depth of affection he had toward you.

Love was not a pool to divide between the people in certain parts, it was always different and always whole to give.

“She loved this house,” he continued. “She loved her son and she loved me. This place was filled with her love, completely. And truth be told, once she was gone, the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced was waking up one day and realizing that she’s not here anymore. As if she never existed, as if she was just a projection, a fleeting dream, a whisper on the wind… I could no longer touch her, feel her, hear her voice. She was as far away as the stars upon the sky, unreachable, unimaginable.

Then, things like that started to happen, sudden disappearances but nothing harmful, just a simple jokes. Silly games. At first I couldn’t believe my own sight either but it was true and it was not evil. Moreover, it was as if she was still there, a soft reminder that I wasn’t mad, dreaming about her love, and the memories we shared were real.

I missed her every day and please, don’t hate me for that, but I believe I’ll miss her forever, too.”

It was rare to see the tears in his eyes and the sight was enough to make you feel your eyes burning also. Gently, you hugged him, hiding his face in the crook of your neck and stroking his hair, the bittersweet grief squeezing your heart harder than ever before. You loved him more than anything; you were willing to leave your homeland for him, to withstand his difficult, distant personality and eccentric behaviour and to devote the rest of your life for him knowing, that he will never be truly yours.

Holding him in your arms, weeping the tears of sorrow, you loved him more than ever before.

The last thing which mysteriously disappeared in the house was never found.

You were sitting with Thranduil by the long table and enjoying the delicious dinner, listening to the music playing and making plans about your upcoming wedding. Before the meal, you were looking through the album featuring variations of cakes, the one which included so many propositions that it was hard to pick at least five better than the others. You had a feeling that the preparations will take much longer than you previously thought, but the vision of marrying your fiancé was more than appealing.

“I’m afraid to even start a conversation about the decorations,” Thranduil added. “Perhaps it’d be wiser to simply hire someone to take care of it.”

“We’ll see. I don’t want anything to be missing on our special day.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll personally supervise the preparations.”

“That’s a relief.” You sighed dramatically. “Speaking of which, I have some good news for you. The earring, the one I was supposed to wear on the wedding, was found.”

Thranduil tilted his head to the side.

“Was it?”

“Yes. It was in the casket, just where I left it.”

“I’m glad then.” He smiled genuinely. “It would be a shame if I had to buy you multiple new pairs, just in case they got lost also.”

You giggled at that statement, knowing that he was capable of doing this just to make sure that nothing could interrupt your special day. Sometimes, you were starting to think that it was him who was more nervous about the whole act than you, even though he managed to hide it well most of the time.

Taking a sip of your tea, you eventually decided to not tell him about the last thing which seemed to be missing. There was no need to worry him, especially since you were certain that this one will not be found anytime soon. Your insecurity was, after all, the last thing which you wanted back, and the gentle smile of the lady in portrait ensured you that there was nothing to be uncertain about, not in the house, nor about the love of your future husband.